It is resolved--they march--consenting Night Guides with her star their dim and torchless flight; Already they perceive its tranquil beam Sleep on the surface of the barrier stream; Already they descry--Is yon the bank? Away! 'tis lined with many a hostile rank. 970 Return or fly!--What glitters in the rear? 'Tis Otho's banner--the pursuer's spear! Are those the shepherds' fires upon the height? Alas! they blaze too widely for the flight: Cut off from hope, and compassed in the toil, Less blood perchance hath bought a richer spoil! XIII. A moment's pause--'tis but to breathe their band, Or shall they onward press, or here withstand? It matters little--if they charge the foes Who by their border-stream their march oppose, 980 Some few, perchance, may break and pass the line, However linked to baffle such design. "The charge be ours! to wait for their assault Were fate well worthy of a coward's halt." Forth flies each sabre, reined is every steed, And the next word shall scarce outstrip the deed: In the next tone of Lara's gathering breath How many shall but hear the voice of Death! XIV. His blade is bared,--in him there is an air As deep, but far too tranquil for despair; 990 A something of indifference more than then Becomes the bravest, if they feel for men-- He turned his eye on Kaled, ever near, And still too faithful to betray one fear; Perchance 'twas but the moon's dim twilight threw Along his aspect an unwonted hue Of mournful paleness, whose deep tint expressed The truth, and not the terror of his breast. This Lara marked, and laid his hand on his: It trembled not in such an hour as this; 1000 His lip was silent, scarcely beat his heart, His eye alone proclaimed, "We will not part! Thy band may perish, or thy friends may flee, Farewell to Life--but not Adieu to thee!" The word hath passed his lips, and onward driven, Pours the linked band through ranks asunder riven: Well has each steed obeyed the arméd heel, And flash the scimitars, and rings the steel; Outnumbered, not outbraved, they still oppose Despair to daring, and a front to foes; 1010 And blood is mingled with the dashing stream, Which runs all redly till the morning beam.[ks] XV.[282]