Orlando Furioso | Page 8

stoop his haughty crest:?The other knight, whose worth I rate as high,?His warlike prowess puts to present test;?Cuts short his haughty threats and angry cry,?And spurs, and lays his levelled lance in rest.?In tempest wheels Circassia's valiant peer,?And at his foeman's head each aims his spear.
LXII?Not brindled bulls or tawny lions spring?To forest warfare with such deadly will?As those two knights, the stranger and the king.?Their spears alike the opposing bucklers thrill:?The solid ground, at their encountering,?Trembles from fruitful vale to naked hill:?And well it was the mail in which they dressed?Their bodies was of proof, and saved the breast.
LXIII?Nor swerved the chargers from their destined course;?Who met like rams, and butted head to head.?The warlike Saracen's ill-fated horse,?Well valued while alive, dropt short and dead:?The stranger's, too, fell senseless; but perforce?Was roused by rowel from his grassy bed.?That of the paynim king, extended straight,?Lay on his battered lord with all his weight.
LXIV?Upright upon his steed, the knight unknown,?Who at the encounter horse and rider threw,?Deeming enough was in the conflict done,?Cares not the worthless warfare to renew;?But endlong by the readiest path is gone,?And measures, pricking frith and forest through,?A mile, or little less, in furious heat,?Ere the foiled Saracen regains his feet.
LXV?As the bewildered and astonished clown?Who held the plough (the thunder storm o'erpast)?There, where the deafening bolt had beat him down,?Nigh his death-stricken cattle, wakes aghast,?And sees the distant pine without its crown,?Which he saw clad in leafy honours last;?So rose the paynim knight with troubled face,?The maid spectatress of the cruel case.
LXVI?He sighs and groans, yet not for mischief sore?Endured in wounded arm or foot which bled;?But for mere shame, and never such before?Or after, dyed his cheek so deep a red,?And if he rued his fall, it grieved him more?His dame should lift him from his courser dead.?He speechless had remained, I ween, if she?Had not his prisoned tongue and voice set free.
LXVII?"Grieve not," she said, "sir monarch, for thy fall;?But let the blame upon thy courser be!?To whom more welcome had been forage, stall,?And rest, than further joust and jeopardy;?And well thy foe the loser may I call,?(Who shall no glory gain) for such is he?Who is the first to quit his ground, if aught?Angelica of fighting fields be taught."
LXVIII?While she so seeks the Saracen to cheer,?Behold a messenger with pouch and horn,?On panting hackney! -- man and horse appear?With the long journey, weary and forlorn.?He questions Sacripant, approaching near,?Had he seen warrior pass, by whom were borne?A shield and crest of white; in search of whom?Through the wide forest pricked the weary groom.
LXIX?King Sacripant made answer, "As you see,?He threw me here, and went but now his way:?Then tell the warrior's name, that I may be?Informed whose valour foiled me in the fray."?To him the groom, -- "That which you ask of me?I shall relate to you without delay:?Know that you were in combat prostrate laid?By the tried valour of a gentle maid.
LXX?"Bold is the maid; but fairer yet than bold,?Nor the redoubted virgin's name I veil:?'Twas Bradamant who marred what praise of old?Your prowess ever won with sword and mail."?This said, he spurred again, his story told,?And left him little gladdened by the tale.?He recks not what he says or does, for shame,?And his flushed visage kindles into flame.
LXXI?After the woeful warrior long had thought?Upon his cruel case, and still in vain,?And found a woman his defeat had wrought,?For thinking but increased the monarch's pain,?He climbed the other horse, nor spake he aught;?But silently uplifted from the plain,?Upon the croup bestowed that damsel sweet,?Reserved to gladder use in safer seat.
LXXII?Two miles they had not rode before they hear?The sweeping woods which spread about them, sound?With such loud crash and trample, far and near,?The forest seemed to tremble all around;?And shortly after see a steed appear,?With housings wrought in gold and richly bound;?Who clears the bush and stream, with furious force?And whatsoever else impedes his course.
LXXIII?"Unless the misty air," the damsel cries,?"And boughs deceive my sight, yon noble steed?Is, sure, Bayardo, who before us flies,?And parts the wood with such impetuous speed.?-- Yes, 'tis Bayardo's self I recognize.?How well the courser understands our need!?Two riders ill a foundered jade would bear,?But hither speeds the horse to end that care."
LXXIV?The bold Circassian lighted, and applied?His hand to seize him by the flowing rein,?Who, swiftly turning, with his heels replied,?For he like lightning wheeled upon the plain.?Woe to the king! but that he leaps aside,?For should he smite, he would not lash in vain.?Such are his bone and sinew, that the shock?Of his good heels had split a metal rock.
LXXV?Then to the maid he goes submissively,?With gentle blandishment and humble mood;?As the dog greets his lord with frolic glee,?Whom, some short season past, he had not viewed.?For good Bayardo had in memory?Albracca, where her hands