Melt into morn, and Light awakes the world. Man has another day to swell the past, And lead him near to little, but his last; 655 Nor cloud shall gather more, nor leaf shall fall, 660 II. 665 'Tis morn-'tis noon-assembled in the hall, The life or death of Lara's future fame ; His faith was pledged, and Lara's promise given, 671 Why comes he not? Such truths to be divulged, Methinks the accuser's rest is long indulged. III. The hour is past, and Lara too is there, 675 Why comes not Ezzelin? The hour is past, And murmurs rise, and Otho's brow's o'ercast. "I know my friend! his faith I cannot fear, "If yet he be on earth, expect him here; "The roof that held him in the valley stands 680 "Between my own and noble Lara's lands; 66 My halls from such a guest had honour gain'd, "Nor had Sir Ezzelin his host disdain'd, "But that some previous proof forbade his stay, “And urged him to prepare against to-day; 685 "The word I pledged for his I pledge again, "Or will myself redeem his knighthood's stain." 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, Or, at the worst, a foe ignobly bad. 690 "I know him not-but me it seems he knew "In lands where--but I must not trifle too: 695 "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.” With cheek unchanging from its sallow gloom, However near his own or other's tomb; 700 With hand, whose almost careless coolness spoke, In vain the circling chieftains round them closed, IV. Short was the conflict; furious, blindly rash, He bled, and fell, but not with deadly wound, 714 Almost to blackness in its demon hue; And fiercer shook his angry falchion now Than when his foe's was levell'd at his brow; Then all was stern collectedness and art, 720 So little sparing to the foe he fell'd, That when the approaching crowd his arm with held, 725 CANTO II. He almost turn'd the thirsty point on those As if he loathed the ineffectual strife 730 They raised the bleeding Otho, and the Leech He back'd his steed, his homeward path he took, VI. But where was he? that meteor of a night, To leave no other trace of his intent. 741 745 |