Vain thought! that hour of ne'er unra- | Which tenderness might once have wrung vell❜d gloom from rest;

Came not again, or Lara could assume
A seeming of forgetfulness, that made
His vassals more amazed nor less afraid-
Had memory vanish'd then with sense
restored?

Sace word, nor look, nor gesture of their
lord

Betray'd a feeling that recall'd to these
That fever'd moment of his mind's disease.
Was it a dream? was his the voice that
spoke

These strange wild accents? his the cry
that broke

Their slumber? his the oppress'd o'er-
labour'd heart
That ceased to beat, the look that made
them start?

Could he who thus had suffer'd, so forget,
Then such as saw that suffering shudder
yet?

Or did that silence prove his memory fix'd
I deep for words, indelible, unmix'd
that corroding secrecy which gnaws
The heart to show the effect, but not the
cause?

in him; his breast had buried both,
Serremmon gazers could discern the growth
thoughts that mortal lips must leave
half told;
They choke the feeble words that would
unfold.

him inexplicably mix'd appear'd Mach to be loved and hated, sought and fear'd; Opinion varying o'er his hidden lot, praise or railing ne'er his name forgot; lence form'd a theme for others' prate

They guess'd-they gazed-they fain would

know his fate. What had be been? what was he, thus unknown,

The walk'd their world, his lineage only

known?

In vigilance of grief that would compel
The soul to hate for having loved too well.

There was in him a vital scorn of all:
As if the worst had fall'n which could befall,
He stood a stranger in this breathing world,
An erring spirit from another hurl'd;
A thing of dark imaginings, that shaped
By choice the perils he by chance escaped;
But 'scaped in vain, for in their memory yet
His mind would half exult and half regret:
With more capacity for love than earth
Bestows on most of mortal mould and birth,
His early dreams of good outstripp'd the
truth,

And troubled manhood follow'd baffled
youth;

With thought of years in phantom-chase
mispent,
And wasted powers for better purpose lent;
And fiery passions that had pour'd their
wrath
In hurried desolation o'er his path,
And left the better feelings all at strife
In wild reflection o'er his stormy life;
But haughty still, and loth himself to blame,
He call'd on Nature's self to share the shame,
And charged all faults upon the fleshly form
She gave to clog the soul, and feast the

worm;

"Till he at last confounded good and ill,
And half mistook for fate the acts of will:
Too high for common selfishness, he could
At times resign his own for others' good,
But not in pity, not because he ought,
But in some strange perversity of thought,
That sway'd him onwards with a secret
pride

To do what few or none would do beside;
And this same impulse would, in tempting
time,

Mislead his spirit equally to crime;
So much he soar'd beyond, or sunk beneath

The men with whom he felt condemn'd to
breathe,

Atter of his kind? yet some would say,
With them he could seem gay amidst the And long'd by good or ill to separate
Himself from all who shared his mortal

gay;

But own'd, that smile, if oft observed and

state;

His mind abhorring this had fix'd her throne
Far from the world, in regions of her own:
Thus coldly passing all that pass'd below,
His blood in temperate seeming now would
flow:

Ah! happier if it ne'er with guilt had glow'd,
But ever in that icy smoothness flow'd!
'Tis true, with other men their path he
walk'd,

And like the rest in seeming did and talk'd,
Nor outraged Reason's rules by flaw nor start,
His madness was not of the head, but heart;
And rarely wander'd in his speech, or drew
His thoughts so forth as to offend the view.

With all that chilling mystery of mien, | Of keen inquiry, and of mute amaze;
And seeming gladness to remain unseen;
He had (if 'twere not nature's boon) an art
Of fixing memory on another's heart:
It was not love perchance-nor hate-nor
aught

That words can image to express the thought;
But they who saw him did not see in vain,
And once beheld, would ask of him again:
And those to whom he spake remember'd
well,

And on the words, however light, would
dwell:

None knew, nor how, nor why, but he

entwined

There is a festival, where knights and

dames,
And aught that wealth or lofty lineage
claims

Appear a highborn and a welcome guest
To Otho's hall came Lara with the rest.
The long carousal shakes the illumined hall,
Well speeds alike the banquet and the ball;
And the gay dance of bounding Beauty's
train

Links grace and harmony in happiest chain:
Blest are the early hearts and gentle hands
That mingle there in well according bands;
It is a sight the careful brow might smoothe,
And make Age smile, and dream itself to
youth,

And Youth forget such hour was past on
earth,
So springs the exulting bosom to that mirth!

And Lara gazed on these, sedately glad, His brow belied him if his soul was sad; And his glance follow'd fast each fluttering fair,

On Lara's glance emotion gathering gre
As if distrusting that the stranger thre
Along the stranger's aspect fix'd and ster
Flash'd more than thence the vulgar e
could learn.

""Tis he!" the stranger cried, and the that heard, Re-echoed fast and far the whisper'd wor "Tis he!"""Tis who?" they questi far and near, Till louder accents rung on Lara's ear; So widely spread, few bosoms well co

brook

They knew, or chose to know-with dubi look

He deign'd no answer, but his head he sho And half contemptuous turn'd to pass aw But the stern stranger motion'd him to st “A word!—I charge thee stay, and ans here

Whose steps of lightness woke no echo there:
He lean'd against the lofty pillar nigh,
With folded arms and long attentive eye,
Nor mark'd a glance so sternly fix'd on his,
Ill brook'd high Lara scrutiny like this:
At length he caught it, 'tis a face unknown,
But seems as searching his, and his alone;
Prying and dark, a stranger's by his mien,
Who still till now had gazed on him unseen; But as thou wast and art-nay, frown
At length encountering meets the mutual
gaze

To one, who, wert thou noble, were peer,

lord,

If false, 'tis easy to disprove the word