In the other’s form presents himself the one;
That other lets himself be seen of none.
Dordona’s martial maid is of a vein
Right different from the gentle youth’s, who sore
Hammers and blunts the faulchion’s tempered grain,
Lest it his opposite should cleave or bore.
She whets her steel, and into it would fain
Enter, that stripling to the quick to gore:
Yea, would such fury to her strokes impart,
That each should go directly to his heart.
As on the start the generous barb in spied,
When he the signal full of fire attends;
And paws now here now there; and opens wide
His nostrils, and his pointed ears extends;
So the bold damsel, to the lists defied,
Who knows not with Rogero she contends,
Seemed to have fire within her veins, nor found
Resting-place, waiting for the trumpet’s sound.
As sometimes after thunder sudden wind
Turns the sea upside down; and far and nigh
Dim clouds of dust the cheerful daylight blind,
Raised in a thought from earth, and whirled heaven-high;
Scud beasts and herd together with the hind;
And into hail and rain dissolves the sky;
So she upon the signal bared her brand,
And fell on her Rogero, sword in hand.
But well-built wall, strong tower, or aged oak,
No more are moved by blasts that round them rave,
No more by furious sea is moved the rock,
Smote day and night by the tempestuous wave,
Than in those arms, secure from hostile stroke,
Which erst to Trojan Hector Vulcan gave,
Moved was he by that ire and hatred rank
Which stormed about his head, and breast, and flank.
Now aims that martial maid a trenchant blow,
And now gives point; and wholly is intent
’Twixt plate and plate to reach her hated foe;
So that her stifled fury she may vent:
Now on this side, now that, now high, now low
She strikes, and circles him, on mischief bent;
And evermore she rages and repines;
As balked of every purpose she designs.
As he that layeth siege to well-walled town,
And flanked about with solid bulwarks, still
Renews the assault; now fain would batter down
Gateway or tower; now gaping fosse would fill;
Yet vainly toils (for entrance is there none)
And wastes his host, aye frustrate of his will;
So sorely toils and strives without avail
The damsel, nor can open plate or mail.
Sparks now his shield, now helm, now cuirass scatter,
While straight and back strokes, aimed now low, now high,
Which good Rogero’s head and bosom batter,
And arms, by thousands and by thousands fly
Faster than on the sounding farm-roof patter
Hailstones descending from a troubled sky.
Rogero, at his ward, with dexterous care,
Defends himself, and ne’er offends the fair.
Now stopt, now circled, now retired the knight,
And oft his hand his foot accompanied;
And lifted shield, and shifted sword in fight,
Where shifting he the hostile hand espied.
Either he smote her not, or—die he smite—
Smote, where he deemed least evil would betide.
The lady, ere the westering sun descend,
Desires to bring that duel to an end.
Of the edict she remembered her, and knew
Her peril, save the foe was quickly sped:
For if she took not in one day, nor slew
Her claimant, she was taken; and his head
Phoebus was now about to hide from view,
Nigh Hercules’ pillars, in his watery bed,
When first she ’gan misdoubt her power to cope
With the strong foe, and to abandon hope.
By how much more hope fails the damsel, so
Much more her anger waxes; she her blows
Redoubling, yet the harness of her foe
Will break, which through that day unbroken shows;
As he, that at his daily drudgery slow,
Sees night on his unfinished labour close,
Hurries and toils and moils without avail,
Till wearied strength and light together fail.
Didst thou, O miserable damsel, trow
Whom thou wouldst kill, if in that cavalier
Matched against thee thou didst Rogero know,
On whom depend thy very life-threads, ere
Thou killed him thou wouldst kill thyself; for thou,
I know, dost hold him than thyself more dear;
And when he for Rogero shall be known,
I know these very strokes thou wilt bemoan.
King Charles and peers him sheathed in plate and shell
Deem not Rogero, but the emperor’s son;
And viewing in that combat fierce and fell
Such force and quickness by the stripling shown;
And, without e’er offending her, how well
That knight defends himself, now change their tone;
Esteem both well assorted; and declare
The champions worthy of each other are.
When Phoebus wholly under water goes,
Charlemagne bids the warring pair divide;
And Bradamant (nor boots it to oppose)
Allots to youthful Leo as a bride.
Not there Rogero tarried to repose;
Nor loosed his armour, nor his helm untied:
On a small hackney, hurrying sore, he went
Where Leo him awaited in his tent.
Twice in fraternal guise and oftener threw
Leo his arms about the cavalier;
And next his helmet from his head withdrew,
And kiss’d him on both cheeks with loving cheer.
“I would,” he cried, “that thou wouldst ever do
By me what pleaseth thee; for thou wilt ne’er
Weary my love: at any call I lend
To thee myself and state; these friendly spend;
“Nor see I recompense, which can repay
The mighty obligation that I owe;
Though of the garland I should disarray
My brows, and upon thee that gift bestow.”
Rogero, on whom his sorrows press and prey,
Who loathes his life, immersed in that deep woe,
Little replies; the ensigns he had worn
Returns, and takes again his unicorn;
And showing himself spiritless and spent,
From thence as quickly as he could withdrew,
And from young Leo’s to his lodgings went;
When it was midnight, armed himself anew,
Saddled his horse, and sallied from his tent;
(He takes no leave, and none his going view;)
And his Frontino to that road addrest,
Which seemed to please the goodly courser best.
Now
