Canto 23…

Canto 23

ARGUMENT Astolpho soars in air. Upon account Of Pinnabel is prisoned Scotland's heir: By Roland freed, Frontino Rodomont Takes from Hippalca, trusted to her care. With Mandricardo strives Anglantes' count: Who, next, offended by his lady fair, Into the fury falls, so strange and fell, Which in the world has not a parallel.

I Let each assist the other in his need; Seldom good actions go without their due; And if their just reward should not succeed, At least, nor death, nor shame, nor loss ensue. Who wrongs another, the remembered meed As well shall have, and soon or later rue. That mountains never meet, but that men may, And oft encounter, is an ancient say.

II Now mark what chanced to Pinnabel, the event Of having borne himself so wickedly: He at the last received due punishment, Due and deserved by his iniquity. And God, who for the most is ill content To see the righteous suffer wrongfully, Secured the maid from harm, and will secure All who from every wickedness are pure.

III Pinnabel deemed he to an end had brought, And buried deep in earth, the martial maid; Nor weening to behold her more, less thought To her his treason's forfeit to have paid. Nor profits it the wily traitor ought To be among the forts his father swayed. For Altaripa here its summit rears, Amid rude hills, confining on Poictiers.

IV Anselm in Altaripa held command, The count from whom was sprung this evil seed: Who, to escape from angry Clermont's hand, Of friends and of assistance stood in need. At a hill's foot, with her avenging brand, Bradamant made the worthless traitor bleed; Who found no better succour in the strife Than piteous cry and fruitless prayer for life.

V When she has put to death the treacherous peer, Who to put her to death had erst intent, To seek Rogero she again would steer, But that her cruel fate would not consent; Which, where the wood was loneliest and most drear, To wander by close path the lady sent, Until the western sun withdrew his light, Abandoning the world above to night.

VI Nor knowing where for shelter she should rove, Bradamant in that place resolves to stay, Couched on the verdant herbage of the grove; And, sleeping, now awaits the dawn of day, Now watching Saturn, Venus, Mars, and Jove, And the other wandering gods upon their way: But, whether waking or to sleep resigned, Has aye Rogero present to her mind.

VII With sorrow and repentance oft assailed, She from her inmost heart profoundly sighed, That Anger over Love should have prevailed. "Anger has torn me from my love," (she cried,) "Oh! had I made some note, which had availed, Thither, whence I set out, my steps to guide, When I departed on my ill emprize! Sure I was lorn of memory and of eyes!"

VIII These words and others she in mournful strain Utters, and broods within her heart on more. Meanwhile a wind of sighs, and plenteous rain Of tears, are tokens of her anguish sore. In the east, at last, expected long in vain, The wished for twilight streaked the horizon o'er; And she her courser took, which on the ley Was feeding, and rode forth to meet the day.

IX Nor far had rode, ere from the greenwood-trees She issued, where the dome was erst displayed; And many days her with such witcheries The evil-minded wizard had delayed. Here she Astolpho found, who at full ease A bridle for the Hippogryph had made, And here was standing, thoughtful and in pain To whom he should deliver Rabicane.

X By chance she found him, as the cavalier Had from the helm uncased his head to view; So that when of the dingy forest clear, Fair Bradamant her gentle cousin knew. Him from afar she hailed with joyful cheer, And now more nigh, to embrace the warrior flew; And named herself, and raised her vizor high, And let him plainly who she was espy.

XI None could Astolpho have found any where With whom to leave his horse with more content, As knowing she would guard the steed with care, And to his lord on his return present; And he believed that Heaven had, in its care, Duke Aymon's daughter for this pleasure sent. Her was he wont with pleasure aye to see, But now with more in his necessity.

XII Embracing twice or thrice the cousins stand, Fraternally, each other's neck, and they Had of each other's welfare made demand With much affection, ere the duke 'gan say; "Would I now see the winged people's land, Here upon earth I make too long delay." And opening to the dame the thought he brewed, To her the flying horse Astolpho shewed.

XIII But she scarce marvelled when above the plain She saw the rising steed his wings unfold; Since upon former time, with mastering rein. On him had charged the dame that wizard old; And made her eye and eyelid sorely strain, So hard she gazed, his movements to behold; The day that he bore off, with wonderous range, Rogero on his journey, long and strange.

XIV Astolpho says on her he will bestow His Rabican; so passing swift of kind, That, if the courser started when a bow Was drawn, he left the feathered shaft behind; And will as well his panoply forego, That it may to Mount Alban be consigned: And she for him preserve the martial weed; Since of his arms he has no present need.

XV Bent, since a course in air was to be flown, That he, as best he can, will make him light. Yet keeps the sword and horn; although alone The horn from every risque might shield the knight: But he the lance abandons, which the son Of Galaphron was wont to bear in flight; The lance, by which whoever in the course Was touched, fell headlong hurtling from his horse.

XVI Backed by Astolpho, and ascending slow, The hippogryph through yielding aether flew; And next the rider stirred the courser so, That in a thought he vanished out of view. Thus with his pilot does the patron go, Fearing the gale and rock, till he is through The reefs; then, having left the shore behind, Hoists every sail, and shoots before the wind.

XVII Bradamant, when departed was the peer, Remained distressed in mind; since in what way She knew not her good kinsman's warlike gear And courser to Mount Alban to convey. For on her heart, which they inflame and tear, The warm desire and greedy will yet prey To see the Child; whom she to find once more At Vallombrosa thought, if not before.

XVIII Here standing in suspense, by chance she spied A churl, that came towards her on the plain, Who, at her best, Astolpho's armour tied, As best he might, and laid on Rabicane; She next behind her bade the peasant guide (One courser loaded and one loose) the twain. Two were the steeds; for she had that before, On which his horse from Pinnabel she bore.

XIX To Vallombrosa to direct her way She thought, in hopes to find Rogero there: But, fearing evermore to go astray, Knew not how thither she might best repair. The churl had of the country small assay, And, sure to be bewildered, wend the pair: Yet at a venture thitherward she hies, Where she believes the place of meeting lies.

XX She here and there, as she her way pursued, Turned, but found none to question of the road; She saw at mid-day, issuing from the wood, A fort, nor far removed was the abode, Which on the summit of a mountain stood, And to the lady like Mount Alban showed; And was Mount Alban sure; in which repair One of her brothers and her mother were.

XXI She, when she recognized the place, became Sadder at heart than I have power to say. If she delays, discovered is the dame, Nor thence will be allowed to wend her way: If thence she wends not, of the amorous flame Which so consumes her, she will be the prey, Nor see Rogero more, nor compass aught Which was at Vallombrosa to be wrought.

XXII Some deal she doubted: then to turn her steed, Resolved upon Mount Alban's castle near; And, for she thence her way could deftly read, Her course anew towards the abbey steer. But Fortune, good or evil, had decreed The maid, before she of the vale was clear, Of one of her good brethren should be spied, Alardo named, ere she had time to hide.

XXIII He came from billeting the bands which lay Dispersed about that province, foot and horse; For the surrounding district, to obey King Charlemagne, had raised another force. Embraces brotherly and friendly say, Salutes and kindly cheer, ensue of course; And next into Mount Alban, side by side, They, communing of many matters, ride.

XXIV Bradamant enters Montalbano's seat, Whom Beatrice had mourned, and vainly sought Through spacious France: 'Tis here all welcome sweet, The kiss and clasp of hand, she holds at nought, While her a mother and a brother greet, As the enamoured maid compares in thought These with the loved Rogero's fond embrace; Which time will never from her mind efface.

XXV Because she could not go, one in her stead To send to Vallombrosa she devised, Who thither in the damsel's name should speed; By whom should young Rogero be apprised What kept her thence; and prayed, if prayer should need, That there he for love would be baptised; And next, as was concerned, would intend What might their bridal bring to happy end.

XXVI She purposed the same messenger should bear As well to her Rogero his good steed; Which he was ever wonted to hold dear, Worthily dear; for sure so stout at need And beauteous was no courser, far or near, In land of Christian or of Paynim creed, In occupation of the Gaul or Moor; Except Baiardo good and Brigliador.

XXVII Valiant Rogero, when too bold of sprite He backed the hippogryph and soared in air, Frontino left (Frontino he was hight), Whom Bradamant then took into her care, And to Mount Alban sent; and had him dight, And nourished, at large cost, with plenteous fare; Nor let be rode except at easy pace, Hence was he ne'er so sleek or well in case.

XXVIII Each damsel and each dame who her obeyed, She tasked, together with herself, to sew, With subtle toil; and with fine gold o'erlaid A piece of silk of white and sable hue: With this she trapt the horse; then chose a maid, Old Callitrephia's daughter, from the crew; Whose mother whilom Bradamant had nursed; A damsel she in all her secrets versed.

XXIX How graven in her heart Rogero lies, A thousand times to her she had confessed; And had extolled above the deities The manners, worth, and beauty be possessed. "No better messenger could I devise," (She said, and called the damsel from the rest,) "Nor have I one, Hippalca mine, more sage And sure than three, to do my embassage."

XXX Hippalca was the attendant damsel hight. "Go," (says her lady, and describes the way) And afterwards informs the maid aright Of all which to Rogero she should say; And why she at the abbey failed the knight, Who must not to bad faith ascribe her stay, But this to Fortune charge, that so decides, Who, more than we ourselves, our conduct guides.

XXXI She made the damsel mount upon a pad, And put into her hand Frontino's rein; And, if she met with one so rude or mad, Who to deprive her of the steed were fain, Her to proclaim who was his owner, bade, As that which might suffice to make him sane. For she believed there was no cavalier, But that Rogero's name would make him fear.

XXXII Of many and many things, whereof to treat With good Rogero, in her stead, she showed; Of which instructed well, her palfrey fleet Hippalca stirred, nor longer there abode. Through highway, field, and wood, a gloomy beat, More than ten weary miles the damsel rode, Ere any crossed her path on mischief bent, Or even questioned witherward she went.

XXXIII At noon of day, descending from a mount, She in a streight and ill declivity, Led by a dwarf, encountered Rodomont, Who was afoot and harnessed cap-a-pee. The Moor towards her raised his haughty front, And straight blasphemed the eternal Hierarchy, That horse, so richly trapped and passing fair, He had not found in a knight-errant's care.

XXXIV On the first courser he should find, the knight Had sworn a solemn oath his hands to lay: This was the first, nor he on steed could light Fairer or fitter; yet to take away The charger from a maid were foul despite. Doubtful he stands, but covets sore the prey; Eyes and surveys him, and says often, "Why Is not as well the courser's master by?"

XXXV "Ah! would be were!" to him the maid replied, "For haply he would make thee change thy thought. A better knight than thee the horse doth ride, And vainly would his match on earth be sought." -- "Who tramples thus on other's fame?" -- he cried; And she -- "Rogero" -- said, as she was taught. Then Rodomont -- "The steed I may my own; Since him a champion rides of such renown.

XXXVI "If he, as you relate, be of such force, That he surprises all beside in might, I needs must pay the hire as well as horse; And be this at the pleasure of the knight! That I am Rodomont, to him discourse; And, if indeed with me he lists to fight, Me shall to find; in that I shine confest, By my own light, in motion or at rest.

XXXVII "I leave such vestige wheresoe'er I tread, The volleyed thunder leaves not worse below." He had thrown back, over Frontino's head, The courser's gilded reins, in saying so, Backed him, and left Hippalca sore bested; Who, bathed in tears, and goaded by her woe, Cries shame on him, and threats the king with ill: Rodomont hearkens not, and climbs the hill:

XXXVIII Whither the dwarf conducts him on the trace Of Doralice and Mandricardo bold. Behind, Hippalca him in ceaseless chase, Pursues with taunt and curses manifold. What came of this is said in other place. Turpin, by whom this history is told, Here makes digression, and returns again Thither, where faithless Pinnabel was slain.

XXXIX Duke Aymon's daughter scarce had turned away From thence, who on her track in haste had gone, Ere thither by another path, astray, Zerbino came, with that deceitful crone, And saw the bleeding body where it lay: And, though the warrior was to him unknown, As good and courteous, felt his bosom swell, With pity at that cruel sight and fell.

XL Dead lay Sir Pinnabel, and bathed in gore; From whom such streams of blood profusely flow, As were a cause for wonderment, had more Swords than a hundred joined to lay him low. A print of recent footsteps to explore The cavalier of Scotland was not slow; Who took the adventure, in the hope to read Who was the doer of the murderous deed.

XLI The hag to wait was ordered by the peer, Who would return to her in little space. She to the body of the count drew near, And with fixt eye examined every place; Who willed not aught, that in her sight was dear, The body of the dead should vainly grace; As one who, soiled with every other vice, Surpassed all womankind in avarice.

XLII If she in any manner could have thought, Or hoped to have concealed the intended theft, The bleeding warrior's surcoat, richly wrought, She would, together with his arms, have reft; But at what might be safely hidden, caught, And, grieved at heart, forewent the glorious weft. Him of a beauteous girdle she undrest, And this secured between a double vest.

XLIII Zerbino after some short space came back, Who vainly Bradamant had thence pursued Through the green holt; because the beaten track Was lost in many others in the wood; And he (for daylight now began to lack) Feared night should catch him 'mid those mountains rude, And with the impious woman thence, in quest Of inn, from the disastrous valley prest.

XLIV A spacious town, which Altaripa hight, Journeying the twain, at two miles' distance spy: There stopt the pair, and halted for the night, Which, at full soar, even now went up the sky: Nor long had rested there ere, left and right, They from the people heard a mournful cry; And saw fast tears from every eyelid fall, As if some cause of sorrow touched them all.

XLV Zerbino asked the occasion, and 'twas said Tidings had been to Count Anselmo brought, That Pinnabel, his son, was lying dead In a streight way between two mountains wrought. Zerbino feigned surprise, and hung his head, In fear lest he the assassin should be thought; But well divined this was the wight he found Upon his journey, lifeless on the ground.

XLVI After some little time, the funeral bier Arrives, 'mid torch and flambeau, where the cries Are yet more thick, and to the starry sphere Lament and noise of smitten hands arise; And faster and from fuller vein the tear Waters all cheeks, descending from the eyes; But in a cloud more dismal than the rest, Is the unhappy father's visage drest.

XLVII While solemn preparation so was made For the grand obsequies, with reverence due, According to old use and honours paid, In former age, corrupted by each new; A proclamation of their lord allayed Quickly the noise of the lamenting crew; Promising any one a mighty gain That should denounce by whom his son was slain.

XLVIII From voice to voice, from one to other ear, The loud proclaim they through the town declare; Till this the wicked woman chanced to hear, Who past in rage the tyger or the bear; And hence the ruin of the Scottish peer, Either in hatred, would the crone prepare, Or were it she alone might boast to be, In human form, without humanity;

XLIX Or were it but to gain the promised prize; -- She to seek out the grieving county flew, And, prefacing her tale in likely wise, Said that Zerbino did the deed; and drew The girdle forth, to witness to her lies; Which straight the miserable father knew; And on the woman's tale and token built A clear assurance of Zerbino's guilt.

L And, weeping, with raised hands, was heard to say, He for his murdered son would have amends. To block the hostel where Zerbino lay, For all the town is risen, the father sends. The prince, who deems his enemies away, And no such injury as this attends, In his first sleep is seized by Anselm's throng, Who thinks he has endured so foul a wrong.

LI That night in prison, fettered with a pair Of heavy letters, is Zerbino chained. For before yet the skies illuminated are, The wrongful execution is ordained; And in the place will he be quartered, where The deed was done for which he is arraigned. No other inquest is on this received; It is enough that so their lord believed.

LII When, the next morn, Aurora stains with dye Red, white, and yellow, the clear horizon, The people rise, to punish ("Death!" their cry) Zerbino for the crime he has not done: They without order him accompany, A lawless multitude, some ride, some run. I' the midst the Scottish prince, with drooping head, Is, bound upon a little hackney, led.

LIII But HE who with the innocent oft sides, Nor those abandons who make him their stay, For prince Zerbino such defence provides, There is no fear that he will die to-day; God thitherward renowned Orlando guides; Whose coming for his safety paves the way: Orlando sees beneath him on a plain The youth to death conducted by the train.

LIV With him was wended she, that in the cell, Prisoned, Orlando found; that royal maid, Child of Gallicia's king, fair Isabel, Whom chance into the ruffians' power conveyed, What time her ship she quitted, by the swell Of the wild sea and tempest overlaid: The damsel, who, yet nearer her heart-core Than her own vital being, Zerbino wore.

LV She had beneath Orlando's convoy strayed, Since rescued from the cave. When on the plain The damsel saw the motley troop arrayed, She asked Orlando what might be the train? "I know not," said the Count; and left the maid Upon the height, and hurried towards the plain. He marked Zerbino, and at the first sight A baron of high worth esteemed the knight,

LVI And asked him why and wherefore him they led Thus captive, to Zerbino drawing near: At this the doleful prince upraised his head, And, having better heard the cavalier, Rehearsed the truth; and this so well he said, That he deserved the succour of the peer. Well Sir Orlando him, by his reply, Deemed innocent, and wrongly doomed to die.

LVII And, after he had heard 'twas at the hest Of Anselm, Count of Altaripa, done, Was certain 'twas and outrage manifest, Since nought but ill could spring from him; and one, Moreover, was the other's foe profest, From ancient hate and enmity, which run In Clermont and Maganza's blood; a feud With injuries, and death and shame pursued.

LVIII Orlando to the rabble cried, "Untie The cavalier, unless you would be slain." -- "Who deals such mighty blows?" -- one made reply, That would be thought the truest of the train; "Were he of fire who makes such bold defy, We wax or straw, too haughty were the strain": And charged with that the paladin of France. Orlando at the losel couched his lance.

LIX The shining armour which the chief had rent From young Zerbino but the night before, And clothed himself withal, poor succour lent Against Orlando in that combat sore. Against the churl's right cheek the weapon went: It failed indeed his tempered helm to bore, But such a shock he suffered in the strife, As broke his neck, and stretched him void of life.

LX All at one course, of other of the band, With lance unmoved, he pierced the bosom through; Left it; on Durindana laid his hand, And broke into the thicket of the crew: One head in twain he severed with the brand, (While, from the shoulders lopt, another flew) Of many pierced the throat; and in a breath Above a hundred broke and put to death.

LXI Above a third he killed, and chased the rest, And smote, and pierced, and cleft, as he pursued. Himself of helm or shield one dispossest; One with spontoon or bill the champaign strewed This one along the road, across it prest A fourth; this squats in cavern or in wood. Orlando, without pity, on that day Lets none escape whom he has power to slay.

LXII Of a hundred men and twenty, in that crew, (So Turpin sums them) eighty died at least. Thither Orlando finally withdrew, Where, with a heart sore trembling in his breast, Zerbino sat; how he at Roland's view Rejoiced, in verse can hardly be exprest: Who, but that he was on the hackney bound, Would at his feet have cast himself to ground.

LXIII While Roland, after he had loosed the knight, Helped him to don his shining arms again; Stript from those serjeants' captain, who had dight Himself with the good harness, to his pain; The prince on Isabella turned his sight, Who had halted on the hill above the plain: And, after she perceived the strife was o'er, Nearer the field of fight her beauties bore.

LXIV When young Zerbino at his side surveyed The lady, who by him was held so dear; The beauteous lady, whom false tongue had said Was drowned, so often wept with many a tear, As if ice at his heart-core had been laid, Waxed cold, and some deal shook the cavalier; But the chill quickly past, and he, instead, Was flushed with amorous fire, from foot to head.

LXV From quickly clipping her in his embrace, Him reverence for Anglantes' sovereign stayed; Because he thought, and held for certain case, That Roland was a lover of the maid; So past from pain to pain; and little space Endured the joy which he at first assayed. And worse he bore she should another's be, Than hearing that the maid was drowned at sea.

LXVI And worse he grieved, that she was with a knight To whom he owed so much: because to wrest The lady from his hand, was neither right, Nor yet perhaps would prove an easy quest. He, without quarrel, had no other wight Suffered to part, of such a prize possest; But would endure, Orlando (such his debt) A foot upon his prostrate neck should set.

LXVII The three in silence journey to a font, Where they alight, and halt beside the well; His helmet here undid the weary Count, And made the prince too quit the iron shell. The youth unhelmed, she sees her lover's front, And pale with sudden joy grows Isabel: Then, changing, brightened like a humid flower, When the warm sun succeeds to drenching shower.

LXVIII And without more delay or scruple, prest To cast her arms about her lover dear; And not a word could draw-forth from her breast, But bathed his neck and face with briny tear. Orlando, who remarked the love exprest, Needing no more to make the matter clear, Could not but, by these certain tokens, see The could no other but Zerbino be.

LXIX When speech returned, ere yet the maiden well Had dried her cheeks from the descending tear, She only of the courtesy could tell Late shown her by Anglantes' cavalier. The prince, who in one scale weighed Isabel, Together with his life, esteemed as dear, -- Fell at Orlando's feet and him adored, As to two lives at once by him restored.

LXX Proffers and thanks had followed, with a round Of courtesies between the warlike pair, Had they not heard the covered paths resound, Which overgrown with gloomy foliage were. Upon their heads the helmet, late unbound, They quickly place, and to their steeds repair; And, lo! a knight and maid arrive, ere well The cavaliers are seated in the sell.

LXXI This was the Tartar Mandricardo, who In haste behind the paladin had sped, To venge Alzirdo and Manilard, the two Whom good Orlando's valour had laid dead: Though afterwards less eager to pursue, Since he with him fair Doralice had led; Whom from a hundred men, in plate and chain, He, with a single staff of oak, had ta'en.

LXXII Yet knew not that it was Anglantes' peer This while, of whom he had pursued the beat; Though that he was a puissant cavalier By certain signals was he taught to weet. More than Zerbino him he eyed, and, near, Perused the paladin from head to feet; Then finding all the tokens coincide, "Thou art the man I seek," the paynim cried.

LXXIII " 'Tis now ten days," to him the Tartar said, "That thee I still have followed; so the fame Had stung me, and in me such longing bred, Which of thee to our camp of Paris came: When, amid thousands by thy hand laid dead, Scarce one alive fled thither, to proclaim The mighty havoc made by thy good hand, 'Mid Tremisena's and Noritia's band.

LXXIV "I was not, as I knew, in following slow Both to behold thee, and to prove thy might; And by the surcoat o'er thine arms I know, (Instructed of thy vest) thou art the knight: And if such cognizance thou didst not show, And, 'mid a hundred, wert concealed from sight, For what thou art thou plainly wouldst appear, Thy worth conspicuous in thy haughty cheer."

LXXV "No one can say," to him Orlando cried, "But that a valiant cavalier thou art: For such a brave desire can ill reside, 'Tis my assurance, in a humble heart. Since thou wouldst see me, would that thou inside, Couldst as without, behold me! I apart Will lay me helm, that in all points thy will And purpose of thy quest I may fulfil.

LXXVI "But when thou well hast scanned me with thine eye, To that thine other wish as well attend: It yet remains for thee to satisfy The want, which leads thee after me to wend; That thou mayest mark if, in my valour, I Agree with that bold cheer thou so commend." -- "And now," (exclaimed the Tartar), "for the rest! For my first want is thoroughly redrest."

LXXVII Orlando, all this while, from head to feet, Searches the paynim with inquiring eyes: Both sides, and next the pommel of his seat Surveys, yet neither mace nor tuck espies; And asks how he the combat will repeat, If his good lance at the encounter flies. -- "Take thou no care for that," replied the peer; "Thus into many have I stricken fear.

LXXVIII "I have an oath in Heaven to gird no blade, Till Durindana from the count be won. Pursuing whom, I through each road here strayed, With him to reckon for more posts than one. If thou wilt please to hear, my oath I made When on my head I placed this morion: Which casque, with all the other arms I bear, A thousand years ago great Hector's were.

LXXIX "To these good arms nought lacks beside the sword; How it was stolen, to you I cannot say: This now, it seems, is borne by Brava's lord, And hence is he so daring in affray. Yet well I trust, if I the warrior board, To make him render his ill-gotten prey. Yet more; I seek the champion with desire To avenge the famous Agrican, my sire.

LXXX "Him this Orlando slew by treachery, I wot, nor could have slain in other wise." The count could bear no more, and, " 'Tis a lie!" (Exclaims), "and whosoever says so, lies: Him fairly did I slay; Orlando, I. But what thou seekest Fortune here supplies; And this the faulchion is, which thou has sought, Which shall be thine if by thy valour bought.

LXXXI "Although mine is the faulchion, rightfully, Let us for it in courtesy contend; Nor will I in this battle, that it be More mine than thine, but to a tree suspend: Bear off the weapon freely hence, if me Thou kill or conquer." As he made an end, He Durindana from his belt unslung, And in mid-field upon a sapling hung.

LXXXII Already distant half the range of bow Is from his opposite each puissant knight, And pricks against the other, nothing slow To slack the reins or ply the rowels bright. Already dealt is either mighty blow, Where the helm yields a passage to the sight. As if of ice, the shattered lances fly, Broke in a thousand pieces, to the sky.

LXXXIII One and the other lance parforce must split, In that the cavaliers refuse to bend; The cavaliers, who in the saddle sit, Returning with the staff's unbroken end. The warriors, who with steed had ever smit, Now, as a pair of hinds in rage contend For the mead's boundary or river's right, Armed with two clubs, maintain a cruel fight.

LXXXIV The truncheons which the valiant champions bear, Fail in the combat, and few blows resist; Both rage with mightier fury, here and there, Left without other weapon than the fist; With this the desperate foes engage, and, where The hand can grapple, plate and mail untwist. Let none desire, to guard himself from wrongs, A heavier hammer or more holding tongs.

LXXXV How can the Saracen conclude the fray With honour, which he haughtily had sought? 'Twere forty to waste time in an assay Where to himself more harm the smiter wrought Than to the smitten: in conclusion, they Closed, and the paynim king Orlando caught, And strained against his bosom; what Jove's son Did by Antaeus, thinking to have done.

LXXXVI Him griped athwart, he, in impetuous mood, Would now push from him, now would closely strain; And waxed so wroth that, in his heat of blood, The Tartar little thought about his rein. Firm in his stirrups self-collected stood Roland, and watched his vantage to obtain; He to the other courser's forehead slipt His wary hand, and thence the bridle stript.

LXXXVII The Saracen assays with all his might To choak, and from the sell his foeman tear: With either knee Orlando grasps it tight, Nor can the Tartar more him, here or there. But with the straining of the paynim knight, The girts which hold his saddle broken are. Scarce conscious of his fall, Orlando lies, With feet i' the stirrups, tightening yet his thighs.

LXXXVIII As falls a sack of armour, with such sound Tumbled Orlando, when he prest the plain. King Mandricardo's courser, when he found His head delivered from the guiding rein, Made off with him, unheeding what the ground, Stumbling through woodland, or by pathway plain, Hither and tither, blinded by his fear; And bore with him the Tartar cavalier.

LXXXIX The beauteous Doralice, who sees her guide So quit the field, -- dismayed at his retreat, And wonted in his succour to confide, Her hackney drives behind his courser fleet: The paynim rates the charger, in his pride, And smites him oftentimes with hands and feet; Threatening, as if he understood his lore; And where he'd stop the courser, chafes him more.

XC Not looking to his feet, by high or low, The beast of craven kind, with headlong force Three miles in rings had gone, and more would go, But that into a fosse which stopt their course, Not lined with featherbed or quilt below, Tumble, reversed, the rider and his horse. On the hard ground was Mandricardo thrown, Yet neither spoiled himself, nor broke a bone:

XCI Here stopt the horse; but him he could not guide, Left without bit his motions to restrain. Brimfull of rage and choler, at his side, The Tartar held him, grappled by the mane. "Put upon him" (to Mandricardo cried His lady, Doralice) "my hackney's rein, Since for the bridle I have little use; For gentle is my palfrey, reined or loose."

XCII The paynim deems it were discourtesy To accept the proffer by the damsel made. But his through other means a rein will be; Since Fortune, who his wishes well appaid, Made thitherward the false Gabrina flee, After she young Zerbino had betrayed: Who like a she-wolf fled, which, as she hies, At distance hears the hounds and hunters' cries.

XCIII She had upon her back the gallant gear, And the same youthful ornaments and vest, Stript from the ill-taught damsel for her jeer, That in her spoils the beldam might be drest, And rode the horse that damsel backed whilere; Who was among the choicest and the best. Ere yet aware of her, the ancient dame On Doralice and Mandricardo came.

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 leaves 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 hear-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 line; 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, The 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 Stiffed 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: The some one (so he hoped, desired, and sought To think) his lady would with shame pursue; Or with such weight of jealously 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 sheperd-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 be 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 and 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 does 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 thrust 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 the 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.

Canto 24

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.

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 recess 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 I 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 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, Outcry 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 was '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 sign 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 brought, 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, It 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 foe.

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 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 was 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 defraud; 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 Brandimart 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 today; 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 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 helmet's 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 garden, and so laments the prize Foregone, she weeps for rage, and smite 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, Though 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, not 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 was, 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 lout 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 lock 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 experiments 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 Argier 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 warrior 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; Yes 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.

CVIII A messenger arrives, that from the Moor, With many others, news through France conveyed; Who word to simple knight and captain bore, To join the troops, beneath their flags arrayed. For he, the emperor, who the lilies wore, Siege to their quarters had already laid; And, save quick succour thither was addrest, He read, their army's scathe was manifest.

CIX The Moorish messenger not only knows, By ensigns and by vest, the warlike pair, But by the circling blades, and furious blows, With which no other hands could wound the air; Hence dared not 'twixt champions interpose, Nor deemed his orders an assurance were From such impetuous fury, nor the saw, Which says embassadors are safe by law:

CX But to fair Doralice approached, and said Marsilius, Agramant, and Stordilane, Within weak works, with scanty troops to aid, Were close beleaguered by the Christian train. And, having told his tale, the damsel prayed, That this she to the warriors would explain; And would accord the pair, and to their post Dispatch, for rescue of the Moorish host.

CXI The lady, with bold heart, 'twixt either foe Threw herself, and exclaimed: "I you command, By the large love you hear me, as I know, That you to better use reserve the brand; And that you instantly in succour go Of our host, menaced by the Christian band; Which now, besieged within its camp, attends Ruin or speedy succour from its friends.

CXII The messenger rehearsed, when she had done, Fully the peril of the paynim train; And said that he bore letters to the son Of Ulien, from the son of King Troyane. The message ended, every grudge foregone, 'Twas finally resolved between the twain, They should conclude a truce, and till the day The Moorish siege was raised, their strife delay.

CXIII Intending, when from siege their Chivalry Shall be relieved -- the one and the other knight -- No longer to remain in company, But bandy cruel war was with fell despite, Until determined by their arms shall be To whom the royal dame belongs of right. And she, between whose hands their solemn troth They plighted, was security for both.

CXIV DISCORD, at hearing this, impatient grew; With any truce or treaty ill content: And that such fair agreement should ensue, PRIDE, who was present, could as ill consent: But LOVE was there, more puissant than the two, Equalled of none in lofty hardiment; And launching from his bow his shafts of proof, With these, made PRIDE and DISCORD stand aloof.

CXV To keep the truce the rival warriors swore; Since so it pleased her well, who either swayed. One of their coursers lacked: for on the moor Lifeless King Mandricardo's had been laid: Hence, thither, in good time, came Brigliador, Who, feeding, by the river's margin strayed. But here I find me at my canto's end; So, with your licence, shall the tale suspend.

Canto 25

ARGUMENT Rogero Richardetto from the pains Of fire preserves, doomed by Marsilius dead: He to Rogero afterwards explains Fully the cause while he to death was led. Them mournful Aldigier next entertains, And with them the ensuing morning sped, Vivian and Malagigi to set free; To Bertolagi sold for hire and fee.

I Oh! mighty springs of war in youthful breast, Impetuous force of love, and thirst of praise! Nor yet which most avails is known aright: For each by turns its opposite outweighs. Within the bosom here of either knight, Honour, be sure, and duty strongly sways: For the amorous strife between them is delayed, Till to the Moorish camp they furnish aid.

II Yet love sways more; for, save that the command Was laid upon them by their lady gay, Neither would in that battle sheathe the brand, Till he was crowned with the victorious bay; And Agramant might vainly with his band, For either knight's expected succour, stay. Then Love is not of evil nature still; -- He can at times do good, if often ill.

III 'Twas now, suspending all their hostile rage, One and the other paynim cavalier, The Moorish host from siege to disengage, For Paris, with the gentle lady, steer; And with them goes as well that dwarfish page, Who tracked the footsteps of the Tartar peer, Till he had brought the warrior front to front, In presence with the jealous Rodomont.

IV They at a mead arrived, where, in disport, Knights were reposing by a stream, one pair Disarmed, another casqued in martial sort; And with them was a dame of visage fair. Of these in other place I shall report, Not now; for first Rogero is my care, That good Rogero, who, as I have shown, Into a well the magic shield had thrown.

V He from that well a mile is hardly gone Ere he a courier sees arrive at speed, Of those dispatched by King Troyano's son To knights whom he awaited in his need; From him Rogero hears that so foredone By Charles are those who hold the paynim creed, They will, save quickly succoured in the strife, As quickly forfeit liberty and life.

VI Rogero stood awhile in pensive case, Whom many warring thoughts at once opprest; But neither fitted was the time nor place To make his choice, or judge what promised best. The courier he dismist, and turned his face Whither he with the damsel was addrest; Whom aye the Child so hurried on her way, He left her not a moment for delay.

VII Pursuing thence their ancient road again, They reached a city, with the westering sun; Which, in the midst of France, from Charlemagne Marsilius had in that long warfare won: Nor them to interrupt or to detain, At drawbridge or at gate, was any one: Though in the fosse, and round the palisade, Stood many men, and piles of arms were laid.

VIII Because the troop about that fortress see Accompanying him, the well-known dame, They to Rogero leave the passage free, Nor even question him from whence he came. Reaching the square, of evil company He finds it full, and bright with ruddy flame; And, in the midst, is manifest to view The youth condemned, with face of pallid hue.

IX As on the stripling's face he turns his eyes, Which hangs declined and wet with frequent tear, Rogero thinks he Bradamant descries; So much the youth resembles her in cheer: More sure the more intently he espies Her face and shape: when thus the cavalier: "Or this is Bradamant, or I no more Am the Rogero which I was before.

X "She hath adventured with too daring will, In rescue of the youth condemned to die; And, for the enterprise had ended ill, Hath there been taken, as I see. Ah! why Was she so hot her purpose to fulfil, That she must hither unattended hie! -- But I thank Heaven, that hither have I made: Since I am yet in time to lend her aid."

XI He drew his falchion without more delay, (His lance was broken at the other town), And, though the unarmed people making way, Wounding flank, paunch, and bosom, bore them down. He whirled his weapon, and, amid the array, Smote some across the gullet, cheek, or crown. Screaming, the dissipated rabble fled; The most with cloven limbs or broken head.

XII As while at feed, in full security, A troop of fowl along the marish wend, If suddenly a falcon from the sky Swoop mid the crowd, and one surprise and rend, The rest dispersing, leave their mate to die, And only to their own escape attend; So scattering hadst thou seen the frighted throng, When young Rogero pricked that crowd among.

XIII Rogero smites the head from six or four, Who in escaping from the field are slow. He to the breast divides as many more, And countless to the eyes and teeth below. I grant no helmets on their heads they wore, But there were shining iron caps enow; And, if fine helmets did their temples press, His sword would cut as deep, or little less.

XIV Such good Rogero's force and valour are, As never now-a-days in warrior dwell; Nor yet in rampant lion, nor in bear, Nor (whether home or foreign) beast more fell. Haply with him the earthquake might compare, Or haply the great devil -- not he of hell -- But he who is my lord's, who moves in fire, And parts heaven, earth, and ocean in his ire.

XV At every stroke he never less o'erthrew Than one, and oftener two, upon the plain; And four, at once, and even five he slew; So that a hundred in a thought were slain. The sword Rogero from his girdle drew As knife cuts curd, divides their plate and chain. Falerina in Orgagna's garden made, To deal Orlando death, that cruel blade.

XVI But to have forged that falchion sorely rued, Who saw her garden wasted by the brand. What wreck, what ruin then must have ensued, From this when wielded by such warrior's hand? If e'er Rogero force, e'er fury shewed, If e'er his mighty valour well was scanned, 'Twas here; 'twas here employed; 'twas here displayed; In the desire to give his lady aid.

XVII As hare from hound unslipt, that helpless train Defends itself against the cavalier. Many lay dead upon the cumbered plain, And numberless were they who fled in fear. Meanwhile the damsel had unloosed the chain From the youth's hands, and him in martial gear Was hastening, with what speed she might, to deck, With sword in hand and shield about his neck.

XVIII He, who was angered sore, as best he cou'd, Sought to avenge him of that evil crew; And gave such signal proofs of hardihood, As stamped him for a warrior good and true. The sun already in the western flood Had dipt his gilded wheels, what time the two, Valiant Rogero and his young compeer, Victorious issued, of the city clear.

XIX When now Rogero and the stranger knight, Clear of the city-gates, the champaigne reach, The youth repays, with praises infinite, Rogero in kind mode and cunning speech, Who him, although unknown, had sought to right, At risk of life, and prays his name to teach That he may know to whom his thanks he owed For such a mighty benefit bestowed.

XX "The visage of Bradamant I see, The beauteous features and the beauteous cheer." Rogero said; "and yet the suavity I of her well-known accents do not hear: Nor such return of thanks appears to be In place towards her faithful cavalier. And if in very sooth it is the same, How has the maid so soon forgot my name?"

XXI In wary wise, intent the truth to find, Rogero said, "You have I seen elsewhere; And have again, and yet again, divined, Yet know I not, nor can remember where. Say it, yourself, if it returns to mind, And, I beseech, your name as well declare: Which I would gladly hear, in the desire To know whom I have rescued from the fire."

XXII " -- Me, it is possible you may have seen, I know not when nor where (the youth replied); For I too range the world, in armour sheen, Seeking adventure strange on every side; Or haply it a sister may have been, Who to her waist the knightly sword has tied; Born with me at a birth; so like to view, The family discerns not who is who.

XXIII "You not first, second, or even fourth will be, Who have in this their error had to learn; Nor father, brother, nor even mother me From her (such our resemblance) can discern. 'Tis true, this hair, which short and loose you see, In many guise, and hers, with many a turn, And in long tresses wound about her brow, Wide difference made between us two till now.

XXIV "But since the day, that, wounded by a Moor In the head (a story tedious to recite) A holy man, to heal the damsel's sore, Cut short to the mid-ear her tresses bright, Excepting sex and name, there is no more One from the other to distinguish; hight I Richardetto am, Bradamant she; Rinaldo's brother and his sister we.

XXV "And to displease you were I not afraid, You with a wonder would I entertain, Which chanced from my resemblance to the maid; Begun in pleasure, finishing in pain." He to whom nought more pleasing could be said, And to whose ears there was no sweeter strain That what in some sort on his lady ran, Besought the stripling so, that he began.

XXVI "It so fell out, that as my sister through The neighbouring wood pursued her path, a wound Was dealt the damsel by a paynim crew, Which her by chance without a helmet found. And she was fain to trim the locks which grew Clustering about the gash, to maker her sound Of that ill cut which in her head she bore: Hence, shorn, she wandered through the forest hoar.

XXVII "Ranging, she wandered to a shady font; Where, worn and troubled, she, in weary wise, Lit from her courser and disarmed her front, And, couched upon the greenwood, closed her eyes. A tale more pleasing than what I recount In story there is none, I well surmise: Thither repaired young Flordespine of Spain, Who in that wood was hunting with her train.

XXVIII "And, when she found my sister in the shade, Covered, except her face, with martial gear, -- In place of spindle, furnished with the blade -- Believed that she beheld a cavalier: The face and manly semblance she surveyed, Till conquered was her heart: with courteous cheer She wooed the maid to hunt with her, and past With her alone into that hold at last.

XXIX "When now she had her, fearless of surprise, Safe in a solitary place, that dame, By slow degrees, in words and amorous wise, Showed her deep-wounded heart; with sighs of flame, Breathed from her inmost breast, with burning eyes, She spake her soul sick with desire; became Now pale, now red; nor longer self-controlled, Ravished a kiss, she waxed so passing bold.

XXX "My sister was assured the huntress maid Falsely conceited her a man to be; Nor in that need could she afford her aid; And found herself in sore perplexity. ` 'Tis better that I now dispel (she said) The foolish thought she feeds, and that in me The damsel should a gentle woman scan, Rather than take me for a craven man.'

XXXI "And she said well: for cravenhood it were Befitting man of straw, not warrior true, With whom so bright a lady deigned to pair, So wonderous sweet and full of nectarous dew, To clack like a poor cuckow to the fair, Hanging his coward wing, when he should woo, Shaping her speech to this in wary mode, My sister that she was a damsel, showed;

XXXII "That, like Camilla and like Hyppolite, Sought fame in battle-field, and near the sea, In Afric, in Arzilla, saw the light; To shield and spear enured from infancy. A spark this quenched not; nor yet burned less bright The enamoured damsel's kindled phantasy. Too tardy came the salve to ease the smart: So deep had Love already driven his dart.

XXXIII "Nor yet less fair to her my sister's face Appeared, less fair her ways, less fair her guise; Nor yet the heart returned into its place, Which joyed itself within those dear-loved eyes. Flordespine deems the damsel's iron case To her desire some hope of ease supplies; And when she thinks she is indeed a maid, Laments and sobs, with mighty woe downweighed.

XXXIV "He who had marked her sorrow and lament, That day, himself had sorrowed with the fair. `What pains (she said) did ever wight torment, So cruel, but that mine more cruel were? I need not to accomplish my intent, In other love, impure or pure, despair; The rose I well might gather from the thorn: My longing only is of hope forlorn.

XXXV " `It 'twas thy pleasure, Love, to have me shent, Because by glad estate thine anger stirred, Thou with some torture might'st have been content On other lovers used; but never word Have I found written of a female bent On love of female, mid mankind or herd. Woman to woman's beauty still is blind; Nor ewe delights in ewe, nor hind in hind.

XXXVI " `Tis only I, on earth, in air, or sea, Who suffer at thy hands such cruel pain; And this thou hast ordained, that I may be The first and last example in thy reign. Foully did Ninus' wife and impiously For her own son a passion entertain; Loved was Pasiphae's bull and Myrrha's sire; But mine is madder than their worst desire.

XXXVII " `Here female upon male had set her will; Had hope; and, as I hear, was satisfied. Pasiphae the wooden cow did fill: Others, in other mode, their want supplied. But, had he flown to me, -- with all his skill, Dan Daedalus had not the noose untied: For one too diligent hath wreathed these strings; Even Nature's self, the puissantest of things.'

XXXVIII "So grieves the maid, so goads herself and wears, And shows no haste her sorrowing to forego; Sometimes her face, sometimes her tresses tears, And levels at herself the vengeful blow. In pity, Bradamant the sorrow shares, And is constrained to hear the tale of woe, She studies to divert, with fruitless pain, The strange and mad desire; but speaks in vain.

XXXIX "She, who requires assistance, not support, Still more laments herself, with grief opprest. By this the waning day was growing short, For the low sun was crimsoning the west; A fitting hour for those to seek a port, Who would not in the wood set up their rest. When to this city, near her sylvan haunt, Young Flordespine invited Bradament.

XL "My sister the request could ill deny; And so they came together to the place, Where, but for you, by that ill squadron I Had been compelled the cruel flame to face: There Flordespina made her family Caress and do my sister no small grace; And, having in a female robe arraid, Past her on all beholders for a maid.

XLI "Because perceiving vantage there was none In the male cheer by which she was misled, The damsel held it wise, reproach to shun, Which might by any carping tongue be said. And this the rather: that the ill, which one Of the two garments in her mind had bred, Now with the other which revealed the cheat, She would assay to drive from her conceit.

XLII "The ladies share one common bed that night, Their bed the same, but different their repose. One sleeps, one groans and weeps in piteous plight, Because her wild desire more fiercely glows; And on her wearied eyes should slumber light, All is deceitful that brief slumber shows. To her it seems, as if relenting Heaven A better sex to Bradamant is given.

XLIII "As the sick man with burning thirst distrest, If he should sleep, -- ere he that wish fulfil, -- Aye in his troubled, interrupted rest, Remembers him of every once-seen rill: So is the damsel's fancy still possest, In sleep, with images which glad her will. Then from the empty dreams which crowd her brain, She wakes, and, waking, finds the vision vain.

XLIV "What vows she vowed, how oft that night she prayed, To all her gods and Mahound, in despair! -- That they, by open miracle, the maid Would change, and give her other sex to wear. But all the lady's vows were ill appaid, And haply Heaven as well might mock the prayer; Night fades, and Phoebus raises from the main His yellow head, and lights the world again.

XLV "On issueing from their bed when day is broken, The wretched Flordespina's woes augment: For of departing Bradamant had spoken, Anxious to scape from that embarrassment. The princess a prime jennet, as a token, Forced on my parting sister, when she went; And gilded housings, and a surcoat brave, Which her own hand had richly broidered, gave.

XLVI "Her Flordespine accompanied some way, Then, weeping, to her castle made return. So fast my sister pricked, she reached that day Mount Alban; we who for her absence mourn, Mother and brother, greet the martial may, And her arrival with much joy discern: For hearing nought, we feared that she was dead, And had remained in cruel doubt and dread.

XLVII "Unhelmed, we wondered at her hair, which passed In braids about her brow, she whilom wore; Nor less we wondered at the foreign cast Of the embroidered surcoat which she wore: And she to us rehearsed, from first to last, The story I was telling you before; How she was wounded in the wood, and how, For cure, were shorn the tresses from her brow;

XLVIII "And next how came on her, with labour spent, -- As by the stream she slept -- that huntress bright; And how, with all her false semblance well content, She from the train withdrew her out of sight. Nor left she any thing of her lament Untold; which touched with pity every wight; Told how the maid had harboured her, and all Which past, till she revisited her Hall.

XLIX "Of Flordespine I knew: and I had seen In Saragossa and in France the maid; To whose bewitching eyes and lovely mien My youthful appetite had often strayed: Yet her I would not make my fancy's queen; For hopeless love is but a dream and shade: Now I this proffered in such substance view, Straitway the ancient flame breaks forth anew.

L "Love, with this hope, constructs his subtle ties; Who other threads for me would vainly weave. 'Tis thus he took me, and explained the guise In which I might the long-sought boon achieve. Easy it were the damsel to surprise; For as the likeness others could deceive, Which I to Bradamant, my sister, bear, This haply might as well the maid ensnare.

LI "Whether I speed or no, I hold it wise, Aye to pursue whatever give delight. I with no other of my plan devise, Nor any seek to counsel me aright. Well knowing where the suit of armour lies My sister doffed, I thither go at night; Her armour and her steed to boot I take, Nor stand expecting until daylight break.

LII "I rode all night -- Love served me as a guide -- To seek the home of beauteous Flordespine; And there arrived, before in ocean's tide The western sun had hid his orbit sheen. A happy man was he who fastest hied To tell my coming to the youthful queen; Expecting from that lady, for his pain, Favour and goodly guerdon to obtain.

LIII "For Bradamant the guests mistake me all, -- As you yourself but now -- so much the more, That I have both the courser and the pall With which she left them but the day before. Flordespine comes at little interval, With such festivity and courteous lore, And with a face, so jocund and so gay, She could not, for her life, more joy display.

LIV "Her beauteous arms about my neck she throws, And fondly clasping me, my mouth she kist. If to my inmost heart the arrow goes, Which Love directs, may well by you be wist. She leads me to her chamber of repose In haste, not suffers others to assist In taking off my panoply of steel; Disarming me herself from head to heel.

LV "Then, ordering from her store a costly vest, She spread it, and -- as I a woman were -- The lady me in that rich garment drest, And in a golden net confined my hair. I gravely moved my eye-balls, nor confest, By gesture or by look, the sex I bear. My voice, which might discover the deceit, I tuned so well that none perceived the cheat.

LVI "Next to the hall, where dame and cavalier In crowds are gathered, we united go; Who make to us such court and goodly cheer, As men to queen or high-born lady show. Here oft I laughed at some, with secret jeer, Who, knowing not the sex concealed below My flowing robe of feminine array, Wooed me with wishful eyes in wanton way.

LVII "When more advanced in now the festive night, And the rich board -- board plenteously purveyed With what in season was most exquisite -- Has been some time removed, the royal maid Expects not till I of myself recite The cause, which thither me anew conveyed: By her own courtesy and kindness led, That lady prays me to partake her bed.

LVIII "Damsels and dames withdrawn -- with all the rest -- Pages and chamberlains, when now we lay, One and the other, in our bed undrest, With kindled torches, counterfeiting day; `Marvel not, lady,' (her I thus addrest,) `That I return after such short delay; For, haply, thou imagined, that again Thou shouldst not see me until Heaven knows when.

LIX " `The reason I departed from thy side, And next of my return, explained shall be. Could I unto thy fever have applied, By longer sojourn here, a remedy, I in thy service would have lived and died, Nor would have been an hour away from thee: But seeing how my stay increased thy woe, I, who could do no better, fixed to go.

LX " `Into the middle of a wood profound By chance I from the beaten pathway strayed: Where near me plaintive cries I hear resound, As of a woman who intreated aid. To a lake of crystal I pursue the sound, And, there, amid the waves, a naked maid Caught on the fish-hook of a Faun, survey, Who would devour alive his helpless prey.

LXI " `Upon the losel, sword in hand, I ran, And, for I could not aid in other wise, Bereft of life that evil fisherman. She in an instant to the water flies. -- `Me hast thou helped not vainly,' (she began) And well shalt be rewarded -- with what prize Thou canst demand -- for know I am a nymph, And have my dwelling in this crystal lymph;

LXII " `And power is mine to work portentous ends; Nature and Elements I force: thy prayer Shape to the scope to which my strength extends, And leave its satisfaction to my care. Charmed by my song the moon from Heaven descends; Fire can I freeze, and harden liquid air; And I at times have stopt the sun, and stirred This earth beneath me by a simple word.'

LXIII "Treasure I covet not, nor yet aspire O'er land or people to hold sovereign sway; Nor greater strength nor valour would acquire, Nor fame in every warfare bear away; But only to accomplish thy desire, Entreat the damsel she will show some way. Nor one nor other method I forestall; But to her choice refer me, all in all.

LXIV "Scarce my demand was made, before mine eye Beneath the lymph engulphed that lady viewed: Nor answered she my prayer, but, for reply, Me with the enchanted element bedewed; Which has no sooner touched my face than I, I know not how, am utterly transmewed: I see, I feel -- yet doubting what I scan -- Feel, I am changed from woman into man.

LXV - LXIX (Stazas LXV - LXIX untranslated by Rose)

LXX "The thing remained concealed between us two; So that our bliss endured some months; at last We were espied; and, as I sorely rue, The tidings to the Spanish monarch past. Thou that whilere preserved'st me from the crew, Which me into the flames designed to cast, By this mayst fully comprehend the rest; But God alone can read my sorrowing breast."

LXXI So Richardetto spake, and by his say Made the dark path they trod less irksome be. Up a small height this while their journey lay, Girded with cliff and cavern, drear to see. Bristling with rocks, a steep and narrow way Was to that rugged hill the stubborn key; A town, called Agrismonte, crowned the steep, Which Aldigier of Clermont had in keep.

LXXII Bastard of Buovo, brother to the pair, Sir Vivian and Sir Malagigi hight: Who him Gerardo's lawful son declare, Are witnesses of little worth and light. -- This, as it may! -- strong, valiant, wise, and ware, Liberal, humane, and courteous was the knight; And on the fortress of its absent lord, By night and day, kept faithful watch and ward.

LXXIII His cousin Richardetto, as behoved, Was courteously received by Aldigier; Who him as dearly as a brother loved, And made Rogero for his sake good cheer; But not with wonted welcome; -- inly moved -- He even wore a visage sad and drear: For he, that day, ill-tidings had received, And hence in heart and face the warrior grieved.

LXXIV To Richardetto he exclaims, instead Of greeting: "Evil news are hither blown. By a sure messenger, to-day I read That faithless Bertolagi of Bayonne, With barbarous Lanfusa has agreed, And costly spoils makes over to that crone; Who will consign to him the brethren twain, Thy Malagigi and thy Viviane;

LXXV "These she, since Ferrau took them, aye has stayed Imprisoned in a dark and evil cell; Till the discourteous and foul pact was made With that false Maganzese of whom I tell; And them to-morrow, to a place conveyed 'Twixt Bayonne and a town of his, will sell To him, who will be present, to advance The price of the most precious blood in France.

LXXVI "One, at a gallop, even now, to report Tidings to our Rinaldo of the wrong, I sent; bur fear that he can ill resort To him in time, the journey is so long. Men have I not to sally from my fort; And my power halts where my desire is strong. The traitor will the knights, if rendered, slay; Nor know I what to do nor what to say."

LXXVII Sir Richardetto the ill news displease, And (as they him) displease in equal wise Rogero; who, when silent both he sees, Nor able any counsel to devise, Exclaims with mickle daring: "Be at ease; I challenge for myself the whole emprize; And, to set free your brethren, in my hand More than a thousand shall avail this brand.

LXXVIII "I ask not men, I ask not aid; my spear Is, I believe, sufficient to the feat. I only ask of you a guide to steer Me to the place where for the exchange they meet: I even in this place will make you hear Their cries, who for that evil bargain threat." He said; nor to one listener of the twain, That had helped his actions, spake in vain.

LXXIX The other heard him not, or heard at most As we great talkers hear, who little do: But Richardetto took aside their host And told how him he from the fire withdrew; And how he was assured, beyond his boast, He would in time and place his prowess shew. 'Twas now that better audience than before Aldigier lent, and set by him great store;

LXXX And at the feast, where Plenty for the three Emptied her horn, him honoured as his lord. Here they conclude they can the brethren free Without more succour from their gaoler's ward. This while Sleep seized on lord and family, Save young Rogero: no repose afford To him the thoughts, which evermore molest, And, rankling in his bosom, banish rest.

LXXXI The siege of Agramant, to him that day Told by the messenger, he has at heart. He well discerns that every least delay Will he dishonour. What a ceaseless smart Will scorn inflict, what shame will him appay, If he against his sovereign lord take part? Oh! what foul cowardice, how foul a crime His baptism will appear at such a time!

LXXXII That true religion had the stripling swayed Men might at any other time conceive: But now, when needed was the warrior's aid From siege the Moorish monarch to relieve, That Fear and Baseness had more largely weighed, In his designs, would every one believe, That any preference of a better creed: This thought makes good Rogero's bosom bleed.

LXXXIII Nor less to quit his Queen, her leave unsought, Did with Rogero's other griefs combine: Now this and now that care upon him wrought; Which diversely his doubtful heart incline: The unhappy lover fruitlessly had thought To find her at the abode of Flordespine; Whither together went (as told whilere) To succour Richardetto, maid and peer.

LXXXIV He next bethinks him of the promise plight To meet at Vallombrosa's sanctuary, Deems her gone thither, and that 'twill excite Her wonderment himself not there to see. Could he at least a message send or write, That he with reason might not censured be, Because not only he had disobeyed, But was departing hence, and nothing said!

LXXXV He, having thought on many things, in the end Resolves on writing what behoves; and, though He knows not how his letter he shall send, In the assurance it will safely go, This hinders not; he thinks that, as they wend, Chance in his way some faithful Post may throw; Nor more delays: up leaps the restless knight, And calls for pen and paper, ink and light.

LXXXVI That which is needed, in obedience meet, Aldigier's valets bring, a careful band, The youth begins to write; and, first, to greet The maid, as wonted courtesies demand; Next tells how Agramant has sent to entreat, In his dispatches, succour at his hand; And, save he quickly to his comfort goes, Must needs be slain or taken by his foes.

LXXXVII Then adds, his sovereign being so bested, And praying him for succour in his pain, She must perceive what blame upon his head Would light, if Agramant applied in vain; And, since with her he is about to wed, 'Tis fitting he should keep him with stain; For ill he deems a union could endure Between aught foul and her to passing pure.

LXXXVIII And if he erst a name, renowned and clear, Had laboured to procure by actions fair, And having gained it thus, he held it dear, -- If this had sought to keep -- with greater care He kept it now, -- and with a miser's fear Guarded the treasure she with him would share; Who, though distinct in body and in limb, When wedded, ought to be one soul with him;

LXXXIX And, as he erst by word, he now explained Anew by writing, that the period o'er, For which he was to serve his king constrained, Unless it were his lot to die before, He would in deed a Christian be ordained, As in resolve he had been evermore; And of her kin, Rinaldo and her sire, Her afterwards in wedlock would require.

XC "I would," he said, "relieve, with your good will, My king, besieged by Charlemagne's array, That the misjudging rabble, prone to ill, Might never, to my shame and scandal, say: Rogero, in fair wind and weather, still Waited upon his sovereign, night and day, And now that Fortune to King Charles is fled, Has with that conquering lord his ensign spread.'

XCI "I fifteen days or twenty ask, that I Yet once again may to our army speed; So that, by me from leaguering enemy The African cantonments may be freed: I will some fit and just occasion spy, Meanwhile, to justify my change of creed, I for my honour make this sole request; Then wholly yours for life, in all things, rest."

XCII Rogero is such words his thoughts exposed, Which never could by me be fully showed; And added more, nor from his task reposed, Until the crowded paper overflowed: He next the letter folded and enclosed, And sealed it, and within his bosom stowed; In hopes to meet next morning by the way One who might covertly that writ convey.

XCIII When he had closed the sheet, that amorous knight His eyelids closed as well, and rest ensued: For Slumber came and steeped his wearied might In balmy moisture, from a branch imbued With Lethe's water; and he slept till -- white And red -- a rain of flowers the horizon strewed, Painting the joyous east with colours gay; When from her golden dwelling broke the day:

XCIV And when the greenwood birds 'gan, far and wide, Greet the returning light with gladsome strain, Sir Aldigier (who wished to be the guide, Upon that journey, of the warlike twain, Who would in succour of those brethren ride, To rescue them from Bertolagi's chain) Was first upon his feet; and either peer Issues as well from bed, when him they hear.

XCV When clad and thoroughly in arms arrayed -- Rogero with the cousins took his way, Having that pair already warmly prayed The adventure on himself alone to lay: But these, by love for those two brethren swayed, And deeming it discourtesy to obey, Stood out against his prayer, more stiff than stone, Nor would consent that he should wend alone.

XCVI True to the time and place of change, they hie Whither Sir Aldigier's advices teach; And there survey an ample band who lie Exposed to fierce Apollo's heat; in reach, Nor myrtle-tree nor laurel they descry, Nor tapering cypress, ash, nor spreading beech: But naked gravel with low shrubs discerned, Undelved by mattock and by share unturned.

XCVII Those three adventurous warriors halted where A path went through the uncultivated plain, And saw a knight arrive upon the lair, Who, flourished o'er with gold, wore plate and chain, And on green field that beauteous bird and rare, Which longer than an age extends its reign. No more, my lord: for at my canto's close I find myself arrived, and crave repose.