The works of Lord Byron :: :: University of Virginia Library

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
“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.”

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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,
“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.”

Proud Otho on the instant, reddening, threw
His glove on earth, and forth his sabre flew.
“The last alternative befits me best,
“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—
His sword is good who can maintain them well.