Orlando Furioso

CANTO 3

AR­GU­MENT Re­stored to sense, the beau­teous Bradamant Finds sage Melis­sa in the vault­ed tomb, And hears from her of many a fa­mous plant And war­rior, who shall is­sue from her womb. Next, to re­lease Rogero from the haunt Of old At­lantes, learns how from the groom, Brunel­lo hight, his vir­tu­ous ring to take; And thus the knight’s and oth­ers’ fet­ters break.

I Who will vouch­safe me voice that shall as­cend As high as I would raise my no­ble theme? Who will af­ford be­fit­ting words, and lend Wings to my verse, to soar the pitch I scheme? Since fiercer fire for such il­lus­tri­ous end, Than what was wont, may well my song be­seem. For this fair por­tion to my lord is due Which sings the sires from whom his lin­eage grew.

II Than whose fair line, ‘mid those by heav­en­ly grace Cho­sen to min­is­ter this earth be­low, You see not, Phoe­bus, in your dai­ly race, One that in peace or war doth fair­er show; Nor lin­eage that hath longer kept its place; And still shall keep it, if the lights which glow With­in me, but aright in­spire my soul, While the blue heav­en shall turn about the pole.

III But should I seek at full its worth to blaze, Not mine were need­ful, but that no­ble lyre Which sound­ed at your touch the thun­der­er’s praise, What time the gi­ants sank in pe­nal fire. Yet should you in­stru­ments, more fit to raise The vo­tive work, be­stow, as I de­sire, All labour and all thought will I com­bine, To shape and shad­ow forth the great de­sign.

IV Till when, this chis­el may suf­fice to scale The stone, and give my lines a right di­rec­tion; And hap­ly fu­ture study may avail, To bring the stub­born labour to per­fec­tion. Re­turn we now to him, to whom the mail Of haw­berk, shield, and helm, were small pro­tec­tion: I speak of Pin­abel the Ma­ga­nzeze, Who hopes the damsel’s death, whose fall he sees.

V The wily traitor thought that damsel sweet Had per­ished on the dark­some cav­ern’s floor, And with pale vis­ages hur­ried his re­treat From that, through him con­tam­inat­ed door. And, thence re­turn­ing, clomb in­to his seat: Then, like one who a wicked spir­it bore, To add an­oth­er sin to evil deed, Bore off with him the war­like vir­gin’s steed.

VI Leave we some­time the wretch who, while he layed Snares for an­oth­er, wrought his prop­er doom; And turn we to the damsel he be­trayed, Who had nigh found at once her death and tomb. She, af­ter ris­ing from the rock, dis­mayed At her shrewd fall, and gaz­ing through the gloom, Be­held and passed that in­ner door, which gave En­trance to oth­er and more spa­cious cave.

VII For the first cav­ern in a sec­ond end­ed, Fash­ioned in form of church, and large and square; With roof by cun­ning ar­chi­tect ex­tend­ed On shafts of al­abaster rich and rare. The flame of a clear-​burn­ing lamp as­cend­ed Be­fore the cen­tral al­tar; and the glare, Il­lu­mi­nat­ing all the space about, Shone through the gate, and lit the cave with­out.

VI­II Touched with the sanc­ti­fy­ing thoughts which wait On wor­thy spir­it in a holy place, She prays with ea­ger lips, and heart elate, To the Dis­pos­er of all earth­ly grace: And, kneel­ing, hears a se­cret wick­et grate In the op­pos­ing wall; whence, face to face, A wom­an is­su­ing forth, the maid ad­dress­es, Bare­foot, un­girt, and with di­shev­elled tress­es.

IX “O gen­er­ous Bradamant,” the ma­tron cried, “Know thine ar­rival in this hal­lowed hold Was not unau­tho­rized of heav­en­ly guide: And the prophet­ic ghost of Mer­lin told, Thou to this cave shouldst come by path un­tried, Which cov­ers the renowned ma­gi­cian’s mould. And here have I long time await­ed thee, To tell what is the heav­ens’ pro­nounced de­cree.

X “This is the an­cient mem­orable cave Which Mer­lin, that en­chanter sage, did make: Thou may’st have heard how that ma­gi­cian brave Was cheat­ed by the La­dy of the Lake. Be­low, be­neath the cav­ern, is the grave Which holds his bones; where, for that la­dy’s sake, His limbs (for such her will) the wiz­ard spread. Liv­ing he laid him there, and lies there dead.

XI “Yet lives the spir­it of im­mor­tal strain; Lodged in the en­chanter’s corpse, till to the skies The trum­pet call it, or to end­less pain, As it with dove or raven’s wing shall rise. Yet lives the voice, and thou shalt hear how plain From its sepul­chral case of mar­ble cries: Since this has still the past and fu­ture taught To ev­ery wight that has its coun­sel sought.

XII “Long days have passed since I from dis­tant land My course did to this ceme­tery steer, That in the solemn mys­ter­ies I scanned, Mer­lin to me the truth should bet­ter clear; And hav­ing com­passed the de­sign I planned, A month be­yond, for thee, have tar­ried here; Since Mer­lin, still with cer­tain knowl­edge sum­ming Events, pre­fixed this mo­ment for thy com­ing.”

XI­II The daugh­ter of Duke Ay­mon stood aghast, And silent lis­tened to the speech; while she Knew not, sore mar­vel­ling at all that passed, If ’twere a dream or a re­al­ity. At length, with mod­est brow, and eyes down cast, Replied (like one that was all mod­esty), “And is this wrought for me? and have I mer­it Wor­thy the work­ings of prophet­ic spir­it?”

XIV And full of joy the ad­ven­ture strange pur­sues, Mov­ing with ready haste be­hind the dame, Who brings her to the sepul­chre which mews The bones and spir­it, erst of Mer­lin’s name. The tomb, of hard­est stone which ma­sons use, Shone smooth and lu­cid, and as red as flame. So that al­though no sun-​beam pierced the gloom, Its splen­dour lit the sub­ter­ra­ne­ous room.

XV Whether it be the na­tive op­er­ation O cer­tain stones, to shine like torch i’ the dark, Or whether force of spell or fu­mi­ga­tion, (A guess that seems to come more near the mark) Or sign made un­der mys­tic con­stel­la­tion, The blaze that came from the sepul­chral ark Dis­cov­ered sculp­ture, colour, gems, and gild­ing, And what­so­ev­er else adorned the build­ing.

XVI Scarce­ly had Bradamant above the sill Lifter her foot, and trod the se­cret cave, When the live spir­it, in clear tones that thrill, Ad­dressed the mar­tial vir­gin from the grave; “May For­tune, chaste and no­ble maid, ful­fil Thine ev­ery wish!” ex­claimed the wiz­ard brave. “Since from thy womb a prince­ly race shall spring, Whose name through Italy and earth shall ring.

XVII “The no­ble blood de­rived from an­cient Troy, Min­gling in thee its two most glo­ri­ous streams, Shall be the or­na­ment, and flow­er, and joy Of ev­ery lin­eage on which Phoe­bus beams, Where ge­nial stars lend warmth, or cold an­noy, Where In­dus, Tagus, Nile, or Danube gleams; And in thy proge­ny and long drawn line Shall mar­quis­es, counts, dukes and Cae­sers shine.

XVI­II “Cap­tains and cav­aliers shall spring from thee, Who both by knight­ly lance and pru­dent lore, Shall once again to wid­owed Italy Her an­cient praise and fame in arms re­store; And in her realms just lords shall seat­ed be, (Such Nu­ma and Au­gus­tus were of yore), Who with their gov­ern­ment, be­nign and sage, Shall re-​cre­ate on earth the gold­en age.

XIX “Then, that the will of Heav­en be du­ly brought To a fair end through thee, in fit­ting date, Which from the first to bless thy love has wrought, And des­tined young Rogero for thy mate, Let noth­ing in­ter­pose to break that thought, But bold­ly tread the path per­scribed by fate; Nor let aught stay thee till the thief be thrown By thy good lance, who keeps thee from thine own.”

XX Here Mer­lin ceased, that for the solemn feat Melis­sa might pre­pare with fit­ting spell, To show bold Bradamant, in as­pect meet, The heirs who her il­lus­tri­ous race should swell. Hence many sprites she chose; but from what seat Evoked, I know not, or if called from hell; And gath­ered in one place (so bade the dame), In var­ious garb and guise the shad­ows came.

XXI This done, in­to the church she called the maid, Where she had drawn a mag­ic ring, as wide As might con­tain the damsel, pros­trate laid; With the full mea­sure of a palm be­side. And on her head, lest spir­it should in­vade, A pen­ta­cle for more as­sur­ance tied. So bade her hold her peace, and stand and look, Then read, and schooled the demons from her book.

XXII Lo! forth of that first cave what count­less swarm Press­es up­on the cir­cle’s sa­cred round, But, when they would the mag­ic ram­part storm, Finds the way barred as if by fos­se or mound; Then back the rab­ble turns of var­ious form; And when it thrice with bend­ing march has wound About the cir­cle, troops in­to the cave, Where stands that beau­teous urn, the wiz­ard’s grave.

XXI­II “To tell at large the puis­sant acts and worth, And name of each who, fig­ured in a sprite, Is present to our eyes be­fore his birth,” Said sage Melis­sa to the damsel bright; “To tell the deeds which they shall act on earth, Were labour not to fin­ish with the night. Hence I shall call few wor­thies of thy line, As time and fair oc­ca­sion shall com­bine.

XXIV “See yon­der first-​born of thy no­ble breed, Who well re­flects thy fair and joy­ous face; He, first of thine and of Rogero’s seed, Shall plant in Italy thy gen­er­ous race. In him be­hold who shall dis­tain the mead, And his good sword with blood of Pon­tier base; The mighty wrong chas­tised, and traitor’s guilt, By whom his prince­ly fa­ther’s blood was spilt.

XXV “By him King Desiderius shall be pressed, The valiant lead­er of the Lom­bard horde: And of the fiefs of Calaon and Este; For this im­pe­ri­al Charles shall make him lord. Hu­bert, thy grand­son, comes be­hind; the best Of Italy, with arms and belt­ed sword: Who shall de­fend the church from bar­barous foes, And more than once as­sure her safe re­pose.

XXVI “Al­ber­to next, un­con­quered cap­tain, see, Whose tro­phies shall so many fanes ar­ray. Hugh, the bold son, is with the sire, and he Shall con­quer Mi­lan, and the snakes dis­play. Azo, that next ap­proach­ing form shall be, And, his good broth­er dead, the In­sub­ri sway. Lo! Al­ber­ta­zo! by whose rede un­done, See Beren­gar­ius ban­ished, and his son.

XXVII “With him shall the im­pe­ri­al Otho join In wed­lock worthi­ly his daugh­ter fair. And lo! an­oth­er Hugh! O no­ble line! O! sire suc­ceed­ed by an equal heir! He, thwart­ing with just cause their ill de­sign, Shall thrash the Ro­mans’ pride who over­bear; Shall from their hands the sovereign pon­tiff take, With the third Otho, and their lea­guer break.

XXVI­II “See Fulke, who to his broth­er will con­vey All his Ital­ian birth-​right, and com­mand To take a mighty duke­dom far away From his fair home, in Al­mayn’s north­ern land. There he the house of Sax­ony shall stay, And prop the ru­in with his sav­ing hand; This in his moth­er’s right he shall pos­sess, And with his proge­ny main­tain and bless.

XXIX “More famed for cour­tesy than war­like deed, Azo the sec­ond, he who next re­pairs! Bertol­do and Al­ber­ta­zo are his seed: And, lo! the fa­ther walkes be­tween his heirs. By Par­ma’s walls I see the Ger­mans bleed, Their sec­ond Hen­ry quelled; such tro­phy bears The one renowned in sto­ry’s fu­ture page: The next shall wed Matil­da, chaste and sage.

XXX “His virtues shall de­serve so fair a flow­er, (And in his age, I wot, no com­mon grace) To hold the half of Italy in dow­er, With that de­scen­dent of first Hen­ry’s race. Ri­nal­do shall suc­ceed him in his pow­er, Pledge of Bertol­do’s wed­ded love, and chase Fierce Fred­er­ick Bar­barossa’s hireling bands, Sav­ing the church from his ra­pa­cious hands.

XXXI “An­oth­er Azo rules Verona’s town, With its fair fields; and two great chiefs this while (One wears the pa­pal, one the im­pe­ri­al crown), The baron, Mar­quis of An­cona style. But to show all who rear the gon­falon Of the con­sis­to­ry, amid that file, Were task too long; as long to tell each deed Achieved for Rome by thy de­vot­ed seed.

XXXII “See Fulke and Obyson, more Azos, Hughs! Both Hen­rys! — mark the fa­ther and his boy. Two Guelphs: the first fair Um­bria’s land sub­dues, And shall Spo­le­to’s ducal crown en­joy. Be­hold the prince­ly phan­tom that en­sues, Shall turn fair Italy’s long grief to joy; I speak of the fifth Azo of thy strain, By whom shall Ezelin be quelled and slain.

XXXI­II “Fierce Ezelin, that most in­hu­man lord, Who shall be deemed by men a child of hell. And work such evil, thin­ning with the sword Who in Au­so­nia’s wast­ed cities dwell; Rome shall no more her An­tho­ny record, Her Mar­ius, Syl­la, Nero, Ca­jus fell. And this fifth Azo shall to scathe and shame Put Fred­er­ick, sec­ond Caeser of the name.

XXXIV “He, with his bet­ter scep­tre well con­tent­ed, Shall rule the city, seat­ed by the streams, Where Phoe­bus to his plain­tive lyre lament­ed The son, ill-​trust­ed with the fa­ther’s beams; Where Cygnus spread his pin­ions, and the scent­ed Am­ber was wept, as fa­bling po­et dreams. To him such hon­our shall the church de­cree; Fit guer­don of his works, and val­our’s fee.

XXXV “But does no lau­rel for his broth­er twine, Al­do­brandi­no, who will car­ry cheer To Rome (when Otho, with the Ghi­belline, In­to the trou­bled cap­ital strikes fear), And make the Um­bri and Piceni sign Their shame, and sack the cities far and near; Then hope­less to re­lieve the sa­cred hold, Sue to the neigh­bour­ing Flo­ren­tine for gold:

XXXVI “And trust a no­ble broth­er to his hands, Boast­ing no dear­er pledge, the pact to bind: And next, vic­to­ri­ous o’er the Ger­man bands, Give his tri­umphant en­signs to the wind: To the af­flict­ed church re­store her lands, And take due vengeance of Celano’s kind. Then die, cut off in man­hood’s ear­ly flow­er, Be­neath the ban­ners of the Pa­pal pow­er?

XXXVII “He, dy­ing, leaves his broth­er Azo heir Of Pe­saro and fair An­cona’s reign, And all the cities which ‘twixt Tron­to are, And green Isauro’s stream, from mount to main; With oth­er her­itage, more rich and rare, Great­ness of mind, and faith with­out a strain. All else is For­tune’s in this mor­tal state; But Virtue soars be­yond her love and hate.

XXXVI­II “In good Ri­nal­do equal worth shall shine, (Such is the promise of his ear­ly fire) If such a hope of thine ex­alt­ed line. Dark Fate and For­tune wreck not in their ire. Alas! from Naples in this dis­tant shrine, Naples, where he is hostage for his sire, His dirge is heard: A stripling of thy race, Young Obyson, shall fill his grand­sire’s place.

XXXIX “This lord to his do­min­ion shall unite Gay Reg­gio, joined to Mod­ena’s bold land. And his re­doubt­ed val­our lend such light, The will­ing peo­ple call him to com­mand. Sixth of the name, his Azo rears up­right The church’s ban­ner in his no­ble hand: Fair Adria’s fief to him in dow­er shall bring The child of sec­ond Charles, Si­cil­ia’s king.

XL “Be­hold in yon­der friend­ly group agreed. Many fair princes of il­lus­tri­ous name; Obyson, Al­bert famed for pi­ous deed, Al­do­brandi­no, Nicholas the lame. But we may pass them by, for bet­ter speed, Faen­za con­quered, and their feats and fame; With Adria (bet­ter held and sur­er gain) Which gives her ti­tle to the neigh­bour­ing main:

XLI “And that fair town, whose pro­duce is the rose, The rose which gives it name in Gre­cian speech: That, too, which fishy marsh­es round en­close, And Po’s two cur­rents threat with dou­ble breach; Whose towns­men loath the lazy calm’s re­pose, And pray that stormy waves may lash the beach. I pass, mid towns and tow­ers, a count­less store, Ar­gen­ta, Lu­go, and a thou­sand more.

XLII “See Nicholas, whom in his ten­der age, The will­ing peo­ple shall elect their lord; He who shall laugh to scorn the civ­il rage Of the re­bel­lious Tideus and his horde; Whose in­fan­tine de­light shall be to wage The mim­ic fight, and sweat with spear and sword: And through the dis­ci­pline such nur­ture yields, Shall flour­ish as the flow­er of mar­tial fields.

XLI­II “By him re­bel­lious plans are over­thrown, And turned up­on the rash con­triv­er’s head; And so each stratagem of war­fare blown, That vain­ly shall the cun­ning toils be spread. To the third Otho this too late is known, Of Par­ma and the pleas­ant Reg­gio dread; Who shall by him be spoiled in sud­den strife, Of his pos­ses­sions and his wretched life.

XLIV “And still the fair do­min­ion shall in­crease, And with­out wrong its spread­ing bounds aug­ment; Nor its glad sub­jects vi­olate the peace, Un­less pro­voked some out­rage to re­sent, And hence its wealth and wel­fare shall not cease; And the Di­vine Dis­pos­er be con­tent To let it flour­ish (such his heav­en­ly love!) While the ce­les­tial spheres re­volve above.

XLV “Lo! Li­onel! lo! Borse great and kind! First duke of thy fair race, his realm’s de­light; Who reigns se­cure, and shall more tri­umphs find In peace, than war­like princes win in fight. Who strug­gling Fury’s hands shall tie be­hind Her back, and prison Mars, re­moved from sight. His fair en­deav­ours bent to bless and stay The peo­ple, that his sovereign rule obey.

XLVI “Lo! Her­cules, who may re­proach his neigh­bour, With foot half burnt, and halt­ing gait and slow, That at Bu­drio, with pro­tect­ing sabre, He saved his troops from fa­tal over­throw; Not that, for guer­don of his glo­ri­ous labour, He should dis­tress and vex him as a foe; Chased in­to Bar­co. It were hard to say, If most he shine in peace or mar­tial fray.

XLVII “Lu­ca­nia, Puglia, and Cal­abria’s strand, Shall with the ru­mour of his prowess ring: Where he shall strive in du­el, hand to hand, And gain the praise of Cat­alo­nia’s king. Him, with the wis­est cap­tains of the land His worth shall class; such fame his ac­tions bring; And he the fief shall win like valiant knight, Which thir­ty years be­fore was his of right.

XLVI­II “To him his grate­ful city owes a debt, The great­est sub­jects to their lord can owe; Not that he moves her from a marsh, to set Her stones, where Ceres’ fruit­ful trea­sures grow. Nor that he shall en­large her bounds, nor yet That he shall fence her walls against the foe; Nor that he the­atre and dome re­pairs, And beau­ti­fies her streets and good­ly squares;

XLIX “Not that he keeps his lord­ship well de­fend­ed From the winged li­ons’ claws and fierce at­tacks; Nor that, when Gal­lic rav­age is ex­tend­ed, And the in­vad­er all Italia sacks, His hap­py state alone is un­of­fend­ed; Un­ha­rassed, and un­galled by toll or tax. Not for these bless­ings I re­count, and more His grate­ful realm shall Her­cules adore;

L “So much as that from him shall spring a pair Of broth­ers, leagued no less by love than blood; Who shall be all that Le­da’s chil­dren were; The just Alphon­so, Hip­po­lite the good. And as each twin re­signed the vi­tal air His fel­low to re­deem from Sty­gian flood, So each of these would glad­ly spend his breath, And for his broth­er brave per­pet­ual death.

LI “In these two princes’ ex­cel­lent af­fec­tion, Their hap­py lieges more as­sur­ance feel, Than if their no­ble town, for its pro­tec­tion, Were gird­ed twice by Vul­can’s works of steel. And so Alphon­so in his good di­rec­tion, Jus­tice, with knowl­edge and with love, shall deal, As­trea shall ap­pear re­turned from heav­en, To this low earth to vary­ing sea­sons giv­en.

LII “Well is it that his wis­dom shines as bright As his good sire’s, nor is his val­our less; Since here usurp­ing Venice arms for fight, And her full troops his scanty num­bers press, There she (I know not if more just­ly hight Moth­er or step­moth­er) brings new dis­tress; But, if a moth­er, scarce to him more mild Than Progue or Medea to her child.

LI­II “This chief, what time so­ev­er he shall go Forth with his faith­ful crew, by night or day, By wa­ter or by land, will shame the foe, With mem­orable rout and dis­ar­ray; And this too late Ro­magna’s sons shall know. Led against for­mer friends in bloody fray, Who shall be­dew the cam­paign with their blood, By San­tern, Po, and Zan­io­lus’ flood.

LIV “This shall the Spaniard know, to his dis­may, ‘Mid the same bounds, whom pa­pal gold shall gain, Who shall from him Bas­tia win and slay, With cru­el rage, her hap­less Castel­lain, The city tak­en; but shall dear­ly pay; His crime, the town re­trieved, and vic­tor slain: Since in the res­cued city not a groom Is left alive, to bear the news to Rome.

LV ” ‘Tis he, who with his coun­sel and his lance, Shall win the hon­ours of Ro­magna’s plain, And open to the chival­ry of France The vic­to­ry over Julius, leagued with Spain. Paunch-​deep in hu­man blood shall steeds ad­vance In that fierce strife, and strug­gle through the slain, ‘Mid crowd­ed fields, which scarce a grace sup­ply, Where Greek, Ital­ian, Frank, and Spaniard die.

LVI “Lo! who in priest­ly ves­ture clad, is crowned With pur­ple hat, con­ferred in hal­lowed dome! ‘Tis he, the wise, the lib­er­al, the renowned Hip­poli­tus, great car­di­nal of Rome; Whose ac­tions shall in ev­ery re­gion sound, Where’er the hon­oured muse shall find a home: To whose glad era, by in­dul­gent heav­en, As to Au­gus­tus’ is a Maro giv­en.

LVII “His deeds adorn his race, as from his car The glo­ri­ous sun il­lumes the sub­ject earth More than the sil­ver moon or less­er star; So far all oth­ers he tran­scends in worth. I see this cap­tain, ill best­ed for war, Go forth af­flict­ed, and re­turn in mirth: Backed by few foot, and few­er cav­aliers, He home­ward barks, and fif­teen gal­lies steers.

LVI­II “Two Sigis­monds, the first, the sec­ond, see; To these Alphon­so’s five good sons suc­ceed; Whose glo­ries spread o’er seas and land shall be. The first shall wed a maid of France’s seed. This is the sec­ond Her­cules; and he, (That you may know their ev­ery name and deed), Hip­poli­tus; who with the light shall shine, Of his wise un­cle, gild­ing all his line.

LIX “Fran­cis the third comes next; the oth­er two Alphon­sos both; — but yet again I say, Thy line through all its branch­es to pur­sue, Fair vir­gin, would too long pro­tract thy stay; And Phoe­bus, many times, to mor­tal view, Would quench and light again the lamp of day. Then, with thy leave, ’tis time the pageant cease, And I dis­miss the shades and hold my peace.”

LX So with the la­dy’s leave the vol­ume closed, Whose pre­cepts to her will the spir­its bent. And they, where Mer­lin’s an­cient bones re­posed, From the first cav­ern dis­ap­pear­ing, went. Then Bradamant her ea­ger lips un­closed, Since the di­vine en­chantress gave con­sent; “And who,” she cried, “that pair of sor­row­ing mien, Alphon­so and Hip­poli­tus be­tween?

LXI “Sigh­ing, those youths ad­vanced amid the show, Their brows with shame and sor­row over­cast, With down­ward look, and gait sub­dued and slow: I saw the broth­ers shun them as they passed.” Melis­sa heard the dame with signs of woe, And thus, with stream­ing eyes, ex­claim’d at last: “Ah! luck­less youths, with vain il­lu­sions fed, Whith­er by wicked men’s bad coun­sel led!

LXII “O, wor­thy seed of Her­cules the good, Let not their guilt be­yond thy love pre­vail; Alas! the wretched pair are of thy blood, So many pre­vail­ing pity turn the scale!” And in a sad and soft­er tone pur­sued, “I will not fur­ther press the painful tale. Chew on fair fan­cy’s food: Nor deem un­meet I will not with a bit­ter chase the sweet.

LXI­II “Soon as to-​mor­row’s sun shall gild the skies With his first light, my­self the way will show To where the wiz­ard knight Rogero sties; And built with pol­ished steel the ram­parts glow: So long as through deep woods thy jour­ney lies, Till, at the sea ar­rived, I shall be­stow Such new in­struc­tions for the fu­ture way, That thou no more shalt need Melis­sa’s stay.”

LX­IV All night the maid re­pos­es in the cave, And the best part in talk with Mer­lin spends; While with per­sua­sive voice the wiz­ard grave To her Rogero’s hon­est love com­mends; Till from the vault goes forth that vir­gin brave, As through the sky the ris­ing sun as­cends, By path, long space ob­scure on ei­ther side, The weird wom­an still her faith­ful guide.

LXV They gain a hid­den glen, which heights in­close, And moun­tains in­ac­ces­si­ble to man: And they all day toil on, with­out re­pose, Where precipices frowned and tor­rents ran. And (what may some di­ver­sion in­ter­pose) Sweet sub­jects of dis­course to­geth­er scan, In con­fer­ence, which best might make ap­pear The rugged road less dis­mal and se­vere.

LXVI Of these the greater por­tion served to guide (Such the wise wom­an’s scope) the war­like dame; And teach by what de­vice might be un­tied Rogero’s gyves, if sted­fast were her flame. “If thou wert Mars him­self, or Pal­las,” cried The sage Melis­sa, “though with thee there came More than King Charles or Agra­mant com­mand, Against the wiz­ard foe thou could’st not stand.

LXVII “Be­sides that it is walled about with steel, And in­ex­pugnable his tow­er, and high; Be­sides that his swift horse is taught to wheel, And cara­col and gal­lop in mid sky, He bears a mor­tal shield of pow­er to seal, As soon as ’tis ex­posed, the daz­zled eye; And so in­vades each sense, the splen­dour shed, That he who sees the blaze re­mains as dead.

LXVI­II “And lest to shut thine eyes, thou should’st sup­pose Might serve, con­tend­ing with the wiz­ard knight; How would’st thou know, when both in com­bat close, When he strikes home, or when es­chews the fight? But to es­cape the blaze which blinds his foes, And ren­der vain each necro­man­tic sleight, Have here a speedy mean which can­not miss; Nor can the world af­ford a way but this.

LX­IX “King Agra­mant of Africa a ring. Thieved from an In­di­an queen by sub­tle guiles, Has to a baron of his fol­low­ing Con­signed, who now pre­cedes us by few miles; Brunel­lo he. Who wears the gift shall bring To nought all sor­ceries and mag­ic wiles. In thefts and cheats Brunel­lo is as well In­struct­ed, as the sage in charm and spell.

LXX “Brunel­lo, he so prac­tised and so sly As now I tell thee, by his king is sent, That he with aid of moth­er wit may try, And of this ring, well proved in like event, To take Rogero from the cas­tle high; So has he boast­ed, by the wiz­ard pent: And to his lord such promise did im­part, Who has Rogero’s pres­ence most at heart.

LXXI “That his es­cape to thee alone may owe, Not to the king, the youth­ful cav­alier, How to re­lease Rogero from his foe And his en­chant­ed cage, pre­pare to hear. Three days along the shin­gle shalt thou go, Be­side the sea, whose waves will soon ap­pear; Thee the third day shall to a hos­tel bring, Where he shall come who bears the vir­tu­ous ring.

LXXII “That thou may’st recog­nise the man, in height Less than six palms, ob­serve one at this inn Of black and curly hair, the dwarfish wight! Beard over­grown about the cheek and chin; With shag­gy brow, swoln eyes, and cloudy sight, A nose close flat­tened, and a sal­low skin; To this, that I may make my sketch com­plete, Suc­cinct­ly clad, like couri­er, goes the cheat.

LXXI­II “Thy con­ver­sa­tion with this man shall turn Up­on en­chant­ment, spell, and mys­tic pact; And thou shalt, in thy talk, ap­pear to yearn To prove the wiz­ard’s strength, as is the fact. But, la­dy, let him not thy knowl­edge learn Of his good ring, which mars all mag­ic act: He shall pro­pose to bring thee as a guide To the tall cas­tle, whith­er thou would’st ride.

LXXIV “Fol­low him close, and view­ing (for a sign), Now near, the fortress of the en­chanter hoar; Let no false pity there thy mind in­cline To stay the ex­ecu­tion of my lore. Give him his death; but let him not di­vine Thy thought, nor grant him respite; for be­fore Thine eyes, con­cealed by it, the caitiff slips If once he place the ring be­tween his lips.”

LXXV Dis­cours­ing thus, they came up­on the sea Where Garonne near fair Bor­deaux meets the tide; Here, fel­low trav­ellers no more to be, Some nat­ural tears they drop and then di­vide. Duke Ay­mon’s child, who slum­bers not till she Re­lease her knight, holds on till even-​tide: ‘Twas then the damsel at a hos­tel rest­ed, Where Sir Brunel­lo was al­ready guest­ed.

LXXVI The maid Brunel­lo knows as soon as found (So was his im­age on her mind im­pressed), And asks him whence he came, and whith­er bound; And he replies and lies, as he is pressed. The dame, who is fore­warned, and knows her ground, Feigns too as well as he, and lies her best: And changes sex and sect, and name and land, And her quick eye oft glances at his hand;

LXXVII Oft glances at his res­less hand, in fear That he might un­de­tect­ed make some prize; Nor ev­er lets the knave ap­proach too near, Well know­ing his con­di­tion: In this guise The cou­ple stand to­geth­er, when they hear A sud­den sound: but what that sound im­plies I, sir, shall tell here­after with its cause; But first shall break my song with fit­ting pause.