CANTO I.

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To tune his lute, or if he willed it more,

On tomes of other times and tongues to porejBut ne’er to mingle with the menial train,

To whom he showed nor deference nor disdain.But that well - worn reserve which proved he knewNo sympathy with that familiar crew: 571

His soul, whate’er his station or his stem,Could bow to Lara, not descend to then?.

Of higher birth he seemed, and better days,Nor mark of vulgar toil that hand betrays,

So femininely white it might bespeakAnother sex, when matched with that smoothcheck ,

But for his garb, and something in his gaze,More wild and high than woman’s eye betrays jA latent fierceness that far more became 53 oHis fiery climate than his tender frame:

True, in his words it brake not from bis breast.But from his aspect might be more than guest.Haled his name, though rumour said he boreAnother ere he left his ttiountuin shore;

For sometimes lie would lieae, however nigh ,That name repeated loud without reply,

As unfamiliar/*or, if roused again,

Start to the sound, as but remembered then;Unless 'twas Lara's wonted voice that spake, 690For then, ear, eyes, and heart would all awake.