CXLV.

It lulls not, nor its fury slakes, but grown Wilder, shows worse by day,—if this be day, Which but by reckoning of the hours is known, And not by any cheering light or ray. Now, with more fear (his weaker hope o’erthrown), The sorrowing Patron to the wind gives way, He veers his barque before the cruel gale, And scowers the foaming sea with humble sail.

CXLVI.

While Fortune on the sea annoys this crew, She grants those others small repose by land , Those left in France, who one another slew,— The men of England and the paynim band. These bold Rinaldo broke and overthrew; Nor troops nor banners spread before him stand: I speak of him, who his Bayardo fleet Had spurred the gallant Dardinel to meet.

CXLVII.

The shield, of which Almontes’ son was vain, That of the quarters, good Rinaldo spied; And deemed him bold, and of a valiant strain, Who with Orlando’s ensign dared to ride. Approaching nearer, this appeared more plain, When heaps of slaughtered men he round him eyed. “Better it were,” he cried, “to overthrow “This evil plant, before it shoot and grow.”

CXLVIII.

Each to retreat betook him, where the peer His face directed, and large passage made. Nor less the Saracens than faithful, clear The way, so reverenced is Fusberta’s blade. Save Dardinel, Mount Alban’s cavalier, Saw none, nor he to chase his prey delayed. To whom, “He cast upon thee mickle care, “Poor child, who of that buckler left thee heir.

CXLIX.

“I seek thee out to prove (if thou attend “My coming) how thou keep’st the red and white, “For thou, save this from me thou canst defend, “Canst ill defend it from Orlando’s might.” To him the king: “Now clearly comprehend, “I what I bear, as well defend in fight; “And I more honour hope than trouble dread “From my paternal quartering, white and red.

CL.

“Have thou no hope to make me fly, or yield “To thee my quarters, though a child I be; “My life shalt thou take from me, if my shield; “But I, in God, well hope the contrary. “—This as it may!—shall none, in fighting field, “Say that I ever shamed my ancestry.” So said, and grasping in his hand the sword, The youthful king assailed Mount Alban’s lord.

CLI.

Upon all parts, a freezing fear goes through The heart-blood of each trembling paynim nigh, When they amazed the fierce Rinaldo view; Who charged the monarch with such enmity, As might a lion, which a bullock, new To stings of love, should in a meadow spy . The Moor smote first, but fruitless was his task, Who beat in vain upon Mambrino’s casque.

CLII.

Rinaldo smiled, and said; “I’d have thee know “If I am better skilled to find the vein.” He spurs, and lets with that the bridle go, And a thrust pushes with such might and main, —A thrust against the bosom of his foe, That at his back the blade appears again. Forth issued blood and soul, and from his sell Lifeless and cold the reeling body fell.

CLIII.

As languishes the flower of purple hue, Which levelled by the passing ploughshare lies; Or as the poppy, overcharged with dew, In garden droops its head in piteous wise : From life the leader of Zumara’s crew So past, his visage losing all its dyes; So passed from life; and perished with their king, The heart and hope of all his following.

CLIV.

As waters will sometime their course delay, Stagnant, and penned in pool by human skill, Which, when the opposing dyke is broke away, Fall, and with mighty noise the country fill: ’Twas so the Africans, who had some stay, While Dardinello valour did instil, Fled here and there, dismayed on every side, When they him hurtling from his sell descried.

CLV.

Letting the flyers fly, of those who stand Firm in their place, Rinaldo breaks the array; Ariodantes kills on every hand; Who ranks well nigh Rinaldo on that day. These Leonetto’s, those Zerbino’s brand O’erturns, all rivals in the glorious fray. Well Charles and Oliver their parts have done, Turpin and Ogier, Guido and Salomon.

CLVI.

In peril were the Moors, that none again Should visit Heatheness, that day opprest: But that the wise and wary king of Spain, Gathered, and from the field bore off the rest: To sit down with his loss he better gain Esteemed, than here to hazard purse and vest : Better some remnant of the host to save, Than bid whole squadrons stand and find a grave.

CLVII.

He bids forthwith the Moorish ensigns be Borne to the camp, which fosse and rampart span, With the bold monarch of Andology, The valiant Portuguese, and Stordilan. He sends to pray the king of Barbary , To endeavour to retire, as best he can; Who will no little praise that day deserve, If he his person and his place preserve.

CLVIII.

That king, who deemed himself in desperate case, Nor ever more Biserta hoped to see; For, with so horrible and foul a face He never Fortune had beheld, with glee Heard that Marsilius had contrived to place Part of his host in full security; And faced about his banners and bade beat Throughout his broken squadrons a retreat.

CLIX.

But the best portion neither signal knew, Nor listened to the drum or trumpet’s sound. So scared, so crowded is the wretched crew, That many in Seine’s neighbouring stream are drowned. Agramant, who would form the band anew, (With him Sobrino) scowers the squadrons round; And with them every leader good combines To bring the routed host within their lines.

CLX.

But nought by sovereign or Sobrino done, Who, toiling, them with prayer or menace stirred, To march, where their ill-followed flags are gone, Can bring (I say not all) not even a third. Slaughtered or put to flight are two for one Who ’scapes,—nor he unharmed: among that herd, Wounded is this behind, and that before, And wearied, one and all, and harassed sore.

CLXI.

And even within their lines, in panic sore, They by the Christian bands are held in chase; And of all needful matters little store Was made there, for provisioning the place. Charlemagne wisely by the lock before Would grapple Fortune, when she turned her face, But that dark night upon the field descended, And hushed all earthly matters and suspended:

CLXII.

By the Creator haply hastened, who Was moved to pity for the works he made. The blood in torrents ran the country through, Flooding the roads: while on the champaign laid Were eighty thousand of the paynim crew, Cut off that day by the destroying blade: Last trooped from caverns, at the midnight-hour, Villain and wolf to spoil them and devour.

CLXIII.

King Charles returns no more within the town, But camps without the city, opposite The Moor’s cantonments, and bids up and down, And round, high-piled and frequent watch-fires light. The paynim fashions ditch and bastion, Rampart and mine, and all things requisite; Visits his outposts and his guards alarms, Nor all the livelong night puts off his arms.

CLXIV.

That livelong night the foes, throughout their tents, As insecure and with their scathe deprest, Poured tears, and uttered murmurs and laments; But, as they could, their sounds of woe supprest. One grief for slaughtered friends or kindred vents; Some are by sorrows of their own distrest, As wounded or as ill at ease; but more Tremble at mischief which they deem in store.

CLXV.

Two Moors amid the paynim army were, From stock obscure in Ptolomita grown; Of whom the story, an example rare Of constant love, is worthy to be known: Medoro and Cloridan were named the pair Who, whether Fortune pleased to smile or frown, Served Dardinello with fidelity, And late with him to France had crost the sea.

CLXVI.

Of nimble frame and strong was Cloridane, Throughout his life a follower of the chase. A cheek of white, suffused with crimson grain, Medoro had, in youth a pleasing grace. Nor bound on that emprize, ’mid all the train, Was there a fairer or more jocund face . Crisp hair he had of gold, and jet-black eyes: And seemed an angel lighted from the skies.

CLXVII.

These two were posted on a rampart’s height, With more to guard the encampment from surprise, When ’mid the equal intervals, at night, Medoro gazed on heaven with sleepy eyes. In all his talk, the stripling, woful wight, Here cannot choose, but of his lord devise, The royal Dardinel; and evermore Him, left unhonoured on the field, deplore.

CLXVIII.

Then, turning to his mate, cries; “Cloridane, “I cannot tell thee what a cause of woe “It is to me, my lord upon the plain “Should lie, unworthy food for wolf or crow! “Thinking how still to me he was humane, “Meseems, if in his honour I forego “This life of mine, for favours so immense “I shall but make a feeble recompense.

CLXIX.

“That he may lack not sepulture, will I “Go forth, and seek him out among the slain; “And haply God may will that none shall spy “Where Charles’s camp lies hushed. Do thou remain; “That, if my death be written in the sky, “Thou may’st the deed be able to explain. “So that if Fortune foil so fair a feat, “The world, through Fame, my loving heart may weet.”

CLXX.

Amazed was Cloridan a child should show Such heart, such love, and such fair loyalty ; And fain would make the youth his thought forego, Whom he held passing dear; but fruitlessly Would move his stedfast purpose; for such woe Will neither comforted nor altered be. Medoro is disposed to meet his doom, Or to enclose his master in the tomb.

CLXXI.

Seeing that nought would bend him, nought would move, “I too will go,” was Cloridan’s reply, “In such a glorious act myself will prove; “As well such famous death I covet, I: “What other thing is left me, here above, “Deprived of thee, Medoro mine? To die “With thee in arms is better, on the plain, “Than afterwards of grief, should’st thou be slain.”

CLXXII.

And thus resolved, disposing in their place Their guard’s relief, depart the youthful pair, Leave fosse and palisade, and, in small space, Are among ours, who watch with little care: Who, for they little fear the paynim race, Slumber with fires extinguished everywhere. ’Mid carriages and arms, they lie supine Up to the eyes, immersed in sleep and wine .

CLXXIII.

A moment Cloridano stopt and cried; “Not to be lost are opportunities. “This troop, by whom my master’s blood was shed, “Medoro, ought not I to sacrifice? “Do thou, lest any one this way be led, “Watch everywhere about, with ears and eyes . “For a wide way, amid the hostile horde, “I offer here to make thee with my sword.”

CLXXIV.

So said he, and his talk cut quickly short, Coming where learned Alpheus slumbered nigh; Who had the year before sought Charles’s court, In medicine, magic, and astrology Well versed; but now in art found small support, Or rather found that it was all a lie . He had foreseen, that he his long-drawn life Should finish in the bosom of his wife.

CLXXV.

And now the Saracen with wary view Has pierced his weasand with the pointed sword. Four others he, near that Diviner, slew, Nor gave the wretches time to say a word. Sir Turpin in his story tells not who, And Time has of their names effaced record. Palidon of Moncalier next he speeds; One who securely sleeps between two steeds .

CLXXVI.

Next came the warrior where, with limbs outspread, Pillowed on barrel, lay the wretched Gryll: This he had drained, and undisturbed by dread, Hoped to enjoy a peaceful sleep and still. The daring Saracen lopt off his head, Blood issues from the tap-hole, with a rill Of wine ; and he, well drenched with many a can, Dreams that he drinks, dispatched by Cloridan.

CLXXVII.

Next Gryll, Andropono and Conrad hight, A Greek and German, at two thrusts he gored, Who in the air had past large part of night With dice and goblet; blest if at that board They still had watched, till, clothed in amber light, The radiant sun had traversed Indus’ ford ! But mortals Destiny would set at nought If every wight futurity were taught.

CLXXVIII.

As, in full fold, a lion long unfed, Whom wasting famine has made lean and spare, Devours and rends, and swallows, and lays dead The feeble flock , which at his mercy are; So, in their sleep, the cruel paynim bled Our host, and made wide slaughter everywhere: Nor blunted was the young Medoro’s sword, But he disdained to smite the ignoble horde.

CLXXIX.

He to Labretto’s duke, leaving those dead, Had come, who slumbered with a gentle mate, Each clasping each so closely in their bed, That air between them could not penetrate. From both Medoro cleanly lopt the head. Oh! blessed way of death! oh! happy fate! For ’tis my trust, that as their bodies, so Their souls embracing to their bourne shall go.

CLXXX.

Malindo, with Andalico, he slew, His brother, sons to the earl of Flanders they: To whom as bearings (each to arms was new) Charles had the lilies given; because that day The monarch had beheld the valiant two With crimsoned staves, returning from the fray; And them with lands in Flanders vowed to glad; And would, but that Medoro this forbad.

CLXXXI.

Rearing the insidious blade, the pair are near The place, where round King Charles’ pavilion Are tented warlike paladin and peer, Guarding the side that each is camped upon. When in good time the paynims backward steer, And sheathe their swords, the impious slaughter done; Deeming impossible, in such a number, But they must light on one who does not slumber.

CLXXXII.

And though they might escape well charged with prey, To save themselves they think sufficient gain. Thither by what he deems the safest way (Medoro following him) went Cloridane Where, in the field, ’mid bow and falchion, lay, And shield and spear, in pool of purple stain, Wealthy and poor, the king and vassal’s corse, And overthrown the rider and his horse.

CLXXXIII.

The horrid mixture of the bodies there Which heaped the plain where roved these comrades sworn, Might well have rendered vain their faithful care Amid the mighty piles, till break of morn, Had not the moon, at young Medoro’s prayer, Out of a gloomy cloud put forth her horn. Medoro to the heavens upturns his eyes Towards the moon, and thus devoutly cries:

CLXXXIV.

“O holy goddess! whom our fathers well “Have styled as of a triple form, and who “Thy sovereign beauty dost in heaven, and hell, “And earth, in many forms reveal; and through “The greenwood holt, of beast and monster fell, “—A huntress bold—the flying steps pursue, “Show where my king, amid so many lies, “Who did, alive, thy holy studies prize.”

CLXXXV.

At the youth’s prayer from parted cloud outshone (Were it the work of faith or accident) The moon, as fair, as when Endymīon She circled in her naked arms: with tent, Christian or Saracen, was Paris-town Seen in that gleam, and hill and plain’s extent. With these Mount Martyr and Mount Lery’s height, This on the left, and that upon the right .

CLXXXVI.

The silvery splendor glistened yet more clear, There where renowned Almontes’ son lay dead. Faithful Medoro mourned his master dear. Who well agnized the quartering white and red, With visage bathed in many a bitter tear (For he a rill from either eyelid shed), And piteous act and moan, that might have whist The winds, his melancholy plaint to list;

CLXXXVII.

But with a voice supprest: not that he aught Regards if any one the noise should hear, Because he of his life takes any thought; Of which loathed burden he would fain be clear; But, lest his being heard should bring to nought The pious purpose which has brought them here. The youths the king upon their shoulders stowed; And so between themselves divide the load.

CLXXXVIII.

Hurrying their steps, they hastened, as they might, Under the cherished burden they conveyed; And now approaching was the lord of light, To sweep from heaven the stars, from earth the shade, When good Zerbino, he, whose valiant sprite Was ne’er in time of need by sleep down-weighed, From chasing Moors all night, his homeward way Was taking to the camp at dawn of day.

CLXXXIX.

He has with him some horsemen in his train. That from afar the two companions spy. Expecting thus some spoil or prize to gain, They, every one, towards that quarter hie. “Brother, behoves us,” cried young Cloridane, “To cast away the load we bear, and fly: “For ’twere a foolish thought (might well be said) “To lose two living men, to save one dead:

CXC.

And dropt the burden, weening his Medore Had done the same by it, upon his side: But that poor boy, who loved his master more, His shoulders to the weight, alone, applied; Cloridan hurrying with all haste before, Deeming him close behind him or beside; Who, did he know his danger, him to save A thousand deaths, instead of one, would brave.

CXCI.

Those horsemen, with intent to make the two Yield themselves prisoners to their band, or die, Some here, some there, disperse the champaign through, And every pass and outlet occupy. The captain, little distant from his crew, Is keener than the rest the chase to ply; And, when he sees them hurrying in such guise, Is certain that the twain are enemies.

CXCII.

Of old an ancient forest clothed that lair, Of trees and underwood a tangled maze; Of salvage beasts alone the wild repair, And, like a labyrinth, full of narrow ways : Here from the boughs such shelter hope the pair As may conceal them well from hostile gaze. But him I shall expect who loves the rhyme, To listen to my tale some other time.

NOTES TO CANTO XVIII.

Unknowing how himself from thence to free .

Stanza xvii. line 1.

This picture of Rodomont, enclosed within the walls of Paris, and swimming the river to free himself from his enemies, is (it is hardly necessary to say) taken, in all its details, from that of Virgil’s Turnus.

As the high-couraged beast, whom hunters start In the wild Nomade or Massilian chase .

Stanza xxii. lines 1 and 2.

Ceu sævum turba leonem Cum telis premit infensis, atterritus ille, Asper, acerba tuens, retro redit; et neque terga Ira dare aut virtus patitur; nec tendere contra Ille quidem hoc cupiens, potis est per tela virosque.

Virgil .

Before the bloody carnage stank to heaven .

Stanza xxiii. line 6.

Di non far sì, che a Dio n’ andasse il lezzo.

So Petrarch ;

Hor vivi sì, ch’ à Dio ne venga il lezzo.

And perhaps Shakespear, who was indebted to the Italians for many modes of expression, through contemporary translations, took from hence the king of Denmark’s exclamation of

“Oh! my offence is rank; it stinks to heaven.”

She for those days she absent thought to be, For her lieutenant left Hypocrisy .

Stanza xxvii. lines 7 and 8.

I have forborne all remarks upon this allegory of Discord, Pride, Hypocrisy, &c. as a subject which has been too much canvassed to require new comments in a series of notes, intended to be less critical than explanatory. But it may be remarked (since others have not , I believe, remarked it, though I have hinted at it in another place) how much of reality as well as of spirit has been given to all these very abstract personages, by the consistency and exactness of the details.

It is curious to observe the different means by which great poets work in a successful experiment. Virgil calling up a phantom, purely allegorical, as Fame, only shows her for an instant, lest we should detect her visionary character. Ariosto dresses up his fantastic personages with care, surrounds them with circumstance, and ventures to detain them on the stage, till by dint of gazing on them we almost believe them to be real. In this he imitated Boiardo , and Boiardo Dante , who has so embodied his allegorical phantoms as often to deceive his commentators. Dante again imitated Alphonso of Castile and Brunetto Latini , in their respective poems of the Tesoro and Tesoretto . Such was the descent of Italian allegory.

At tiger rages, &c .

Stanza xxxv. line 1.

Ariosto would seem to have been in some sort indebted to Poliziano for this stanza; but it is only for the general idea.

He hurries with such speed, that not with more The lizard darts at noon across the way .

Stanza xxxvi. lines 5 and 6.

So Dante in canto xxv. of the Inferno:

Come il ramarro sotto la gran sfersa Dei dì canicular, cangiando siepe, Folgore par, se la via attraversa.

The lizard so, beneath the burning ray Of the fierce dog-star, changing hedge for hedge, Seems lightening, if he dart across the way.

Suggested perhaps by the well-known passage in Horace respecting the serpent.

Si per obliquum, similis sagittæ, Terruit mannos.

Be sure the land Is shut against you, wheresoe’er you speed. Too high a wall to climb is mountain-steep, The yawning sea a ditch too wide to leap .

Stanza l. lines 5, 6, 7, 8.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * They are not gifted with more lives than we; Have but one pair of hands, have but one soul .

Stanza li. lines 5 and 6.

Imitated from Virgil’s ,

Mortali urgemur ab hoste; Mortales totidem nobis animæque manusque. Ecce maris magno claudit nos objice pontus, Deest jam terra fugæ.

And cleaves the head of Cornish Aramon .

Stanza lii. line 8.

Here Fornari, in a long note, informs us that Cornwall is a part of Wales. “L’ Inghilterra, come s’è detto nel decimo canto, è nell’ Anglia, Vallia e Scotia divisa. La Cornovaglia poi è della Vallia una parte.” I suppose a horn of Wales.

In the next paragraph he states that the spider is a little animal who makes a net, &c.

He thought that he beheld Horatius keep, Singly, the bridge against all Tuscany .

Stanza lxv. lines 5 and 6.

The original of one of these two lines,

Horazio sol contra Toscana tutta,

is taken from Petrarch.

Him humbly underneath the hips embraced .

Stanza lxix. line 4.

In the original,

E sotto l’anche ed umile abbracciollo.

So in Dante,

E umilmente ritornò ver lui, E abbracciollo, ove il minor s’appiglia.

This servile sort of salutation is said to have originated in the Greek empire. It certainly exists at present in the country which was its seat; and I well remember that, riding in the neighbourhood of Constantinople, I had my thigh embraced by a Greek beggar, on whom I had bestowed three or four paras.

That the third day he Tyre’s famed city sees .

Stanza lxxiv. line 3.

Chè la terra del Surro il dì seguente Vede.

The city of Tyre (says Fornari) is by the Jews entitled Sor , and hence the name of Surro .

From Tripoli to Tortosa shapes her way .

Stanza lxxiv. line 7.

From Tripoli of Syria to Tortosa in Phœnicia; the Orthosia of Ptolemy.

He towards Lidia and Larissa goes .

Stanza lxxvii. line 1.

Cities of Syria, as I am informed by Fornari.

Marked with one stamp, and of one race are they .

Stanza lxxxix. line 2.

Segnati ambi d’ un marchio, e d’ una razza.

A metaphor taken, an Italian commentator informs me, from the practice of breeders of horses or other cattle, who branded those of the same race with the same mark.

Bound is the wretch, but not ’mid grass and flower .

Stanza xciii. line 1.

Legar lo fanno e non tra’ fiori e l’ erba.

Petrarch says that Cleopatra bound Julius Cæsar tra fiori e l’ erba , and hence, perhaps, that eternal association of “grass and flower” which we witness in the Italian poets. Thus Marini—

Dormiva Endimion tra’ fiori e l’ erba, &c.;

and hence the champions, unhorsed in the Furioso, are so continually thrown at their length “amid grass and flower.”

And till her aged lover, once so dear, Aurora roused, &c .

Stanza ciii. lines 5 and 6.

As Tithonus, the lover of Aurora, grew old, though gifted with immortality, he may he supposed to have survived her love.

More to relate were labour ill bestowed, I deem, nor further of the tale record .

Stanza cix. lines 5 and 6.

This adventure, the heads of which are only touched by Ariosto, is fully related in the Innamorato. I may observe, that one of Brunello’s feats of this description, achieved before Albracca, has been imitated in the story of Don Quixote, where Gines de Passamonte steals Sancho’s ass from under him. Indeed Cervantes has drawn many of his incidents from the romance of Boiardo.

No wishful child more joyfully, ’mid all The flowers of spring-tide, yellow, blue, and red, Finds itself, nor at concert or at ball Dame beauteous and adorned, than, &c .

Stanza cxii. lines 1, 2, 3, 4.

Was perhaps suggested by some lines of Claudian :

Non sic virginibus flores, sic frugibus imbres, Prospera non fessis optantur flumina nautis, Ut suus aspectus populo.

Of Luna he, &c .

Stanza cxxxv. line 5.

An old commentator says, that Luna was an ancient sea-port in the Genoese territory, on the remains of which another town was built, termed Sarazana. Its name is still perpetuated in an Italian marble quarried in its neighbourhood, which is denominated marmo lunense .

The island of the amorous deity Breathed upon them an air, in her first port, Which not alone to man does injury, But moulders iron; and here life is short; —A marsh the cause,—and Nature certainly Wrongs Famagosta, poisoning, in such sort, That city with Constantia’s fen malign, To all the rest of Cyprus so benign .

Stanza cxxxvi.

The effect of the best sea-air upon modern iron in this country, would be that which the poet attributes to the worst in his southern seas. It is a different thing in the Mediterranean, and there is in Torzelo, an islet of the Adriatic, a church of the middle-ages, with stone window-shutters, hung upon iron pivots, which have undergone no oxidation. I do not know from personal observation, that the malaria produces the effect ascribed to it in the text; but think it highly probable, for there are some parts of Venice where plate tarnishes from the effect of the atmosphere; and this is considered by the inhabitants as a test of worse air than what prevails in places where it continues unsoiled. The partial prevalence of the malaria , which is, generally speaking, notorious, is more especially remarkable in Cyprus.

After all, had not our ancestors a better mode of preparing iron? For the iron bars of Netley Abbey, situated close to the Southampton water, are in tolerably good preservation.

. . . . . . One is good To lower .

Stanza cxliii. lines 5 and 6.

To lower ( ammainare ) is a common practice in Mediterranean vessels (the masts of which often consist of what appears to be a single stick) , and it is a simple and excellent manœuvre in seas where the squalls are often as sudden and partial as they are impetuous. I was once in the sea of Marmora, then perfectly smooth, in a polacca, which ran two streaks of her deck under water, in a white squall; when at the magic word maînar (the contraction of ammainare ) the sails came down bodily upon deck, and the vessel, righting herself, swam upon an upright keel.

While Fortune on the sea annoys this crew, She grants those others small repose by land .

Stanza cxlvi. lines 1 and 2.

This is the translation of the exact words, rather than of the exact sense, of

Mentre Fortuna in mar questi travaglia, Non lascia anco posar quegli altri in terra.

For Fortuna in Italian means tempest as well as fortune. The double sense of the word, therefore (no great loss), is necessarily sacrificed in English.

A yet more curious extension of a derivative of this word may be found in Dante, who terms a field of battle ‘ fortunata terra .’

Upon all parts, a freezing fear goes through The heart-blood of each trembling paynim nigh, When they amazed the fierce Rinaldo view; Who charged the monarch with such enmity, As might a lion, which a bullock, new To stings of Jove, should in a meadow spy .

Stanza cli. lines 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.

Frigidus Arcadibus coit in præcordia sanguis. . . . . Utque leo, specula cum vidit ab altâ Stare procul campis, meditantem prælia taurum, Advolat, haud alia est Turni venientis imago.

Virgil .

As languishes the flower of purple hue, Which levelled by the passing ploughshare lies; Or as the poppy, overcharged with dew, In garden droops its head in piteous wise .

Stanza cliii. lines 1, 2, 3, 4.

Purpureus veluti cum flos succisus aratro Languescit moriens, lassove papavera collo, Demisere caput, pluviâ cum forte gravantur.

Virgil .

To sit down with his loss he better gain Esteems, than here to hazard purse and vest .

Stanza clvi. lines 5 and 6.

A metaphor, I suppose, taken from the gaming-table.

Of nimble form and strong was Cloridane, Throughout his life a follower of the chase, A cheek of white suffused with crimson grain, Medoro had, in youth, a pleasing grace; Nor bound on that emprise, ’mid all the train, Was there a fairer or more jocund face .

Stanza clxvi. lines 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.

Here we have an imitation of the story of the Nisus and Euryalus of Virgil; whom, indeed, Ariosto has imitated closely in almost all the night adventures which follow. The best, however, the affecting incident of Labretto, is, I believe, entirely his own.

Compare the stanza cited with the following lines:

Nisus erat portæ custos, acerrimus armis, Hyrtacides, comitem Æneae quem miserat Ida Venatrix, jaculo celerem levibusque sagittis. Et juxtà comes Euryales, quo pulchior alter Non fuit Æneadum, Trojana nec induit arma.

Virgil .

Amazed was Cloridan a child should show Such heart, such love, and such fair loyalty .

Stanza clxx. lines 1 and 2.

Obstupuit magno laudum perculsus amore Euryalus.

Virgil .

And thus resolved, disposing in their place Their guard’s relief, depart the youthful pair, Leave fosse and palisade, and, in small space, Are among ours, who watch with little care: Who, for they little fear the paynim race, Slumber, with fires extinguished every where. ’Mid carriages and arms, they lie supine Up to the eyes, immersed in sleep and wine .

Stanza clxxii.

Illi Succedunt servantque vices . . . . . . Egressi superant fossas, noctisque per umbram Castra inimica petunt . . . . . . . . . . . . Passim vino somnoque per herbam Corpora fusa vident: arrectos littore currus: Inter lora rotasque viros.

Virgil .

“ Do thou, lest any one this way be led, “ Watch everywhere about, with ears and eyes .

Stanza clxxiii. lines 5 and 6.

Tu, ne qua manus se attollere possit A tergo nobis, custodi et cousule longe.

Virgil .

Who had the year before sought Charles’s court, In medicine, magic, and astrology Well versed; but now in art found small support, Or rather found that it was all a lie .

Stanza clxxiv. lines 3, 4, 5, 6.

Simul ense superbum Rhamnetem aggreditur . . . . . . . . . . . . et regi Turno gratissimus augur. Sed non augurio potuit depellere pestem.

Virgil .

Palidon of Moncalier next he speeds; One who securely sleeps between two steeds .

Stanza clxxv. lines 7 and 8.

. . . . . Premit, aurigamque sub ipsis Nactus equis, ferroque secat pendentia colla.

Virgil .

Next came the warrior where, with limbs outspread, Pillowed on barrel, lay the wretched Gryll: . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The daring Saracen lopt off his head; Blood issues from the tap-hole, with a rill Of wine, &c .

Stanza clxxvi. lines 1, 2, 5, 6, 7.

Though Ariosto has borrowed his drunkard’s name from Homer, he is indebted to Virgil for the idea of Grillo’s death, and for some of his details.

Se post cratera tegebat: Pectore in adverso totum cui cominus ensem Condidit assurgenti, et multâ cæde recepit. Purpuream vomit ille animam, et cum sanguine mixta Vina refert moriens.

Virgil .

Who in the air had past large part of night With dice and goblet; blest if at that board They still had watched, till, clothed in amber light, The radiant sun had traversed Indus’ ford!

Stanza clxxvii. lines 3, 4, 5, 6.

. . . . . . Illâ qui plurima nocte Luserat, insignis facie, multoque jacebat Membra deo victus: felix si protinus ilium Æquasset nocti ludum, in lucemque tulisset!

Virgil .

As, in full fold, a lion long unfed, Whom wasting famine has made lean and spare, Devours and rends, and swallows, and lays dead The feeble flock, &c .

Stanza clxxviii. lines 1, 2, 3, 4.

Impastus ceu plena leo per ovilia turbans (Suadet euim vesana fames) manditque, trahitque Molle pecus.

With these Mount Martyr and Mount Lery’s height; This on the left, and that upon the right .

Stanza clxxxv. lines 7 and 8.

Mount Martyr ( Mont Martre ) is known to every one as a suburban town of Paris, and situated a little to the north of it. Mount Lery ( Montlheri ) is a town, or rather, I believe, a city, with a high tower for its citadel, built also on a mount, about twelve or fourteen miles to the southward of Paris. It is distinguished as having been taken in the Burgundian wars, and as having been a place of battle between the royalists and leaguers. It is, however, yet more familiar to the Parisians from having been celebrated by Boileau , in the opening of the third canto of his Lutrin , who makes it the birth-place of his owl. His lines will be duly estimated by every one, who has travelled a long time within sight of a tower, from which it seems impossible to escape, and that of Montlheri may indeed be considered as the most enduringly visible of all towers, being built on an eminence in a country generally flat.

Mais la nuit aussitôt de ses ailes affreuses Couvre des Bourguignons les campagnes vineuses, Revole vers Paris, et, hâtant son retour, Déjà de Moutlhéri voit la fameuse tour. Ses murs, dont le sommet se dérobe à la vue, Sur la cime d’un roc s’alongent dans la nue, Et, présentant de loin leur objet eunuyeux, Du passant qui le fuit semblent suivre les yeux. Mille oiseaux effrayants, mille corbeaux funèbres, De ces murs désértés habitent les ténèbres.

But frightful night forthwith the shadow of her wings O’er the vine-covered plain of the Burgundians flings, T’wards Paris flies again, and, hastening her return, Mountlery’s famous tower already does discern. Its walls, whose top withdraws itself from sight, aspire and shroud, Built on a rocky mound, their turrets in the cloud, And with their tiresome object still facing him who flies From far, appear to follow the traveller’s wearied eyes. A thousand frightful birds, a thousand funeral crows, Inhabit the dark void these deserted walls enclose.

Of old an ancient forest clothed that lair, Of trees and underwood a tangled maze; Of salvage beasts alone the wild repair, And, like a labyrinth, full of narrow ways .

Stanza cxcii. lines 1, 2, 3, 4.

Sylva fuit late dumis atque ilice nigra; Rara per occultos ducebat semita calles; Horrida, quam densi complerant undique scutes.

Virgil .

END OF VOL. III.

Layout 2

THE

ORLANDO FURIOS O.

THE

ORLANDO FURIOSO

TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH VERSE

FROM THE ITALIAN OF

LUDOVICO ARIOSTO

WITH NOTES

BY

WILLIAM STEWART ROSE

VOL. IV.

LONDON

JOHN MURRAY ALBEMARLE-STREET

MDCCCXXV

ERRATA .

Page 15, stanza xxxviii. line 7, for Monodantes’, read Monodantes.

Page230, after line 13, insert 5. as the number of the note.

Lately was published, by the same Author, printed uniformly with the present work, price 9s. 6d.

THE INNAMORATO

intended as

AN INTRODUCTION TO THE FURIOSO

LONDON:

printed by Thomas Davison, Whitefriars.

Layout 2

THE ORLANDO FURIOSO.

CANTO XIX.

ARGUMENT.

Medoro, by Angelica’s quaint hand,

Is healed, and weds, and bears her to Catay.

At length Marphisa, with the chosen band,

After long suffering, makes Laiazzi’s bay.

Guido the savage, bondsman in the land,

Which impious women rule with evil sway,

With bold Marphisa strives in single fight,

And lodges her and hers at fall of night.

THE ORLANDO FURIOSO.

CANTO XIX.

I.

By whom he is beloved can no one know, Who on the top of Fortune’s wheel is seated ; Since he, by true and faithless friends, with show Of equal faith, in glad estate is greeted. But, should felicity be changed to woe, The flattering multitude is turned and fleeted! While he who loves his master from his heart, Even after death performs his faithful part.

II.

Were the heart seen as is the outward cheer, He who at court is held in sovereign grace, And he that to his lord is little dear, With parts reversed, would fill each other’s place; The humble man the greater would appear, And he, now first, be hindmost in the race. But be Medoro’s faithful story said, The youth who loved his lord, alive or dead.

III.

The closest path, amid the forest gray, To save himself, pursued the youth forlorn; But all his schemes were marred by the delay Of that sore weight upon his shoulders born. The place he knew not, and mistook the way, And hid himself again in sheltering thorn. Secure and distant was his mate, that through The greenwood-shade with lighter shoulders flew.

IV.

So far was Cloridan advanced before, He heard the boy no longer in the wind; But when he marked the absence of Medore, It seemed as if his heart was left behind. “Ah! how was I so negligent,” (the Moor Exclaimed,) “so far beside myself, and blind, “That I, Medoro, should without thee fare; “Nor know when I deserted thee or where?”

IV

So saying, in the wood he disappears, Plunging into the maze with hurried pace; And thither, whence he lately issued, steers, And, desperate, of death returns in trace. Cries and the tread of steeds this while he hears, And word and threat of foemen, as in chase: Lastly Medoro by his voice is known, Disarmed, on foot, ’mid many horse, alone.

VI.

A hundred horsemen who the youth surround, Zerbino leads, and bids his followers seize The stripling: like a top, the boy turns round And keeps him as he can: among the trees, Behind oak, elm, beech, ash, he takes his ground, Nor from the cherished load his shoulders frees. Wearied, at length, the burden he bestowed Upon the grass, and stalked about his load.

VII.

As in her rocky cavern the she-bear, With whom close warfare Alpine hunters wage, Uncertain hangs about her shaggy care, And growls in mingled sound of love and rage. To unsheath her claws, and blood her tushes bare, Would natural hate and wrath the beast engage; Love softens her, and bids from strife retire, And for her offspring watch, amid her ire.

VIII.

Cloridan who to aid him knows not how, And with Medoro willingly would die, But who would not for death this being forego, Until more foes than one should lifeless lie, Ambushed, his: sharpest arrow to his bow Fits, and directs it with so true an eye, The feathered weapon bores a Scotchman’s brain, And lays the warrior dead upon the plain.

IX.

Together, all the others of the band Turned thither, whence was shot the murderous reed; Meanwhile he launched another from his stand, That a new foe might by the weapon bleed, Whom (while he made of this and that demand, And loudly questioned who had done the deed) The arrow reached—transfixed the wretch’s throat, And cut his question short in middle note.

X.

Zerbino, captain of those horse, no more Can at the piteous sight his wrath refrain; In furious heat, he springs upon Medore, Exclaiming, “Thou of this shalt bear the pain.” One hand he in his locks of golden ore Enwreaths, and drags him to himself amain; But, as his eyes that beauteous face survey, Takes pity on the boy, and does not slay.

XI.

To him the stripling turns, with suppliant cry, And, “By thy God, sir knight,” exclaims, “I pray, “Be not so passing cruel, nor deny “That I in earth my honoured king may lay: “No other grace I supplicate, nor I “This for the love of life, believe me, say. “So much, no longer, space of life I crave, “As may suffice to give my lord a grave.

XII.

“And if you needs must feed the beast and bird, “Like Theban Creon , let their worst be done “Upon these limbs; so that by me interred “In earth be those of good Almontes’ son.” Medoro thus his suit, with grace, preferred, And words—to move a mountain; and so won Upon Zerbino’s mood, to kindness turned, With love and pity he all over burned.

XIII.

This while, a churlish horseman of the band, Who little deference for his lord confest, His lance uplifting, wounded overhand The unhappy suppliant in his dainty breast. Zerbino, who the cruel action scanned, Was deeply stirred, the rather that, opprest And livid with the blow the churl had sped, Medoro fell as he was wholly dead.

XIV.

So grieved Zerbino, with such wrath was stung, “Not unavenged shalt thou remain,” he cries; Then full of evil will in fury sprung Upon the author of the foul emprize. But he his vantage marks, and, from among The warriors, in a moment slips and flies. Cloridan who beholds the deed, at sight Of young Medoro’s fall, springs forth to fight;

XV.

And casts away his bow, and, ’mid the band Of foemen, whirls his falchion, in desire Rather of death, than hoping that his hand May snatch a vengeance equal to his ire. Amid so many blades, he views the sand Tinged with his blood, and ready to expire, And feeling he the sword no more can guide, Lets himself drop by his Medoro’s side.

XVI.

The Scots pursue their chief, who pricks before, Through the deep wood, inspired by high disdain, When he has left the one and the other Moor, This dead, that scarce alive, upon the plain. There for a mighty space lay young Medore, Spouting his life-blood from so large a vein, He would have perished, but that thither made A stranger, as it chanced, who lent him aid.

XVII.

By chance arrived a damsel at the place, Who was (though mean and rustic was her wear) Of royal presence and of beauteous face, And lofty manners, sagely debonair: Her have I left unsung so long a space, That you will hardly recognise the fair. Angelica, in her (if known not) scan, The lofty daughter of Catay’s great khan.

XVIII.

Angelica, when she had won again The ring Brunello had from her conveyed, So waxed in stubborn pride and haught disdain, She seemed to scorn this ample world, and strayed Alone, and held as cheap each living swain, Although, amid the best, by Fame arrayed: Nor brooked she to remember a galant In Count Orlando or king Sacripant;

XIX.

And above every other deed repented, That good Rinaldo she had loved of yore; And that to look so low she had consented, (As by such choice dishonoured) grieved her sore. Love, hearing this, such arrogance resented, And would the damsel’s pride endure no more. Where young Medoro lay he took his stand, And waited her, with bow and shaft in hand.

XX.

When fair Angelica the stripling spies, Nigh hurt to death in that disastrous fray, Who for his king, that there unsheltered lies, More sad than for his own misfortune lay, She feels new pity in her bosom rise, Which makes its entry in unwonted way. Touched was her haughty heart, once hard and curst, And more when he his piteous tale rehearsed.

XXI.

And calling back to memory her art, For she in Ind had learned chirurgery, (Since it appears such studies in that part Worthy of praise and fame are held to be , And, as an heir-loom, sires to sons impart, With little aid of books, the mystery) Disposed herself to work with simples’ juice, Till she in him should healthier life produce;

XXII.

And recollects a herb had caught her sight In passing hither, on a pleasant plain. What (whether dittany or pancy hight) I know not; fraught with virtue to restrain The crimson blood forth-welling, and of might To sheathe each perilous and piercing pain, She found it near, and having pulled the weed, Returned to seek Medoro on the mead.

XXIII.

Returning, she upon a swain did light, Who was on horseback passing through the wood. Strayed from the lowing herd, the rustic wight A heifer, missing for two days, pursued. Him she with her conducted, where the might Of the faint youth was ebbing with his blood: Which had the ground about so deeply dyed, Life was nigh wasted with the gushing tide.

XXIV.

Angelica alights upon the ground, And he her rustic comrade, at her hest. She hastened ’twixt two stones the herb to pound, Then took it, and the healing juice exprest: With this did she foment the stripling’s wound, And, even to the hips, his waist and breast; And (with such virtue was the salve endued) It stanched his life-blood, and his strength renewed;

XXV.

And into him infused such force again, That he could mount the horse the swain conveyed; But good Medoro would not leave the plain Till he in earth had seen his master laid. He, with the monarch, buried Cloridane, And after followed whither pleased the maid, Who was to stay with him, by pity led, Beneath the courteous shepherd’s humble shed.

XXVI.

Nor would the damsel quit the lowly pile (So she esteemed the youth) till he was sound; Such pity first she felt, when him erewhile She saw outstretched and bleeding on the ground. Touched by his mien and manners next, a file She felt corrode her heart with secret wound; She felt corrode her heart, and with desire, By little and by little warmed, took fire.

XXVII.

The shepherd dwelt, between two mountains hoar, In goodly cabin, in the greenwood-shade, With wife and children; and, short time before, The brent-new shed had builded in the glade. Here of his griesly wound the youthful Moor Was briefly healed by the Catayan maid; But who in briefer space, a sorer smart Than young Medoro’s, suffered at her heart.

XXVIII.

A wound far wider and which deeper lies, Now in her heart she feels, from viewless bow; Which from the boy’s fair hair and beauteous eyes Had the winged archer dealt: a sudden glow She feels, and still the flames increasing rise; Yet less she heeds her own than other’s woe: —Heeds not herself, and only to content The author of her cruel ill is bent.

XXIX.

Her ill but festered and increased the more The stripling’s wounds were seen to heal and close: The youth grew lusty, while she suffered sore, And, with new fever parched, now burnt, now froze: From day to day in beauty waxed Medore: She miserably wasted? like the snow’s Unseasonable flake, which melts away Exposed, in sunny place, to scorching ray.

XXX.

She, if of vain desire she will not die, Must help herself, nor yet delay the aid. And she in truth, her will to satisfy, Deemed ’twas no time to wait till she was prayed. And next of shame renouncing every tye, With tongue as bold as eyes, petition made, And begged him, haply an unwitting foe, To sheathe the suffering of that cruel blow.

XXXI.

O Count Orlando, O king of Circassy, Say what your valour has availed to you ! Say what your honour boots, what goodly fee Remunerates ye both, for service true! Sirs, show me but a single courtesy, With which she ever graced ye,—old or new,— As some poor recompense, desert, or guerdon, For having born so long so sore a burden!

XXXII.

Oh! couldst thou yet again to life return, How hard would this appear, O Agricane ! In that she whilom thee was wont to spurn, With sharp repulse and insolent disdain. O Ferraû, O ye thousand more, forlorn, Unsung, who wrought a thousand feats in vain For this ungrateful fair, what pain ’twould be Could you within his arms the damsel see!

XXXIII.

To pluck, as yet untouched, the virgin rose, Angelica permits the young Medore. Was none so blest as in that garden’s close Yet to have set his venturous foot before . They holy ceremonies interpose, Somedeal to veil—to gild—the matter o’er. Young Love was bridesman there the tie to bless, And for brideswoman stood the shepherdess.

XXXIV.

In the low shed, with all solemnities, The couple made their wedding as they might; And there above a month, in tranquil guise, The happy lovers rested in delight. Save for the youth the lady has no eyes, Nor with his looks can satisfy her sight. Nor yet of hanging on his neck can tire, Or feel she can content her fond desire.

XXXV.

The beauteous boy is with her, night and day Does she untent herself, or keep the shed. Morning or eve they to some meadow stray, Now to this bank, and to that other led: Haply, in cavern harboured, at mid-day, Grateful as that to which Æneas fled With Dido, when the tempest raged above, The faithful witness to their secret love.

XXXVI.

Amid such pleasures, where, with tree o’ergrown, Ran stream, or bubbling fountain’s wave did spin, On bark or rock, if yielding were the stone, The knife was straight at work or ready pin. And there, without, in thousand places lone, And in as many places graved, within, Medoro and Angelica were traced, In divers cyphers quaintly interlaced.

XXXVII.

When she believed they had prolonged their stay More than enow, the damsel made design In India to revisit her Catày, And with its crown Medoro’s head entwine. She had upon her wrist an armlet, gay With costly gems, in witness and in sign Of love to her by Count Orlando borne, And which the damsel for long time had worn.

XXXVIII.

On Ziliantes, hid beneath the wave, This Morgue bestowed ; and from captivity The youth (restored to Monodante’s grave, His ancient sire, through Roland’s chivalry) To Roland in return the bracelet gave: Roland, a lover, deigned the gorgeous fee To wear, with the intention to convey The present to his queen, of whom I say.

XXXIX.

No love which to the paladin she bears, But that it costly is and wrought with care, This to Angelica so much endears, That never more esteemed was matter rare: This she was suffered, in the Isle of Tears , I know not by what privilege, to wear, When, naked, to the whale exposed for food By that inhospitable race and rude.

XL.

She, not possessing wherewithal to pay The kindly couple’s hospitality, Served by them in their cabin, from the day She there was lodged, with such fidelity, Unfastened from her arm the bracelet gay, And bade them keep it for her memory. Departing hence the lovers climb the side Of hills, which fertile France from Spain divide.

XLI.

Within Valencia or Barcelona’s town The couple thought a little to remain, Until some goodly ship should make her boun To loose for the Levant: as so the twain Journey, beneath Gerona,—coming down Those mountains—they behold the subject main; And keeping on their left the beach below, By beaten track to Barcelona go.

XLII.

But, ere they there arrive, a crazed wight They find, extended on the outer shore; Who is bedaubed like swine, in filthy plight, And smeared with mud, face, reins, and bosom o’er; He comes upon them, as a dog in spite Swiftly assails the stranger at the door; And is about to do the lovers scorn. But to the bold Marphisa I return—

XLIII.

Marphisa, Astolpho, Gryphon, Aquilant. Of these and of the others will I tell: Who, death before their eyes, the vext Levant Traverse, and ill resist the boisterous swell. While aye more passing proud and arrogant, Waxes in rage and threat the tempest fell. And now three days the angry gale has blown, Nor signal of abatement yet has shown.

XLIV.

Waves lifted by the waxing tempest start Castle and flooring , and, if yet there be Aught standing left in any other part, ’Tis cut away and cast into the sea. Here, pricking out their course upon the chart, One by a lantern does his ministry, Upon a sea-chest propt; another wight Is busied in the well by torch’s light.

XLV.

This one beneath the poop; beneath the prow That other, stands to watch the ebbing sand; And (each half-glass run out) returns to know What way the ship has made, and towards what land. Thence all to speak their different thoughts, below, To midships make resort, with chart in hand; There where the mariners, assembled all, Are met in council; at the master’s call.

XLVI.

One says; “Abreast of Limissò are we “Among the shoals”—and by his reckoning, nigh The rocks of Tripoli the bark must be, Where shipwrecked, for the most part, vessels lie. Another; “We are lost on Sataly , “Whose coast makes many patrons weep and sigh.” According to their judgment, all suggest Their reasons, each with equal dread opprest.

XLVII.

More spitefully the wind on the third day Blows, and the sea more yeasty billows rears: The fore-mast by the first: is borne away, The rudder by the last, with him who steers. Better than steel that man will bide the assay, —Of marble breast—who has not now his fears. Marphisa, erst so confident ’mid harms, Denied not but that day she felt alarms.

XLVIII.

A pilgrimage is vowed to Sinäi, To Cyprus and Gallicia, and to Rome, Ettino, and other place of sanctity , If such is named, and to the holy tomb. Meanwhile, above the sea and near the sky, The bark is tost, with shattered plank and boom; From which the crew had cut, in her distress, The mizenmast, to make her labour less.

XLIX.

They bale and chest and all their heavy lumber Cast overboard, from poop, and prow, and side; And every birth and cabin disencumber Of merchandize, to feed the greedy tide. Water to water others of the number Rendered , by whom the spouting pumps were plied. This in the hold bestirs himself, where’er Planks opened by the beating sea appear.

L.

They in this trouble, in this woe, remained For full four days; and helpless was their plight, And a full victory the sea had gained, If yet a little had endured its spite: But them with hope of clearer sky sustained The wished appearance of St. Elmo’s light , Which (every spar was gone) descending glowed Upon a boat, which in the prow was stowed.

LI.

When, flaming, they the beauteous light surveyed, All those aboard kneeled down in humble guise, And Heaven for peace and for smooth water prayed, With trembling voices and with watery eyes. Nor longer waxed the storm, which had dismayed, Till then enduring in such cruel wise. North-wester or cross-wind no longer reigns; But tyrant, of the sea the south remains.

LII.

This on the sea remained so passing strong, And from its sable mouth so fiercely blew, And bore with it so swift a stream and strong Of the vext waters, that it hurried through Their tumbling waves the shattered bark along, Faster than gentle falcon ever flew; And sore the patron feared, to the world’s brink It would transport his bark, or wreck or sink.

LIII.

For this the master finds a remedy, Who bids them cast out spars, and veer away A line which holds this float, and as they flee, So, by two-thirds, their furious course delay. This counsel boots, and more the augury From him whose lights upon the gunwale play . This saves the vessel, haply else undone; And makes her through the sea securely run.

LIV.

They, driven on Syria, in Laiazzo’s bay A mighty city rise ; so nigh at hand, That they can from the vessel’s deck survey Two castles, which the port within command. Pale turns the patron’s visage with dismay, When he perceives what is the neighbouring land, Who will not to the port for shelter hie, Nor yet can keep the open sea, nor fly.

LV.

They cannot fly, nor yet can keep the sea; For mast and yards are gone, and by the stroke Of the huge billows beating frequently, Loosened is plank, and beam and timber broke: And certain death to make the port would be, Or to be doomed to a perpetual yoke. For each is made a slave, or sentenced dead, Thither by evil Chance or Error led.

LVI.

Sore dangerous ’twas to doubt; lest hostile band Should sally from the puissant town in sight, With armed barks, and upon theirs lay hand, In evil case for sea, and worse for fight. What time the patron knows not what command To give, of him inquires the English knight , ‘What kept his mind suspended in that sort, ‘And why at first he had not made the port .’

LVII.

To him relates the patron, ‘how a crew ‘Of murderous women tenanted that shore, ‘Which, by their ancient law, enslaved or slew ‘All those whom Fortune to this kingdom bore; ‘And that he only could such lot eschew ‘That in the lists ten champions overbore, ‘And having this achieved, the following night ‘In bed should with ten damsels take delight.

LVIII.

‘And if he brings to end the former feat, ‘But afterwards the next unfinished leaves, ‘They kill him, and as slaves his following treat, ‘Condemned to delve their land or keep their beeves. ‘—If for the first and second labour meet— ‘He liberty for all his band achieves, ‘Not for himself; who there must stay and wed ‘Ten wives by him selected for his bed.’

LIX.

So strange a custom of the neighbouring strand Without a laugh Astolpho cannot hear; Sansonet and Marphisa, near at hand, Next Aquilant, and he, his brother dear, Arrive: to them the patron who from land Aye keeps aloof, explains the cause of fear, And cries; “I liefer in the sea would choke, “Than here of servitude endure the yoke.”

LX.

The sailors by the patron’s rede abide, And all the passengers affrighted sore; Save that Marphisa took the other side With hers, who deemed that safer was the shore Than sea, which raging round them, far and wide, Than a hundred thousand swords dismayed them more. Them little this, or other place alarms, So that they have but power to wield their arms.

LXI.

The warriors are impatient all to land: But boldest is of these the English peer; Knowing how soon his horn will clear the strand, When the scared foe its pealing sound shall hear. To put into the neighbouring port this band Desires, and are at strife with those who fear. And they who are the strongest, in such sort Compel the patron, that he makes the port.

LXII.

Already when their bark was first espied At sea, within the cruel city’s view, They had observed a galley, well supplied With practised mariners and numerous crew (While them uncertain counsels did divide) Make for their wretched ship, the billows through: Her lofty prow to their short stern and low These lash, and into port the vessel tow.

LXIII.

They thitherward were worked with warp and oar, Rather than with assistance of the sail; Since to lay starboard course or larboard more, No means were left them by the cruel gale. Again their rugged rhind the champions wore, Girding the faithful falchion with the mail, And with unceasing hope of comfort fed Master and mariners opprest with dread.

LXIV.

Like a half-moon , projected from the beach, More than four miles about, the city’s port; Six hundred paces deep; and crowning each Horn of the circling haven, was a fort; On every side, secure from storm or breach, (Save only from the south), a safe resort. In guise of theatre the town extended About it, and a hill behind ascended.

LXV.

No sooner there the harboured ship was seen (The news had spread already through the land) Than thitherward, with martial garb and mien, Six thousand women trooped, with bow in hand; And, to remove all hope of flight, between One castle and the other, drew a band; And with strong chains and barks the port enclosed; Which ever, for that use, they kept disposed.

LXVI.

A dame, as the Cumean sybil gray, Or Hector’s ancient mother of renown, Made call the patron out, and bade him say, ‘If they their lives were willing to lay down; ‘Or were content beneath the yoke to stay, ‘According to the custom of the town. —‘One of two evils they must choose,—be slain, ‘Or captives, one and all, must there remain.’

LXVII.

“ ’Tis true, if one so bold and of such might “Be found amid your crew,” (the matron said), “That he ten men of ours engage in fight, “And can in cruel battle lay them dead, “And, after; with ten women, in one night, “Suffice to play the husband’s part in bed, “He shall remain our sovereign, and shall sway “The land, and you may homeward wend your way.

LXVIII.

“And at your choice to stay shall also be, “Whether a part or all, but with this pact, “That he who here would stay and would be free, “Can with ten dames the husband’s part enact. “But if your chosen warrior fall or flee, “By his ten enemies at once attacked, “Or for the second function have not breath, “To slavery you we doom, and him to death.”

LXIX.

At what she deemed the cavaliers would start, The beldam found them bold; for to compete With those they should engage, and play their part The champions hoped alike in either feat. Nor failed renowned Marphisa’s valiant, heart, Albeit for the second dance unmeet; Secure, where nature had her aid denied, The want should with the falchion be supplied.

LXX.

The patron is commanded their reply Resolved in common council to unfold; ‘The dames at pleasure may their prowess try, ‘And shall in lists and bed allow them bold.’ The lashings from the vessels they untie, The skipper heaves the warp, and bids lay hold, And lowers the bridge; o’er which, in warlike weed, The expectant cavaliers their coursers lead.

LXXI.

These through the middle of the city go, And see the damsels, as they forward fare, Ride through the streets, succinct, in haughty show, And arm, in guise of warriors, in the square. Nor to gird sword, nor fasten spur below, Is man allowed, nor any arm to wear; Excepting, as I said, the ten; to follow The ancient usage which those women hallow.

LXXII.

All others of the manly sex they seat, To ply the distaff, broider, card and sow, In female gown descending to the feet, Which renders them effeminate and slow; Some chained, another labour to complete, Are tasked, to keep their cattle, or to plough. Few are the males; and scarce the warriors ken, Amid a thousand dames, a hundred men.

LXXIII.

The knights determining by lot to try Who in their common cause on listed ground, Should slay the ten, with whom they were to vye, And in the other field ten others wound, Designed to pass the bold Marphisa by, Believing she unfitting would be found; And would be, in the second joust at eve, Ill-qualified the victory to achieve.

LXXIV.

But with the others she, the martial maid, Will run her risque; and ’tis her destiny. “I will lay down this life,” the damsel said, “Rather than you lay down your liberty. “But this ”—with that she pointed to the blade Which she had girt—“is your security, “I will all tangles in such manner loose, “As Alexander did the Gordian noose.