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Cold to the great, contemptuous to the nighi, By mingling with his own the causc of all,
The humble pass'd not his unheedling eye;

E’en if hc fail'dı, he still delay'd his fall.
Much he would speak not, but beneath his roof The sullen calm that long his bosom kept,
They found asylum oft, and ne'er reproof. The storm that once had spent itself and slept,
And they who watch'd might mark that, day by day, Roused by events that seem'd foredoom'd to urge
Some new retainers gallier'd to his sway;

His gloomy fortunes to their utmost verge, But most of late, since Ezzelin was lost,

Burst forth, and made him all he once had been, He play'd the courteous lord and bounteous host : And is again ; he only changed the scene. Perchance his strife with Otho made him dread Light care bail he for life, and less for fame, Some snare prepared for his obnoxious head; But not less filted for the desperate game: Whate'er his view, his favour more obtains He dcem'd himself mark'd out for others' hate, With these, the people, than his fellow thanes. And mock'd at ruin so they shared his fate. If this were policy, so far it was sound,

What cared he for the freedom of the crowd ? The million judged but of him as they found; He raised the humble but to bend the proud. From him, by sterner chiefs to exile driven, He had hoped quiet in his sullen lair, They but required a shelter, and 't was given. But man and destiny beset him there: By him no peasant mourn’d his rifled cot,

Inured to hunters, he was found at bay; And scarce the serf could murmur o'er his lot; And they must kill, they cannot snare the prey. With him old avarice found its hoard secure, Stern, unambitious, silent, he had been With him contempt forbore !o mock the poor ; Henceforth a calm spectator of life's scene; Youth present cheer and promised recompense But, dragg’d again upon the arena, stood Detain'd, till all too late to part from thence: A leader not unequal to the feud; To hate he offer’d, with the coming change, In voice-mien-gesture-savage nature spoke, The deep reversion of delay’ıl revenge;

And from his eye the gladiator broke. To love, long baffled by the unequal match,

X. The well-won charms success was sure to snatch. All now was ripe, he waits but to proclaim What boots the oft-repeated tale of strife, That slavery nothing which was still a name. The feast of vultures, and the waste of life? The moment came, the hour when Otho thought The varying fortune of cachi separate field, Secure at last the vengeance which he sought: The fierce that vanquish, and the faint that yield ? His summons found the destined criminal

The smoking ruin, and the crumbled wall? Begirt by thousands in his swarming hall, In this the struccle was the same with all; Fresh from their feudal fetters newly riven, Save that distemper'd passions lent their force Defying earth, and confident of heaven.

In bitterness that banish d all remorse. That morning he had freed the soil-bound slaves

None sued, for Mercy knew her cry was vain, Who dig no land for tyrants but their graves! The captive died upon the battle-plain: Such is their cry-some watchword for the fight In either cause, one rage alone possess'd Must vindicate the wrong, and warp the right; The empire of the alternate victor's breast; Religion-freedom-vengeance-what you will, And they that smole for freedom or for sway A word's enough to raise mankind to kill; Deem'd few were slain, while more remaind to slay. Some factious phrase by cunning caught and spread, it was too late to check the wasting brand, That guilt may reign, and wolves and worms be fed! And Desolation reap'd the famish'd land;

The torch was lighted, and the flame was spread, IX.

And Carnage smiled upon her daily dead. Throughout that clime thc feudal chiefs had gain'd

Such sway, their infant monarch hardly reigo'd;
Now was the hour for faction's rebel growth, Fresh with the nerve the new-born impulse strung,
The serfs contemn’d the one, and hated both:

The first success to Lara's numbers clung:
They waited but a leader, and they found But that vain victory hath ruin'd all;
One to their cause inseparably bound;

They form no longer to their leader's call:
By circumstance compelled to plunge again, In blind confusion on the foe they press,
In self-defence, amidst the strife of men.

And think to snatch is to secure success.
Cut off by some mysterious fate from those The lust of booty, and the thirst of hate,
Wbom birth and nature meant not for his foes, Lure on the broken brigands to their fale:
Had Lara from that night, to bim accurst,

In vain he doth whate'er a chief may do, Prepared to meet, but not alone, the worst; To check the headlong fury of that crew; Some reason urged, whate'er it was, to shun In vain their stubborn ardour he would lame, Inquiry into deeds at distance done;

The hand that kindles cannot quench the flame;


The war; foc alone hath turn'd their mood, A something of indifference more than then
And shown their rashness to that erring brood: Becomes the bravest, if they feel for men.
The feign'd retreat, the nightly ambuscade, He turn’d his eye on Kaled, ever near,
The daily harass, and the fight delay'd,

And still loo faithful to betray one fear;
The long privation of the hoped supply,

Perchance't was but the moon's diin twilight threw The lentless rest beneath the humid sky,

Along his aspect an unwonted liue The stubborn wall that mocks the leaguer's art, Of mournful paleness, whose deep tint express'd And palls the patience of his baffled heart, The truth, and not the terror of his brcast. Of these they had not deem’d : the battle-day This Lara mark'd, and laid his hand on his : They could encounter as a veteran may ;

It trembled not in such an hour as this; But more preferr'd the fury of the strife,

His lip was silent, scarcely beat his heart, And present death, lo hourly suffering life:


eye alone proclaim'd, “We will not part! And famine wrings, and fever sweeps away Thy band may perish, or thy friends may fee, His numbers melting fast from their array; Farewell to life, but not adieu to thee!" Intemperate triumph fades to discontent,

The word hath pass'd his lips, and onward driven, And Lara's soul alone seems still unbent:

Pours ihe link'd band through ranks asunder riven, But few remain to aid his voice and hand,

Well has each steed obey'd the armed heel, And thousands dwindled to a scanty band: And flash the scimilars, and rings the steel; Desperate, though few, the last and best remain'd Outnumber'd, not outbraved, they still oppose To mourn the discipline they late disdain'd. Despair to daring, and a front to foes; One hope survives, the frontier is not far,

And blood is mingled with the dashing stream, fod thence they may escape from native war; Which runs all redly till the morning beam. And bear within them to the neighbouring state

An exile's sorrows, or an outlaw's hale:
Hard is the task their father-land to quit,

Commanding, aiding, animating all,
But harder still to perish or submit.

Where foe appear’d to press, or friend to fall,

Cheers Lara's voice, and waves or strikes his steel ; XII.

Inspiring hope himself had ceased to feel. It is resolved--they march-consenting Night None fled, for well they knew that flight were vain ; Guides with her star their dim and torchless flight; But those that waver turn to smite again, Alrcady they perceive its tranquil beam

While yet they find the firmest of the foe Sleep on the surface of the barrier stream:

Recoil before their leader's look and blow: Already they descry-Is yon the bank?

Now girt with numbers, now almost alone, Away! 't is lined wilh many a hostile rank. He foils their ranks, or re-unites his own; Return or fly!- What glitters in the rear ? Himself he spared not-ouce they seem'd to flyTis Otho's banner-the pursuer's spear!

Now was the time, he waved his hand on high, Are those the shepherds' fires upon the height? And shook-Why sudden droops that plumed crest Alas! they blaze too widely for the flight: The shaft is sped—the arrow's in his breast! Cut off from hope, and compass d in the toil, That fatal gesture left the unguarded side, Less blood perchance hath bought a richer spoil! And Death hath stricken down yon arm of pride.

The word of triumph fainted from his tongue; XIII.

That hand, so raised, how droopingly it hung ! A moment's pause—'t is but to breathe their band, But yet the sword instinctively retains, Or shall they onward press, or here withstand ? Though from its fellow shrink the falling reins; 11 matters little-if they charge the foes

These Kaled snatches: dizzy with the blow, Who by the border-stream their march oppose, And senseless bending o'er his saddle-bow, Some few, perchance, may break and pass the line, Perceives not Lara that his anxious page However link'd to baffle such design.

Beguiles his charger from the combat's

raje : “The charge be ours ! to wait for their assault Meantime his followers charge, and charge again; Were fate well worthy of a coward's halt.” Too mix'd the slayers now to heed the slain ! 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 Day glimmers on the dying and the dead,
How many shall but hear the voice of death! The cloven cuirass, and the helmless head;

The war-horse masterless is on the earth,

And that last gasp hath burst his bloody girth; His blade is bared,-in him there is an air

And near, yet quivering with what life remainid, As deep, but far too tranquil for despair; The heel that urged him and the hand that rein'd;


And some too near that rolling tortcrit lic, They seem'd even then—that twain-unto the last
Whose waters inock the lip of those that die; To half forget the present in the past;
That panting thirst wbich scorches in the breath To share between themselves some separale fate,
Of those that die lle soldier's fiery death,

Whose darkness none beside should penetrale.
In vain impels the burning mouth to crave
One drop—The last—lo cool it for the grave;

Their words, though faint,were many-from the tone With feeble and convulsive effort swept,

Their import those who heard could judge alone; Their limbs along the crimson'd turf have crept;

From this, you might have deem'd young Kaled's The faint remains of life such struggles waste,

death But yel they reach the stream, and bend to taste:

More near than Lara’s by his voice and breath, They feel its freshness, and almost partakeWhy pause ? No further thirst have they to slake The accents his scarce-moving pale lips spoke ;

So sad, so deep, and hesitating broke It is unquenchd, and yet they feel it not ;

But Lara's voice, though low, at first was clear It was an agony--but now forgot !

And calm, till murmuring death gasp'd hoarsely near XVII.

But from his visage little could we guess, Beneath a lime, remoter from the scene,

So unrepentant, dark, and passionless, Where but for him that strife had never been,

Save that, when struggling nearer to his last, A breathing but devoted warrior lay:

Upon that page his eye was kindly cast; 'T was Lara bleeding fast from life away.

And once, as Kaled's answering accents ceased, His follower once, and now his unly guide,

Rose Lara's hand, and pointed to the East : Kneels Kaled, watchful o'er his welling side,

Whether (as then the breaking sun from high And with his scarf would stanch the tides that rush, Rolld back the clouds) the morrow caught his eye, With each convulsion, in a blacker gush;

Or that 't was chance, or some remember'd scene, And then, as his faint breathing waxes low,

That raised his arm to point where such had been, In feebler, not less fatal tricklings flow :

Scarce Kaled seem'd to know, but turn'd away, He scarce can speak, but motions him 't is vain,

As if his heart abhorr'd that coming day, And merely adds another throb to pain.

And shrunk his glance before that morning light, He clasps the hand that pang which would

To look on Lara's brow—where all grew night.

assuage, And sadly smiles his thanks to that dark page,

Yet sense seem'd left, though better were its loss ; Who nothing fears, nor feels, nor heeds,

For when one near display'd the absolving cross, Save that damp brow which rests upon his knees; And proffer'd to his touch the holy bead, Save that pale aspect, where the eye, though dim, of which his parting soul might own the need, Held all the light that shone on earth for him.

He look'd upon it with an eye profane,

And smiled—Heaven pardon! if't were with disdain: XVIII.

And Kaled, though he spoke not, nor withdrew The foe arrives, who long had search'd the field, From Lara's face his tix’d despairing view, Their triumph nought till Lara too should yield; With brow repulsive, and with gesture swift, They would remove him, but they see 't were vain, Flung back the hand which held the sacred gift, And he regards them with a calm disdain,

As if such but disturb'd the expiring man, That rose to reconcile him with his fate,

Nor seem'd to know his life but then began, And that escape to death from living hale:

That life of immortality, secure And Otho comes, and, leaping from his steed,

To none save them whose faith in Christ is sure. Looks on the bleeding loe that made him bleed,

XX. And questions of his state; he answers not, But gasping heaved the breath that Lara drew, Scarce glances on him as on one forgot,

And dull the film along his dim eye grew; And turns to Kaled :-each remaining word His limbs stretch'd fluttering, and his head droop'd They understood not, if distinctly heard :

The weak yet still untiring knee that bore; (o'er His dying lones are in that other tongue,

He press'd the hand he held upon his heartTo which some strange remembrance wildly clung. It beats no more, but Kaled will not part They spake of other scenes, but what-is known With the cold grasp, but feels, and feels in vain, To Kaled, whom their meaning reach'd alone; For that faint throb which answers not again. And he replied, though faintly, to their sound, “It beats !”—Away, thou dreamer! he is goneWhile gazed the rest in dumb amazement round: It once was Lara which thou look’st upon. (1)

nor sees,

(1) “ The death of Lara is, by far, the finest passage in the poem. pictures of mental energy and affection with which it is combined. fand is fully equal to any thing else which the author ever wrote. The whole sequel of the poem is written with equal vigour and The physical horror of the event, though described with a terrible feeling, and may be put in competition with any thing that poetry orce and tidelity, is both relieved and enhanced by the beautiful, has produced, in point either of pathos or energy” Jeffrey.


Vair was all question ask'd her of the past, He gazed, as if not yet had passd away

And vain e'en menace--silent to the last ; The haughty spirit of that humble clay:

She told nor whence nor why she left behind And those around have roused him from his trance, Her all for one who seem'd but little kind. But cannot Icar from thence his fixed glance; Why did she love him ? Curious fool!—be stillAnd when, in raising him from where he bore Is human love the growth of human will ? Within his arms the form that felt no more,

To her he might be gentleness; the stern He saw the head his breast would still sustain Have deeper thoughts than your dull eyes discern, Roll down, like earth to earth, upon the plain,

And when they love, your smilers guess not how He did not dash himself thereby, nor tear

Beals the strong heart, though less the lips avow, The glossy tendrils of his raven hair,

They were not common links, that form’dd the chain But strove lo stand and gaze, but reeld and fell,

That bound to Lara kaleil's lieart and brain; Scarce breathing more than that he loved so well. But that wild tale she brook'd not to unfoli, Than that he loved! Oh! never yet beneath

And seal'd is now cach lip that could have lole. The breast of man such trusty love may breathe!

XXIU. That trying moment hath at once reveal'd

They laid him in the carth; and on his lireast, | The secret long and yet but half conceal'd;

Besides the wound that sent his soul to rest, In baring to revive that lifeless breast,

They found the scalter'd dints of many a scar, Its grief seem'd ended, but the sex confest;

Which were not planted there in recent war: And life return'd, and Kaled felt no shame

Where'er had pass’d his sumner years of life,
What now to her was womanhood or fame?

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 spill, And Lara sleeps nol where his fathers sleep, But where he died his grave was dug as deep:

And Ezzelin, who might have spoke the past, Nor is bis mortal slumber less profound, (mound;

Relurn'd no more-That night appeard his last. Though priest nor bless'd nor marble deck'd the

Anii he was mourn’d by one whose quiet grief, Upon that night (a peasant's is the tale)
Less !oud, outlasts a people's for their chief. A serf that cross d the interveningvale, (1)

(1) The event in this section was suggested by the description disappointed in his expectations, he became deeply aftlicted, of the death, or rather burial, of the Duke of Gandia. The most and began to make inquiries from different persons, whom he interesting and particular account of it is given by Burchard, and ordered 10 allend him for that purpose. Amongst these was a is in substance as follows:-“On the eighth day of June, the Car- man named Giorgio Schiavoni, who, having discharged some dinal of Valenza and the Duke of Candia, sons of the Pope, supped limber from a bark in the river, lad remained on board the vessel with their mother, Vanozza, near the church of S. Pietro ad lo watch it; and being interrogated whether he had seen any one Vincula, several other persons being present at the enter-thrown into the river on the nighit preceding, he replied, that he tainment. A late hour approaching, and the cardinal having såw iwo men on foot, who came down the street, and looked direminded his brother that it was time to return to the apostolic ligently about, to observe whether any person was passing That

palace, they mounted their horses or mules, with only a few al. seeing no one, they returned, and a short time afterwards two tendants, and proceeded together as far as the palace of Cardinal others came, and looked around in the same manner as the for

Ascanio Sforza, when the duke informed the cardinal that, before mer: no person still appearing, they gave a sign to their compabe returned home, he had to pay a visit of pleasure. Dismissing nions, when a man came, mounted on a white horse, having therefore all his attendants, excepting his slappero, or footman, behind him a dead body, the head and arms of which hung on one and a person in a mask, who had paid him a visit whilst al supper, side, and the sect on the other side of the horse ; tbe iwo persons and who, during the space of a month or thereabouts, previous to

on soot supporting the body, lo prevent ils falling. They thus this time, bad called upon him almost daily, at the apostolic pa- proceeded towards that part, where the filth of the city is usually lace, he look this person behind him on his mule, and proceeded discharged into the river, and turning the horse, with his tail to the street of the Jews, where he quilled his servant, directing towards the water, the iwo persons took the dead body by the bim to remain there until a certain hour; when, if he did not

arms and feel, and with all their strength flung it into the river return, he might repair to the palace. The duke then sealed the The person on horseback then asked if they had thrown it in; lo person in the mask bebind him, and rode, I know not whither; which they replied, Signor, si (yes, Sir). He then looked lowards but in that night he was assassinated, and thrown into the river. the river, and seeing a mantle floating on the stream, he inquired The servant, after having been dismissed, was also assaulted and what it was that appeared black, to which they answered, it was mortally wounded ; and although he was attended with great care, a mantle; and one of them threw stones upon it, in consequence yet such was his situation, that he could give no intelligible of which it sunk. The attendants of the pontil then inquired account of what had befallen his master, In the morning, the from Giorgio, why he had not revealed this to the governor of duke not having returned 10 the palace, his servants began to be the city; lo which be replied, that he had seen in his time a hunalarmed; and one of them inforined the pontiff of the evening dred dead bodies thrown into the river at the same place, without escursion of his sons, and that the duke had not yet made his any inquiry being made respecting them; and that he had not, appearance. This gave the pope no small anxiety; but he con- therefore, considered it as a matter of any importance. The jectured that the duke bad been attracted by some courtesan lo fishermen and seamen were then collected, and ordered to search pass the night with her, and, not choosing to quit the house in the river, where, on the following evening, they found the body open day, had waited till the following evening to return home of the duke, with his habit entire, and thirty ducats in his purse. When, however, the evening arrived, and he found himsell He was pierced with nine wounds, one of which was in his throal,

When Cynthia's light almost gave way to morn, But if in soolh a star its bosom bore,
And nearly veil'd in mist her waning horn; Such is the badge that knighthood ever wore,
A serf, that rose betimes to thread the wood, And such 't is known Sir Ezzelin had worn
And hew the bought hat bough this children's Upon the night that led to such a morn.

If thus he perish’d, Heaven receive his soul!
Pass'd by the river that divides the plain

His undiscover'd limbs to ocean roll;
Of Olho's lands and Lara's broad domain : And charity upon the hope would dwell
He heard a tramp-a horse and horseman broke It was not Lara's hand by which he fell.
From out the wood-before him was a cloak

Wrapt round some burthen at his saddle-bow,
Bent was his head, and hidden was his brow. And Kaled-Lara-Ezzelin, are gone,
Roused by the sudden sight at such a time, Alike without their monumental stone!
And some foreboding that it inight be crime, The first, all efforts vainly strove to wean
Himself unheeded watch'd the stranger's course, From lingering where her chieftain's blood had been.
Who reach'd the river, bounded from his horse, Grief had so tamed a spirit once too proud,
And lifting thence the burthen which he bore, Her tears were few, her wailing never loud:


the bank, and dash'd it from the shore; But furious would you tear her from the spot Then pauscd, and look’d, and turn'd, and seem'd Where yet she scarce believed that he was not, 10 watch,

Her eye shot forth with all the living fire And still another hurried glance would snatch, That haunts the tigress in her whelpless ire; And follow with his step the stream that flow'd, But left to waste her weary moments there, As if even yet loo much its surface show'd : She talk'd all idly unto shapes of air, At once he started, stoop'd, around him strown Such as the busy brain of Sorrow paints, The winter floods had scatter'd heaps of stone; And woos to listen to her fond complaints : Of these the heaviest thence he gather'd there, And she wouid sit beneath the very tree And slung them with a more than common care. Where lay his drooping head upon her knee; Meantime the serf had crept to where unseen And in that posture where she saw him fall, Himself might safely mark what this might mean; His words, his looks, his dying grasp recall; He caught a glimpse, as of a floating breast, And she had shorn but saved her raven hair, And something glitter'd starlike on the vest : And oft would snatch it from her bosom there, But, ere he well could mark the buoyant trunk, And fold and press it gently to the ground, A massy fragment smole it, and it sunk :

As if she stanch'd anew some phantom's wound. It. rose again, but indistinct to view,

Herself would question, and for him reply: And left the waters of a purple hue,

Then rising, start, and beckon him to fly Then dreply disappear’d: the horseman gazed From some imagined spectre in pursuit ; Till ebbid ihe latest cddy it had raised;

Then seat her down upon some linden's root, Then, turning, vaulted on his pawing steed, And hide her visage with her meagre hand, And instant spurr'd him into panting speed. Or trace strange characters along the sand. His face was mask'd-the features of the dead, This could not last-she lies by himn she loved; If dead it were, escaped the observer's dread: Her tale untold-her truth too dearly proved. (1)

The others in his head, body, and limbs. No sooner was the pon

"Lara has some charms which The Corsair has not. It is till informed of the death of his son, and that he had been tbrown, more domestic; it calls forth more sympathies with polished so like filth, into the river, than, giving way to his grief, he shut ciety; it is more intellectual, but much less passionale, less vihimself up in a chamber, and wept bilterly. Thic Cardinal of gorous, and less brilliant; it is sometimes even languid,-at any Segovio, and other allendants on the pope, went to the door, and, ratc, it is more diffuse." Sir E. Brydges. after many hours spent in persuasions and exhortations, prevailed Lara, obviously the sequel of The Corsair, maintains in geupon him to admit them. From the evening of Wednesday till ncral the same lone of deep interest and losty seeling; though the the following Saturday the pope look no food; nor did he sleep disappearance of Medora from the scene deprives it of the enfrom Thursday morning till the same hour on the ensuing day. chanting sweetness by which its terrors are there redeemed, and At length, however, giving way to the entreaties of his allendants, makes the hero, on the whole, less captivating. The character of he began to restrain his sorrow, and to consider the injury which Lara, too, is rather loo laboriously finished, and his nocturnal his own health might sustain, by i he further indulgence of his encounter with the apparition is worked up too ostentatiously. grief."- Roscoe's Leo Tenih, vol. i. p. 265.

There is infinite beauty in the sketch of the dark Page, and in (1) “Lara, though it has many good passages, is a further proof many of the moral or general reflections which are interspersed of the melancholy fact, which is true of all sequels, from the con- with the narrative." Jeffrey.-E. tinuation of the Eneid, by one of the famous Italian pocts of the middle ages, down to Polly, a Sequel to the Beggar's Opera, * " What do the Reviewers mcan by raborate ?' lava I wrote that more last words' may generally be spared, without any while undressing, after coming home from bulls und masquerades, great detriment to the world.” Rishop Ileber.

in the year of revelry, 1814." 8. Letters, 1822.-E.

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