LARA. CANTO II. I. NIGHT wanes the vapours round the mountains curl'd Melt into morn, and Light awakes the world. Man has another day to swell the past, And lead him near to little, but his last; But mighty Nature bounds as from her birth, Nor cloud shall gather more, nor leaf shall fall, Nor gale breathe forth one sigh for thee, for all; But creeping things shall revel in their spoil, And fit thy clay to fertilize the soil. II. 'Tis morn-'tis noon-assembled in the hall, The gather'd chieftains come to Otho's call; 'Tis now the promised hour, that must proclaim The life or death of Lara's future fame; When Ezzelin his charge may here unfold, And whatsoe'er the tale, it must be told. His faith was pledged, and Lara's promise given, To meet it in the eye of man and heaven. Why comes he not? Such truths to be divulged, Methinks the accuser's rest is long indulged. III. 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; 66 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, He ceased-and Lara answer'd, "I am here "To lend at thy demand a listening ear; "To tales of evil from a stranger's tongue, "Whose words already might my heart have wrung, "But that I deem'd him scarcely less than mad, "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, “And thus I answer for mine absent guest." With cheek unchanging from its sallow gloom, However near his own or other's tomb; With hand, whose almost careless coolness spoke well-used to deal the sabre-stroke; Its grasp In vain the circling chieftains round them closed, IV. Short was the conflict; furious, blindly rash, And fiercer shook his angry falchion now Than when his foe's was levell'd at his brow; 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, V. They raised the bleeding Otho, and the Leech He back'd his steed, his homeward path he took, VI. But where was he? that meteor of a night, |