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That oft awake his aspect could disclose,
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;
If dream it were, that thus could overthrow
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,
311 The soul to hate for having loved too well.
He stood a stranger in this breathing world, 315
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,