Then comes a season when its crested pride
Is vanished, and its vigour wasted so,
A child, a woman, everywhere may tread,
And often dry-shod cross, its rugged bed.
So Marganor whilere each bound and bourn
Made tremble, whereso’er his name was heard:
Now one is come to bruise the tyrant’s horn;
And now his prowess is so little feared,
That even the little children work him scorn;
Some pluck his hair and others pluck his beard.
Thence young Rogero and the damsels twain
Towards his rock-built castle turn the rein.
This without contest its possessors yield,
And the rich goods preserved in that repair.
These the friends partly spoiled, and partly dealed
To Ulany and that attendant pair.
With them, recovered was the golden shield,
And those three monarchs that were prisoned there;
Who, without arms, afoot, towards that hold
Had wended, as meseems whilere was told.
For from the day that they were overthrown
By Bradamant, afoot, they evermore,
Unarmed, in company with her had gone,
That hither came from her so distant shore.
I know not, I, if it was better done
Or worse, by her, that they their arms forbore:
Worse, touching her defence; but better far,
If they were losers in the doubtful war.
For she would have been dragged—like others, whom
Armed men had thither brought beneath their guide,
(Unhappy women) to the brothers’ tomb—
And by the sacrifice knife have died.
Death, sure, is worse, and more disastrous doom
Than showing that which modesty would hide;
And they who can to force ascribe the blame,
Extinguish this and every other shame.
Before they hence depart, the martial twain
Assemble the inhabitants, to swear,
“They to their wives the rule of that domain
Will leave, as well as every other care;
And that they will chastise, with heavy pain,
Whoever to oppose this law shall dare.
—In fine, man’s privileges, whatsoe’er,
They swear, shall be conferred on woman here:”
Then make them promise, “never to bestow
Harbourage on whosoever thither sped,
Footman or cavalier, nor even allow
Any beneath a roof to hide his head,
Unless he swore by God and saints, or vow
Yet stronger made—if stronger could be said—
That he the sex’s cause would aye defend,
Foe to their foes, and woman’s faithful friend;
“And, if he then were wived, or ever were
—Sooner or later—linked in nuptial noose,
Still to his wife he would allegiance bear,
Nor e’er compliance with her will refuse.”
Marphisa says, “within the year, she there
Will be, and ere the trees their foliage lose;
And, save she find her statute in effect,
That borough fire and ruin may expect.”
Nor hence they part ill from the filthy place,
Wherein it lay, Drusilla’s corse is borne;
Her with her lord they in a tomb encase,
And, with what means the town supplies, adorn.
Drusilla’s ancient woman, in this space,
Marganor’s body with her goad has torn.
Who only grieves she has not wind enow,
No respite to his torture to allow.
Beside a church, the martial damsels twain
Behold a pillar, standing in the square;
Whereon the wicked lord of the domain
Had graved that mad and cruel law; the pair,
In imitation, his helm, plate, and chain,
And shield, in guise of trophy fasten there;
And afterwards upon the pillar trace
That law they had enacted for the place.
Within the town the troop set up their rest,
Until the law is graved, of different frame
From that before upon the stone imprest,
Which every woman doom’d to death and shame.
With the intention to replace her vest,
Here from that band divides the Islandick dame;
Who deems, at court ’twere shameful to appear,
Unless adorned and mantled as whilere.
Here Ulany remained, and in her power
Remained the wicked tyrant Marganor:
She, lest he any how, in evil hour,
Should break his bonds and injure damsel more,
Made him, one day, leap headlong from a tower,
Who never took so still a leap before.
No more of her and hers! I of the crew
That journey toward Arles, the tale pursue.
Throughout all that and the succeeding day,
Till the forenoon, proceed those banded friends;
And, where the main-road branches, and one way
Towards the camp, to Arles the other tends,
Again embrace the lovers, and oft say
A last farewell, which evermore offends.
The damsels seek the camp; to Arles is gone
Rogero; and my canto I have done.
Canto XXXVIII
To Arles the Child, to Charles Marphisa wends,
To be baptised, with Bradamant for guide.
Astolpho from the holy realm descends;
Through whom with sight the Nubian is supplied:
Agramant’s land he with his troop offends;
But he is of his Afric realm so wide,
With Charles he bargains, that, on either side,
Two knights by strife their quarrel should decide.
Ye courteous ladies, who unto my strain
Kind audience lend—I read it in your cheer—
That good Rogero should depart again
So suddenly, from her that held him dear,
Displeases ye, and scarce inflicts less pain
Than that which Bradamant endured whilere:
I read you also argue, to his shame,
That feebly burned in him the amorous flame.
If from her side for other cause had gone,
Against that lady’s will, the youthful lord;
Though in the hope more treasure to have won
Than swelled rich Croesus’ or rich Crassus’ hoard,
I too should deem the dart, by Cupid thrown,
Had not the heart-core of Rogero gored.
For such a sovereign joy, a prize so high
No silver and no gold could ever buy.
Yet to preserve our honour not alone
Deserves excuse, it also merits praise:
This to preserve, I say, when to have done
In other wise, might shame and scandal raise;
And had fair Bradamant reluctance shown,
And obstinately interposed delays,
This, as a certain sign, had served to prove
That lady’s little wit or little love.
For if his life, whom gentle woman loves,
As her own life she
