Xv.[282]

Commanding--aiding--animating all, Where foe appeared to press, or friend to fall, 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 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 seemed to fly-- Now was the time, he waved his hand on high, 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 has stricken down yon arm of pride. The word of triumph fainted from his tongue; 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, Perceives not Lara that his anxious page Beguiles his charger from the combat's rage: Meantime his followers charge, and charge again; Too mixed 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,[kt] And that last gasp hath burst his bloody girth; And near, yet quivering with what life remained, The heel that urged him and the hand that reined; And some too near that rolling torrent lie,[ku] 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 crimsoned 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 unquenched, 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 staunch 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, 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; 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 searched the field, Their triumph nought till Lara too should yield: They would remove him, but they see 'twere 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, 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 reached alone; And he replied, though faintly, to their sound, While gazed the rest in dumb amazement round: They seemed 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.