And Lara left in youth his father-land; But from the hour he waved his parting hand Each trace waxed 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,[je] The young forgot him, and the old had died;[jf] "Yet doth he live!" exclaims the impatient heir, And sighs for sables which he must not wear.[jg] 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 in that Gothic pile.[jh] 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: No train is his beyond a single page, Of foreign aspect, and of tender age. Years had rolled on, and fast they speed away To those that wander as to those that stay; 50 But lack of tidings from another clime Had lent a flagging wing to weary Time. They see, they recognise, yet almost deem The present dubious, or the past a dream. He lives, nor yet is past his Manhood's prime, Though seared by toil, and something touched by Time; His faults, whate'er they were, if scarce forgot, Might be untaught him by his varied lot; Nor good nor ill of late were known, his name Might yet uphold his patrimonial fame: 60 His soul in youth was haughty, but his sins[269] No more than pleasure from the stripling wins; And such, if not yet hardened in their course, Might be redeemed, nor ask a long remorse. V.