By him upon a field of crimson worn.
He chose from his attendant squires the best,
And willed none else should him accompany;
And gave him charge, that ne’er by him exprest
Rogero’s name in any place should be;
Crost Meuse and Rhine, and pricked upon his quest
Through the Austrian countries into Hungary;
Along the right bank of the Danube made,
And rode an-end until he reached Belgrade.
Where Save into dark Danube makes descent,
And to the sea, increased by him, doth flow,
He saw the imperial ensigns spread, and tent
And white pavilion, thronged with troops below.
For Constantine to have that town was bent
Anew, late won by the Bulgarian foe.
In person, with his son, is Constantine,
With all the empire’s force his host to line.
Within Belgrade, and through the neighbouring peak,
Even to its bottom which the waters lave,
The Bulgar fronts him; and both armies seek
A watering-place in the intermediate Save.
A bridge across that rapid stream the Greek
Would fling; the Bulgar would defend the wave:
When thither came Rogero; and engaged
Beheld the hosts in fight, which hotly raged.
The Greeks in that affray were four to one,
And with pontoons to bridge the stream supplied;
And a bold semblance through their host put on
Of crossing to the river’s further side.
Leo meanwhile was from the river gone
With covert guile; he took a circuit wide,
Then thither made return; his bridges placed
From bank to bank, and past the stream in haste.
With many horse and foot in battle dight,
Who nothing under twenty thousand rank,
Along the river rode the Grecian knight;
And fiercely charged his enemies in flank.
The emperor, when his son appeared in sight.
Leading his squadrons on the farther bank,
Uniting bridge and bark together, crost
Upon his part the stream with all his host.
King Vatran, chief of the Bulgarian band,
Wise, bold, withal a warrior, here and there
Laboured in vain such onset to withstand,
And the disorder of his host repair;
When Leo prest him sore, and with strong hand
The king to earth beneath his courser bare;
Whom at the prince’s hest, for all to fierce
Is he to yield, a thousand faulchions pierce.
The Bulgar host hath hitherto made head;
But when they see their sovereign is laid low,
And everywhere that tempest wax and spread,
They turn their backs where erst they faced the foe.
The Child, who mid the Greeks, from whom they fled,
Was borne along, beheld that overthrow,
And bowned himself their battle to restore,
As hating Constantine and Leo more.
He spurs Frontino, that in his career
Is like the wind, and passes every steed;
He overtakes the troop, that in their fear
Fly to the mountain and desert the mead.
Many he stops and turns; then rests his spear;
And, as he puts his courser to his speed,
So fearful is his look, even Mars and Jove
Are frighted in their azure realms above.
Advanced before the others, he descried
A cavalier, in crimson vest, whereon
With all its stalk in silk and gold was spied
A pod, like millet, in embroidery done;
Constantine’s nephew, by the sister’s side,
He was, but was no less beloved than son:
He split like glass his shield and scaly rind;
And the long lance appeared a palm behind.
He left the dead, and drew his shining blade
Upon a squadron, whom he saw most nigh;
And now at once, and now at other made;
Cleft bodies, and made hearts from shoulders fly.
At throat, at breast and flank the warrior laid;
Smote hand, and arm, and shoulder, bust, and thigh;
And through that champaign ran the reeking blood,
As to the valley foams the mountain-flood.
None that behold those strokes maintain their place;
So are they all bewildered by their fear.
Thus suddenly the battle changed its face:
For, catching courage from the cavalier,
The Bulgar squadrons rally, turn, and chase
The Grecian troops that fled from them whilere.
Lost was all order in a thought, and they
With all their banners fled in disarray.
Leo Augustus on a swelling height,
Seeing his followers fly, hath taken post;
Where woeful and bewildered (for to sight
Nothing in all the country round is lost)
He from his lofty station eyes the knight,
Who with his single arm destroys that host;
And cannot choose, though so his prowess harms,
But praise that peer and own his worth in arms.
He knew full well by ensignry displayed,
By surcoat and by gilded panoply,
That albeit to the foe he furnished aid,
That champion was not of his chivalry;
Wondering his superhuman deeds surveyed;
And now an angel seemed in him to see,
To scourge the Greeks from choirs above descended,
Whose sins so oft and oft had heaven offended;
And, as a man of great and noble heart,
(Where many others would have hatred sworn)
Enamoured of such valour, on his part,
Would not desire to see him suffer scorn:
For one that died, six Grecians’ death less smart
Would cause that prince; and better had he borne
To lose as well a portion of his reign,
Than to behold so good a warrior slain.
As baby, albeit its fond mother beat
And drive it forth in anger, in its fear
Neither to sire nor sister makes retreat;
But to her arms returns with fondling cheer:
So Leo, though Rogero in his heat
Slaughters his routed van and threats his rear,
Cannot that champion hate; because above
His anger is the admiring prince’s love.
But if young Leo loved him and admired,
Meseems that he an ill exchange hath made;
For him Rogero loathed; nor aught desired
More than to lay him lifeless with his blade:
Him with his eyes he sought; for him inquired;
But Leo’s fortune his desire gainsayed;
Which with the prudence of the practised Greek,
Made him in vain his hated rival seek.
Leo, for fear his bands be wholly spent,
Bids sound
