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, 1080

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. 1090

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.