Orlando Furioso Part 72

LXVII The fearful stroke was mightier in show, Than in effect, by which the Prince was prest; So that poor Isabel, distraught with woe, Felt her heart severed in her frozen breast.

The Scottish prince, all over in a glow, With anger and resentment was possest, And putting all his strength in either hand, Smote full the Tartar's helmet with his brand.

LXVIII Almost on his steed's neck the Tartar fell, Bent by the weighty blow Zerbino sped; And, had the helmet been unfenced by spell, The biting faulchion would have cleft his head.

The king, without delay, avenged him well, "Nor I for you till other season," said, "Will keep this gift"; and levelled at his crest, Hoping to part Zerbino to the chest.

LXIX Zerbino, on the watch, whose eager eye Waits on his wit, wheels quickly to the right; But not withal so quickly, as to fly The trenchant sword, which smote the s.h.i.+eld outright, And cleft from top to bottom equally; Shearing the sleeve beneath it, and the knight Smote on his arm; and next the harness rended, And even to the champion's thigh descended.

LXX Zerbino, here and there, seeks every way By which to wound, nor yet his end obtains; For, while he smites upon that armour gay, Not even a feeble dint the coat retains.

On the other hand, the Tartar in the fray Such vantage o'er the Scottish prince obtains, Him he has wounded in seven parts or eight, And reft his s.h.i.+eld and half his helmet's plate.

LXXI He ever wastes his blood; his energies Fail, though he feels it not, as 't would appear; Unharmed, the vigorous heart new force supplies To the weak body of the cavalier.

His lady, during this, whose crimson dyes Where chased by dread, to Doralice drew near, And for the love of Heaven, the damsel wooed To stop that evil and disastrous feud.

LXXII Doralice, who as courteous was as fair, And ill-a.s.sured withal, how it would end, Willingly granted Isabella's prayer, And straight to truce and peace disposed her friend, As well Zerbino, by the other's care, Was brought his vengeful anger to suspend; And, wending where she willed, the Scottish lord Left unachieved the adventure of the sword.

LXXIII Fair Flordelice, who ill maintained descries The goodly sword of the unhappy count, In secret garden, and so laments the prize Foregone, she weeps for rage, and smite her front: She would move Brandimart to this emprize; And, should she find him, and the fact recount, Weens, for short season will the Tartar foe Exulting in the ravished faulchion go.

LXXIV Seeking him morn and evening, but in vain, Flordelice after Brandimart did fare; And widely wandered from him, who again Already had to Paris made repair.

So far the damsel p.r.i.c.ked by hill and plain, She reached the pa.s.sage of a river, where She saw the wretched count; but what befel The Scottish prince, Zerbino, let me tell.

LXXV For to leave Durindana such misdeed To him appeared, it past all other woes; Though he could hardly sit upon his steed, Though mighty loss of life-blood, which yet flows.

Now, when his anger and his heat secede, After short interval, his anguish grows; His anguish grows, with such impetuous pains, He feels that life is ebbing from his veins.

LXXVI For weakness can the prince no further hie, And so beside a fount is forced to stay: Him to a.s.sist the pitying maid would try, But knows not what to do, not what to say.

For lack of comfort she beholds him die; Since every city is too far away, Where in this need she could resort to leech, Whose succour she might purchase or beseech.

LXXVII She, blaming Fortune, and the cruel sky, Can only utter fond complaints and vain.

"Why sank I not in ocean, (was her cry,) When first I reared my sail upon the main?"

Zerbino, who on her his languid eye Had fixt, as she bemoaned her, felt more pain Than that enduring and strong anguish bred, Through which the suffering youth was well-nigh dead.

LXXVIII "So be thou pleased, my heart," (Zerbino cried,) "To love me yet, when I am dead and gone, As to abandon thee without a guide, And not to die, distresses me alone.

For did it me in place secure betide To end my days, this earthly journey done, I cheerful, and content, and fully blest Would die, since I should die upon thy breast.

LXXIX "But since to abandon thee, to whom a prize I know not, my sad fate compels, I swear, My Isabella, by that mouth, those eyes, By what enchained me first, that lovely hair; My spirit, troubled and despairing, hies Into h.e.l.l's deep and gloomy bottom; where To think, thou wert abandoned so by me, Of all its woes the heaviest pain will be."

Lx.x.x At this the sorrowing Isabel, declining Her mournful face, which with her tears o'erflows, Towards the sufferer, and her mouth conjoining To her Zerbino's, languid as a rose; Rose gathered out of season, and which, pining Fades where it on the shadowy hedgerow grows, Exclaims, "Without me think not so, my heart, On this your last, long, journey to depart.

Lx.x.xI "Of this, my heart, conceive not any fear, For I will follow thee to heaven or h.e.l.l; It fits our souls together quit this sphere, Together go, for aye together dwell.

No sooner closed thine eyelids shall appear Than either me internal grief will quell, Or, has it not such power, I here protest, I with this sword to-day will pierce my breast.

Lx.x.xII "I of our bodies cherish hope not light, That they shall have a happier fate when dead: Together to entomb them, may some wight, Haply by pity moved, be hither led."

She the poor remnants of his vital sprite Went on collecting, as these words she said; And while yet aught remains, with mournful lips, The last faint breath of life devoutly sips.

Lx.x.xIII 'Twas here his feeble voice Zerbino manned, Crying. "My deity, I beg and pray, By that love witnessed, when thy father's land Thou quittedst for my sake; and, if I may In any thing command thee, I command, That, with G.o.d's pleasure, thou live-out thy day; Nor ever banish from thy memory, That, well as man can love, have I loved thee.

Lx.x.xIV "G.o.d haply will provide thee with good aid, To free thee from each churlish deed I fear; As, when in the dark cavern thou wast stayed, He sent, to rescue thee, Anglante's peer; So he (grammercy!) succoured thee dismaid At sea, and from the wicked Biscayneer.

And, if thou must choose death, in place of worse, Then only choose it, as a lesser curse."

Lx.x.xV I think not these last words of Scotland's knight Were so exprest, that he was understood: With these, he finished, like a feeble light, Which needs supply of was, or other food.

-- Who is there, that has power to tell aright The gentle Isabella's doleful mood?

When stiff, her loved Zerbino, with pale face, And cold as ice, remained in her embrace.

Lx.x.xVI On the ensanguined corse, in sorrow drowned, The damsel throws herself, in her despair, And shrieks so lout that wood and plain resound For many miles about; nor does she spare Bosom or cheek; but still, with cruel wound, One and the other smites the afflicted fair; And wrongs her curling lock of golden grain, Aye calling on the well-loved youth in vain.

Lx.x.xVII She with such rage, such fury, was possest, That, in her transport, she Zerbino's glaive Would easily have turned against her breast, Ill keeping the command her lover gave; But that a hermit, from his neighbouring rest, Accustomed oft to seek the fountain-wave, His flagon at the cooling stream to fill, Opposed him to the damsel's evil will.

Lx.x.xVIII The reverend father, who with natural sense Abundant goodness happily combined, And, with ensamples fraught and eloquence, Was full of charity towards mankind, With efficacious reasons her did fence, And to endurance Isabel inclined; Placing, from ancient Testament and new, Women, as in a mirror, for her view.

Lx.x.xIX The holy man next made the damsel see, That save in G.o.d there was no true content, And proved all other hope was transitory, Fleeting, of little worth, and quickly spent; And urged withal so earnestly his plea, He changed her ill and obstinate intent; And made her, for the rest of life, desire To live devoted to her heavenly sire.

XC Not that she would her mighty love forbear, For her dead lord, nor yet his relics slight; These, did she halt or journey, every where Would Isabel have with her, day and night.

The hermit therefore seconding her care, Who, for his age, was sound and full of might, They on his mournful horse Zerbino placed, And traversed many a day that woodland waste.

XCI The cautious elder would not bear away Thus all alone with him that damsel bland Thither, where in a cave, concealed from day, His solitary cell hard by did stand: Within himself exclaiming: "I convey With peril fire and fuel in one hand."

Nor in such bold experiments the sage Wisely would trust to prudence or to age.

XCII He thought to bear her to Provence, where, near The city of Ma.r.s.eilles a borough stood, Which had a sumptuous monastery; here Of ladies was a holy sisterhood; And, hither to transport the cavalier, They stowed his body in a chest of wood, Made in a town by the way-side; and which Was long and roomy, and well closed with pitch.

XCIII So, compa.s.sing a mighty round, they fare Through wildest parts, for many and many a day; Because, the war extending every where, They seek to hide themselves as best they may: At length a cavalier arrests the pair, That with foul scorn and outrage bars their way; Of whom you more in fitting time shall learn, But to the Tartar king I now return.

XCIV After the fight between the two was done, Already told by me, the king withdrew To a cooling shade and river from the sun, His horse's reins and saddle to undo; Letting the courser at his pleasure run, Browsing the tender gra.s.s the pasture through: But he reposed short time ere he descried An errant knight descend the mountain's side.

XCV Him Doralice, as soon as he his front Uplifted, knew; and showed him to her knight: Saying: "Behold! the haughty Rodomont, Unless the distance has deceived my sight.

To combat with thee, he descends the mount: Now it behoves thee put forth all thy might.

To lose me, his betrothed, a mighty cross The monarch deems, and comes to venge his loss."

XCVI As a good hawk, who duck or woodc.o.c.k shy, Partridge or pigeon, or such other prey, Seeing towards her from a distance fly, Raises her head, and shows her blithe and gay; So Mandricardo, in security Of crus.h.i.+ng Rodomont in that affray, Gladly his courser seized, bestrode the seat, Reined him, and in the stirrups fixt his feet.

XCVII When the two hostile warriors were so near, That words could be exchanged between the twain, Loudly began the monarch of Argier To threat with head and hand, in haughty strain, That to repentance he will bring the peer Who lightly for a pleasure, rash and vain, Had scrupled not his anger to excite Who dearly will the offered scorn requite.

XCVIII When Mandricardo: "He but vainly tries To fright, who threatens me -- by words unscared.

Woman, or child, or him he terrifies, Witless of warfare; not me, who regard With more delight than rest, which others prize, The stirring battle; and who am prepared My foeman in the lists or field to meet; Armed or unarmed, on horse or on my feet."

XCIX They pa.s.s to outrage, shout, and ire, unsheath The brand; and loudly smites each cruel foe; Like winds, which scarce at first appear to breathe, Next shake the oak and ash-tree as they blow; Then to the skies upwhirl the dusty wreath, Then level forests, and lay houses low, And bear the storm abroad, o'er land and main, By which the flocks in greenwood-holt are slain.

C Of those two infidels, unmatched in worth, The valiant heart and strength, which thus exceed, To such a warfare and such blows give birth, As suits with warrior of so bold a seed.

At the loud sound and horrid, trembles earth, When the swords cross; and to the stroke succeed Quick sparks; or rather, flas.h.i.+ng to the sky, Bright flames by thousands and by thousands fly.

CI Without once gathering breath, without repose, The champions one another still a.s.sail; Striving, now here, now there, with deadly blows, To rive the plate, or penetrate the mail.

Nor this one gains, nor the other ground foregoes; But, as if girded in by fosse or pale, Or, as too dearly sold they deem an inch, Ne'er from their close and narrow circle flinch.

CII Mid thousand blows, so, with two-handed swing, On his foe's forehead smote the Tartar knight, He made him see, revolving in a ring, Myriads of fiery b.a.l.l.s and sparks of light.

The croupe, with head reversed, the Sarzan king Now smote, as if deprived of all his might, The stirrups lost; and in her sight, so well Beloved, appeared about to quit the sell.

CIII But as steel arbalest that's loaded sore, By how much is the engine charged and strained, By lever or by crane, with so much more Fury returns, its ancient bent regained, And, in discharging its destructive store, Inflicts worse evil than itself sustained; So rose that African with ready blade, And straight with double force the stroke repaid.

CIV Rodomont smites, and in the very place Where he was smit, the Tartar in return; But cannot wound the Sarzan in the face, Because his Trojan arms the weapon turn; Yes so astounds, he leaves him not in case, If it be morn or evening to discern.

Rodomont stopt not, but in fury sped A second blow, still aiming at his head.