"Art thou not he? whose deeds--"

"Whate'er

I be, 455

465

"Words 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. 460 "Let Otho cherish here his polish'd guest, "To him mythanks and thoughts shall be exprest." And here their wondering host hath interposed"Whate'er there be between you undisclosed, "This is no time nor fitting place to mar "The mirthful meeting with a wordy war. "If thou, Sir Ezzelin, hast ought to show "Which it befits Count Lara's ear to know, "To-morrow, here, or elsewhere, as may best "Beseem your mutual judgment, speak the rest; "I pledge myself for thee, as not unknown, 471 Though like Count Lara now return'd alone "From other lands, almost a stranger grown; "And if from Lara's blood and gentle birth "I augur right of courage and of worth, "He will not that untainted line belie, "Nor aught that knighthood may accord, deny."

475

VOL. V.

2

"To-morrow be it," Ezzelin replied,

"And here our several worth and truth be tried; 66 I gage my life, my falchion to attest

"My words, so may I mingle with the blest!"

What answers Lara? to its centre shrunk

His soul, in deep abstraction sudden sunk ;

The words of many, and the eyes of all

480

486

That there were gather'd, seem'd on him to fall;
But his were silent, his appear'd to stray
In far forgetfulness away-away-

Alas! that heedlessness of all around
Bespoke remembrance only too profound.

XXIV.

"To-morrow!—ay, to morrow!" further word Than those repeated none from Lara heard; 491 Upon his brow no outward passion spoke,

From his large eye no flashing anger broke;

Yet there was something fix'd in that low tone,

Which show'd resolve, determined, though un

known.

495

He seized his cloak-his head he slightly bow'd, And passing Ezzelin, he left the crowd;

And, as he pass'd him, smiling met the frown

With which that chieftain's brow would bear him down:

It was nor smile of mirth, nor struggling pride
That curbs to scorn the wrath it cannot hide; 501
But that of one in his own heart secure

Of all that he would do, or could endure.
Could this mean peace? the calmness of the good?
Or guilt grown old in desperate hardihood?
Alas! too like in confidence are each,

For man to trust to mortal look or speech;

505

From deeds, and deeds alone, may he discern Truths which it wrings the unpractised heart to learn.

XXV.

And Lara call'd his page, and went his way— 510
Well could that stripling word or sign obey:
His only follower from those climes afar,
Where the soul glows beneath a brighter star;
For Lara left the shore from whence he sprung,
In duty patient, and sedate though young;
Silent as him he served, his faith appears
Above his station, and beyond his years.

515

Though not unknown the tongue of Lara's land,
In such from him he rarely heard command; 519
But fleet his step, and clear his tones would come,
When Lara's lip breathed forth the words of home:
Those accents as his native mountains dear,
Awake their absent echoes in his ear,

Friends', kindreds', parents', wonted voice recal,
Now lost, abjured, for one-his friend, his all:
For him earth now disclosed no other guide; 526
What marvel then he rarely left his side?

XXVI.

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

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,

540

545

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 walk the wood, his sport some foreign book;
His resting-place the 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.

XXVII.

If aught he loved, 'twas Lara; but was shown
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;

550

555

559