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CANTO THE SECONDXIV
His blade is bared — in him there is an air
As deep, but far too tranquil for despair;
A something of indifference more than then
Becomes the bravest, if they feel for men.
He turn`d 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 express`d
The truth, and not the terror of his breast.
This Lara mark`d, and laid his hand on his:
It trembled not in such an hour as this;
His lip was silent, scarcely beat his heart,
His eye alone proclaim`d —
"We will not part!
Thy band may perish, or thy friends may flee,
Farewell to life, but not adieu to thee!"
The word hath pass`d his lips, and onward driven,
Pours the link`d band through ranks asunder riven;
Well has each steed obey`d the armed heel,
And flash the scimitars, and rings the steel;
Outnumber`d, not outbraved, they still oppose
Despair to daring, and a front to foes;
And blood is mingled with the dashing stream,
Which runs all redly till the morning beam.
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