The Works of Lord Byron Volume III Part 56

Where was this Ezzelin? who came and went, To leave no other trace of his intent.

He left the dome of Otho long ere morn, In darkness, yet so well the path was worn He could not miss it: near his dwelling lay; But there he was not, and with coming day Came fast inquiry, which unfolded nought, 750 Except the absence of the Chief it sought.

A chamber tenantless, a steed at rest, His host alarmed, his murmuring squires distressed: Their search extends along, around the path, In dread to meet the marks of prowlers' wrath: But none are there, and not a brake hath borne Nor gout of blood, nor shred of mantle torn; Nor fall nor struggle hath defaced the gra.s.s, Which still retains a mark where Murder was; Nor dabbling fingers left to tell the tale, 760 The bitter print of each convulsive nail, When agonised hands that cease to guard, Wound in that pang the smoothness of the sward.

Some such had been, if here a life was reft, But these were not; and doubting Hope is left; And strange Suspicion, whispering Lara's name, Now daily mutters o'er his blackened fame; Then sudden silent when his form appeared, Awaits the absence of the thing it feared Again its wonted wondering to renew, 770 And dye conjecture with a darker hue.

VII.

Days roll along, and Otho's wounds are healed, But not his pride; and hate no more concealed: He was a man of power, and Lara's foe, The friend of all who sought to work him woe, And from his country's justice now demands Account of Ezzelin at Lara's hands.

Who else than Lara could have cause to fear His presence? who had made him disappear, If not the man on whom his menaced charge 780 Had sate too deeply were he left at large?

The general rumour ignorantly loud, The mystery dearest to the curious crowd; The seeming friendliness of him who strove To win no confidence, and wake no love; The sweeping fierceness which his soul betrayed, The skill with which he wielded his keen blade; Where had his arm unwarlike caught that art?

Where had that fierceness grown upon his heart?

For it was not the blind capricious rage[kl] 790 A word can kindle and a word a.s.suage; But the deep working of a soul unmixed With aught of pity where its wrath had fixed; Such as long power and overgorged success Concentrates into all that's merciless: These, linked with that desire which ever sways Mankind, the rather to condemn than praise, 'Gainst Lara gathering raised at length a storm, Such as himself might fear, and foes would form, And he must answer for the absent head 800 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, Who worked 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, Which knows no neuter, owns but foes or friends; 810 Fixed in his feudal fortress each was lord, In word and deed obeyed, in soul abhorred.

Thus Lara had inherited his lands, And with them pining hearts and sluggish hands; But that long absence from his native clime Had left him stainless of Oppression's crime, And now, diverted by his milder sway,[km]

All dread by slow degrees had worn away.

The menials felt their usual awe alone, But more for him than them that fear was grown; 820 They deemed him now unhappy, though at first Their evil judgment augured of the worst, And each long restless night, and silent mood, Was traced to sickness, fed by solitude: And though his lonely habits threw of late Gloom o'er his chamber, cheerful was his gate;[kn]

For thence the wretched ne'er unsoothed withdrew, For them, at least, his soul compa.s.sion knew.

Cold to the great, contemptuous to the high, The humble pa.s.sed not his unheeding eye; 830 Much he would speak not, but beneath his roof They found asylum oft, and ne'er reproof.

And they who watched might mark that, day by day, Some new retainers gathered to his sway; But most of late, since Ezzelin was lost, He played 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 With these, the people, than his fellow thanes. 840 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.

By him no peasant mourned his rifled cot, And scarce the Serf could murmur o'er his lot; With him old Avarice found its h.o.a.rd secure, With him contempt forbore to mock the poor; Youth present cheer and promised recompense Detained, till all too late to part from thence: 850 To Hate he offered, with the coming change, The deep reversion of delayed revenge; To Love, long baffled by the unequal match, The well-won charms success was sure to s.n.a.t.c.h.[ko]

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 Begirt by thousands in his swarming hall; 860 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!

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;[kp]

Some factious phrase by cunning caught and spread, That Guilt may reign-and wolves and worms be fed! 870

IX.

Throughout that clime the feudal Chiefs had gained Such sway, their infant monarch hardly reigned; Now was the hour for Faction's rebel growth, The Serfs contemned the one, and hated both: They waited but a leader, and they found One to their cause inseparably bound; By circ.u.mstance compelled to plunge again, In self-defence, amidst the strife of men.

Cut off by some mysterious fate from those Whom Birth and Nature meant not for his foes, 880 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 Inquiry into deeds at distance done; By mingling with his own the cause of all, E'en if he failed, he still delayed his fall.

The sullen calm that long his bosom kept, The storm that once had spent itself and slept, Roused by events that seemed foredoomed to urge His gloomy fortunes to their utmost verge, 890 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: He deemed himself marked out for others' hate, And mocked at Ruin so they shared his fate.

And 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, But Man and Destiny beset him there: 900 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; But dragged 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, The feast of vultures, and the waste of life? 910 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; Save that distempered pa.s.sions lent their force In bitterness that banished all remorse.

None sued, for Mercy knew her cry was vain, The captive died upon the battle-plain:[kq]

In either cause, one rage alone possessed The empire of the alternate victor's breast; 920 And they that smote for freedom or for sway, Deemed few were slain, while more remained to slay.

It was too late to check the wasting brand, And Desolation reaped the famished land; 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 ruined all; They form no longer to their leader's call: 930 In blind confusion on the foe they press, And think to s.n.a.t.c.h is to secure success.

The l.u.s.t of booty, and the thirst of hate, Lure on the broken brigands to their fate: 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 turned their mood, And shown their rashness to that erring brood: 940 The feigned retreat, the nightly ambuscade, The daily hara.s.s, and the fight delayed, The long privation of the hoped supply, The tentless rest beneath the humid sky, The stubborn wall that mocks the leaguer's art, And palls the patience of his baffled art, Of these they had not deemed: the battle-day They could encounter as a veteran may; But more preferred the fury of the strife,[kr]

And present death, to hourly suffering life: 950 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; But few remain to aid his voice and hand, And thousands dwindled to a scanty band: Desperate, though few, the last and best remained To mourn the discipline they late disdained.

One hope survives, the frontier is not far, And thence they may escape from native war: 960 And bear within them to the neighbouring state An exile's sorrows, or an outlaw's hate: Hard is the task their father-land to quit, But harder still to perish or submit.

XII.

It is resolved--they march--consenting Night Guides with her star their dim and torchless flight; Already they perceive its tranquil beam Sleep on the surface of the barrier stream; Already they descry--Is yon the bank?

Away! 'tis lined with many a hostile rank. 970 Return or fly!--What glitters in the rear?

'Tis Otho's banner--the pursuer's spear!

Are those the shepherds' fires upon the height?

Alas! they blaze too widely for the flight: Cut off from hope, and compa.s.sed in the toil, Less blood perchance hath bought a richer spoil!

XIII.

A moment's pause--'tis but to breathe their band, Or shall they onward press, or here withstand?

It matters little--if they charge the foes Who by their border-stream their march oppose, 980 Some few, perchance, may break and pa.s.s the line, However linked to baffle such design.

"The charge be ours! to wait for their a.s.sault Were fate well worthy of a coward's halt."

Forth flies each sabre, reined is every steed, And the next word shall scarce outstrip the deed: In the next tone of Lara's gathering breath How many shall but hear the voice of Death!

XIV.

His blade is bared,--in him there is an air As deep, but far too tranquil for despair; 990 A something of indifference more than then Becomes the bravest, if they feel for men-- He turned his eye on Kaled, ever near, And still too faithful to betray one fear; Perchance 'twas but the moon's dim twilight threw Along his aspect an unwonted hue Of mournful paleness, whose deep tint expressed The truth, and not the terror of his breast.

This Lara marked, and laid his hand on his: It trembled not in such an hour as this; 1000 His lip was silent, scarcely beat his heart, His eye alone proclaimed, "We will not part!

Thy band may perish, or thy friends may flee, Farewell to Life--but not Adieu to thee!"

The word hath pa.s.sed his lips, and onward driven, Pours the linked band through ranks asunder riven: Well has each steed obeyed the armed heel, And flash the scimitars, and rings the steel; Outnumbered, not outbraved, they still oppose Despair to daring, and a front to foes; 1010 And blood is mingled with the das.h.i.+ng stream, Which runs all redly till the morning beam.[ks]

XV.[282]

Commanding--aiding--animating all,[283]

Where foe appeared to press, or friend to fall, Cheers Lara's voice, and waves or strikes his steel, Inspiring hope, himself had ceased to feel.

None fled, for well they knew that flight were vain; But those that waver turn to smite again, While yet they find the firmest of the foe Recoil before their leader's look and blow: 1020 Now girt with numbers, now almost alone, He foils their ranks, or re-unites his own; Himself he spared not--once they seemed to fly-- Now was the time, he waved his hand on high, And shook--Why sudden droops that plumed crest?

The shaft is sped--the arrow's in his breast!

That fatal gesture left the unguarded side, And Death has stricken down yon arm of pride.

The word of triumph fainted from his tongue; That hand, so raised, how droopingly it hung! 1030 But yet the sword instinctively retains, Though from its fellow shrink the falling reins; These Kaled s.n.a.t.c.hes: dizzy with the blow, And senseless bending o'er his saddle-bow, Perceives not Lara that his anxious page Beguiles his charger from the combat's rage: Meantime his followers charge, and charge again; Too mixed the slayers now to heed the slain!

XVI.

Day glimmers on the dying and the dead, The cloven cuira.s.s, and the helmless head; 1040 The war-horse masterless is on the earth,[kt][284]

And that last gasp hath burst his b.l.o.o.d.y girth; And near, yet quivering with what life remained, The heel that urged him and the hand that reined; And some too near that rolling torrent lie,[ku]

Whose waters mock the lip of those that die; That panting thirst which scorches in the breath Of those that die the soldier's fiery death, In vain impels the burning mouth to crave One drop--the last--to cool it for the grave; 1050 With feeble and convulsive effort swept, Their limbs along the crimsoned turf have crept; The faint remains of life such struggles waste, But yet they reach the stream, and bend to taste: They feel its freshness, and almost partake-- Why pause? No further thirst have they to slake-- It is unquenched, and yet they feel it not; It was an agony--but now forgot!

XVII.

Beneath a lime, remoter from the scene, Where but for him that strife had never been, 1060 A breathing but devoted warrior lay: 'Twas Lara bleeding fast from life away.

His follower once, and now his only guide, Kneels Kaled watchful o'er his welling side, And with his scarf would staunch the tides that rush, With each convulsion, in a blacker gush; And then, as his faint breathing waxes low, In feebler, not less fatal tricklings flow: He scarce can speak, but motions him 'tis vain, And merely adds another throb to pain. 1070 He clasps the hand that pang which would a.s.suage, And sadly smiles his thanks to that dark page, Who nothing fears--nor feels--nor heeds--nor sees-- Save that damp brow which rests upon his knees; Save that pale aspect, where the eye, though dim, Held all the light that shone on earth for him.

XVIII.