The works of lord Byron

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
That for a burning moment fever'd there;
And the wild sparkle of his eye seem'd
caught
From high, and lighten'd with electric

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

his age,

And pleased not him the sports that please | That name repeated loud without reply,
As unfamiliar, or, if roused again,
Start to the sound, as but remember'd the
Unless 'twas Lara's wonted voice that spak
For then, ear, eyes, and heart would a
awake.

The tricks of youth, the frolics of the page;
For hours on Lara he would fix his glance,
As all-forgotten in that watchful trance;
And from his chief withdrawn, he wander'd
lone,

Brief were his answers, and his questions
none;

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
express'd.

Still there was haughtiness in all he did,
A spirit deep that brook'd not to be chid;
His zeal, though more than that of servile
hands,

In act alone obeys, his air commands;
As if 'twas Lara's less than his desire

That thus he served, but surely not for hire.
Slight were the tasks enjoin'd him by his
lord,

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
he knew

No sympathy with that familiar crew:
His soul, whate'er his station or his stem,
Could bow to Lara, not descend to them.
Of higher birth he seem'd, and better days,
Nor mark of vulgar toil that hand betrays,
So femininely white it might bespeak
Another sex, when match'd with that
smooth cheek,

But for his garb, and something in his gaze,
More wild and high than woman's eye
betrays;

A latent fierceness that far more became
His fiery climate than his tender frame:
True, in his words it broke not from his
breast,

But from his aspect might be more than
guess'd.

Kaled his name, though rumour said he bore
Another ere he left his mountain-shore;
For sometimes he would hear, however nigh,

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
told

Their wonder at the calmness of the bol
Their marvel how the high-born Lara boj
Such insult from a stranger, doubly sor
The colour of young Kaled went and cam
The lip of ashes, and the cheek of flame
And o'er his brow the dampening hear
drops threw
The sickening iciness of that cold dew,
That rises as the busy bosom sinks
With heavy thoughts from which reflecti

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,
Where weakness, strength, vice, virtue,
sunk supine,

Alike in naked helplessness recline;
Glad for awhile to heave unconscious breath,
Yet wake wrestle with the dread of death,
And shun, though day but dawn on ills
increast,

That sleep, the loveliest, since it dreams the least.

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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
Almost to blackness in its demon-hue;
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,
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,

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
The friend of all who sought to w
him woe,
And from his country's justice now dema

Account of Ezzelin at Lara's hands.
Who else than Lara could have cause to 1
His presence? who had made him disapp
If not the man on whom his menaced cha
Had sate too deeply were he left at lar
The general rumour ignorantly loud,
The mystery dearest to the curious cro
The seeming friendlessness of him

strove

To win no confidence, and wake no l The sweeping fierceness which his betray'd,

The skill with which he wielded his
blade;
Where had his arm unwarlike caught
art?
Where had that fierceness grown upon
heart?

For it was not the blind capricious ra
A word can kindle and a word assua;
But the deep working of a soul unu
With aught of pity where its wrath
fix'd;
Such as long power and overgorged suc
Concentrates into all that's merciless
These, link'd with that desire which

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
or friends;

Fird 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;

Bat 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,
Bat more for him than them that fear was
grown;

They deem'd him now unhappy, though

at first

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
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!
Such is their cry-some watchword for
the fight

Their evil judgment augur'd of the worst, Must vindicate the wrong, and warp the
And each long restless night, and silent

mood,

right:

Religion-freedom-vengeance--what you

will,

We traced to sickness, fed by solitude:
And though his lonely habits threw of late A word's enough to raise mankind to kill:
Gm o'er his chamber, cheerful was his Some factious phrase by cunning caught
and spread,

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!

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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
Inquiry into deeds at distance done;
By mingling with his own the cause of all,
Een 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 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,
The deep reversion of delay'd revenge;
The well-won charms success was sure to He had hoped quiet in his sullen lair,
To ime, long baffled by the unequal match,

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:

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