There grew one flower beneath its rugged brow, Though dark the shade-it shelter'd-saved till

now.

The thunder came-that bolt hath blasted both,
The Granite's firmness and the Lily's growth:
The gentle plant hath left no leaf to tell
Its tale, but shrunk and wither'd where it fell;
And of its cold protector, blacken round
But shiver'd fragments on the barren ground!

XXIV.

'Tis morn-to venture on his lonely hour Few dare; though now Anselmo sought his

tower.

He was not there-nor seen along the shore; Ere night, alarm'd, their isle is traversed o'er: Another morn-another bids them seek,

And shout his name till echo waxeth weak; Mount, grotto, cavern, valley search'd in vain, They find on shore a sea-boat's broken chain; Their hope revives-they follow o'er the main. 'Tis idle all-moons roll on moons away, And Conrad comes not-came not since that day:

Nor trace, nor tidings of his doom declare
Where lives his grief, or perish'd his despair!
Long mourn'd his band whom none could mourn
beside;

And fair the monument they gave his bride:
For him they raise not the recording stone-
His death yet dubious, deeds too widely known;
He left a Corsair's name to other times,
Link'd with one virtue, and a thousand
crimes.

THE Serfs are glad through Lara's wide domain,*
And slavery half forgets her feudal chain;
He, their unhoped, but unforgotten lord,
The long self-exiled chieftain, is restored:
There be bright faces in the busy hall,
Bowls on the board, and banners on the wall;
Far chequering o'er the pictured window, plays
The unwonted fagots' hospitable blaze;
And gay retainers gather round the hearth,
With tongues all loudness, and with eyes all
mirth.

III.

And Lara left in youth his fatherland;
But from the hour he waved his parting hand
Each trace wax'd fainter of his course, till all
Had nearly ceased his memory to recall.
His sire was dust, his vassals could declare,
Twas all they knew, that Lara was not there;
Nor sent, nor came he, till conjecture grew
Cold in the many, anxious in the few.

His hall scarce echoes with his wonted name,
His portrait darkens in its fading frame.
Another chief consoled his destined bride,
The young forgot him, and the old had died;
"Yet doth he live! exclaims the impatient

heir,

The reader is apprised that the name of Lara being Spanish, and no circumstance of local or national description fixing the scene or hero of the poem to any country or age, the word "Serf," which could not be correctly applied to the lower classes in Spain, who were never vassals of the soil, has nevertheless been employed to designate the followers of our fictitious chieftain. He is meant for noble of the Morca.

And sighs for sables which he must not wear.
A hundred scutcheons deck with gloomy grace
The Lara's last and longest dwelling-place;
But one is absent from the mouldering file,
That now were welcome in that Gothic pile.

IV.

And whence they know not, why they need not He comes at last in sudden loneliness, guess;

They more might marvel, when the greeting's o'er,

Not that he came, but came not long before:
No train is his beyond a single page,
Years had roll'd on, and fast they speed away
Of foreign aspect, and of tender age..
To those that wander as to those that stay;
But lack of tidings from another clime
Had lent a flagging wing to weary Time.
They see, they recognise, yet almost deem
He lives, nor yet is past his manhood's prime,
The present dubious, or the past a dream.
Though sear'd by toil, and something touch'd
by time;

His faults, whate'er they were, if scarce forgot,
Might be untaught him by his varied lot;
Nor good nor ill of late were known, his name
Might yet uphold his patrimonial fame.
His soul in youth was haughty, but his sins
No more than pleasure from the stripling wins;
And such, if not yet harden'd in their course,
Might be redeem'd, nor ask a long remorse.

Not unrejoiced to see him once again,
Warm was his welcome to the haunts of men;
Born of high lineage, link'd in high command,
He mingled with the Magnates of his land;
Join'd the carousals of the great and gay,
And saw them smile or sigh their hours away;
But still he only saw, and did not share
The common pleasure or the general care:
He did not follow what they all pursued,
With hope still baffled, still to be renew'd;
Nor shadowy honour, nor substantial gain,
Nor beauty's preference, and the rival's pain:
Around him some mysterious circle thrown
Repell'd approach, and show'd him still alone;
Upon his eye sate something of reproof,
That kept at least frivolity aloof;

And things more timid that beheld him near,
In silence gazed, or whisper'd mutual fear;
And they the wiser, friendlier few confess'd
They deem'd him better the his air express'd.

VIII.

'Twas strange-in youth all action and all life,
Burning for pleasure, not averse from strife;
Woman-the field-the ocean-all that gave
Promise of gladness, peril of a grave,
In turn he tried-he ransack'd all below,
And found his recompense in joy or woe,
No tame, trite medium; for his feelings sought
In that intenseness an escape from thought:
The tempest of his heart in scorn had gazed
On that the feebler elements had raised:
The rapture of his heart had look'd on high,
And ask'd if greater dwelt beyond the sky:
Chain'd to excess, the slave of each extreme,
How woke he from the wildness of that dream?
Alas! he told not ;-but he did awake

To curse the wither'd heart that would not break.

Why gazed he so upon the ghastly head
Which hands profane had gather'd from the
dead,

That still beside his open'd volume lay,
As if to startle all save him away?

Why slept he not when others were at rest?
All was not well, they deem'd; but where the
Why heard no music, and received no guest?
wrong?

Some knew perchance--but 'twere a tale too long;

And such besides were too discreetly wise,
To more than hint their knowledge in surmise;
But if they would-they could" around the
board,

Thus Lara's vassals prattled of their lord.

X.

It was the night-and Lara's glassy stream
The stars are studding, each with imaged beam:
So calm, the waters scarcely seem to stray,
And yet they glide like happiness away;
Reflecting far and fairy-like from high
The immortal lights that live along the sky:
Its banks are fringed with many a goodly tree,
And flowers the fairest that may feast the bee:
Such in her chaplet infant Dian wove,
And Innocence would offer to her love.
These deck the shore; the waves their channel
make

In windings bright and mazy like the snake.
All was so still, so soft in earth and air,
You scarce would start to meet a spirit there;
Secure that nought of evil could delight
To walk in such a scene, on such a night!

It was a moment only for the good:
So Lara deem'd, nor longer there he stood,
But turn'd in silence to his castle-gate;
Such scene his soul no more could contemplate:
Such scene reminded him of other days,
Of skies more cloudless, moons of purer blaze,
Of nights more soft and frequent, hearts that

now

Unfelt-unsparing; but a night like this,
No-no-the storm may beat upon his brow,

A night of beauty, mock'd such breast as his.

XI.

He turn'd within his solitary hall,

And his high shadow shot along the wall:
There were the painted forms of other times,
'Twas all they left of virtues or of crimes,
Save vague traditions; and the gloomy vaults
That hid their dust, their foibles, and their
faults;

And half a column of the pompous page,
That speeds the specious tale from age to age,
Where history's pen its praise or blame supplies,
And lies like truth, and still most truly lies.
He wandering mused, and as the moonbeam
shone

Through the dim lattice o'er the floor of stone,
And the high fretted roof, and saints, that there
O'er Gothic windows knelt in picture prayer,
Reflected in fantastic figures grew,
Like life, but not like mortal life, to view;
His bristling locks of sable, brow of gloom,
And the wide waving of his shaken plume,
Glanced like a spectre's attributes, and gave
His aspect all that terror gives the grave.

XII.

'Twas midnight-all was slumber; the lone light

Dimm'd in the lamp, as loth to break the night.
Hark! there be murmurs heard in Lara's hall-
A sound-a voice-a shriek-a fearful call!
A long, loud shriek-and silence-did they hear
That frantic echo burst the sleeping ear!
They heard and rose, and tremulously brave
Rush where the sound invoked their aid to save:
They come with half-lit tapers in their hands,
And snatch'd in startled haste unbelted brands.

XIII.

Cold as the marble where his length was laid,
Pale as the beam that o'er his features play'd,
Was Lara stretch'd; his half-drawn sabre near,
Dropp'd it should seem in more than nature's
fear;

Yet he was firm, or had been firm till now,
And still defiance knit his gather'd brow;
Though mix'd with terror, senseless as he lay,
There lived upon his lip the wish to slay;
Some half-form'd threat in utterance there had
died,

Some imprecation of despairing pride:
His eye was almost seal'd, but not forsook
Even in its trance the gladiator's look,
That oft awake his aspect could disclose,
And now was fix'd in horrible repose.
They raise him-bear him: hush! he breathes,
he speaks,

The swarthy blush recolours in his cheeks,
His lip resumes its red; his eye, though dim,
Rolls wide and wild, each slowly quivering limb
Recalls its function, but his words are strung
In terms that seem not of his native tongue;
Distinct but strange, enough they understand
To deem them accents of another land:
And such they were, and meant to meet an ear
That hears him not-alas, that cannot hear!

XIV.

His page approach'd, and he alone appear'd
To know the import of the words they heard;
And by the changes of his cheek and brow,
They were not such as Lara should avow,
Nor he interpret, yet with less surprise
Than those around their chieftain's state he eyes,
But Lara's prostrate form he bent beside,
And in that tongue which seem'd his own replied,
And Lara heeds those tones that gently seem
To soothe away the horrors of his dream;
If dream it were, that thus could overthrow
A breast that needed not ideal woe.
XV.

Whate'er his frenzy dream'd or eye beheld,
If yet remember'd ne'er to be reveal'd,
Rests at his heart: the custom'd morning came,
And breathed new vigour in his shaken frame;
And solace sought he none from priest nor leech,
And soon the same in movement and in speech
As heretofore he fill'd the passing hours,
Nor less he smiles, nor more his forehead lowers
Than these were wont; and if the coming night
Appear'd less welcome now to Lara's sight,
He to his marvelling vassals show'd it not,
Whose shuddering proved their fear was less
forgot.

In trembling pairs (alone they dared not) crawl
The astonish'd slaves, and shun the fated hall;
The waving banner, and the clapping door;
The rustling tapestry, and the echoing floor;
The long dim shadows of surrounding trees,
The flapping bat, the night-song of the breeze;

That ceased to beat, the look that made them start?

Could he who thus had suffer'd, so forget,
When such as saw that suffering shudder yet?
Or did that silence prove his memory fix'd
Too deep for words, indelible, unmix'd
In that corroding secrecy which gnaws
The heart to show the effect, but not the cause!
Nor common gazers could discern the growth
Not so in him; his breast had buried both,
Of thoughts that mortal lips must leave half told;
They choke the feeble words that would unfold.
XVII.

In him inexplicably mix'd appear'd
Much to be loved and hated, sought and fear'd ;
Opinion varying o'er his hidden lot,

In praise or railing ne'er his name forgot:
His silence form'd a theme for others' prate-
They guess'd-they gazed-they fain would
know his fate.

What had he been? what was he, thus unknown,
Who walk'd their world, his lineage only known?
A hater of his kind? yet some would say,
With them he could seem gay amidst the gay;
But own'd that smile, if oft observed and near,
Waned in its mirth, and wither'd to a sneer;
That smile might reach his lip, but pass'd not by,
None e'er could trace its laughter to his eye:
Yet there was softness too in his regard,
At times, a heart as not by nature hard,
But once perceived, his spirit seem'd to chide
Such weakness, as unworthy of its pride,
And steel'd itself, as scorning to redeem
One doubt from others' half withheld esteem;
In self-inflicted penance of a breast
Which tenderness might once have wrung from
rest;

In vigilance of grief, that would compel
The soul to hate for having loved too well.

XVIII.

There was in him a vital scorn of all;
As if the worst had fall'n which could befall,
He stood a stranger in this breathing world,
An erring spirit from another hurled;
A thing of dark imaginings, that shaped
By choice the perils he by chance escaped;
But 'scaped in vain, for in their memory yet
His mind would half exult and half regret :
With more capacity for love than earth
Bestows on most of mortal mould and birth,
His early dreams of good outstripp'd the truth,
And troubled manhood follow'd baffled youth;

With thought of years in phantom chase

misspent,

And wasted powers for better purpose lent:
And fiery passions that had pour'd their wrath
In hurried desolation o'er his path,
And left the better feelings all at strife
In wild reflection o'er his stormy life;
But haughty still, and loth himself to blame,
He call'd on Nature's self to share the shame,
And charged all faults upon the fleshly form
She gave to clog the soul, and feast the worm;
Till he at last confounded good and ill,
And half mistook for fate the acts of will:
Too high for common selfishness, he could
At times resign his own for others' good,
But not in pity, not because he ought,
But in some strange perversity of thought,
That sway'd him onward with a secret pride
To do what few or none would do beside ;

And this same impulse would, in tempting time,
Mislead his spirit equally to crime;

So much he soar'd beyond, or sunk beneath The men with whom he felt condemn'd to breathe,

And longed by good or ill to separate
Himself from all who shared his mortal state;
His mind abhorring, this had fix'd her throne
Far from the world, in regions of her own;
Thus coldly passing all that pass'd below,
His blood in temperate seeming now would
flow:

Ah! happier if it ne'er with guilt had glow'd,
But ever in that icy smoothness flow'd.
'Tis true, with other men their path he walk'd,
And like the rest in seeming did and talk'd;
Nor outraged Reason's rules by flaw nor start,
His madness was not of the head, but heart;
And rarely wandered in his speech, or drew
His thoughts so forth as to offend the view.

XIX.

With all that chilling mystery of mien,
And seeming gladness to remain unseen;
He had (if 'twere not nature's boon) an art
Of fixing memory on another's heart :

It was not perchance love,-nor hate-nor
aught

That words can image to express the thought;
But they who saw him did not see in vain,
And once beheld, would ask of him again:
And those to whom he spake remember'd well,
And on the words, however light, would dwell:
None knew nor how, nor why, but he entwined
Himself perforce around the hearer's mind:
There he was stamp'd, in liking, or in hate,
If greeted once; however brief the date
That friendship, pity, or aversion knew,
Still there within the inmost thought he grew.
You could not penetrate his soul, but found,
Despite your wonder, to your own he wound:
His presence haunted still; and from the breast
He forced an all-unwilling interest.
Vain was the struggle in that mental net,
His spirit seem'd to dare you to forget!

XX.

There is a festival, where knights and dames,
And aught that wealth or lofty lineage claims,
Appear a high-born and a welcomed guest
To Otho's hall came Lara with the rest.
The long carousal shakes the illumined hall,
Well speeds alike the banquet and the ball;

And the gay dance of bounding Beauty's train
Links grace and harmony in happiest chain:
Blest are the early hearts and gentle hands
That mingle there in well according bands.
It is a sight the careful brow might smooth,
And make age smile, and dream itself to youth,
And Youth forget such hour was pass'd on earth,
So springs the exulting bosom to that mirth!

XXI.

And Lara gazed on these, sedately glad ;
His brow belied him if his soul was sad ;
And his glance follow'd fast each fluttering fair,
Whose steps of lightness woke no echo there.
He lean'd against the lofty pillar nigh,
With folded arms and long attentive eye,
Nor mark'd a glance so sternly fix'd on his :
Ill brook'd high Lara scrutiny like this.
At length he caught it, 'tis a face unknown,
But seems as searching his, and his alone;
Prying and dark, a stranger's by his mien,
Who still till now had gazed on him unseen;
At length encountering meets the mutual gaze
Of keen inquiry, and of mute amaze :
On Lara's glance emotion gathering grew,
As if distrusting that the stranger threw ;
Along the stranger's aspect fix'd and stern
Flash'd more than thence the vulgar eye could
learn.

XXII.

""Tis he!" the stranger cried, and those that heard,

Re-echo'd fast and far the whisper'd word.
"Tis he!"""Tis who?" they question far
and near,

Till louder accents rung on Lara's ear;
So widely spread, few bosoms well could brook
The general marvel, or that single look.
But Lara stirr'd not, changed not: the surprise
That sprung at first to his arrested eyes
Seem'd now subsided: neither sunk nor raised
Glanced his eye round, though still the stranger

gazed;

And drawing nigh, exclaim'd, with haughty

It were too much for Lara to pass by
Such questions, so repeated fierce and high:
With look collected, but with accent cold,
More mildly firm than petulantly bold,
He turn'd, and met the inquisitorial tone-
"My name is Lara !-when thine own is known,
Doubt not my fitting answer to requite
The unlook'd-for courtesy of such a knight.
'Tis Lara !-further wouldst thou mark or ask?
I shun no question, and I wear no mask."
"Thou shunn'st no question? Ponder-is there
Thy heart must answer, though thine ear would

none

shun?

And deem'st thou me unknown too? Gaze again!
At least thy memory was not given in vain.
Oh! never canst thou cancel half her debt,
Eternity forbids thee to forget."

With slow and searching glance upon his face
Grew Lara's eyes, but nothing there could trace
They knew, or chose to know: with dubious look
He deign'd no answer, but his head he shook,
And half contemptuous turn'd to pass away