Orlando Furioso | Page 7

pain,?That she Orlando followed to the west.?He after learned in France that Charlemagne?Secluded from that champion and the rest,?As a fit guerdon, mewed her for the knight?Who should protect the lilies best in fight.
XLVII?The warrior in the field had been, and viewed,?Short time before, king Charlemagne's disgrace;?And vainly had Angelica pursued,?Nor of the damsel's footsteps found a trace.?And this is what the weeping monarch rued,?And this he so bewailed in doleful case:?Hence, into words his lamentations run,?Which might for pity stop the passing sun.
XLVIII?While Sacripant laments him in this plight,?And makes a tepid fountain of his eyes;?And, what I deem not needful to recite,?Pours forth yet other plaints and piteous cries;?Propitious Fortune will his lady bright?Should hear the youth lament him in such wise:?And thus a moment compassed what, without?Such chance, long ages had not brought about.
XLIX?With deep attention, while the warrior weeps,?She marks the fashion of the grief and tears?And words of him, whose passion never sleeps;?Nor this the first confession which she hears.?But with his plaint her heart no measure keeps,?Cold as the column which the builder rears.?Like haughty maid, who holds herself above?The world, and deems none worthy of her love.
L?But her from harm amid those woods to keep,?The damsel weened she might his guidance need;?For the poor drowning caitiff, who, chin-deep,?Implores not help, is obstinate indeed.?Nor will she, if she let the occasion sleep,?Find escort that will stand her in such stead:?For she that king by long experience knew?Above all other lovers, kind and true.
LI?But not the more for this the maid intends?To heal the mischief which her charms had wrought,?And for past ills to furnish glad amends?In that full bliss by pining lover sought.?To keep the king in play are all her ends,?His help by some device or fiction bought,?And having to her purpose taxed his daring,?To reassume as wont her haughty bearing.
LII?An apparition bright and unforeseen,?She stood like Venus or Diana fair,?In solemn pageant, issuing on the scene?From out of shadowy wood or murky lair.?And "Peace be with you," cried the youthful queen,?"And God preserve my honour in his care,?Nor suffer that you blindly entertain?Opinion of my fame so false and vain!"
LIII?Not with such wonderment a mother eyes,?With such excessive bliss the son she mourned?As dead, lamented still with tears and sighs,?Since the thinned files without her boy returned.?-- Not such her rapture as the king's surprise?And ecstasy of joy when he discerned?The lofty presence, cheeks of heavenly hue,?And lovely form which broke upon his view.
LIV?He, full of fond and eager passion, pressed?Towards his Lady, his Divinity;?And she now clasped the warrior to her breast,?Who in Catay had haply been less free.?And now again the maid her thoughts addressed?Towards her native land and empery:?And feels, with hope revived, her bosom beat?Shortly to repossess her sumptuous seat.
LV?Her chances all to him the damsel said,?Since he was eastward sent to Sericane?By her to seek the martial monarch's aid,?Who swayed the sceptre of that fair domain;?And told how oft Orlando's friendly blade?Had saved her from dishonour, death, and pain;?And how she so preserved her virgin flower?Pure as it blossomed in her natal hour.
LVI?Haply the tale was true; yet will not seem?Likely to one of sober sense possessed:?But Sacripant, who waked from worser dream,?In all without a cavil acquiesced:?Since love, who sees without one guiding gleam,?Spies in broad day but that which likes him best:?For one sign of the afflicted man's disease?Is to give ready faith to things which please.
LVII?"If good Anglante's lord the prize forbore,?Nor seized the fair occasion when he might,?The loss be his, if Fortune never more?Him to enjoy so fair a prize invite.?To imitate that lord of little lore?I think not," said, apart, Circassa's knight.?"To quit such proffered good, and, to my shame,?Have but myself on after-thought to blame.
LVIII?"No! I will pluck the fresh and morning rose,?Which, should I tarry, may be overblown.?To woman, (this my own experience shows),?No deed more sweet or welcome can be done.?Then, whatsoever scorn the damsel shows,?Though she awhile may weep and make her moan,?I will, unchecked by anger, false or true,?Or sharp repulse, my bold design pursue."
LIX?This said, he for the soft assault prepares,?When a loud noise within the greenwood shade?Beside him, rang in his astounded ears,?And sore against his will the monarch stayed.?He donned his helm (his other arms he wears),?Aye wont to rove in steel, with belted blade,?Replaced the bridle on his courser fleet,?Grappled his lance, and sprang into his seat.
LX?With the bold semblance of a valiant knight,?Behold a warrior threads the forest hoar.?The stranger's mantle was of snowy white,?And white alike the waving plume he wore.?Balked of his bliss, and full of fell despite,?The monarch ill the interruption bore,?And spurred his horse to meet him in mid space,?With hate and fury glowing in his face.
LXI?Him he defies to fight, approaching nigh,?And weens to make him