Let Otho cherish here his polished guest,

To him my thanks and thoughts shall be exprest.'
And here their wondering host hath interposed--
'Whate'er there be between you undisclosed,
This is no time nor fitting place to mar
The mirthful meeting with a wordy war.
If thou, Sir Ezzelin, hast aught to show
Which it befits Count Lara's ear to know,
To-morrow, here, or elsewhere, as may best
Beseen your mutual judgment, speak the rest;
I pledge myself for thee, as not unknown,
Though, like Count Lara, now returned alone
From other lands, almost a stranger grown;
And, if from Lara's blood and gentle birth
I augur right of courage and of worth,
He will not that untainted line belie,
Nor aught that knighthood may accord deny.'

To-morrow be it,' Ezzeliu replied,

'And here our several worth and truth be tried;
I gage my life, my falchion to attest

My words, so may I mingle with the blest!'
What answers Lara? To its centre shrunk
His soul, in deep abstraction sudden sunk;
The words of many, and the eyes of all

That there were gathered, seemed on him to fall;
But his were silent, his appeared to stray
In far forgetfulness away-away.

Alas! that heedlessness of all around
Bespoke remembrance only too profound.

To morrow!-ay, to-morrow!' further word
Than those repeated none from Lara heard;
Upon his brow no outward passion spoke,
From his large eye no flashing anger broke;
Yet there was something fixed in that low tone,
Which showed resolve, determined, though unknown.
He seized his cloak-his head he slightly bowed-
And, passing Ezzelin, he left the crowd.

Lara then summons his page, and departs from the castle of the

Baron Otho with a deadly smile on his countenance. A description of the page here follows, in which it is impossible not to recognise the Gulnare of the former poem:

Light was his form, and darkly delicate

That brow whereon his native sun had sate,

But had not marred, though in his beams he grew,
The cheek where oft the unbidden blush shone through;
Yet not such blush as mounts when health would show
All the heart's hue in that delighted glow;
But 'twas a hectic tint of secret care
That for a burning moment fevered there;
And the wild sparkle of his eye seemed caught
From high, and lightened with electric thought,
Though its black orb those long low lashes fringe,
Had tempered with a melancholy tinge;

Yet less of sorrow than of pride was there,

Or, if 'twere grief, a grief that none should share :
And pleased not him the sports that please his age,
The tricks of youth, the frolics of the page;
For hours on Lara he would fix his glance,
As all-forgotten in that watchful trance;
And, from his chief withdrawn, he wandered lone,
Brief were his answers, and his questions none;
His walk the wood, his sport some foreign book;
His resting-place the bank that curbs the brook :
He seemed, like him he served, to live apart ́
From all that lures the eye and fills the heart;
To know no brotherhood, and take from earth
No gift beyond that bitter boon-our birth.

If aught he loved, 'twas Lara; but was shown
His faith in reverence and in deeds alone;
In mute attention; and his care, which guessed
Each wish, fulfilled it ere the tongue expressed.
Still there was haughtiness in all he did,
A spirit deep that brooked not to be chid;
His zeal, though more than that of servile hands,
In act alone obeys, his air commands;

As if 'twas Lara's less than his desire

That thus he served, but surely not for hire.

Slight were the tasks enjoined him by his lord,
To hold the stirrup, or to bear the sword;
To tune his lute, or, if he willed it more,

On tomes of other times and tongues to pore;
But ne'er to mingle with the menial train,
To whom he showed nor deference nor disdain,
But that well-worn reserve which proved he knew
No sympathy with that familiar crew :

His soul, whate'er his station or his stem,
Could bow to Lara, not descend to them.
Of higher birth he seemed, and better days,
Nor mark of vulgar toil that hand betrays;
So femininely white, it might bespeak

Another sex, when matched with that smooth cheek,
But for his garb, and something in his gaze,'
More wild and high than woman's eye betrays;
A latent fierceness that far more became :

His fiery climate than his tender frame :

True, in his words it broke not from his breast,
But from his aspect might be more than guessed.
Kaled his name, though rumour said he bore
Another ere he left his mountain shore;
For sometimes he would hear, however nigh,
That name repeated loud without reply,
As unfamiliar, or, if roused again,

Start to the sound, as but remembered then;
Unless 'twas Lara's wonted voice that spake,
For then ear, eyes, and heart, would all awake.

The page had looked with anxious emotion upon the quarrel between his lord and the stranger. When he sees the smile with which he departs, his perturbation is increased to the utmost:

When Kaled saw that smile his visage fell,

As if on something recognised right well;
His memory read in such a meaning more
Than Lara's aspect unto others wore:

Forward he sprung-a moment, both were gone,

And all within that hall seemed left alone.

The stanza with which this, the first, canto concludes, has becu often quoted, and always warmly praised, but never more ardently than