Orlando Furioso | Page 8

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 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,