So spake together peer and paladine:
Nor knew that Aymon, with King Charles’ consent,
Unto the Grecian emperor Constantine
To give his gentle daughter had intent;
Who for young Leo, of his lofty line
The heir and hope, to crave the maid had sent.
Such warmth the praises of her worth inspired,
With love of her unseen was Leo fired.
To him hath Aymon answered; “he, alone,
Cannot conclude thereon in other sort,
Until he first hath spoken with his son,
Rinaldo, absent then from Charles’s court;
Who with winged haste, he deems, will thither run,
And joy in kinsman of such high report;
But from the high regard he bears his heir,
Can nought resolve till thither he repair.”
Now good Rinaldo, of his father wide,
And of the imperial practice knowing nought,
Promised his beauteous sister as a bride,
Upon his own, as well as Roland’s thought
And the others, harboured in that cell beside;
But most of all on him the hermit wrought;
And by such marriage, ’twas the peer’s belief,
He could not choose but pleasure Clermont’s chief.
That day and night, and of the following day
Great part, with that sage monk the warriors spent;
Scarce mindful that the crew their coming stay,
Albeit the wind blew fair for their intent,
But these, impatient at their long delay,
More than one message to the warriors sent;
And to return those barons urged so sore,
Parforce they parted from the hermit hoar.
The Child who, so long banished, had not stayed
From the lone rock, whereon the waters roared,
His farewell to that holy master made,
Who taught him the true faith: anew with sword
Orlando girt his side, and with the blade,
Frontino and martial Hector’s arms restored;
As knowing horse and arms were his whilere,
As well as out of kindness to the peer;
And, though the enchanted sword with better right
Would have been worn by good Anglantes’ chief,
Who from the fearful garden by his might
Had won the blade535 with mickle toil and grief,
Than by Rogero, who that faulchion bright
Received with good Frontino, from the thief,
He willingly thereof, as with the rest,
As soon as asked, the warrior repossest.
The hermit blessings on the band implores:
They to their bark in fine return; their sails
Give to the winds, and to the waves their oars;
And such clear skies they have and gentle gales,
Nor vow nor prayer the patron makes; and moors
His pinnace in the haven of Marseilles.
There, safely harboured, let the chiefs remain,
Till I conduct Astolpho to that train.
When of that bloody, dear-brought victory
The scarcely joyful tale Astolpho knew,
He, seeing evermore fair France would be
Secure from mischief from the Moorish crew,
Homeward to send the king of Aethiopy
Devised, together with his army, through
The sandy desert, by the selfsame track,
Through which he led them to Biserta’s sack.
Erewhile restored, in Afric waters ride
Sir Dudon’s ships which did the paynims rout;
Whose prows (new miracle!) and poop, and side,
As soon as all their sable crews are out,
Are changed anew to leaves; which far and wide,
Raised by a sudden breeze, are blown about;
And scattered in mid-air, like such light gear,
Go eddying with the wind, and disappear.
Home, horse and foot, the Nubian host arrayed
By squadrons, all, from wasted Afric go;
But to their king, first, thanks Astolpho paid,
And said, he an eternal debt should owe;
In that he had in person given him aid
With all his might and main against the foe.
The skins Astolpho gave them, which confined
The turbid and tempestuous southern wind.
I say, enclosed in skins that wind he gave,
Which in such fury blows at noon, on high
I moves the shifting plain in many a wave,
And fills the eddying sand the troubled sky,
To carry with them, and from scathe to save
Their squadrons, lest the dusty whirlwind fly;
And bids them, when arrived at home, unnoose
The bladder’s vent, and let their prisoners loose.
When they have lofty Atlas’ passes won,
The horses that the Nubian riders bear,
Turpin relates, are changed at once to stone;
So that the steeds return to what they were.
But it is time the Duke to France was gone;
Who having thus provided, in his care,
For the main places in the Moorish land,
Made the hippogryph anew his wings expand;
He reached Sardinia at one flight and shear,
Corsica from Sardinia; and then o’er
The foaming sea his venturous course did steer,
Inclining somewhat left the griffin’s soar.
In the sea-marshes last his light career
He stopt, on rich Provence’s pleasant shore:
Where to the hyppogryph by him is done
What was erewhile enjoined by sainted John.
To him the charge did sainted John commit,
When to Provence by that winged courser borne,
Him nevermore with saddle or with bit
To gall, but let him to his lair return.
Already had the planet, whither flit
Things lost on earth, of sound deprived his horn:
For this not only hoarse but mute remained,
As soon as the holy place Astolpho gained.
Thence to Marseilles he came; and came the day
Orlando, and Rinaldo, and Olivier
Arrived therein, upon their homeward way,
With good Sobrino, and the better peer,
Rogero: not so triumphs that array,
Touched by the death of him, their comrade dear,
As they for such a glorious victory won
—But for that sad disaster—would have done.
Of the kings slain upon the paynim part,
The news from Sicily to Charles were blown,
Sobrino’s fate, and death of Brandimart;
Nor less of good Rogero had been shown.
Charles stood with jocund fate and gladsome heart,
Rejoicing he had from his shoulders thrown
The intolerable load whereof the weight
Will for long time prevent his standing straight.
To honour those fair pillars that sustain
The state—the holy empire’s corner-stone—
The nobles of his kingdom Charlemagne
Dispatched, to meet the knights, as far as Saône;
And from his city with
