Canto 39
ARGUMENTAgramant breaks the pact, is overthrown,And forced fair France for Afric to forego.Meanwhile Astolpho in Biserta’s townHaving with numerous host besieged the foe,By hazard there arrives bold Milo’s son,To whom the duke, instructed how to do,Restores his wits. At sea does Dudon meetKing Agramant, and sore annoys his fleet.
IThan that fell woe which on Rogero weighsHarder, and bitterer pain forsooth is none,Which upon flesh and more on spirit preys:For of two deaths there is no scaping one.Him, if in strife o’erlaid, Rinaldo slays,Bradamant, if Rinaldo is outdone:For if he killed her brother, well he knewHer hate, than death more hateful, would ensue.
IIRinaldo, unimpeded by such thought,Strove in all ways Rogero to o’erthrow;Fierce and despiteous whirled his axe, and soughtNow in the arms, now head, to wound the foe.Rogero circled here and there, and caughtUpon his weapon’s shaft the coming blow;And, if ever smote, aye strove to smiteWhere he should injure least Montalban’s knight.
IIITo most of them that led the paynim bands,But too unequal seemed the fierce assay.Too slowly young Rogero plied his hands;Too well Rinaldo kept the Child at bay.With troubled face the king of Afric stands:He sighed, and breathless gazed upon the fray;And all the blame of that ill counsel flungOn King Sobrino’s head, from whom it sprung.
IVMeanwhile the weird Melissa, she—the fontOf all that wizards or enchanters know—Had by her art transformed her female front,And taken Argier’s mighty shape; in showAnd gesture she appeared as Rodomont,And seemed, like him, in dragon’s hide to go:Such was her belied sword and such her shield;Nor aught was wanting which he wore afield.
VShe towards Troyano’s mournful son did guide,In form of courser, a familiar sprite,And with a troubled visage loudly cried,“My liege, this is too foul an oversight,A stripling boy in peril yet untried,Against a Gaul, so stout and famed in fight,Your champion in so fierce a strife to make;Where Afric’s realm and honour are at stake.
VI“Let not this battle be pursued, my lord,In that ‘twould cost our Moorish cause too dear.Let sin of broken faith and forfeit wordFall upon Rodomont! take thou no fear!Let each now show the metal of his sword,Each for a hundred stands when I am here.”So upon Agramant this counsel wrought,That king pressed forward without further thought.
VIIHe, thinking that the monarch of AlgiersIs with him, of the pact has little care;And would not rate a thousand cavaliersSo high, if handed in his aid they were.Hence steeds reined-in and spurred, hence levelled spearsAre seen in one short instant here and there.Melissa, when the hosts are mixed in fightBy her false phantoms, vanishes from sight.
VIIIThe champions two, that, against all accord,Against all faith, disturbed their duel see,No longer strive in fight, but pledge their word—Yea, put aside all hostile injury—That they, on neither part, will draw the sword,Until they better certified shall beWho broke the pact, established by that twain,Young Agramant, or aged Charlemagne.
IXThey sweat anew, the king who had o’erthrownThat truce, and broken faith, as foe to treat.The field of combat is turned upside down;Some hurry to the charge, and some retreat.Who most deserved disgrace, who most renown,Was seen, on both hands, in the selfsame feat;All ran alike: but, ‘mid that wild affray,These ran to meet the foe, those ran away.
XAs greyhound in the slip, that the fleet hareScowering about and circling him discerns,Nor with the other dogs a part can bear(For him the hunter holds), with anger burns;Torments himself and mourns in his despair,And whines, and strives against the leash, by turns;Such till that moment had the fury beenOf Aymon’s daughter and the martial queen.
XIThey till that hour upon the spacious plain,Had watched so rich a prize throughout the day;And, as obliged by treaty to refrainFrom laying hands upon the costly prey,Had sore lamented and had grieved in vain,Gazing with longing eyes on that array.Now seeing truce and treaty broke, amongThe Moorish squadrons they rejoicing sprung.
XIIMarphisa piercing her first victim’s breast,(Two yards beyond his back the lance did pass)In briefer time than ’tis by me exprest,Broke with her sword four helms which flew like glass;No less did Bradamant upon the rest;But them her spear reduced to other pass.All touched by that gold lance she overthrew;Doubling Marphisa’s score; yet none she slew.
XIIIThey witness to each others’ exploits are,(Those maids to one another are so near)Then, whither fury drives, the martial pair,Dividing, through the Moorish ranks career.Who could each several warrior’s name declare,Stretched on the champaign by that golden spear?Or reckon every head Marphisa leftDivided by her horrid sword, or cleft?
XIVAs when benigner winds more swiftly blow,And Apennine his shaggy back lays bare,Two turbid torrents with like fury flow,Which, in their fall, two separate channels wear,Uproot hard rocks, and mighty trees which growOn their steep banks, and field and harvest bearInto the vale, and seem as if they viedWhich should do mightiest damage on its side:
XVSo those high-minded virgin warriors two,Scowering the field in separate courses, madeHuge havock of the Moors; whom they pursueOne with couched lance, and one with lifted blade.Hardly King Agramant his Africk crewFrom flight, beneath his royal banners stayed:In search of Rodomont, he vainly turned;Nor tidings of the missing warrior learned.
XVIHe at his exhortation (so he trowed)Had broke the treaty made in solemn wise,To witness which the gods were called aloud;Who then so quick vanished from his eyes:Nor sees he King Sobrino; disavowedBy King Sobrino is the deed, who fliesTo Arles, and deems that day some vengeance dreadWill fall on Agramant’s devoted head.
XVIIMarsilius too is fled into the town:So has that monarch holy faith at heart.’Tis hence, that feebly King Troyano’s sonResists the crew, that war on Charles’s part,Italians, English, Germans; of renownAre all; and, scattered upon every part,Are mixed the paladins, those barons bold,Glittering like jewels on a cloth of gold;
XVIIIAnd, with those peers, is more than one confestAs perfect as is earthly cavalier,Guide the savage, that intrepid breast,And those two famous sons of Olivier.I will not now repeat what I exprestOf that fierce, daring female twain whilere;Who on the field so many Moors extend,No number is there to the slain or end.
XIXBut, putting this affray some while aside,Without a pinnace will I pass the sea.To them of France so fast I am not tied,But that Astolpho should remembered be:Of the grace given him by his holy guideI told erewhile, and told (it seems to me)Branzardo and the king of AlgaziersAgainst the duke had mustered all their spears.
XXSuch as the monarchs could in haste engage,Raked from all Africa, that host contained;Whether of fitting or of feeble age:Scarce from impressing women they refrained,Resolved his thirst of vengeance to assuage,Agramant twice his Africa had drained.Few people in the land were left, and theyA feeble and dispirited array.
XXISo proved they; for the foe was scarce in view,Before that levy broke in panic dread:Like sheep, their quailing bands Astolpho slew,Charging at his more martial squadrons’ head;And with the slain filled all that champaign; fewInto Biserta from the carnage fled.A prisoner valiant Bucifar remained;The town in safety King Branzardo gained;
XXIIMore grieved as Bucifaro’s loss alone,Than had he lost the rest in arms arrayed.Wide and in want of ramparts is the town;And these could ill be raised without his aid.While fain to ransom him, he thinks uponThe means, and stands afflicted and dismayed,He recollects him how the paladin,Dudon, has many a month his prisoner been.
XXIIIHim under Monaco, upon the shore,In his first passage, Sarza’s monarch took.Thenceforth had been a prisoner evermoreDudon, who was derived of Danish stock.The paladin against the royal MoorBranzardo thought, in this distress, to truck;And knowing through sure spy, Astolpho ledThe Nubians, to that chief the offer sped.
XXIVA paladin himself, Astolpho knowsHe gladly ought a paladin to free;And when that case the Moorish envoy shows,To King Branzardo’s offer does agree.Dudon from prison loosed, his thanks bestows;And whatsoe’er pertains to land or sea,Bestirs him to accomplish, in accordWith his illustrious chief, the English lord.
XXVAstolpho leading such a countless bandAs might have well seven Africas opprest,And recollecting ’twas the saint’s command,Who upon him whilere imposed the quest,That fair Provence and Aquamorta’s strandHe from the reaving Saracen should wrest,Made through his numerous host a second draughtOf such as least inapt for sea he thought;
XXVIAnd filling next as full as they could beHis hands with many different sorts of leaves,Plucked from palm, olive, bay and cedar tree,Approached the shore, and cast them on the waves.Oh blessed souls! Oh great felicity!O grace! which rarely man from God receives;O strange and wondrous miracle, which sprungOut of those leaves upon the waters flung!
XXVIIThey wax in number beyond all esteem;Becoming crooked and heavy, long, and wide.Into hard timber turn and solid beam,The slender veins that branch on either side:Taper the masts; and, moored in the salt stream,All in a thought transformed to vessels, ride;And of as diverse qualities appear,As are the plants, whereon they grew whilere.
XXVIIIIt was a miracle to see them grownTo galliot, galley, frigate ship, and boat;Wondrous, that they with tackling of their own,Are found as well as any barks afloat.Nor lack there men to govern them, when blownBy blustering winds—from islands not remote—Sardinia or Corsica, of every rate,Pilot and patron, mariner and mate.
XXIXTwenty-six thousand were the troop that mannedThose ready barks of every sort and kind.To Dudon’s government, by sea or landA leader sage, the navy was consigned;Which yet lay anchored off the Moorish strand,Expecting a more favourable wind,To put to sea; when, freighted with a loadOf prisoners, lo! a vessel made the road.
XXXShe carried those, whom at the bridge of dread,—On that so narrow place of battle met—Rodomont took, as often has been said.The valiant Olivier was of the set,Orlando’s kin, and, with them, prisoners led,Were faithful Brandimart and Sansonet,With more; to tell whereof there is no need;Of German, Gascon, or Italian seed.
XXXIThe patron, yet unweeting he should findFoes in the port, here entered to unload;Having left Argier many miles behind,Where he was minded to have made abode;Because a boisterous, overblowing, windHad driven his bark beyond her destined road;Deeming himself as safe and welcome guest,As Progne, when she seeks her noisy nest.
XXXIIBut when, arrived, the imperial eagle spread,And pards and golden lilies he descries,With countenance as sicklied o’er by dread,He stands, as one that in unwary guise,Has chanced on fell and poisonous snake to tread,Which, in the grass, opprest with slumber lies;And, pale and startled, hastens to retireFrom that ill reptile, swoln with bane and ire.
XXXIIIBut no retreat from peril is there here,Nor can the patron keep his prisoners down:Him thither Brandimart and Olivier,Sansonet and those others drag, where knownAnd greeted are the friends with joyful cheer,By England’s duke and Danish Ogier’s son;Who read that he who brought them to that shoreShould for his pains be sentenced to the oar.
XXXIVKing Otho’s son kind welcome did affordUnto those Christian cavaliers, as said:Who—honoured at his hospitable board—With arms and all things needful were purveyed.His going, for their sake, the Danish lordDeferred, who deemed his voyage well delayed,To parley with those peers, though at the costOf one or two good days, in harbour lost.
XXXVOf Charles, and in what state, what order areThe affairs of France they gave advices true;Told where he best could disembark, and whereTo most advantage of the Christian crew.While so the cavaliers their news declare,A noise is heard; which ever louder grew,Followed by such a fierce alarm withal,As to more fears than one gave rise in all.
XXXVIThe duke Astolpho and the goodly throng,That in discourse with him were occupied,Armed in a moment, on their coursers sprung,And hurried where the Nubians loudest cried;And seeking wherefore that wide larum rung,Now here, now there—those warlike lords espiedA savage man, and one so strong of hand,Naked and sole he troubled all that band.
XXXVIIThe naked savage whirled a sapling round,So hard, so heavy, and so strong of grain,That every time the weapon went to ground,Some warrior, more than maimed, opprest the plain.Above a hundred dead are strewed around;Nor more defence the routed hands maintain;Save that a war of distant parts they try;For there is none will wait the champion nigh.
XXXVIIIAstolpho, Brandimart, the Danish knight,Hastening towards that noise with Olivier,Remain astounded at the wondrous mightAnd courage, which in that wild man appear.When, posting thither on a palfry light,Is seen a damsel, clad in sable gear.To Brandimart in haste that lady goes,And both her arms about the warrior throws.
XXXIXThis was fair Flordelice, whose bosom soBurned with the love of Monodantes’ son,She, when she left him prisoner to his foeAt that streight bridge, had nigh distracted gone.From France had she past hither—given to know—By that proud paynim, who the deed had done,How Brandimart, with many cavaliers,Was prisoner in the city of Algiers.
XLWhen now she for that harbour would have weighed,An eastern vessel in Marseilles she found,Which thither had an ancient knight conveyed:Of Monodantes’ household; a long roundTo seek his Brandimart that lord had made,By sea, and upon many a distant ground.For he, upon his way, had heard it told,How he in France should find the warrior bold.
XLIShe knowing old Bardino in that wight,Bardino who from Monodantes’ courtWith little Brandimart had taken flight,And reared his nursling in THE SYLVAN FORT;Then hearing what had thither brought the knight,With her had made him loosen from the port;Relating to that elder, by what chanceBrandimart had to Africk passed from France.
XLIIAs soon as landed, that Biserta liesBesieged by good Astolpho’s band, they hear;That Brandimart is with him in the emprize,They learn, but learn not as a matter clear.Now in such haste to him the damsel flies,When she beholds her faithful cavalier,As plainly shows her joy; which woes o’erblownHad made the mightiest she had ever known.
XLIIIThe gentle baron no less gladly eyedHis faithful and beloved consort’s face;Her whom he prized above all things beside;And clipt and welcomed her with loving grace;Nor his warm wishes would have satisfiedA first, a second, or a third embrace,But that he spied Bardino, he that cameFrom France, together with that faithful dame.
XLIVHe stretched his arms, and would embrace the knight;And—wherefore he was come—would bid him say:But was prevented by the sudden flightOf the sacred host, which fled in disarray,Before the club of that mad, naked wight,Who with the brandished sapling cleared his way.Flordelice viewed the furious man in front;And cried to Brandimart, “Behold the count!”
XLVAt the same time, withal, Astolpho boldThat this was good Orlando plainly knew,By signs, whereof those ancient saints had told,In the earthly paradise, as tokens true.None of those others, who the knight behold,The courteous baron in the madman view;That from long self-neglect, while wild he ran,Had in his visage more of beast than man.
XLVIWith breast and heart transfixed with pity, criedValiant Astolpho—bathed with many a tear—Turning to Danish Dudon, at this side,And afterwards to valiant Olivier;“Behold Orlando!” Him awhile they eyed,Straining their eyes and lids; then knew the peer;And, seeing him in such a piteous plight,Were filled with grief and wonder at the sight.
XLVIISo grieve and so lament the greater partOf those good warriors, that their eyes o’erflow.“ ’Tis time” (Astolpho cried) “to find some artTo heal him, not indulge in useless woe”;And from his courser sprang: bold Brandimart,Olivier, Sansonet and Dudon soAll leap to ground, and all together makeAt Roland, whom the warriors fain would take.
XLVIIISeeing the circle round about him grow,Levels his club that furious paladin,And makes fierce Dudon feel (who—couched belowHis buckler—on the madman would break in)How grievous is that staff’s descending blow;And but that Olivier, Orlando’s kin,Broke in some sort its force, that stake accurstHad shield and helmet, head and body burst.
XLIXIt only burst the shield, and in such thunderBroke on the casque, that Dudon prest the shore:With that, Sir Sansonet cut clean asunderThe sapling, shorn of two cloth-yards and more,So vigorous was that warrior’s stroke, while underHis bosom, Brandimart girt Roland soreWith sinewy arms about his body flung;And to the champion’s legs Astolpho clung.
LOrlando shook himself, and England’s knight,Ten paces off, reversed upon the ground;Yet loosed not Brandimart, who with more mightAnd better hold had clasped the madman round.To Olivier, too forward in that fight,He dealt so furious and so fell a wound,With his clenched fist, that pale the marquis fell;And purple streams from eyes and nostrils well;
LIAnd save his morion had been more than good,Bold Olivier had breathed his last, who lies,So battered with his fall, it seemed he wou’dBequeath his parting soul to paradise.Astolpho and Dudon, that again upstood(Albeit swoln were Dudon’s face and eyes)And Sansonet, who plied so well his sword,All made together at Anglantes’ lord.
LIIDudon Orlando from behind embraced,And with his foot the furious peer would throw:Astolpho and others seize his arms; but wasteTheir strength in all attempts to hold the foe.He who has seen a bull, by mastiffs chasedThat gore his bleeding ears, in fury lowe,Dragging the dogs that bait him there and here,Yet from their tusks unable to get clear;
LIIILet him imagine, so Orlando drewAstolpho and those banded knights along.Meanwhile upstarted Oliviero, whoBy that fell fistycuff on earth was flung;And, seeing they could ill by Roland doThat sought by good Astolpho and his throng,He meditates, and compasses, a wayThe frantic paladin on earth to lay.
LIVHe many a hawser made them thither bring,And running knots in them he quickly tied;Which on the count’s waist, arms, and legs, they fling;And then, among themselves, the ends divide,Conveyed to this or that amid the ring,Compassing Roland upon every side.The warriors thus Orlando flung parforce,As farrier throws the struggling ox or horse.
LVAs soon as down, they all upon him are,And hands and feet more tightly they constrain:He shakes himself, and plunges here and there;But all his efforts for relief are vain.Astolpho bade them hence the prisoner bear;For he would heal (he said) the warrior’s brain.Shouldered by sturdy Dudon is the load,And on the beach’s furthest brink bestowed.
LVISeven times Astolpho makes them wash the knight;And seven times plunged beneath the brine he goes.So that they cleanse away the scurf and blight,Which to his stupid limbs and visage grows.This done, with herbs, for that occasion dight,They stop his mouth, wherewith he puffs and blows.For, save his nostrils, would Astolpho leaveNo passage whence the count might air receive.
LVIIValiant Astolpho had prepared the vase,Wherein Orlando’s senses were contained,And to his nostrils in such mode conveys,That, drawing-in his breath, the county drainedThe mystic cup withal. Oh wondrous case!The unsettled mind its ancient seat regained;And, in its glorious reasonings, yet more clearAnd lucid waxed his wisdom than whilere.
LVIIIAs one, that seems in troubled sleep to seeAbominable shapes, a horrid crew;Monsters which are not, and which cannot be;Or seems some strange, unlawful thing to do,Yet marvels at himself, from slumber free.When his recovered senses play him true;So good Orlando, when he is made sound,Remains yet full of wonder, and astound.
LIXAldabelle’s brother, Monodantes’ son,And him that on his brain such cure had wrought,He wondering marked, but word he spake to none;And when and how he was brought thither, thought.He turned his restless eyes now up now down,Nor where he was withal, imagined aught,Marvelling why he there was naked cast,And wherefore tethered, neck and heels, so fast.
LXThen said, as erst Silenus said—when seen,And taken sleeping the cave of yore—SOLVITE ME, with visage so serene,With look so much less wayward than before,That him they from his bonds delivered clean,And raiment to the naked warrior bore;All comforting their friend, with grief opprestFor that delusion which had him possest.
LXIWhen to his former self he was recovered,Of wiser and of manlier mind than e’er,From love as well was freed the enamoured lord;And she, so gentle deemed, so fair whilere,And by renowned Orlando so adored,Did but to him a worthless thing appear.What he through love had lost, to reacquireWas his whole study, was his whole desire.
LXIIMeanwhile Bardino told to Brandimart,How Monodantes, his good sire, was dead,And, on his brother, Gigliantes’ part,To call him to his kingdom had he sped,As well as from those isles, which most apartFrom other lands, in eastern seas are spread,That prince’s fair inheritance; than whichWas none more pleasant, populous, or rich.
LXIIIHe said, mid many reasons which he prest,That home was sweet, and—were the warrior fainTo taste that sweet—he ever would detestA wandering life; and Brandimart againReplies, through all that war, he will not restFrom serving Roland and King Charlemagne;And after, if he lives to see its end,To his own matters better will attend.
LXIVUpon the following day, for Provence steerThe shipping under Danish Dudon’s care;When with the duke retired Anglantes’ peer,And heard that lord the warfare’s state declare:Then prest with siege Biserta, far and near,But let good England’s knight the honour wearOf every vantage; while Astolpho stillIn all was guided by Orlando’s will.
LXVThe order taken to attack the townOf huge Biserta, when, and on what side;How, at the first assault, the walls are won,And with Orlando who the palm divide,Lament not that I now shall leave unshown,Since for short time I lay my tale aside.In the meanwhile, how fierce an overthrowThe Moors received in France, be pleased to know.
LXVIWell nigh abandoned was their royal lordIn his worst peril; for to Arles againHad gone, with many of the paynim horde,The sage Sobrino and the king of Spain;Who, for the deemed the land unsafe, aboardTheir barks sought refuge, with a numerous train,Barons and cavaliers, that served the Moor;Who moved by their example put from shore.
LXVIIYet royal Agramant the fight maintains;But when he can no longer make a stand,Turns from the combat, and directly strainsFor Arles, not far remote, upon the strand.Him Rabican pursues, with flowing reins,Whom Aymon’s daughter drives with heel and hand.Him would she slay, through whom so often crost,That martial maid had her Rogero lost.
LXVIIIMarphisa by the same desire was stirred,Who had her thoughts on tardy vengeance placed,For her dead sire; and as she fiercely spurred,Made her hot courser feel his rider’s haste.But neither martial maid, amid that herdOf flying Moors, so well the monarch chased,As to o’ertake him in his swift retreat,First into Arles, and then aboard his fleet.
LXIXAs two fair generous pards, that from some cragTogether dart, and stretch across the plain;When they perceive that vigorous goat or stag,Their nimble quarry, is pursued in vain,As if ashamed they in that chase did lag,Return repentant and in high disdain:So, with a sigh, return those damsels two,When they the paynim king in safety view:
LXXYet therefore halt not, but in fury goAmid that crowd, which flies, possest with dread;Feeling, now here, now there, at every blow,Many that never more uprear their head.To evil pass was brought the broken foe;For safety was not even for them that fled:Since Agramant, a sure retreat to gain,Bade shut the city-gate which faced the plain;
LXXIAnd bade on Rhone break all the bridges down.Unhappy people, ever held as cheap—Weighed with the tyrant’s want who wears a crown—As worthless herd of goats or silly sheep!These in the sea, those in the river drown;And those with blood the thirsty fallows steep.The Franks few prisoners made, and many slew;For ransom in that battle was for few.
LXXIIOf the great multitude of either train,Christened or paynim, killed in that last fight,Though in unequal parts (for, of the slain,By far more Saracens were killed in flight,By hands of those redoubted damsels twain),Signs even to this day remain in sight:For, hard by Arles, where sleeps the lazy Rhone,The plain with rising sepulchres is strown.
LXXIIIMeanwhile his heavy ships of deepest draughtKing Agramant had made put forth to sea,Leaving some barks in port—his lightest craft—For them that would aboard his navy flee:He stays two days, while they the stragglers waft,And, for the winds are wild and contrary,On the third day, to sail he give command,In trust to make return to Africk’s land.
LXXIVRoyal Marsilius, in that fatal hour,Fearing the costs will fall upon his Spain,And that the clouds, which big with tempest lower,In the end will burst upon his fields and grain,Makes for Valentia; where he town and towerBegins to fortify with mickle pain;And for that war prepares, which after endsIn the destruction of himself and friends.
LXXVKing Agramant his sails for Africk bent:His barks ill-armed and almost empty go;Empty of men, but full of discontent,In that three-fourths had perished by the foe.As cruel some, as weak and proud some shentTheir king, and (as still happens in like woe)All hate him privily; but, for they fearHis fury, in his presence mute appear.
LXXVIYet sometimes two or three their lips unclose,—Some knot of friends, where each on each relies—And their pent choler and their rage expose:Yet Agramant beneath the illusion lies,That each will love and pity overflows;And this befalls, because he still espiesFalse faces, hears but voices that applaud,And nought but adulation, lies and fraud.
LXXVIINot in Biserta’s port his host to landWas the sage king of Africa’s intent,Who had sure news that shore by Nubia’s bandWas held, but he so far above it meantTo steer his Moorish squadron, that the strandShould not be steep or rugged for descent:There would he disembark, and thence would aidForthwith his people, broken and dismaid.
LXXVIIIBut favoured not by his foul destinyWas that intention, provident and wise;Which willed the fleet, from leaves of greenwood tree,Produced upon the beach in wondrous guise,That, bound for France, now ploughed the foaming sea,Should meet the king at night; that from surpriseIn that dark, dismal hour, amid his crewWorse panic and disorder might ensue.
LXXIXNot yet to him have tidings been conveyed,That squadrons of such force the billows plow:Nor would he have believed in him who said,A hundred barks had sprung from one small bough;And hence for Africa the king had weighed,Not fearing to encounter hostile prow;Nor has he watchmen in his tops to spy,And make report of what they hence descry.
LXXX’Twas so those ships, by England’s peer suppliedTo Dudon, manned with good and armed crew,Which see that Moorish fleet at eventide,And that strange armament forthwith pursue,Assailed them unawares, and, far, and wide,Among those barks their grappling-irons threw,And linked by chains, to their opponents clung,When known for Moors and foemen by their tongue.
LXXXIIn bearing down, impelled by winds that blowPropitious to the Danish chief’s intent,Those weighty ships so shocked the paynim foe,That many vessels to the bottom went;Then, taxing wits and hands, to work them woe,Them with fire, sword, and stones the Christians shent;Which on their ships in such wide ruin pour,Like tempest never vext the sea before.
LXXXIIBold Dudon’s men, to whom unwonted mightAnd daring was imparted from on high,(Since the hour was come the paynims to requiteFor more than one ill deed,) from far and nigh,The Moors so pestilently gall and smite,Agramant finds no shelter; from the skyAbove, thick clouds of whistling arrows strike;Around gleam hook and hatchet, sword and pike.
LXXXIIIThe king hears huge and heavy stones descend,From charged machine or thundering engine sent,Which, falling, poop and prow and broadside rend,Opening to ravening seas a mighty vent;And more than all the furious fires offend,Fires that are quickly kindled, slowly spent,The wretched crews would fain that danger shun,And ever into direr peril run.
LXXXIVOne headlong plunged, pursued by fire and sword,And perished mid the waters, one who wroughtFaster with arms and feet, his passage oaredTo other barque, already overfraught:But she repulsed the wretch that fain would board;Whose hand, which too importunately soughtTo clamber, grasped the side, while his lopt armAnd body stained the wave with life-blood warm.
LXXXVHim, that to save his life i’ the waters thought,Or, at the worst, to perish with less pain,(Since swimming profited the caitiff nought,And he perceived his strength and courage drain)To the hungry fires from which the refuge sought,The fear of drowning hurries back again:He grasps a burning plank, and in the dreadOf dying either death, by both is sped.
LXXXVIThis vainly to the sea resorts, whom spearOr hatchet, brandished close at hand, dismay;For stone or arrow following in his rear,Permit the craven to make little way.But haply, while it yet delights your ear,‘Twere well and wisely done to end my lay,Rather than harp upon the theme so longAs to annoy you with a tedious song.