XCIV.

Stordilane’s daughter and the Tartar king Laugh at the vest of youthful show and shape, Upon that ancient woman, figuring Like monkey, rather say, like grandam ape. From her the Saracen designs to wring The rein, and does the deed: upon the rape Of the crone’s bridle, he, with angry cry, Threatens and scares her horse, and makes him fly.

XCV.

He flies and hurries through the forest gray That ancient woman, almost dead with fear, By hill and dale, by straight and crooked way, By fosse and cliff, at hazard, there and here. But it imports me not so much to say Of her, that I should leave Anglantes’ peer; Who, from annoyance of a foe released, The broken saddle at his ease re-pieced.

XCVI.

He mounts his horse, and watches long, before Departing, if the foe will re-appear; Nor seeing puissant Mandricardo more, At last resolves in search of him to steer. But, as one nurtured well in courtly lore, From thence departed not the cavalier, Till he with kind salutes, in friendly strain, Fair leave had taken of the loving twain.

XCVII.

At his departure waxed Zerbino woe, And Isabella wept for sorrow: they Had wended with him, but the count, although Their company was fair and good, said nay; Urging for reason, ‘Nought so ill could show ‘In cavalier, as, when upon his way ‘To seek his foeman out, to take a friend, ‘Who him with arms might succour or defend.’

XCVIII.

Next, if they met the Saracen, before They should encounter him, besought them say, ‘That he, Orlando, would for three days more, ‘Waiting him, in that territory stay: ‘But, after that, would seek the flags which bore ‘The golden lilies, and King Charles’ array. ‘That Mandricardo through their means might know, ‘If such his pleasure, where to find his foe.’

XCIX.

The lovers promised willingly to do This, and whatever else he should command. By different ways the cavaliers withdrew, One on the right, and one on the left hand. The count, ere_other path he would pursue, Took from the sapling, and replaced, his brand. And, where he weened he might the paynim best Encounter, thitherward his steed addrest.

C.

The course in pathless woods, which, without rein, The Tartar’s charger had pursued astray, Made Roland for two days, with fruitless pain, Follow him, without tidings of his way. Orlando reached a rill of crystal vein, On either bank of which a meadow lay; Which, stained with native hues and rich, he sees, And dotted o’er with fair and many trees.

CI.

The mid-day fervour made the shelter sweet To hardy herd as well as naked swain; So that Orlando, well beneath the heat Some deal might wince, opprest with plate and chain. He entered, for repose, the cool retreat, And found it the abode of grief and pain; And place of sojourn more accursed and fell, On that unhappy day, than tongue can tell.

CII.

Turning him round, he there, on many a tree, Beheld engraved, upon the woody shore, What as the writing of his deity He knew, as soon as he had marked the lore. This was a place of those described by me, Whither ofttimes, attended by Medore, From the near shepherd’s cot had wont to stray The beauteous lady, sovereign of Catay.

CIII.

In a hundred knots, amid those green abodes, In a hundred parts, their cyphered names are dight; Whose many letters are so many goads, Which Love has in his bleeding heart-core pight. He would discredit in a thousand modes, That which he credits in his own despite; And would parforce persuade himself, that rhind Other Angelica than his had signed.

CIV.

“And yet I know these characters,” he cried, “Of which I have so many read and seen; “By her may this Medoro be belied, “And me, she, figured in the name, may mean.” Feeding on such like phantasies, beside The real truth, did sad Orlando lean Upon the empty hope, though ill contented, Which he by self-illusions had fomented.

CV.

But stirred and aye rekindled it, the more That he to quench the ill suspicion wrought, Like the incautious bird, by fowler’s lore, Hampered in net or lime; which, in the thought To free its tangled pinions and to soar, By struggling, is but more securely caught. Orlando passes thither, where a mountain O’erhangs in guise of arch the crystal fountain.

CVI.

Splay-footed ivy, with its mantling spray, And gadding vine, the cavern’s entry case; Where often in the hottest noon of day The pair had rested, locked in fond embrace. Within the grotto, and without it, they Had oftener than in any other place With charcoal or with chalk their names pourtrayed, Or flourished with the knife’s indenting blade.

CVII.

Here from his horse the sorrowing County lit, And at the entrance of the grot surveyed A cloud of words, which seemed but newly writ, And which the young Medoro’s hand had made. On the great pleasure he had known in it, This sentence he in verses had arrayed; Which in his tongue, I deem, might make pretence To polished phrase; and such in ours the sense.

CVIII.

“Gay plants, green herbage, rill of limpid vein, “And, grateful with cool shade, thou gloomy cave, “Where oft, by many wooed with fruitless pain, “Beauteous Angelica, the child of grave “King Galaphron, within my arms has lain; “For the convenient harbourage you gave, “I, poor Medoro, can but in my lays, “As recompence, for ever sing your praise.

CIX.

“And any loving lord devoutly pray, “Damsel and cavalier, and every one, “Whom choice or fortune hither shall convey, “Stranger or native,—to this crystal run, “Shade, caverned rock, and grass, and plants, to say, “ Benignant be to you the fostering sun “ And moon, and may the choir of nymphs provide, “ That never swain his flock may hither guide!”

CX.

In Arabic was writ the blessing said, Known to Orlando like the Latin tongue, Who, versed in many languages, best read Was in this speech; which oftentimes from wrong, And injury, and shame, had saved his head, What time he roved the Saracens among. But let him boast not of its former boot, O’erbalanced by the present bitter fruit.

CXI.

Three times, and four, and six, the lines imprest Upon the stone that wretch perused, in vain Seeking another sense than was exprest, And ever saw the thing more clear and plain; And all the while, within his troubled breast, He felt an icy hand his heart-core strain. With mind and eyes close fastened on the block, At length he stood, not differing from the rock.

CXII.

Then well-nigh lost all feeling; so a prey Wholly was he to that o’ermastering woe. This is a pang, believe the experienced say Of him who speaks, which does all griefs outgo. His pride had from his forehead passed away, His chin had fallen upon his breast below; Nor found he, so grief barred each natural vent, Moisture for tears, or utterance for lament.

CXIII.

Stifled within, the impetuous sorrow stays, Which would too quickly issue; so to abide Water is seen, imprisoned in the vase, Whose neck is narrow and whose swell is wide; What time, when one turns up the inverted base, Towards the mouth, so hastes the hurrying tide, And in the streight encounters such a stop, It scarcely works a passage, drop by drop.

CXIV.

He somewhat to himself returned, and thought How possibly the thing might be untrue: That some one (so he hoped, desired, and sought To think) his lady would with shame pursue; Or with such weight of jealousy had wrought To whelm his reason, as should him undo; And that he, whosoe’er the thing had planned, Had counterfeited passing well her hand.

CXV.

With such vain hope he sought himself to cheat; And manned some deal his spirits and awoke; Then prest the faithful Brigliadoro’s seat, As on the sun’s retreat his sister broke. Nor far the warrior had pursued his beat, Ere eddying from a roof he saw the smoke; Heard noise of dog and kine, a farm espied, And thitherward in quest of lodging hied.

CXVI.

Languid, he lit, and left his Brigliador To a discreet attendant: one undrest His limbs, one doffed the golden spurs he wore, And one bore off, to clean, his iron vest. This was the homestead where the young Medore Lay wounded, and was here supremely blest. Orlando here, with other food unfed, Having supt full of sorrow, sought his bed.

CXVII.

The more the wretched sufferer seeks for ease, He finds but so much more distress and pain; Who every where the loathed hand-writing sees, On wall, and door, and window: he would fain Question his host of this, but holds his peace, Because, in sooth, he dreads too clear, too plain To make the thing, and this would rather shrowd, That it may less offend him, with a cloud.

CXVIII.

Little availed the count his self-deceit; For there was one who spake of it unsought; The shepherd-swain, who to allay the heat, With which he saw his guest so troubled, thought: The tale which he was wonted to repeat —Of the two lovers—to each listener taught, A history which many loved to hear, He now, without reserve, ’gan tell the peer.

CXIX.

‘How at Angelica’s persuasive prayer, ‘He to his farm had carried young Medore, ‘Grievously wounded with an arrow; where, ‘In little space she healed the angry sore. ‘But while she exercised this pious care, ‘Love in her heart the lady wounded more, ‘And kindled from small spark so fierce a fire, ‘She burnt all over, restless with desire:

CXX.

‘Nor thinking she of mightiest king was born, ‘Who ruled in the east, nor of her heritage, ‘Forced by too puissant love, had thought no scorn ‘To be the consort of a poor foot-page.’ —His story done, to them in proof was borne The gem, which, in reward for harbourage, To her extended in that kind abode, Angelica, at parting, had bestowed.

CXXI.

A deadly axe was this unhappy close, Which, at a single stroke, lopt off the head; When, satiate with innumerable blows, That cruel hangman Love his hate had fed. Orlando studied to conceal his woes; And yet the mischief gathered force and spread, And would break out parforce in tears and sighs, Would he, or would he not, from mouth and eyes.

CXXII.

When he can give the rein to raging woe, Alone, by other’s presence unreprest, From his full eyes the tears descending flow, In a wide stream, and flood his troubled breast. ’Mid sob and groan, he tosses to and fro About his weary bed, in search of rest; And vainly shifting, harder than a rock And sharper than a nettle found its flock.

CXXIII.

Amid the pressure of such cruel pain, It past into the wretched sufferer’s head, That oft the ungrateful lady must have lain, Together with her leman, on that bed: Nor less he loathed the couch in his disdain, Nor from the down upstarted with less dread, Than churl, who, when about to close his eyes, Springs from the turf, if he a serpent spies.

CXXIV.

In him, forthwith, such deadly hatred breed That bed, that house, that swain, he will not stay Till the morn break, or till the dawn succeed, Whose twilight goes before approaching day. In haste, Orlando takes his arms and steed, And to the deepest greenwood wends his way. And, when assured that he is there alone, Gives utterance to his grief in shriek and groan.

CXXV.

Never from tears, never from sorrowing, He paused; nor found he peace by night or day: He fled from town, in forest harbouring, And in the open air on hard earth lay. He marvelled at himself, how such a spring Of water from his eyes could stream away, And breath was for so many sobs supplied; And thus ofttimes, amid his mourning, cried

CXXVI.

“These are no longer real tears which rise, “And which I scatter from so full a vein . “Of tears my ceaseless sorrow lacked supplies; “They stopt when to mid-height scarce rose my pain. “The vital moisture rushing to my eyes, “Driven by the fire within me, now would gain “A vent; and it is this which I expend, “And which my sorrows and my life will end.

CXXVII.

“No; these, which are the index of my woes, “These are not sighs, nor sighs are such; they fail “At times, and have their season of repose: “I feel, my breast can never less exhale “Its sorrow: Love, who with his pinions blows “The fire about my heart, creates this gale. “Love, by what miracle dost thou contrive, “It wastes not in the fire thou keep’st alive?

CXXVIII.

“I am not—am not what I seem to sight: “What Roland was is dead and under ground, “Slain by that most ungrateful lady’s spite, “Whose faithlessness inflicted such a wound. “Divided from the flesh, I am his sprite, “Which in this hell, tormented, walks its round , “To be, but in its shadow left above, “A warning to all such as trust in love.”

CXXIX.

All night about the forest roved the count, And, at the break of daily light, was brought By his unhappy fortune to the fount, Where his inscription young Medoro wrought. To see his wrongs inscribed upon that mount, Inflamed his fury so, in him was nought But turned to hatred, phrensy, rage, and spite; Nor paused. he more, but bared his faulchion bright;

CXXX.

Cleft through the writing; and the solid block, Into the sky, in tiny fragments sped. Wo worth each sapling and that caverned rock, Where Medore and Angelica were read! So scathed, that they to shepherd or to flock Thenceforth shall never furnish shade or bed. And that sweet fountain, late so clear and pure, From such tempestuous wrath was ill secure.

CXXXI.

For he turf, stone, and trunk, and shoot, and lop, Cast: without cease into the beauteous source; Till, turbid from the bottom to the top, Never again was clear the troubled course. At length, for lack of breath, compelled to stop, (When he is bathed in sweat, and wasted force, Serves not his fury more) he falls, and lies Upon the mead, and, gazing upward, sighs.

CXXXII.

Wearied and woe-begone, he fell to ground, And turned his eyes toward heaven; nor spake he aught, Nor ate, nor slept, till in his daily round The golden sun had broken thrice, and sought His rest anew; nor ever ceased his wound To rankle, till it marred his sober thought. At length, impelled by phrensy, the fourth day, He from his limbs tore plate and mail away.

CXXXIII.

Here was his helmet, there his shield bestowed; His arms far off; and, farther than the rest, His cuirass; through the greenwood wide was strowed All his good gear, in fine; and next his vest He rent; and, in his fury, naked showed His shaggy paunch, and all his back and breast. And ’gan that phrensy act, so passing dread, Of stranger folly never shall be said.

CXXXIV.

So fierce his rage, so fierce his fury grew, That all obscured remained the warrior’s sprite; Nor, for forgetfulness, his sword he drew, Or wonderous deeds, I trow, had wrought the knight: But neither this, nor bill, nor axe to. hew, Was needed by Orlando’s peerless might. He of his prowess gave high proofs and full, Who a tall pine uprooted at a pull.

CXXXV.

He many others, with as little let As fennel, wall-wort-stem, or dill, up-tore; And ilex, knotted oak, and fir upset, And beech, and mountain-ash, and elm-tree hoar. He did what fowler, ere he spreads his net, Does, to prepare the champaigne for his lore, By stubble, rush, and nettle-stalk; and broke, Like these, old sturdy trees and stems of oak.

CXXXVI.

The shepherd swains, who hear the tumult nigh, Leaving their flocks beneath the greenwood tree, Some here some there across the forest hie, And hurry thither, all, the cause to see. —But I have reached such point, my history, If I o’erpass this bound, may irksome be; And I my story will delay to end, Rather than by my tediousness offend.

NOTES TO CANTO XIII.

“ Nor have I one, Hippalca mine, more sage “ And sure than thee, to do my embassage .”

Stanza xxix. lines 7 and 8.

The name of Callitrephia , applied to the nurse, and that of Hippalca to the damsel, who has charge of the horse, would seem to indicate that Ariosto was not so ignorant of Greek as he is supposed to have been.

On the first courser he should find, the knight Had sworn a solemn oath his hands to lay .

Stanza xxxiv. lines 1 and 2.

Such oaths are common in romance, and were not once without example in real history. Froissart speaks of seeing certain English nobles with one eye blinded with a patch, which they had sworn not to uncover till they should have made a certain number of prisoners in the French wars.

“ I needs must pay the hire as well as horse; “ And be the price at the option of the knight! ”

Stanza xxxvi. lines 3 and 4.

This, passage, which is in the original

Non che il destrier ma la vettura darli Converrammi, e in suo arbitrio fia la taglia,

has been hitherto mistranslated, probably from ignorance of the meaning of vettura in this place, which is synonymous with that of nolo or hire .

A spacious town, which Altaripa hight, Journeying the twain, at two miles’ distance spy .

Stanza xliv. lines 1 and 2.

Quindi presso a duo miglia ritrovaro Un gran castel che fu detto Altariva.

There can be no doubt that castello is here to be translated a town, notwithstanding all translators having made it a castle; for in another stanza the poet lodges Zerbino in it, at an inn, and describes the towns-people ( terrazzani ) as rising and blockading it.

5. [ errata 1 ]

To block the hostel where Zerbino lay, For all the town is risen, the father sends.

Stript from the serjeants’ captain, &c.

Stanza lxiii. line 3.

So police-officers (in the original sbirri ) were anciently termed, and a great dramatic author talks of a man being arrested ‘by that fell serjeant, Death.’ The term (as it is well known to those acquainted. with the usages of the middle ages) is the translation or corruption of the Latin word serviens , and in its simple acceptation means servant. Hence serviens ad legem is a serjeant at law, serviens ad arma , a serjeant at arms, &c.

“ Yet more; I seek the champion with desire “ To avenge the famous Agrican, my sire .

Stanza lxxix. lines 7 and 8.

“ Him this Orlando slew by treachery, &c.

Stanza lxxx. line 1.

Though this assertion is in character with Mandricardo, there is no colour for it in the story of the Innamorato . Agrican, king of Tartary, and father of Mandricardo, who is one of the most distinguished heroes of that poem, was slain by Orlando in single combat. Having fought during the greater part of a day, the two duellists were interrupted by night, and lay down, side by side, for the purpose of repose. Entering now into conversation,

‘Fast they carped and courteously, ‘Of deeds of arms and of venerie,’ &c.

in the true spirit of knights-errant. Unfortunately, however, they were of less endurance in the war of words than in that of blows, and each feeling himself less capable of maintaining his opinion by sayings than doings, was impatient to renew the battle. The battle was renewed, and Agrican, after many vicissitudes of fortune, mortally wounded. Orlando had by this time sufficiently inculcated the necessity of baptism, which Agrican had before contemptuously refused; and the conqueror, alighting from his horse, administers this rite, with a tenderness which forms a whimsical contrast to the other part of the adventure.

While tears descending bathed his manly face, The gentle count dismounted to his aid, Then locked the wounded knight in his embrace, Upon the fountain’s grassy border laid; And kiss’d his fading lips, and sought his grace, And of the mischief done forgiveness prayed: The speechless Tartar king his head inclined, And with the cross his brows Orlando signed.

Then having to his sorrow found that he Was breathless, and all vital warmth was fled, Believed his gallant spirit was set free, And by the crystal fountain left him dead, Clad as he was in armour cap-a-pè, With sword in hand, and crown upon his head.

See The Innamorato , book ii.

The warriors, who with steel had ever smit, Now, as a pair of hinds in rage contend For the mead’s boundary or river’s right, Armed with two staves, maintain a cruel fight .

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

Two hinds contending for the mead’s boundary , may appear a more natural image to an Englishman, unless conversant with a water-meadow-district, than their contending for the water’s right , but to an Italian must appear to the full as probable a cause of quarrel. And Mr, Forsyth (the acute author of Remarks upon Italy ) would derive rivalry ( rivalitas ) from the river quarrels of the ancient inhabitants of Italy.

These are no longer real tears which rise, And which I scatter from so full a vein, &c .

Stanza cxxvi. lines 1 and 2.

The introduction of so miserable a conceit as that contained in the present and succeeding stanza into such an exquisite description of natural passion, is no doubt a foul blot; but we must remember that this was the vice of Ariosto’s age and that which succeeded it; and that Shakespeare is deformed by many more such puerilities. The fair critic who is really conversant with Italian literature must indeed confess that the highly distinguished Italian poets (among whom I do not reckon the Guidis, Chiabreras, &c .) are, notwithstanding the vulgar reproach, much freer from the concetti ascribed to them than those of the same age, or even a much later age, either in England or France; but the French and English confer a dignity upon many Italian writers which is not attributed to them by judicious critics of Italy, and then pronounce upon Italian poetry as it appears in the writings of these men. It is under this delusion that half the world till lately only considered Italian as the language of love, as diffuse as sweet, and were ignorant of its marvellous force and concentration, when in the management of a Dante, Machiavel, or Alfieri.

To return to Ariosto’s picture of Orlando’s madness, and the exquisite accumulation of circumstances by which it is produced and aggravated; it may be remarked that the poet has given great effect to these by laying his scene in the spot which he has chosen. Upon the same principle, he has sent Mandricardo and Doralice to consummate their loves in a rustic retirement; and while the solitude of the country gives more relief to pictures of passion or manners, in works of fiction, it would seem that it charmed us also by the mere repose which it affords. Don Quixote is never so interesting as at the Duke’s, nor the Spectator as at Sir Roger de Coverley’s. Shakespeare, when he has almost worn out Falstaff, presents him to us as fresh as ever, eating a dish of caraways and pippins in Master Shallow’s orchard; and though hardly any thing remarkable is said or done by either of them, we delight in watching Gil Blas and Scipio at Lirias, and contemplate them with pleasure when taking their siesta under its shades.

I am not—am not what I seem to sight: What Roland was is dead and under ground. * * * * * * * * * * Divided from the flesh, I am his sprite, Which in this hell, tormented, walks its round .

Stanza cxxviii. lines 1, 2, 5, 6.

Non ego, sed tenuis vapulat umbra mea.

Catullus .

Layout 2

THE ORLANDO FURIOSO.

CANTO XXIV.

ARGUMENT.

Odorico’s and Gabrina’s guilt repaid,

Youthful Zerbino sets at large the train;

He in defence of good Orlando’s blade,

Is afterwards by Mandricardo slain.

Isabel weeps; by Rodomont is made

War on the Tartar king, and truce again,

To succour Agramant and his array;

Who to the lilies are well-nigh a prey.

THE ORLANDO FURIOSO.

CANTO XXIV.

I.

Let him make haste his feet to disengage, Nor lime his wings, whom Love has made a prize; For love, in fine, is nought but phrensied rage, By universal suffrage of the wise: And albeit some may show themselves more sage Than Roland, they but sin in other guise. For, what proves folly more than on this shelf, Thus, for another, to destroy oneself?

II.

Various are love’s effects; but from one source All issue, though they lead a different way. He is, as ’twere, a forest, where parforce Who enter its recesses go astray; And here and there pursue their devious course : In sum, to you I, for conclusion, say; He who grows old in love, besides all pain Which waits such passion, well deserves a chain.

III.

One here may well reproach me; “Brother, thou “Seest not thy faults, while thou dost others fit.” —I answer, that, “ see mine plain enow, “In this my lucid interval of wit; “And strive and hope withal I shall forego “This dance of folly; but yet cannot quit, “As quickly as I would, the faults I own; “For my disease has reached the very bone.”

IV.

I in the other canto said before, Orlando, furious and insensate wight, Having torn off the arms and vest he wore, And cast away from him his faulchion bright, And up-torn trees, and made the forest hoar And hollow cave resound, and rocky height, Towards the noise some shepherds, on that side, Their heavy sins or evil planets guide.

V.

Viewing the madman’s wonderous feats more near, The frighted band of rustics turned and fled; But they, in their disorder, knew not where, As happens oftentimes in sudden dread. The madman in a thought is in their rear, Seizes a shepherd, and plucks off his head; And this as easily as one might take Apple from tree, or blossom from the brake.

VI.

He by one leg the heavy trunk in air Upheaved, and made a mace the rest to bray. Astounded, upon earth he stretched one pair, Who haply may awake at the last day. The rest, who well advised and nimble are, At once desert the field and scour away: Nor had the madman their pursuit deferred, Had he not turned already on their herd.

VII.

By such examples warned, the rustic crew Abandoned in the fields pick, scythe, and plough, And to the roof of house and temple flew, (For ill secure was elm or willow’s bough,) From hence the maniac’s horrid rage they view; Who, dealing kick, and bite, and scratch, and blow, Horses and oxen slew, his helpless prey; And well the courser ran who ’scaped that day.

VIII.

Already might’st thou hear how loudly ring The hubbub and the din, from neighbouring farms, Outery and horn, and rustic trumpeting; And faster sound of bells; with various arms, By thousands, with spontoon, bow, spit, and sling, Lo! from the hills the rough militia swarms. As many peasants from the vale below, To make rude war upon the madman go,

IX.

As beats the wave upon the salt-sea shore, Sportive at first, which southern wind has stirred, When the next, bigger than what went before, And bigger than the second, breaks the third; And the vext water waxes evermore, And louder on the beach the surf is heard: The crowd, increasing so, the count assail, And drop from mountain and ascend from dale.

X.

Twice he ten peasants slaughtered in his mood, Who, charging him in disarray, were slain; And this experiment right clearly showed To stand aloof was safest for the train. Was none who from his body could draw blood; For iron smote the impassive skin in vain. So had heaven’s King preserved the count from scathe, To make him guardian of his holy faith.

XI.

He would have been in peril on that day, Had he been made of vulnerable mould; And might have learned what ’twas to cast away His sword, and, weaponless, so play the bold. The rustic troop retreated from the fray, Seeing no stroke upon the madman told. Since him no other enemy attends, Orlando to a neighbouring township wends.

XII.

Since every one had left the place for dread, No wight he found within it, small or great: But here was homely food in plenty spread, Victual, well sorting with the pastoral state. Here, acorns undistinguishing from bread , By tedious fast and fury driven to sate His hunger, he employed his hand and jaw On what he first discovered, cooked or raw.

XIII.

Thence, repossest with the desire to rove, He, through the land, did man and beast pursue; And scowering, in his phrensy, wood and grove, Took sometimes goat or doe of dappled hue: Often with bear and with wild boar he strove, And with his naked hand the brutes o’erthrew; And gorging oftentimes the savage fare, Swallowed the prey with all its skin and hair.

XIV.

Now right, now left, he wandered, far and wide, Throughout all France, and reached a bridge one day; Beneath which ran an ample water’s tide, Of steep and broken banks: a turret gray Was builded by the spacious river’s side, Discerned, from far and near, and every way. What here he did I shall relate elsewhere, Who first must make the Scottish prince my care.

XV.

When Roland had departed on his quest, Zerbino paused some deal; then, in his rear, Slowly his steed by the same path addrest, Which had been taken by Anglantes’ peer; Nor two miles on his way, I think, had prest, When he beheld a captive cavalier, Upon a sorry, little, hackney tied, And by armed horseman watched on either side.

XVI.

Zerbino speedily the prisoner knew, And Isabel, as soon; when nigh surveyed. This was Sir Odoric, the Biscayan, who, Like wolf, the guardian of a lamb was made: To whom, of all his friends esteemed most true, Zerbino Isabella had conveyed; Hoping, one hitherto by him found just, Would now, as ever, have approved his trust.

XVII.

Even then how all had chanced, with punctual lore, Was Isabel relating to the knight; ‘How in the pinnace she was saved, before ‘The broken vessel sank at sea outright; ‘Odoric’s assault; and next, how bandits bore ‘Her to the cavern, in a mountain dight.’ Nor Isabella yet her tale has told, When bound the malefactor they behold.

XVIII.

The two that had Sir Odoric in their ward, The royal damsel Isabella knew; And deemed he was her lover and her lord, That pricked beside the lady, fair of hue . More; that the bearings on his shield record The honours of the stem from which he grew; And found, as better they observed his cheer, They had judged rightly of the cavalier.

XIX.

Lighting, with open arms and hurried pace, They make towards Zerbino eagerly, And, kneeling, with bare head, the prince embrace, Where lord is clipt by one of less degree. Zerbino, looking either in the face, Knows one Corebo of Biscay to be, And Sir Almonio, his co-mate; the pair Charged, under Odoric, with the galley’s care.

XX.

Almonio cried, “Since God is pleased in the end, “Grammercy! Isabel should be with you; “My lord, I very clearly comprehend “I should deliver tidings, nothing new, “If I should now inform you why I wend “With this offender, whom with me you view. “Since she, who at his hands has suffered worst, “The story of his crimes will have rehearsed.

XXI.

“How me that traitour duped thou hast not to learn, “What time he rid himself of me, nor how “Corebo, who would have avenged the scorn, “Intended to the damsel, was laid low: “But that which followed, upon my return, “By her unseen or heard, she cannot know, “So as to thee the story to have told; “The sequel of it then will I unfold.

XXII.

“I seaward from the city, with a store “Of nags, collected in a hurry, fare; “Aye watchful, if the trace I can explore “Of those left far behind me; I repair “Thitherward; I arrive upon the shore, “The place where they were left; look everywhere; “Nor sigh of them perceive upon that strand, “Except some steps, new-printed on the sand.

XXIII.

“The steps I traced into the forest drear; “Nor far within the greenwood had I wound, “When, guided by a noise which smote my ear, “I saw my comrade bleeding on the ground: “Of Isabel I asked the cavalier, “Of Odoric, and what hand had dealt his wound; “And thence departed, when the thing I knew, “Seeking the wretch these precipices through.

XXIV.

“Wide circling still I go, and through that day “I find no other sign of him that fled; “At length return to where Corebo lay, “Who had the ground about him dyed so red, “That he, had I made little more delay, “A grave would have required, and, more than bed “And succour of the leech, to make him sound, “Craved priest and friar to lay him in the ground.

XXV.

“I had him to the neighbouring city brought, “And boarded with a friendly host; and there “Corebo’s cure in little time was wrought, “Beneath an old chirurgeon’s skilful care. “This finished, having arms and horses bought, “We thence together to the court repair “Of King Alphonso of Biscay; where I “Find out the traitor, and to fight defy.

XXVI.

“The monarch’s justice, who fair field and free “Allowed us for the duel, and my right, “And Destiny to boot (for Destiny “Oftener makes conquest where she listeth, light) “So backed my arms, that felon was by me “Worsted, and made a prisoner in the fight. “Alphonso, having heard his guilt confessed, “Bade me dispose of him as liked me best.

XXVII.

“Him would I neither loose, nor yet have slain, “But, as thou seest, in bonds to thee convey: “That whether he should be condemned to pain, “Or death, it should be thine his doom to say. “I, hearing thou wert with King Charlemagne, “Thither, in hope to find thee, took my way. “I thank my God, that thee upon this ground, “Where I least hoped to meet thee, I have found.

XXVIII.

“As well I render thanks, that Isabel “I see restored to thee, I know not how, “Of whom, by reason of that traitor fell, “I deemed thou never more should’st tidings know.” In silence prince Zerbino hears him tell His story, gazing upon Odoric’s brow, In pity, more than hate, as he perpends How foully such a goodly friendship ends.

XXIX.

After Almonio had his tale suspended, Astounded for a while the prince stood by; Wondering, that he who least should have offended, Had him requited with such treachery: But, his long fit of admiration ended, Waking from his amazement with a sigh, Questioned the prisoner in the horsemen’s hold, If that was true the cavalier had told.

XXX.

The faithless man alighted, and down fell Upon his bended knees , and answered; “Sir, “All people that on middle earth do dwell, “Through weakness of their nature, sin and err. “One thing alone distinguishes the well “And evil doer; this , at every stir “Of least desire, submits, without a blow; “That arms, but yields as well to stronger foes.

XXXI.

“Had I been charged some castle to maintain, “And, without contest, on the first assault, “Hoisted the banners of the hostile train, “—For cowardice, or treason, fouler fault— “Upon my eyes (a well deserved pain) “Thou might’st have justly closed the darksome vault; “But, yielding to superior force, I read “I should not merit blame, but praise and meed.

XXXII.

“The stronger is the enemy, the more “Easily is the vanquished side excused: “I could but faith maintain as, girded sore, “The leaguered fort to keep her faith is used; “Even so, with all the sense, with all the lore “By sovereign wisdom into me infused, “This I essayed to keep; but in the end, “To o’ermastering assault was forced to bend.”

XXXIII.

So said Sir Odoric; and after showed (Though ’twere too tedious to recount his suit) Him no light cause had stirred, but puissant goad. —If ever earnestness of prayer could boot To melt a heart that with resentment glowed, —If e’er humility produced good fruit, It well might here avail; since all that best Moves a hard heart, Sir Odoric now exprest.

XXXIV.

Whether or no to venge such infamy, Youthful Zerbino doubted: the review Of faithless Odorico’s treachery Moved him to death the felon to pursue; The recollection of the amity So long maintained between them, with the dew Of pity cooled the fury in his mind, And him to mercy towards the wretch inclined.

XXXV.

While Scotland’s prince is doubting in such wise To keep him captive, or to loose his chain; Or to remove him from before his eyes, By dooming him to die, or live in pain; Loud neighing, thitherward the palfrey hies From which the Tartar king had stript the rein; And the old harridan, who had before Nigh caused Zerbino’s death, among them bore.

XXXVI.

The horse, that had the others of that band Heard at a distance, thither her conveyed. Sore weeping came the old woman, and demand For succour, in her trouble, vainly made. Zerbino, when he saw her, raised his hand To heaven, that had to him such grace displayed, Giving him to decide that couple’s fate; The only two that had deserved his hate.

XXXVII.

The wicked hag is kept, so bids the peer, Until he is determined what to do: He to cut off her nose and either ear Now thought, and her as an example shew. Next, ’twere far better, deemed the cavalier, If to the vultures he her carcase threw: He diverse punishments awhile revolved, And thus the warrior finally resolved.

XXXVIII.

He to his comrades turned him round, and said; “To let the traitour live I am content, “Who, if full grace he has not merited, “Yet merits not to be so foully shent. “I, as I find his fault of Love was bred, “To give him life and liberty consent; “And easily we all excuses own, “When on commanding Love the blame is thrown.

XXXIX.

“Often has Love turned upside down a brain “Of sounder wit than that to him assigned, “And led to mischief of far deeper stain, “Than has so outraged us. Let Odoric find “Pardon for his offences; I the pain “Of these should justly suffer, who was blind; “Blind when I gave him such a trust, nor saw “How easily the fire consumes the straw.”

XL.

Then gazing upon Odoric, ’gan say; “This is the penance I enjoin to thee; “That thou a year shalt with the beldam stay, “Nor ever leave this while her company; “But, roving or at rest, by night or day, “Shalt never for an hour without her be; “And her shall even unto death maintain “Against whoever threatens her with pain.

XLI.

“I will, if so this woman shall command, “With whosoe’er he be, thou battle do. “I will this while that thou all France’s land, “From city shalt to city, wander through.” So says he: for as Odoric at his hand Well merits death, for his foul trespass due, This is a pitfall for his feet to shape, Which it will be rare fortune if he ’scape.

XLII.

So many women, many men betrayed, And wronged by her, have been so many more, Not without strife by knight shall he be stayed, Who has beneath his care the beldam hoar. So, for their crimes, shall both alike be paid; She for her evil actions done before, And he who wrongfully shall her defend; Nor far can go before he finds an end.

XLIII.

To keep the pact Zerbino makes him swear A mighty oath, under this penalty, That should he break his faith, and anywhere Into his presence led by fortune be, Without more mercy, without time for prayer, A cruel death shall wait him, as his fee. Next by his comrades (so their lord commands) Sir Odoric is unpinioned from his bands.

XLIV.

Corebo frees the traitor in the end, Almonio yielding, yet as ill content: For much Zerbino’s mercies both offend, Which thus their so desired revenge prevent. Thence, he disloyal to his prince and friend, In company with that curst woman went. What these befel Sir Turpin has not said, But more I once in other author read.

XLV.

This author vouches (I declare not who) ‘That hence they had not one day’s journey wended, ‘When Odoric, to all pact, all faith, untrue, ‘For riddance of the pest to him commended, ‘About Gabrina’s neck a halter threw, ‘And left her to a neighbouring elm suspended; ‘And in a year (the place he does not name) ‘Almonio by the traitor did the same.’

XLVI.

Zerbino, who the Paladin pursues, And loath would be to lose the cavalier, To his Scottish squadron of himself sends news, Which for its captain well might stand in fear; Almonio sends, and many matters shews, Too long at full to be recited here; Almonio sends, Corebo next; nor stayed Other with him, besides the royal maid.

XLVII.

So mighty is the love Zerbino bore, Nor less than his the love which Isabel Nursed for the valorous Paladin, so sore He longed to know if that bold infidel The Count had found, who in the duel tore Him from his horse, together with the sell, That he to Charles’s camp, till the third day Be ended, will not measure back his way.

XLVIII.

This was the term for which Orlando said He should wait him , who yet no faulchion wears; Nor is there place the Count has visited, But thither in his search Zerbino fares. Last to those trees, upon whose bark was read The ungrateful lady’s writing, he repairs, Little beside the road; and there finds all In strange disorder, rock and water-fall.

XLIX.

Far off, he saw that something shining lay, And spied Orlando’s corslet on the ground; And next his helm; but not that head-piece gay Which whilom African Almontes crowned: He in the thicket heard a courser neigh, And, lifting up his visage at the sound, Saw Brigliadoro the green herbage browze, With rein yet hanging at his saddle-bows.

L.

For. Durindane, he sought the greenwood, round, Which separate from the scabbard met his view; And next the surcoat, but in tatters, found; That, in a hundred rags, the champaign strew. Zerbino and Isabel, in grief profound, Stood looking-on, nor what to think they knew: They of all matters else might think, besides The fury which the wretched Count misguides.

LI.

Had but the lovers seen a drop of blood, They might have well believed Orlando dead: This while the pair, beside the neighbouring flood, Beheld a shepherd coming, pale with dread. He just before, as on a rock he stood, Had seen the wretch’s fury; how he shed His arms about the forest, tore his clothes, Slew hinds, and caused a thousand other woes.

LII.

Questioned by good Zerbino, him the swain Of all which there had chanced, informed aright. Zerbino marvelled, and believed with pain, Although the proofs were clear: This as it might, He from his horse dismounted on the plain, Full of compassion, in afflicted plight; And went about, collecting from the ground The various relics which were scattered round.

LIII.

Isabel lights as well; and, where they lie Dispersed, the various arms uniting goes. Lo! them a damsel joins, who frequent sigh Heaves from her heart, and doleful visage shows. If any ask me who the dame, and why She mourns, and with such sorrow overflows; I say ’twas Flordelice, who, bound in trace Of her lost lover’s footsteps, sought that place.

LIV.

Her Brandimant had left disconsolate Without farewell, i’ the court of Charlemagne: Who there expected him six months or eight;— And lastly, since he came not there again, From sea to sea, had sought her absent mate, Through Alpine and through Pyrenean chain: In every place had sought the warrior, save Within the palace of Atlantes’ grave.

LV.

If she had been in that enchanted hold, She might before have seen the cavalier Wandering with Bradamant, Rogero bold, Gradasso and Ferrau and Brava’s peer . But, when Astolpho chased the wizard old, With the loud bugle, horrible to hear, To Paris he returned; but nought of this As yet was known to faithful Flordelice.

LVI.

To Flordelice were known the arms and sword (Who, as I say, by chance so joined the twain), And Brigliadoro, left without his lord, Yet bearing at the saddle-bow his rein; She with her eyes the unhappy signs explored, And she had heard the tidings of the swain, Who had alike related, how he viewed Orlando running frantic, in his mood.

LVII.

Here prince Zerbino all the arms unites, And hangs, like a fair trophy, on a pine. And, to preserve them safe from errant knights, Natives or foreigners, in one short line Upon the sapling’s verdant surface writes, Orlando’s arms, king Charles’s paladine . As he would say, ‘Let: none this harness move, Who cannot with its lord his prowess prove!’

LVIII.

Zerbino having done the pious deed, Is bowning him to climb his horse; when, lo! The Tartar king arrives upon the mead. He, at the trophied pine-tree’s gorgeous show, Beseeches him the cause of this to read; Who lets him (as rehearsed) the story know. When, without further pause, the paynim lord Hastes gladly to the pine, and takes the sword.

LIX.

“None can (he said) the action reprehend, “Nor first I make the faulchion mine to-day ; “And to its just possession I pretend “Where’er I find it, be it where it may. “Orlando, this not daring to defend, “Has feigned him mad, and cast the sword away; “But if the champion so excuse his shame, “This is no cause I should forego my claim.

LX.

“Take it not thence,” to him Zerbino cried, “Nor think to make it thine without a fight: “If so thou tookest Hector’s arms of pride, “By theft thou hadst them, rather than by right.” Without more parley spurred upon each side, Well matched in soul and valour, either knight. Already echoed are a thousand blows; Nor yet well entered are the encountering foes.

LXI.

In scaping Durindane, a flame in show (He shifts so quickly) is the Scottish lord. He leaps about his courser like a doe, Where’er the road best footing does afford. And well it is that he should not forego An inch of vantage; who, if once that sword Smite him, will join the enamoured ghosts, which rove Amid the mazes of the myrtle grove.

LXII.

As the swift-footed dog, who does espy Swine severed from his fellows, hunts him hard, And circles round about; but he lies by Till once the restless foe neglect his guard; So, while the sword descends, or hangs on high, Zerbino stands, attentive how to ward, How to save life and honour from surprise; And keeps a wary eye, and smites and flies.

LXIII.

On the other side, where’er the foe is seen To threaten stroke in vain, or make it good, He seems an Alpine wind, two hills between, That in the month of March shakes leafy wood; Which to the ground now bends the forest: green, Now whirls the broken boughs, at random strewed. Although the prince wards many, in the end One mighty stroke he cannot scape or fend.

LXIV.

In the end he cannot scape one downright blow, Which enters, between sword and shield, his breast. As perfect was the plate and corslet, so Thick was the steel wherein his paunch was drest: But the destructive weapon, falling low, Equally opened either iron vest; And cleft whate’er it swept in its descent, And to the saddle-bow, through cuirass, went.

LXV.

And, but that somewhat short the blow descends, It would Zerbino like a cane divide; But him so little in the quick offends, This scarce beyond the skin is scarified. More than a span in length the wound extends; Of little depth: of blood a tepid tide To his feet descending, with a crimson line, Stains the bright arms which on the warrior shine.

LXVI.

’Tis so, I sometimes have been wont to view A hand, more white than alabaster, part The silver cloth, with ribbon red of hue; A hand I often feel divide my heart . Here little vantage young Zerbino drew From strength and greater daring, and from art; For in the temper of his arms and might, Too much the Tartar king excelled the knight.

LXVII.

The fearful stroke was mightier in show, Than in effect, by which the Prince was prest; So that poor Isabel, distraught with woe, Felt her heart severed in her frozen breast. The Scottish prince, all over in a glow, With anger and resentment was possest, And putting all his strength in either hand, Smote full the Tartar’s helmet with his brand.

LXVIII.

Almost on his steed’s neck the Tartar fell, Bent by the weighty blow Zerbino sped; And, had the helmet been unfenced by spell, The biting faulchion would have cleft his head. The king, without delay, avenged him well, “Nor I for you till other season,” said, “Will keep this gift;” and levelled at his crest, Hoping to part Zerbino to the chest.

LXIX.

Zerbino, on the watch, whose eager eye Waits on his wit, wheels quickly to the right; But not withal so quickly, as to fly The trenchant sword, which smote the shield outright, And cleft from top to bottom equally; Shearing the sleeve beneath it, and the knight Smote on his arm; and next the harness rended, And even to the champion’s thigh descended.

LXX.

Zerbino, here and there, seeks every way By which to wound, nor yet his end obtains; For, while he smites upon that armour gay, Not even a feeble dint the coat retains. On the other hand, the Tartar in the fray Such vantage o’er the Scottish prince obtains, Him he has wounded in seven parts or eight, And reft his shield and half his helmets plate.

LXXI.

He ever wastes his blood; his energies Fail, though he feels it not, as ’t would appear; Unharmed, the vigorous heart new force supplies To the weak body of the cavalier. His lady, during this, whose crimson dyes Where chased by dread, to Doralice drew near, And for the love of Heaven, the damsel wooed To stop that evil and disastrous feud.

LXXII.

Doralice, who as courteous was as fair, And ill-assured withal, how it would end, Willingly granted Isabella’s prayer, And straight to truce and peace disposed her friend. As well Zerbino, by the other’s care, Was brought his vengeful anger to suspend; And, wending where she willed, the Scottish lord, Left unachieved the adventure of the sword.

LXXIII.

Fair Flordelice, who ill maintained descries The goodly sword of the unhappy count, In secret grieves, and so laments the prize Foregone, she weeps for rage, and smites her front: She would move Brandimart to this emprize; And, should she find him, and the fact recount, Weens, for short season will the Tartar foe Exulting in the ravished faulchion go.

LXXIV.

Seeking him morn and evening, but in vain, Flordelice after Brandimart did fare; And widely wandered from him, who again Already had to Paris made repair. So far the damsel pricked by hill and plain, She reached the passage of a river, where She saw the wretched count; but what befel The Scottish prince, Zerbino, let me tell.

LXXV.

For to leave Durindana such misdeed To him appeared, it past all other woes; Though he could hardly sit upon his steed, Through mighty loss of life-blood, which yet flows. Now, when his anger and his heat secede, After short interval, his anguish grows; His anguish grows, with such impetuous pains, He feels that life is ebbing from his veins.

LXXVI.

For weakness can the prince no further hie, And so beside a fount is forced to stay: Him to assist the pitying maid would try, But knows not what to do, nor what to say. For lack of comfort she beholds him die; Since every city is too far away, Where in this need she could resort to leech, Whose succour she might purchase or beseech.

LXXVII.

She, blaming Fortune, and the cruel sky, Can only utter fond complaints and vain. “Why sank I not in ocean,” (was her cry,) “When first I reared my sail upon the main?” Zerbino, who on her his languid eye Had fixt, as she bemoaned her, felt more pain Than that enduring and strong anguish bred, Through which the suffering youth was well-nigh dead.

LXXVIII.

“So be thou pleased, my heart,” (Zerbino cried,) “To love me yet, when I am dead and gone, “As to abandon thee without a guide, “And not to die, distresses me alone. “For did it me in place secure betide “To end my days, this earthly journey done, “I cheerful, and content, and fully blest “Would die, since I should die upon thy breast.

LXXIX.

“But since to abandon thee, to whom a prize “I know not, my sad fate compels, I swear, “My Isabella, by that mouth, those eyes, “By what enchained me first, that lovely hair; “My spirit, troubled and despairing, hies “Into hell’s deep and gloomy bottom; where “To think, thou wert abandoned so by me, “Of all its woes the heaviest pain will be .”

LXXX.

At this the sorrowing Isabel, declining Her mournful face, which with her tears o’erflows, Towards the sufferer, and her mouth conjoining To her Zerbino’s, languid as a rose; Rose gathered out of season, and which, pining Fades where it on the shadowy hedgerow grows, Exclaims, “Without me think not so, my heart, “On this your last, long, journey to depart.

LXXXI.

“Of this, my heart, conceive not any fear, “For I will follow thee to heaven or hell; “It fits our souls together quit this sphere, “Together go, for aye together dwell. “No sooner closed thine eyelids shall appear “Than either me internal grief will quell, “Or, has it not such power, I here protest, “I with this sword to-day will pierce my breast.

LXXXII.

“I of our bodies cherish hope not light, “That they shall have a happier fate when dead: “Together to entomb them, may some wight, “Haply by pity moved, be hither led.” She the poor remnants of his vital sprite Went on collecting, as these words she said; And while yet aught remains, with mournful lips, The last faint breath of life devoutly. sips.

LXXXIII.

’Twas here his feeble voice Zerbino manned, Crying, “My deity, I beg and pray, “By that love witnessed, when thy father’s land “Thou quittedst for my sake; and, if I may “In any thing command thee, I command, “That, with God’s pleasure, thou live-out thy day; “Nor ever banish from thy memory, “That, well as man can love, have I loved thee.

LXXXIV.

“God haply will provide thee with good aid, “To free thee from each churlish deed I fear; “As, when in the dark cavern thou wast stayed, “He sent, to rescue thee, Anglante’s peer; “So he (grammercy!) succoured thee dismaid “At sea, and from the wicked Biscayneer. “And, if thou must choose death, in place of worse, “Then only choose it, as a lesser curse.”

LXXXV.

I think not these last words of Scotland’s knight Were so exprest, that he was understood: With these, he finished, like a feeble light, Which needs supply of wax, or other food. —Who is there, that has power to tell aright The gentle Isabella’s doleful mood? When stiff, her loved Zerbino, with pale face, And cold as ice, remained in her embrace.

LXXXVI.

On the ensanguined corse, in sorrow drowned, The damsel throws herself, in her despair, And shrieks so loud that wood and plain resound For many miles about ; nor does she spare Bosom or cheek ; but still, with cruel wound, One and the other smites the afflicted fair; And wrongs her curling locks of golden grain, Aye calling on the well-loved youth in vain.

LXXXVII.

She with such rage, such fury, was possest, That, in her transport, she Zerbino’s glaive Would easily have turned against her breast, Ill keeping the command her lover gave; But that a hermit, from his neighbouring rest, Accustomed oft to seek the fountain-wave, His flagon at the cooling stream to fill, Opposed him to the damsel’s evil will.

LXXXVIII.

The reverend father, who with natural sense Abundant goodness happily combined, And, with ensamples fraught and eloquence, Was full of charity towards mankind, With efficacious reasons her did fence, And to endurance Isabel inclined; Placing, from ancient Testament and new, Women, as in a mirror, for her view.

LXXXIX.

The holy man next made the damsel see, That save in God there was no true content, And proved all other hope was transitory, Fleeting, of little worth, and quickly spent; And urged withal so earnestly his plea, He changed her ill and obstinate intent; And made her, for the rest of life, desire To live devoted to her heavenly sire.

XC.

Not that she would her mighty love forbear, For her dead lord, nor yet his relics slight; These, did she halt or journey, every where Would Isabel have with her, day and night. The hermit therefore seconding her care, Who, for his age, was sound and full of might, They on his mournful horse Zerbino placed, And traversed many a day that woodland waste.

XCI.

The cautious elder would not bear away Thus all alone with him that damsel bland Thither, where in a cave, concealed from day, His solitary cell hard by did stand: Within himself exclaiming; “I convey “With peril fire and fuel in one hand.” Nor in such bold experiment the sage Wisely would trust to prudence or to age.

XCII.

He thought to bear her to Provence, where, near The city of Marseilles a borough stood, Which had a sumptuous monastery; here Of ladies was a holy sisterhood; And, hither to transport the cavalier, They stowed his body in a chest of wood, Made in a town by the way-side; and which Was long and roomy, and well closed with pitch .

XCIII.

So, compassing a mighty round, they fare Through wildest parts, for many and many a day; Because, the war extending every where, They seek to hide themselves as best they may: At length a cavalier arrests the pair, That with foul scorn and outrage bars their way; Of whom you more in fitting time shall learn, But to the Tartar king I now return.

XCIV.

After the fight between the two was done, Already told by me, the king withdrew To a cooling shade and river from the sun, His horse’s reins and saddle to undo; Letting the courser at his pleasure run, Browsing the tender grass the pasture through: But he reposed short time ere he descried An errant knight descend the mountain’s side.

XCV.

Him Doralice, as soon as he his front Uplifted, knew; and showed him to her knight: Saying; “Behold! the haughty Rodomont, “Unless the distance has deceived my sight. “To combat with thee, he descends the mount: “Now it behoves thee put forth all thy might. “To lose me, his betrothed, a mighty cross “The monarch deems, and comes to venge his loss.”

XCVI.

As a good hawk, who duck or woodcock shy, Partridge or pigeon, or such other prey, Seeing towards her from a distance fly, Raises her head, and shows her blithe and gay; So Mandricardo, in security Of crushing Rodomont in that affray, Gladly his courser seized, bestrode the seat, Reined him, and in the stirrups fixt his feet.

XCVII.

When the two hostile warriors were so near, That words could be exchanged between the twain, Loudly began the monarch of Argièr, To threat with head and hand, in haughty strain, ‘That to repentance he will bring the peer ‘Who lightly for a pleasure, rash and vain, ‘Had scrupled not his anger to excite ‘Who dearly will the offered scorn requite.’

XCVIII.

When Mandricardo: “He but vainly tries “To fright, who threatens me—by words unscared. “Woman, or child, or him he terrifies , “Witless of warfare; not me, who regard “With more delight than rest, which others prize, “The stirring battle; and who am prepared “My foeman in the lists or field to meet; “Armed or unarmed, on horse or on my feet.”

XCIX.

They pass to outrage, shout, and ire, unsheath The brand; and loudly smites each cruel foe; Like winds, which scarce at first appear to breathe, Next shake the oak and ash-tree as they blow; Then to the skies upwhirl the dusty wreath, Then level forests, and lay houses low, And bear the storm abroad, o’er land and main, By which the flocks in greenwood-holt are slain.

C.

Of those two infidels, unmatched in worth, The valiant heart and strength, which thus exceed, To such a warfare and such blows give birth, As suits with warriors of so bold a seed. At the loud sound and horrid, trembles earth, When the swords cross; and to the stroke succeed Quick sparks; or rather, flashing to the sky, Bright flames by thousands and by thousands fly.

CI.

Without once gathering breath, without repose, The champions one another still assail; Striving, now here, now there, with deadly blows, To rive the plate, or penetrate the mail. Nor this one gains, nor the other ground foregoes; But, as if girded in by fosse or pale, Or, as too dearly sold they deem an inch, Ne’er from their close and narrow circle flinch.

CII.

Mid thousand blows, so, with two-handed swing, On his foe’s forehead smote the Tartar knight, He made him see, revolving in a ring, Myriads of fiery balls and sparks of light. The croupe, with head reversed, the Sarzan king Now smote, as if deprived of all his might, The stirrups lost; and in her sight, so well Beloved, appeared about to quit the sell.

CIII.

But as steel arbalest that’s loaded sore, By how much is the engine charged and strained, By lever or by crane, with so much more Fury returns, its ancient bent regained, And, in discharging its destructive store, Inflicts worse evil than itself sustained; So rose that African with ready blade, And straight with double force the stroke repaid.

CIV.

Rodomont smites, and in the very place Where he was smit, the Tartar in return; But cannot wound the Sarzan in the face, Because his Trojan arms the weapon turn; Yet so astounds, he leaves him not in case, If it be morn or evening to discern. Rodomont stopt not, but in fury sped A second blow, still aiming at his head.

CV.

King Mandricardo’s courser, who abhorred The whistling of the steel which round him flew, Saved, with sore mischief to himself, his lord; In that he backed the faulchion to eschew: Aimed at his master, not at him, the sword Smote him across the head, and cleft it through. No Trojan helm defends the wretched horse, Like Mandricardo, and he dies parforce.

CVI.

He falls, and Mandricardo on the plain No more astound, slides down upon his feet, And whirls his sword; to see his courser slain He storms all over fired with angry heat. At him the Sarzan monarch drives amain; Who stands as firm as rock which billows beat. And so it happened, that the courser good Fell in the charge, while fast the footman stood.

CVII.

The African, who feels his horse give way, The stirrups quits, and lightly from the sell Is freed, and springs on earth: for the assay Hence matched anew, stands either infidel. Worse than before the battle boils, while they With pride and anger, and with hatred swell, About to close; but that, with flowing rein, A messenger arrives to part the twain.