But, as thou wast and art, on thee looks With which that chieftain's brow would down, bear him down: Distrusts thy smiles, but shakes not at thy It was nor smile of mirth, nor struggling frown. Art thou not he? whose deeds--" "Whate'er I be, Werds wild as these, accusers like to thee I list no further; those with whom they weigh May hear the rest, nor venture to gainsay The wondrous tale no doubt thy tongue can tell, Which thus begins so courteously and well. Let Othe cherish here his polish'd guest, To him my thanks and thoughts shall be exprest." And here their wondering host hath interposedWhate'er there be between you undisclosed, This is no time nor fitting place to mar The mirthful meeting with a wordy war. Ithou, Sir Ezzelin, hast ought to show Which it befits Count Lara's ear to know, Tomorrow, here, or elsewhere, as may best bestem your mutual judgment, speak the rest; pledge myself for thee, as not unknown, Theagh like Count Lara now return'd alone Fr other lands, almost a stranger grown; And if from Lara's blood and gentle birth lagur right of courage and of worth, He will not that untainted line belie, raught, that knighthood may accord, deny." To-morrow be it," Ezzelin replied, And here our several worth and truth be tried; Inge my life, my falchion to attest words, so may I mingle with the blest!" What answers Lara? to its centre shrunk sal, in deep abstraction sudden sunk; The words of many and the eyes of all, That there were gather'd, seem'd on him to fall; Be his were silent, his appear'd to stray far forgetfulness away-awaydi! that heedlessness of all around Bespoke remembrance only too profound. Light was his form, and darkly delicate That brow whereon his native sun had sate, But had not marr'd, though in his beams he grew, The cheek where oft the unbidden blush shone through; Yet not such blush as mounts when health would show All the heart's hue in that delighted glow; But 'twas a hectic tint of secret care thought, Though its black orb those long low lashes fringe, Had temper'd with a melancholy tinge; Yet less of sorrow than of pride was there, Or if 'twere grief, a grief that none should share: his age, And pleased not him the sports that please | That name repeated loud without reply, The tricks of youth, the frolics of the page; Brief were his answers, and his questions His walk the wood, his sport some foreign book; His resting-place the bank that curbs the brook : He seem'd, like him he served, to live apart From all that lures the eye, and fills the heart; To know no brotherhood, and take from earth His faith in reverence and in deeds alone; In mute attention; and his care, which guess'd Each wish, fulfill'd it ere the tongue Still there was haughtiness in all he did, In act alone obeys, his air commands; That thus he served, but surely not for hire. To hold the stirrup, or to bear the sword; To tune his lute, or if he will'd it more, • On tomes of other times and tongues to pore; But ne'er to mingle with the menial train, To whom he show'd nor deference nor disdain, But that well-worn reserve which proved No sympathy with that familiar crew: But for his garb, and something in his gaze, A latent fierceness that far more became But from his aspect might be more than Kaled his name, though rumour said he bore He had look'd down upon the festive hal And mark'd that sudden strife so mark of all; And when the crowd around and near hi Their wonder at the calmness of the bol shrinks. There lie love's feverish hope and cunning's | Why comes he not? Such truths to be divulged, Hate's working brain, and lull'd ambition's Methinks the accuser's rest is long indulged. guile, wile; fer each vain eye oblivion's pinions wave, And quench'd existence crouches in a grave. What better name may slumber's bed become? Tight's sepulchre, the universal home, Alike in naked helplessness recline; That sleep, the loveliest, since it dreams the least. The hour is past, and Lara too is there, 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; 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, 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." Or, at the worst, a foe ignobly bad. I know him not--but me it seems he knew 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. "The last alternative befits me best, With cheek unchanging from its sallow And thus I answer for mine absent guest." gloom, However near his own or other's tomb; With hand, whose almost careless coolness spoke, 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 phrenzy would not be opposed; And from his lip those words of insult fellHis sword is good who can maintain them well. Short was the conflict; furious, blindly rash, Vain Otho gave his bosom to the gash: He bled, and fell, but not with deadly wound, 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 Wound in that pang the smoothness of th again, For Lara's brow upon the moment grew Then all was stern collectedness and art, He almost turn'd the thirsty point on those Yet look'd he on him still with eye intent, 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. sward. Some such had been, if here a life was re But these were not; and doubting ho is left; And strange suspicion, whispering Lar He was a man of power, and Lara's fe Account of Ezzelin at Lara's hands. strove To win no confidence, and wake no l The sweeping fierceness which his betray'd, The skill with which he wielded his For it was not the blind capricious ra sways Mankind, the rather to condemn than pra 'Gainst Lara gathering raised at lengt storm, form, Such as himself might fear, and foes wo And he must answer for the absent Of one that haunts him still, alive or d Within that land was many a malcont Who cursed the tyranny to which he b That soil full many a wringing despot Who work'd his wantonness in form of Long war without and frequent broi) wi Had made a path for blood and giantThat waited but a signal to begin New havock, such as civil discord ble Which knows no neuter, owns but foes Fird in his feudal fortress each was lord, Bat that long absence from his native clime They deem'd him now unhappy, though at first All now was ripe, he waits but to proclaim Secure at last the vengeance which he His summons found the destined criminal Who dig no land for tyrants but their Their evil judgment augur'd of the worst, Must vindicate the wrong, and warp the mood, right: Religion-freedom-vengeance--what you will, We traced to sickness, fed by solitude: gate; For thence the wretched ne'er unsoothed withdrew, For them, at least, his soul compassion knew. d to the great, contemptuous to the high, humble pass'd not his unheeding eye; Mech he would speak not, but beneath his secure, him contempt forbore to mock the poor; Teh present cheer and promised recom pense That guilt may reign, and wolves and worms be fed! Had Lara from that night, to him accurst, Roused by events that seem'd foredoom'd to urge 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, Dead, till all too late to part from He deem'd himself mark'd out for others' But not less fitted for the desperate game: thence: hate, Thate he offer'd, with the coming change, And mock'd at ruin so they shared his fate. What cared he for the freedom of the crowd? snatch. He raised the humble but to bend the proud. But man and destiny beset him there: |