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These, and the pale pure cheek, became On Grief's vain eye -- the blindest of the the bier
blind! But she is nothing-wherefore is he here? Which may not - dare not see -- but turns
To blackest shade - nor will endure a guide! He ask'd no question - all were answer'd By the first glance on that still - marble
His heart was form’d for softness – warp'd brow.
to wrong ; It was enough--she died - what reck'd it Betray'd too early, and beguiled too long;
Each feeling pure-as falls the dropping dew The love of youth, the hope of better years, Within thegrot-like that had harden'd too; The source of softest wishes, tenderest fears, Less clear, perchance, its earthly trials The only living thing he could not hate,
passa, Was reft at once -- and he deserved his fate, But sunk, and chill'd, and petrified at last. But did not feel it less ;-the good explore, Yet tempests wear, and lightning cleaves For peace, those realms where guilt can
If such his heart, so shatter'd it the shock. The proud – the wayward – who have fix'd | There grew one flower beneath its ragged below
brow, Their joy-and find this earth enough for Thongh dark the shade-it shelter'd-saved
woe, Lose in that one their all-perchance a The thunder came - that bolt hath blasted mite
both, But who in patience parts with all delight? The , Granite's firmness, and the Lily's Full many a stoic eye and aspect stern
growth: Mask hearts where grief hath little left to The gentle plant hath left no leaf to tell
Its tale, but shrunk and wither'd where it And many a withering thought lies hid,
fell, not lost
And of its cold protector, blacken round In smiles that least besit who wear them But shiver'd fragments on the barren ground! most.
'Tis morn-to venture on his lonely hour By those, that deepest feel, is ill exprest Few dare; though now Anselmo sought The indistinctness of the suffering breast;
his tower. Where thousand thoughts begin to end in one, He was not there -- nor seen along the shore; Which seeks from all the refuge found in Ere night, alarm'd, their isle is traversed o’er:
Another morn- another bids them seek, No words suffice the secret soul to show, And shout his name till echo waxeth weak; For Truth denies all eloquence to Woe. Mount-grotto - cavern-valley search'd in On Conrad's stricken soul exhaustion prest,
vain, And stupor almost lulld it into rest; They find on shore a sea-boat's broken chain: So feeble now- his mother's softness crept Their hope revives – they follow o'er the To those wild eyes, which like an infant's
'Tis idle all -- mochs roll on moons away, It was the very weakness of his brain, And Conrad comes not-came not-since Which thus confess'd without relieving pain.
that day: None saw his trickling tears-perchance, if Nor trace, nor tidings of his doom declare
Where lives his grief, or perish'd his despair! That useless flood of grief had never been: Long mourn'd his band whom nqne could Nor long they flow'd-he dried them to
mourn beside; depart,
And fair the monument they gave his bride: In helpless - hopeless – brokenness of heart: For him they raise not the recording stone The sun goes forth - but Conrad's day is His death yet dubious, deeds too widely
known; And the night cometh- ne'er to pass from He left a Corsair's name to other times,
Link'd with one virtue and a thousand There is no darkness like the cloud of mind
He comes at last in sudden loneliness,
And whence they know not, why they need THE Seris are glad through Lara's wide
not guess; donnain,
They more might marvel, when the greetAnd Slavery half forgets her feudal chain;
ing's o'er, He, their unhoped, but unforgotten lord,
Not that he came, but came not long before: The long self-exiled chieftain is restored : No train is his beyond a single page, There be bright faces in the busy hall,
Of foreign aspect, and of tender age. Bowls on the board, and banners on the wall; Years had rollid on, and fast they speed away Far chequering o'er the pictured window, To those that wander as to those that stay;
But lack of tidings from another clime The unwonted faggots' hospitable blaze;
Had lent a flagging wing to weary Time. And gay retainers gather round the hearth, They see, they recognise, yet almost deem With tongues all londness, and wih eyes Helives, nor yet is past his manhood's prime,
The present dubious, or the past a dream. all mirth.
Though seard by toil,and something touch'd The chief of Lara is return'd again :
by time; And why had Lara cross'd the bounding
His faults, whate'er they were, if scarce main ?
Nor good nor ill of late were known, his
Might be redeem'd, nor ask a long remorse.
And they indeed were changed
quickly seen But long enough to leave him half undone? Whate'er he be, 'twas not what he had been:
That brow in furrow'd lines had fix'd at
last, And Lara left in youth his father-land; And spake of passions, but of passion past; But from the hour he waved his parting The pride, but not the fire, of early days,
Coldness of mien, and carelessness of praise:
beneath, The young forgot him, and the old had died; Than glance could well reveal, or accent ** Yet doth he live!” exclaims the impatient
Ambition, glory, love, the common aim, Avd sighs for sables which he must not wear. That some can conquer, and that all would A hundred scutchcons deck with gloomy
Within his breast appear’d no more to strive, The Laras' last and longest dwelling-place; Yet seem'd as lately they had been alive ; But one is absent from the mouldering file, And some deep feeling it were vain to trace That now were welcome in that Gothic pile. At moments lighten'd o'er his'livid face,
Not much he loved long question of the And then, his rarely callid attendants said,
Through night's long hours would sound Nor told of wondrous wilds, and deserts vast,
his hurried tread In those far lands where he had wanderd O'er the dark gallery, where his fathers lone,
frown'd And--as himself would have it seem-un- In rude but antique portraiture around:
They heard, but whisper'd -“ that must Yet these in vain his eye could scarcely scan,
not be knownNor glean experience from his fellow-man; The sound of words less earthly than his own. But what he had beheld he shunnid to show, Yes, they who chose might smile, but some As hardly worth a stranger's care to know;
had seen If still more prying such inquiry grew, They scarce knew what, but more than His brow fell darker, and his words more
should have been. few.
Why gazed he so upon the ghastly head
Which hands profane had gather'd from Not unrejoiced to see him once again,
the dead, Warm was his welcome to the haunts of men; That still beside his opend volume lay, . Born of bigl: lineage, link'd in high com- As if to startle all save him away?
Why slept he not when others were at rest? He mingled with the Magnates of his land; Why heard no music and received no gnest? Join’d the carousals of the great and gay, All was not well they deemd -- but where And saw them smile or sigh their hours away;
the wrong? But still he only saw, and did not share Some knew perchance—but 'twere a tale The common pleasure or the general care;
too long; He did not follow what they all pursued And such besides were too discreetly wise, With hope still baffled, still to be renew'd; To more than hint their knowledge in Nor shadowy honour, nor substantial gain,
surmise ; Nor beauty's preference, and the rival's pain: But if they would – they could "- around Aronnd him some mysterious circle thrown
the board, Repelld approach, and show'd him still Thus Lara’s vassals prattled of their lord.
alone; Upon his eye sate something of reproof, That kept at least frivolity aloof;
It was the night--and Lara's glassy stream And things more timid that beheld him near, The stars are studding, each with imaged In silence gazed, or whisper'd mutnal fear;
beam: And they the wiser, friendlier few consest So calm , the waters scarcely seem to stray, They deem'd him better than his air exprest. And yet they glide like happiness away;
Reflecting far and fairy-like from high
The immortal lights that live along the sky: 'Twas strange--in youth all action and its banks are fringed with many a goodly all life,
tree, Burning for pleasure, not averse from strise; And flowers the fairest that may feast the Woman - the field – the ocean all that
Such in her chaplet infant Dian wove, Promise of gladness, peril of a grave, And Innocence would offer to her love. In turn he tried-he ransack'd all below, These deck the shore; the waves their And found his recompense in joy or woe,
channel make No tame, trite medium; for his feelings In windings bright and mazy like the snake.
All was so still, so soft in earth and air, In that intenseness an escape from thought: You scarce would start to meet a spirit there; The tempest of his heart in scorn had gazed Secure that nought of evil could delight On that the feebler elements bath raised; To walk in such a scene, on such a night! The rapture of his heart had look'd on high, It was a moment only for the good : And ask'd if greater dwelt beyond the sky: So Lara deem'd, nor longer there he stood, Chain'd to excess, the slave of each extreme, But turn'd in silence to his castle-gate; How woke he from the wildness of that Such scene his soul no more could contemdream?
plate: Alas! he told not-but he did awake
Such scene reminded him of other days, To curse the wither'd heart that would of skies more cloudless, moons of purer not break.
Of nights more soft and frequent, hearts Books, for bis volume heretofore was Man,
that now With eye more curious he appear'd to scan, No--no- the storm may beat upon his brow, And ofi, in sudden mood, for many a day Unfelt- unsparing – but a night like this, From all communion he would stari away: A night of beanty, mock'd such breast as his.
He turn'd within his solitary hall, The swarthy blush recolours in his cheeks, And his high shadow shot along the wall; His lip resumes its red , his eye though There were the painted forms of other times,
dim, 'Twas all they left of virtues or of crimes, Rolls wide and wild, each slowly qnivering Save vague tradition; and the gloomy vaults
limb That hid their dust, their foibles, and their Recals its function, but his words are strung
In terms that seem not of his native tongue; And half a column of the pompous page, Distinct, but strange, enough they unThat speeds the specious tale fromage to age:
derstand Where history's pen its praise or blame To deem them accents of another land,
And such they were, and meant to meet And lies like truth, and still most truly lies. He wandering mused, and as the moonbeam That hears him not-alas! that cannot hear!
shone Through the dim lattice o'er the floor of
His page approach'd, and he alone apstone,
pear'd And the high fretted roof, and saints, that To know the import of the words they
there O'er Gothic windows knelt in pictured And, by the changes of his cheek and brow,
They were not such as Lara should avow, Reflected in fantastic figures grew, Nor he interpret, yet with less șurprise Like life, but not like mortal life, to view ; Than those around their chieftain's state His bristling locks of sable, brow of gloom, And the wide waving of his shaken plume, But Lara's prostrate form he bent beside, Glanc'd like a spectre's attributes, and gave And in thai tongue which seem'd his own His aspect all that terror gives the grave.
And Lara heeds those tones that gently seem 'Twas midnight- all was slumber; the To soothe away the horrors of his dream;
If dream it were, that thus could overthrow Dimm'd in the lamp, as loth to break the A breast that needed not ideal woe.
night. Hark! there be murmurs heard in Lara's
Whate'er his phrenzy dream'd or eye hall
beheld, A sound-a voice- a shriek - a fearful call! If yet remember'd ne'er to be reveald, A long, loud shriek – and silence- did they Rests at his heart: the custom'd morning hear
came, That frantic echo burst the sleeping ear? And breathed new vigour in his shaken They heard and rose, and tremulously brave
frame; Rush where the sound invoked their aid And solace sought he none from priest nor to save;
leech, They come with half-littapers in their hands, And soon the same in movement and in And snatch'd in startled haste unbelted
As heretofore he fill'd the passing hours,
Nor less he smiles nor more his forehead Cold as the marble where his length was
Than these were wont; and if the coming Pale as the beam that o'er his features play'd,
night Was Lara stretch'd; his half-drawn sabre Appear'd less welcome now to Lara's sight,
He to his marvelling vassals show'd it not, Dropp'd it should seem in more than nature's Whose shuddering proved their fear was fear;
less forgot. Yet he was firm, or had been firm till now, In trembling pairs (alone they dared not) And still defiance knit his gather'd brow;
crawl Though mix'd with terror,senseless as he lay, The astonish'd slaves, and shun the fated There lived upon his lip the wish to slay;
hall; Some half-form'd threat in utterance there The waving banner, and the clapping door,
The rustling tapestry, and the echoing floor, Some imprecation of despairing pride; The long dini shadows of surrounding trees, His eye was almost seal'd, but not forsook | The flapping bat, the night-song of the Even in its trance the gladiator's look,
breeze; That oft awake his aspect could disclose, Aught they hehold or hear their thoughts And now was fix'd in horrible repose.
appals, They raise him — bear him; hush! he As evening saddens o'er the dark gray breathes, he speaks,
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 In vigilance of grief that would compel A seeming of forgetfulness, that made The soul to hate for having loved too well. His Fassals more amazed nor less afraid Had memory vanish'd then with sense
There was in him a vital scorn of all : Since word, nor look, nor gesture of their As if the worst had fall’n which could befall,
He stood a stranger in this breathing world, Betray'd a feeling that recall'd to these An erring spirit from another hursd; That fever'd moment of his mind's disease. A thing of dark imaginings, that shaped Was it a dream was his the voice that By choice the perils he by chance escaped ;
But 'scaped in vain, for in their memory yet Those strange wild accents ? his the cry His mind would half exult and half regret:
that broke With more capacity for love than earth Their slumber ? his the oppressid o'er- Bestows on most of mortal mould and birth,
labour'd heart His early dreams of good outstripp'd the That ceased to beat, the look that made
truth, them start? And troubled manhood follow'd baffled Could he who thus had suffer'd, so forget,
youth; When such as saw that suffering shudder with thought of years in phantom-chase
mispent, Or did that silence prove his memory fix'd And wasted powers for better purpose lent; Too deep for words, indelible, unmix'd And fiery passions that had pour'd their In that corroding secrecy which gnaws
wrath The heart to show the effect, but not the In hurried desolation o'er his path,
And left the better feelings all at strife Not so in him; his breast had buried both, In wild reflection o'er his stormy life; Nor common gazers could discern thegrowth But haughty still, and loth himself to blame, Of thoughts that mortal lips must leave He call’d on Nature's self to share the shame,
half told; And charged all faults upon the fleshly form They choke the feeble words that would She gave to clog the soul, and feast the unfold.
'Till he at last confounded good and ill, In him inexplicably mix'd appear'd And half mistook for fate the acts of will: Much to be loved and hated, sought and Too high for common selfishness, he could
At times resign his own for others' good, Opinion varying o'er his hidden lot, But not in pity, not because he ought, In praise or railing ne'er his name forgot; But in some strange perversity of thought, His silence form'd a theme for others' That sway'd him onwards with a secret prate
pride They guess'd—they gazed-they fain would To do what few or none would do beside;
know his fate. And this same impulse would, in tempting What had be been? what was he, thus
time, unknown, Mislead his spirit equally to crime; Who walk'd their world, his lineage only So much he soar'd beyond, or sunk beneath
The men with whom he felt condemn'd to A hater of his kind ? yet some would say,
breathe, With them he could seem gay amidst the And long'd by good or ill to separate
Himself from all who shared his mortal But own'd, that smile, if oft observed and
His mind abhorring this had fix'd her throne Waned in its mirth, and wither'd to a gneer; Far from the world, in regions of her own: That smile might reach his lip, but pass’d Thus coldly passing all that pass'd below,
His blood in temperate seeming now would None e'er could trace its laughter to his eye:
flow: Yet there was softness too in his regard, Ah! happier if it ne'er with guilt had glow'd, At times, a heart as not by nature hard, But ever in that icy smoothness flow'd ! But once perceived, his spirit seem'd to 'Tis true, with other men their path he chide
walk'd, Such weakness, as unworthy of its príde, And like the rest in seeming did and talkd, And steel'd itself, as scorning to redeem Nor outragedReason's rules by flaw nor start, One doubt from others' half withheld His madness was not of the head, but heart;
And rarely wander'd in his speech, or drew In self-inflicted penance of a breast His thoughts so forth as to offend the view.