Let himself backwards in that struggle fall,
Embracing as he stood with Ulien’s son.
Together in the foaming stream they sank;
High flashed the wave, and groaned the echoing bank.
Quickly the stream asunder bore the pair.
Roland was naked, and like fish could swim,
Here shot his feet, his arms extended there,
And gained the bank; nor, when upon the brim,
Halted to mark if his adventure were
Achieved with praise or shame: in evil trim,
The pagan, by his arms impeded sore,
With heavier pain and trouble, toiled ashore.
Along the bridge which spanned that foaming tide
Did Flordelice meantime securely pace,
And, having vainly sought on every side
Brandimart’s bearing, since nor iron case
Nor vest of his she anywhere espied,
She hoped to find the knight in other place.
But here return we of the count to tell,
Who left behind him stream, bridge tower, and cell.
’Twere frenzy of his every frantic feat
To promise the relation, one by one;
So many and many—should I these repeat,
I know not when my story would be done.
Yet some of his notorious deeds, and meet
For mention in my song, will I make known:
Nor will I not that wondrous one recount,
Near Thoulouse, on the Pyrenaean Mount.
Much country had been traversed by the knight,
Urged by the furious rage which him misguides:
At last he reached the hill whose boundary height
Arragonese and neighbouring Frank divides.
Thither directing aye his course outright,
Where the descending sun his visage hides,
He reached a path upon the rugged steep,
Which overhung a valley dark and deep.
Here he by chance encountered in mid road
Two youths, that wood men were, and drove before
An ass along that pathway, with a load
Of logs; they, marking well what scanty store
Of brain in poor Orlando’s head was stowed,
Called to the approaching knight, and threatened sore
Bidding him stand aside, or else go back,
Nor to their hindrance block the common track.
To this address Orlando answered nought,
Save that his foot he to their beast applied,
Smote in mid-breast, which, with that vigour fraught,
—That force exceeding every force beside—
Tost him so hight, that the beholders thought
It was a bird in air which they descried.
The ass upon a mountain-summit fell,
Which rose above a mile beyond that dell.
Upon those youths next sprang the furious knight.
With better luck than wit, one woodman shear
From that tall cliff, twice thirty yards in height,
Cast himself headlong downward in his fear:
Him a moist patch of brambles, in his flight,
Received; and, amid grass and bushes, here,
From other mischief safe, the stripling lit,
And for some scratches in his face was quit.
That other to a jutting fragment clung,
Who so to gain the higher steep would strive;
Because he hopes, if once those crags among,
To keep him from that fool he may contrive;
But by the feet Orlando, ere he sprung,
Seized him, who will not leave the wretch alive;
And stretching them as wide as he could strain,
So stretched his arms, he rent his prey in twain.
Even in such mode as often we descry
Falconer by heron or by puller do;
Whose entrails he plucks out, to satisfy
Merlin or falcon that the game pursue.
How happy was that other not to die!
Who risked his neck in that deep bottom, who
Rehearsed the tale so often, Turpin heard,
And handed down to us the wondrous word.
These and more marvels does the count, who bends
His steps across that mountain to the plain;
And, seeking long a path, at length descends
Towards the south, upon the land of Spain.
His way along the beach he after wends,
Near Arragon, beside the rumbling main,
And, ever prompted by his frenzy rank,
Will make himself a dwelling on the bank,
Where he somedeal may shun the noontide ray,
With dry and powdery sea-sand covered o’er;
And here, while so employed, upon their way
Arrives Angelica with her Medore,
Who, as you have been told in former lay,
Had from the hills descended on that shore.
Within a yard or less approached the fair,
Ere yet she of his presence was aware.
So different from himself was he to sight,
Nought of Orlando she in him surveyed:
For, from the time that rage possest his sprite,
He had gone naked forth in sun and shade.
Had he been born on hot Syene’s site,
Or sands where worship is to Ammon paid,
Or nigh those hills, whence Nile’s full waters spin,
Orlando had not borne a dingier skin.
Nigh buried in their sockets are his eyes,
Spare in his visage, and as dry as bone:
Dishevelled is his hair in woeful wise,
With frightful beard his cheek is overgrown:
No sooner is he seen, than backward flies
Angelica, who, trembling sore, is flown:
She shrieking loud, all trembling and dismayed,
Betakes her to her youthful guide for aid.
When crazed Orlando was of her aware,
To seize the damsel he upsprang in haste;
So pleased the wretched count her visage fair,
So quickly was his mood inflamed: effaced
In him all ancient recollections are,
How she by him was whilom served and graced.
Behind her speech the count and hunts that dame,
As questing dog pursues the sylvan game.
The youth, that sees him chase his love who fled,
His courser spurs, and in pursuit is gone.
With naked faulchion after him he sped,
And cut and thrust at Roland as he run.
He from his shoulders hoped to cleave his head,
But found the madman’s skin as hard as bone;
Yea, harder far than steel, nor to be harmed;
So good Orlando at his birth was charmed.
When on his back Orlando felt him beat,
He turned, and turning on his youthful foe,
Smote with clenched fist, and force which nought can meet,
—Smote on his horse’s head, a fearful blow;
And, with skull smashed like glass, that courser fleet
Was by the madman’s furious
