King, duke, and her, the partner of his throne,
Issued amid a fair and gorgeous band
Of noble damsels, upon either hand.
The emperor Charles with bright and cheerful brow,
Lords, paladins and people, kinsmen, friends,
Fair love to Roland and the others show.
Mongrana and Clermont’s cry the welkin rends.
No sooner, mid that kind and festal show,
The interchange of fond embracements ends,
Than Roland and his friends Rogero bring,
And mid those lords present him to the king;
And him Rogero of Risa’s son declare,
And vouch in valour as his father’s peer,
“Witnesses of his worth our squadrons are,
They best can tell his prowess with the spear.”
Meanwhile, the noble and the lovely pair,
Marphisa and gentle Bradamant appear.
This runs to fold Rogero to her heart;
More coy, that other stands somedeal apart.
The emperor bids Rogero mount again,
Who from his horse had lit, in reverence due;
And, side by side, with him his courser rein;
Nor aught omits that monarch which may do
The warrior honour, mid his martial train:
How the true faith he had embraced he knew;
Of all instructed by that band before;
When first those paladins set foot ashore.
With pomp triumphal and with festive cheer
The troop returns within the city-walls:
With leaves and garlands green the streets appear,
And tapestried all about with gorgeous palls.
Of herbs and flowers a mingled rain, where’er
They wend, upon the conquering squadron falls,
Which with full hands from stand and window throw
Damsel and dame upon the knights below.
At every turn, in various places are,
Of sudden structure arch and trophy high,
Whereon Biserta’s sack is painted fair,
Ruin and fire, and feat of chivalry:
Scaffolds, upraised for different sports elsewhere
And merrimake and stage-play meet the eye;
And, writ with truth, above, below, between,
To The Empire’s Saviours, everywhere is seen.
With sound of shrilling pipe and trumpet proud,
And other festive music, laughter light,
Applause and favour of the following crowd,
Which scarce found room, begirt with dames and knight,
The mighty emperor, mid those greetings loud,
Before the royal palace did alight:
Where many days he feasted high in hall
His lords, mid tourney, mummery, mask and ball.
His son to Aymon on a day made known
His sister he would make Rogero’s bride;
And, before Olivier and Milo’s son,536
Her to the Child by promise had affied;
Who think with him that kindred is there none
Wherewith to league themselves, on any side,
For valour or nobility of blood,
Better than his; nay, none so passing good.
Duke Aymon heard his heir with some disdain;
That, without concert with him, and alone
He dared to plight his daughter, whom he fain
Would marry to the Grecian emperor’s son;
And not to him that has no kingly reign,
Nay has not ought that he can call his own;
And should not know, how little nobleness
Is valued without wealth; how virtue less.
But Beatrice, his wife, with more despite
Arraigns her son, and calls him arrogant;
And moves each open way and hidden sleight
To break Rogero’s match with Bradamant;
Resolved to tax her every means and might
To make her empress of the wide Levant.
Firm in his purpose is Montalban’s lord,
Nor will in ought forego his plighted word.
Beatrice who believes the high-minded fair
Is at her hest, exhorts her to reply,
“Rather than she will be constrained to pair
With a poor knight, she is resolved to die;”
Nor, if this wrong she from Rinaldo bear,
Will she regard her with a mother’s eye:
Let her refuse and keep her steadfast course;
For her free will Rinaldo cannot force.
Silent stands mournful Bradamant, nor dares
Meanwhile her lady-mother’s speech gainsay;
To whom such reverence, and respect, she bears,
She thinks no choice is left but to obey.
Yet a foul fault it in her eyes appears,
If what she will not do, she falsely say:
She will not, for she cannot; since above
All guidance, great or small, is mighty Love.
Deny she dared not, nor yet seem content;
So, sighed and spake not; but—when uncontrolled
She could—she gave her secret sorrow vent,
While from her eyes the tears like billows rolled;
A portion of the pains that her torment,
Inflicting on her breast and locks of gold:
For this she beat, and those uptore and brake;
And thus she made lament, and thus she spake.
“Ah! shall I will what she wills not, by right
More sovereign mistress of my will than I?
Hers shall I hold so cheaply, so to slight
A mother’s will, my own to satisfy?
Alas! what blemish is so foul to sight
In damsel? What so ill, as to affy
Myself to husband, reckless of her will,
Which ’tis my duty ever to fulfil?
“Wo worth the while! and shall I then to thee
By filial love be forced to be untrue,
O my Rogero, and surrender me
To a new hope, a new love, and a new
Desire; or rather from those ties break free,
From all good children to good parents due;
Observance, reverence cast aside; and measure
My duty by my happiness, my pleasure?
“I know, alas! what I should do; I know
That which a duteous daughter doth behove;
I know; but what avails it, if not so
My reason moves me as my senses move;
If she retires before a stronger foe;
Nor can I of myself dispose, for Love;
Nor think how to dispose; so strict his sway;
Nor, saving as he dictates, do and say?
“Aymon and Beatrice’s child, the slave
Of Love am I; ah! miserable me!
I from my parents am in hope to have
Pardon and pity, if in fault I be:
But, if I anger Love, whose prayer shall save
Me from his fury, till one only plea,
Of mine the Godhead shall vouchsafe to hear;
Nor doom me dead as soon as I appear?
“Alas! with long and obstinate pursuit,
To our faith to
