Dbk, Canto 8

ARGUMENT Rogero flies; Astolpho with the rest, To their true shape Melissa does restore; Rinaldo levies knights and squadrons, pressed In aid of Charles assaulted by the Moor: Angelica, by ruffians found at rest, Is offered to a monster on the shore. Orlando, warned in visions of his ill, Departs from Paris sore against his will.

How many enchantresses among us! oh, How many enchanters are there, though unknown! Who for their love make man or woman glow, Changing them into figures not their own. Nor this by help of spirits from below, Nor observation of the stars is done: But these on hearts with fraud and falsehood plot, Binding them with indissoluble knot.

Who with Angelica's, or rather who Were fortified with Reason's ring, would see Each countenance, exposed to open view, Unchanged by art or by hypocrisy. This now seems fair and good, whose borrowed hue Removed, would haply foul and evil be. Well was it for Rogero that he wore The virtuous ring which served the truth to explore!

Rogero, still dissembling, as I said, Armed, to the gate on Rabican did ride; Found the guard unprepared, not let his blade, Amid that crowd, hang idle at his side: He passed the bridge, and broke the palisade, Some slain, some maimed; then t'wards the forest hied; But on that road small space had measured yet, When he a servant of the fairy met.

He on his fist a ravening falcon bore, Which he made fly for pastime every day; Now on the champaign, now upon the shore Of neighbouring pool, which teemed with certain prey; And rode a hack which simple housings wore, His faithful dog, companion of his way. He, marking well the haste with which he hies, Conjectures truly what Rogero flies.

Towards him came the knave, with semblance haught, Demanding whither in such haste he sped: To him the good Rogero answers naught. He hence assured more clearly that he fled, Within himself to stop the warrior thought, And thus, with his left arm extended, said: "What, if I suddenly thy purpose balk, And thou find no defence against this hawk?"

Then flies his bird, who works so well his wing, Rabican cannot distance him in flight: The falconer from his back to ground did spring, And freed him from the bit which held him tight; Who seemed an arrow parted from the string, And terrible to foe, with kick and bite; While with such haste behind the servant came, He sped as moved by wind, or rather flame.

Nor will the falconer's dog appear more slow; But hunts Rogero's courser, as in chace Of timid hare the pard is wont to go. Not to stand fast the warrior deems disgrace, And turns towards the swiftly-footed foe, Whom he sees wield a riding-wand, place Of other arms, to make his dog obey. Rogero scorns his faulchion to display.

The servant made at him, and smote him sore; The dog his left foot worried; while untied From rein, the lightened horse three times and more Lashed from the croup, nor missed his better side. The hawk, oft wheeling, with her talons tore The stripling, and his horse so terrified, The courser, by the whizzing sound dismayed, Little the guiding hand or spur obeyed.

Constrained at length, his sword Rogero drew To clear the rabble, who his course delay; And in the animals' or villain's view Did now its point, and now its edge display. But with more hinderance and vexatious crew Swarm here and there, and wholly block the way; And that dishonour will ensue and loss, Rogero sees, if him they longer cross.

He knew each little that he longer stayed, Would bring the fay and followers on the trail; Already drums were beat, and trumpets brayed, And larum-bells rang loud in every vale. An act too foul it seemed to use his blade On dog, and knave unfenced with arms or mail: A better and shorter way it were The buckler, old Atlantes' work, to bare.

He raised the crimson cloth in which he wore The wondrous shield, enclosed for many a day; Its beams, as proved a thousand times before, Work as they wont, when on the sight they play; Senseless the falconer tumbles on the moor; Drop dog and hackney; drop the pinions gay, Which poised in air the bird no longer keep: Then glad Rogero leaves a prey to sleep.

In the mean time, Alcina, who had heard How he had forced the gate, and, in the press, Slaughtered a mighty number of her guard, Remained nigh dead, o'erwhelmed with her distress; She tore her vesture, and her visage marred, And cursed her want of wit and wariness. Then made forthwith her meiny sound to arms, And round herself arrayed her martial swarms.

Divided next, one squadron by the way Rogero took, she sent; the bands were two: She at the port embarked the next array, And straight to sea dispatched the warlike crew. With this good squadron went the desperate fay, And darked by loosened sails the billows grew; For so desire upon her bosom preyed, Of troops she left her city unpurveyed.

Without a guard she left her palace there, Which to Melissa, prompt her time to seize, To loose her vassals that in misery were, Afforded all convenience and full ease; —To range, at leisure, through the palace fair, And so examine all her witcheries; To raze the seal, burn images, and loose Or cancel hag-knot, rhomb, or magic noose.

Thence, through the fields, fast hurrying from that dome, The former lovers changed, a mighty train, Some into rock or tree, to fountain some, Or beast, she made assume their shapes again: And these, when they anew are free to roam, Follow Rogero's footsteps to the reign Of Logistilla's sage; and from that bourn To Scythia, Persia, Greece, and Ind return.

They to their several homes dispatched, repair, Bound by a debt which never can be paid: The English duke, above the rest her care, Of these, was first in human form arrayed: For much his kindred and the courteous prayer Of good Rogero with Melissa weighed. Beside his prayers, the ring Rogero gave; That him she by its aid might better save.

Thus by Rogero's suit the enchantress won, To his first shape transformed the youthful peer; But good Melissa deemed that nought was done Save she restored his armour, and that spear Of gold, which whensoe'er at tilt he run, At the first touch unseated cavalier; Once Argalia's, next Astolpho's lance, And source of mighty fame to both in France.

The sage Melissa found this spear of gold, Which now Alcina's magic palace graced, And other armour of the warrior bold, Of which he was in that ill dome uncased. She climbed the courser of the wizard old, And on the croup, at ease, Astolpho placed: And thus, an hour before Rogero came, Repaired to Logistilla, knight and dame.

Meantime, through rugged rocks, and shagged with thorn, Rogero wends, to seek the sober fay; From cliff to cliff, from path to path forlorn, A rugged, lone, inhospitable way: Till he, with labour huge oppressed and worn, Issued at noon upon a beach, that lay 'Twixt sea and mountain, open to the south, Deserted, barren, bare, and parched with drouth.

The sunbeams on the neighbouring mountain beat And glare, reflected from the glowing mass So fiercely, sand and air both boil with heat, In mode that might have more than melted glass. The birds are silent in their dim retreat, Nor any note is heard in wood or grass, Save the bough perched Cicala's wearying cry, Which deafens hill and dale, and sea and sky.

The heat and thirst and labour which he bore By that drear sandy way beside the sea, Along the unhabited and sunny shore, Were to Rogero grievous company: Bur for I may not still pursue this lore, Nor should you busied with one matter be, Rogero I abandon in this heat, For Scotland; to pursue Rinaldo's beat.

By king, by daughter, and by all degrees, To Sir Rinaldo was large welcome paid; And next the warrior, at his better ease, The occasion of his embassy displayed: That he from thence and England, subsidies Of men was seeking, for his monarch's aid, In Charles's name; and added, in his care, The justest reasons to support his prayer.

The king made answer, that `without delay, Taxed to the utmost of his powers and might, His means at Charlemagne's disposal lay, For the honour of the empire and the right. And that, within few days, he in array Such horsemen, as he had in arms, would dight; And, save that he was now waxed old, would lead The expedition he was prayed to speed.

`Nor like consideration would appear Worthy to stop him, but that he possessed A son, and for such charge that cavalier, Measured by wit and force, was worthiest. Though not within the kingdom was the peer, It was his hope (as he assured his guest) He would, while yet preparing was the band, Return, and find it mustered to his hand.'

So sent through all his realm, with expedition, His treasures, to levy men and steeds; And ships prepared, and warlike ammunition, And money, stores and victual for their needs. Meantime the good Rinaldo on his mission, Leaving the courteous king, to England speeds; He brought him on his way to Berwick's town, And was observed to weep when he was gone.

The wind sat in the poop; Rinaldo good Embarked and bade farewell to all; the sheet Still loosening to the breeze, the skipper stood, Till where Thames' waters, waxing bitter, meet Salt ocean: wafted thence by tide of flood, Through a sure channel to fair London's seat, Safely the mariners their course explore, Making their way, with aid of sail and oar.

The Emperor Charles, and he, King Otho grave, Who was with Charles, by siege in Paris pressed, A broad commission to Rinaldo brave, With letters to the Prince of Wales addressed, And countersigns had given, dispatched to crave What foot and horse were by the land possessed. The whole to be to Calais' port conveyed; That it to France and Charles might furnish aid.

The prince I speak of, who on Otho's throne Sate in his stead, the vacant helm to guide, Such honor did to Aymon's valiant son, He not with such his king had gratified. Next, all to good Rinaldo's wish, was done: Since for his martial bands on every side, In Britain, or the isles which round her lay, To assemble near the sea he fixed a day.

But here, sir, it behoves me shift my ground, Like him that makes the sprightly viol ring, Who often changes chord and varies sound, And now a graver strikes, now sharper string: Thus I:—who did to good Rinaldo bound My tale, Angelica remembering; Late left, where saved from him by hasty flight, She had encountered with an anchorite.

Awhile I will pursue her story: I Told how the maid of him with earnest care, Enquired, how she towards the shore might fly: Who of the loathed Rinaldo has such fear, She dreads, unless she pass the sea, to die, As insecure in Europe, far or near, But she was by the hermit kept in play, Because he pleasure took with her to stay.

His heart with love of that rare beauty glowed, And to his frozen marrow pierced the heat; Who, after, when he saw that she bestowed Small care on him, and thought but of retreat, His sluggish courser stung with many a goad; But with no better speed he plied his feet. Ill was his walk, and worse his trot; nor spur Could that dull beast to quicker motion stir:

And for the flying maid was far before, And he would soon have ceased to track her steed, To the dark cave recurred the hermit hoar, And conjured up of fiends a grisly breed: One he selected out of many more, And first informed the demon of his need; Then in the palfrey bade him play his part, Who with the lady bore away his heart:

And as sagacious dog on mountain tried Before, accustomed fox and hare to chase, If he behold the quarry choose one side, The other takes, and seems to slight the trace: But at the turn arriving, is espied, Already tearing what he crossed to face; So her the hermit by a different road Will meet, wherever she her palfrey goad.

What was the friar's design I well surmise; And you shall know; but in another page. Angelica now slow, now faster, flies, Nought fearing this: while conjured by the sage, The demon covered in the courser lies; As fire sometimes will hide its smothered rage: Then blazes with devouring flame and heat, Unquenchable, and scarce allows retreat.

After the flying maid had shaped her course By the great sea which laves the Gascon shore, Still keeping to the rippling waves her horse, Where best the moistened sand the palfrey bore, Him, plunged into the brine, the fiend perforce Dragged, till he swam amid the watery roar. Nor what to do the timid damsel knew, Save that she closer to her saddle grew.

She cannot, howsoe'er the rein she ply, Govern the horse, who swims the surge to meet: Her raiment she collects and holds it high; And, not to wet them, gathers up her feet. Her tresses, which the breeze still wantonly Assaults, dishevelled on her shoulders beat. The louder winds are hushed, perchance in duty, Intent, like ocean, on such sovereign beauty.

Landward in vain her eyes the damsel bright Directs, which water face and breast with tears, And ever sees, decreasing to her sight, The beach she left, which less and less appears. The courser, who was swimming to the right, After a mighty sweep, the lady bears To shore, where rock and cavern shag the brink, As night upon the land begins to sink.

XXXVIII When in that desert, which but to descry Bred fear in the beholder, stood the maid Alone, as Phoebus, plunged in ocean, sky And nether earth had left obscured in shade; She paused in guise, which in uncertainty Might leave whoever had the form surveyed, If she were real woman, or some mock Resemblance, coloured in the living rock.

She, fixed and stupid in her wretchedness, Stood on the shifting sand, with ruffled hair: Her hands were joined, her lips were motionless, Her languid eyes upturned, as in despair, Accusing Him on high, that to distress And whelm her, all the fates united were. Astound she stood awhile; when grief found vent Through eyes and tongue, in tears and in lament.

"Fortune what more remains, that thou on me Shouldst not now satiate thy revengeful thirst? What more (she said) can I bestow on thee Than, what thou seekest not, this life accurst? Thou wast in haste to snatch me from the sea, Where I had ended its sad days, immersed; Because to torture me with further ill Before I die, is yet thy cruel will.

"But what worse torment yet remains in store Beyond, I am unable to descry: By thee from my fair throne, which nevermore I hope to repossess, compelled to fly; I, what is worse, my honour lost deplore; For if I sinned not in effect, yet I Give matter by my wanderings to be stung For wantonness of every carping tongue.

"What other good is left to woman, who Has lost her honour, in this earthly ball? What profits it that, whether false or true, I am deemed beauteous, and am young withal? No thanks to heaven for such a gift are due, Whence on my head does every mischief fall. For this my brother Argalia died; To whom small help enchanted arms supplied:

"For this the Tartar king, Sir Agrican, Subdued my sire, who Galaphron was hight, And of Catay in India was great khan; 'Tis hence I am reduced to such a plight, That wandering evermore, I cannot scan At morn, where I shall lay my head at night. If thou hast ravished what thou couldst, wealth, friends, And honour; say what more thy wrath intends.

"If death by drowning in the foaming sea Was not enough thy wrath to satiate, Send, if thou wilt, some beast to swallow me, So that he keep me not in pain! Thy hate Cannot devise a torment, so it be My death, but I shall thank thee for my fate!" Thus, with loud sobs, the weeping lady cried, When she beheld the hermit at her side.

From the extremest height the hermit hoar Of that high rock above her, had surveyed Angelica, arrived upon the shore, Beneath the cliff, afflicted and dismayed. He to that place had come six days before; For him by path untrod had fiend conveyed: And he approached her, feigning such a call As e'er Hilarion might have had, or Paul.

When him, yet unagnized, she saw appear, The lady took some comfort, and laid by, Emboldened by degrees, her former fear: Though still her visage was of death-like dye. "Misericord! father," when the friar was near (She said), "for brought to evil pass am I." And told, still broke by sobs, in doleful tone, The story, to her hearer not unknown.

To comfort her, some reasons full of grace, Sage and devout the approaching hermit cites: And, now his hand upon her moistened face, In speaking, now upon her bosom lights: As her, securer, next he would embrace: Him, kindling into pretty scorn, she smites With one hand on his breast, and backward throws, Then flushed with honest red, all over glows.

A pocket at the ancient's side was dight, Where he a cruise of virtuous liquor wore; And at those puissant eyes, whence flashed the light Of the most radiant torch Love ever bore, Threw from the flask a little drop, of might To make her sleep: upon the sandy shore Already the recumbent damsel lay, The greedy elder's unresisting prey.