XXIII.

Such the condition which he bids proclaim: ‘He that would with Duke Aymon’s daughter wed ‘Must with the sword contend against that dame ‘From the sun’s rise until he seeks his bed; ‘And if he for that time maintains the game. ‘And is not overcome, without more said, ‘The lady is adjudged to have lost the stake; ‘Nor him for husband can refuse to take.

XXIV.

‘The choice of arms must be by her foregone, ‘No matter who may claim it in the course:’ And by the damsel this may well be done, Good at all arms alike, on foot or horse. Aymon, who cannot strive against the crown, —Cannot and will not—yields at length parforce. He much the matter sifts, and in the end Resolves to court with Bradamant to wend.

XXV.

Though for the daughter choler and disdain The mother nursed, yet that she honour due Might have, she garments, dyed in different grain, Had wrought for her, of various form and hue. Bradamant for the court of Charlemagne Departs, and finding not her love, to her view His noble court appears like that no more, Which had appeared to her so fair before.

XXVI.

As he that hath beheld a garden, bright With flowers and leaves in April or in May, And next beholds it, when the sun his light Hath sloped toward the north, and shortened day, Finds it a desert horrid to the sight; So, now that her Rogero is away, To Bradamant, who thither made resort, No longer what it was appeared that court.

XXVII.

What is become of him she doth not dare Demand, lest more suspicion thence be bred: But listens still, and searches here and there; That this by some, unquestioned, may lie said; Knows he is gone, but has no notion where The warrior, when he went, his steps had sped; Because, departing thence. he spake no word Save to the squire who journeyed with his lord.

XXVIII.

Oh! how she sighs! how fears the gentle maid, Hearing Rogero, as it were, was flown! Oh! how above all other terrors, weighed The fear, that to forget her he was gone! That, seeing Aymon still his wish gainsayed, And that to wed the damsel hope was none, He fled, perchance, so hoping to be loosed From toils wherein he by her love was noosed;

XXIX.

And that with further end the youthful lord Her from his heart more speedily to chase, Will rove from realm to realm, till one afford Some dame, that may his former love efface; Even, as the proverb says, that in a board One nail drives out another from its place . A second thought succeeds, and paints the youth Arraigned of fickleness, as full of truth;

XXX.

And her reproves for having lent an ear To a suspicion so unjust and blind; And so, this thought absolves the cavalier; And that accuses; and both audience find; And now this way, now that, she seemed to veer; Nor this, nor that—irresolute of mind— Preferred: yet still to what gave most delight Most promptly leaned, and loathed its opposite;

XXXI.

And thinking, ever and anon, anew On that so oft repeated by the knight, As for grave sin, remorse and sorrow grew That she had nursed suspicion and affright; And she, as her Rogero were in view, Would blame herself, and would her bosom smite; And say; “I see ’twas ill such thoughts to nurse, “But he, the cause, is even cause of worse.

XXXII.

“Love is the cause; that in my heart inlaid “Thy form, so graceful and so fair to see; “And so thy daring and thy wit pourtrayed, “And worth, of all so bruited, that to me “It seems impossible that wife or maid, “Blest with thy sight, should not be fired by thee; “And that she should not all her art apply “To unbind, and fasten thee with other tie.

XXXIII.

“Ah! wellaway! if in my thought Love so “Thy thought, as thy fair visage, had designed, “This—am I well assured—in open show, “As I unseen believe it, should I find; “And be so quit of Jealousy, that foe “Would not still harass my suspicious mind; “And, where she is by me repulsed with pain, “Not quelled and routed would she be, but slain.

XXXIV.

“I am like miser, so intent on gear, “And who hath this so buried in his heart, “That he, for hoarded treasure still in fear, “Cannot live gladly from his wealth apart. “Since I Rogero neither see nor hear, “More puissant far than Hope, O Fear! thou art; “To thee, though fake and idle, I give way; “And cannot choose but yield myself thy prey.

XXXV.

“But I, Rogero, shall no sooner spy “The light of thy glad countenance appear, “Against mine every credence, from mine eye “Concealed (and woe is me), I know not where,— “Oh! how true Hope false Fear shall from on high “Depose withal, and to the bottom bear! “Ah! turn to me, Rogero! turn again, “And comfort Hope, whom Fear hath almost slain.

XXXVI.

“As when the sun withdraws his glittering head, “The shadows lengthen, causing vain affright; “And as the shadows, when he leaves his bed, “Vanish, and reassure the timid wight: “Without Rogero so I suffer dread; “Dread lasts not, if Rogero is in sight. “Return to me, return, Rogero, lest “My hope by fear should wholly be opprest.

XXXVII.

“As every spark is in the night alive, “And suddenly extinguished when ’tis morn; “When me my sun doth of his rays deprive, “Against me felon Fear uplifts his horn: “But they the shades of night no sooner drive, “Than Fears are past and gone, and Hopes return. “Return, alas! return, O radiance dear! “And drive from me that foul, consuming Fear.

XXXVIII.

“If the sun turn from us and shorten day, “Earth all its beauties from the sight doth hide; “The wild winds howl, and snows and ice convey; “Bird sings not; nor is leaf or flower espied. “So, whensoever thou thy gladsome ray, “O my fair sun, from me dost turn aside, “A thousand, and all evil, dreads, make drear “Winter within me many times a year.

XXXIX.

“Return, my sun, return! and springtide sweet, “Which evermore I long to see, bring back; “Dislodge the snows and ice with genial heat; “And clear my mind, so clouded o’er and black.” As Philomel, or Progne, with the meat Returning, which her famished younglings lack, Mourns o’er an empty nest, or as the dove Laments himself at having lost his low

XL.

The unhappy Bradamant laments her so, Fearing the Child is reft from her and gone; While often tears her visage overflow: But she, as best she can, conceals her moan. Oh! how—oh! how much worse would be her woe, If what she knew not to the maid were known! That, prisoned and with pain and pine consumed, Her consort to a cruel death was doomed.

XLI.

The cruelty which by that beldam ill Was practised on the prisoned cavalier, And who prepared the wretched Child to kill, By torture new and pains unused whilere, While so Rogero pined, the gracious will Of Heaven conveyed to gentle Leo’s ear; And put into his heart the means to aid, And not to let such worth be overlaid.

XLII.

The courteous Leo that Rogero loved, Not that the Grecian knew howe’er that he Rogero was, but by that valour moved Which sole and superhuman seemed to be, Thought much, and mused, and planned, how it behoved —And found at last a way—to set him free; So that his cruel aunt should have no right To grieve or say he did her a despite.

XLIII.

In secret, Leo with the man that bore The prison-keys a parley had, and said, ‘He wished to see that cavalier, before ‘Upon the wretch was done a doom so dread.’ When it was night, one, faithful found of yore, Bold, strong, and good in brawl, he thither led; And—by the silent warder taught that none Must know ’twas Leo—was the door undone.

XLIV.

Leo, escorted by none else beside, Was led by the compliant castellain, With his companion, to the tower, where stied Was he , reserved for nature’s latest pain. There round the neck of their unwary guide, Who turns his back the wicket to unchain, A slip-knot Leo and his follower cast; And, throttled by the noose, he breathes his last .

XLV.

—The trap upraised, by rope from thence suspended For such a need—the Grecian cavalier. With lighted flambeau in his hand, descended, Where, straitly bound, and without sun to cheer, Rogero lay, upon a grate extended, Less than a palm’s breadth of the water clear: To kill him in a month, or briefer space, Nothing was needed but that deadly place.

XLVI.

Lovingly Leo dipt the Child, and, “Me, “O cavalier! thy matchless valour,” cried, “Hath in indissoluble bands to thee, “In willing and eternal service, tied; “And wills thy good to mine preferred should be, “And I for thine my safety set aside, “And weigh thy friendship more than sire, and all “Whom I throughout the world my kindred call.

XLVII.

“I Leo am, that thou what fits mayst know, “Come to thy succour, the Greek emperor’s son: “If ever Constantine, my father, trow “That I have aided thee, I danger run “To be exiled, or aye with troubled brow “Regarded for the deed that I have done; “For thee he hates because of those thy blade “Put to the rout and slaughtered near Belgrade.”

XLVIII.

He his discourse with more beside pursues, That might from death to life the Child recall; And all this while Rogero’s bands doth loose. “Infinite thanks I owe you,” cries the thrall, “And I the life you give me, for your use “Will ever render back, upon your call; “And still, at all your needs, I for your sake, “And at all times, that life will promptly stake.”

XLIX.

Rogero is rescued; and the gaoler slain Is left in that dark dungeon in his place; Nor is Rogero known, nor are the twain: Leo the warrior, free from bondage base, Brings home, and there in safety to remain Persuades, in secret, four or six days’ space: ‘Meanwhile for him will he retrieve the gear ‘And courser, by Ungiardo reft whilere.’

L.

Open the gaol is found at dawn of light, The gaoler strangled, and Rogero gone. Some think that these or those had helped his flight: All talk; and yet the truth is guessed by none. Well may they think by any other wight Rather than Leo had the deed been done; For many deemed he had cause to have repaid The Child with scathe, and none to give him aid.

LI.

So wildered by such kindness, so immersed In wonder, is the rescued cavalier, So from those thoughts is he estranged, that erst So many weary miles had made him steer, His second thoughts confronting with his first, Nor these like those, nor those like these appear. He first with hatred, rage, and venom burned; With pity and with love then wholly yearned.

LII.

Much muses he by night and much by day; —Nor cares for ought, nor ought desires beside— By equal or more courtesy to pay The mighty debt that him to Leo tied. Be his life long or short, or what it may, Albeit to Leo’s service all applied, Dies he a thousand deaths, he can do nought, But more will be deserved, Rogero thought.

LIII.

Thither meanwhile had tidings been conveyed Of Charles’ decree; ‘that who in nuptial tye ‘Would yoke with Bradamant, with trenchant blade ‘Or lance must with the maid his prowess try.’ These news the Grecian prince so ill appaid, His cheek was seen to blanch with sickly dye; Because, as one that measured well his might, He knew he was no match for her in fight.

LIV.

Communing with himself, he can supply (He sees) the valour wanting with his wit; And the strange knight with his own ensignry, Whose name is yet unknown to him, will fit: Him he against Frank champion, far and nigh, Believes he may for force and daring pit; And if the knight to that emprize agree, Vanquished and taken Bradamant will be.

LV.

But two things must he do; must, first, dispose That cavalier to undertake the emprize; Then send afield the champion, whom he chose, In mode, that none suspect the youth’s disguise: To him the matter Leo doth disclose; And after prays in efficacious wise, That he the combat with the maid will claim, Under false colours and in other’s name.

LVI.

Much weighs the Grecian’s eloquence; but more Than eloquence with good Rogero weighed The mighty obligation which he bore; That debt which cannot ever be repaid. So, albeit it appeared a hardship sore And thing well-nigh impossible, he said, With blither face than heart, ‘that Leo’s will ‘In all that he commands he would fulfil.’

LVII.

Albeit no sooner he the intent exprest, Than with sore grief Rogero’s heart was shent; Which, night and day, and ever, doth molest, Ever afflict him, evermore torment: And though he sees his death is manifest, Never will he confess he doth repent: Rather than not with Leo’s prayer comply, A thousand deaths, not one, the Child will die.

LVIII.

Right sure he is to die; if he forego The lady, he foregoes his life no less. His heart will break through his distress and woe, Or, breaking not with woe and with distress, He will, himself, the bands of life undo, And of its clay the spirit dispossess. For all things can he better bear than one; Than see that gentle damsel not his own.

LIX.

To die is he disposed; but how to die Cannot as yet the sorrowing lord decide: Sometimes he thinks his prowess to belie, And offer to her sword his naked side: For never death can come more happily Than if her hand the fatal faulchion guide: Then sees, except he wins the martial maid For that Greek prince, the debt remains unpaid.

LX.

For he with Bradamant, as with a foe, Promised to do, not feign, a fight in mail, And not to make of arms a seeming show; So that his sword should Leo ill avail. Then by his word will he abide; and though His breast now these now other thoughts assail, All from his bosom chased the generous youth, Save that which moved him to maintain his truth.

LXI.

With the emperor’s licence, armour to prepare, And steeds meanwhile had wrought his youthful son; Who with such goodly following as might square With his degree, upon his way was gone: With him Rogero rides, through Leo’s care, Equipt with horse and arms, that were his own. Day after day the squadrons pricks; nor tarries Until arrived in France; arrived at Paris.

LXII.

Leo will enter not the town; but nigh Pitches his broad pavilions on the plain; And his arrival by an embassy Makes known that day to royal Charlemagne. Well pleased is he; and visits testify And many gifts the monarch’s courteous vein. His journey’s cause the Grecian prince displayed, And to dispatch his suit the sovereign prayed:

LXIII.

To send afield the damsel, who denied ‘Ever to take in wedlock any lord ‘Weaker than her: for she should be his bride, ‘Or he would perish by the lady’s sword.’ Charles undertook for this; and, on her side, The following day upon the listed sward Before the walls, in haste, enclosed that night, Appeared the martial maid, equipt for fight.

LXIV.

Rogero past the night before the day Wherein by him the battle should be done, Like that which felon spends, condemned to pay Life’s forfeit with the next succeeding sun: He made his choice to combat in the fray All armed; because he would discovery shun: Nor barded steed he backed, nor lance he shook; Nor other weapon than his faulchion took.

LXV.

No knee he took: yet was it not through fear Of that which Argalià whilom swayed; Astolpho’s next; then hers, that in career Her foemen ever upon earth had laid: Because none weened such force was in the spear, Nor that it was by necromancy made; Excepting royal Galaphron alone; Who had it forged, and gave it to his son.

LXVI.

Nay, bold Astolpho, and the lady who Afterwards bore it, deemed that not to spell, But simply to their proper force, was due The praise that they in knightly joust excel; And with whatever spear they fought, those two Believed that they should have performed as well. What only makes that knight the joust forego Is that he would not his Frontino show.

LXVII.

For easily that steed of generous kind She might have known, if him she had espied; Whom in Montalban, long to her consigned, The gentle damsel had been wont to ride. Rogero, that but schemes, but hath in mind How he from Brandamant himself shall hide, Neither Frontino nor yet other thing, Whereby he may be known, afield will bring.

LXVIII.

With a new sword will he the maid await; For well he knew against the enchanted blade As soft as paste would prove all mail and plate; For never any steel its fury stayed; And heavily with hammer, to rebate Its edge, as well he on this faulchion layed. So armed, Rogero in the lists appeared, When the first dawn of day the horizon cheered.

LXIX.

To look like Leo, o‘er his breast is spread The surcoat that the prince is wont to wear; And the gold eagle with its double head He blazoned on the crimson shield doth bear; And (what the Child‘s disguisement well may stead) Of equal size and stature are the pair. In the other‘s form presents himself the one; That other lets himself be seen of none.

LXX.

Dordona‘s martial maid is of a vein Right different from the gentle youth‘s, who sore Hammers and blunts the faulchion‘s tempered grain, Lest it his opposite should cleave or bore. She whets her steel, and into it would fain Enter, that stripling to the quick to gore: Yea, would such fury to her strokes impart, That each should go directly to his heart.

LXXI.

As on the start the generous barb is spied, When he the signal full of tire attends; And paws now here now there; and opens wide His nostrils, and his pointed ears extends; So the bold damsel, to the lists defied. Who knows not with Rogero she contends, Seemed to have fire within her veins, nor found Resting-place, waiting for the trumpet‘s sound.

LXXII.

As sometimes after thunder sudden wind Turns the sea upside down; and far and nigh Dim clouds of dust the cheerful daylight blind, Raised in a thought from earth, and whirled heaven-high; Scud beasts and herd together with the hind; And into hail and rain dissolves the sky; So she upon the signal bared her brand, And fell on her Rogero, sword in hand.

LXXIII.

But well-built wall, strong tower, or aged oak, No more are moved by blasts that round them rave, No more by furious sea is moved the rock, Smote day and night by the tempestuous wave, Than in those arms, secure from hostile stroke, Which erst to Trojan Hector Vulcan gave, Moved was he by that ire and hatred rank Which stormed about his head, and breast, and flank.

LXXIV.

Now aims that martial maid a trenchant blow, And now gives point; and wholly is intent ’Twixt plate and plate to reach her hated foe; So that her stifled fury she may vent: Now on this side, now that, now high, now low She strikes, and circles him, on mischief bent; And evermore she rages and repines; As balked of every purpose she designs.

LXXV.

As he that layeth siege to well-walled town, And flanked about with solid bulwarks, still Renews the assault; now fain would hatter down Gateway or tower; now gaping fosse would fill; Yet vainly toils (for entrance is there none) And wastes his host, aye frustrate of his will; So sorely toils and strives without avail The damsel, nor can open plate or mail.

LXXVI.

Sparks now his shield, now helm, now cuirass scatter, While straight and back strokes, aimed now low. now high, Which good Rogero’s head and bosom batter, And arms, by thousands and by thousands fly Faster than on the sounding farm-roof patter Hailstones descending from a troubled sky Rogero, at his ward, with dexterous care, Defends himself, and ne’er offends the fair.

LXXVII.

Now stopt, now circled, now retired the knight, And oft his hand his foot accompanied; And lifted shield, and shifted sword in fight, Where shifting he the hostile hand espied. Either he smote her not, or—did he smite— Smote, where he deemed least evil would betide. The lady, ere the westering sun descend, Desires to bring that duel to an end.

LXXVIII.

Of the edict she remembered her, and knew Her peril, save the foe was quickly sped: For if she took not in one day, nor slew Her claimant, she was taken; and his head Phœbus was now about to hide from view, Nigh Hercules’ pillars, in his watery bed, When first she ’gan misdoubt her power to cope With that strong foe, and to abandon hope.

LXXIX.

By how much more hope fails the damsel, so Much more her anger waxes; she her blows Redoubling, yet the harness of her foe Will break, which through that day unbroken shows; As he, that at his daily drudgery slow, Sees night on his unfinished labour close, Hurries and toils and moils without avail, Till wearied strength and light together fail.

LXXX.

Didst thou, O miserable damsel, trow Whom thou wouldst kill, if in that cavalier Matched against thee thou didst Rogero know, On whom depend thy very life-threads, ere Thou killed him thou wouldst kill thyself; for thou, I know, dost hold him than thyself more dear; And when he for Rogero shall be known, I know these very strokes thou wilt bemoan.

LXXXI.

King Charles and peers him sheathed in plate and shell Deem not Rogero, but the emperor’s son; And viewing in that combat tierce and fell Such force and quickness by the stripling shown; And, without e’er offending her, how well That knight defends himself, now change their tone; Esteem both well assorted; and declare The champions worthy of each other are.

LXXXII.

When Phœbus wholly under water goes, Charlemagne bids the warring pair divide; And Bradamant (nor boots it to oppose) Allots to youthful Leo as a bride. Not there Rogero tarried to repose; Nor loosed his armour, nor his helm untied: On a small hackney, hurrying sore, he went Where Leo him awaited in his tent.

LXXXIII.

Twice in fraternal guise and oftener threw Leo his arms about the cavalier; And next his helmet from his head withdrew, And kiss’d him on both cheeks with loving cheer. “I would,” he cried, “that thou wouldst ever do “By me what pleaseth thee; for thou wilt ne’er “Weary my love: at any call I lend “To thee myself and state; these freely spend;

LXXXIV.

“Nor see I recompense, which can repay “The mighty obligation that I owe; “Though of the garland I should disarray “My brows, and upon thee that gift bestow.” Rogero, on whom his sorrows press and prey, Who loathes his life, immersed in that deep woe, Little replies; the ensigns he had worn Returns, and takes again his unicorn;

LXXXV.

And showing himself spiritless and spent, From thence as quickly as he could withdrew, And from young Leo’s to his lodgings went; When it was midnight, armed himself anew, Saddled his horse, and sallied from his tent; (He takes no leave, and none his going view;) And his Frontino to that road addrest, Which seemed to please the goodly courser best.

LXXXVI.

Now by straight way and now by crooked wound Frontino, now by wood and wide champaign; And all night with his rider paced that round, Who never ceased a moment to complain: He called on Death, and therein comfort found; Since broke by him alone is stubborn pain; Nor saw, save Death, what other power could close The account of his insufferable woes.

LXXXVII.

“Whereof should I complain,” he said, “wo is me! “So of my every good at once forlorn? “Ah! if I will not bear this injury “Without revenge, against whom shall I turn? “For I, besides myself, none other see “That hath indicted on me scathe and scorn. “Then I to take revenge for all the harm “Done to myself, against myself must arm.

LXXXVIII.

“Yet was but to myself this injury done, “Myself to spare (because this touched but me) “I haply could, yet hardly could, be won; “Nay, I will say outright, I could not be. “Less can I be, since not to me alone, “But Bradamant, is done this injury; “Even if I could consent myself to spare, “It fits me not unvenged to leave that fair.

LXXXIX.

“Then I the damsel will avenge, and die, “(Nor this disturbs me) whatsoe’er betide; “For, bating death, I know not aught, whereby “Defence against my grief can be supplied. “But I lament myself alone, that I, “Before offending her, should not have died. “O happier Fortune! had I breathed my but “In Theodora’s dungeon prisoned fast!

XC.

“Though she had slain, had tortured me before “She slew, as prompted by her cruelty, “At least the hope would have remained in store “That I by Bradamant should pitied be: “But when she knows that I loved Leo more “Than her, that, of my own accord and free, “Myself of her, I for his good, deprive, “Dead will she rightly hate me or alive.”

XCI.

These words he said and many more, with sigh And heavy sob withal accompanied, And, when another sun illumed the sky, Mid strange and gloomy woods himself espied; And, for he desperate was and bent to die, And he, as best he could, his death would hide; This place to him seemed far removed from view, And fitted for the deed that he would do.

XCII.

He entered into that dark woodland, where He thickest trees and most entangled spied: But first Frontino was the warrior’s care, Whom he unharnessed wholly, and untied. “O my Frontino, if thy merits rare “I could reward, thou little cause” (he cried) “Shouldst have to envy him, so highly graced, “Who soared to heaven, and mid the stars was placed .

XCIII.

“Nor Cillarus, nor Arion , was whilere “Worthier than thee, nor merited more praise; “Nor any other steed, whose name we hear “Sounded in Grecian or in Latin lays. “Was any such in other points thy peer, “None of them, well I know, the vaunt can raise; “That such high honour and such courtesy “Were upon him bestowed, as were on thee.

XCIV.

“Since to the gentlest maid, of fairest dye, “And boldest that hath been, or evermore “Will be, thou wast so dear, she used to tie “Thy trappings, and to thee thy forage bore: “Dear wast thou to my lady-love: Ah! why “Call I her mine, since she is mine no more? “If I have given her to another lord, “Why turn I not upon myself this sword?”

XCV.

If him these thoughts so harass and torment, That bird and beast are softened by his cries; (For, saving these, none hears the sad lament. Nor sees the flood that trickles from his eyes) You are not to believe that more content The Lady Bradamant in Paris lies; Who can no longer her delay excuse, Nor Leo for her wedded lord refuse.

XCVI.

Ere she herself to any consort tie, Beside her own Rogero, she will fain Do whatso can be done; her word belie; Anger friends, kindred, court, and Charlemagne; And if she nothing else can do, will die, By poison or her own good faulchion slain: For not to live appears far lesser woe, Than, living, her Rogero to forego.

XCVII.

“Rogero mine, ah! whither gone” (she cried) “Art thou; and canst thou so far distant be, “Thou heardest not this royal edict cried, “A thing concealed from none, excepting thee? “Faster than thee would none have hither hied, “I wot, hadst thou known this; ah! wretched me! “How can I e’er in future think of aught, “Saving the worst that can by me be thought?

XCVIII.

“How can it be, Rogero, thou alone “Hast read not what by all the world is read? “If thou hast read it not, nor hither flown, “How canst thou but a prisoner be, or dead? “But well I wot, that if the truth were known, “This Leo will for thee some snare have spread: “The traitor will have barred thy way, intent “Thou shouldst not him by better speed prevent.

XCIX.

“From Charles I gained the promise, that to none “Less puissant than myself should I be given; “In the reliance thou wouldst he that one, “With whom I should in arms have vainly striven. “None I esteemed, excepting thee alone: “But well my rashness is rebuked by Heaven: “Since I by one am taken in this “Unfamed through life for any fair emprize.

C.

“If I am held as taken, since the knight “I had not force to take nor yet to slay; “A thing that is not, in my judgment, right; “Nor I to Charles’s sentence will give way, “I know that I shall be esteemed as light, “If what I lately said, I now unsay; “But of those many ladies that have past “For light, I am not, I, the first or last.

CI.

“Enough I to my lover faith maintain, “And, firmer than a rock, am still found true! “And far herein surpass the female train, “That were in olden days, or are in new! “Nor, if they me as fickle shall arraign, “Care I, so good from fickleness ensue; “Though I am lighter than a leaf be said, “So I be forced not with that Greek to wed.”

CII.

These things and more beside the damsel bright (’Twixt which oft sobs and tears were interposed), Ceased not to utter through the livelong night Which upon that unhappy day had closed. But, when within Cimmeria’s caverned height Nocturnus with his troop of shades reposed , Heaven, which eternally had willed the maid Should be Rogero’s consort, brought him aid:

CIII.

This moves the haught Marphisa, when ’tis morn, To appear before the king; to whom that maid Saith, ‘to the Child, her brother, mighty scorn ‘Was done; nor should he be so ill appaid, ‘That from him should his plighted wife be torn; ‘And nought thereof unto the warrior said; ‘And on whoever lists she will in strife ‘Prove Bradamant to be Rogero’s wife;

CIV.

‘And this, before all others, will prove true ‘On her, if to deny it she will dare; ‘For she had to Rogero, in her view, ‘Spoken those words, which they that marry swear; ‘And with all ceremony wont and due ‘So was the contract sealed between the pair, ‘They were no longer free; nor could forsake ‘The one the other, other spouse to take.’

CV.

Whether Marphisa true or falsely spake, I well believe that, rather with intent Young Leo’s purpose, right or wrong, to break, Than tell the truth, she speaks; and with consent Of Bradamant doth that avowal make: For to exclude the hated Leo bent, And of Rogero to be repossest, This she believes her shortest way and best.

CVI.

Sorely by this disturbed, King Charlemagne Bade Bradamant be called, and to her told That which the proud Marphisa would maintain; And Aymon present in the press behold! —Bradamant drops her head, nor treats as vain, Nor vouches what avows that virgin bold, In such confusion, they may well believe That fierce Marphisa speaks not to deceive.

CVII.

Joy good Orlando and joy Rinaldo show, Who view in valorous Marphisa’s plea A cause the alliance shall no further go, Which sealed already Leo deemed to be; And yet, in spite of stubborn Aymon’s no, Bradamant shall Rogero’s consort be; And they may, without strife, without despite Done to Duke Aymon. give her to the knight.

CVIII.

For if such words have pass’d between the twain, Fast is the knot and cannot be untied; They what they vowed more fairly will obtain, And without further strife are these affied. “This is a plot, a plot devised in vain; “And ye deceive yourselves (Duke Aymon cried) “For, were the story true which ye have feigned, “Believe not therefore that your cause is gained.

CIX.

“For granting what I will not yet allow, “And what I to believe as yet demur; “That weakly to Rogero so her vow “Was plighted, as Rogero’s was to her; “Where was the contract made, and when and how? “More clearly this to me must ye aver. “Either it was not so, I am advised; “Or was before Rogero was baptized.

CX.

“But if it were before the youthful knight “A Christian was, I will not heed it, I; “For ’twixt a faithful and a paynim wight, “I deem that nought avails the marriage-tie. “For this not vainly in the doubtful fight “Should Constantine’s fair son have risked to die; “Nor Charlemagne for this, our sovereign lord “Will forfeit, I believe, his plighted word.

CXI.

“What now you say you should before have said, “While yet the matter wax unbroke, and ere “Charles at my daughter’s prayer that edict made “Which has drawn Leo to the combat here.” Orlando and Rinaldo were gainsayed So before royal Charles by Clermont’s peer; And equal Charlemagne heard either side, But neither would for this nor that decide.

CXII.

As in the southern or the northern breeze The greenwood murmurs; and as on the shore, When Æolus with the god that rules the seas Is wroth, the hoarse and hollow breakers roar , So a loud rumour of this strife, that flees Through France, and spreads and circles evermore. Affords such matter to rehearse and hear, That nought beside is bruited far or near.

CXIII.

These with Rogero, those with Leo side; But the most numerous are Rogero’s friends, Who against Aymon, ten to one, divide. Good Charlemagne to neither party bends; But wills that cause shall be by justice tried, And to his parliament the matter sends. Marphisa, now the bridal was deferred, Appeared anew, and other question stirred;

CXIV.

And said, “In that another cannot have “Bradamant, while my brother is alive, “Let Leo, if the gentle maid he crave, “His foe in listed fight of life deprive; “And he, that sends the other to his grave, “Freed from his rival, with the lady wive.” Forthwith this challenge, as erewhile the rest, To Leo was declared at Charles’ behest.

CXV.

Leo who if he had the cavalier Of the unicorn, believed he from his foe Was safe; and thought no peril would appear Too hard a feat for him; and knew not how Thence into solitary woods and drear That warrior had been hurried by his woe; Him gone for little time and for disport Believed, and took his line in evil sort.

CXVI.

This shortly Leo was condemned to rue: For he, on whom too fondly he relied, Nor on that day nor on the following two Appeared, nor news of him were signified; And combat with Rogero was, he knew, Unsafe, unless that knight was on his side: So sent, to eschew the threatened scathe and scorn, To seek the warrior of the unicorn.

CXVII.

Through city, and through hamlet, and through town. He sends to seek Rogero, far and near: And not content with this, himself is gone In person, on his steed, to find the peer. But of the missing warrior tidings none Nor he nor any of the Court would hear But for Melissa: I for other verse Reserve myself, her doings to rehearse.

Errata

NOTES TO CANTO XLV.

————— since her wheel for ever turns .

Stanza iv. line 8.

The sentiments in this and the preceding stanzas, which are sufficiently obvious, are, I believe, to be found in parts in many of the classical poets, and may be found summed in two passages of Seneca the tragedian.

In Novogorood .

Stanza x. line 2.

So I translate Novengrado , as this city is called in the original; but I cannot conjecture what place is meant by Beleticche , which is mentioned in the succeeding stanza; and leave it as I find it.

One nail drives out another from its place .

Stanza xxix. line 6.

This image, which Ariosto has used on a former occasion, is to be found in Petrarch , and in Cicero , who say, “et jam novo quodam amore veterem amorem, tanquam clavo clavum ejiciendam putat.”

And, throttled by the noose, he breathes his last .

Stanza xliv. line 8.

Leo’s romantic generosity to Rogero, and injustice and cruelty to his jailer, will, perhaps, to many, hardly seem consistent with the chivalric character with which Ariosto has invested him; I think, however, to speak familiarly, that the poet knew what he was about, and that the conduct of Leo is not to be considered as unnatural; indeed it differs little from that of the most chivalric of our monarchs upon a very memorable occasion. Leo honours and benefits the knight who has waged desperate war upon his father and himself, and murders the burgher-Castellain, against every principle of justice and humanity. Edward III. degraded, and threatened with death, with the apparent intention of executing his threat, six citizens of Calais, who had done their duty by assisting in the defence of their town against him in legitimate warfare; and afterwards honoured and rewarded a troop of knights who treacherously attacked it, and failed in their enterprise; men whose conduct might have justified his severest rigour on their falling into his power.

I give the story in the words of Hume; who begins by mentioning the first cruel conditions imposed by Edward III. on the surrender of Calais; but observes that he mitigated these, and “insisted that six of the most considerable citizens should be sent to him, to be disposed of as he thought proper; that they should come to his camp carrying the keys of the city in their hands, bareheaded and barefooted, with ropes about their necks; and on these conditions he promised to spare the lives of all the remainder.

“When this intelligence was conveyed to Calais, it struck the inhabitants with new consternation. To sacrifice six of their fellow-citizens to certain destruction for signalizing their valour in a common cause appeared to them even more severe than that general punishment with which they were before threatened, and they found themselves incapable of coming to any resolution in so cruel and distressful a situation. At last one of the principal inhabitants, called Eustace de St. Pierre, whose name deserves to be recorded, stepped forth, and declared himself willing to encounter death for the safety of his friends and companions; another, animated by his example, made a like generous offer; a third and a fourth presented themselves to the same fate, and the whole number was soon completed. These six heroic burgesses appeared before Edward in the guise of malefactors, laid at his feet the keys of their city, and were ordered to be led to execution. It is surprising that so generous a prince should ever have entertained such a barbarous purpose against such men, and still more that he should seriously persist in the resolution of executing it. But the entreaties of his queen saved his memory from that infamy. She threw herself on her knees before him, and, with tears in her eyes, begged the lives of these citizens. Having obtained her request, she carried them into her tent, ordered a repast to be set before them, and, after making them a present of money and clothes, dismissed them in safety.

“The king took possession of Calais, and immediately executed an act of rigour more justifiable, because more necessary, than that which he had before resolved on. He knew that, notwithstanding his pretended title to the crown of France, every Frenchman regarded him as a mortal enemy. He therefore ordered all the inhabitants of Calais to evacuate the town, and he peopled it anew with English; a policy which probably preserved so long to his successors the dominion of that im portant fortress. He made it the staple of wool, leather, tin, and lead—the four chief if not the sole commodities of the kingdom for which there was any considerable demand in foreign markets. All the English were obliged to bring thither these goods; foreign merchants came to the same place in order to purchase them; and at a period when posts were not established, and when the communication between states was so imperfect, this institution, though it hurt the navigation of England, was probably of advantage to the kingdom.

“Through the mediation of the pope’s legates, Edward concluded a truce with France; but, even during this cessation of arms, he had very nearly lost Calais, the sole fruit of all his boasted victories. The king had intrusted that place to Aimery de Pavie, an Italian, who had discovered bravery and conduct in the wars, but was utterly destitute of every principle of honour and fidelity. This man agreed to deliver up Calais for the sum of twenty thousand crowns; and Geoffrey de Charni, who commanded the French forces in those quarters, and who knew that, if he succeeded in this service, he should not be disavowed, ventured, without consulting his master, to conclude the bargain with him. Edward, informed of this treachery by means of Aimery’s sccretary, summoned the governor to London on other pretences, and, having charged him with the guilt, promised him his life, but on condition that he would turn the contrivance to the destruction of the enemy. The Italian easily agreed to this double treachery. A day as appointed for the admission of the French; and Edward having prepared a force of about a thousand men, under Sir Walter Manny, secretly departed from London, carrying with him the Prince of Wales, and, without being suspected, arrived the evening before at Calais. He made a proper disposition for the reception of the enemy, and kept all his forces and the garrison under arms. On the appearance, of Charni, a chosen band of French soldiers was admitted at the postern; and Aimery, receiving the stipulated sum, promised that, with their assistance, he would immediately open the great gate to the troops, who were waiting with impatience for the fulfilling of his engagement. All the French who entered were immediately slain or taken prisoners. The great gate opened; Edward rushed forth with cries of battle and of victory. The French, though astonished at the event, behaved with valour. A fierce and bloody engagement ensued. As the morning broke, the king, who was not distinguished by his arms, and who fought as a private man under the standard of Sir Walter Manny, remarked a French gentleman, called Eustace de Ribaumout, who exerted himself with singular vigour and bravery, and he was seized with a desire of trying a single combat with him. He stepped forth from his troop, and, challenging Ribaumont by name (for he was known to him), began a sharp and dangerous encounter. He was twice beaten to the ground by the valour of the Frenchman. He twice recovered himself. Blows were redoubled with equal force on both sides. The victory was long undecided, till Ribaumont, perceiving himself to be left almost alone, called out to his antagonist, ‘Sir Knight, I yield myself your prisoner,’ and at the same time delivered his sword to the king. Most of the French being overpowered by numbers, and intercepted in their retreat, lost either their lives or their liberty.

“The French officers who had fallen into the hands of the English were conducted into Calais, where Edward discovered to them the antagonist with whom they had the honour to be engaged, and treated them with great regard and courtesy. They were admitted to sup with the Prince of Wales and the English nobility; and, after supper, the king himself came into the apartment, and went about conversing familiarly with one or other of his prisoners. He even addressed himself to Charni, and avoided reproaching him in too severe terms with the treacherous attempt which he had made upon Calais during the truce; but he openly bestowed the highest encomiums on Ribaumont, called him the most valorous knight that he had ever been acquainted with, and confessed that he himself had at no time been in so great danger as when engaged in combat with him. He then took a string of pearls which he wore about his own head, and throwing it over the head of Ribaumont, he said to him, ‘Sir Eustace, I bestow this present upon you as a testimony of my esteem for your bravery, and I desire you to wear it a year for my sake. I know you to be gay and amorous, and to take delight in the company of ladies and damsels. Let them all know from what hand you had the present. You are no longer a prisoner; I acquit you of your ransom; and you are at liberty to-morrow to dispose of yourself as you think proper. ’ ”

Such is the text of Hume, who, after telling the story thus confidently, throws a doubt upon Edward’s conduct towards the six citizens of Calais in his notes, and observes, that it rests upon the sole authority of Froissart. As to this objection, I should say that, judging from internal evidence, it would be difficult to find a more honest chronicler. But if Froissart is to be suspected of partiality, he is more to be suspected of leaning towards Edward, who is the hero of his tale, than of depreciating his character.

Another mode of explaining the thing, and more worthy of consideration, has been suggested as well by Hume as by a distinguished modem historian; to wit, by the supposition that the punishment of the burghers was never intended, but threateued only with a view of striking terror, and that their pardon at the intercession of Philippa was a measure pre-concerted and acted for stage-effect. This ingenious supposition is, however, gratuitous, and (what is more) is, as I think, inconsistent with the circumstances of the story. For it was useless to strike terror into the inhabitants of Calais, which Edward was about to dispeople for his future security; and if we could suppose that he thought of striking terror into any other cities which he might hereafter conquer (and he was then about to discontinue the war), the sentence executed upon the whole population of Calais was more likely to produce such an effect than the threatened punishment of half a dozen of her municipality. For myelf, I think the authority of Froisait suf ficient to establish the fact; and I see nothing in the story which should reasonably startle belief. We are too apt to believe in the regular aud consistent influence of the beautiful ideal of chivalry upon the spirit of those who professed it, and, instead of recurring to more authentic sources of information, take this purely from the old romances or (what is much more questionable) from their echoes from the

“ Primaleons, Pantagruels, knights of the sun, Abortives of the fabulous dark cloister.”

In the age of chivalry, which is in question, the debased condition of the middling and lower orders of society procured them little or very uncertain sympathy from their superiors. I suspect that Edward looked upon the heroism of the citizens of Calais very much as a generous Turk may be supposed to have looked upon any similar act of virtue displayed by a band of Candiots or Romeliots during the late Greek insurrection; and if the feelings of the chivalrick Edward III. were such as I conceive, were they not very similar to those which in a much more civilized age actuated the liberal and generous William III. when he expressed himself contemptuously upon the death of a civilian volunteer who had fallen fighting for his country? Edward, who honoured valour in knights, punished it in burghers as a quality presumptuous and misplaced: and is not this, in truth, the spirit wherein William III., who would have honoured such a death in a military man, contemplated the death of the civilian? for why should he have sought to take all dignity from his catastrophe, but because he thought that to aspire to “fight nations’ battles and be crowned with honour” was impertinent in one that was not bred a soldier? He considered military courage in a citizen, as a fine lady would consider personal delicacy in a scavenger; and this is the key to the supposed inconsistency of Edward, and Ariosto may be said to have painted Leo from the life.

From thus questioning the consistency of the chivalrick virtues, of the practical effects of which, I think, Ariosto had a very accurate notion, I am far from meaning to draw a general inference unfavourable to the code of chivalry; for if its professors did not always act up to its ideal of perfection, the reproach which is is made to them may be extended to the professors of every code that is, was, or ever will be. Chivalry was assuredly the day-star of the dark ages on which it dawned; and its last glimmers yet gild the vulgarities of the happier but homelier æras which have succeeded them.

Who soared to heaven and mid the stars was placed .

Stanza xcii. line 8.

Pegasus.

Nor Cillarus, nor Arion .

Stanza xciii. line 1.

Cillarus was the horse of Castor, and Arion that of Adrastus.

Nocturnus with his troop of shades reposed .

Stanza cii. line 5.

Nocturuus is here made the god of night. Is it a proper name (as it is suggested to me) formed out of an epithet? since Statius , in the Thebaid, speaking of Lucifer reappearing as Vesperus, says,

“Mutato Nocturnus eqno.”

As in the southern or the northern breeze The greenwood murmurs; and as on the shore, When Æolus with the god that rules the seas Is wroth, the hoarse and hollow breakers roar .

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

“ Qualia succinctis ubi trux insibilat Eurus, Murmura pinetis fiunt, vel qualia fluctus Æquorei faciunt, si quis procul audiat illos.”

Ovid .

Layout 2

THE ORLANDO FURIOSO.

CANTO XLVI.

ARGUMENT.

After long search for good Rogero made,

Him Leon finds, and yields to him his prize:

Informed of all—already with that maid

He wives; already in her bosom lies:

When thither he that Sarsa’s sceptre swayed

To infect such bliss with impious venom hies,

But falls in combat; and, blaspheming loud,

To Acheron descends his spirit proud.

THE ORLANDO FURIOSO.

CANTO XLVI.

I.

I, if my chart deceives me not, shall now In little time behold the neighbouring shore; So hope withal to pay my promised vow To one, so long my guide through that wide roar Of waters, where I feared, with troubled brow, To scathe my bark or wander evermore. But now, methinks—yea, now I see the land; I see the friendly port its arms expand.

II.

A burst of joy, like thunder to my ear, Rumbles along the sea and rends the sky. I chiming bells, I shrilling trumpets hear, Confounded with the people’s cheerful cry; And now their forms, that swarm on either pier Of the thick-crowded harbour, I descry. All seem rejoiced my task is smoothly done, And I so long a course have safely run.

III.

What beauteous dames and sage, here welcome me! With them what cavaliers the shore adorn ! What friends! to whom I owe eternity Of thanks for their delight at my return. Mamma, Ginevra, with the rest I see, Correggio’s seed , on the harbour’s furthest horn. Veronica de Gambara is here, To Phœbus and the Aonian choir so dear.

IV.

With Julia, a new Ginevra is in sight , Another offset from the selfsame tree; Hippolita Sforza, and Trivultia bright , Bred in the sacred cavern, I with thee Emilia Pia, and thee, Margherite, Angela Borgia, Graziosa, see, And fair Richarda d’ Este . Lo! the twain, Blanche and Diana, with their sister train !

V.

Beauteous, but wiser and more chaste than fair, I Barbara Turca, linked with Laura, know : Nor beams the sun upon a better pair ’Twixt Ind and where the Moorish waters flow Behold Ginevra! that rich gem and rare Which gilds the house of Malatesta so , That never worthier or more honoured thing Adorned the dome of Keysar or of king.

VI.

If she had dwelt in Rimini of yore, What time, from conquered Gaul returning home, Julius stood fearing on the river-shore, To ford the stream and make a foe of Rome, He every banner would have bowed before That dame, discharged his trophies, and such doom, Such pact would have received as liked her best; And haply ne’er had Freedom been opprest.

VII.

The consort of my lord of Bòzzolo Behold! the mother, sisters, cousinhood ; Them of Torello, Bentivòglio, Pallavigìni’s and Visconti’s brood ! Lo! she to whom all living dames forego The palm, and all of Grecian, Latin blood, Or barbarous, all that ever were, whose name For grace and beauty most is noised by Fame;

VIII.

Julia Gonzaga , she that wheresoe’er She moves, where’er she turns her lucid eyes, Not only is in charms without a peer, But seems a goddess lighted from the skies: With her is paired her brother’s wife , who ne’er Swerved from her plighted faith—aye good and wise— Because ill Fortune bore her long despite; Lo! Arragonian Anna, Vasto’s light !

IX.

Anne gentle, courteous, and as sage as fair, Temple of Love and Truth and Chastity: With her, her sister dims all beauty, where Her radiance shines. Lo! one that hath set free Her conquering lord from Orcus’ dark repair, And him in spite of death and destiny (Beyond all modern instance) raised on high, To shine with endless glory in the sky.

X.

My ladies of Ferrara, those of gay Urbino’s court are here; and I descry Mantua’s dames, and all that fair array Which Lombardy and Tuscan town supply. The cavalier amid that band, whom they So honour, unless dazzled is mine eye By those fair faces, is the shining light Of his Arezzo, and Accolti hight .

XI.

Adorned with scarlet hat, and scarlet pall, His nephew Benedict , lo! there I see; With him Campeggio and Mantua’s cardinal ; Glory and light of the consistory; And (if I dote not) mark how one and all In face and gesture show such mighty glee At my return, no easy task ’twould seem So vast an obligation to redeem.

XII.

With them Lactantius is, Claude Ptolemy, Trissino, Pansa, and Capilùpi mine , Latino Giovenàl , it seems to me; Sasso , and Molza , and Florian hight Montine ; With him, by whom through shorter pathway we Are led to the Ascræan font divine, Julio Camillo ; and meseems that I Berna, and Sanga, and Flamìnio spy.

XIII.

Lo! Alexander of Farnese , and O Learned company that follows in his train! Phædro, Cappella, Maddalen, Portio, Surnamed the Bolognese, the Volterrane . Blosio, Pierio, Vida, famed for flow Of lofty eloquence of exhaustless vein; Mussùro, Làscari, and Navagèro, And Andrew Maro, and the monk Sevèro .

XIV.

Lo ! two more Alexanders! of the tree Of the Orològi one, and one Guarìno: Mario d’ Olvìto, and of royalty That scourge, divine Piètro Aretìno. I two Giròlamos amid them see, Of Veritàde and the Cittadìno; See the Mainàrdo, the Leonicèno, Panizzàto, Cèlio, and Teocrèno .

XV.

Bernardo Capel, Peter Bembo here I see, through whom our pure, sweet idiom rose, And who, of vulgar usage winnowed clear, Its genuine form in his example shows. Behold an Obyson, that in his rear Admires the pains which he so well bestows. I Fracastòro, Bevezzàno note, And Tryphon Gabriel, Tasso more remote .

XVI.

Upon me Nicholas Tièpoli And Nicholas Ammànio fix their eyes; With Anthony Fulgoso, who to spy My boat near land shows pleasure and surprise. There, from those dames apart, my Valery Stands with Barignan , haply to devise With him how, evermore by woman harmed, By her he shall not evermore be charmed.

XVII.

Of high and superhuman genius, tied By love and blood, lo! Pico and Pio true; He that approaches at the kinsmen’s side, —So honoured by the best—I never knew; But, if by certain tokens signified, He is the man I so desire to view, That Sannazàro , who persuades the nine To leave their fountain for the foaming brine.

XVIII.

Diligent, faithful secretary, lo! The learned Pistòphilus , mine Angiar here. And the Acciajuòli their joint pleasure show That for my bark there is no further fear. There I my kinsman Malaguzzo know; And mighty hope from Adoardo hear, That these my nest-notes shall by friendly wind Be blown from Calpe’s rock to furthest Ind.

XIX.

Joys Victor Fausto; Tancred joys to view My sail; and with them joy a hundred more. Women and men I see, a mingled crew, At my return rejoicing, crowd the shore. Then, since the wind blows fair, nor much to do Remains, let me my course delay no more; And turning to Melissa, in what way She rescued good Rogero let me say.

XX.

Much bent was this Melissa (as I know I many times have said to you whilere) That Bradamant in wedlock should bestow Her hand upon the youthful cavalier; And so at heart had either’s weal and woe, That she from hour to hour of them would hear: Hence ever on that quest she spirits sent, One still returning as the other went.

XXI.

A prey to deep and stubborn grief, reclined Mid gloomy shades Rogero they descried; Firm not to swallow food of any kind, Nor from that purpose to be turned aside; And so to die of hunger he designed: But weird Melissa speedy aid supplied; Who took a road, from home forth issuing, where She met the Grecian emperor’s youthful heir;

XXII.

Leo that, one by one, dispatched his train Of followers, far and wide, through every bourn, And afterwards, in person, went in vain, To find the warrior of the unicorn. The wise enchantress, that with sell and rein, Had on that day equipt a demon, borne By him, in likeness of a hackney horse, Constantine’s son encountered in her course.

XXIII.

“If such as your ingenuous mien” (she cried To Leo) “is your soul’s nobility, “And corresponding with your fair outside “Your inward goodness and your courtesy, “Some help, some comfort, sir, for one provide “In whom the best of living knights we see; “Who, save ye help and comfort quickly lend, “Is little distant from his latter end.

XXIV.

“The best of knights will die of all, who don, “Or e’er donned sword and buckler, the most fair “And gentle of all warriors that are gone, “Or who throughout the world yet living are, “And simply for a courteous deed, if none “Shall comfort to the youthful sufferer bear. “Then come, sir, for the love of Heaven, and try “If any counsel succour may supply.”

XXV.

It suddenly came into Leo’s mind The knight of whom she parleyed was that same, Whom throughout all the land he sought to find, And seeking whom, he now in person came. So that obeying her that would persuade Such pious work, he spurred behind the dame; Who thither led (nor tedious was the way) Where nigh reduced to death the stripling lay.

XXVI.

They found Rogero fasting from all food For three long days, so broken down; with pain The knight could but upon his feet have stood, To fall, albeit unpushed, to ground again. With helm on head, and with his faulchion good Begirt, he lay reclined in plate and chain. A pillow of his buckler had he made, Where the white unicorn was seen pourtraid.

XXVII.

There thinking what an injury he had done To his lady love—how ingrate, how untrue To her had been—not simple grief alone Overwhelmed him, to such height his fury grew, He bit his hands and lips; while pouring down His cheeks, the tears unceasing ran, and through The passion that so wrapt his troubled sprite, Nor Leo nor Melissa heard the knight.

XXVIII.

Nor therefore interrupts he his lament, Nor checks his sighs, nor checks his trickling tears. Young Leo halts, to hear his speech intent; Lights from his courser, and towards him steers: He knows that of the sorrows which torment Love is the cause; but yet from nought appears Who is the person that such grief hath bred; For by Rogero this remains unsaid.

XXIX.

Approaching nearer and yet nearer, now He fronts the weeping warrior, face to face, Greets with a brother’s love, and stooping low, His neck encircles with a fast embrace. By the lamenting Child I know not how Is liked his sudden presence in that place; Who fears annoy or trouble at his hand; And lest he should his wish for death withstand.

XXX.

Him with the sweetest words young Leo plied, And with the warmest love that he could show, “Let it not irk thee,” to the Child he cried, “To tell the cause from whence thy sorrows flow: “For few such desperate evils man betide, “But that there is deliverance from his woe, “So that the cause be known; nor he bereft “Of hope should ever be, so life be left.

XXXI.

“Much grieve I thou wouldst hide thyself from me, “That know me for thy faithful friend and true; “Not only now I am so bound to thee, “That I the knot can never more undo; “But even from the beginning, when to be “Thy deadly foeman I had reason due. “Hope then that I will succour thee with pelf, “With friends, with following, and with life itself.

XXXII.

“Nor shun to me thy sorrow to explain, “And I beseech thee leave to me to try “If wealth avail to free thee from thy pain, “Art, cunning, open force, or flattery. “If my assistance is employed in vain, “The last relief remains to thee to die: “But be content awhile this deed to shun “Till all that thou canst do shall first be done.”

XXXIII.

He said; and with such forceful prayer appealed; So gently and benignly soothed his moan; That good Rogero could not choose but yield, Whose heart was not of iron or of stone; Who deemed, unless he now his lips unsealed, He should a foul discourteous deed have done. He fain would have replied, but Made assay Yet twice or thrice, ere words could find their way.

XXXIV.

“My lord, when known for what I am (and me “Now shalt thou know),” he made at last reply, “I wot thou, like myself, content wilt be, “And haply more content, that I should die. “Know me for him so hated once by thee; “Rogero who repaid that hate am I; “And now ’tis many days since with intent “Of putting thee to death from court I went.

XXXV.

“Because I would not see my promised bride “Borne off by thee; in that Duke Aymon’s lore “And favour was engaged upon thy side. “But, for man purposes, and God above “Disposes, thy great courtesy, well tried “In a sore need, my fixt resolve did move. “Nor only I renounced the hate I bore, “But purposed to be thine for evermore.

XXXVI.

“What time I as Rogero was unknown, “Thou madest suit I would obtain for thee “The Lady Bradamant; which was all one “As to demand my heart and soul from me. “Whether thy wish I rather than mine own “Sought to content, thou hast been made to see. “Thine is the lady; her in peace possess; “Far more than mine I prize thy happiness.

XXXVII.

“Content thee, that deprived of her, as well “I should myself of worthless life deprive; “For better I without a soul could dwell “Than without Bradamant remain alive. “And never while these veins with life-blood swell “Canst thou with her legitimately wive: “For vows erewhile have been between us said; “Nor she at once can with two husbands wed.”