Are seen: if treasure seemed to God so fair
As to our foolish thoughts, upon this day
The holy consistory had bid mould
Their every statue upon earth in gold.
Lamenting may be heard the aged just,
In that they were reserved for such a woe;
Calling those happy that in sacred dust
Were buried many and many a year ago.
But the bold youths who, valiant and robust,
Small thought upon the approaching ills bestow,
Scorning their elders’ counsel, here and there
Hurrying, in fury, to the walls repair.
Here might you paladin and baron ken,
King, duke, and marquis, count and chivalry,
And soldier, foreigner or citizen,
Ready for honour and for Christ to die;
Who, eager to assail the Saracen,
On Charlemagne to lower the bridges cry.
He witnesses with joy their martial heat,
But to permit their sally deems not meet.
And them he ordered in convenient post,
The advance of the barbarians to impede:
For this would ill suffice a numerous host,
To that he was content that few should speed.
Some worked at the machines, some wildfire tost,
All ranged according to the separate need.
Charles, never in one place, with restless care
Provides defence and succour every where.
Paris is seated on a spacious plain,
I’ the midst—the heart of France, more justly say.
A stream flows into it, and forth again;
But first, the passing waters, as they stray,
An island form, and so secure the main
And better part, dividing on their way.
The other two (three separate quarters note),
Within the river girds, without the moat.
The town, whose walls for miles in circuit run,
Might well have been attacked from many a side;
Yet, for he would assail it but on one,
Nor willingly his scattered troops divide,
Westward beyond the stream Troyano’s son
Retired, from thence the assailing bands to guide.
In that, he neither city had nor plain
Behind, but what was his, as far as Spain.
Where’er the walls of Paris wound about,
Large ammunition had king Charles purveyed;
Strengthening with dyke each quarter held in doubt;
And had within trench, drain, and casemate made:
And where the river entered and went out,
Had thickest chains across the channel laid.
But most of all, his prudent cares appear
Where there is greatest cause for present fear.
With eyes of Argus, Pepin’s valiant son,
Where Agramant was bent to storm foresaw,
And every thing forestalled, ere yet begun
By the bold followers of Mahound’s law.
With Isolier, Grandonio, Falsiron,
Serpentin, Balugantes, and Ferraù,
And what beside he out of Spain had led,
Marsilius was in arms, their valiant head.
With old Sobrino, on the left of Seine,
Pulian and Dardinel d’Almontes meet,
With Oran’s giant king, to swell the train:
Six cubits is the prince, from head to feet.
But why move I my pen with greater pain
Than these men move their arms? for in his heat
King Rodomont exclaims, blaspheming sore,
Nor can contain his furious spirit more.
As swarming to assail the pastoral bowl,
With sound of stridulous wing, through summer sky,
Or relics of a feast, their luscious dole,
Repair the ready numbers of the fly;
As starlings to the vineyard’s crimsoning pole
With the ripe clusters charged—heaven’s concave high
Filling, as they advanced, with noise and shout,
Fast hurried to the storm the Moorish rout.
Upon their walls the Christians in array,
With lance, sword, axe, and wildfire tost,
The assaulted city guard without dismay,
And little reck the proud barbarian’s boast:
Nor when death snatches this or that away,
Does any one in fear refuse his post.
Into the fosse below the paynim foes
Return, amid a storm of strokes and blows.
Nor in this was is iron plied alone,
But mighty masses and whole bulwarks fall,
And top of tower, huge piece of bastion,
And with much toil disrupted, solid wall;
While streams of boiling water pouring down,
Insufferably the advancing paynims gall:
An ill-resisted rain, which, in despite
Of helmet, makes its way, and blinds the sight.
And this than iron spear offended more:
Then how much more the mist of lime-dust fine!
Then how the emptied vessel, burning sore
With nitre, sulphur, pitch, and turpentine!
Nor idle lie the fiery hoops in store,190
Which, wreathed about with flaming tresses, shine.
These at the foemen scaled, upon all hands,
Form cruel garlands for the paynim bands,
Meanwhile, up to the walls the second crew
Fierce Sarza’s king was driven, accompanied
By bold Orlando and Buraldo, who
The Garamantes and Marmonda guide;
Clarindo and Loridano; nor from view,
It seems, will Setta’s valiant monarch hide:
Morocco’s king and he of Cosco go
With these, that men their martial worth may know.
With crimson Rodomont his banner stains,
And in the vermeil field a lion shows;
Who, bitted by a maid, to curb and reins
His savage mouth disdains not to unclose.
Himself in the submissive lion feigns
The haughty Rodomont, and would suppose
In her who curbs him with the bit and string,
Doralice, daughter to Grenada’s king;
Whom Mandricardo took, as I before
Related, and from whom, and in what wise.
Even she it was, whom Sarza’s monarch more
Loved than his realm—beyond his very eyes:
And valour showed for her and courteous lore,
Not knowing yet she was another’s prize.
If he had—then—then, first—the story known,
Even what he did that day, he would have done.
At once the foes a thousand ladders rear.
Against the wall by the assailants shored,
Two mannered each round; the second, in the rear,
Urged on by the first; the third the second gored.
One mounts the wall through valour, one through fear,
And all attempt perforce the dangerous ford;
For cruel Rodomont, of Argier, slays
Or smites the wretched laggard who delays.
’Tis thus, ’mid fire and ruin, all assay
To mount the wall; but others to assure
Themselves, some safer passage seek, where they
Will have least pain and peril to endure.
Rodomont only scorns by
