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"The word I pledged for his I pledge again,
"Or will myself redeem his knighthood's stain."

690

He ceased-and Lara answer'd, "I am here "To lend at thy demand a listening ear; "To tales of evil from a stranger's tongue, "Whose words already might my heart have wrung, "But that I deem'd him scarcely less than mad,

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Or, at the worst, a foe ignobly bad.

"I know him not-but me it seems he knew
"In lands where-but I must not trifle too:
"Produce this babbler-or redeem the pledge;
"Here in thy hold, and with thy falchion's edge."

Proud Otho on the instant, reddening, threw His glove on earth, and forth his sabre flew. "The last alternative befits me best,

“And thus I answer for mine absent guest.”

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With cheek unchanging from its sallow gloom,
However near his own or other's tomb;
With hand, whose almost careless coolness spoke,
Its grasp well-used to deal the sabre-stroke;
With eye, though calm, determined not to spare,
Did Lara too his willing weapon bare.
In vain the circling chieftains round them closed,
For Otho's phrensy would not be opposed;
And from his lip those words of insult fel!-
His sword is good who can maintain them well.

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IV.

Short was the conflict; furious, blindly rash,
Vain Otho gave his bosom to the gash:

He bled, and fell; but not with deadly wound,
Stretch'd by a dextrous sleight upon the ground. 715
"Demand thy life!" He answer'd not: and then
From that red floor he ne'er had risen again,
For Lara's brow upon the moment grew

Almost to blackness in its demon hue;
And fiercer shook his angry falchion now

720

Than when his foe's was levell'd at his brow;

Then all was stern collectedness and art,

Now rose the unleaven'd hatred of his heart;

So little sparing to the foe he fell'd,

That when the approaching crowd his arm withheld, He almost turned the thirsty point on those,

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Who thus for mercy dared to interpose;
But to a moment's thought that purpose bent;
Yet look'd he on him still with eye intent,
As if he loathed the ineffectual strife

That left a foe, howe'er o'erthrown, with life;
As if to search how far the wound he gave
Had sent its victim onward to his grave.

V.

730

They raised the bleeding Otho, and the Leech Forbade all present question, sign, and speech; 785

The others met within a neighbouring hall,
And he, incensed and heedless of them all,
The cause and conqueror in this sudden fray,
In haughty silence slowly strode away;

He back'd his steed, his homeward path he took, 740 Nor cast on Otho's towers a single look.

VI.

But where was he? that meteor of a night,
Who menaced but to disappear with light?
Where was this Ezzelin? who came and went
To leave no other trace of his intent.

He left the dome of Otho long ere mora,

In darkness, yet so well the path was worn
He could not miss it: near his dwelling lay;
But there he was not, and with coming day
Came fast inquiry, which unfolded nought
Except the absence of the chief it sought.
A chamber tenantless, a steed at rest,

His host alarm'd, his murmuring squires distrest:
Their search extends along, around the path,

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In dread to meet the marks of prowlers' wrath: 755
But none are there, and not a brake hath borne,
Nor gout of blood, nor shred of mantle torn;
Nor fall nor struggle hath defaced the grass,
Which still retains a mark where murder was;
Nor dabbling fingers left to tell the tale,

The bitter print of each convulsive nail,

When agonised hands that cease to guard,

Wound in that pang the smoothness of the sward.

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Some such had been, if here a life was reft,
But these were not; and doubting hope is left;
And strange suspicion, whispering Lara's name,
Now daily mutters o'er his blacken'd fame;
Then sudden silent when his form appear'd,
Awaits the absence of the thing it fear'd
Again its wonted wondering to renew,
And dye conjecture with a darker hue.

VII.

Days roll along, and Otho's wounds are heal'd,
But not his pride; and hate no more conceal'd:
He was a man of power, and Lara's foe,

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770

The friend of all who sought to work him wo,
And from his country's justice now demands
Account of Ezzelin at Lara's hands.

Who else than Lara could have cause to fear
His presence? who had made him disappear,
If not the man on whom his menaced charge
Had sate too deeply were he left at large?
The general rumour ignorantly loud,
The mystery dearest to the curious crowd;
The seeming friendlessness of him who strove
To win no confidence, and wake no love;
The sweeping fierceness which his soul betray'd,
The skill with which he wielded his keen blade;
Where had his arm unwarlike caught that art?
Where had that fierceness grown upon his heart?

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780

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For it was not the blind capricious rage
A word can kindle and a word assuage;
But the deep working of a soul unmix'd
With aught of pity where its wrath had fix'd;
Such as long power and overgorged success
Concentrates into all that's merciless:

These, link'd with that desire which ever sways
Mankind, the rather to condemn than praise,
'Gainst Lara gathering raised at length a storm,

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Such as himself might fear, and foes would form,

And he must answer for the absent head

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Of one that haunts him still, alive or dead.

VIII.

Within that land was many a malcontent,
Who cursed the tyranny to which he bent;
That soil full many a wringing despot saw,
Who worked his wantonness in form of law:
Long war without and frequent broil within
Had made a path for blood and giant sin,
That waited but a signal to begin

805

New havock, such as civil discord blends,

Which knows no neuter, owns but foes or friends: 810

Fix'd in his feudal fortress each was lord,

In word and deed obeyed, in soul abhorr❜d.
Thus Lara had inherited his lands,

And with them pining hearts and sluggish hands;

But that long absence from his native clime

Had left him stainless of oppression's crime,

815

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