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CANTO THE SECONDXIX
Their words though faint were many — from the tone
Their import those who heard could judge alone;
From this, you might have deem`d young Kaled`s death
More near than Lara`s by his voice and breath,
So sad, so deep, and hesitating broke
The accents his scarce-moving pale lips spoke;
But Lara`s voice, though low, at first was clear
And calm, till murmuring death gasp`d hoarsely near:
But from his visage little could we guess,
So unrepentant, dark, and passionless,
Save that when struggling nearer to his last,
Upon that page his eye was kindly cast;
And once, as Kaled`s answering accents ceased,
Rose Lara`s hand, and pointed to the East:
Whether (as then the breaking sun from high
Roll`d back the clouds) the morrow caught his eye,
Or that `twas chance, or some remember`d scene
That raised his arm to point where such had been,
Scarce Kaled seem`d to know, but turn`d away,
As if his heart abhorr`d that coming day,
And shrunk his glance before that morning light
To look on Lara`s brow — where all grew night.
Yet sense seem`d left, though better were its loss;
For when one near display`d the absolving cross,
And proffer`d to his touch the holy bead,
Of which his parting soul might own the need,
He look`d upon it with an eye profane,
And smiled — Heaven pardon! if `twere with disdain;
And Kaled, though he spoke not, nor withdrew
From Lara`s face his fix`d despairing view,
With brow repulsive, and with gesture swift,
Flung back the hand which held the sacred gift,
As if such but disturb`d the expiring man,
Nor seem`d to know his life but /then/ began,
The life immortal infinite, secure,
To all for whom that cross hath made it sure!
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