Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/364

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OTHO THE GREAT.
With one of his well-pleased Olympian oaths,The charters of man's greatness, at this hourHe would be watching round the castle walls,And, like an anxious warder, strain his sightFor the first glimpse of such a son return'd—Ludolph, that blast of the Hungarians,That Saracenic meteor of the fight,That silent fury, whose fell cimeterKept danger all aloof from Otho's head,And left him space for wonder.
 Ludolph.Say no moreNot as a swordsman would I pardon claim,But as a son. The bronzed centurion,Long toil'd in foreign wars, and whose high deedsAre shaded in a forest of tall spears,Known only to his troop, hath greater pleaOf favor with my sire than I can have.
 Sigifred. My lord, forgive me that I cannot seeHow this proud temper with clear reason squares.What made you then, with such an anxious love,Hover around that life, whose bitter days,You vexed with bad revolt? Was't opium,Or the mad-fumed wine? Nay, do not frown,I rather would grieve with you than upbraid.
 Ludolph. I do believe you. No, 'twas not to makeA father his son's debtor, or to healHis deep heart-sickness for a rebel child.'Twas done in memory of my boyish days,Poor cancel for his kindness to my youth,For all his calming of my childish griefs,And all his smiles upon my merriment.No, not a thousand foughten fields could sponge
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