Selected Poems (66 page)

310

But few remain to aid his voice and hand,

And thousands dwindled to a scanty band:

Desperate, though few, the last and best remain’d

To mourn the discipline they late disdain’d.

One hope survives, the frontier is not far,

315

And thence they may escape from native war;

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

320

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?

325

Away! ’tis lined with many a hostile rank.

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:

330

Cut off from hope, and compass’d 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

335

Who by their border-stream their march oppose,

Some few, perchance, may break and pass the line,

However link’d to baffle such design.

‘The charge be ours! to wait for their assault

Were fate well worthy of a coward’s halt.’

340

Forth flies each sabre, rein’d 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

345

As deep, but far too tranquil for despair;

A something of indifference more than then

Becomes the bravest, if they feel for men.

He turn’d his eye on Kaled, ever near,

And still too faithful to betray one fear;

350

Perchance ’twas but the moon’s dim twilight threw

Along his aspect an unwonted hue

Of mournful paleness, whose deep tint express’d

The truth, and not the terror of his breast.

This Lara mark’d, and laid his hand on his:

355

It trembled not in such an hour as this;

His lip was silent, scarcely beat his heart,

His eye alone proclaim’d, ‘We will not part!

Thy band may perish, or thy friends may flee,

Farewell to life, but not adieu to thee!’

360

The word hath pass’d his lips, and onward driven,

Pours the link’d band through ranks asunder riven;

Well has each steed obey’d the armed heel,

And flash the scimitars, and rings the steel;

Outnumber’d, not outbraved, they still oppose

365

Despair to daring, and a front to foes;

And blood is mingled with the dashing stream,

Which runs all redly till the morning beam.

XV

Commanding, aiding, animating all,

Where foe appear’d to press, or friend to fall,

370

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

375

Recoil before their leader’s look and blow:

Now girt with numbers, now almost alone,

He foils their ranks, or re-unites his own;

Himself he spared not – once they seem’d to fly –

Now was the time, he waved his hand on high,

380

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 hath stricken down yon arm of pride.

The word of triumph fainted from his tongue;

385

That hand, so raised, how droopingly it hung!

But yet the sword instinctively retains,

Though from its fellow shrink the falling reins;

These Kaled snatches: dizzy with the blow,

And senseless bending o’er his saddle-bow,

390

Perceives not Lara that his anxious page

Beguiles his charger from the combat’s rage:

Meantime his followers charge, and charge again;

Too mix’d the slayers now to heed the slain!

XVI

Day glimmers on the dying and the dead,

395

The cloven cuirass, and the helmless head;

The war-horse masterless is on the earth,

And that last gasp hath burst his bloody girth;

And near, yet quivering with what life remain’d,

The heel that urged him and the hand that rein’d;

400

And some too near that rolling torrent lie,

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

405

One drop – the last – to cool it for the grave;

With feeble and convulsive effort swept,

Their limbs along the crimson’d turf have crept;

The faint remains of life such struggles waste,

But yet they reach the stream, and bend to taste:

410

They feel its freshness, and almost partake —

Why pause? No further thirst have they to slake –

It is unquench’d, and yet they feel it not;

It was an agony – but now forgot!

XVII

Beneath a lime, remoter from the scene,

415

Where but for him that strife had never been,

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,

420

And with his scarf would stanch 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,

425

And merely adds another throb to pain.

He clasps the hand that pang which would assuage,

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;

430

Save that pale aspect, where the eye, though dim,

Held all the light that shone on earth for him.

XVIII

The foe arrives, who long had search’d the field,

Their triumph nought till Lara too should yield;

They would remove him, but they see ’twere vain,

435

And he regards them with a calm disdain,

That rose to reconcile him with his fate,

And that escape to death from living hate:

And Otho comes, and leaping from his steed,

Looks on the bleeding foe that made him bleed,

440

And questions of his state; he answers not,

Scarce glances on him as on one forgot,

And turns to Kaled: – each remaining word

They understood not, if distinctly heard;

His dying tones are in that other tongue,

445

To which some strange remembrance wildly clung.

They spake of other scenes but what – is known

To Kaled whom their meaning reach’d alone;

And he replied, though faintly, to their sound,

While gazed the rest in dumb amazement round:

450

They seem’d even then – that twain – unto the last

To half forget the present in the past;

To share between themselves some separate fate,

Whose darkness none beside should penetrate.

XIX

Their words though faint were many – from the tone

455

Their import those who heard could judge alone;

From this, you might have deem’d young Kaled’s death

More near than Lara’s by his voice and breath,

So sad, so deep, and hesitating broke

The accents his scarce-moving pale lips spoke;

460

But Lara’s voice, though low, at first was clear