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But, as thou wast and art, on thee looks | With which that chieftain's brow would bear him down : Distrusts thy smiles, but shakes not at thy It was nor smile of mirth, nor struggling
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. thou, 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, Though like Count Lara now return'd alone From 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."
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 share:
And pleased not him the sports that please his age,
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of the page; For hours on Lara he would fix his glance, As all-forgotten in that watchful trance; And from his chief withdrawn, he wander'd lone, Brief were his answers, and his questions none;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 resting-place the
His walk the wood, his sport some foreign book; 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 No gift beyond that bitter boon—our birth.
If aught he loved, 'twas Lara; but was
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;
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:
Kaled his name, though rumour said he bore
That name repeated loud without reply,
He had look'd down upon the festive hall And mark'd that sudden strife so mark' of all;
And when the crowd around and near hir told
Their wonder at the calmness of the bold
Yes-there be things that we must drea
And execute ere thought be half aware:'
And all within that hall seem'd left alon Each had so fix'd his eye on Lara's mien, All had so mix'd their feelings with th
That when his long dark shadow throug the porch No more relieves the glare of yon hi torch, Each pulse beats quicker, and all bosor To bound as doubting from too black dream,
Such as we know is false, yet dread
sooth, Because the worst is ever nearest truth. And they are gone-but Ezzelin is there But long remain'd not; ere an hour expir With thoughtful visage and imperious ai He waved his hand to Otho, and retired.
The crowd are gone, the revellers at res The courteous host,and all-approving gues Again to that accustom'd couch must cre Where joy subsides, and sorrow sighs, sleep. And man, o'er-labour'd with his being strife, Shrinks to that sweet forgetfulness of lif
Ꮮ Ꭺ Ꭱ Ꭺ.
There lie love's feverish hope and cunning's | Why comes he not? Such truths to be guile,
Hate's working brain, and lull'd ambition's Methinks the accuser's rest is long indulged. 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? Night's sepulchre, the universal home, Where weakness, strength, vice, virtue, sunk supine, Ake in naked helplessness recline; d for awhile to heave unconscious breath, levde to wrestle with the dread of death, Adban, though day but dawn on ills increast, That sleep, the loveliest, since it dreams the least.
Twanes the vapours round the Cisto morn, and Light awakes the world. has another day to swell the past, lead him near to little, but his last; tighty Nature bounds as from her birth, in the heavens, and life on earth; vers in the valley, splendour in the
beam, aish on the gale, and freshness in the
tal man! behold her glories shine, y exulting inly, "they are thine!" , while yet thy gladden'd eye may Arrow comes when they are not for thee: grieve what may above thy senseless bier, earth nor sky will yield a single tear; Send shall gather more, nor leaf shall
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 ;
To morn-'tis noon-assembled in the The rather'd chieftains come to Otho's call; now the promised hour, that must proclaim
The life or death of Lara's future fame;
His faith was
To meet it in the eye of man and heaven.
He ceased--and Lara answer'd, "I am here
But that I deem'd him scarcely less than
Proud Otho on the instant, reddening, threw
Its grasp well-used to deal the sabre-stroke;
Serne breathe forth one sigh for thee, fall, But creping things shall revel in their In vain the circling chieftains round them
Did Lara too his willing weapon bare.
at thy clay to fertilize the soil. spoil,
For Otho's phrenzy would not be opposed;
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, sward. For Lara's brow upon the moment grew Some such had been, if here a life was ref Almost to blackness in its demon-hue; But these were not; and doubting hop And fiercer shook his angry falchion now is left; Than when his foe's was levell'd at his And strange suspicion, whispering Lara 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
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
Their search extends along, around the path,
Now daily mutters o'er his blacken'd fam
Days roll along, and Otho's wounds a
But not his pride;
He was a man of power, and Lara's fo
Account of Ezzelin at Lara's hands.
Such as himself might fear, and foes w
But none are there, and not a brake hath
borne Nor gout of blood, nor shred of mantle torn ; Nor fall nor struggle hath defaced the grass, Which still retains a mark where murder was;
Within that land was many a malcon
Nor dabbling fingers left to tell the tale,
When agonized hands that cease to guard, | New havock, such as civil discord bi
Which knows no neuter, owns but foes 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
Fir'd in his feudal fortress each was lord,
But that long absence from his native clime
They deem'd him now unhappy, though
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
Was traced to sickness, fed by solitude:
And though his lonely habits threw of late A word's enough to raise mankind to kill: Glom o'er his chamber, cheerful was his Some factious phrase by cunning caught
They found asylum oft, and ne'er reproof. And they who watch'd might mark that day by day
new retainers gather'd to his sway; But most of late, since Ezzelin was lost, play'd the courteous lord and bounteous host:
France his strife with Otho made him
mare prepared for his obnoxious head; Feer his view, his favour more obtains With these, the people, than his fellow
policy, so far 'twas sound, million judged but of him as they found; him by sterner chiefs to exile driven They but required a shelter, and 'twas given. him no peasant mourn'd his rifled cot, scarce the Serf could murmur o'er his lot; ith him old avarice found his hoard
Whim contempt forbore to mock the
present cheer and promised recompense
and spread, That guilt may reign, and wolves and worms be fed!
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 contemned the one, and hated
They waited but a leader, and they found
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,
But not less fitted for the desperate game:
Dead, till all too late to part from He deem'd himself mark'd out for others'
Thate he offer'd, with the coming change, And mock'd at ruin so they shared his fate.
To love, long baffled by the unequal match, He raised the humble but to bend the proud.
What cared he for the freedom of the crowd?