Of those, by thee unhorsed in bloody jar:
Nor theirs am I, nor other’s, but my own,
Who wins me, wins me from myself alone.
“I too with lance and sword do doughty deed,
And more than one good knight on earth have laid.
—Give me,” she cried, “my armour and my steed.”
And readily her squires that hest obeyed:
Then in her waistcoat stood, of flowing weed
Despoiled, with well-knit from and charms displayed;
And in all points (such strength she shewed and grace)
Resembled heavenly Mars, except her face.
The damsel donned her sword, when armed all o’er,
And on her courser leapt with nimble spring;
And, right and left, she made him, thrice or more
Poised on his haunches, turn in narrow ring.
And, levelling the sturdy lance she bore,
Defied, and next assailed, the Tartar king.
So combating with Peleus’ son, of yore,
Penthesilaea warred on Trojan shore.
Like brittle crystal, in that proud career,
The weapons at the rest to pieces went;
Yet neither of those warriors, ’twould appear,
Backwards one inch at their encounter bent.
Marphisa, who would willingly be clear
What of a closer fight would be the event,
For a new combat with the paynim lord,
Wheeled, to attack that warrior with the sword.
That Tartar cursed the elements and sky,
When her he saw remaining in her sell;
And she, who thought to make his buckler fly,
Cursed heaven as loudly as that infidel.
Already were their faulchions raised on high,
Which on the enchanted arms like hammers fell:
Enchanted arms both combatants enclose,
Never more needed by those deadly foes.
So perfect are the champions’ plate and chain,
They thrust or cut of spear or faulchion stay;
So that the two the battle might maintain,
Throughout this and throughout another day:
But Rodomont leaps in between the twain,
And taxes Mandricardo with delay;
Crying, “If battle here is to be done,
Finish we that which we to-day begun.
“We made a truce, thou knowest, upon pact
Of furnishing our baffled forces aid;
Nor foe in joust or fight can be attacked
By us with justice till this debt be paid.”
Then to Marphisa he in reverent act
Addressed himself, and of that courier said;
And next recounted to the martial dame,
How seeking aid for Agramant he came.
Next prays “not only with that Tartar knight
She will abandon or defer the fray;
But that, Troyano’s valiant son to right,
She will, together with them, wend her way;
By which her warlike fame a higher flight,
More easily may, even to heaven, assay,
Than in a quarrel of such paltry guise,
Which offers hindrance to such fair emprize.”
Marphisa, who had evermore in thought
To prove the paladins of Charles, and who
To France was over land and ocean brought,
From clime so distant, with no other view,
Than by her own experience to be taught
If their far-spread renown were false or true,
Resolved together with the troop to speed,
As soon as she had heard their monarch’s need.
Meanwhile Rogero, with that guiding may,
Had vainly by the rugged pathway sped:
Who that king Rodomont another way
Had taken, when he reached the mountain, read;
And thinking, that he was not far away,
And the road straight towards that fountain led,
Trotting in haste behind the Sarzan hied,
Where he new prints upon the path espied.
“Hippalca he to Mont Albano,” prayed,
“To wend, which distant one day’s journey lies;
Because to seek anew that fountain-glade,
Would be to wander in too wide a guise.
And that she need not doubt withal,” he said,
“But that he would retrieve the ravished prize.
And, were she in Mount Alban—or where’er—
Vowed she the tidings speedily should hear.”
And gave the letter to that maid to bear,
Which, writ by him, he in his bosom wore,
And added many matters, with the prayer,
“She would excuse him by her friendly lore.”
Hippalca in her memory fixt, with care,
The whole: took leave, and turned her horse once more:
Nor ceased that faithful messenger to ride
Till she Mount Alban reached at evening-tide.
Rogero followed fast the paynim knight,
Tracked o’er the level by those footsteps new
But overtook him not, till he got sight,
Beside the fount, of Mandricardo too.
Already either had his promise plight,
He nought unknown to his compeer would do,
Till they had succour to that host conveyed,
On which King Charles his yoke had nearly laid.
Arrived, Rogero knew Frontino gay,
And, through that courser, knew the knight astride;
And on his lance with bending shoulder lay,
And in fierce tone the African defied.
Job was outdone by Rodomont that day,
In that the king subdued his haughty pride,
And the fell fight which he had ever used
To seek with every instance, he refused.
The first day this and last, that e’er in fight
King Rodomont refused his part to bear!
But his desire appeared to him so right,
In succour of his sovereign to repair;
That if he had believed he clutched the knight
Faster than nimble leopard gripes the hare,
He not so far his purpose would forego,
As on his prey to waste a passing blow.
Add, that he knows Rogero is the peer
Who him for good Frontino now assails;
—So famous, that no other cavalier
Like him such eminence of glory scales;
—The man, of whom he gladly would be clear,
By proof, how much in battle he avails;
Yet shuns the combat, proffered on his part;
So much his monarch’s siege has he at heart.
Three hundred miles, a thousand, would he ride,
—Were it not so—to purchase such affray;
But he, if him Achilles had defied,
Had done no otherwise than as I say;
So deeply did the covering ashes hide
That fire beneath, whose fury stifled lay:
He told, “why he refused the strife;” and prayed,
“As well Rogero the design to aid.”
Adding, “that he, in doing so, would do
What to his lord a faithful vassal owes;
Still, when
