LARA. crime; He comes at last in sudden loneliness, And whence they know not, why they need not guess; They more might marvel, when the greet- His faults, whate'er they were, if scarce forgot, Might be untaught him by his varied lot; Nor good nor ill of late were known, his name Might yet uphold his patrimonial fame: His soul in youth was haughty, but his sins No more than pleasure from the stripling wins; Then, when he most required command-And such, if not yet harden'd in their course, Might be redeem'd, nor ask a long remorse. ment, then Had Lara's daring boyhood govern❜d men. It skills not, boots not step by step to trace His youth through all the mazes of its race; Short was the course his restlessness had run, But long enough to leave him half undone. And Lara left in youth his father-land; But from the hour he waved his parting hand Each trace wax'd fainter of his course,till all Had nearly ceased his memory to recal. His sire was dust, his vassals could declare, Twas all they knew, that Lara was not there; Nor sent, nor came he, till conjecture grew Cold in the many, anxious in the few. His hall scarce echoes with his wonted name, His portrait darkens in its fading frame, Another chief consoled his destined bride, The young forgot him, and the old had died; "Yet doth he live!" exclaims the impatient heir, And sighs for sables which he must not wear. A hundred scutcheons deck with gloomy grace And they indeed were changed — 'tis quickly seen Whate'er he be, 'twas not what he had been : That brow in furrow'd lines had fix'd at last, And spake of passions, but of passion past; All these seem'd his, and something more Within his breast appear'd no more to strive, The Laras' last and longest dwelling-place; Yet seem'd as lately they had been alive; But one is absent from the mouldering file, And some deep feeling it were vain to trace That now were welcome in that Gothic pile. | At moments lighten'd o'er his'livid face. Not much he loved long question of the Yet these in vain his eye could scarcely scan, Not unrejoiced to see him once again, Warm was his welcome to the haunts of men; Born of high lineage, link'd in high command, And then, his rarely call'd attendants said, Through night's long hours would sound his hurried tread O'er the dark gallery, where his fathers frown'd In rude but antique portraiture around: They heard, but whisper'd" that must not be knownThe sound of words less earthly than his own. Yes, they who chose might smile, but some had seen They scarce knew what, but more than should have been. Why gazed he so upon the ghastly head That still beside his open'd volume lay, Some knew perchance-but 'twere a tale He mingled with the Magnates of his land; Upon his eye sate something of reproof, Twas strange-in youth all action and all life, Burning for pleasure, not averse from strife; Woman the field-the ocean- all that gave Promise of gladness, peril of a grave, In that intenseness an escape from thought: Alas! he told not-but he did awake Books, for his volume heretofore was Man, With eye more curious he appear'd to scan, And oft, in sudden mood, for many a day From all communion he would start away: But if they would surmise; they could "— around the board, prattled of their lord. bee; Such in her chaplet infant Dian wove, In windings bright and mazy like the snake. Such scene reminded him of other days, Of nights more soft and frequent, hearts No-no-the storm may beat upon his brow, 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, 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, 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, Reflected in fantastic figures grew, 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 lours 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 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; Some imprecation of despairing pride; breathes, he speaks, Aught they hehold or hear their thoughts appals, walls. Vain thought! that hour of ne'er unra- | Which tenderness might once have wrung Came not again, or Lara could assume Since word, nor look, nor gesture of their Betray'd a feeling that recall'd to these 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, Or did that silence prove his memory fix'd Not so in him; his breast had buried both, They choke the feeble words that would In him inexplicably mix'd appear'd Much to be loved and hated, sought and fear'd; Opinion varying o'er his hidden lot, What had be been? what was he, thus 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, Waned in its mirth, and wither'd to a sneer; None e'er could trace its laughter to his eye: Such weakness, as unworthy of its pride, In vigilance of grief that would compel There was in him a vital scorn of all: And troubled manhood follow'd baffled With thought of years in phantom-chase mispent, And wasted powers for better purpose lent; In hurried desolation o'er his path, 'Till he at last confounded good and ill, To do what few or none would do beside; Mislead his spirit equally to crime; And long'd by good or ill to separate His mind abhorring this had fix'd her throne Ah! happier if it ne'er with guilt had glow'd, And like the rest in seeming did and talk'd, With all that chilling mystery of mien, | Of keen inquiry, and of mute amaze; That words can image to express the thought; And on the words, however light, would None knew, nor how, nor why, but he entwined Himself perforce around the hearer's mind; dames, On Lara's glance emotion gathering grew, ""Tis he!" the stranger cried, and those Till louder accents rung on Lara's ear; brook The general marvel, or that single look; And drawing nigh, exclaim'd, with haughty It were too much for Lara to pass by Such question, so repeated fierce and high; With look collected, but with accent cold, There is a festival, where knights and More mildly firm than petulantly bold, He turn'd, and met the inquisitorial toneAnd aught that wealth or lofty lineage" My name is Lara!- when thine own is claims known, Appear a highborn and a welcome guestDoubt not my fitting answer to requite And the gay dance of bounding Beauty's I shun no question and 1 wear no mask.” train Links grace and harmony in happiest chain: And Youth forget such hour was past on And Lara gazed on these, sedately glad, His brow belied him if his soul was sad; And his glance follow'd fast each fluttering fair, They knew, or chose to know--with dubious look He deign'd no answer, but his head he shook, And half contemptuous turn'd to pass away; But the stern stranger motion'd him to stay. "A word!-I charge thee stay, and answer here Whose steps of lightness woke no echo there: gaze To one, who, wert thou noble, were thy peer, lord, If false, 'tis easy to disprove the word |