Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 3.djvu/357

Short was the course his restlessness had run,^{[lower-roman 1]}
But long enough to leave him half undone.

III.
And Lara left in youth his father-land;
But from the hour he waved his parting hand
Each trace wax'd fainter of his course, till all
Had nearly ceased his memory to recall.
His sire was dust, his vassals could declare,
'Twas all they knew, that Lara was not there; 30
Nor sent, nor came he, till conjecture grew
Cold in the many, anxious in the few.
His hall scarce echoes with his wonted name,
His portrait darkens in its fading frame,
Another chief consoled his destined bride,^{[lower-roman 2]}
The young forgot him, and the old had died;^{[lower-roman 3]}
"Yet doth he live!" exclaims the impatient heir,
And sighs for sables which he must not wear.^{[lower-roman 4]}
A hundred scutcheons deck with gloomy grace
The Laras' last and longest dwelling-place; 40
But one is absent from the mouldering file,
That now were welcome to that Gothic pile.^{[lower-roman 5]}

IV.
He comes at last in sudden loneliness,
And whence they know not, why they need not guess;
They more might marvel, when the greeting's o'er,
Not that he came, but came not long before:

1. Short was the course the beardless wanderer run.—[MS.]
2. Another chief had won ———.—[MS. erased.]
3. His friends forgot him—and his dog had died.—[MS.]
4. Without one rumour to relieve his care.-[MS. erased.]
5. That most might decorate that gloomy pile—[MS. erased.]