Short was the conflict; furious, blindly rash, Vain Otho gave his bosom to the gash: He bled, and fell; but not with deadly wound, Stretched by a dextrous sleight along the ground. "Demand thy life!" He answered not: and then From that red floor he ne'er had risen again, For Lara's brow upon the moment grew Almost to blackness in its demon hue;[281] And fiercer shook his angry falchion now 720 Than when his foe's was levelled at his brow; Then all was stern collectedness and art, Now rose the unleavened hatred of his heart; So little sparing to the foe he felled,[kj] That when the approaching crowd his arm withheld, He almost turned the thirsty point on those Who thus for mercy dared to interpose; But to a moment's thought that purpose bent; Yet looked he on him still with eye intent, As if he loathed the ineffectual strife 730 That left a foe, howe'er o'erthrown, with life; As if to search how far the wound he gave Had sent its victim onward to his grave. V. They raised the bleeding Otho, and the Leech Forbade all present question, sign, and speech; The others met within a neighbouring hall, And he, incensed, and heedless of them all,[kk] The cause and conqueror in this sudden fray, In haughty silence slowly strode away; He backed his steed, his homeward path he took, 740 Nor cast on Otho's towers a single look. VI.