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Books, for his volume heretofore was Man,
With eye more curious he appeared to scan,
And oft, in sudden mood, for many a day
From all communion he would start away:
And then, his rarely called attendants said,
Through night's long hours would sound his hur-
ried tread

O'er the dark gallery, where his fathers frowned
In rude but antique portraiture around:
They heard, but whispered

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"that must not

"The sound of words less earthly than his own. 140 "Yes, they who chose might smile, but some

had seen

"They searce knew what, but more than should have been.

"Why gazed he so upon the ghastly head "Which hands profane had gathered from the dead, "That still beside his opened volume lay, "As if to startle all save him away?

"Why slept he not when others were at rest?

"Why heard no music, and received no guest?

"All was not well they deemed

but where the

wrong?

"Some knew perchance

but 'twere a tale too

long;

150

"And such besides were too discreetly wise,

"To more than hint their knowledge in surmise;

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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

The immortal lights that life along the sky: 160 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.

These deck the shore; the waves their channel make

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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
To walk in such a scene, on such a night!
It was a moment only for the good:

170

So Lara deemed, nor longer there he stood,
But turned in silence to his castle- gate;
Such scene his soul no more could contemplate:
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,

A night of beauty, mocked such breast as his. 180

XI.

He turned 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 lices. 190
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,

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
His aspect all that terror gives the grave.

XII.

200

'Twas midnight - all was slumber; the lone light Dimmed in the lamp, as loth to break the night. Hark! there be murmurs heard in Lara's hall

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A long, loud shriek

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and silence did they hear

That frantic echo burst the sleeping ear?

They heard and and rose, tremulously brave Rush where the sound invoked their aid to save; They come with half-lit tapers in their hands, And snatched in startled haste unbelted brands. 210

XIII.

Gold as the marble where his length was laid, Pale as the beam that o'er bis features played,` Was Lara stretched; his half drawn sabre near,

Dropped it should seem in more than nature's fear;
Yet he was firm, or had been firm till now,
And still defiance knit his gathered brow;
Though mixed with terror, senseless as he lay,
There lived upon his lip the wish to slay;
Some half formed threat in utterance there had

died,

Some imprecation of despairing pride,

His eye was almost sealed, but not forsook,
Even in its trance the gladiator's look,
That oft awake his aspect could disclose,
And now was fixed in horrible repose.

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220

They raise him bear him; hush! he breathes,

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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
In terms that seem not of his native tongue; 230
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!

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