Selected Poems (63 page)

‘Whate’er I be,

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,

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Which thus begins so courteously and well.

Let Otho cherish here his polish’d guest,

To him my thanks and thoughts shall be express’d.’

And here their wondering host hath interposed—

‘Whate’er there be between you undisclosed,

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This is no time nor fitting place to mar

The mirthful meeting with a wordy war.

If thou, Sir Ezzelin, hast aught to show

Which it befits Count Lara’s ear to know,

To-morrow, here, or elsewhere, as may best

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Beseem your mutual judgment, speak the rest;

I pledge myself for thee, as not unknown,

Though, like Count Lara, now return’d alone

From other lands, almost a stranger grown;

And if from Lara’s blood and gentle birth

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I augur right of courage and of worth,

He will not that untainted line belie,

Nor aught that knighthood may accord, deny.’

‘Tomorrow be it,’ Ezzelin replied,

‘And here our several worth and truth be tried;

480

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

485

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

490

‘To-morrow! – ay, to-morrow!’ further word

Than those repeated none from Lara heard;

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,

495

Which show’d resolve, determined, though unknown.

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:

500

It was nor smile of mirth, nor struggling pride

That curbs to scorn the wrath it cannot hide;

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?

505

Or guilt grown old in desperate hardihood?

Alas! too like in confidence are each,

For man to trust to mortal look or speech;

From deeds, and deeds alone, may he discern

Truths which it wrings the unpractised heart to learn.

XXV

510

And Lara call’d his page, and went his way –

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,

515

In duty patient, and sedate though young;

Silent as him he served, his faith appears

Above his station, and beyond his years.

Though not unknown the tongue of Lara’s land,

In such from him he rarely heard command;

520

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 recall,

525

Now lost, abjured, for one – his friend, his all:

For him earth now disclosed no other guide;

What marvel then he rarely left his side?

XXVI

Light was his form, and darkly delicate

That brow whereon his native sun had sate,

530

But had not marr’d, though in his beams he grew,

The cheek where oft the unbidden blush shone through;

Yet not such blush as mounts when health would show

All the heart’s hue in that delighted glow;

But ’twas a hectic tint of secret care

535

That for a burning moment fever’d there;

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;

540

Yet less of sorrow than of pride was there,

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,

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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:

550

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

555

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;

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His zeal, though more than that of servile hands,

In act alone obeys, his air. commands;

As if ’twas Lara’s less than
his
desire

That thus he served, but surely not for hire.

Slight were the tasks enjoin’d him by his lord,

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To hold the stirrup, or to bear the sword;

To tune his lute, or, if he will’d it more,

On tomes of other times and tongues to pore;

But ne’er to mingle with the menial train,

To whom he show’d nor deference nor disdain,

570

But that well-worn reserve which proved he knew

No sympathy with that familiar crew:

His soul, whate’er his station or his stem,

Could bow to Lara, not descend to them.

Of higher birth he seem’d, and better days,

575 Nor mark of vulgar toil that hand betrays,

So femininely white it might bespeak

Another sex, when match’d with that smooth cheek,

But for his garb, and something in his gaze,

More wild and high than woman’s eye betrays;

580

A latent fierceness that far more became

His fiery climate than his tender frame:

True, in his words it broke not from his breast,

But from his aspect might be more than guess’d.

Kaled his name, though rumour said he bore

585

Another ere he left his mountain-shore;

For sometimes he would hear, however nigh,

That name repeated loud without reply,

As unfamiliar, or, if roused again,

Start to the sound, as but remember’d then;

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Unless ’twas Lara’s wonted voice that spake,

For then, ear, eyes, and heart would all awake.

XXVIII

He had look’d down upon the festive hall,

And mark’d that sudden strife so mark’d of all;

And when the crowd around and near him told

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Their wonder at the calmness of the bold,

Their marvel how the high-born Lara bore

Such insult from a stranger, doubly sore,

The colour of young Kaled went and came,

The lip of ashes, and the cheek of flame;

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And o’er his brow the dampening heart-drops threw

The sickening iciness of that cold dew,

That rises as the busy bosom sinks

With heavy thoughts from which reflection shrinks.

Yes – there be things which we must dream and dare,

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And execute ere thought be half aware:

Whate’er might Kaled’s be, it was enow

To seal his lip but agonise his brow.

He gazed on Ezzelin till Lara cast