Orlando Furioso | Page 6

Orlando, he?Roved wheresoe'er he hoped to find the knight.?A different lot befel Rinaldo; who?Had chanced another pathway to pursue.
XXXII?For far the warrior fared not, ere he spied,?Bounding across the path, his gallant steed,?And, "Stay, Bayardo mine," Rinaldo cried,?"Too cruel care the loss of thee does breed."?The horse for this returned not to his side,?Deaf to his prayer, but flew with better speed.?Furious, in chase of him, Rinaldo hies.?But follow we Angelica, who flies.
XXXIII?Through dreary woods and dark the damsel fled,?By rude unharboured heath and savage height,?While every leaf or spray that rustled, bred?(Of oak, or elm, or beech), such new affright,?She here and there her foaming palfrey sped?By strange and crooked paths with furious flight;?And at each shadow, seen in valley blind,?Or mountain, feared Rinaldo was behind.
XXXIV?As a young roe or fawn of fallow deer,?Who, mid the shelter of its native glade,?Has seen a hungry pard or tiger tear?The bosom of its bleeding dam, dismayed,?Bounds, through the forest green in ceaseless fear?Of the destroying beast, from shade to shade,?And at each sapling touched, amid its pangs,?Believes itself between the monster's fangs,
XXXV?One day and night, and half the following day,?The damsel wanders wide, nor whither knows;?Then enters a deep wood, whose branches play,?Moved lightly by the freshening breeze which blows.?Through this two clear and murmuring rivers stray:?Upon their banks a fresher herbage grows;?While the twin streams their passage slowly clear,?Make music with the stones, and please the ear.
XXXVI?Weening removed the way by which she wends,?A thousand miles from loathed Rinaldo's beat,?To rest herself a while the maid intends,?Wearied with that long flight and summer's heat.?She from her saddle 'mid spring flowers descends?And takes the bridle from her courser fleet.?And loose along the river lets him pass,?Roving the banks in search of lusty grass.
XXXVII?Behold! at hand a thicket she surveys?Gay with the flowering thorn and vermeil rose:?The tuft reflected in the stream which strays?Beside it, overshadowing oaks enclose.?Hollow within, and safe from vulgar gaze,?It seemed a place constructed for repose;?With bows so interwoven, that the light?Pierced not the tangled screen, far less the sight.
XXXVIII?Within soft moss and herbage form a bed;?And to delay and rest the traveller woo.?'Twas there her limbs the weary damsel spread,?Her eye-balls bathed in slumber's balmy dew.?But little time had eased her drooping head,?Ere, as she weened, a courser's tramp she knew.?Softly she rises, and the river near,?Armed cap-a-pie, beholds a cavalier.
XXXIX?If friend or foe, she nothing comprehends,?(So hope and fear her doubting bosom tear)?And that adventure's issue mute attends,?Nor even with a sigh disturbs the air.?The cavalier upon the bank descends;?And sits so motionless, so lost in care,?(His visage propt upon his arm) to sight?Changed into senseless stone appeared the knight.
XL?Pensive, above an hour, with drooping head,?He rested mute, ere he began his moan;?And then his piteous tale of sorrow said,?Lamenting in so soft and sweet a tone,?He in a tiger's breast had pity bred,?Or with his mournful wailings rent a stone.?And so he sighed and wept; like rivers flowed?His tears, his bosom like an Aetna glowed.
XLI?"Thought which now makes me burn, now freeze with hate,?Which gnaws my heart and rankles at its root!?What's left to me," he said, "arrived too late,?While one more favoured bears away the fruit??Bare words and looks scarce cheered my hopeless state,?And the prime spoils reward another's suit.?Then since for me nor fruit nor blossom hangs,?Why should I longer pine in hopeless pangs?
XLII?"The virgin has her image in the rose?Sheltered in garden on its native stock,?Which there in solitude and safe repose,?Blooms unapproached by sheperd or by flock.?For this earth teems, and freshening water flows,?And breeze and dewy dawn their sweets unlock:?With such the wistful youth his bosom dresses.?With such the enamored damsel braids her tresses.
XLIII?"But wanton hands no sooner this displace?From the maternal stem, where it was grown,?Than all is withered; whatsoever grace?It found with man or heaven; bloom, beauty, gone.?The damsel who should hold in higher place?Than light or life the flower which is her own,?Suffering the spoiler's hand to crop the prize,?Forfeits her worth in every other's eyes.
XLIV?"And be she cheap with all except the wight?On whom she did so large a boon bestow.?Ah! false and cruel Fortune! foul despite!?While others triumph, I am drown'd in woe.?And can it be that I such treasure slight??And can I then my very life forego??No! let me die; 'twere happiness above?A longer life, if I must cease to love."
XLV?If any ask who made this sorrowing,?And pour'd into the stream so many tears,?I answer, it was fair Circassia's king,?That Sacripant, oppressed with amorous cares.?Love is the source from which his troubles spring,?The sole occasion of his pains and fears;?And he to her a lover's service paid,?Now well remembered by the royal maid.
XLVI?He for her sake from Orient's farthest reign?Roved thither, where the sun descends to rest;?For he was told in India, to his