Selected Poems (61 page)

And such besides were too discreetly wise,

To more than hint their knowledge in surmise;

But if they would – they could’ – around the board,

Thus Lara’s vassals prattled of their lord.

X

155

It was the night – and Lara’s glassy stream

The stars are studding, each with imaged beam;

So calm, the waters scarcely seem to stray,

And yet they glide like happiness away;

Reflecting far and fairy-like from high

160

The immortal lights that live along the sky:

Its banks are fringed with many a goodly tree,

And flowers the fairest that may feast the bee;

Such in her chaplet infant Dian wove,

And Innocence would offer to her love.

165

These deck the shore; the waves their channel make

In windings bright and mazy like the snake.

All was so still, so soft in earth and air,

You scarce would start to meet a spirit there;

Secure that nought of evil could delight

170

To walk in such a scene, on such a night!

It was a moment only for the good:

So Lara deem’d, nor longer there he stood,

But turn’d in silence to his castle-gate;

Such scene his soul no more could contemplate:

175

Such scene reminded him of other days,

Of skies more cloudless, moons of purer blaze,

Of nights more soft and frequent, hearts that now –

No – no – the storm may beat upon his brow,

Unfelt – unsparing – but a night like this,

180

A night of beauty, mock’d such breast as his.

XI

He turn’d within his solitary hall,

And his high shadow shot along the wall:

There were the painted forms of other times,

‘Twas all they left of virtues or of crimes,

185

Save vague tradition; and the gloomy vaults

That hid their dust, their foibles, and their faults;

And half a column of the pompous page,

That speeds the specious tale from age to age;

Where history’s pen its praise or blame supplies,

190

And lies like truth, and still most truly lies.

He wandering mused, and as the moonbeam shone

Through the dim lattice o’er the floor of stone,

And the high fretted roof, and saints, that there

O’er Gothic windows knelt in pictured prayer,

195

Reflected in fantastic figures grew,

Like life, but not like mortal life, to view;

His bristling locks of sable, brow of gloom,

And the wide waving of his shaken plume,

Glanced like a spectre’s attributes, and gave

200

His aspect all that terror gives the grave.

XII

’Twas midnight – all was slumber; the lone light

Dimm’d in the lamp, as loth to break the night.

Hark! there be murmurs heard in Lara’s hall –

A sound – a voice – a shriek – a fearful call!

205

A long, loud shriek – and silence – did they hear

That frantic echo burst the sleeping ear?

They heard and rose, and, tremulously brave,

Rush where the sound invoked their aid to save;

They come with half-lit tapers in their hands,

210

And snatch’d in startled haste unbelted brands.

XIII

Cold as the marble where his length was laid,

Pale as the beam that o’er his features play’d,

Was Lara stretch’d; his half drawn sabre near,

Dropp’d it should seem in more than nature’s fear;

215

Yet he was firm, or had been firm till now,

And still defiance knit his gather’d brow;

Though mix’d with terror, senseless as he lay,

There lived upon his lip the wish to slay;

Some half form’d threat in utterance there had died,

220

Some imprecation of despairing pride;

His eye was almost seal’d, but not forsook

Even in its trance the gladiator’s look,

That oft awake his aspect could disclose,

And now was fix’d in horrible repose.

225

They raise him – bear him; – hush! he breathes, he speaks,

The swarthy blush recolours in his cheeks

His lip resumes its red, his eye, though dim,

Rolls wide and wild, each slowly quivering limb

Recalls its function, but his words are strung

230

In terms that seem not of his native tongue;

Distinct but strange, enough they understand

To deem them accents of another land;

And such they were, and meant to meet an ear

That hears him not – alas! that cannot hear!

XIV

235

His page approach’d, and he alone appear’d

To know the import of the words they heard;

And, by the changes of his cheek and brow,

They were not such as Lara should avow,

Nor he interpret, – yet with less surprise

240

Than those around their chieftain’s state he eyes,

But Lara’s prostrate form he bent beside,

And in that tongue which seem’d his own replied,

And Lara heeds those tones that gently seem

To soothe away the horrors of his dream –

245

If dream it were, that thus could overthrow

A breast that needed not ideal woe.

XV

Whate’er his frenzy dream’d or eye beheld,

If yet remember’d ne’er to be reveal’d,

Rests at his heart: the custom’d morning came,

250

And breathed new vigour in his shaken frame;

And solace sought he none from priest nor leech,

And soon the same in movement and in speech

As heretofore he fill’d the passing hours, –

Nor less he smiles, nor more his forehead lowers,

255

Than these were wont; and if the coming night

Appear’d less welcome now to Lara’s sight,

He to his marvelling vassals show’d it not,

Whose shuddering proved
their
fear was less forgot.

In trembling pairs (alone they dared not) crawl

260

The astonish’d slaves, and shun the fated hall;

The waving banner, and the clapping door,

The rustling tapestry, and the echoing floor;

The long dim shadows of surrounding trees,

The flapping bat, the night song of the breeze;

265

Aught they behold or hear their thought appals,

As evening saddens o’er the dark grey walls.

XVI

Vain thought! that hour of ne’er unravell’d gloom

Came not again, or Lara could assume

A seeming of forgetfulness, that made

270

His vassals more amazed nor less afraid –

Had memory vanish’d then with sense restored?

Since word, nor look, nor gesture of their lord

Betray’d a feeling that recall’d to these

That fever’d moment of his mind’s disease.

275

Was it a dream? was his the voice that spoke

Those strange wild accents; his the cry that broke

Their slumber? his the oppress’d, o’erlabour’d heart

That ceased to beat, the look that made them start?

Could he who thus had suffer’d so forget,

280

When such as saw that suffering shudder yet?

Or did that silence prove his memory fix’d

Too deep for words, indelible, unmix’d

In that corroding secrecy which gnaws

The heart to show the effect, but not the cause?

285

Not so in him; his breast had buried both,

Nor common gazers could discern the growth

Of thoughts that mortal lips must leave half told;

They choke the feeble words that would unfold.

XVII

In him inexplicably mix’d appear’d

290

Much to be loved and hated, sought and fear’d;

Opinion varying o’er his hidden lot,

In praise or railing ne’er his name forgot:

His silence form’d a theme for others’ prate –

They guess’d – they gazed – they fain would know his fate.

295

What had he been? what was he, thus unknown,

Who walk’d their world, his lineage only known?

A hater of his kind? yet some would say,

With them he could seem gay amidst the gay;

But own’d that smile, if oft observed and near,

300

Waned in its mirth, and wither’d to a sneer;

That smile might reach his lip, but pass’d not by,