Armed at all points he was, except his head,

  And in his better hand a helmet bore:

  The very casque, which in the river's bed

  Ferrau sought vainly, toiling long and sore.

  Upon the Spanish knight he frowned, and said:

  "Thou traitor to thy word, thou perjured Moor,

  Why grieve the goodly helmet to resign,

  Which, due to me long since, is justly mine?

  XXVII

  "Remember, pagan, when thine arm laid low

  The brother of Angelica. That knight

  Am I; — thy word was plighted then to throw

  After my other arms his helmet bright.

  If Fortune now compel thee to forego

  The prize, and do my will in thy despite,

  Grieve not at this, but rather grieve that thou

  Art found a perjured traitor to thy vow.

  XXVIII

  "But if thou seek'st a helmet, be thy task

  To win and wear it more to thy renown.

  A noble prize were good Orlando's casque;

  Rinaldo's such, or yet a fairer crown;

  Almontes', or Mambrino's iron masque:

  Make one of these, by force of arms, thine own.

  And this good helm will fitly be bestowed

  Where (such thy promise) it has long been owed."

  XXIX

  Bristled the paynim's every hair at view

  Of that grim shade, uprising from the tide,

  And vanished was his fresh and healthful hue,

  While on his lips the half-formed accents died.

  Next hearing Argalia, whom he slew,

  (So was the warrior hight) that stream beside,

  Thus his unknightly breach of promise blame,

  He burned all over, 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 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 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 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, 'tis Bayardo's self I recognize.

  How well the courser understands our need!

  Two riders ill a foundered jade would bear,

  But hither speeds the horse to end that care."

  LXXIV

  The bold Circassian lighted, and applied

  His hand to seize him by the flowing rein,

  Who, swiftly turning, with his heels replied,

  For he like lightning wheeled upon the plain.

  Woe to the king! but that he leaps aside,

  For should he smite, he would not lash in vain.

  Such are his bone and sinew, that the shock

  Of his good heels had split a metal rock.

  LXXV

  Then to the maid he goes submissively,

  With gentle blandishment and humble mood;

  As the dog greets his lord with frolic glee,

  Whom, some short season past, he had not viewed.

  For good Bayardo had in memory

  Albracca, where her hands prepared his food,

  What time the damsel loved Rinaldo bold;

  Rinaldo, then ungrateful, stern, and cold.

  LXXVI

  With her left hand she takes him by the bit,

  And with the other pats his sides and chest:

  While the good steed (so marvellous his wit),

  Lamb-like, obeyed the damsel and caressed.

  Meantime the king, who sees the moment fit,

  Leapt up, and with his knees the courser pressed.

  While on the palfrey, eased of half his weight,

  The lady left the croup, and gained the seat.

  LXXVII

  Then, as at hazard, she directs her sight,

  Sounding in arms a man on foot espies,

  And glows with sudden anger and despite;

  For she in him the son of Aymon eyes.

  Her more than life esteems the youthful knight,

  While she from him, like crane from falcon, flies.

  Time was the lady sighed, her passion slighted;

  'Tis now Rinaldo loves, as ill requited.

  LXXVIII

  And this effect two different fountains wrought,

  Whose wonderous waters different moods inspire.

  Both spring in Arden, with rare virtue fraught:

  This fills the heart with amorous desire:

  Who taste that other fountain are untaught

  Their love, and change for ice their former fire.

  Rinaldo drank the first, and vainly sighs;

  Angelica the last, and hates and flies.

  LXXIX

  Mixed with such secret bane the waters glide,

  Which amorous care convert to sudden hate;

  The maid no sooner had Rinaldo spied,

  Than on her laughing eyes deep darkness sate:

  And with sad mien and trembling voice she cried

  To Sacripant, and prayed him not to wait

  The near approach of the detested knight,

  But through the wood with her pursue his flight.

  LXXX

  To her the Saracen, with anger hot:

  "Is knightly worship sunk so low in me,

  That thou should'st hold my valour cheap, and not

  Sufficient to make yonder champion flee?

  Already are Albracca's fights forgot,

  And that dread night I singly stood for thee?

  That night when I, though naked, was thy shield

  Against King Agrican and all his field?"

  LXXXI

  She answers not, and knows not in her fear

  What 'tis she does; Rinaldo is too nigh:

  And from afar that furious cavalier

  Threats the bold Saracen with angry cry,

  As soon as the known steed and damsel dear,

  Whose charms such flame had kindled, meet his eye.

  But what ensued between the haughty pair

  I in another canto shall declare.