The hour is past, and Lara too is there,

With self-confiding, coldly patient air;

Why comes not Ezzelin? The hour is past,

And murmurs rise, and Otho's brow's o'ercast.

"I know my friend! his faith I cannot fear,

If yet he be on earth, expect him here;

The roof that held him in the valley stands 680

Between my own and noble Lara's lands;

My halls from such a guest had honour gained,

Nor had Sir Ezzelin his host disdained,

But that some previous proof forbade his stay,

And urged him to prepare against to-day;

The word I pledged for his I pledge again,

Or will myself redeem his knighthood's stain."

He ceased—and Lara answered, "I am here

To lend at thy demand a listening ear

To tales of evil from a stranger's tongue, 690

Whose words already might my heart have wrung,

But that I deemed him scarcely less than mad,

Or, at the worst, a foe ignobly bad.

I know him not—but me it seems he knew

In lands where—but I must not trifle too:

Produce this babbler—or redeem the pledge;

Here in thy hold, and with thy falchion's edge."[ki]

Proud Otho on the instant, reddening, threw

His glove on earth, and forth his sabre flew.

"The last alternative befits me best, 700

And thus I answer for mine absent guest."

With cheek unchanging from its sallow gloom,

However near his own or other's tomb;

With hand, whose almost careless coolness spoke

Its grasp well-used to deal the sabre-stroke;

With eye, though calm, determined not to spare,

Did Lara too his willing weapon bare.

In vain the circling Chieftains round them closed,

For Otho's frenzy would not be opposed;

And from his lip those words of insult fell— 710

His sword is good who can maintain them well.