Canto 12
ARGUMENTOrlando, full of rage, pursues a knightWho bears by force his lady-love away,And comes where old Atlantes, by his sleightHad raised a dome, Rogero there to stay.Here too Rogero comes; where getting sightOf his lost love, the County strives in frayWith fierce Ferrau, and, after slaughter fellAmid the paynim host, finds Isabel.
ICeres, when from the Idaean dame in hasteReturning to the lonely valley, whereEnceladus the Aetnaean mountain placedOn his bolt-smitten flanks, is doomed to bear,Her girl she found not, on that pathless waste,By her late quitted, having rent her hair,And marked cheeks, eyes, and breast, with livid signs,At the end of her lament tore up two pines,
IIAnd lit at Vulcan’s fire the double brand,And gave them virtue never to be spent;And, afterwards, with one in either hand,Drawn by two dragons, in her chariot went,Searching the forest, hill, and level land,Field, valley, running stream, or water pent,The land and sea; and having searched the shellOf earth above, descended into hell.
IIIHad Roland of Eleusis’ deityThe sovereign power possessed no less than will,He for Angelica had land and seaRansacked, and wood and field, and pool and rill,Heaven, and Oblivion’s bottom: but since heHad not, his pressing purpose to fulfil,Her dragon and her car, the unwearied knightPursued the missing maid as best he might.
IVThrough France he sought her, and will seek her throughThe realms of Italy and of Almayn,And thence through the Castiles, both old and new,So passing into Libya out of Spain.While bold Orlando has this plan in view,He hears, or thinks he hears, a voice complain:He forward spurs, and sees on mighty steedA warrior trot before him on the mead;
VWho in his arms a captive damsel bears,Sore grieving, and across the pommel laid;She weeps and struggles, and the semblance wearsOf cruel woe, and ever calls for aidUpon Anglantes’ prince; and now appearsTo him, as he surveys the youthful maid,She, for whom, night and day, with ceaseless pain,Inside and out, he France had searched in vain.
VII say not is, but that she to the sightSeems the Angelica he loves so dear.He who is lady-love and goddess’ flightBeholds, borne off in such afflicted cheer,Impelled by fury foul, and angry spite,Calls back with horrid voice the cavalier;Calls back the cavalier, and threats in vain,And Brigliadoro drives with flowing rein.
VIIThat felon stops not, nor to him replies,On his great gain intent, his glorious prey;And with such swiftness through the greenwood hies,Wind would not overtake him on his way.The one pursues while him the other flies,And with lament resounds the thicket gray.They issue in a spacious mead, on whichAppears a lofty mansion, rare and rich.
VIIIOf various marbles, wrought with subtle care,Is the proud palace. He who fast in holdBears off upon his arm the damsel fair,Sore pricking, enters at a gate of gold.Nor Brigliador is far behind the pair,Backed by Orlando, angry knight and bold.Entering, around Orlando turns his eyes,Yet neither cavalier nor damsel spies.
IXHe suddenly dismounts, and thundering faresThrough the inmost palace, seeking still his foe,And here and there in restless rage repairs,Till he has seen each bower, each galleried row;With the same purpose he ascends the stairs,Having first vainly searched each room below.Nor spends less labour, on his task intent,Above, than he beneath had vainly spent.
XHere beds are seen adorned with silk and gold;Nor of partition aught is spied or wall:For these, and floor beneath, throughout that hold,Are hid by curtains and by carpets all.Now here, now there, returns Orlando bold,Nor yet can glad his eyes, in bower or hall,With the appearance of the royal maid,Or the foul thief by whom she was conveyed.
XIThis while, as here and there in fruitless painHe moves, oppressed with thought and trouble sore,Gradasso, Brandimart, and him of Spain,Ferrau, he finds, with Sacripant and more;Who ever toiling, like himself, in vainAbove, that building, and beneath explore,And as they wander, curse with one accordThe malice of the castle’s viewless lord.
XIIAll in pursuit of the offender speed,And upon him some charge of robbery lay:One knight complains that he has stolen his steed,One that he has purloined his lady gay.Other accuses him of other deed:And thus within the enchanted cage they stay,Nor can depart; while in the palace pent,Many have weeks and months together spent.
XIIIRoland, when he round that strange dome had pacedFour times or six, still vainly seeking, saidWithin himself, at last, “I here might wasteMy time and trouble, still in vain delayed,While haply her the robber whom I chasedHas far away, through other gate conveyed.”So thinking, from the house he issued outInto the mead which girt the dome about.
XIVWhile Roland wanders round the sylvan Hall,Still holding close his visage to the ground,To see if recent print or trace withalCan, right or left, upon the turf be found,He from a neighbouring window hears a call,And looks, and thinks he hears that voice’s sound,And thinks he sees the visage by which heWas so estranged from what he wont to be.
XVHe thinks he hears Angelica, and she“Help, help!” entreating cries, and weeping sore,“More than for life and soul, alas! of theeProtection for my honour I implore.Then shall it in my Roland’s presence beRavished by this foul robber? Oh! beforeMe to such miserable fate you leave,Let me from your own hand my death receive!”
XVIThese words repeated once, and yet again,Made Roland through each chamber, far and near,Return with passion, and with utmost pain;But tempered with high hope. Sometimes the peerStopt in his search and heard a voice complain,Which seemed to be Angelica’s: if hereThe restless warrior stand, it sounds from there,And calls for help he knows not whence nor where,
XVIIReturning to Rogero, left, I said,When through a gloomy path, upon his steed,Following the giant and the dame who fled,He from the wood had issued on the mead;I say that he arrived where Roland dreadArrived before him, if I rightly read.The giant through the golden portal passed,Rogero close behind, who followed fast.
XVIIIAs soon as he his foot has lifted o’erThe threshold, he through court and gallery spies;Nor sees the giant or the lady more,And vainly glances here and there his eyes.He up and down returns with labour sore,Yet not for that his longing satisfies;Nor can imagine where the felon thiefHas hid himself and dame in space so brief.
XIXAfter four times or five he so had woundAbove, below, through bower and gallery fair,He yet returned, and, having nothing found,Searched even to the space beneath the stair.At length, in hope they in the woodlands roundMight be, he sallied; but the voice, which thereRoland recalled, did him no less recall,And made as well return within the Hall.
XXOne voice, one shape, which to Anglantes’ peerSeemed his Angelica, beseeching aid.Seemed to Rogero Dordogne’s lady dear.Who him a truant to himself had made:If with Gradasso, or with other nearHe spake, of those who through the palace strayed.To all of them the vision, seen apart,Seemed that which each had singly most at heart.
XXIThis was a new and unwonted spell,Which the renowned Atlantes had composed,That in this toil, this pleasing pain, might dwellSo long Rogero, by these walls enclosed,From him should pass away the influence fell,—Influence which him to early death exposed.Though vain his magic tower of steel, and vainAlcina’s art, Atlantes plots again.
XXIINot only he, but others who stood highFor valour, and in France had greatest fame,That by their hands Rogero might not die,Brought here by old Atlantes’ magic came:While these in the enchanted mansion lie,That food be wanting not to knight or dame,He has supplied the dome throughout so well,That all the inmates there in plenty dwell.
XXIIIBut to Angelica return we, whoNow of that ring so wondrous repossessed,(Which, in her mouth, concealed the maid from view,Preserved from spell when it the finger pressed,)Was in the mountain-cavern guided toWhatever needed, viands, mare, and vest,And had conceived the project to pursueHer way to her fair Indian realm anew.
XXIVKing Sacripant, or Roland, willinglyThe damsel would have taken for her guide;Not that, propitious to their wishes, she(Averse from both) inclined to either side;But, since her eastern journey was to beThrough town and city, scattered far and wide,She needed company, and ill had foundMore trusty guides than these for such a round.
XXVNow this, now that she sought with fruitless care,Before she lit on either warrior’s trace,By city or by farm, now here, now there,In forest now, and now in other place.Fortune, at length, where caged with Roland areFerrau and Sacripant, directs her chase;Rogero, with Gradasso fierce, and more,Noosed with strange witcheries by Atlantes hoar.
XXVIShe enters, hidden from the enchanter’s eyes,And by the ring concealed, examines all;And Roland there, and Sacripant espies,Intent to seek her vainly through the Hall;And with her image cheating both, descriesAtlantes old. The damsel doubts withalWhich of the two to take, and long revolvesThis in her doubtful thought, nor well resolves.
XXVIIShe knows not which with her will best accord,The Count Orlando or Circassia’s knight.As of most powers, her would Rogero wardIn passage perilous, with better might.But should she make the peer her guide, her lord,She knew not if her champion she could slight,If him she would depress with altered cheer,Or into France send back the cavalier:
XXVIIIBut Sacripant at pleasure could depose,Though him she had uplifted to the sky.Hence him alone she for her escort chose,And feigned to trust in his fidelity.The ring she from her mouth withdraws, and showsHer face, unveiled to the Circassian’s eye:She thought to him alone; but fierce FerrauAnd Roland came upon the maid, and saw.
XXIXFerrau and Roland came upon the maid;For one and the other champion equallyWithin the palace and without it strayedIn quest of her, who was their deity.And now, no longer by the enchantment stayed,Each ran alike towards the dame, for sheHad placed the ring upon her hand anew,Which old Atlantes’ every scheme o’erthrew.
XXXHelm on the head and corselet on the breastOf both the knights, of whom I sing, was tied;By night or day, since they into this restHad entered, never doffed and laid aside:For such to wear were easy as a vest,To these, so wont the burden to abide.As well was armed, except with iron masque,Ferrau, who wore not, nor would wear, a casque.
XXXITill he had that erst wrested by the peer,Orlando, from the brother of Troyane;For so had sworn the Spanish cavalier,What time he Argalia’s helm in vainSought in the brook; yet though the count was near,Has not stretched forth his hand the prize to gain.For so it was, that neither of the pairCould recognise the other knight while there.
XXXIIUpon the enchanted dome lay such a spell,That they from one another were concealed;They doffed not, night nor day, the corselet’s shell,Not sword, nor even put aside the shield.Saddled, with bridle hanging at the sell,Their steeds were feeding, ready for the field,Within a chamber, near the palace door,With straw and barley heaped in plenteous store.
XXXIIINor might nor mean in old Atlantes liesTo stop the knights from mounting, who repairTo their good steeds, to chase the bright black eyes,The fair vermillion cheeks and golden hairOf the sweet damsel, who before them flies,And goads to better speed her panting mare;Ill pleased the three assembled to discern,Though haply she had taken each in turn.
XXXIVAnd when these from the magic palace sheHad ticed so far, that she no more supposedThe warriors to the wicked fallacyOf the malign enchanter were exposed,The ring, which more than once from miseryHad rescued her, she ‘twixt her lips enclosed,Hence from their sight she vanished in a thought,And left them wondering there, like men distraught.
XXXVAlthough she first the scheme had entertainedRoland or Sacripant to have released,To guide her thither, where her father reigned,King Galaphron, who ruled i’ the farthest East,The aid of both she suddenly disdained,And in an instant from her project ceased;And deemed, without more debt to count or king,In place of either knight sufficed the ring.
XXXVIIn haste, they through the forest, here and there,So scorned of her, still gaze with stupid face;Like questing hound which loses sight of hareOr fox, of whom he late pursued the trace,Into close thicket, ditch, or narrow lair,Escaping from the keen pursuer’s chase.Meantime their ways the wanton Indian queenObserves, and at their wonder laughs unseen.
XXXVIIIn the mid wood, where they the maid did lose,Was but a single pathway, left or right;Which they believed the damsel could not chooseBut follow, when she vanished from their sight.Ferrau halts not, and Roland fast pursues,Nor Sacripant less plies the rowels bright.Angelica, this while, retrains her steed,And follows the three warriors with less speed.
XXXVIIIWhen pricking thus they came to where the wayWas in the forest lost, with wood o’ergrown,And had begun the herbage to surveyFor print of recent footsteps, up and down,The fierce Ferrau, who might have borne awayFrom all that ever proudest were, the crown,With evil countenance, to the other twoTurned him about, and shouted “Whence are you?”
XXXIX“Turn back or take another road, save here,In truth, you covet to be slain by me.Nor when I chase or woo my lady dear,Let any think I bear with company.”And—“What more could he say, sir cavalier,”(Orlando cried to Sacripant) “if weWere known for the two basest whores that pullAnd reel from spindle-staff the matted wool?”
XLThen turning to Ferrau,, “But that thine head,Thou brutish sot, as I behold, is bare,If thy late words were ill or wisely said,Thou should’st perceive, before we further fare.”To him Ferrau: “For that which breeds no dreadIn me, why should’st thou take such sovereign care?What I have said unhelmed will I prove true,Here, single as I am, on both of you.”
XLI“Oh!” (to Circassia’s king cried Roland dread)“Thy morion for this man let me entreat,Till I have driven such folly from his head;For never with like madness did I meet.”—“Who then would be most fool?” the monarch said;“But if indeed you deem the suit discreet,Lend him thine own; nor shall I be less fitHaply than thee to school his lack of wit.”
XLII—“Fools, both of you!” (the fierce Ferrau replied)“As if, did I to wear a helm delight,You would not be without your casques of pride,Already reft by me in your despite;But know thus much, that I by vow am tiedTo wear no helm, and thus my promise quite;Roaming without, till that fine casque I winWorn by Orlando, Charles’s paladin.”
XLIII—“Then” (smiling, to the Spaniard said the count)“With naked head, thou thinkest to repeatOn Roland what he did in Aspramont,By Agolant’s bold son: but shouldst thou meetThe warrior whom thou seekest, front to front,I warrant thou wouldst quake from head to feet;Nor only wouldst forego the casque, but giveThe knight thine other arms to let thee live.”
XLIV—“So oft have I had Roland on the hip,And oft,” (exclaimed the boaster) “heretofore;From him it had been easy task to stripWhat other arms, beside his helm, he wore;And if I still have let the occasion slip,—We sometimes think of things unwished before:Such wish I had not; I have now; and hopeTo compass easily my present scope.”
XLVThe good Orlando could no more forbear,And cried, “Foul miscreant, liar, marched with me,Say, caitiff, in what country, when and whereBoast you to have obtained such victory?That paladin am I, o’er whom you dareTo vaunt, and whom you distant deemed: now seeIf you can take my helm, or I have mightTo take your other arms in your despite.
XLVI“Nor I o’er you the smallest vantage wou’d.”He ended, and his temples disarrayed,And to a beech hung up the helmet good,And nigh as quickly bared his trenchant blade.Ferrau stands close, and in such attitude,(His courage not for what had chanced dismayed)Covered with lifted shield and naked sword,As might best shelter to his head afford.
XLVII’Twas thus those warriors two, with faulchions bare,Turning their ready steeds, began to wheel;And where the armour thinnest was, and whereThe meeting plates were joined, probed steel with steel;Nor was there in the world another pairMore fitted to be matched in fierce appeal:Equal their daring, equal was their might,And safe alike from wound was either knight.
XLVIIIBy you, fair sir, already, I presume,That fierce Ferrau was charmed is understood,Save where the child, enclosed within the wombOf the full mother, takes its early food;And hence he ever, till the squalid tombCovered his manly face, wore harness good(Such was his wont) the doubtful part to guard,Of seven good plates of metal, tempered hard.
XLIXAlike a charmed life Orlando bore,Safe every where, except a single part:Unfenced beneath his feet, which evermoreBy him were guarded with all care and art.The rest than diamond dug from mountain hoarMore hard, unless report from truth depart;And armed to battle either champion went,Less for necessity than ornament.
LWaxing more fierce and fell the combat rages,Of fear and horror full, between the twain:The fierce Ferrau such dreadful battle wages,That stroke or thrust is never dealt in vain:Each mighty blow from Roland disengagesAnd loosens, breaks, or shatters, plate and chain.Angelica alone, secure from view,Regards such fearful sight, and marks the two.
LIFor, during this, the king of Circassy,Who deemed Angelica not far before,When Ferrau and Orlando desperatelyClosing in fight were seen, his horse did goreAlong the way by which he deemed that sheHad disappeared; and so that battle soreWas witnessed ‘twixt the struggling foes, by none,Beside the daughter of king Galaphron.
LIIAfter the damsel had sometime descriedThis dread and direful combat, standing nigh;And it appearing that on either sideWith equal peril both the warriors vie,She, fond of novelty, the helm untiedDesigns to take; desirous to espyWhat they would do when they perceived the wrong;But, without thought to keep her plunder long.
LIIITo give it to Orlando was she bent,But first she would upon the warrior play:The helmet she took down with this intentAnd in her bosom hid, and marked the fray:Next thence, without a word to either went,And from the scene of strife was far awayEre either of the two had marked the feat;So were they blinded by their angry heat.
LIVBut Ferrau, who first chanced the loss to see,From Roland disengaged himself, and cried,“How like unwary men and fools are weTreated by him, who late with us did ride!What meed, which worthiest of the strife might be,If this be stolen, the victor shall abide?”Roland draws back, looks upward, and with ire,Missing the noble casque, is all on fire:
LVAnd in opinion with Ferrau agreed,That he the knight, who was with them before,Had born away the prize: hence turned his steed.And with the spur admonished Brigliador.Ferrau, who from the field beheld him speed.Followed him, and when Roland and the MoorArrived where tracks upon the herbage greenOf the Circassian and the maid were seen,
LVITowards a vale upon the left the countWent off, pursuing the Circassian’s tread;The Spaniard kept the path more nigh the mount,By which the fair Angelica had fled.Angelica, this while, has reached a fount,Of pleasant site, and shaded overhead;By whose inviting shades no traveller hasted,Nor ever left the chrystal wave untasted.
LVIIAngelica, the sylvan spring beside,Reposes, unsuspicious of surprise;And thinking her the sacred ring will hide,Fears not that evil accident can rise.On her arrival at the fountain’s side,She to a branch above the helmet ties;Then seeks the fittest sapling for her need,Where, fastened to its trunk, her mare may feed.
LVIIIThe Spanish cavalier the stream besideArrived, who had pursued her traces there:Angelica no sooner him espied,Than she evanished clean, and spurred her mare:The helm this while had dropt, but lay too wideTo be recovered of the flying fair.As soon as sweet Angelica he saw,Towards her full of rapture sprang Ferrau.
LIXShe disappeared, I say, as forms avauntAt sleep’s departure: toiling long and soreHe seeks the damsel there, ‘twixt plant and plant,Now can his wretched eyes behold her more.Blaspheming his Mahound and Termagant,And cursing every master of his lore,Ferrau returned towards the sylvan fount,Where lay on earth the helmet of the count.
LXThis he soon recognised, for here he readLetters upon the margin, written fair,Which how Orlando won the helmet said;And from what champion took, and when and where.With it the paynim armed his neck and head,Who would not for his grief the prize forbear;His grief for loss of her, conveyed from sight,As disappear the phantoms of the night.
LXIWhen in this goodly casque he was arrayed,He deemed nought wanting to his full content,But the discovery of the royal maid,Who like a flash of lightning came and went:For her he searches every greenwood shade,And when all hope of finding her is spent,He for the vain pursuit no longer tarries,But to the Spanish camp returns near Paris;
LXIITempering the grief which glowed within his breast,For such sore disappointment, with the thoughtThat he was with Orlando’s morion blest,As sworn. By good Anglante’s count, when taughtThat the false Saracen the prize possest,Long time the Spanish knight was vainly sought;Nor Roland took the helmet from his head,Till he between two bridges laid him dead.
LXIIIAngelica thus, viewless and alone,Speeds on her journey, but with troubled front;Grieved for the helmet, in her haste foregoneOn her departure from the grassy fount.“Choosing to do what I should least have done,”(She said) “I took his helmet from the count.This for his first desert I well bestow;A worthy recompense for all I owe!
LXIV“With good intentions, as God knows, I wrought;Though these an ill and different end produce;I took the helmet only with the thoughtTo bring that deadly battle to a truce;And not that this foul Spaniard what he soughtShould gain, or I to his intent conduce.”So she, lamenting, took herself to taskFor having robbed Orlando of his casque.
LXVBy what appeared to her the meetest way,Moody and ill-content she eastward pressed;Ofttimes concealed, sometimes in face of day,As seemed most opportune and pleased her best.After much country seen, a forest grayShe reached, where, sorely wounded in mid breast,Between two dead companions on the ground,The royal maid a bleeding stripling found.
LXVIBut of Angelica I now no moreShall speak, who first have many things to say;Nor shall to the Circassian or the MoorGive for long space a rhyme; thence called awayBy good Anglante’s prince, who wills, beforeI of those others tell, I should displayThe labours and the troubles he sustained,Pursuing the great good he never gained.
LXVIIAt the first city, whither he was brought(Because to go concealed he had good care),He a new helmet donned; but took no thoughtWhat was the head-piece he designed to bear.So safe is he in fairy spell, it noughtImports, if hard or soft its temper were.Orlando, covered thus, pursues the quest,Nor him day, night, or rain, or sun arrest.
LXVIIIIt was the hour that our of Ocean’s bedDan Phoebus drew his dripping steeds, and highAnd low, still scattering yellow flowers and red,Aurora stained the heavens with various dye,And Stars had cast their veils about their head,Departing from their revels in the sky;When passing on a day fair Paris near,Orlando made his mighty worth appear.
LXIXTwo squadrons he encountered; one an oldSaracen, Manilardo clept, obeyed;King of Noritia, whilom fierce and bold.But fitter now to counsel than to aid.The next beneath the standard was enrolledOr Tremisena’s monarch, who was said‘Mid Africans to be a perfect knight;Alzirdo he by those who knew him, hight:
LXXThese, with the other Saracen array,Cantoned throughout the winter months had lain,Some near the city, some more far away,All lodged nigh town or hamlet on the plain.For since King Agramant had many a daySpent in attacking Paris’ walls in vain,He (for no other means remained to try)Would lastly with a siege the city ply;
LXXIAnd to do this had people infinite:Since he, beside the host that with him came,And that of Spain which followed to the fightThe Spanish King Marsilius’ oriflame,Many of France did in his pay unite:For all from Paris he to Arles’s stream,With part of Gascony, some straggling towerExcepted, had reduced beneath his power.
LXXIIThe quivering brook, as warmer breezes blew,Beginning now from ice its waves to free,And the fresh-springing grass and foliage new,To cloathe again the field and greenwood tree,All those King Agramant assembled, whoHad followed him in his prosperity;To muster in review the armed swarm,And give to his affairs a better form:
LXXIIIHence did the King of Tremisen’ repair,With him who had Noritia in command,To be in time at that full muster, whereEach squadron, good or bad, was to be scannedOrlando thus by chance encountered there,As I have told you, this united hand;Who, as his usage was, went seeking her,By whom he had been made Love’s prisoner.
LXXIVAlzirdo, as the approaching count he eyes,Who in this world for valour has no peer,With such a haughty front, and in such guise,The God of war would less in arms appear,The features known before astounded spies,The fierce, disdainful glance and furious cheer;And him esteems a knight of prowess high,Which, fondly, he too sore desires to try.
LXXVArrogant, young, and of redoubted force,Alzirdo was, and prized for dauntless mind;Who bent to joust pricked forth his foaming horse,Happier had he remained in line behind!Met by Anglante’s prince in middle course,Who pierced his heart as they encountering joined.Frighted, the lightened courser scoured the plain,Without a rider to direct the rein.
LXXVIRises a sudden and a horrid cry,And air on every side repeats the scream;As his scared band the falling youth descry,And issuing from his wound so wide a stream:Disordered, they the count in fury ply,And, raised to cut or thrust, their weapons gleam.Against that flower of knights, their feathered reeds,A thicker squadron yet in tempest speeds.
LXXVIIWith sound like that, with which from hill repair,Or from the champaign’s flat the hurrying swine,(If the Wolf, issue from his grot, or Bear,Descending to the mountains’ lower line,Some bristly youngling take away and tear,Who with loud squeal and grunt is heard to pine)Came driving at the count the barbarous rout;“Upon him!” and “upon him!” still their shout.
LXXVIIIAt once spears, shafts, and swords, his corslet boreBy thousands, and as many pierce his shield.This threatens on one side, and that before,And those the ponderous mace behind him wield.But he esteems the craven rout no more.He, who did never yet to terror yield,Than hungry Wolf in twilight makes accountTo what the number of the flock may mount.
LXXIXHe held unsheathed that thundering sword in hand,Which with so many foes has heaped the plain,That he who thinks to count the slaughtered band,Has undertaken, hard emprize and vain.The road ran red, ensanguined by his brand,And scarce capacious of the many slain.For neither targe nor head-piece good defends,Where fatal Durindana’s blade descends.
LXXXNor safety cotton vest, nor cloths supply,In thousand folds about the temples spread:Nor only groan and lamentation flyThrough air, but shoulder, arm, and severed head,Death roams the field in strange varietyOf horrid forms, and all inspiring dread;And says, “For hundreds of my scythes may standHis Durindana in Orlando’s hand.”
LXXXIHis ceaseless strokes scarce one the other wait:Speedily all his foemen are in flight.And when before they came at furious rate,They hoped to swallow quick the single knight.None is there who, in that unhappy straight,Stops for his comrade, flying from the fight.Here one man speeds afoot, one gallops there;None stays to question if the road be fair.
LXXXIIHis mirror Valour bore about, and hereEach blemish of the soul was seen confest:None looked therein, except an aged peer,Whose blood was chilled, but courage unreprest.That death were better deems this cavalierThan life in flight, and in disgrace possest:I mean Noritia’s king, who lays his lanceIn rest against the paladin of France;
LXXXIIIHe broke it on the border of the shieldOf the intrepid count, with stedfast hand,Who, by the stroke unshaken, nothing reeled:And smote the king, in passing, with his brand.Him Fortune saved; for as Orlando wheeledThe blade, it turned, descending, in his hand.Although an-edge he guides not still the sword,Stunned from his saddle reels the paynim lord.
LXXXIVAstounded from his saddle reels the king,Nor him Orlando turns about to see.He cuts, and cleaves, and slays his following;Who all believe him at their backs to be.As through the spacious air, with troubled wing,The starlings from the daring merlin flee;So, of that broken squadron, scattered round,Some fly, some dip, and some fall flat to ground.
LXXXVHe ceased not his ensanguined blade to swayTill living wight remained not in his view.Orlando doubted to resume his way,Although the country all about he knew.Does he the right or left-hand road assay,His thoughts still rove from what his steps pursue,And he to seek the damsel is in dreadThrough other path than that by which she fled.
LXXXVIThrough wood and field his courser did he goad,Often inquiring for the royal dame:Beside himself, he strayed beside his road,And to the foot of rising mountain came,Whence (it was night-time) through a fissure glowedThe distant flicker of a quivering flame.Orlando to the rock approached, to spyIf there Angelica concealed might lie.
LXXXVIIAs where low junipers o’er shade her lair,Or in the stubble of the open lay,What time the hunters seek the fearful hareThrough traversed woods, and through uncertain way,—Lest peradventure she be hidden there,They every bramble, every bush assay;Even so, where hope the toiling warrior leads,Searching his lady-love, Orlando speeds.
LXXXVIIIPricking in haste towards that ray, the countArrived where in the wood the light was shed,Forth-streaming from a crevice in the mount,Within whose womb a spacious grotto spread;And there, like wall or bank, discerned in front,Of thorns and underwood a bristly bed,To hide the grotto’s inmates, and defendFrom scathe or scorn, which others might intend.
LXXXIXBy day it had been hidden evermore;But the clear flame betrayed the haunt by night.Its use he guessed; but would the place explore,And better certify himself by sight.When he without had tied his Brigliador,In silence to the grotto stole the knight;Threading the shrubs; nor calling for a guide,Entered the passage in the mountain’s side.
XCBy a long flight of steps was the descentInto the cave; where, in the rocky tomb,Buried were living folk. Of wide extent,The grot was chiselled into vaulted room;Nor was, although its entrance little lent,All daylight wanting to disperse the gloom:For much was furnished by a window dight,Within a natural fissure on the right.
XCIIn the mid cave, beside a fire was seenA gentle maid of pleasing look and guise;Who seemed to Roland little past fifteen,As far as at first sight he might surmise.With that so fair she made the rugged sceneSeem in the warrior’s sight a paradise.Although this while her eyes with tears o’erflow,Clear tokens of a heart oppressed with woe.
XCIIAn aged dame was with her, and the pairWrangled, as oftentimes is women’s way;But when the County was descending there,Concluded the dispute and wordy fray.Orlando hastens to salute them fair(As still is due to womankind) and theyTo welcome him rise lightly form their seat,And with benign return the warrior greet.
XCIII’Tis true, that when that sudden voice they hear,Somedeal confused in look they seem to be,At the same time beholding thus appearSo fierce a wight, and harnessed cap-a-pee.“What wight” (demands Anglantes’ cavalier)So barbarous is, and void of courtesy,That he keeps buried, in this rude repair,A face so gentle and so passing fair?”
XCIVWith pain the virgin to the count replies,As he inquires of her unhappy doom,In sweet and broken accents, which by sighsImpelled, through rows of pearl and coral come:And between rose and lily, from her eyesTears fall so fast, she needs must swallow some.In other canto, sir, be pleased to attendThe rest, for here ’tis time my strain should end.