Orlando Furioso | Page 6

flushed with rage and shame.
XXX
Nor having time his falsehood to excuse,
And knowing well
how true the phantom's lore,
Stood speechless; such remorse the
words infuse.
Then by Lanfusa's life the warrior swore,
Never in
fight, or foray would he use
Helmet but that which good Orlando
bore
From Aspramont, where bold Almontes paid
His life a forfeit
to the Christian blade.
XXXI
And this new vow discharged more faithfully
Than the vain
promise which was whilom plight;
And from the stream departing
heavily,
Was many days sore vexed and grieved in sprite;
And still
intent to seek 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