Selected Poems (65 page)

155

And he must answer for the absent head

Of one that haunts him still, alive or dead.

VIII

Within that land was many a malcontent,

Who cursed the tyranny to which he bent;

That soil full many a wringing despot saw,

160

Who work’d his wantonness in form of law;

Long war without and frequent broil within

Had made a path for blood and giant sin,

That waited but a signal to begin

New havoc, such as civil discord blends,

165

Which knows no neuter, owns but foes or friends;

Fix’d in his feudal fortress each was lord,

In word and deed obey’d, in soul abhorr’d.

Thus Lara had inherited his lands,

And with them pining hearts and sluggish hands;

170

But that long absence from his native clime

Had left him stainless of oppression’s crime,

And now, diverted by his milder sway,

All dread by slow degrees had worn away.

The menials felt their usual awe alone,

175

But more for him than them that fear was grown;

They deem’d him now unhappy, though at first

Their evil judgment augur’d of the worst,

And each long restless night, and silent mood,

Was traced to sickness, fed by solitude:

180

And though his lonely habits threw of late

Gloom o’er his chamber, cheerful was his gate;

For thence the wretched ne’er unsoothed withdrew,

For them, at least, his soul compassion knew.

Cold to the great, contemptuous to the high,

185

The humble pass’d not his unheeding eye;

Much he would speak not, but beneath his roof

They found asylum oft, and ne’er reproof.

And they who watch’d might mark that, day by day,

Some new retainers gather’d to his sway;

190

But most of late, since Ezzelin was lost,

He play’d the courteous lord and bounteous host:

Perchance his strife with Otho made him dread

Some snare prepared for his obnoxious head;

Whate’er his view, his favour more obtains

195

With these, the people, than his fellow thanes.

If this were policy, so far ’twas sound,

The million judged but of him as they found;

From him by sterner chiefs to exile driven

They but required a shelter, and ’twas given.

200

By him no peasant mourn’d his rifled cot,

And scarce the Serf could murmur o’er his lot;

With him old avarice found its hoard secure,

With him contempt forbore to mock the poor;

Youth present cheer and promised recompense

205

Detain’d, till all too late to part from thence:

To hate he offer’d, with the coming change,

The deep reversion of delay’d revenge;

To love, long baffled by the unequal match,

The well-won charms success was sure to snatch.

210

All now was ripe, he waits but to proclaim

That slavery nothing which was still a name.

The moment came, the hour when Otho thought

Secure at last the vengeance which he sought:

His summons found the destined criminal

215

Begirt by thousands in his swarming hall,

Fresh from their feudal fetters newly riven,

Defying earth, and confident of heaven.

That morning he had freed the soil-bound slaves

Who dig no land for tyrants but their graves!

220

Such is their cry – some watchword for the fight

Must vindicate the wrong, and warp the right;

Religion – freedom – vengeance – what you will,

A word’s enough to raise mankind to kill;

Some factious phrase by cunning caught and spread,

225

That guilt may reign, and wolves and worms be fed!

IX

Throughout that clime the feudal chiefs had gain’d

Such sway, their infant monarch hardly reign’d;

Now was the hour for faction’s rebel growth,

The Serfs contemn’d the one, and hated both:

230

They waited but a leader, and they found

One to their cause inseparably bound;

By circumstance compell’d to plunge again,

In self-defence, amidst the strife of men.

Cut off by some mysterious fate from those

235

Whom birth and nature meant not for his foes,

Had Lara from that night, to him accurst,

Prepared to meet, but not alone, the worst:

Some reason urged, whate’er it was, to shun

Enquiry into deeds at distance done;

240

By mingling with his own the cause of all,

E’en if he fail’d, he still delay’d his fall.

The sullen calm that long his bosom kept,

The storm that once had spent itself and slept,

Roused by events that seem’d foredoom’d to urge

245

His gloomy fortunes to their utmost verge,

Burst forth, and made him all he once had been,

And is again; he only changed the scene.

Light care had he for life, and less for fame,

But not less fitted for the desperate game:

250

He deem’d himself mark’d out for others’ hate,

And mock’d at ruin so they shared his fate.

What cared he for the freedom of the crowd?

He raised the humble but to bend the proud.

He had hoped quiet in his sullen lair,

255

But man and destiny beset him there:

Inured to hunters, he was found at bay;

And they must kill, they cannot snare the prey.

Stern, unambitious, silent, he had been

Henceforth a calm spectator of life’s scene;

260

But dragg’d again upon the arena, stood

A leader not unequal to the feud;

In voice – mien – gesture – savage nature spoke,

And from his eye the gladiator broke.

x

What boots the oft-repeated tale of strife,

265

The feast of vultures, and the waste of life?

The varying fortune of each separate field,

The fierce that vanquish, and the faint that yield?

The smoking ruin, and the crumbled wall?

In this the struggle was the same with all;

270

Save that distemper’d passions lent their force

In bitterness that banish’d all remorse.

None sued, for Mercy knew her cry was vain,

The captive died upon the battle-slain:

In either cause, one rage alone possess’d

275

The empire of the alternate victor’s breast;

And they that smote for freedom or for sway,

Deem’d few were slain, while more remain’d to slay.

It was too late to check the wasting brand,

And Desolation reap’d the famish’d land;

280

The torch was lighted, and the flame was spread,

And Carnage smiled upon her daily dead.

XI

Fresh with the nerve the new-born impulse strung,

The first success to Lara’s numbers clung:

But that vain victory hath ruin’d all;

285

They form no longer to their leader’s call:

In blind confusion on the foe they press,

And think to snatch is to secure success.

The lust of booty, and the thirst of hate,

Lure on the broken brigands to their fate:

290

In vain he doth whate’er a chief may do,

To check the headlong fury of that crew;

In vain their stubborn ardour he would tame,

The hand that kindles cannot quench the flame;

The wary foe alone hath turn’d their mood,

295

And shown their rashness to that erring brood:

The feign’d retreat, the nightly ambuscade,

The daily harass, and the fight delay’d,

The long privation of the hoped supply,

The tentless rest beneath the humid sky,

300

The stubborn wall that mocks the leaguer’s art,

And palls the patience of his baffled heart,

Of these they had not deem’d: the battle-day

They could encounter as a veteran may;

But more preferr’d the fury of the strife,

305

And present death, to hourly suffering life:

And famine wrings, and fever sweeps away

His numbers melting fast from their array;

Intemperate triumph fades to discontent,

And Lara’s soul alone seems still unbent: