To change it for a better coat with speech;
Albeit the Moorish king, with bitter blow,
Has made the blood from his right should flow.
Him in the flank Gradasso too had gored;
(Nor this was laughing matter) so had scanned
His vantage that redoubted paynim lord,
He found a place wherein to plant his brand;
He broke the warrior’s shield, his left arm bored,
And touched him slightly in the better hand.
But this was play, was pastime (might be said),
With Roland’s and Gradasso’s battle weighed.
Gradasso has Orlando half disarmed;
Atop and on both sides his helm has broke:
Fallen is his shield, his cuirass split; but harmed
The warrior is not by the furious stroke,
Which opened plate and mail; for he is charmed;
And worser vengeance on the king has wroke,
In face, throat, breast has gored that cavalier,
Beside the wounds whereof I spake whilere.
Gradasso, desperate when he descried
Himself all wet, and smeared with sanguine dye,
And Roland, all from head to foot espied,
After such mighty strokes unstained and dry,
Thinking head, breast, and belly to divide,
With both his hands upheaved his sword on high;
And, even as he devised, upon the front,
Smote with mid blade Anglantes’ haughty count.
And would by any other so have done;
—Would to the saddle-tree have cleft him clean:
But the good sword, as if it fell upon
Its flat, rebounds again, unstained and sheen.
The furious stroke astounded Milo’s son,490
By whom some scattered stars on earth were seen.
He drops the bridle and would drop the brand,
But that a chain secures it to his hand.
So by the noise was scared the horse that bore
Upon his back Anglantes’ cavalier,
The courser scoured about the powdery shore,
Showing how good his speed in the career:
The County by that stroke astounded sore,
Has not the power the frightened horse to steer,
Gradasso follows and will reach him, so
That he but little more pursues the foe;
But turning round, beholds the royal Moor
To the utmost peril in that battle brought;
For by the shining helmet which he wore,
With the left hand, him Brandimart had caught;
Already had unlaced the casque before,
And with his dagger would new ill have wrought:
Nor much defence could make the Moorish lord;
For Brandimart as well had reft his sword.
Gradasso turned, nor more Orlando sought,
But hastened where he Agramant espied:
The incautious Brandimart, suspecting nought
Orlando would have let him turn aside,
Had not Gradasso in his eyes or thought,
And to the paynim’s throat his knife applied.
Gradasso came, and at his helmet layed,
Wielding with either hand his trenchant blade.
Father of heaven! ’mid spirits chosen by thee,
To him thy martyr true, a place accord;491
Who, having traversed his tempestuous sea,
Now furls his sails in port. Ah! ruthless sword,
So cruel, Durindana, can’st thou be,
To good Orlando, to thine ancient lord,
That thou can’st slaughter, in the warrior’s view,
Of all his friends the dearest and most true?
An iron ring that girt his helmet round,
Two inches thick, was broke by that fell blow,
And cleft; and with the solid iron bound,
Was parted the good cap of steel below,
Bold Brandimart, reversed upon the ground,
With haggard face beside his horse lies low;
And issuing widely from the warrior’s head
A stream of life-blood dyes the shingle red.
Come to himself, the County turns his eye,
And sees his Brandimart upon the plain,
And in such act Gradasso standing by
As clearly shows by whom the knight was slain.
If he most raged or grieved I know not, I,
But such short time is left him to complain,
His hasty wrath breaks forth, his grief gives way;
But now ’tis time that I suspend my lay.
Canto XLII
The victory with Count Orlando lies;
But good Rinaldo and Bradamant at heart,
(One for Angelica, the other sighs
For young Rogero) suffer cruel smart.
Him that in chase of the Indian damsel hies,
Disdain preserves; from thence does he depart
Towards Italy, and is with courteous cheer
And welcome guested by a cavalier.
What bit, what iron curb is to be found,
Or (could it be) what adamantine rein,
That can make wrath keep order and due bound,
And within lawful limits him contain?
When one, to whom the constant heart is bound
And linked by Love with solid bolt and chain,
We see, through violence or through foul deceit,
With mortal damage or dishonour meet.
And is the mind sometimes, if so possest,
To ill and savage action led astray,
It may deserve excuse; in that the breast
No more is under Reason’s sovereign sway.
Achilles, when, beneath his borrowed crest,
He saw Patroclus crimsoning the way,
Was with his murderer’s slaughter ill content,
Till he his mangled corse had dragged and shent.
Unconquered Duke Alphonso, anger so
Inflamed thy host492 the day that weighty stone
Wounded thy forehead with such grievous blow,
That all believed it to its rest was gone;
—Inflamed them with such fury, for the foe
In rampart, fosse, or wall, defence was none,
Who, one and all, within their works lay dead,
Nor wight was left the woeful news to spread.
Seeing thy fall caused thine such mighty pain,
They were to fury moved: hadst thou, my lord,
Maintained thy footing, haply might thy train
Have with less licence plied the murderous sword.
Enough for thee thy Bastìa to regain!
In fewer hours replaced beneath thy ward,
Then Cordova’s and fierce Granada’s band
Took days erewhile, to wrest it from thy hand.
Haply Heaven’s vengeance ordered what befell,
And in that case thy wound so hindered thee
To the end, the cruel outrage, foul and fell,
Done by that band before, should punished be.
For after the unhappy Vestidel,493
Wearied and hurt, had sought their clemency,
Among them (mostly an unchristened
