The hour is past, and Lara too is there, With self-confiding, coldly patient air; Why comes not Ezzelin? The hour is past, And murmurs rise, and Otho's brow's o'ercast. "I know my friend! his faith I cannot fear, If yet he be on earth, expect him here; The roof that held him in the valley stands 680 Between my own and noble Lara's lands; My halls from such a guest had honour gained, Nor had Sir Ezzelin his host disdained, But that some previous proof forbade his stay, And urged him to prepare against to-day; The word I pledged for his I pledge again, Or will myself redeem his knighthood's stain." He ceased--and Lara answered, "I am here To lend at thy demand a listening ear To tales of evil from a stranger's tongue, 690 Whose words already might my heart have wrung, But that I deemed him scarcely less than mad, Or, at the worst, a foe ignobly bad. I know him not--but me it seems he knew In lands where--but I must not trifle too: Produce this babbler--or redeem the pledge; Here in thy hold, and with thy falchion's edge."[ki] Proud Otho on the instant, reddening, threw His glove on earth, and forth his sabre flew. "The last alternative befits me best, 700 And thus I answer for mine absent guest." With cheek unchanging from its sallow gloom, However near his own or other's tomb; With hand, whose almost careless coolness spoke Its grasp well-used to deal the sabre-stroke; With eye, though calm, determined not to spare, Did Lara too his willing weapon bare. In vain the circling Chieftains round them closed, For Otho's frenzy would not be opposed; And from his lip those words of insult fell-- 710 His sword is good who can maintain them well. IV.