XI.

Fresh with the nerve the new-born impulse

strung.

The first success to Lara's numbers clung:
But that vain victory hath ruin'd all;
They form no longer to their leader's call:
In blind confusion on the foe they press,
And think to snatch is to secure success.
The lust 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 turn'd their mood,
And shown their rashness to that erring brood:
The feign'd retreat, the nightly ambuscade,
The daily harass, and the fight delay'd,
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 heart,
Of these they had not deem'd: the battle-day
They could encounter as a veteran may,
But more preferr'd the fury of the strife,
And present death to hourly suffering life;
And famine wrings, and fever sweeps away
His numbers meiting 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

main'd

re

To mourn the discipline they late disdain'd.
One hope survives, the frontier is not far,
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 fatherland to quit,
But harder still to perish or submit.

XII.

Some few perchance may break and pass the
However link'd to baffle such design. [line,
The charge be ours! to wait for their assault
Were fate well worthy of a coward's halt.'
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
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;
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 ;
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!'

The word hath pass'd his lips, and onward
driven,
[riven;
Pours the link'd band through ranks asunder
Well has each steed obey'd the armed heel,
And flash the scimitars, and rings the steel;
Outnumber'd, not outbraved, they still oppose
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,
Cheers Lara's voice, and waves or strikes his
steel,

Inspiring hope himself had ceased to feel.

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.
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 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
Who by the border-stream their march oppose,

vain;

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,
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;

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
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;
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,
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,
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
And merely adds another throb to pain.
He clasps the hand that pang which would

suage,

sees,

vain,

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,
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:

[last They seem'd even then-that twain-unto the To half forget the present in the past; [fate, To share between themselves some separate Whose darkness none beside should penetrate.

And sadly smiles his thanks to that dark page, Who nothing fears, nor feels, nor heeds, nor [knees; Save that damp brow which rests upon his Save that pale aspect, where the eye, though

dim,

Held all the light that shone on earth for him.

XVIII.

vain,

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,

dain:

And Kaled, though he spoke not, nor withdrew
From Lara's face his fix'd despairing view,
With brow repulsive, and with gesture swift,
Flung back the hand which held the sacred gift,
Nor seem'd to know his life but then began,
As if such but disturb'd the expiring man,
That life of Immortality, secure

To none, save them whose faith in Christ is sure.

xx.

But gasping heaved the breath that Lara drew, And dull the film along his dim eye grew :

There from thy daughter, sister, wife,
At midnight drain the stream of life;
Yet loathe the banquet which perforce
Must feed thy livid living corse :
Thy victims, ere they yet expire,
Shall know the demon for their sire,
As cursing thee, thou cursing them,
Thy flowers are wither'd on the stem.
But one that for thy crime must fall,
The youngest, most beloved of all,
Shall bless thee with a father's name-
That word shall wrap thy heart in flame!
Yet must thou end thy task, and mark
Her cheek's last tinge, her eye's last spark,
And the last glassy glance must view
Which freezes o'er its lifeless blue;
Then with unhallow'd hand shall tear
The tresses of her yellow hair,
Of which in life a lock when shorn
Affection's fondest pledge was worn,
But now is borne away by thee,
Memorial of thine agony!

Wet with thine own best blood shall drip*
Thy gnashing tooth and haggard lip;
Then stalking to thy sullen grave,
Go-and with Gouls and Afrits rave;
Till these in horror shrink away
From spectre more accursed than they !

'How name ye yon lone Caloyer?

His features I have scann'd before
In mine own land: 'tis many a year,
Since, dashing by the lonely shore,
I saw him urge as fleet a steed
As ever served a horseman's need.
But once I saw that face, yet then
It was so mark'd with inward pain,
I could not pass it by again;

It breathes the same dark spirit now,
As death were stamp'd upon his brow.'

'Tis twice three years at summer tide Since first among our freres he came ; And here it soothes him to abide

For some dark deed he will not name. But never at our vesper prayer, Nor e'er before confession chair, Kneels he, nor recks he when arise Incense or anthem to the skies, But broods within his cell alone, His faith and race alike unknown. The sea from Paynim land he crost, And here ascended from the coast; Yet seems he not of Othman race, But only Christian in his face : I'd judge him some stray renegade, Repentant of the change he made, Save that he shuns our holy shrine, Nor tastes the sacred bread and wine.

The freshness of the face, and the wetness of the lip with blood, are the never-failing signs of a Vampire. The stories told in Hungary and Greece of these foul feeders are singular, and some of them most incredibly attested.

Dark and unearthly is the scowl
That glares beneath his dusky cowl:
The flash of that dilating eye
Reveals too much of times gone by;
Though varying, indistinct its hue,
Oft will his glance the gazer rue,
For in it lurks that nameless spell,
Which speaks, itself unspeakable,
A spirit yet unquell'd and high,
That claims and keeps ascendancy;
And like the bird whose pinions quake,
But cannot fly the gazing snake,
Will others quail beneath his look,
Nor'scape the glance they scarce can brook.
From him the half-affrighted Friar
When met alone would fain retire,
As if that high and bitter smile
Transferr'd to others fear and guile :
Not oft to smile descendeth he,
And when he doth, 'tis sad to see
That he but mocks at Misery.
How that pale lip will curl and quiver!
Then fix once more as if for ever;
As if his sorrow or disdain

Forbade him e'er to smile again.
Well were it so-such ghastly mirth,
From joyaunce ne'er derived its birth.
But sadder still it were to trace
What once were feelings in that face:
Time hath not yet the features fix'd,
But brighter traits with evil mix'd;
And there are hues not always faded,
Which speak a mind not all degraded,
Even by the crimes through which it waded,
The common crowd but see the gloom
Of wayward deeds, and fitting doom;
The close observer can espy

A noble soul, and lineage high:
Alas! though both bestow'd in vain,
Which Grief could change, and Guilt could
stain,

It was no vulgar tenement

To which such lofty gifts were lent,
And still with little less than dread

On such the sight is riveted.