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Mix d 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;
But 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,

But more for him than them that fear was grown ;
They deem'd him now unhappy, though at first
Their evil judgment augur'd of the worst,
And each long restless night, and silent mood,
Was traced to sickness, fed by solitude:
And though his lonely habits threw of late
Gloom o'er his chamber, cheerful was his gate;
For thence the wretched ne'er unsoothed withdrew,
For them, at least, his soul compassion knew.
Cold to the great, contemptuous to the high,
The humble pass'd not his unheeding eye;
Much he would speak not, but beneath his roof,
They found asylum oft, and ne'er reproof.

By circumstance compell'd to plunge again,
In self-defence, amidst the strife of men.
Cut off by some mysterious fate from those
Whom birth and nature meant not for his foes,
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,
E'en 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,
But not less fitted for the desperate game:
He deem'd himself mark'd out for others' hate
And mock'd at ruin so they shared his fate.
What cared he for the freedom of the crowd?
He raised the humble but to bend the proud.

And they who watch'd might mark that day by day He had hoped quiet in his sullen lair,
Some new retainers gather'd to his sway;
But most of late, since Ezzelin was lost,

He play'd the courteous lord and bounteous host:
Perchance his strife with Otho made him dread
Some snare prepared for his obnoxious head;
Whate'er his view, his favor more obtains
With these, the people, than his fellow thanes,
If this were policy, so far 'twas sound,
The million judged but of him as they found;
From him by sterner chiefs to exile driven
They but required a shelter, and 'twas given.
By him no peasant mourn'd his rifled cot,
And scarce the Serf could murmur o'er his lot;
With him old avarice found its hoard secure,
With him contempt forbore to mock the poor;
Youth, present cheer, and promised recompense
Detain'd, till all too late to part from thence:
To hate he offer'd, with the coming change,
The deep reversion of delay'd revenge;
To love, long baffled by the unequal match,
The well-won charms success was sure to snatch.
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
Must vindicate the wrong, and warp the right:
Religion-freedom-vengeance-what you will,
A word's enough to raise mankind to kill;
Some factious phrase by cunning caught and spread,
That guilt may reign, and wolves and worms be fed!

IX.

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 contemn'd the one, and hated both:
They waited but a leader, and they found
One to their cause inseparably bound;

But man and destiny beset him there:
Inured to hunters, he was found at bay;
And they must kill, they cannot snare the prev
Stern, unambitious, silent, he had been
Henceforth a calm spectator of life's scene.
But, dragg'd again upon the arena, stood
A leader not unequal to the feud;

In voice--mien-gesture-savage nature spoke,
And from his eye the gladiator broke.

X.

What boots the oft-repeated tale of strife,
The feast of vultures, and the waste of life?
The varying fortune of each separate field,
The fierce that vanquish, and the faint that yield ▸
The smoking ruin, and the crumbled wall?
In this the struggle was the same with all;
Save that distemper'd passions lent their force
In bitterness that banish'd all remorse.
None sued, for Mercy knew her cry was vain.
The captive died upon the battle-plain:
In either cause, one rage alone possest
The empire of the alternate victor's breast;
And they that smote for freedom or for sway,
Deem'd few were slain, while more remain'd to slay
It was too late to check the wasting brand,
And Desolation reap'd the famish'd land;
The torch was lighted, and the flame was spread.
And Carnage smiled upca her daily dead.

XI.

Fresh with the nerve the new-born impulse strung
The first success to Lara's numbers clung:
But that vain victory hath ruin'd all,
They form no longer to their leader's call;
In blind confusion on the foe they press,
And think to snatch is to secure success.
The lust of booty, and the thirst of hate,
Lure on the broken brigands to their fate:
In vain he doth whate'er a chief may do,
To check the headlong fury of that crew;
In vain their stubborn ardor he would tame,
The hand that kindles cannot quench the flame;
The wary foe alone hath turn'd their mood,
And shown their rashness to that erring brood.

The feign'd retreat the nightly ambuscade,
The daily harass, and the fight delay'd,
The long privation, and the hoped supply,
The tentless rest beneath the humid sky,
The stubborn wall that marks the leaguer's art,
And palls the patience of his baffled heart,
Of these they had not deem'd: the battle-day
They could encounter as a veteran may;
But more preferr'd the fury of the strife,
And present death, to hourly suffering life:
And famine wrings, and fever sweeps away
His numbers melting fast from their array;
Intemperate triumph fades to discontent,
And Lara's soul alone seems still unbent:
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,
And thence they may escape from native war;
And bear within them to the neighboring 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.

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?
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:
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
Who by the 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."
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.

Thy band may perish, or thy friends may flee,
Farewell to life, but not adieu to thee!"
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
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
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
Recoil before their leader's look and blow:
Now girt with numbers, now almost alone,
He foils their ranks, or reunites his own;
Himself he spared not-once they seem'd to fly-
Now was the time, he waved his hand on high,
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;
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,
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,
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,
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
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
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!

His blade is bared, in him there is an air
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;
Perchance 'twas but the moon's dim twilight threw Beneath a lime, remoter from the scene,

Along his aspect an unwonted hue

Of mournful paleness, whose deep tint exprest
The truth, and not the terror of his breast.
This Lara mark'd and laid his hand on his;
It trembled not in such an hour as this;
His lip was silent, scarcely beat his heart,
His eve alore proclaim'd, "We will not part!

XVII.

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,
And with his scarf would staunch the tides that rush
Wit' 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,
And merely adds another throb to pain.
And 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;
Save that pale aspect, where the eye, though dim,
He'd all the light that shone on earth for him.

XVIII.

The foe arrives, who lor.g had search'd the field,
Their triumph nought till Lara too should yield;
They would remove him, but they see 'twere vain,
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,
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,
To which some strange remembrance wildly clung.
They speak 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:
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.

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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;
But Lara's voice, though low, at first was clear
And calm, till murmuring death gasp'd hoarsely near,
But from his visage little could we guess,
So unrepentant, dark and passionless,
Save that when struggling nearer to his last,
Upon that page his eye was kindly cast;
And once as Kaled's answering accents ceast,
Rose Lara's hand, and pointed to the East:
Where (as then the breaking sun from high
Roll'd back the clouds) the morrow caught his eye,
Or that 'twas chance, or some remember'd scene,
That raised his arm to point where such had been,
Scarce Kaled seem'd to know, but turn'd away,
As if his heart abhorr'd that coming day,
And shrunk his glance before that morning light,
To look on Lara's brow-where all grew night.
Yet senge seem'd left, though better were its loss;
For when one near display'd the absolving cross,
And proffer'd to his touch the holy bead,

Of which his parting soul might own the need,
He look'd upon it with an eye profane,
And smiled-Heaven pardon! if 'twere with disdain;
And Kaled, though he spoke not, nor withdrew
From Lara's face his fix'd despairing view,
With brow repulsive, and with gesture swift,
Flung back the hand which held the sacred gift,

As if such but disturb'd the expiring man, Nor seem'd to know his life but then began, That life of Immortality, secure

To none, save them whose faith in Christ is sure.

XX.

But gasping heaved the breath that Lara drew,
And dull the film along his dim eye grew;

His limbs stretch'd fluttering, and his head droop'd o'er

The weak yet still untiring knee that bore;
He press'd the hand he held upon his heart-
It beats no more, but Kaled will not part
With the cold grasp, but feels, and feels in vain,
For that faint throb which answers not again.
"It beats!"-away, thou dreamer! he is gone→
It once was Lara which thou look'st upon.

XXI.

He gazed, as if not yet had pass'd away
The haughty spirit of that humble clay;
And those around have roused him from his trance
But cannot tear from thence his fixed glance;
And when in raising him from where he bore,
Within his arms the form that felt no more,
He saw the head his breast would still sustain,
Roll down like earth to earth upon the plain :
He did not dash himself thereby, nor tear
The glossy tendrils of his raven hair,
Scarce breathing more than that he loved so well,
But strove to stand and gaze, but reel'd and fell,
Than that he loved! Oh! never yet beneath
The breast of man such trusty love may breathe
That trying moment hath at once reveal'd
The secret long and yet but half-conceal'd;
Its grief seem'd ended, but the sex confest;
In baring to revive that lifeless breast,
And life return'd, and Kaled felt no shame-
What now to her was Womanhood or Fame ›

XXII.

And Lara sleeps not where his fathers sleep,
But where he died his grave was dug as deep.
Nor is his mortal slumber less profound,
Though priest nor bless'd nor marble deck'd the
mound,

And he was mourn'd by one whose quiet grief,
Less loud, outlasts a people's for their chief.
Vain was all question ask'd her of the past,
And vain e'en menace-silent to the last;
She told nor whence, nor why she left behind
Her all for one who seem'd but little kind.
Why did she love him? Curious fool!-be still-
Is human love the growth of human will?
To her he might be gentleness; the stern
Have deeper thoughts than your dull eyes discern,
And when they love, your smilers guess not how
Beats the strong heart, though less the lips avow.
They were not common links, that form'd the chair
That bound to Lara Kaled's heart and brain,
But that wild tale she brook'd not to unfold,
And seal'd is now each lip that could have told.

XXIII.

They laid him in the earth, and on his breast, Besides the wound that sent his soul to rest, They found the scatter'd dints of many a scar, Which were not planted there in recent war:

Whert er had pass'd his summer years of life,
It seems they vanish'd in a land of strife;
But all unknown his glory or his guilt,
These only told that somewhere blood was spilt,
And Ezzelin, who might have spoke the past,
Return'd no more-that night appear'd his last.

XXIV.

Upon that night (a peasant's is the tale)
A Serf that cross'd the intervening vale,
When Cynthia's light almost gave way to morn,
And nearly veil'd in mist her waning horn;
A Serf, that rose betimes to thread the wood,
And hew the bough that bought his children's food,
Pass'd by the river that divides the plain
Of Otho's lands and Lara's broad domain :
He heard a tramp-a horse and horseman broke
From out the wood-before him was a cloak
Wrapt round some burden at his saddle-bow;
Bent was his head, and hidden was his brow.
Roused by the sudden sight at such a time,
And some foreboding that it might be crime,
Himself unheeded watch'd the stranger' course,
Who reach'd the river, bounded from his horse,
And lifting thence the burden which he bore,
Heaved up the bank, and dashed it from the shore,
Then paused, and look'd, and turn'd, and seem'd to
watch,

And still another hurried glance would snatch,
And follow with his step the stream that flow'd,
As if even yet too much its surface show'd:
At once he started, stoop'd, around him strown
The winter floods had scatter'd heaps of stone;
Of these the heaviest thence he gather'd there,
And slung them with a more than common care.
Meantime the Seif had crept to where unseen
Himself might safely mark what this might mean;
He caught a glimpse, as of a floating breast,
And something glitter'd starlike on the vest,
But ere he well could mark the buoyant trunk,
A massy fragment smote it, and it sunk:
It rose again but indistinct to view,
And left the waters of a purple hue,
Then deeply disappear'd: the horseman gazed,
fill ebb'd the latest eddy it had raised;

Then turning, vaulted on his pawing steed,
And instant spurr'd him into panting speed.
His face was mask'd-the features of the dead
If dead it were, escaped the observer's dread:
But if in sooth a star its bosom bore,
Such is the badge that knighthood ever wore,
And such 'tis known Sir Ezzelin had worn
Upon the night that led to such a morn.
If thus he perish'd, Heaven receive his soul!
His undiscover'd limbs to ocean roll;
And charity upon the hope would dwell,
It was not Lara's hand by which he fell.

XXV.

And Kaled-Lara-Ezzelin, are gone,
Alike without their monumental stone!
The first, all efforts vainly strove to wean
From lingering where her chieftain's blood had beer
Grief had so tamed a spirit once too proud,
Her tears were few, her wailing never loud;
But furious would you tear her from the spot
Where yet she scarce believed that he was not
Her eye shot forth with all the living fire
That haunts the tigress in her whelpless ire,
But left to waste her weary moments there,
She talk'd all idly unto shapes of air,
Such as the busy brain of Sorrow paints,
And woos to listen to her fond complaints:
And she would sit beneath the very tree
Where lay his drooping head upon her knee;
And in that posture where she saw him fall,
His words, his looks, his dying grasp recall:
And she had shorn, but saved her raven hair,
And oft would snatch it from her bosom there,
And foll, and press it gently to the ground,
As if she staunched anew some phantom's wound
Herself would question, and for him reply;
Then rising, start, and beckon him to fly
From some imagined spectre in pursuit ;
Then seat her down upon some linden's root,
And hide her visage with her meagre hand,
Or trace strange characters along the sand-
This could not last-she lies by him she loved,
Her tale untold-her truth too dearly proved.

NOTE TO LARA.

THE event in section xxiv Canto II. was sug- he replied, that he saw two men on foot, who caine gested by the description of the death or rather down the street, and looked diligently about, to burial of the Duke of Gandia. observe whether any person was passing. That The most interesting and particular account of seeing no one, they returned, and a short time afthis mysterious event is given by Burchard, and is terwards two others came, and looked around in the in substance as follows: "On the eighth day of same manner as the former: no person still appearJune, the Cardinal of Valenza, and the Duke of ing, they gave a sign to their companions, when a Gandia, sons of the Pope, supped with their mother, man came, mounted on a white horse, having beVanozza, near the church of S. Pietro ad vincula; hind him a dead body, the head and arms of which several other persons being present at the entertain- hung on one side, and the feet on the other side of ment. A late hour approaching, and the cardinal the horse; the two persons on foot supporting the having reminded his brother, that it was time to body, to prevent its falling. They thus proceeded return to the apostolic palace, they mounted their towards that part where the filth of the city is usuhorses or mules, with only a few attendants, and ally discharged into the river, and turning the horse, proceeded together as far as the palace of the Car- with his tail towards the water, the two persons dinal Ascanio Sforza, when the duke informed the took the dead body by the arms and feet, and with cardinal, that before he returned home, he had to all their strength flung it into the river. The per pay a visit of pleasure. Dismissing therefore all son on horseback then asked if they had thrown it his attendants except his staffiero, or footman, and in, to which they replied, Signor, si (yes, Sir.) He a person in a mask, who had paid him a visit whilst then looked towards the river, and seeing a mantle at supper, and who, during the space of a month or floating on the stream, he inquired what it was that thereabouts, previous to this time, had called upon appeared black, to which they answered, it was a him almost daily, at the apostolic palace, he took mantle; and one of them threw stones upon it, in this person behind him on his mule, and proceeded consequence of which it sunk. The attendants of to the street of the Jews, where he quitted his ser- the pontiff then inquired from Giorgio, why he had vant, directing him to remain there until a certain not revealed this to the governor of the city; to hour; when, if he did not return, he might repair which he replied, that he had seen in his time a to the palace. The duke then seated the person in hundred dead bodies thrown into the river at the the mask behind him, and rode, I know not whither; same place, without any inquiry being made respect out in that night he was assassinated, and thrown ing them, and that he had not therefore, consider into the river. The servant, after having been ed it as a matter of any importance. The fisherdismissed, was also assaulted and mortally wound- men and seamen were then collected, and ordered ed; and although he was attended with great care, to search the river, where, on the following eveyet such was his situation, that he could give no in- ning, they found the body of the duke, with his telligible account of what had befallen his master. habit entire, and thirty ducats in his purse. He In the morning, the duke not having returned to was pierced with nine wounds, one of which was in the palace, his servants began to be alarmed; and his throat, the others in his head, body, and limbs. one of them informed the pontiff of the evening No sooner was the pontiff informed of the death of excursion of his sons, and that the duke had not his son, and that he had been thrown, like filth, yet made his appearance. This gave the pope no into the river, than, giving way to his grief, he small anxiety; but he conjectured that the duke shut himself up in a chamber, and wept bitterly. had been attracted by some courtesan to pass the The Cardinal of Segovia, and other attendants on night with her, and not choosing to quit the house the pope, went to the door, and after many hours m open day, had waited till the following evening spent in persuasions and exhortations, prevailed to return home. When, however, the evening ar- upon him to admit them. From the evening of rived, and he found himself disappointed in his ex- Wednesday, till the following Saturday, the pope pectations, he became deeply afflicted, and began to took no food; nor did he sleep from Thursday mornmake inquiries from different persons, whom he or-ing till the same hour on the ensuing day. At dered to attend him for that purpose. Among length, however, giving way to the entreaties of his these was a man named Giorgio Schiavoni, who, attendants, he began to restrain his sorrow, and tɑ having discharged some timber from a bark in the consider the injury which his own health might sus. river, had remained on board the vessel to watch it, tain, by the further indulgence of his grief."-Ro and being interiogated whether he had seen any coe's Leo Tenth, vol. i. page 265. one thrown into the river cn the night preceding,

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