But the stern stranger motion'd him to stay.
"A word!-I charge thee stay, and answer here
To one who, wert thou noble, were thy peer;
But as thou wast and art-nay, frown not, lord,
If false, 'tis easy to disprove the word-
But as thou wast and art, on thee looks down,
Distrusts thy smiles, but shakes not at thy frown.
Art thou not he, whose deeds-
"Whate'er I be,
Words wild as these, accusers like to thee,
I list no further; those with whom they weigh
May hear the rest, nor venture to gainsay
The wondrous tale no doubt thy tongue can tell,
Which thus begins so courteously and well.
Let Otho cherish here his polish'd guest,
To him my thanks and thoughts shall be ex-
press'd."

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
Beseem your mutual judgment, speak the rest;
I pledge myself for thee, as not unknown,
Though like Count Lara now return'd 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," Ezzelin 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 gather'd, seem'd on him to fall;
But his were silent, his appear'd to stray
In far forgetfulness away-away-
Alas! that heedlessness of all around
Bespoke remembrance only too profound.

XXV.

And Lara called his page, and went his way-
Well could that stripling word or sign obey:
His only follower from those climes afar
Where the soul glows beneath a brighter star;
For Lara left the shore from whence he sprung,
In duty patient, and sedate though young:
Silent as him he served, his fate appears
Above his station, and beyond his years.
Though not unknown the tongue of Lara's land,
In such from him he rarely heard command;
But fleet his step, and clear his tones would come,
When Lara's lip breathed forth the words of
home.

Those accents, as his native mountains dear,
Awake their absent echoes in his ear;
Friends', kindreds', parents', wonted voice recall,
Now lost, abjured, for one-his friend, his all:
For him earth now disclosed no other guide;
What marvel, then, he rarely left his side?

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 wander'd 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 seem'd 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.

XXVII.

If aught he loved, 'twas Lara: but was shown
His faith in reverence and in deeds alone;
In mute attention; and his care, which guess'd
Each wish, fulfill'd it ere the tongue express'd.
Still there was haughtiness in all he did,
A spirit deep that brook'd 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 enjoin'd him by his lord,
To hold the stirrup, or to bear the sword;
To tune his lute, or, if he will'd it more,
On tomes of other times and tongues to pore;
But ne'er to mingle with the menial train,
To whom he show'd nor deference nor disdain,
But that well-worn reserve which proved he

knew

No sympathy with that familiar crew; H

His soul, whate'er his station or his stem,
Could bow to Lara, not descend to them.
Of higher birth he seem'd, 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 guess'd.
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 remember'd then ;
Unless 'twas Lara's wonted voice that spake,
For then, ear, eyes, and heart would all awake.

XXVIII.

He had look'd down upon the festive hall,
And mark'd that sudden strife so mark'd of all;
And when the crowd around and near him told
Their wonder at the calmness of the bold,
Their marvel how the high-born Lara bore
Such insult from a stranger, doubly sore,
The colour of young Kaled went and came,
The lip of ashes, and the cheek of flame :
And o'er his brow the dampening heart-drops
threw

The sickening iciness of that cold dew,
That rises as the busy bosom sinks
With heavy thoughts from which reflection
shrinks.

Yes, there be things which we must dream and dare,

And execute before thought be half aware;
Whate'er might Kaled's be, it was enow
To seal his lip, but agonize his brow.
He gazed on Ezzelin till Lara cast

I.

That sidelong smile upon the knight he pass'd;
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 seem'd left alone;
Each had so fix'd his eye on Lara's mien,
All had so mix'd their feelings with that scene,
That when his long dark shadow through the
porch

No more relieves the glare of yon high torch,
Each pulse beats quicker, and all bosoms seem
To bound as doubting from too black a dream,
Such as we know is false, yet dread in sooth,
Because the worst is ever nearest truth.
And they are gone-but Ezzelin is there,
With thoughtful visage and imperious air;
But long remain'd not: ere an hour expired
He waved his hand to Otho, and retired.

XXIX.

The crowd are gone, the revellers at rest;
The courteous host, and all-approving guest,
Again to that accustom'd couch must creep
Where joy subsides, and sorrow sighs to sleep,
And man, o'erlabour'd with his being's strife,
Shrinks to that sweet forgetfulness of life:
There lie love's feverish hope, and cunning's
guile,

Hate's working brain, and lull'd ambition's wile;
O'er each vain eye oblivion's pinions wave,
And quench'd existence crouches in a grave.
What better name may slumber's bed become?
Night's sepulchre, the universal home,
Where weakness, strength, vice, virtue, sunk
supine

Alike in naked helplessness recline;

Glad for a while to heave unconscious breath, Yet wake to wrestle with the dread of death, And shun, though day but dawn on ills increased, That sleep, the loveliest, since it dreams the least.

NIGHT wanes-the vapours round the mountains curl'd

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;
But mighty Nature bounds as from her birth,
The sun is in the heavens, and life on earth;
Flowers in the valley, splendour in the beam,
Health on the gale, and freshness in the stream.
Immortal man! behold her glories shine,
And cry exulting inly, "They are thine!"
Gaze on, while yet thy gladden'd eye may see,
A morrow comes when they are not for thee;
And grieve what may above thy senseless bier,
Nor earth nor sky will yield a single tear;
Nor cloud shall gather more, nor leaf shall fall,
Nor gale breathe forth one sigh for thee, for all;
But creeping things shall revel in their spoil,
And fit thy clay to fertilize the soil.

When Ezzelin his charge may here unfold,
And whatsoe'er the tale, it must be told.
His faith was pledged, and Lara's promise
given,

To meet it in the eye of man and Heaven.
Why comes he not? Such truths to be divulged,
Methinks the accuser's rest is 1 ng indulged.

III.

The hour is past, and Lara too is there,
With self-confiding, coldly patient air;
Why comes not Ezzelin? The hour is past,
And murmurs rise, and Otho's brows o'ercast.
"I know my friend! his faith I cannot fear,
The roof that held him in the valley stands
If yet he be on earth, expect him here;
My halls from such a guest had honour gain'd,
Between my own and noble Lara's lands;
Nor had Sir Ezzelin his host disdain'd,
But that some previous proof forbade his stay,
And urged him to prepare against to-day.
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.

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."
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 bear.
In vain the circling chieftains round them closed,
For Otho's frenzy would not be opposed;.
And from his lip those words of insult fell-
His sword is good who can maintain them well.

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
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 turn'd the thirsty point on those
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.

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 morn,
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 distress'd.

Their search extends along, around the path,
In dread to meet the marks of prowler's wrath:
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 agonized hands that ceased to guard,
Wound in that pang the smoothness of the sward.
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,
The friend of all who sought to work him woe:
And from his country's justice now demands
Who else than Lara could have cause to fear
Account of Ezzelin at Lara's hands.
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!
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,
Such as himself might fear, and foes would form,
And he must answer for the absent head
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 work'd 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

New havoc, such as civil discord blends,
Which knows no neuter, owns but foes or friends:
Fix'd in his feudal fortress, each was lord,
In word and deed obey'd, 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,
And now diverted by his milder sway,
All dread by slow degrees had worn away.
The menials felt their usual awe alone,

But more for him than them that fear was grown.
They deem'd him now unhappy, though at first
Their evil judgment augur'd of the worst;
And each long restless night, and silent mood,
Was traced to sickness, fed by solitude:
And though his lonely habits threw of late
Gloom o'er his chamber, cheerful was his gate;
For thence the wretched ne'er unsoothed with-
drew;

For them, at least, his soul compassion knew.
Cold to the great, contemptuous to the high,
The humble pass'd not his unheeding eye;
Much he would speak not, but beneath his roof
They found asylum oft, and n'er reproof.
And they who watch'd might mark that, day by
day,

Some new retainers gather'd to his sway;
But most of late, since Ezzelin was lost,
He play'd the courteous lord and bounteous
host:

Perchance his strife with Otho made him dread
Some snare prepared for his obnoxious head;
Whate'er his view, his favour more obtains
With these, the people, than his fellow-thanes.
If this were policy, so far 'twas sound,
The million judged but of him as they found;
From him by sterner chiefs to exile driven,
They but required a shelter, and 'twas given.
By him no peasant mourn'd his rifled cot,
And scarce the serf could murmur o'er his lot;
With him old avarice found its hoard secure,
With him contempt forbore to mock the poor;
Youth present cheer and promised recompense
Detain'd, till all too late to part from thence:
To hate he offer'd, with the coming change,
The deep reversion of delay'd revenge :
To love, long baffled by the unequal match,
The well-won charms success was sure to snatch.
All now was ripe, he waits but to proclaim
That slavery nothing which was still a name.
The moment came, the hour when Otho thought
Secure at last the vengeance which he sought;
His summons found the destined criminal
Begirt by thousands in his swarming hall,
Fresh from their feudal fetters newly riven,
Defying earth, and confident of heaven.
That morning he had freed the soil-bound slaves
Who dig no land for tyrants but their graves!
Such is their cry-some watchword for the fight
Must vindicate the wrong, and warp the right:
Religion-freedom-vengeance-what you will,
A word's enough to raise mankind to kill;
Some factious phrase by cunning caught and
spread,

That guilt may reign, and wolves and worms be fed.

IX.

Throughout that clime the feudal chiefs had gain'd

Such sway, their infant monarch hardly reign'd:
Now was the hour for faction's rebel growth,
The serfs contemn'd the one, and hated both :
They waited but a leader, and they found
One to their cause inseparably bound;
By circumstance compell'd to plunge again,
In self-defence, amidst the strife of men.
Cut off by some mysterious fate from those
Whom birth and nature meant not for his foes,
Had Lara from that night, to him accurst,
Prepared to meet, but not alone, the worst:
Some reason urged, whate'er it was, to shun

Inquiry into deeds at distance done;
By mingling with his own the cause of all,
E'en if he fail'd, he still delay'd his fall.
The sullen calm that long his bosom kept,
The storm that once had spent itself and slept,
Roused by events that seem'd foredoom'd to
urge

His gloomy fortunes to their utmost verge,
Burst forth, and made him all he once had been,
And is again: he only changed the scene.
Light care had he for life, and less for fame,
But not less fitted for the desperate game:
He deem'd himself mark'd out for others' hate,
And mock'd at ruin, so they shared his fate.
What cared he for the freedom of the crowd?
He raised the humble but to bend the proud.
He had hoped quiet in his sullen lair,
But man and destiny beset him there:
Inured to hunters, he was found at bay,
And they must kill, they cannot snare the prey.
Stern, unambitious, silent, he had been
Henceforth a calm spectator of life's scene;
But dragg'd again upon the arena, stood
A leader not unequal to the feud ;'
In voice, mien, gesture, savage nature spoke,
And from his eye the gladiator broke.

X.

What boots the oft-repeated tale of strife,
The feast of vultures, and the waste of life?
The varying fortune of each separate field,
The fierce that vanquish, and the faint that yield?
The smoking ruin, and the crumbled wall?
In this the struggle was the same with all;
Save that distemper'd passions lent their force
In bitterness that banished all remorse.
None sued, for mercy knew her cry was vain,
The captive died upon the battle-plain;
In either cause, one rage alone possess'd
The empire of the alternate victor's breast;
Deem'd few were'slain while more remain to slay.
And they that smote for freedom or for sway,
It was too late to check the wasting brand,
And Desolation reap'd the famish'd land;
The torch was lighted, and the flame was spread,
And Carnage smiled upon her daily dead.

XI.

Fresh with the nerve the new-born impulse strung,

The first success to Lara's numbers clung:
But that vain victory hath ruin'd all;
They form no longer to their leader's call:
In blind confusion on the foe they press,
And think to snatch is to secure success.
The lust of beauty, and the thirst of hate,
Lure on the broken brigands to their fate:
In vain he doth whate'er a chief may do,
To check the headlong fury of that crew;
In vain their stubborn ardour he would tame,
The hand that kindles cannot quench the flame:
The wary foe alone hath turned their mood,
And shown their rashness to that erring brood:
The feign'd retreat, the nightly ambuscade,
The daily harass, and the fight delay'd,
The long privation of the hoped supply,
The tentless rest beneath the humid sky,
The stubborn wall that mocks the leaguer's art,
And palls the patience of his baffled heart,
Of these they had not deem'd: the battle-day
They could encounter as a veteran may;
But more preferr'd the fury of the strife,

It is resolved-they march-consenting Night Guides with her star their dim and torchless flight:

Already they perceive its tranquil beam
Sleep on the surface of the barrier stream;
Already they descry-is yon the bank?
Away! 'tis lined with many a hostile rank.
Return or fly!-What glitters in the rear?
"Tis Otho's banner-the pursuer's spear!
Are those the shepherds' fires upon the height?
Alas! they blaze too widely for the flight:
Cut off from hope, and compass'd in the toil,
Less blood, perchance, hath bought a richer
spoil!

XIII.

A moment's pause, 'tis but to breathe their band,
Or shall they onward press, or here withstand?
It matters little :-if they charge the foes
Who by the border-stream their march oppose,
Some few perchance may break and pass the
line,

However link'd to baffle such design.
"The charge be ours! to wait for their assault
Were fate well worthy of a coward's halt.'
Forth flies each sabre, rein'd is every steed,
And the next word shall scarce outstrip the
deed:

In the next tone of Lara's gathering breath, How many shall but hear the voice of death!

XIV.

His blade is bared, in him there is an air
As deep, but far too tranquil for despair;
A something of indifference more than then
Becomes the bravest, if they feel for men.
He turn'd his eye on Kaled, ever near.
And still too faithful to betray one fear;
Perchance 'twas but the moon's dim twilight
threw

Along his aspect an unwonted hue

Of mournful paleness, whose deep tint express'd
The truth, and not the terror of his breast.
This Lara mark'd, and laid his hand on his ;
It trembled not in such an hour as this.
His lip was silent, scarcely beat his heart;
His eye alone proclaim'd, "We will not part!
Thy band may perish, or thy friends may flee;
Farewell to life, but not adieu to thee!

The word hath pass'd his lips, and onward driven, Pours the link'd band through ranks asunder riven;

Well has each steed obey'd the arm'd heel, And flash the scimitars, and rings the steel. Outnumber'd, not outbraved, they still oppose

Despair to daring, and a front to foes;
And blood is mingled with the dashing stream,
Which runs all redly till the morning beam.,

XV.

Commanding, aiding, animating all,
Where foe appear'd to press, or friend to fall,
Cheers Lara's voice, and waves or strikes his
steel,

Inspiring hope himself had ceased to feel.
None fled, for well they knew that flight were
vain;

But those that waver turn to smite again,
While yet they find the firmest of the foe

Recoil before their leader's look and blow.
Now girt with numbers, now almost alone,
He foils their ranks, or reunites his own;
Himself he spared not-once they seem'd to fly-
Now was the time, he waved his hand on high,
And shook-Why sudden droops that plumed

crest?

The shaft is sped-the arrow's in his breast! That fatal gesture left the unguarded side, And Death had stricken down yon arm of pride. The word of triumph fainted from his tongue; That had, so raised, how droopingly it hung! But yet the sword instinctively retains, Though from its fellow shrink the falling reins. These Kaled snatches; dizzy with the blow, And senseless bending o'er his saddle-bow, | Perceives not Lara that his anxious page Beguiles his charger from the combat's rage: Meantime his followers charge, and charge again;

Too mix'd the slayers now to heed the slain !

XVI.

Day glimmers on the dying and the dead,
The cloven cuirass, and the helmless head;
The war-horse masterless is on the earth,
And that last gasp hath burst his bloody girth;
And near, yet quivering with what life remain'd,
The heel that urged him, and the hand that rein'd,
Whose waters mock the lip of those that die;
And some too near that rolling torrent lie,
That panting thirst which scorches in the breath
Of those that die the soldier's fiery death,
In vain impels the burning mouth to crave
One drop-the last-to cool it for the grave;
With feeble and convulsive effort swept
Their limbs along the crimson'd turf have crept;
The faint remains of life such struggles waste,
But yet they reach the stream, and bend to taste:
They feel its freshness, and almost partake-
Why pause?-No further thirst have they to
slake:

It is unquench'd, and yet they feel it not;
It was an agony,-but now forgot!

XVII.

Beneath a lime, remoter from the scene,
Where but for him that strife had never been,
A breathing but devoted warrior lay:
'Twas Lara bleeding fast from life away.
His follower once, and now his only guide,
Kneels Kaled watchful o'er his welling side,
And with his scarf would stanch the tides that
rush

With each convulsion in a blacker gush;
And then, as his faint breathing waxes low,
In feebler, not less fatal tricklings flow;
He scarce can speak, but motions him 'tis vain,
And merely adds another throb to pain.