IV.

Short was the conflict; furious, blindly rash, Vain Otho gave his bosom to the gash: He bled, and fell; but not with deadly wound, Stretched by a dextrous sleight along the ground. "Demand thy life!" He answered not: and then From that red floor he ne'er had risen again, For Lara's brow upon the moment grew Almost to blackness in its demon hue;[281] And fiercer shook his angry falchion now 720 Than when his foe's was levelled at his brow; Then all was stern collectedness and art, Now rose the unleavened hatred of his heart; So little sparing to the foe he felled,[kj] That when the approaching crowd his arm withheld, He almost turned the thirsty point on those Who thus for mercy dared to interpose; But to a moment's thought that purpose bent; Yet looked he on him still with eye intent, As if he loathed the ineffectual strife 730 That left a foe, howe'er o'erthrown, with life; As if to search how far the wound he gave Had sent its victim onward to his grave.