That sidelong smile upon the knight he past; | |
610 | 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, | |
615 | 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, | |
620 | 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, | |
625 | 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, | |
630 | 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, | |
635 | 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, | |
640 | Where weakness, strength, vice, virtue, sunk supine, |
Alike in naked helplessness recline; | |
Glad for awhile to heave unconscious breath, | |
Yet wake to wrestle with the dread of death, | |
And shun, though day but dawn on ills increased, | |
645 | That sleep, the loveliest, since it dreams the least. |
Canto the Second | |
I | |
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; | |
5 | 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, | |
10 | 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; | |
15 | 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 fertilise the soil. | |
II | |
’Tis morn – ’tis noon – assembled in the hall, | |
20 | The gather’d chieftains come to Otho’s call; |
’Tis now the promised hour, that must proclaim | |
The life or death of Lara’s future fame; | |
When Ezzelin his charge may here unfold, | |
And whatsoe’er the tale, it must be told. | |
25 | 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 long indulged. | |
III | |
The hour is past, and Lara too is there, | |
30 | With self-confiding, coldly patient air; |
Why comes not Ezzelin? The hour is past, | |
And murmurs rise, and Otho’s brow’s o’ercast. | |
‘I know my friend! his faith I cannot fear, | |
If yet he be on earth, expect him here; | |
35 | The roof that held him in the valley stands |
Between my own and noble Lara’s lands; | |
My halls from such a guest had honour gain’d, | |
Nor had Sir Ezzelin his host disdain’d, | |
But that some previous proof forbade his stay, | |
40 | 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 | |
45 | To tales of evil from a stranger’s tongue, |
Whose words alread 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 | |
50 | 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. | |
55 | ‘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 | |
60 | Its grasp well-used to deal the sabre-stroke; |
With eye, though calm, determined not to spare, | |
Did Lara too his willing weapon bare. | |
In vain the circling chieftains round them closed, | |
For Otho’s frenzy would not be opposed; | |
65 | And from his lip those words of insult fell – |
His sword is good who can maintain them well. | |
IV | |
Short was the conflict; furious, blindly rash, | |
Vain Otho gave his bosom to the gash: | |
He bled, and fell; but not with deadly wound, | |
70 | Stretch’d by a dextrous sleight along the ground. |
‘Demand thy life!’ He answer’d not: and then | |
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; | |
75 | 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, | |
80 | 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, | |
85 | 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. | |
V | |
They raised the bleeding Otho, and the Leech | |
90 | Forbade all present question, sign, and speech; |
The others met within a neighbouring hall, | |
And he, incensed and heedless of them all, | |
The cause and conqueror in this sudden fray, | |
In haughty silence slowly strode away; | |
95 | He back’d his steed, his homeward path he took, |
Nor cast on Otho’s towers a single look. | |
VI | |
But where was he? that meteor of a night, | |
Who menaced but to disappear with light. | |
Where was this Ezzelin? who came and went | |
100 | 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 | |
105 | Came fast enquiry, 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, | |
110 | In dread to meet the marks of prowlers’ 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; | |
115 | Nor dabbling fingers left to tell the tale, |
The bitter print of each convulsive nail, | |
When agonised hands that cease to guard, | |
Wound in that pang the smoothness of the sward. | |
Some such had been, if here a life was reft, | |
120 | 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 | |
125 | 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, | |
130 | The friend of all who sought to work him woe, |
And from his country’s justice now demands | |
Account of Ezzelin at Lara’s hands. | |
Who else than Lara could have cause to fear | |
His presence? who had made him disappear, | |
135 | 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 | |
140 | 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? | |
145 | 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 | |
150 | 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, |