Had heard Rogero’s sad estate declare,
And how he in this guise in prison pined,
To his rescue either would have made repair,
And would have flung the fear of death behind:
Nor had bold Bradamant, intent to aid,
Respect to Beatrice or Aymon paid.
Meanwhile King Charlemagne upon his side,
Heeding his promise made in solemn sort,
That none should have the damsel for his bride,
That of her prowess in the field fell short;
Not only had his sovereign pleasure cried
With sound of trumpet in his royal court,
But in each city subject to his crown.
Hence quickly through the world the bruit was blown.
Such the condition which he bids proclaim:
“He that would with Duke Aymon’s daughter wed
Must with the sword contend against that dame
From the suns rise until he seeks his bed;
And if he for that time maintains the game,
And is not overcome, without more said,
The lady is adjudged to have lost the stake;
Nor him for husband can refuse to take.
“The choice of arms must be by her foregone,
No matter who may claim it in the course:”
And by the damsel this may well be done,
Good at all arms alike, on foot or horse.
Aymon, who cannot strive against the crown,
—Cannot and will not—yields at length parforce.
He much the matter sifts, and in the end
Resolves to court with Bradamant to wend.
Though for the daughter choler and disdain
The mother nursed, yet that she honour due
Might have, she garments, dyed in different grain,
Had wrought for her, of various form and hue.
Bradamant for the court of Charlemagne
Departs, and finding not her love, to her view
His noble court appears like that no more,
Which had appeared to her so fair before.
As he that hath beheld a garden, bright
With flowers and leaves in April or in May,
And next beholds it, when the sun his light
Hath sloped toward the north, and shortened day,
Finds it a desert horrid to the sight;
So, now that her Rogero is away,
To Bradamant, who thither made resort,
No longer what it was appeared that court.
What is become of him she doth not dare
Demand, lest more suspicion thence be bred;
But listens still, and searches here and there;
That this by some, unquestioned, may be said;
Knows he is gone, but has no notion where
The warrior, when he went, his steps had sped:
Because, departing thence, he spake no word
Save to the squire who journeyed with his lord.
Oh! how she sighs! how fears the gentle maid,
Hearing Rogero, as it were, was flown!
Oh! how above all other terrors, weighed
The fear, that to forget her he was gone!
That, seeing Aymon still his wish gainsayed,
And that to wed the damsel hope was none,
He fled, perchance, so hoping to be loosed
From toils wherein he by her love was noosed;
And that with further end the youthful lord
Her from his heart more speedily to chase,
Will rove from realm to realm, till one afford
Some dame, that may his former love efface;
Even, as the proverb says, that in a board
One nail drives out another from its place.
A second thought succeeds, and paints the youth
Arraigned of fickleness, as full of truth;
And her reproves for having lent an ear
To a suspicion so unjust and blind;
And so, this thought absolves the cavalier;
And that accuses; and both audience find;
And now this way, now that, she seemed to veer;
Nor this, nor that—irresolute of mind—
Preferred: yet still to what gave most delight
Most promptly leaned, and loathed its opposite;
And thinking, ever and anon, anew
On that so oft repeated by the knight,
As for grave sin, remorse and sorrow grew
That she had nursed suspicion and affright;
And she, as her Rogero were in view,
Would blame herself, and would her bosom smite;
And say; “I see ’twas ill such thoughts to nurse,
But he, the cause, is even cause of worse.
“Love is the cause; that in my heart inlaid
Thy form, so graceful and so fair to see;
And so thy darling and thy wit portrayed,
And worth, of all so bruited, that to me
It seems impossible that wife or maid,
Blest with thy sight, should not be fired by thee;
And that she should not all her art apply
To unbind, and fasten thee with other tie.
“Ah! wellaway! if in my thought Love so
Thy thought, as thy fair visage, had designed,
This—am I well assured—in open show,
As I unseen believe it, should I find;
And be so quit of Jealousy, that foe
Would not still harass my suspicious mind;
And, where she is by me repulsed with pain,
Not quelled and routed would she be, but slain.
“I am like miser, so intent on gear,
And who hath this so buried in his heart,
That he, for hoarded treasure still in fear,
Cannot live gladly from his wealth apart.
Since I Rogero neither see nor hear,
More puissant far than Hope, O Fear! thou art;
To thee, though false and idle I give way;
And cannot choose but yield myself thy prey.
“But I, Rogero, shall no sooner spy
The light of thy glad countenance appear,
Against mine every credence, from mine eye
Concealed (and woe is me), I know not where—
Oh! how true Hope false Fear shall from on high
Depose withal, and to the bottom bear!
Ah! turn to me, Rogero! turn again,
And comfort Hope, whom Fear hath almost slain.
“As when the sun withdraws his glittering head,
The shadows lengthen, causing vain affright;
And as the shadows, when he leaves his bed,
Vanish, and reassure the timid wight:
Without Rogero so I suffer dread;
Dread lasts not, if Rogero is in sight.
Return to me, return, Rogero, lest
My hope by fear should wholly be opprest.
“As every spark is in the night alive,
And
