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 | |
155 | 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 | |
160 | 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. | |
165 | 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 | |
170 | 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: | |
175 | Such scene reminded him of other days, |
Of skies more cloudless, moons of purer blaze, | |
Of nights more soft and frequent, hearts that now – | |
No – no – the storm may beat upon his brow, | |
Unfelt – unsparing – but a night like this, | |
180 | 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, | |
185 | Save vague tradition; 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, | |
190 | 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 pictured prayer, | |
195 | 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 | |
200 | 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! | |
205 | 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, | |
210 | 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; | |
215 | 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, | |
220 | 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. | |
225 | 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 | |
230 | 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 | |
235 | 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 | |
240 | 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 – | |
245 | 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, | |
250 | 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, | |
255 | 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 | |
In trembling pairs (alone they dared not) crawl | |
260 | 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; | |
265 | Aught they behold or hear their thought appals, |
As evening saddens o’er the dark grey 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 | |
270 | His vassals more amazed nor less afraid – |
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. | |
275 | Was it a dream? was his the voice that spoke |
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, | |
280 | 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? | |
285 | Not so in him; his breast had buried both, |
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 | |
290 | 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. | |
295 | 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, | |
300 | Waned in its mirth, and wither’d to a sneer; |
That smile might reach his lip, but pass’d not by, |