CANTO THE FIRST XXIV |
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CANTO THE FIRSTXXIV
"To-morrow! — ay, to-morrow!" — further word
Than those repeated none from Lara heard;
Upon his brow no outward passion spoke,
From his large eye no flashing anger broke;
Yet there was something fix`d in that low tone
Which shew`d resolve, determined, though unknown.
He seized his cloak — his head he slightly bow`d,
And passing Ezzelin he left the crowd;
And as he pass`d him, smiling met the frown
With which that chieftain`s brow would bear him down:
It was nor smile of mirth, nor struggling pride
That curbs to scorn the wrath it cannot hide;
But that of one in his own heart secure
Of all that he would do, or could endure.
Could this mean peace? the calmness of the good?
Or guilt grown old in desperate hardihood?
Alas! too like in confidence are each
For man to trust to mortal look or speech;
From deeds, and deeds alone, may he discern
Truths which it wrings the unpractised heart to learn.
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