CANTO THE FIRST XVI |
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CANTO THE FIRSTXVI
Vain thought! that hour of ne`er unravell`d gloom
Came not again, or Lara could assume
A seeming of forgetfulness that made
His vassals more amazed nor less afraid —
Had memory vanish`d then with sense restored?
Since word, nor look, nor gesture of their lord
Betray`d a feeling that recall`d to these
That fever`d moment of his mind`s disease.
Was it a dream? was his the voice that spoke
Those strange wild accents; his the cry that broke
Their slumber? his the oppress`d o`er-labour`d heart
That ceased to beat, the look that made them start?
Could he who thus had suffer`d, so forget
When such as saw that suffering shudder yet?
Or did that silence prove his memory fix`d
Too deep for words, indelible, unmix`d
In that corroding secresy which gnaws
The heart to shew the effect, but not the cause?
Not so in him; his breast had buried both,
Nor common gazers could discern the growth
Of thoughts that mortal lips must leave half told;
They choke the feeble words that would unfold.
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