XXXII With her own hand the lady wrought that vest, Becoming well the finest plate and chain, Wherein the valiant warrior should be drest, And cloak his courser's croup and chest and mane: But, from that day when she herself addrest Unto this task, till ended was her pain, She showed no sign of gladness; nor this while, Nor after, was she ever seen to smile.

XXXIII The heartfelt fear, the torment evermore Of losing Brandimart the dame pursued. She him whilere a hundred times and more Engaged in fierce and fearful fight had viewed; Nor ever suchlike terror heretofore Had blanched her cheek and froze her youthful blood; And this new sense of fear increased her trouble, And made the trembling lady's heart beat double.

XXXIV The warriors to the wind their canvas rear, When point device the three accoutred are. Bold Sansonet is left, with England's peer, Intrusted with the faithful army's care. Flordelice, pricked at heart with cruel fear, Filling the heavens with vow, lament and prayer, As far as they by sight can followed be, Follows their sails upon the foaming sea.

XXXV Scarce, with much labour, the two captains led Her, gazing on the waters, from the shore, And to the palace drew, where on her bed They left the lady, grieved and trembling sore. Meanwhile upon their quest those others sped, Whom mercy wind and weather seaward bore. Their vessel made that island on the right; The field appointed for so fell a fight.

XXXVI Orlando disembarks, with his array, His kinsman Olivier and Brandimart; Who on the side which fronts the eastern ray, Encamp them, and not haply without art. King Agramant arrives that very day, And tents him on the contrary part. But for the sun is sinking fast, forborne Is their encounter till the following morn.

XXXVII Until the skies the dawning light receive, Armed servants keep their watch both there and here. The valiant Brandimart resorts that eve Thitherward, where their tents the paynims rear; And parleys, by this noble leader's leave, With Agramant; for they were friends whilere; And, underneath the banner of the Moor, He into France had passed from Africk's shore.

XXXVIII After salutes, and joining hand with hand, Fair reasons, as a friend, the faithful knight Pressed on the leader of the paynim band Why he should not the appointed battle fight; And every town — restored to his command — Laying 'twixt Nile and Calpe's rocky height, Vowed he, with Roland's license, should receive, If upon Mary's Son he would believe.

XXXIX He said: "For loved you were, and are by me, This counsel give I; that I deem it sane, Since I pursue it, you assured must be: Mahound I hold but as an idol vain; In Jesus Christ, the living God I see, And to conduct you in my way were fain; I' the way of safety fain would have you move With me and all those others that I love.

XL "In this consists your welfare; counsel none Save this, in your disaster, can avail; And, of all counsels least, good Milo's son To meet in combat, clad in plate and mail; In that the profit, if the field be won, Weighs not against the loss, in equal scale. If you be conqueror, little gain ensues, Yet little loss results not, if you lose.

XLI "Were good Orlando and we others slain, Banded with him to conquer or to die; Wherefore, through this, ye should your lost domain Acquire anew, forsooth, I see not, I; Nor is there reason hope to entertain That, if we lifeless on the champaigne lie, Men should be wanting in King Charles's host To guard in Africa his paltriest post."

XLII Thus Brandimart to Afick's cavalier; And much would have subjoined; but, on his side, That knight, with angry voice and haughty cheer, The pagan interrupted, and replied: " 'Tis sure temerity and madness sheer Moves you and whatsoever wight beside, That counsels matter, be it good or ill, Uncalled a counsellor's duty to fulfil;

XLIII "And how to think, from love those counsels flow Which once you bore and bear me, as you say, (To speak the very truth) I do not know, Who with Orlando see you here, this day. I ween that, knowing you are doomed to woe, And marked for the devouring dragon's prey, Ye all mankind would drag to nether hell, In your eternity of pains to dwell.

XLIV "If I shall win or lose, remount my throne, Or pass my future days in exile drear, God only knows, whose purpose is unknown To me, in turn, or to Anglantes' peer. Befall what may, by me shall nought be done Unworthy of a king, through shameful fear. If death must be my certain portion, I, Rather than wrong my princely blood, will die.

XLV "Ye may depart, who, save ye better play The warrior, in to-morrow's listed fight, Then ye have plaid the embassador to-day, In arms will second ill Anglantes' knight." Agramant ended so his furious say; — His angry bosom boiling with despite. So said — the warriors parted, to repose, Till from the neighbouring sea the day arose.

XLVI When the first whitening of the dawn was seen, Armed, in a moment leapt on horseback all; Short parley past the puissant foes between. There was no stop; there was no interval; For they have laid in rest their lances keen: But I into too foul a fault should fall Meseems, my lord, if, while their deeds I tell I let Rogero perish in the swell.

XLVII Cleaving the flood with nimble hands and feet He swims, amid the horrid surges' roar, On him the threatening wind and tempest beat, But him his harassed conscience vexes more. Christ's wrath he fears; and, since in waters sweet (When time and fair occasion served of yore) He, in his folly, baptism little prized, Fears in these bitter waves to be baptized.

XLVIII Those many promises remembered are Whereby he to his lady-love was tied, Those oaths which sworn to good Rinaldo were, And were in nought fulfilled upon his side. To God, in hope that he would hear and spare, That he repented, oftentimes he cried, And, should he land, and scape that mortal scaith, To be a Christian, vowed in heart and faith;

XLIX And ne'er, in succour of the Moorish train, With sword or lance, the faithful to offend; And into France, where he to Charlemagne Would render honour due, forthwith to wend; Nor Bradamant with idle words again To cheat, but bring his love to honest end. A miracle it is that, as he vows, He swims more lightly and his vigour grows.

L His vigour grows; unwearied is his mind; And still his arms from him the billow throw, This billow followed fast by that behind; Whereof one lifts him high, one sinks him low. Rising and falling, vext by wave and wind, So gains the Child that shore with labour slow; And where the rocky hill slopes seaward most, All drenched and dropping, climbs the rugged coast.

LI All the others that had plunged into the flood In the end, o'erwhelmed by those wild waters died. Rogero, as to Providence seemed good, Mounted the solitary islet's side. When safe upon the barren rock he stood, A new alarm the stripling terrified; To be within those narrow bounds confined, And die, with hardship and with hunger pined.

LII Yet he with an unconquered heart, intent To suffer what the heavens for him ordained, O'er those hard stones, against that steep ascent, Towards the top with feet intrepid strained; And not a hundred yards had gone, when, bent With years, and with long fast and vigil stained, He worthy of much worship one espied, In hermit's weed, descend the mountain's side;

LIII Who cries, on his approaching him, "Saul, Saul, Why persecutest thou my faithful seed?" As whilom said the Saviour to Saint Paul, When (blessed stroke!) he smote him from his steed. "Thou thought'st to pass the sea, nor pay withal; Thought'st to defraud the pilot of his meed. Thou seest that God has arms to reach and smite, When farthest off thou deem'st that God of might."

LIV And he, that holiest anchoret, pursued, To whom the night foregoing God did send A vision, as he slumbered, and foreshewed How, thither by his aid the Child should wend; Wherein his past and future life, reviewed, Were seen, as well as his unhappy end; And sons, and grandsons, and his every heir, Fully revealed to that good hermit were.

LV That anchoret pursues, and does upbraid Rogero first, and comforts finally: Upbraideth him, because he had delaid Beneath that easy yoke to bend the knee; And what he should have done, when whilom prayed And called of Christ — then uncompelled and free — Had done with little grace; nor turned to God Until he saw him threatening with the rod.

LVI Then comforts him — that Christ aye heaven allows To them, that late or early heaven desire; And all those labourers of the Gospel shows, Paid by the vineyard's lord with equal hire. With charity and warm devotion glows, And him instructs the venerable sire, As toward the rocky cell where he resides He with weak steps and slow Rogero guides.

LVII Above that hallowed cell, on the hill's brow, A little church receives the rising day; Commodious is the fane and fair enow; Thence to the beach descends a thicket gray, Where fertile and fruit-bearing palm-trees blow, Myrtle, and lowly juniper, and bay, Evermore threaded by a limpid fountain, Which falls with ceaseless murmur from the mountain.

LVIII 'Twas well nigh forty years, since on that stone The goodly friar had fixed his quiet seat; Which, there to live a holy life, alone, For him the Saviour chose, as harbourage meet. Pure water was his drink, and, plucked from one, Or the other plant, wild berries were his meat; And hearty and robust, of ailments clear, The holy man had reached his eightieth year.

LIX That hermit lit a fire, and heaped the board With different fruits, within his small repair; Wherewith the Child somedeal his strength restored, When he had dried his clothes and dripping hair. After, at better ease, to him God's word And mysteries of our faith expounded were; And the day following, in his fountain clear, That anchoret baptized the cavalier.

LX There dwells the young Rogero, well content With what the rugged sojourn does allow; In that the friar showed shortly his intent To send him where he fain would turn his prow. Meanwhile with him he many an argument Handles and often; of God's kingdom now; Now of things appertaining to his case; Now to Rogero's blood, a future race.

LXI The Lord, that every thing doth see and hear, Had to that holiest anchoret bewrayed, How he should not exceed the seventh year, Dating from when he was a Christian made; Who for the death of Pinabel whilere, (His lady's deed, but on Rogero laid) As well as Bertolagi's, should be slain By false Maganza's ill and impious train;

LXII And, how that treason should be smothered so, No sign thereof should outwardly appear; For where that evil people dealt the blow, They should entomb the youthful cavalier. For this should vengeance follow, albeit slow, Dealt by his consort and his sister dear; And how he by his wife should long be sought, With weary womb, with heavy burden fraught,

LXIII 'Twixt Brenta and Athesis, beneath those hills (Which erst the good Antenor so contented, With their sulphureous veins and liquid rills, And mead, and field, with furrows glad indented, That he for these left pools which Xanthus fills; And Ida, and Ascanius long lamented,) Till she a child should in the forests bear, Which little distant from Ateste are;

LXIV And how the Child, in might and beauty grown, That, like his sire, Rogero shall be hight, Those Trojans, as of Trojan lineage known, Shall for their lord elect with solemn rite; Who next by Charles (in succour of whose crown Against the Lombards shall the stripling fight) Of that fair land dominion shall obtain, And the honoured title of a marquis gain;

LXV And because Charles shall say in Latin 'Este', (That is — be lords of the dominion round!) Entitled in a future season Este Shall with good omen be that beauteous ground; And thus its ancient title of Ateste Shall of its two first letters lose the sound. God also to his servant had foresaid The vengeance taken for Rogero's dead;

LXVI Who shall, in vision, to his consort true Appear somedeal before the dawn of day; And shall relate how him the traitor slew, And where his body lies to her shall say. She and Marphisa hence, those valiant two, With fire and sword on earth shall Poictiers lay; Nor shall his son, when of befitting age, Less harm Maganza in his mighty rage.

LXVII On Azos, Alberts, Obysons, did dwell That hermit hoar, and on their offspring bright; Or Borso, Nicholas, and Leonel, Alphonso, Hercules, and Hippolyte, And. last of those, the gentle Isabel; Then curbs his tongue and will no more recite. He to Rogero what is fit reveals, And what is fitting to conceal, conceals.

LXVIII Meanwhile Orlando and bold Brandimart, With that good knight, the Marquis Olivier, Against the paynim Mars together start; (Name well befitting Sericana's peer) And the other two — that from the adverse part, At more than a foot-pace their coursers steer; I say King Agramant and King Sobrine: The pebbly beach resounds, and rolling brine.

LXIX When they encounter in mid field, pell-mell, And to the sky flew every shivered lance, At that loud noise, the sea was seen to swell, At that loud noise, which echoed even to France. Gradasso and Roland met as it befel; And fairly balanced might appear the chance, But for the vantage of Rinaldo's horse; Which made Gradasso seem of greater force.

LXX Baiardo shocked the steed of lesser might, Backed by Orlando, with such might and main, He made that courser stagger, left and right, And measure next his length upon the plain: Vainly to raise him strove Anglantes' knight, Thrice, nay four times, with rowels and with rein; Balked of his end, he lights upon the field, Draws Balisarda, and uplifts his shield.

LXXI With Agramant encounters Olivier, Who, fitly matched, their foaming coursers gall. Bold Brandimart unhorsed in the career Sobrino; but it was not plain withal If 'twas the fault of horse or cavalier; For seldom good Sobrino used to fall. Was it his courser's or his own misdeed, Sobrino found himself without a steed.

LXXII Now Brandimart, that upon earth descried The king Sobrine, assailed no more his man; But at Gradasso, who Anglantes' pride Had equally unhorsed, in fury ran. On Agramant and Oliviero's side, Meanwhile the warfare stood as it began: When broken on their bucklers were the spears, With swords encountered the returning peers.

LXXIII Roland who saw Gradasso in such guise, As showed that to return he little cared, — Nor can return; so Brandimart aye plies, And presses Sericana's monarch hard, Turns round, and, like himself, afoot descries Sobrino, in the doubtful strife unpaired: At him he sprang; and, at his haughty look, Heaven, as the warrior trod, in terror shook.

LXXIV Foreseeing the assault with wary eye, Prepared, and at close ward, behold the Moor! As pilot against whom, now cresting nigh, The threatening billow comes with hollow roar, Towards it turns his prow, and, when so high He views the sea, would gladly be ashore. Sobrino rears his buckler, to withstand The furious fall of Falerina's brand.

LXXV Of such fine steel was Balisarda's blade, That arms against it little shelter were; And by a person of such puissance swayed, By Roland, singe in the world or rare, It splits the shield, and is in nowise stayed, Though bound about with steel the edges are: It splits the shield, and to the bottom rends, And on the shoulder underneath descends.

LXXVI Upon the shoulder; nor, though twisted chain And double plates encase the paynim foe, These hinder much that sword of stubborn grain From opening wide the parted flesh below. Sobrino at Orlando smites; but vain Against the valiant count is every blow; To whom, for special grace, the King of heaven A body charmed against all arms had given.

LXXVII The valorous count, redoubling still his blows, Thought from the trunk the monarch's head to smite. Sobrino, who the strength of Clermont knows, And how the shield ill boots, retired from fight, Yet not so far, but that upon his brows Fell the dread faulchion of Anglantes' knight: 'Twas on its flat, but such his might and main, It crushed the helm and stupefied the brain.

LXXVIII Stunned by that furious stroke, he pressed the shore, And it was long ere he again did rise. The paladin believes the warfare o'er, And that deprived of life Sobrino lies; And, lest Gradasso to ill pass and sore Should bring Sir Brandimart, at him he flies: For him the paynim overmatched in horse, In arms and faulchion, and perhaps in force.

LXXIX Bold Brandimart, who guides Frontino's rein, The goodly courser, erst Rogero's steed, So well contends with him of Sericane, The king yet little seems his foe to exceed; Who, if he had as tempered plate and chain As that bold paynim lord, would better speed; But (for he felt himself ill-armed) the knight Often gave ground, and traversed left and right.

LXXX Better than good Frontino horse is none To obey upon a sign the cavalier; 'Twould seem that courser had the sense to shun Sharp Durindana's fall, now there now here. Meanwhile elsewhere is horrid battle done By royal Agramant and Olivier; Who may be deemed well matched in warlike sleight, Nor champions differing much in martial might.

LXXXI Orlando had left Sobrino (as I said) On earth, and against Sericana's pride, Desirous valiant Brandimart to aid, Even as he was, afoot, in fury hied: When, prompt to assail Gradasso with the blade, He, loose and walking in mid field, espied The goodly horse, which had Sobrino thrown; And bowned him straight to make the steed his own.

LXXXII He seized the horse (for none the deed gainsaid) And took a leap, and vaulted on his prize. This hand the bridle grasped, and that the blade. Orlando's motions good Gradasso spies; Nor at his coming is the king dismaid; Who by his name the paladin defies: With him, and both his partners in the fight, He hopes to make it dark before 'tis night.

LXXXIII Leaving his foe, he, facing Brava's lord, Thrust at the collar of his shirt of mail, All else beside the flesh the faulchion bored; To pierce through which would every labour fail. At the same time descends Orlando's sword, (Where Balisarda bites no spells avail) Shears helmet, cuirass, shield, and all below, And cleaves whate'er it rakes with headlong blow;

LXXXIV And in face, bosom, and in thigh it seamed, Beneath his mail, the king of Sericane. From whom his blood till how had never streamed Since he that armour wore; new rage and pain Thereat the warrior felt, and strange it seemed Sword cut so now, nor yet was Durindane. Had Roland struck more home, or nearer been, From head to belly he had cleft him clean.

LXXXV No more in arms can trust the cavalier As heretofore; for proved those arms have been: He with more care, more caution than whilere, Prepares to parry with the faulchion keen. When entered Brandimart sees Brava's peer, Who snatched that battle from him, he between Those other conflicts placed himself, that where It most was needed, he might succour bear.

LXXXVI While so the fight is balanced 'mid those foes, Sobrino, that on earth long time had lain, When to himself he was returned, uprose, In face and shoulder suffering grievous pain. He lifts his face, his eyes about him throws; And thither, where more distant on the plain He sees his leader, with long paces steers So stealthily, that none his coming hears;

LXXXVII He on the Marquis came, who had but eyes For Agramant, and in the warrior's rear, Wounded upon the hocks in such fierce wise The courser of unheeding Olivier, That he falls headlong; and beneath him lies His valiant master, nor his foot can clear; His left foot, which in that unthought for woe, Was in the stirrup jammed, his steed below.

LXXXVIII Sorbine pursued, and with back-handed blow Thought he his head should from his neck have shorn; But this forbids that armour, bright of show, By Vulcan hammered, and by Hector worn. Brandimart sees his risque, and at the foe Is by his steed, with flowing bridle, borne. Sobrino on the head he smote and flung; But straight from earth that fierce old man upsprung;

LXXXIX And turned anew to Olivier, to speed The warrior's soul more promptly on its way; Or at the least that baron to impede. And him beneath his courser keep at bay: Bold Olivier, whose better arm was freed, And with his sword could fend him as he lay, Meanwhile so smites and longes, there and here, That at sword's length he holds the ancient peer.

XC He hopes, if him but little he withstood, He shall be straight delivered from that pain: He sees him wholly strained and wet with blood, And that he spills so much from open vein, 'Twould seem he speedily must be subdued, So weak he hardly can himself sustain. Often and oft to rise the Marquis strove, Yet could not from beneath his courser move.

XCI Brandimart has found out the royal Moor, And storms about that paynim cavalier; Upon Frontino, like a lathe, before, Beside, or whirling in the warrior's rear. A goodly horse the Christian champion bore; Nor worse the southern king's in the career: That Brigliador, Rogero's gift he crost, Erewhile, by haughty Mandricardo lost.

XCII Great vantage has he, on another part: Of proof and perfect is his iron weed. His at a venture took Sir Brandimart, As he could have in haste in suchlike need; But hopes (his anger puts him so in heart) To change it for a better coat with speech; Albeit the Moorish king, with bitter blow, Has made the blood from his right should flow.

XCIII Him in the flank Gradasso too had gored; (Nor this was laughing matter) so had scanned His vantage that redoubted paynim lord, He found a place wherein to plant his brand; He broke the warrior's shield, his left arm bored, And touched him slightly in the better hand. But this was play, was pastime (might be said), With Roland's and Gradasso's battle weighed.

XCIV Gradasso has Orlando half disarmed; Atop and on both sides his helm has broke: Fallen is his shield, his cuirass split; but harmed The warrior is not by the furious stroke, Which opened plate and mail; for he is charmed; And worser vengeance on the king has wroke, In face, throat, breast has gored that cavalier, Beside the wounds whereof I spake whilere.

XCV Gradasso, desperate when he descried Himself all wet, and smeared with sanguine dye, And Roland, all from head to foot espied, After such mighty strokes unstained and dry, Thinking head, breast, and belly to divide, With both his hands upheaved his sword on high; And, even as he devised, upon the front, Smote with mid blade Anglantes' haughty count.

XCVI And would by any other so have done; — Would to the saddle-tree have cleft him clean: But the good sword, as if it fell upon Its flat, rebounds again, unstained and sheen. The furious stroke astounded Milo's son By whom some scattered stars on earth were seen. He drops the bridle and would drop the brand, But that a chain secures it to his hand.

XCVII So by the noise was scared the horse that bore Upon his back Anglantes' cavalier. The courser scowered about the powdery shore, Showing how good his speed in the career: The County by that stroke astounded sore, Has not the power the frightened horse to steer. Gradasso follows and will reach him, so That he but little more pursues the foe;

XCVIII But turning round, beholds the royal Moor To the utmost peril in that battle brought; For by the shining helmet which he wore, With the left hand, him Brandimart had caught; Already had unlaced the casque before, And with his dagger would new ill have wrought: Nor much defence could make the Moorish lord; For Brandimart as well had reft his sword.

XCIX Gradasso turned, nor more Orlando sought, But hastened where he Agramant espied: The incautious Brandimart, suspecting nought Orlando would have let him turn aside, Had not Gradasso in his eyes or thought, And to the paynim's throat his knife applied. Gradasso came, and at his helmet layed, Wielding with either hand his trenchant blade.

C Father of heaven! 'mid spirits chosen by thee, To him thy martyr true, a place accord; Who, having traversed his tempestuous sea, Now furls his sails in port. Ah! ruthless sword, So cruel, Durindana, can'st thou be, To good Orlando, to thine ancient lord, That thou can'st slaughter, in the warrior's view, Of all his friends the dearest and most true?

CI An iron ring that girt his helmet round, Two inches thick, was broke by that fell blow And cleft; and with the solid iron bound, Was parted the good cap of steel below, Bold Brandimart, reversed upon the ground, With haggard face beside his horse lies low; And issuing widely from the warrior's head A stream of life-blood dyes the shingle red.

CII Come to himself, the County turns his eye And sees his Brandimart upon the plain, And in such act Gradasso standing by As clearly shows by whom the knight was slain. If he most raged or grieved I know not, I, But such short time is left him to complain, His hasty wrath breaks forth, his grief gives way; But now 'tis time that I suspend my lay.

CANTO 42

ARGUMENT The victory with Count Orlando lies; But good Rinaldo and Bradamant at heart, (One for Angelica, the other sighs For young Rogero) suffer cruel smart. Him that in chase of the Indian damsel hies Disdain preserves; from thence does he depart Towards Italy, and is with courteous cheer And welcome guested by a cavalier.

I What bit, what iron curb is to be found, Or (could it be) what adamantine rein, That can make wrath keep order and due bound, And within lawful limits him contain? When one, to whom the constant heart is bound And linked by Love with solid bolt and chain, We see, through violence or through foul deceit, With mortal damage or dishonour meet.

II And is the mind sometimes, if so possest, To ill and savage action led astray, It may deserve excuse; in that the breast No more is under Reason's sovereign sway. Achilles, when, beneath his borrowed crest, He saw Patroclus crimsoning the way, Was with his murderer's slaughter ill content, Till he his mangled corse had dragged and shent.

III Unconquered Duke Alphonso, anger so Inflamed thy host the day that weighty stone Wounded thy forehead with such grievous blow, That all believed it to its rest was gone; — Inflamed them with such fury, for the foe In rampart, fosse, or wall, defence was none, Who, one and all, within their works lay dead, Nor wight was left the woeful news to spread.

IV Seeing thy fall caused thine such mighty pain, They were to fury moved; hadst thou, my lord, Maintained thy footing, haply might thy train Have with less licence plied the murderous sword. Enough for thee thy Bastia to regain! In fewer hours replaced beneath thy ward, Then Cordova's and fierce Granada's band Took days erewhile, to wrest it from thy hand.

V Haply Heaven's vengeance ordered what befel, And in that case thy wound so hindered thee To the end, the cruel outrage, foul and fell, Done by that band before, should punished be. For after the unhappy Vestidel, Wearied and hurt, had sought their clemency, Among them (mostly an unchristened train) He, mid a hundred swords, unarmed, was slain.

VI To end; I say that other rage is none Which can be weighed with that in equal wise, Which kindles, when an injury is done To kinsman, friend or lord before our eyes. Then justly in Orlando's heart, for one So dear to him, might sudden fury rise; When him he saw, extended on the sand, Slain by the stroke of fierce Gradasso's brand.

VII As nomade swain, who darting on its way In slippery line the horrid snake has seen, That his young son, amid the sands at play, Has killed with venomed tooth, enflamed with spleen, Grasps his batoon, the poisonous worm to slay; His sword, than every other sword more keen, So, in his fury grasped Anglantes' knight, And wreaked on Agramant his first despite,

VIII Scaped, bleeding, with helm loosened form his head, With half a shield and swordless, through his mail, Sore wounded in more places than is said; As from the dull or envious falcon's nail, Escapes the unhappy sparrowhawk, half dead, With ruffled plumage and with loss of tail. On him Orlando came and smote him just Where with the helmed head confined the bust.

IX Loosed was the helm, the neck without its band: So, like a rush, was severed by the sword. Down-fell, and shook its last upon the sand The heavy trunk of Libya's mighty lord. His spirit, which flitted to the Stygian strand, Charon with crooked boat-hook dragged aboard. On him Orlando wastes no further pain, But, sword in hand, seeks him of Sericane.

X As the headless trunk of Africk's cavalier Extended on the shore Gradasso's viewed, (What never had befallen him whilere) He shook at heart, a troubled visage shewed, And, at the coming of Anglantes' peer, Presageful of his fate, appears subdued: Nor seeks he means of fence against his foe, When fierce Orlando deals the fatal blow.

XI Orlando levels at his better side, Beneath the lowest rib, his faulchion bright; And crimsoned to the hilt, a hand's breadth wide Of the other flank, the sword appears in sight; And well his mighty puissance testified, And spoke him as the strongest living knight That stroke, by which a warrior was undone, Better than whom in Paynimry was none.

XII Little his victory good Orlando cheers: Himself he quickly from his saddle throws; And, with a face disturbed, and wet with tears, To his Brandimart in haste the warrior goes; The field about him red with blood appears, His helmet cleft as by a hatchet's blows; And, had it been than spungy rind more frail, Would have defended him no worse than mail.

XIII Orlando lifts the helmet, and descries Brandimart's head by that destructive brand Cleft even to his nose, between the eyes; Yet so the wounded knight his spirits manned, That pardon of the king of Paradise He, before death, was able to demand, And to exhort to patience Brava's peer, Whose manly cheeks were wet with many a tear;

XIV And — "Roland, in thy helping orisons, I Beseech thee to remember me," he cried, "Nor recommend to thee less warmly my —" — Flordelice would, but could not, say — and died; And sounds and songs of angels in the sky, As the soul parts, are heard on every side; Which from its prison freed, mid hymns of love, Ascends into the blissful realms above.

XV Orlando, albeit he should joy in heart At death so holy, and is certified That called to bliss above is Brandimart; For he heaven opened to the knight described; Through human wilfulness — which aye takes part With our weak senses — hardly can abide The loss of one, above a brother dear, Nor can refrain from many a scalding tear.

XVI Warlike Sobrino, of much blood bereaved, Which from his flank and wounded visage rained, Long since had fallen, reversed and sore aggrieved, And had by now his vessels well nigh drained. Olivier too lies stretched; nor has retrieved, Nor can retrieve, his crippled foot, save sprained, And almost crushed; so long between the plain, And his stout courser jammed, the limb has lain;

XVII And but Orlando helped (so woe begone Was weeping Olivier, and brought so low) He could not have released his limb alone; And, when released, endures such pain, such woe, The helpless warrior cannot stand upon, Or shift withal his wounded foot, and so Benumbed and crippled is the leg above, That he without assistance cannot move.

XVIII The victory brought Orlando small delight; On whom too heavily and hardly weighed Of slaughtered Brandimart the piteous sight; Nor sure of Oliviero's life he made. Sobrino yet survived; but little light The wounded monarch had, amid much shade: For almost spend his ebbing life remained So fast from him the crimson blood had drained.

XIX The County has him taken, bleeding sore; Thither, where he is saved with sovereign care; And he as if a kinsman of the Moor, Benignly comforts him and speaks him fair: For in Orlando, when the strife was o'er, Was nothing evil; ever prompt to spare. He from the dead their arms and coursers reft, The rest he to their knives' disposal left.

XX Here as my story stood not on good ground, Frederick Fulgoso doubtful does appear; Who, searching Barbary's every shore and sound Erewhile on board a squadron, landed here; And the isle so rugged and so rocky found, In all its parts so mountainous and drear, There is not (through the land) a level space (He says) whereon a single boot to place.

XXI Nor deems he likely, that six cavaliers, The wide world's flower, on Alpine rock should vye, In that equestrian fight, with levelled spears. To whose objection thus I make reply: Erewhile a place, well fit for such careers, Stretched at the bottom of the hills did lie; But afterwards, o'erthrown by earthquake's shock, A cliff o'erspread the plain with broken rock.

XXII So, of Fulgoso's race thou shining ray, Clear, lasting light, if, questioning my word, Thou on this point hast ever said me nay, And haply too, before the unconquered lord, Through whom thy land, reposing, casts away All haste, and wholly leans to kind accord, Prythee delay not to declare, that I In this my story haply tell no lie.

XXIII Meanwhile his eyes the good Orlando reared, And saw, on turning them to seaward, where Under full sail a nimble bark appeared, As if she to that island would repair. I will not now rehearse who thither steered; For more than one awaiteth me elsewhere. Wend me to France and see if they be glad At having chased the Saracens, or sad;

XXIV See what she does withal, the lady true, That sees her knight content to wend so wide; Of the afflicted Bradamant I shew; After she saw the oath was nullified, Made in the hearing of those armies two, Upon the Christian and the paynim side; Since he again had failed her, there was nought Wherein she could confide, the damsel thought.

XXV And now her too accustomed plaint and wail Repeating, of Rogero's cruelty Fair Bradamant renewed the wonted tale; She cursed her hard and evil destiny; Then loosening to tempestuous grief the sail, Heaven that consented to such perjury, — And did not yet by some plain token speak — She, in her passion, called unjust and weak.

XXVI The sage Melissa she accused, and cursed The oracle of the cavern, through whose lie She in that sea of love herself immersed, Upon whose waters she embarked to die. She to Marphisa afterwards rehearsed Her woes, and told her brother's perfidy; She chides, pours forth her sorrows, and demands, With tears and outcries, succour at her hands.

XXVII Marphisa shrugs her shoulders; what alone She can, she offers — comfort to the fair; Nor thinks Rogero her has so foregone But what to her he shortly will repair. And, should he not, such outrage to be done, The damsel plights her promise not to bear; Twixt her and him shall deadly war be waged, Or he shall keep the word, which he engaged.

XXVIII She makes her somewhat thus her grief restrain; Which having vent in some sort spend its gall, Now we have seen the damsel in her pain Rogero impious, proud, and perjured call, See we, if in a happier state remain The brother of that gentle maid withal; Whose flesh, bones, nerves, and sinews are a prey To burning love; Rinaldo I would say.

XXIX I say Rinaldo that (as known to you) Angelica the beauteous loved so well: Nor him into the amorous fillets drew So much her beauty as the magic spell. In peace reposed those other barons true; For wholly broken was the infidel: Alone amid the victors, he, of all The paladins, remained Love's captive thrall.

XXX To seek her he a hundred couriers sent, And sought as well, himself, the missing maid: He in the end to Malagigi went, Who in his need had often given him aid: To him he told his love, with eyelids bent On earth, and visage crimsoned o'er; and prayed That sage magicians to instruct him, where He in the world might find the long-sought fair.

XXXI A case, so strange and wondrous, marvel sore In friendly Malagigi's bosom bred: The wizard knew, a hundred times and more, He might have had the damsel in his bed; And he himself, to move the knight or yore, In her behalf, enough had done and said: Had him by prayer and menace sought to bend, Yet ne'er was able to obtain his end;

XXXII And so much more, that out of prison ward He then would Malagigi so have brought. Now will he seek her, of his own accord, On less occasion, when it profits nought. Next that magician Montalbano's lord To mark how sorely do had erred, besought: Since little lacked, but through the boon denied, Erewhile he had in gloomy dungeon died.

XXXIII But how much more Rinaldo's strange demand Sounded importunately in his ear, So by sure index Malagigi scanned, That so much was Angelica more dear. Rinaldo prayer unable to withstand, In ocean sunk the wizard cavalier All memory of old injury assaid, And bowned himself to give the warrior aid.

XXXIV For his reply he craved some small delay, And with fair hope consoled Mount Alban's knight, He should be able of the road to say By which Angelica had sped her flight, In France or wheresoe'er; then wends his way Thither where he is wont his imps to cite; A grot impervious and with mountains walled: His book he opened and the spirits called.

XXXV Then one he chooses, in love-cases read, Whom Malagigi to declare requires, How good Rinaldo's heart, before so died, Was now so quickly moved by soft desires; And of those fountains twain (the demon said) Whereof one lights, one quenches amorous fires; And how nought cures the mischief caused by one But that whose streams in counter current run;

XXXVI And says, Rinaldo, having drunk whilere From the love-chasing fountain's mossy urn, To Angelica, that long had wooed the peer, Had shown himself so obstinate and stern; And he, whom after his ill star did steer To drink of that which makes the bosom burn, Her whom but just before he loathed above All reason, by that draught was forced to love.

XXXVII Him his ill star and cruel fate conveyed To swallow fire and flame i' the frozen lake: For nigh at the same time the Indian maid In the other bitter stream her thirst did slake; Which in her bosom so all love allayed, Henceforth she loathed him more than noisome snake; He loved her, and such love was his, as late Rinaldo bore her enmity and hate.

XXXVIII Of this strange story fully certified Was Malagigi by the demon's lore; Who news as well of Angelique supplied; How yielding up herself to a young Moor, With him embarking on the unstable tide, She had abandoned Europe's every shore; And hoisting her bold canvas to the wind, In Catalonian galley loosed for Ind.

XXXIX Rinaldo seeking out the sage anew For his reply — he would dissuade the knight From loving more that Indian lady, who Now waited on a vile barbarian wight; And was so distant he could ill pursue; If he would chase the damsel on her flight, Who must have measured than half her way Homeward, with young Medoro to Catay.

XL In that bold lover no displeasure deep The journey of Angelica would move; Nor yet would mar or break the warrior's sleep To think that he again must eastward rove: But that a stripling Saracen should reap The first fruits of that faithless lady's love In him such passion bred, such heart-ache sore, He never in his life so grieved before.

XLI No power hath he to make one sole reply; His heart, his lip, is quivering with disdain; His tongue no word is able to untie; His mouth is bitter, and 'twould seem with bane. He flung from the magician suddenly, And, as by fury stirred and jealous pain, He after mighty plaint and mighty woe Resolved anew to eastern realms to go.

XLII Licence he asks of Pepin's royal son, Upon the ground, since with his courser dear To Sericane is King Gradasso gone, Against the use of gallant cavalier, Him honour moves the selfsame course to run, In the end he may prevent the paynim peer From ever vaunting, that with sword or lance He took him from a Paladin of France.

XLIII Charles gives him leave to go; though, far and nigh, With him all France laments he thence should wend; But he in fine that prayer can ill deny, So honest seems the worthy warrior's end. Him Dudon, Guido, would accompany; But he refuses either valiant friend: From Paris he departs, and wends alone, Plunged in his grief and heaving many a groan.

XLIV Ever in memory dwells the restless thought, He might a thousand times have had the fair; And — mad and obstinate — had, when besought, A thousand times refused such beauty rare; And such sweet joy was whilom set at nought, Such bright, such blessed moments wasted were; And now he life would gladly give away To have that damsel but for one short day.

XLV The thought will never from his mind depart, How for a sorry footpage she could slight, — Flinging their merit and their love apart — The service of each former loving wight. Vext by such thought, which racked and rent his heart, Rinaldo wends towards the rising light: He the straight road to Rhine and Basle pursued, Till he arrived in Arden's mighty wood.

XLVI When within that adventurous wood has hied For many a mile Montalban's cavalier, Of lonely farm or lordly castle wide, Where the rude place was roughest and most drear, The sky disturbed he suddenly descried, He saw the sun's dimmed visage disappear, And spied forth issuing from a cavern hoar A monster, which a woman's likeness wore.

XLVII A thousand lidless eyes are in her head: She cannot close them, nor, I think, doth sleep: She listens with as many ears, and spread Like hair, about her forehead serpents creep. Forth issued into day that figure dread From devilish darkness and the caverned deep. For tail, a fierce and bigger serpent wound About her breast, and girt the monster round.

XLVIII What in a thousand, thousand quests had ne'er Befal'n Rinaldo, here befel the knight; Who, when he sees the horrid form appear, Coming to seek him and prepared for fight, Feels in his inmost veins such freezing fear, As haply never fell on other wight; Yet wonted daring counterfeits and feigns, And with a trembling hand the faulchion strains.

XLIX The monster so the fierce assault did make Therein her master was well descried, It might be said; she shook a poisonous snake, And now on this, now on the other side, Leapt at the knight; at her Rinaldo strake Ever meanwhile with random blows and wide; With forestroke, backstroke, he assails the foe; He often smites, but never plants a blow.

L The monster threw a serpent at his breast, That froze his heart beneath its iron case: Now through the vizor flung the poisonous pest, Which crept about his collar and his face. Dismaid, Rinaldo fled the field, and prest With all his spurs his courser through the chase: But not behind the hellish monster halts, Who in a thought upon the crupper vaults.

LI Wend where the warrior will, an-end or wide, Ever with him is that accursed Pest: Nor knows he how from her to be untied, Albeit his courser plunges without rest. Like a leaf quakes his heart within his side, Not that the snakes in other mode molest, But they such horror and such loathing bred, He shrieks, he groans, and gladly would be dead.

LII By gloomiest track and blindest path he still Threaded the tangled forest here and there; By thorniest valley and by roughest hill, And wheresoever darkest was the air; Thus hoping to have rid him of that ill, Hideous, abominable, poisonous Care; Beneath whose gripe he foully might have fared, But that one quickly to his aid repaired.

LIII But aid, and in good time, a horseman bore, Equipt with arms of beauteous steel and clear: For crest, a broken yoke the stranger wore; Red flames upon his yellow shield appear: So was the courser's housing broidered o'er, As the proud surcoat of the cavalier. His lance he grasped, his sword was in its place, And at his saddle hung a burning mace.

LIV That warrior's mace a fire eternal fills, Whose lasting fuel ever blazes bright; And goodly buckler, tempered corslet thrills, And solid helm; then needs the approaching knight Must make him way, wherever 'tis his will To turn his inextinguishable light. Nor of less help in need Rinaldo stands, To save him from the cruel monster's hands.

LV The stranger horseman, like a warrior bold, Where he that hubbub hears, doth thither swoop, Until he sees the beast, whose snakes enfold Rinaldo, linked in many a loathsome loop, Who sweats at once with heat and quakes with cold, Nor can he thrust the monster from his croup. Arrived the stranger smote her in the flank, Who on the near side of the courser sank:

LVI But scarcely was on earth extended, ere She rose and shook her snakes in volumed spire. The knight no more assails her with the spear; But is resolved to plague the foe with fire: He gripes the mace and thunders in her rear With frequent blows, like tempest in its ire; Nor leaves a moment to that monster fell To strike one stroke in answer, ill or well;

LVII And, while he chases her or holds at bay, Smites her and venges many a foul affront, Counsels the paladin, without delay, To take the road which scales the neighbouring mount: He took that proffered counsel and that way, And without stop, or turning back his front, Pricked furiously till he was out of sight; Though hard to clamber was the rugged height.

LVIII The stranger, when he to her dark retreat Had driven from upper light that beast of hell (Where she herself doth ever gnaw and eat, While from her thousand eyes tears ceaseless well) Followed the knight, to guide his wandering feet; And overtook him on the highest swell; Then placed himself beside the cavalier Him from those dark and gloomy parts to steer.

LIX When him returned beheld Montalban's knight, That countless thanks were due to him, he said, And that at all times, as a debt of right, His life should be for his advantage paid. Of him he next demands, how he is hight, That he may know and tell who brought him aid; And among worthy warriors, and before King Charles, exalt his prowess evermore.

LX The stranger answered: "Let it irk not thee That I not now my name to thee display; Ere longer by a yard the shadows be, This will I signify; a short delay." Wending together, they a river see Whose murmurs woo the traveller from his way, And shepherd-swain, by whiles, to their green brink; There an oblivion of their love to drink.

LXI My lord, that fountain's chilling stream and clear Extinguished love; Angelica of yore Drinking thereof, for good Montalban's peer Conceived that hate she nourished evermore; And if she once displeased the cavalier, And he to her such passing hatred bore, For this no other cause occasion gave, My lord, save drinking of this chilly wave.

LXII Arriving at that limpid river's side, The cavalier that with Rinaldo goes, Reined-in his courser, how with toil, and cried, "Here 'twere not ill, meseemeth, to repose." — "It cannot but be well" (the peer replied), "Because, beside that mid-day fiercely glows, I have so suffered from that hideous Pest, As sweet and needful shall I welcome rest."

LXIII Upon the green sward lit the martial two, While their loose horses through the forest fed; And from their brows the burnished helmets threw On that flowered herbage, yellow, green, and red. Rinaldo to the liquid crystal flew, By heat and thirst unto the river sped; And with one draught of that cold liquid drove Out of his burning bosom thirst and love.

LXIV Whenas Rinaldo, sated with the draught, Raising his head the stranger knight espied, And saw that he, repentant, every thought Of that so frantic love had put aside, He reared himself, and said with semblance haught That which he would not say before, and cried: "Rinaldo, know that I am hight Disdain, Bound hither but to break thy worthless chain."

LXV So saying, suddenly he passed from sight; With him his horse: this in Rinaldo bred Much wonderment; and the astonished knight, "Where is he?" gazing round about him, said. He cannot guess if 'twere a magic sprite, A fiend by Malagigi thither sped, From those his ministers, to break the chain, Fettered whereby he lived so long in pain;

LXVI Of if an angel from the heavenly sphere In his ineffable goodness by the Lord, Dispatched, as to Tobias's aid whilere, A medicine for his blindness to afford. But good or evil angel — whatsoe'er He was that him to liberty restored — Him thanked and praised Rinaldo, for a heart Healed only by his help of amorous smart.

LXVII Old hate revived upon Rinaldo's side; Nor he alone unworthy to be wooed, The damsel deemed by pilgrimage so wide Her half a league he would not have pursued. Nathless anew Baiardo to bestride To Sericane would go that warrior good: As well because his honour him compelled, As for the talk which he with Charles had held.

LXVIII He pricked to Basle upon the following day, Whither the tidings had arrived before: That Count Orlando was, in martial fray, To meet Gradasso and the royal Moor: Nor through Orlando was divulged that say: But one, who crost from the Sicilian shore, And thither had, in haste, the journey made, As certain news, the tidings had conveyed.

LXIX Rinaldo had gladly been at Roland's side, And from that battle far himself doth see: Every ten miles he changes horse and guide, And whips and spurs, and makes his courser flee. He crost the Rhine at Constance, forward hied, He traversed Alp, arrived in Italy, He left Verona, Mantua, in his rear, And reached and past the Po, with swift career.

LXX Much towards eve already sloped the sun, And the first star was glimmering in the sky, When, doubting on the bank if he shall run Another course, or in some hostel lie Until the shades of night and vapours dun Before Aurora's beauteous visage fly, A cavalier approaching him he viewed, Who courtesy in face and semblance shewed.

LXXI He, after greeting him, if he were tied In wedlock, made in gentle wise demand. Rinaldo, wondering what the quest implied, Made answer: "I am bound in nuptial band." — "I joy thereat," the cavalier replied; Then, that he might this saying understand, Added, "I pray that you, sir knight, within My mansion will this eve be pleased to inn.

LXXII "For I will make you see what must please A wight" (pursued the stranger) "that is wed." Rinaldo, as well that he would take his ease, — But this, with so long posting sore bested — As that to see and hear strange novelties By natural desire he still was led, His offer takes, and enters a new road, Following that cavalier to his abode.

LXXIII A bowshot from the way diverged the two, And a great palace fronting them descried: Whence squires with blazing lights (a numerous crew) Issued, and chased the darkness far and wide. Entering, his eyes around Rinaldo threw, And saw a place, whose like is seldom spied, Of beauteous fabric, and well ordered plan; Nor such huge cost befitted private man.

LXXIV Of serpentine and of hard porphyry are The stones which form the gateway's arch above. Of bronze the portal leaves, which figures bear, Whose lively features seem to breathe and move. Beneath the vaulted entry, colours rare Cheating the eye, in mixt mosaic strove, The quadrangle within was galleried, And of a hundred yards, on every side.

LXXV A gateway is there to each galleried row, And, twixt it and that gate, an arch is bent; Of equal breadth, but different in their show, For the architect had spared not ornament. Each arch an entrance was; up which might go A laden horse; so easy the ascent. To arch above leads every stair withal, And every arch is entrance to a hall.

LXXVI Above, project the arches in such sort, They for the spacious portals form a shade; And each two pillars has for its support: Of bronze are some, and some of marble made. The ornamented chambers of the court Too many are to be at length displayed; With easements, which (beside what is in sight) The skilful master underground had dight.

LXXVII Tall columns, with their capitals of gold, Which gemmed entablatures support in air; Exotic marbles engraved with figures fair; Picture and cast, and works so manifold, Albeit by night they mostly hidden were, Showed that two kings' united treasure ne'er Would have sufficed such gorgeous pile to rear.

LXXVIII Above the beauteous ornaments and rich That mingled in that gay quadrangle meet, There is a fresh and plenteous fountain, which Scatters in many threads its watery sheet, 'Tis here that youths at equal distance pitch, I' the middle, tables for the festive treat. Whence they four gates of that rich mansion see, And seen from those four gates as well may be.

LXXIX By cunning master, diligent and wise, With much and subtle toil, the fount was made: In open gallery or pavilion's guise; Which from eight separate fronts, projects a shade. A gilded roof, which with enamelled dyes Was stained below, the building overlayed. Eight marble statues (snowy was the grain), With the left arm that gilded roof sustain.

LXXX Fair Amalthaea's horn in the right hand Had quaintly sculptured the ingenious master, Whence water, trickling forth with murmur bland, Descends into a vase of alabaster; And he, in likeness of a lady grand, With sovereign art had fashioned each pilaster. Various they were in visage and in vest, But all of equal charms and grace possest.

LXXXI Upon two beauteous images below Each of these female statues fix their feet. The lower seem with open mouth to show That song and harmony to them are sweet; And, by their attitude, 'twould seem, as though Their every work and every study meet In praising them, they on their shoulders bear, As they would those whose likenesses they wear.

LXXXII The images below them in their hand Long scrolls and of an ample size contain, Which of the worthiest figures of that band The several names with mickle praise explain As well their own at little distance stand, Inscribed upon that scroll, in letters plain, Rinaldo, by the help of blazing lights, Marked, one by one, the ladies and their knights.

LXXXIII The first inscription there which meets the eye Recites at length Lucretia Borgia's fame, Whom Rome should place, for charms and chastity, Above that wife who whilom bore her name. Strozza and Tebaldeo — Anthony And Hercules — support the honoured dame: (So says the scroll): for tuneful strain, the pair A very Linus and an Orpheus are.

LXXXIV A statue no less jocund, no less bright, Succeeds, and on the writing is impressed; Lo! Hercules' daughter, Isabella hight, In whom Ferrara deems her city blest, Much more because she first shall see the light Within its circuit, than for all the rest Which kind and favouring Fortune in the flow Of rolling years, shall on that town bestow.

LXXXV The pair that such desirous ardour shew That aye her praises should be widely blown: John James alike are named: of those fair two, One is Calandra, one is Bardelon. In the third place, and fourth, where trickling through Small rills, the water quits that octagon, Two ladies are there, equal in their birth, Equal in country, honour, charms and worth.

LXXXVI One was Elizabeth, one Eleanor, And if we credit what that marble said, Manto's so glorious city which such store Sets my melodious Maro, whom she bred, More vaunts not him, nor reverences more, Than these fair dames her poet's honoured head. The first of these her hallowed feet had set On Peter Bembo and James Sadolet.

LXXXVII Arelio and Castiglion, a polished pair, That other lady, in mid air, sustain. Their names were carved upon the marble fair, Then both unknown, and now so fames a twain. Next was a lady, that from Heaven shall heir As mighty virtue as on earth doth reign, Or ever yet hath reigned, in any age, Well proved by Fortune in her love or rage.

LXXXVIII Inscribed in characters of gold is here Lucretia Bentivoglia, and among Her praises, 'tis declared Ferrara's peer Joys that such daughter doth to him belong. Her shall Camillus voice, and far and near Reno and Felsina shall hear his song, Wrapt in as mighty wonder at the strain As that wherewith Amphrysus heard his swain;

LXXXIX And one, through whom that city's name (where sweet Isaurus salts his wave in larger vase) Fame shall from Africa to Ind repeat, From southern tracts to Hyperborean ways, More than because Rome's gold in that famed seat Was weighed, whereof perpetual record says Guy Posthumus — about whose honoured brow Phoebus and Pallas bind a double bough.

XC Dian is next in order of that train. "Regard not (said the marble) is she wear A haughty port; for in her heart, humane The matron is, as in her visage, fair. Learned Celio Calcagnine in lofty strain Her glories and fair name abroad shall bear, And Juba's and Moneses' kingdom hear, And Spain and farthest Ind, his trumpet clear;

XCI And a Cavallo shall make such a font Of poetry in famed Ancona run, As that winged courser on Parnassus' mount; Or was it on the hill of Helicon? 'Tis Beatrice, who next uprears her front, Whereof so speaks the writing on the stone: "Her consort Beatrice, while she has breath, Blesses, and leaves unhappy at her death;

XCII "Yea, Italy; that with her triumphs bright, Without that lady fair shall captive be." A lofty song appears of her to indite A lord of the Correggio's noble tree; And, Benedeo's pride, Timotheus hight. Between his banks, descending to the sea, By their joint music shall the stream be stopt, Whose trees erewhile the liquid amber dropt.

XCIII Between this and that lofty column's place Into fair Borgia fashioned (as was said) Of aspect so distinguished, of such grace, A lady was, of alabaster made, That, hiding in a simple veil her face, In sable, without gems or gold arraid, She, 'mid the brightest, flung her light as far, As amid lesser fires the Cyprian star.

XCIV None knows, observing her with steadfast view, If she of charms or grace have fuller store, Whether her visage most majestic shew, Or beam with genius or with beauty more. "He that would speak — would speak her praises true — (Declares in fine the sculptured marble's lore) The fairest of emprizes would intend, But never bring his noble task to end."

XCV Albeit such grace and passing sweetness shewed Her fair and well wrought image, she disdain Appeared to nurse, that one of wit so rude Should dare to sing her praise in humble strain, As he that only without comrade stood, I know not why, her statue to sustain, The marble all those other names revealed. That pair's alone the artist had concealed.

XCVI The statues in the middle form a round, The floor whereof dry stalks of coral pave; Most pleasant, cool, and grateful, is that ground; So rendered by the pure and crystal wave. Which vent without in other channel found; And issued forth in many a stream, to lave A mead of azure, white, and yellow hue; Gladdening the plants that on their margins grew.

XCVII Conversing with his courteous host, the peer Sate at the board, and oft and often prayed, That without more delay the cavalier Would keep the promise he whilere had made; And marking, ever and anon, his cheer, Observes his heart with some deep woe downweighed. For not a moment 'mid their converse slips, But what a burning sigh is on his lips.

XCVIII Oft with desire was good Rinaldo stung To ask that sorrow's cause, and the request Was almost on the gentle warrior's tongue, And there by courteous modesty represt. Now at their banquet's close a youth, among The menial crew, on whom that charge did rest, Placed a gold cup before the paladin, Filled full of gems without, of wine within.

XCIX The host then somedeal smiling, from the board Looked up at Aymon's son; but who this while Well marked him, as he eyed Montalban's lord, Had deemed him more disposed to weep than smile. "So oft reminded, to maintain my word, 'Tis time meseems (said he, that owned the pile) To shew the touchstone for a woman's love, Which needs to wedded man must welcome prove.

C "Ne'er, in my judgment, should the married dame Be from espial by her lord released; Thus shall he know if honour or if blame His portion is; if he is man or beast. The weight of horns, though coupled with such shame, Is of all burdens upon the earth the least. While well-nigh all behold his antlers spread, He feels them not who has them on his head.

CI "If certain of thy wife's fidelity, Thou hast more ground to prize and hold her dear Than one, whose wife is evil known to be, Or husband that is still in doubt and fear. Full many husbands live in jealousy, And groundlessly, of women chaste and clear. On many women many men rely Meanwhile, who bear their branching antlers high.

CII "If thou would'st be assured thy wife is true (As sure methinks thou thinkest and must think) For it is hard that notion to undo, Unless thy trust before sure tokens sink, — No hearsay matter this — thyself shalt view The truth, if thou in this fair vessel drink, Placed solely on the supper-board, that thou May'st see the marvel promised thee but now.

CIII "Drink, and a mighty marvel shall be seen; For if thou wearest Cornwall's lofty crest, No drop of wine shall pass thy lips between, And all the draught be spilt upon thy breast. If faithful is thy wife, thou shalt drink clean. And now — to try thy fortune — to the test!" He said, and with fixt eyes the sign explored; If on his breast the wine Rinaldo poured.

CIV Rinaldo was nigh moved the cup to raise, And seek what he would haply wish unsought: Forward he reached his hand and took the vase, About to prove his fortune in the draught. Then of the passing peril of the case, Before it touched his lips, the warrior thought. But let me, sir, repose myself, and I Will then relate the Paladin's reply.

CANTO 43

ARGUMENT Rinaldo from his courteous landlord hears What folly had destroyed his every good; Next learns another story, as he steers Toward Ravenna with the falling flood: Then last arrives where, conqueror o'er his foes Orlando was, but in no joyful mood. He, that the Child a Christian made whilere, Christens Sobrino, and heals Olivier.

I O Execrable avarice! O vile thirst Of sordid gold! it doth not me astound So easily thou seizest soul, immersed In baseness, or with other taint unsound; But that thy chain should bind, amid the worst, And that thy talon should strike down and wound One that for loftiness of mind would be Worthy all praise, if he avoided thee.

II Some earth and sea and heaven above us square, Know Nature's causes, works, and properties; What her beginnings, what her endings are; And soar till Heaven is open to their eyes: Yet have no steadier aim, no better care, Stung by thy venom, than, in sordid wise, To gather treasure: such their single scope, Their every comfort, and their every hope.

III Armies by him are broken in his pride, And gates of warlike towns in triumph past: The foremost he to breast the furious tide Of fearful battle; to retire the last; Yet cannot save himself from being stied Till death, in thy dark dungeon prisoned fast. Of others that would shine thou dimm'st the praise; Whom other studies, other arts would raise.

IV What shall of high and beauteous dames be said? Who (from their lovers' worth and charms secure) Against long service, I behold, more staid, More motionless, than marble shafts, endure: Then Avarice comes, who so her spells hath laid, I see them stoop directly to her lure. — Who could believe? — unloving, in a day They fall some elder's, fall some monster's prey.

V Not without reason here I raise this cry: — Read me who can, I read myself — nor so I from the beaten pathway tread awry, Nor thus the matter of my song forego. Not more to what is shown do I apply My saying, than to what I have to show. But now return we to the paladine, Who was about to taste the enchanted wine.

VI Fain would he think awhile, of whom I speak, (As said) ere to his lips the vase he bore; He thought; then thus: "When finding what we seek Displeases, this 'tis folly to explore, My wife's a woman; every woman's weak. Then let me hold the faith I held before. Faith still has brought, and yet contentment brings. From proof itself what better profit springs?

VII "From this small good, much evil I foresee: For tempting God moves sometimes his disdain. I know not if it wise or foolish be, But to know more than needs, I am not fain. Now put away the enchanted cup from me; I neither will, nor would, the goblet drain; Which is with Heaven's command as much at strife, As Adam's deed who robbed the tree of life.

VIII "For as our sire who tasted of that tree, And God's own word, by eating, disobeyed, Fell into sorrow from felicity, And was by misery evermore o'erlaid; The husband so, that all would know and see; Whatever by his wife is done and said; Passes from happiness to grief and pain, Nor ever can uplift his head again."

IX Meanwhile the good Rinaldo saying so, And pushing from himself the cup abhorred, Beheld of tears a plenteous fountain flow From the full eyes of that fair mansion's lord; Who cried, now having somewhat calmed his woe, "Accursed be he, persuaded by whose word, Alas! I of the fortune made assay, Whereby my cherished wife was reft away!

X "Wherefore ten years ago wast thou not known, So that I counselled might have been of thee? Before the sorrows and the grief begun, That have nigh quenched my eyes; but raised shall be The curtain from the scene, that thou upon My pain mayst look, and mayst lament with me; And I to thee of mine unheard-of woe The argument and very head will show.

XI "Above, was left a neighbouring city, pent Within a limpid stream that forms a lake; Which widens, and wherein Po finds a vent. Their way the waters from Benacus take. Built was the city, when to ruin went Walls founded by the Agenorean snake. Here me of gentle line my mother bore, But of small means, in humble home and poor.

XII "If Fortune's care I was not, who denied To me upon my birth a wealthy boon, Nature that went with graceful form supplied; So that in beauty rival had I none. Enamoured of me in youth's early tide Erewhile was dame and damsel more than one: For I with beauty coupled winning ways; Though it becomes not man himself to praise.

XIII "A sage within our city dwelled, a wight, Beyond belief, in every science great; Who, when he closed his eyes on Phoebus' light, Numbered one hundred years, one score and eight: A savage life he led and out of sight, Until impelled by love, the senior late By dint of gifts obtained a matron fair, Who secretly to him a daughter bare;

XIV "And to prevent the child from being won, As was erewhile the mother, that for gain Bartered her chastity, whose worth alone Excels what gold earth's ample veins contain, With her he from the ways of man is gone, And where he spies the loneliest place, his train Of demons forces, in enchantment skilled, This dome so spacious, fair, and rich, to build.

XV "By ancient and chaste dames he there made rear This daughter, that in sovereign beauty grew; Nor suffered her to see or even hear A man beside himself; and, for her view, — Lest lights should lack, whereby her course to steer — The senior every modest lady, who E'er on unlawful love the barrier shut, Made limn in picture, or in sculpture cut.

XVI "Nor he alone those virtuous dames, who, sage And chaste, had so adorned antiquity, Whose fame, preserved by the historic page, Is never doomed its dying day to see; But those as well that will in future age Everywhere beautify fair Italy, Made fashion in their well-known form and mien; As eight that round this fount by thee are seen.

XVII "What time the damsel ripe for husband shows, So that the fruit may now be gathered, I (Did chance or my misfortune so dispose?) Am worthiest found; and those broad lands that lie Without the walls which that fair town enclose, — The fishy flat no less than upland dry — Extending twenty miles about that water, He gives me for a dowry, with his daughter.

XVIII "She was so mannered, was so fair of hue, None could desire she other gifts should bring; So well to broider was she taught, and sew, Minerva knew not better; did she sing, Or play, or walk, to those that hear and view, She seems a heavenly, and no mortal thing; And in the liberal arts was skilled as well As her own sire, or scarce behind him fell.

XIX "With genius high and beauty no less bright, Which might have served the very stones to move, Such love, such sweetness did the maid unite, Thinking thereof meseems my heart is clove. She had no greater pleasure or delight Than being with me, did I rest or rove. Twas long ere we had any strife; in fine We quarrelled; and the fault, alas! was mine.

XX "Five years my consort's father had been dead, Since to that yoke I stooped, and pledged my vow; When in short time (the manner shall be said) Began the sorrows that I feel even now. While me with all his pinions overspread Love of the dame, whose praises thus I blow, A noble townswoman with love of me Was smit; more sorely smitten none could be.

XXI "She, in all magic versed, was of such skill As never was enchantress; by her say Moved solid earth, and made the sun stand still, Illumined gloomy night and darkened day: Yet never could she work upon my will, With salve I could not give, except with scathe Of her to whom erewhile I pledged my faith.

XXII "Not because she right gentle was and bright, Nor because I believed her love so true, Nor for large gift, nor promise often plight, Nor yet because she never ceased to sue, Could she from me obtain one spark of light From that first flame my gentle consort blew: So mates and masters every will in me The knowledge of my wife's fidelity.

XXIII "I in the hope, belief, and certitude My wife to me was faithful evermore, Should with contempt the beauty have eschewed Of that famed daughter which fair Leda bore; And all the wit and wealth wherewith was wooed The illustrious shepherd upon Ida hoar. But no repulse withal with her avails, Who me, for ever at my side, assails.

XXIV "One day that me beyond my palace sees That weird enchantress, who Melissa hight, And where she can discourse with me at ease, She finds a way whereby my peace to blight; And, goading me with evil jealousies, The faith I nursed at heart, she puts to flight. She 'gan commending my intent to be Faithful to her who faithful was to me.

XXV " 'But that she faithful is, ye cannot say, Save of her faith ye have assurance true; If she fails not withal, where fail she may, She faithful, modest may be deemed by you: But is she never from your side away, Is not permitted other man to view, How does this boldness come, that you would be The warrant of her untried modesty?

XXVI " 'Go forth awhile; go forth come from home alone; And be the bruit in town and village spread That she remains behind, and you are gone; Let lovers and let couriers have their head: If, unpersuaded still by prayer and boon, She does no outrage to the marriage bed; Though doing so she deem herself unseen, Then faithful you the dame may justly ween.'

XXVII "I with such words and such-like words was plied, Till so on me the shrewd enchantress wrought, I wished to see my consort's virtue tried By certain proof, and to the touchstone brought. — 'Now grant we (I to that witch-lady cried) She prove what cannot by myself be thought, How by some certain token can I read If she will merit punishment or meed?'

XXVIII " 'A drinking-cup will I for that assay Give you (she said) of virtue strange and rare: Such was for Arthur made by Morgue the fay, To make him of Genevra's fault aware. The chaste wife's lord thereof may drink; but they Drink not, whose wedded partners wanton are: For, when they would the cordial beverage sup, Into their bosom overflows the cup.

XXIX " 'Below departing, you the test shall try, And, to my thinking, now shall you drink clean; For clean as yet I think your consort, I: The event however shall by you be seen. Yet will I warrant not your bosom dry, Should you repeat the proof; for if, between The cup and lip, the liquor be not shed, You are the happiest wight that ever wed.'

XXX "The offer I accept, the vase to me Is given, and trial made with full success; For hitherto (as hoped) confirmed I see My gentle consort's worth and faithfulness. 'Leave her awhile (Melissa said), and be A month or twain a truant, more or less: Then homeward wend; again the goblet fill; And prove if you the beverage drink or spill.'

XXXI "I thought it hard to leave my consort's side; Not as so much about her truth in pain, As that I could nor for two days abide, Nay, not an hour without her could remain. '— You in another way (Melissa cried) Guided by me, the truth shall ascertain; Voice, vesture shall you change; and to her sight Present yourself, disguised like other wight.'

XXXII "Sir, a fair city nigh at hand, defends Twixt fierce and threatening horns the foaming Po; Whose jurisdiction to the shore extends, Where the sea's briny waters come and go: This yields in ancientry, but well contends With neighbouring towns in rich and gorgeous show: A Trojan remnant its foundations placed, Which scaped from Attila's destructive waste.

XXXIII "A rich, a youthful, and a handsome knight Bridles this city with his sovereign sway; Who, following a lost falcon in its flight, Entering by chance my dwelling on a day, Beheld my wife, who pleased him so at sight, He bore her impress in his heart away; Nor ceased to practise on her, with intent To incline the matron to his evil bent.

XXXIV "So often she repels the cavalier That finally his courtship is foregone; But her fair image graved by Love will ne'er Be razed from memory; me Melissa won (So well she soothed and flattered) of that peer The face and figure to the sight to don; And changed me — nor well how can I declare — In voice and visage and in eyes and hair.

XXXV "I, having to my lady made a show As eastward bound and gone, — like him that wooed, Her rich and youthful lover, altered so, His semblance, attended by Melissa, go, Into a page upon her side transmewed; Who the most costly jewels with her bore E'er brought form Ind, or Erithraean shore.

XXXVI "I enter safely, that my palace knew, And with me wends Melissa; and there I So wholly at her ease Madonna view, No woman or attendant squire is by. To her with suppliant prayer forthwith I sue, And next those goads to evil deed apply; Show emerald, ruby, diamond, that might serve; To make the firmest heart from honour swerve;

XXXVII "And I declare to her the gift is small To that, which she may hope to make her own; Then of the vantage speak, that from his hall Her husband at the present time is gone; And I how long it was to her recall, Since, as she knew, to her my love was shown; And that my loving with such faith, in the end Might worthily to some reward pretend.

XXXVIII "At first she was somedeal disturbed; became Like scarlet; nor would listen to my say; But seeing those bright jewels flash like flame, Her stubborn heart was softened, and gave way; And in brief speech and feeble said the dame What to remember takes my life away: She with my wishes, said, she would comply, If sure to be unseen of watchful eye.

XXXIX "Me my wife's words like poisoned weapon thrill, And pierce my suffering spirit through and through: Through bones and veins there went a deadly chill; My tongue clave to my throat: The witch withdrew With that the magic mantle, and at will Transformed me to mine ancient shape anew. — Bethink thee of what hue my wife became, Taken by me in such notorious shame!

XL "Of deadly hue we both of us remain; We both stand silent; both with downcast eye. So feeble is my tongue, that I with pain, So faint my voice, that I with pain can cry; 'Thou wouldst betray me then, O wife, for gain, If there was one that would my honour buy!' She nought replies; nor save by tears she speaks, Which furrow, as they fall, her woeful cheeks.

XLI "Shame stings her sore, but yet in sorer wise Wrath at the outrage I to her had done; And so without restraint it multiplies, And into rage and cruel hate is run, To fly from me forthwith does she devise; And, what time from his car dismounts the sun, Runs to the shore, aboard her pinnace wends, And all that night the stream in haste descends;

XLII "And she at morn presents herself before Him that had loved her once, the cavalier, Whose semblance and whose borrowed face I wore When, to my shame, I tempted her whilere. To him that loved, and loves her evermore, Her coming, it may be believed, is dear. From thence she bade me never entertain The hope she'd love me or be mine again.

XLIII "Alas! with him she swells in mickle glee Even from that day, and makes of me a jest; And of that evil which I brought on me I languish yet, and find no place of rest. Justly this growing ill my death will be, Of little remnant now of life possest. I well believe I in a year had died, But that a single comfort aid supplied.

XLIV "That comfort was; of all which harboured were Here for ten years (for still to every guest Beneath my roof I bade the vessel bear) Was none but with the wine had bathed his breast. To have so many comrades in my care, Some little soothes the griefs that so molest. Thou only of so many hast been wise, Who wouldst forbear the perilous emprize.

XLV "My wish, o'erpassing every fitting bound, To know what husband of his wife should know, Is cause, by me no quiet will be found, Whether my death be speedy of be slow. Thereat at first Melissa joys; but drowned Forthwith is her light mirth; for of my woe Esteeming her the cause, that dame so sore I hated, I would not behold her more.

XLVI "Impatient to be treated with disdain By me, — of her more loved than life, she said - Where she forthwith as mistress to remain Had hoped, when thence the other was conveyed, — Not to behold such present, cause of pain, Her own departure little she delayed; And went so far away, no further word By me was ever of that woman heard."

XLVII His tale the mournful cavalier so taught; And when he now had closed his history, With pity touched, somewhile immersed in thought Rinaldo mused, and after made reply: "Right ill advice to thee Melissa brought, Who moved three thus to anger wasps; and I Perceive in thee small wisdom, that wouldst sound A thing which thou wouldst gladly not have found.

XLVIII "If she, thy wife, by avarice was inclined To break her faith and be to thee untrue, Muse not: nor first nor last of womankind, She, worsted, from such cruel war withdrew; And by a meaner bribe yet firmer mind Is even tempted fouler deed to do. Of men, of how many we hear, that sold Their patrons and their friends for sordid gold?

XLIX "With such fierce arms thou ill didst her assail, If to behold a brave defence thou sought. Knowst thou not, against gold of no avail Is stone, or steel to hardest temper wrought? Meseems that thou in tempting her didst fail More than herself, that was so quickly caught. I know not, had she tempted thee as much, If thou, thyself, hadst better stood the touch."

L Here ends Rinaldo, and — the parley done — Rises and to his rest desires to go: Awhile will he repose; and then be gone, An hour or two before the daylight show. But little time has Aymon's warlike son; Nor idly will that little time bestow. To him the mansion's master made reply, He in his house might at his pleasure lie.

LI For bed and bower, within, were ready dight; But — would he take his counsel for his guide — In comfort might he sleep throughout the night. And yet advance some miles; "For thou," he cried, "Shalt have a pinnace, that with rapid flight And without risque shall with the current glide. Therein shalt thou all night pursue thy way, And on thy journey gain withal a day."

LII Good seemed that proffer in Rinaldo's eyes, And to the courteous host large thanks he paid; Then for the pinnace which that lord supplies, That waits him with her crew, the warrior made. Here, at full ease reclined, Rinaldo lies, While with the stream his frigate is conveyed; Which, by six oars impelled, flies fast and fair, And cleaves the water, as a bird the air.

LIII As soon as he reclines his weary head, Asleep is Mount Albano's cavalier; Having erewhile that they shall wake him, said, As soon as they Ferrara's city near. Melara lies left of that river's bed, Sermide to the right; they in their rear Next leave Stellata and Figarolo, Where his two horns are lowered by angry Po.

LIV Of those two horns that which t'ward Venice goes Rinaldo's pilot left, and took the right; Then the Bodeno past. Already shows Faintly the eastern blue, and fades from sight; For now Aurora from her basket throws All her rich flowers, and paints it red and white; When viewing the two castles of Tealdo, Again his head uplifts the good Rinaldo.

LV "O happy town! whereof" (the warrior cried) "Spake Malagigi, having, far and near, The fixt and wandering fires of heaven espied, And forced some subject spirit to appear, To me foretelling that in future tide, — What time with him I took his way whilere — Even to such pitch thy glorious fame should rise, Thou from all Italy wouldst bear the prize."

LVI So saying, in his barge he all this while Hurries, as if the bark with pinions flew, Scowering the king of rivers, to that isle Nearest the town; and, though it not to view (Deserted and neglected then) doth smile, This yet rejoices to behold anew; Nor makes small mirth thereat; because aware Hereafter how adorned 'twill be and fair.

LVII Before when he with him that way had gone, From Malagigi, his cousin, did he hear That when seven hundred times his course had run, Circling the heaven in Aries, the fourth sphere, Of islands this should be the fairest one In sea, or pool, or river, far and near, So that who this beheld, would brook no more To hear that praised which fair Nausicaa bore.

LVIII He heard, it in fair mansions would outdo That island which Tiberius held so dear; And trees that in Hesperian gardens grew Would yield to what this beauteous place should bear; — So rare its race of beasts — no fairer shew Herded or housed erewhile by Circe were; Venus with Loves and Graces there should sport, Nor more in Gnide and Cyprus keep her court;

LIX And so would flourish through his study and care, Who will with knowledge and with power should blend; And who so safely should that bright repair With circling wall and sheltering dyke defend, The united world's assault it well might dare, Nor call on foreign power its aid to lend; And that Duke Hercules' sire and Hercules' son Was he by whom this marvel should be done.

LX So wends the warrior summing in his mind What erst to him had told his cousin wise; What time the sage of future things divined, Whereof with him he often wont devize; And aye contemplating that city blind, "How can it ever be," Rinaldo cries, "That in all liberal and all worthy arts Shall flourish so these waste and watery parts?

LXI "And that to city of such amplitude And beauty such a petty burgh should grow, And where but marsh and miry pool is viewed, Henceforth should full and fruitful harvests glow? Even now I rise, to hail the gentle blood, The love, the courtesy thy lords shall show, O thou fair city, in succeeding years; Thy burghers' honours and thy cavaliers'.

LXII "The grace ineffable of powers above, Thy princes' wisdom and their love of right, Shall with perpetual peace, perpetual love Preserve thee in abundance and delight; And a defence from all the fury prove Of such as hate thee; and unmask their spite. Be thy content thy neighbours' wide annoy, Rather than thou shouldst envy other's joy!"

LXIII While thus Rinaldo speaks, so swiftly borne By the quick current flies that nimble yawl; Not to the lure more swiftly makes return The falcon, hurrying at his lord's recall. Thenceforth the right-hand branch of the right horn Rinaldo takes; and hid are roof and wall: St. George recedes; recede from that swift boat The turrets OF GAIBANA and OF THE MOAT.

LXIV Montalban's martial lord (as it befell, That thought moved thought, which others moved again) In memory chances on the knight to dwell, That him at supper late did entertain; That, through this city's cause, the truth to tell, Hath reason evermore to be in pain; And of the magic vessel him bethinks Which shows his consort's guilt to him that drinks;

LXV And him bethinks therewith of what the knight Related; how of all that he had tried, Who of his goblet drank, there was no wight But split the wine he to his lips would guide. Now he repents him; now, "'Tis my delight," (Mutters) "that I the proof would not abide: Succeeding I should prove but what I thought; And not succeeding, to what pass am brought!