155 | 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, | |
160 | 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, | |
165 | 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; | |
170 | 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, | |
175 | 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: | |
180 | And though his lonely habits threw of late |
Gloom o’er his chamber, cheerful was his gate; | |
For thence the wretched ne’er unsoothed withdrew, | |
For them, at least, his soul compassion knew. | |
Cold to the great, contemptuous to the high, | |
185 | The humble pass’d not his unheeding eye; |
Much he would speak not, but beneath his roof | |
They found asylum oft, and ne’er reproof. | |
And they who watch’d might mark that, day by day, | |
Some new retainers gather’d to his sway; | |
190 | 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 | |
195 | 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. | |
200 | 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 | |
205 | 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. | |
210 | 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 | |
215 | 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! | |
220 | 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, | |
225 | 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: | |
230 | 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 | |
235 | 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 | |
Enquiry into deeds at distance done; | |
240 | 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 | |
245 | 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: | |
250 | 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, | |
255 | 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; | |
260 | 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, | |
265 | 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; | |
270 | Save that distemper’d passions lent their force |
In bitterness that banish’d all remorse. | |
None sued, for Mercy knew her cry was vain, | |
The captive died upon the battle-slain: | |
In either cause, one rage alone possess’d | |
275 | The empire of the alternate victor’s breast; |
And they that smote for freedom or for sway, | |
Deem’d few were slain, while more remain’d to slay. | |
It was too late to check the wasting brand, | |
And Desolation reap’d the famish’d land; | |
280 | 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; | |
285 | 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 booty, and the thirst of hate, | |
Lure on the broken brigands to their fate: | |
290 | 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 turn’d their mood, | |
295 | 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, | |
300 | 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, | |
305 | And present death, to hourly suffering life: |
And famine wrings, and fever sweeps away | |
His numbers melting fast from their array; | |
Intemperate triumph fades to discontent, | |
And Lara’s soul alone seems still unbent: |