310 | But few remain to aid his voice and hand, |
And thousands dwindled to a scanty band: | |
Desperate, though few, the last and best remain’d | |
To mourn the discipline they late disdain’d. | |
One hope survives, the frontier is not far, | |
315 | And thence they may escape from native war; |
And bear within them to the neighbouring state | |
An exile’s sorrows, or an outlaw’s hate: | |
Hard is the task their father-land to quit, | |
But harder still to perish or submit. | |
XII | |
320 | It is resolved – they march – consenting Night |
Guides with her star their dim and torchless flight; | |
Already they perceive its tranquil beam | |
Sleep on the surface of the barrier stream; | |
Already they descry – Is yon the bank? | |
325 | Away! ’tis lined with many a hostile rank. |
Return or fly! – What glitters in the rear? | |
’Tis Otho’s banner – the pursuer’s spear! | |
Are those the shepherds’ fires upon the height? | |
Alas! they blaze too widely for the flight: | |
330 | Cut off from hope, and compass’d in the toil, |
Less blood perchance hath bought a richer spoil! | |
XIII | |
A moment’s pause – ’tis but to breathe their band, | |
Or shall they onward press, or here withstand? | |
It matters little – if they charge the foes | |
335 | Who by their border-stream their march oppose, |
Some few, perchance, may break and pass the line, | |
However link’d to baffle such design. | |
‘The charge be ours! to wait for their assault | |
Were fate well worthy of a coward’s halt.’ | |
340 | Forth flies each sabre, rein’d is every steed, |
And the next word shall scarce outstrip the deed: | |
In the next tone of Lara’s gathering breath | |
How many shall but hear the voice of death! | |
XIV | |
His blade is bared, – in him there is an air | |
345 | As deep, but far too tranquil for despair; |
A something of indifference more than then | |
Becomes the bravest, if they feel for men. | |
He turn’d his eye on Kaled, ever near, | |
And still too faithful to betray one fear; | |
350 | Perchance ’twas but the moon’s dim twilight threw |
Along his aspect an unwonted hue | |
Of mournful paleness, whose deep tint express’d | |
The truth, and not the terror of his breast. | |
This Lara mark’d, and laid his hand on his: | |
355 | It trembled not in such an hour as this; |
His lip was silent, scarcely beat his heart, | |
His eye alone proclaim’d, ‘We will not part! | |
Thy band may perish, or thy friends may flee, | |
Farewell to life, but not adieu to thee!’ | |
360 | The word hath pass’d his lips, and onward driven, |
Pours the link’d band through ranks asunder riven; | |
Well has each steed obey’d the armed heel, | |
And flash the scimitars, and rings the steel; | |
Outnumber’d, not outbraved, they still oppose | |
365 | Despair to daring, and a front to foes; |
And blood is mingled with the dashing stream, | |
Which runs all redly till the morning beam. | |
XV | |
Commanding, aiding, animating all, | |
Where foe appear’d to press, or friend to fall, | |
370 | Cheers Lara’s voice, and waves or strikes his steel, |
Inspiring hope himself had ceased to feel. | |
None fled, for well they knew that flight were vain; | |
But those that waver turn to smite again, | |
While yet they find the firmest of the foe | |
375 | Recoil before their leader’s look and blow: |
Now girt with numbers, now almost alone, | |
He foils their ranks, or re-unites his own; | |
Himself he spared not – once they seem’d to fly – | |
Now was the time, he waved his hand on high, | |
380 | And shook – Why sudden droops that plumed crest? |
The shaft is sped – the arrow’s in his breast! | |
That fatal gesture left the unguarded side, | |
And Death hath stricken down yon arm of pride. | |
The word of triumph fainted from his tongue; | |
385 | That hand, so raised, how droopingly it hung! |
But yet the sword instinctively retains, | |
Though from its fellow shrink the falling reins; | |
These Kaled snatches: dizzy with the blow, | |
And senseless bending o’er his saddle-bow, | |
390 | Perceives not Lara that his anxious page |
Beguiles his charger from the combat’s rage: | |
Meantime his followers charge, and charge again; | |
Too mix’d the slayers now to heed the slain! | |
XVI | |
Day glimmers on the dying and the dead, | |
395 | The cloven cuirass, and the helmless head; |
The war-horse masterless is on the earth, | |
And that last gasp hath burst his bloody girth; | |
And near, yet quivering with what life remain’d, | |
The heel that urged him and the hand that rein’d; | |
400 | And some too near that rolling torrent lie, |
Whose waters mock the lip of those that die; | |
That panting thirst which scorches in the breath | |
Of those that die the soldier’s fiery death, | |
In vain impels the burning mouth to crave | |
405 | One drop – the last – to cool it for the grave; |
With feeble and convulsive effort swept, | |
Their limbs along the crimson’d turf have crept; | |
The faint remains of life such struggles waste, | |
But yet they reach the stream, and bend to taste: | |
410 | They feel its freshness, and almost partake — |
Why pause? No further thirst have they to slake – | |
It is unquench’d, and yet they feel it not; | |
It was an agony – but now forgot! | |
XVII | |
Beneath a lime, remoter from the scene, | |
415 | Where but for him that strife had never been, |
A breathing but devoted warrior lay: | |
’Twas Lara bleeding fast from life away. | |
His follower once, and now his only guide, | |
Kneels Kaled watchful o’er his welling side, | |
420 | And with his scarf would stanch the tides that rush, |
With each convulsion, in a blacker gush; | |
And then, as his faint breathing waxes low, | |
In feebler, not less fatal tricklings flow: | |
He scarce can speak, but motions him ’tis vain, | |
425 | And merely adds another throb to pain. |
He clasps the hand that pang which would assuage, | |
And sadly smiles his thanks to that dark page, | |
Who nothing fears, nor feels, nor heeds, nor sees, | |
Save that damp brow which rests upon his knees; | |
430 | Save that pale aspect, where the eye, though dim, |
Held all the light that shone on earth for him. | |
XVIII | |
The foe arrives, who long had search’d the field, | |
Their triumph nought till Lara too should yield; | |
They would remove him, but they see ’twere vain, | |
435 | And he regards them with a calm disdain, |
That rose to reconcile him with his fate, | |
And that escape to death from living hate: | |
And Otho comes, and leaping from his steed, | |
Looks on the bleeding foe that made him bleed, | |
440 | And questions of his state; he answers not, |
Scarce glances on him as on one forgot, | |
And turns to Kaled: – each remaining word | |
They understood not, if distinctly heard; | |
His dying tones are in that other tongue, | |
445 | To which some strange remembrance wildly clung. |
They spake of other scenes but what – is known | |
To Kaled whom their meaning reach’d alone; | |
And he replied, though faintly, to their sound, | |
While gazed the rest in dumb amazement round: | |
450 | They seem’d even then – that twain – unto the last |
To half forget the present in the past; | |
To share between themselves some separate fate, | |
Whose darkness none beside should penetrate. | |
XIX | |
Their words though faint were many – from the tone | |
455 | Their import those who heard could judge alone; |
From this, you might have deem’d young Kaled’s death | |
More near than Lara’s by his voice and breath, | |
So sad, so deep, and hesitating broke | |
The accents his scarce-moving pale lips spoke; | |
460 | But Lara’s voice, though low, at first was clear |