The crowd are gone, the revellers at rest; The courteous host, and all-approving guest, Again to that accustomed couch must creep 630 Where Joy subsides, and Sorrow sighs to sleep, And Man, o'erlaboured with his Being's strife, Shrinks to that sweet forgetfulness of life: There lie Love's feverish hope, and Cunning's guile,[kf] Hate's working brain, and lulled Ambition's wile; O'er each vain eye Oblivion's pinions wave, And quenched Existence crouches in a grave.[kg] What better name may Slumber's bed become? Night's sepulchre, the universal home, Where Weakness--Strength--Vice--Virtue--sunk supine, 640 Alike in naked helplessness recline; Glad for a while to heave unconscious breath, Yet wake to wrestle with the dread of Death, And shun--though Day but dawn on ills increased-- That sleep,--the loveliest, since it dreams the least. CANTO THE SECOND. I. Night wanes--the vapours round the mountains curled[278] Melt into morn, and Light awakes the world, Man has another day to swell the past, And lead him near to little, but his last; But mighty Nature bounds as from her birth, 650 The Sun is in the heavens, and Life on earth;[279] Flowers in the valley, splendour in the beam, Health on the gale, and freshness in the stream. Immortal Man! behold her glories shine, And cry, exulting inly, "They are thine!" Gaze on, while yet thy gladdened eye may see: A morrow comes when they are not for thee: And grieve what may above thy senseless bier, Nor earth nor sky will yield a single tear; Nor cloud shall gather more, nor leaf shall fall, 660 Nor gale breathe forth one sigh for thee, for all;[280] But creeping things shall revel in their spoil, And fit thy clay to fertilise the soil. II. 'Tis morn--'tis noon--assembled in the hall, The gathered Chieftains come to Otho's call; 'Tis now the promised hour, that must proclaim The life or death of Lara's future fame; And Ezzelin his charge may here unfold,[kh] And whatsoe'er the tale, it must be told. His faith was pledged, and Lara's promise given, 670 To meet it in the eye of Man and Heaven. Why comes he not? Such truths to be divulged, Methinks the accuser's rest is long indulged. III.