XIV.

His blade is bared,--in him there is an air As deep, but far too tranquil for despair; 990 A something of indifference more than then Becomes the bravest, if they feel for men-- He turned his eye on Kaled, ever near, And still too faithful to betray one fear; Perchance 'twas but the moon's dim twilight threw Along his aspect an unwonted hue Of mournful paleness, whose deep tint expressed The truth, and not the terror of his breast. This Lara marked, and laid his hand on his: It trembled not in such an hour as this; 1000 His lip was silent, scarcely beat his heart, His eye alone proclaimed, "We will not part! Thy band may perish, or thy friends may flee, Farewell to Life--but not Adieu to thee!"

The word hath passed his lips, and onward driven, Pours the linked band through ranks asunder riven: Well has each steed obeyed the arméd heel, And flash the scimitars, and rings the steel; Outnumbered, not outbraved, they still oppose Despair to daring, and a front to foes; 1010 And blood is mingled with the dashing stream, Which runs all redly till the morning beam.[ks]

XV.[282]

Commanding--aiding--animating all,[283] 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: 1020 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 pluméd 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! 1030 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!