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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,

225
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!

220

XIV. His page approach'd, and he alone appeard 235 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, 241 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;

245

If dream it were, that thus could overthrow
A breast that needed not ideal woe.

XV. Whate'er his phrensy dream'd or eye beheld, If yet remember'd ne'er to be reveald, Rests at his heart: the custom'd morning came, And breathed new vigour in his shaken frame; 250 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 lours Than these were wont; and if the coming night 255 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; 260 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 ; Aught they behold or hear their thought appals, 265 As evening saddens o'er the dark gray walls.

XVI. Vain thought! that hour of ne'er unravell’d gloom Came not again, or Lara could assume A seeming of forgetfulness, that made His vassals more amazed nor less afraid - 270 Had memory vanish'd then with sense restored ? Since word, nor look, nor gesture of their lord Betray'd a feeling that recall’d to these That fever'd moment of his mind's disease. Was it a dream ? was his the voice that spoke 275 Those strange wild accents; his the cry that broke Their slumber? his the oppress'd o'erlabour'd heart 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? 280 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? Not so in him; his breast had buried both, 285 Nor common gazers could discern the growth 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; ' 290

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, 295
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 ; 300
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 305
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

311 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, 315
An erring spirit from another hurl'd;
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: 320
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 mispent, 325
And wasted powers for better purpose lent;
And fiery passions that had pour'd their wrath
In hurried desolation o'er his path,
And lest the better feelings all at strife
In wild reflection o'er his stormy life;

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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,

335 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,

VOL. IV.

340

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