# Orlando Furioso (Rose)/Canto 8

Layout 2
THE ORLANDO FURIOSO.
CANTO VIII.
ARGUMENT.
Rogero flies; Astolpho, with the rest, To their true shape Melissa does restore; Rinaldo levies knights and squadrons, pressed In aid of Charles, assaulted by the Moor: Angelica, by ruffians found at rest, Is offered to a monster on the shore. Orlando, warned in visions of his ill, Departs from Paris sore against his will.
THE ORLANDO FURIOSO.
CANTO VIII.
I.
How many enchantresses among us! oh, How many enchanters are there, though unknown! Who for their love make man or woman glow, Changing them into figures not their own. Nor this by help of spirits from below, Nor observation of the stars is done: But these on hearts with fraud and falsehood plot, Binding them with indissoluble knot.
II.
Who with Angelica’s, or rather who Were fortified with Reason’s ring, would see Each countenance, exposed to open view, Unchanged by art or by hypocrisy. This now seems fair and good, whose borrowed hue Removed, would haply foul and evil be. Well was it for Rogero that he wore The virtuous ring which served the truth to explore!
III.
Rogero, still dissembling, as I said, Armed, to the gate on Rabican did ride; Found the guard unprepared, nor let his blade, Amid that crowd, hang idle at his side: He passed the bridge, and broke the palisade, Some slain, some maimed; then t’wards the forest hied; But on that road small space had measured yet, When he a servant of the fairy met.
IV.
He on his fist a ravening falcon bore, Which he made fly for pastime every day; Now on the champaign, now upon the shore Of neighbouring pool, which teemed with certain prey; And rode a hack which simple housings wore, His faithful dog, companion of his way. He, marking well the haste with which he hies, Conjectures truly that Rogero flies.
V.
Towards him came the knave, with semblance haught, Demanding whither in such haste he sped: To him the good Rogero answers naught. He hence assured more clearly that he fled, Within himself to stop the warrior thought, And thus, with his left arm extended, said: “What, if I suddenly thy purpose balk, “And thou find no defence against this hawk?”
VI.
Then flies his bird, who works so well his wing, Rabican cannot distance him in flight: The falconer from his hack to ground did spring, And freed him from the bit which held him tight; Who seemed an arrow parted from the string, And terrible to foe, with kick and bite; While with such haste behind the servant came, He sped as moved by wind, or rather flame.
VII.
Nor will the falconer’s dog appear more slow; But hunts Rogero’s courser, as in chace Of timid hare the pard is wont to go. Not to stand fast the warrior deems disgrace, And turns towards the swiftly-footed foe, Whom he sees wield a riding-wand, in place Of other arms, to make his dog obey. Rogero scorns his faulchion to display.
VIII.
The servant made at him, and smote him sore; The dog his left foot worried; while untied From rein, the lightened horse three times and more Lashed from the croup, nor missed his better side. The hawk, oft wheeling, with her talons tore The stripling, and his horse so terrified, The courser, by the whizzing sound dismayed, Little the guiding hand or spur obeyed.
IX.
Constrained at length, his sword Rogero drew To clear the rabble, who his course delay; And in the animals’ or villain’s view Did now its point, and now its edge display. But with more hinderance the vexatious crew Swarm here and there, and wholly block the way; And that dishonour will ensue and loss, Rogero sees, if him they longer cross.
X.
He knew each little that he longer stayed, Would bring the fay and followers on the trail; Already drums were beat, and trumpets brayed, And larum-bells rang loud in every vale. An act too foul it seemed to use his blade On dog, and knave unfenced with arms or mail: A better and a shorter way it were The buckler, old Atlantes’ work, to bare.
XI.
He raised the crimson cloth in which he wore The wondrous shield, enclosed for many a day; Its beams, as proved a thousand times before, Work as they wont, when on the sight they play; Senseless the falconer tumbles on the moor; Drop dog and hackney; drop the pinions gay, Which poised in air the bird no longer keep: Them glad Rogero leaves a prey to sleep.
XII.
In the mean time, Alcina, who had heard How he had forced the gate, and, in the press, Slaughtered a mighty number of her guard, Remained nigh dead, o’erwhelmed with her distress: She tore her vesture, and her visage marred, And cursed her want of wit and wariness. Then made forthwith her meiny sound to arms, And round herself arrayed her martial swarms.
XIII.
Divided next, one squadron by the way Rogero took, she sent; the bands were two: She at the port embarked the next array, And straight to sea dispatched the warlike crew. With this good squadron went the desperate fay, And darked by loosened sails the billows grew; For so desire upon her bosom preyed, Of troops she left her city unpurveyed.
XIV.
Without a guard she left her palace there, Which to Melissa, prompt her time to seize, To loose her vassals that in misery were, Afforded all convenience and full ease; —To range, at leisure, through the palace fair, And so examine all her witcheries; To raze the seal, burn images, and loose Or cancel hag-knot, rhomb, or magic noose.
XV.
Thence through the fields, fast hurrying from that dome, The former lovers changed, a mighty train, Some into rock or tree, to fountain some, Or beast, she made assume their shapes again: And these, when they anew are free to roam, Follow Rogero’s footsteps to the reign Of Logistilla sage; and from that bourn To Scythia, Persia, Greece, and Ind return.
XVI.
They to their several homes dispatched, repair, Bound by a debt which never can be paid: The English duke, above the rest her care, Of these, was first in human form arrayed: For much his kindred and the courteous prayer Of good Rogero with Melissa weighed. Beside his prayers, the ring Rogero gave; That him she by its aid might better save.
XVII.
Thus by Rogero’s suit the enchantress won, To his first shape transformed the youthful peer; But good Melissa deemed that nought was done Save she restored his armour, and that spear Of gold, which whensoe’er at tilt he run, At the first touch unseated cavalier; Once Argalìa’s, next Astolpho’s lance, And source of mighty fame to both in France.
XVIII.
The sage Melissa found this spear of gold, Which now Alcina’s magic palace graced, And other armour of the warrior bold, Of which he was in that ill dome uncased. She climbed the courser of the wizard old, And -on, the croup, at ease, Astolpho placed: And thus, an hour before Rogero came, Repaired to Logistilla, knight and dame.
XIX.
Meantime, through rugged rocks, and shagged with thorn, Rogero wends, to seek the sober fay; From cliff to cliff, from path to path forlorn, A rugged, lone, inhospitable way: Till he, with labour huge oppressed and worn, Issued at noon upon a beach, that lay ’Twixt sea and mountain, open to the south, Deserted, barren, bare, and parched with drouth.
XX.
The sunbeams on the neighbouring mountain beat And glare, reflected from the glowing mass So fiercely, sand and air both boil with heat, In mode that might have more than melted glass. The birds are silent in their dim retreat, Nor any note is heard in wood or grass, Save the bough-perched Cicala’s wearying cry, Which deafens hill and dale, and sea and sky.
XXI.
The heat and thirst and labour which he bore By that drear sandy way beside the sea, Along the unhabited and sunny shore, Were to Rogero grievous company: But for I may not still pursue this lore, Nor should you busied with one matter be, Rogero I abandon in this heat, For Scotland; to pursue Rinaldo’s beat.
XXII.
By king, by daughter, and by all degrees, To Sir Rinaldo was large welcome paid; And next the warrior, at his better ease, The occasion of his embassy displayed: ‘That he from thence and England, subsidies ‘Of men was seeking, for his monarch’s aid, ‘In Charles’s name;’ and added, in his care, The justest reasons to support his prayer.
XXIII.
The king made answer, that ‘without delay, ‘Taxed to the utmost of his power and might, ‘His means at Charlemagne’s disposal lay, ‘For the honour of the empire and the right. ‘And that, within few days, he in array ‘Such horsemen, as he had in arms, would dight; ‘And, save that he was now waxed old, would lead ‘The expedition he was prayed to speed.
XXIV.
‘Nor like consideration would appear ‘Worthy to stop him, but that he possessed ‘A son, and for such charge that cavalier, ‘Measured by wit and force, was worthiest. ‘Though not within the kingdom was the peer, ‘It was his hope (as he assured his guest) ‘He would, while yet preparing was the band, ‘Return, and find it mustered to his hand.’
XXV.
So sent through all his realm, with expedition, His treasurers, to levy men and steeds; And ships prepared, and warlike ammunition, And money, stores and victual for their needs. Meantime the good Rinaldo on his mission, Leaving the courteous king, to England speeds; He brought him on his way to Berwick’s town, And was observed to weep when he was gone.
XXVI.
The wind sat in the poop; Rinaldo good Embarked, and bade farewell to all; the sheet Still loosening to the breeze, the skipper stood, Till where Thame’s waters, waxing bitter, meet Salt ocean: wafted thence by tide of flood, Through a sure channel to fair London’s seat, Safely the mariners their course explore, Making their way, with aid of sail and oar.
XXVII.
The Emperor Charles, and he, King Otho grave, Who was with Charles, by siege in Paris pressed, A broad commission to Rinaldo brave, With letters to the Prince of Wales addressed, And countersigns had given, dispatched to crave What foot and horse were by the land possessed. The whole to be to Calais’ port conveyed; That it to France and Charles might furnish aid.
XXVIII.
The prince I speak of, who on Otho’s throne Sate in his stead, the vacant helm to guide, Such honor did to Aymon’s valiant son, He not with such his king had gratified. Next, all to good Rinaldo’s wish, was done: Since for his martial bands on every side, In Britain, or the isles which round her lay, To assemble near the sea he fixed a day.
XXIX.
But here, sir, it behoves me shift my ground, Like him that makes the sprightly viol ring, Who often changes chord and varies sound, And now a graver strikes, now sharper string: Thus I:—who did to good Rinaldo bound My tale, Angelica remembering; Late left, where saved from him by hasty flight, She had encountered with an anchorite.
XXX.
Awhile I will pursue her story: I Told how the maid of him with earnest care, Enquired, how she towards the shore might fly: Who of the loathed Rinaldo has such fear, She dreads, unless she pass the sea, to die, As insecure in Europe, far or near. But she was by the hermit kept in play, Because he pleasure took with her to stay.
XXXI.
His heart with love of that rare beauty glowed, And to his frozen marrow pierced the heat; Who, after, when he saw that she bestowed Small care on him, and thought but of retreat, His sluggish courser stung with many a goad; But with no better speed he plied his feet. Ill was his walk, and worse his trot; nor spur Could that dull beast to quicker motion stir:
XXXII.
And for the flying maid was far before, And he would soon have ceased to track her steed, To the dark cave recurred the hermit hoar, And conjured up of fiends a grisly breed: One he selected out of many more, And first informed the demon of his need; Then in the palfrey bade him play his part, Who with the lady bore away his heart:
XXXIII.
And as sagacious dog on mountain tried Before, accustomed fox or hare to chase, If he behold the quarry choose one side, The other takes, and seems to slight the trace: But at the turn arriving, is espied, Already tearing what he crossed to face; So her the hermit by a different road Will meet, wherever she her palfrey goad.
XXXIV.
What was the friar’s design I well surmise; And you shall know; but in another page. Angelica now slow, now faster, flies, Nought fearing this: while conjured by the sage, The demon covered in the courser lies; As fire sometimes will hide its smothered rage: Then blazes with devouring flame and heat, Unquenchable, and scarce allows retreat.
XXXV.
After the flying maid had shaped her course By the great sea which laves the Gascon shore, Still keeping to the rippling waves her horse, Where best the moistened sand the palfrey bore, Him, plunged into the brine, the fiend perforce Dragged, till he swam amid the watery roar. Nor what to do the timid damsel knew, Save that she closer to her saddle grew.
XXXVI.
She cannot, howsoe’er the rein she ply, Govern the horse, who swims the surge to meet: Her raiment she collects and holds it high; And, not to wet them, gathers up her feet. Her tresses, which the breeze still wantonly Assaults, dishevelled on her shoulders beat. The louder winds are hushed, perchance in duty, Intent, like ocean, on such sovereign beauty.
XXXVII.
Landward in vain her eyes the damsel bright Directs, which water face and breast with tears, And ever sees, decreasing to her sight, The beach she left, which less and less appears. The courser, who was swimming to the right, After a mighty sweep, the lady bears To shore, where rock and cavern shag the brink, As night upon the land begins to sink.
XXXVIII.
When in that desert, which but to descry Bred fear in the beholder, stood the maid Alone, as Phœbus, plunged in ocean, sky And nether earth had left obscured in shade; She paused in guise, which in uncertainty Might leave whoever had the form surveyed, If she were real woman, or some mock Resemblance, coloured in the living rock.
XXXIX.
She, fixed and stupid in her wretchedness, Stood on the shifting sand, with ruffled hair: Her hands were joined, her lips were motionless, Her languid eyes upturned, as in despair, Accusing him on high, that to distress And whelm her, all the fates united were. Astound she stood awhile; when grief found vent Through eyes and tongue, in tears and in lament:
XL.
“Fortune, what more remains, that thou on me “Shouldst not now satiate thy revengeful thirst? “What more (she said) can I bestow on thee “Than, what thou seekest not, this life accurst? “Thou wast in haste to snatch me from the sea, “Where I had ended its sad days, immersed; “Because to torture me with further ill “Before I die, is yet thy cruel will.
XLI.
“But what worse torment yet remains in store “Beyond, I am unable to descry: “By thee from my fair throne, which nevermore “I hope to repossess, compelled to fly; “I, what is worse, my honour lost deplore; “For if I sinned not in effect, yet I “Give matter by my wanderings to be stung “For wantonness of every carping tongue.
XLII.
“What other good is left to woman, who “Has lost her honour, in this earthly ball? “What profits it that, whether false or true, “I am deemed beauteous, and am young withal? “No thanks to heaven for such a gift are due, “Whence on my head does every mischief fall. “For this my brother Argalìa died; “To whom small help enchanted arms supplied:
XLIII.
“For this the Tartar king, Sir Agrican, “Subdued my sire, who Galaphron was hight, “And of Catày in India was great khan; “’Tis hence I am reduced to such a plight, “That wandering evermore, I cannot scan “At morn, where I shall lay my head at night. “If thou hast ravished what thou couldst, wealth, friends, “And honour; say what more thy wrath intends.
XLIV.
“If death by drowning in the foaming sea “Was not enough thy wrath to satiate, “Send, if thou wilt, some beast to swallow me, “So that he keep me not in pain! Thy hate “Cannot devise a torment, so it be “My death, but I shall thank thee for my fate!” Thus, with loud sobs, the weeping lady cried, When she beheld the hermit at her side.
XLV.
From the extremest height the hermit hoar Of that high rock above her, had surveyed Angelica, arrived upon the shore, Beneath the cliff, afflicted and dismayed. He to that place had come six days before; For him by path untrod.had fiend conveyed: And he approached her, feigning such a call, As e’er Hilarion might have had, or Paul.
XLVI.
When him, yet unagnized, she saw appear, The lady took some comfort, and laid by, Emboldened by degrees, her former fear: Though still her visage was of death-like dye. “Misericord! father,” when the friar was near (She said), “for brought to evil pass am I.” And told, still broke by sobs, in doleful tone, The story, to her hearer not unknown.
XLVII.
To comfort her, some reasons full of grace, Sage and devout the approaching hermit cites: And, now his hand upon her moistened face, In speaking, now upon her bosom lights: As her, securer, next he would embrace: Him, kindling into pretty scorn, she smites With one hand on his breast, and backward throws, Then flushed with honest red, all over glows.
XLVIII.
A pocket at the ancient’s side was dight, Where he a cruise of virtuous liquor wore; And at those puissant eyes, whence flashed the light Of the most radiant torch Love ever bore, Threw from the flask a little drop, of might To make her sleep : upon the sandy shore Already the recumbent damsel lay, The greedy elder’s unresisting prey.
XLIX.
L.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * Hopeless, at length upon the beach he lies, And by the maid, exhausted, falls asleep. When to torment him new misfortunes rise: Fortune does seldom any measure keep; Unused to cut her cruel pastime short, If she with mortal man is pleased to sport.
LI.
It here behoves me, from the path I pressed, To turn awhile, ere I this case relate: In the great northern sea, towards the west, Green Ireland past, an isle is situate. Ebuda is its name, whose shores infest, (Its people wasted through the Godhead’s hate) The hideous ore, and Proteus’ other herd, By him against that race in vengeance stirred.
LII.
Old stories, speak they falsely or aright, Tell how a puissant king this country swayed; Who had a daughter fair, so passing bright And lovely, ’twas no wonder if the maid, When on the beach she stood in Proteus’ sight, Left him to burn amid the waves: surveyed, One day alone, upon that shore in-isled, Her he compressed, and quitted great with child.
LIII.
This was sore torment to the sire, severe And impious more than all mankind; nor he, Such is the force of wrath, was moved to spare The maid, for reason or for piety. Nor, though he saw her pregnant, would forbear To execute his sentence suddenly; But bade together with the mother kill, Ere born, his grandchild, who had done no ill.
LIV.
Sea-Proteus to his flocks’ wide charge preferred By Neptune, of all ocean’s rule possessed, Inflamed with ire, his lady’s torment heard, And, against law and usage, to molest The land (no sluggard in his anger) stirred His monsters, ore and sea-calf, with the rest; Who waste not only herds, but human haunts, Farm-house and town, with their inhabitants:
LV.
And girding them on every side, the rout Will often siege to walled cities lay; Where in long weariness and fearful doubt, The townsmen keep their watch by night and day. The fields they have abandoned all about, And for a remedy, their last assay, To the oracle, demanding counsel, fly, Which to the suppliants’ prayer made this reply:
LVI.
‘That it behoved them find a damsel, who ‘A form as beauteous as that other wore, ‘To be to Proteus offered up, in lieu ‘Of the fair lady, slain upon the shore: ‘He, if he deems her an atonement due, ‘Will keep the damsel, nor disturb them more: ‘If not; another they must still present, ‘And so, till they the deity content.’
LVII.
And this it was the cruel usage bred; That of the damsels held most fair of face, To Proteus every day should one be led, Till one should in the Godhead’s sight find grace. The first and all those others slain, who fed, All a devouring ore, that kept his place Beside the port, what time into the main The remnant of the herd retired again.
LVIII.
Were the old tale of Proteus’ false or true, (For this, in sooth, I know not who can read) With such a clause was kept by that foul crew The savage, ancient statute, which decreed That woman’s flesh the ravening monster, who For this came every day to land, should feed. Though to be woman is a crying ill In every place, ’tis here a greater still.
LIX.
O wretched maids! whom ’mid that barbarous rout Ill-fortune on that wretched shore has tost! Who for the stranger damsel prowl about, Of her to make an impious holocaust; In that the more they slaughter from without, They less the number of their own exhaust. But since not always wind and wave convey Like plunder, upon every strand they prey.
LX.
With frigate and with galley wont to roam, And other sort of barks they range the sea, And, as a solace to their martyrdom, From far, or from their isle’s vicinity, Bear women off; with open rapine some, These bought by gold, and those by flattery: And, plundered from the different lands they scower, Crowd with their captives dungeon-cell and tower.
LXI.
Keeping that region close aboard, to explore The island’s lonely bank, a galley creeps; Where, amid stubs upon the grassy shore, Angelica, unhappy damsel, sleeps. To wood and water there the sailors moor, And from the bark, for this, a party leaps; And there that matchless flower of earthly charms Discovers in the holy father’s arms.
LXII.
Oh! prize too dear, oh! too illustrious prey! To glut so barbarous and so base a foe! Oh! cruel Fortune! who believed thy sway Was of such passing power in things below? That thou shouldst make a hideous monster’s prey The beauty, for which Agrican did glow, Brought with half Scythia’s people from the gates Of Caucasus, in Ind, to find their fates.
LXIII.
The beauty, by Circassian Sacripant Preferred before his honor and his crown, The beauty which made Roland, Brava’s vaunt, Sully his wholesome judgment and renown, The beauty which had moved the wide Levant, And awed, and turned its kingdoms upside down, Now has not (thus deserted and unheard) One to assist it even with a word.
LXIV.
Oppressed with heavy sleep upon the shore, The lovely virgin, ere awake, they chain: With her, the enchanter friar the pirates bore On board their ship, a sad, afflicted train. This done, they hoisted up their sail once more, And the bark made the fatal isle again. Where, till the lot shall of their prey dispose, Her prisoned in a castle they enclose.
LXV.
But such her matchless beauty’s power, the maid Was able that fierce crew to mollify, Who many days her cruel death delayed, Preserved until their last necessity; And while they damsels from without purveyed, Spared such angelic beauty: finally, The damsel to the monstrous ore they bring, The people all behind her sorrowing.
LXVI.
Who shall relate the anguish, the lament And outcry which against the welkin knock? I marvel that the sea-shore was not rent, When she was placed upon the rugged block, Where, chained and void of help, the punishment Of loathsome death awaits her on the rock. This will not I, so sorrow moves me, say, Which makes me turn my rhymes another way;
LXVII.
To find a verse of less lugubrious strain, Till I my wearied spirit shall restore: For not the squalid snake of mottled stain, Nor wild and whelpless tiger, angered more, Nor what of venomous, on burning plain, Creeps ’twixt the Red and the Atlantic shore, Could see the grisly sight, and choose but moan The damsel bound upon the naked stone.
LXVIII.
Oh! if this chance to her Orlando, who Was gone to Paris-town to seek the maid, Had been reported! or those other two, Duped by a post, dispatched from Stygian shade, They would have tracked her heavenly footsteps through A thousand deaths, to bear the damsel aid. But had the warriors of her peril known, So far removed, for what would that have done?
LXIX.
This while round Paris-walls the leaguer lay Of famed Troyano’s son’s besieging band, Reduced to such extremity one day, That it nigh fell into the foeman’s hand; And, but that vows had virtue to allay The wrath of Heaven, whose waters drenched the land, That day had perished by the Moorish lance The holy empire and great name of France.
LXX.
To the just plaint of aged Charlemagne The great Creator turned his eyes, and stayed The conflagration with a sudden rain, Which haply human art had not allayed. Wise whosoever seeketh, not in vain, His help, than whose there is no better aid! Well the religious king, to whom ’twas given, Knew that the saving succour was from Heaven.
LXXI.
All night long counsel of his weary bed, Vexed with a ceaseless care, Orlando sought; Now here, now there, the restless fancy sped, Now turned, now seized, but never held the thought: As when, from sun or nightly planet shed, Clear water has the quivering radiance caught, The flashes through the spacious mansion fly, With reaching leap, right, left, and low, and high.
LXXII.
To memory now returned his lady gay, She rather ne’er was banished from his breast; And fanned the secret fire, which through the day (Now kindled into flame) had seemed at rest; That in his escort even from Catày Of farthest Ind, had journeyed to the west; There lost: Of whom he had discerned no token Since Charles’s power near Bordeaux-town was broken.
LXXIII.
This in Orlando moved great grief, and he Lay thinking on his folly past in vain: “My heart,” he said, “oh! how unworthily “I bore myself! and out, alas! what pain, “(When night and day I might have dwelt with thee, “Since this thou didst not in thy grace disdain,) “To have let them place thee in old Namus’ hand! “Witless a wrong so crying to withstand.
LXXIV.
“Might I not have excused myself?—The king “Had not perchance gainsaid my better right— “Or if he had gainsaid my reasoning, “Who would have taken thee in my despite? “Why not have armed, and rather let them wring “My heart out of my breast? But not the might “Of Charles or all his host, had they been tried, “Could have availed to tear thee from my side.
LXXV.
“Oh! had he placed her but in strong repair, “Guarded in some good fort, or Paris-town! “—Since he would trust her to Duke Namus’ care, “That he should lose her in this way, alone “Sorts with my wish.—Who would have kept the fair “Like me, that would for her to death have gone? “Have kept her better than my heart or sight: “Who should and could, yet did not what I might.
LXXVI.
“Without me, my sweet life, beshrew me, where “Art thou bestowed, so beautiful and young! “As some lost lamb, what time the daylight fair “Shuts in, remains the wildering woods among, “And goes about lamenting here and there, “Hoping to warn the shepherd with her tongue; “Till the wolf hear from far the mournful strain, “And the sad shepherd weep for her in vain.
LXXVII.
“My hope, where art thou, where? In doleful wise “Dost thou, perchance, yet rove thy lonely round? “Art thou, indeed, to ravening wolf a prize, “Without thy faithful Roland’s succour found? “And is the flower, which, with the deities, “Me, in mid heaven had placed, which, not to wound, “(So reverent was my love) thy feelings chaste, “I kept untouched, alas! now plucked and waste?
LXXVIII.
“If this fair flower be plucked, oh, misery! oh, “Despair! what more is left me but to die? “Almighty God, with every other woe “Rather than this, thy wretched suppliant try. “If this be true, these hands the fatal blow “Shall deal, and doom me to eternity.” Mixing his plaint with bitter tears and sighs, So to himself the grieved Orlando cries.
LXXIX.
Already every where, with due repose, Creatures restored their weary spirits; laid These upon stones and upon feathers those, Or greensward, in the beech or myrtle’s shade: But scarcely did thine eyes, Orlando, close, So on thy mind tormenting fancies preyed. Nor would the vexing thoughts which bred annoy, Let thee in peace that fleeting sleep enjoy.
LXXX.
To good Orlando it appeared as he, Mid odorous flowers, upon a grassy bed, Were gazing on that beauteous ivory, Which Love’s own hand had tinged with native red; And those two stars of pure transparency, With which he in Love’s toils his fancy fed: Of those bright eyes, and that bright face, I say, Which from his breast had torn his heart away.
LXXXI.
He with the fullest pleasure overflows, That ever happy lover did content: But, lo! this time a mighty tempest rose, And wasted flowers, and trees uptore and rent. Not with the rage with which this whirlwind blows, Joust warring winds, north, south, and east, unpent. It seemed, as if in search of covering shade, He, vainly wandering, through a desert strayed.
LXXXII.
Meanwhile the unhappy lover lost the dame In that dim air, nor how he lost her, weets; And, roving far and near, her beauteous name Through every sounding wood and plain repeats. And while, “oh wretched me!” is his exclaim, “Who has to poison changed my promised sweets?” He of his sovereign lady who with tears Demands his aid, the lamentation hears.
LXXXIII.
Thither, whence comes the sound, he swiftly hies, And toils, now here, now there, with labour sore: Oh! what tormenting grief, to think his eyes Cannot again the lovely rays explore! —Lo! other voice from other quarter cries— “Hope not on earth to enjoy the blessing more.” At that alarming cry he woke, and found Himself in tears of bitter sorrow drowned.
LXXXIV.
Not thinking that like images are vain, When fear, or when desire disturbs our rest, The thought of her, exposed to shame and pain, In such a mode upon his fancy pressed, He, thundering, leaped from bed, and with what chain And plate behoved, his limbs all over dressed; Took Brigliadoro from the stall he filled, Nor any squire attendant’s service willed.
LXXXV.
And to pass every where, yet not expose By this his dignity to stain or slight, The old and honoured ensign he foregoes, His ancient bearing, quartered red and white. And in its place a sable ensign shows, Perhaps as suited to his mournful plight, That erst he from an Amostantes bore, Whom he had slain in fight some time before.
LXXXVI.
At midnight he departed silently, Nor to his uncle spake, nor to his true And faithful comrade Brandimart, whom he So dearly cherished, even bade adieu; But when, with golden tresses streaming-free, The sun from rich Tithonus’ inn withdrew, And chased the shades, and cleared the humid air, The king perceived Orlando was not there.
LXXXVII.
To Charles, to his displeasure, were conveyed News that his nephew had withdrawn at night, When most he lacked his presence and his aid; Nor could he curb his choler at the flight, But that with foul reproach he overlaid, And sorely threatened the departed knight, By him so foul a fault should be repented, Save he, returning home, his wrath prevented.
LXXXVIII.
Nor would Orlando’s faithful Brandimart, Who loved him as himself, behind him stay; Whether to bring him back he in his heart Hoped, or of him ill brooked injurious say: And scarce, in his impatience to depart, Till fall of eve his sally would delay. Lest she should hinder his design, of this He nought imparted to his Flordelis:
LXXXIX.
To him this was a lady passing dear, And from whose side he was unwont to stray; Endowed with manners, grace, and beauteous cheer, Wisdom and wit: if now he went away And took no leave, it was because the peer Hoped to revisit her that very day. But that befel him after, as he strayed, Which him beyond his own intent delayed.
XC.
She when she has expected him in vain Well nigh a month, and nought of him discerns, Sallies without a guide or faithful train, So with desire of him her bosom yearns: And many a country seeks for him in vain; To whom the story in due place returns. No more I now shall tell you of these two, More bent Anglantes’ champion to pursue;
XCI.
Who having old Almontes’ blazonry So changed, drew nigh the gate; and there the peer Approached a captain of the guard, when he; “I am the County,” whispered in his ear; And (the bridge quickly lowered, and passage free At his commandment) by the way most near Went straight towards the foe: but what befell Him next, the canto which ensues shall tell.
NOTES TO CANTO VIII.
1.
Nor this by help of spirits from below, Nor observation of the stars is done.
Stanza ii. lines 5 and 6.
Fallitur Ammonias siquis decurrit ad artes, Datque quod a teneri fronte revellit equi. Non facient ut vivat amor, Medeïdis herbæ Mixtaque cum magicis Marsa venena sonis.
Ovid.
2.
The servant on his fist a falcon bore, Which he made fly for pastime every day; Now on the champaign, now upon the shore Of neighbouring pool, which teemed with certain prey; And rode a hack which simple housings wore, His faithful dog, companion of his way.
Stanza iv. lines 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.
Hawking, previously to the importation or diffusion of that species of game, which are the creatures of cultivation, was almost confined to the pursuit of aquatic birds, and hence this and the sister art of hunting were, during the middle ages, termed the mysteries of woods and rivers. The importance ​attached to them, as exemplified by this very denomination, was not only consonant to the habits of such an age, but arose even out of its necessities: for before the introduction of dry forage, which was not of early origin, the woods and water afforded the only fresh food to be procured during the winter season; those who could not procure such an indulgence being obliged to live on salt provisions; and this, probably, was a cause of leprosy during the middle ages.
The reader will doubtless admire what artists term the keeping of this picture, together with the appearance of truth produced by its circumstantiality. But a commentator tells us that there is something beneath the surface, and that the four animals which attack Rogero are the four predominant passions; fear, exemplified by the servant, desire by the bird, grief by the dog, and joy by the hackney: all, even to the number of kicks given by the horse, being significant, though unsatisfactorily explained.
3.
Loose Or cancel hag-knot.
Stanza xiv. lines 7 and 8.
In the original turbine: which here means a species of involved knot, used formerly in incantation. Perhaps hag-knot, which is still employed in the New Forest to designate the tangles in the manes of wild ponies, which are supposed to have been made by witches, to answer the purpose of stirrups, is its best English equivalent.
4.
And that spear Of gold, which whensoe’er at tilt he run, the first touch unseated cavalier.
Stanza xvii. lines 4, 5, 6.
The reader must recur to the Innamorato for an account of this spear, with which Astolpho worked wonders, and which is one of Boyardo’s happiest instruments.
5.
The sunbeams on the neighbouring mountain beat, &c.
Stanza xx. line 1.
To feel the full force of many of Ariosto’s descriptions, the reader should have visited southern countries. I was first made sensible of the force and truth of the original of this stanza during a hot and lonely ride in Asia Minor, performed under some anxiety of mind as to its result; and I well remember that the chirp of the cicala, with which Ariosto finishes his description, was what appeared to me the most vexatious of all the accompaniments of my disagreeable journey.
6.
Landward in vain her eyes the damsel bright Directs, &c.
Stanza xxxvii. lines 1 and 2.
An ancient commentator tells us Ariosto is here indebted to Ovid’s picture of Europa carried off by the Bull; but he has copied from it few of his details. For some of these, however, he is indirectly indebted to the fable, having evidently borrowed a few touches of Poliziano, who has two stanzas on a group of Europa and the Bull, and as these, which were cited by Mr. Foscolo in his lectures as eminently beautiful, are little known in this country, I shall give them entire.
Ne l’ altra, in un formoso e bianco tauro Si vede Giove per amor converso Portarne il dolce suo ricco tesauro; E lei volgere il viso al lito perso In atto paventosa; e i be’ crin d’auro Scherzar nel petto per lo vento avverso: La veste ondeggia, e indietro fa ritorno. L’ una’ man tien al dorso e l’ altra al corno. ​Le ignude piante a se ristrette accoglie, Quasi temendo il mar che non le bagne Tale atteggiata di paure e doglie Par’ chiami invan le sue dolci compagne; Le quali assise tra fioretti e foglie Dolenti Europa ciascheduna piagne; ‘Europa,’ suona il lito, ‘Europa, riedi:’ Il toro nuota, e talor bacia i piedi.
Giostra di Poliziano, Libro I. stanza cv. cvi.
7.
Ebuda is its name, &c.
Stanza li. line 5.
Ptolemy enumerates five Irish isles, and Pliny fifty, as bearing this name. May it not be, as suggested to me, a corruption of Hebrides?
8.
Of her to make an impious holocaust.
Stanza lix. line 4.
In my wish to give a faithful likeness of my original, I have preserved Ariosto’s own word, though the Greek reader may carp at the inaccuracy of the expression.
9.
From the gates Of Caucasus.
Stanza lxii. lines 7 and 8.
Ariosto, perhaps, meant nothing more than the mere passages of Caucasus, which might seem signified by gates, inasmuch as such are called ghauts (meaning the same thing I believe) ​in India; and such an expression is used to designate an opening in the hills which divide England and Scotland. But there is some fabulous account of Alexander the Great having shut up the defiles of Caucasus with iron gates, in order to confine the Scythians within these bounds; and the poet may possibly have had this in his mind.
10.
As when, from sun or nightly planet shed, Clear water has the quivering radiance caught, The flashes through the spacious mansion fly With reaching leap, right, left, and low and high.
Stanza lxxi. lines 5, 6, 7, 8.
Apollonius Rhodius is the inventor of the simile; but it is from Virgil, in his 8th book of the Æneid, that Ariosto has borrowed his illustration.
Cuncta videns, magno curarum fiuctuat æstu, Atque animum nunc huc celerem, nunc dividit illuc, In partesque rapit varias, perque omnia versat. Sicut aquæ tremulum labris ubi lumen ahenis Sole repercussum aut radiantis imagine lunæ, Omnia pervolitat late loca, jamque sub auras Erigitur, summique ferit laquearia tecti.
Thus translated by Dryden:
So when the sun by day, or moon by night, Strike on the polished brass their trembling light, The glittering species here and there divide, And cast their dubious beams from side to side; Now on the walls, now on the pavement play, And to the ceiling flash the glaring day.
These lines may exemplify what the best translation was in point of accuracy. I will not take what some might think captious exceptions at such words as species, or day, in its second place, which is rendered equivocal by the use made of it in the ​first line; but will simply observe, that the water, on which every thing in Virgil turns, the real cause of the reflection, and, above all, of its unsteady nature, is left out: while in Pitt’s Æneid the water contained in the caldron is called a stream. Such is the character of all our most admired old versions or paraphrases. In illustration of this, I will cite one more specimen of Dryden as a translator, because it is the most splendid as well as shortest and most familiar which occurs to me. He says of Fortune, copying from Horace,
I can enjoy her when she ’s kind; But when she dances in the wind, And shakes her wings, and will not stay, I puff the prostitute away.
Is this what Horace says, or what Horace could, in common decency, have said, speaking of a goddess whose severe divinity was recognised by the Romans? He, on the contrary, speaking in a calm and philosophical tone, says, “I praise her when steady; when she flies from me, resign what she bestowed;” all about puffing the prostitute away being at variance both with the letter and spirit of the original author, and giving an entirely false conception both of his poetry and of the manners of his age.
From such translations, the infidelity of which cannot be redeemed by their beauty, I return to the admirable version of the simile in the Æneid by Ariosto, who seems to play with the thought as an Indian juggler with his ball. It may be remarked, that some words in the original, viz. ‘in partesque rapit,’ seem to have suggested an entirely different thought from that which they convey in Virgil, and I notice this to show to what odd suggestions poets are sometimes indebted. The line I allude to in the Italian forms the beginning of stanza LXXI.
La notte Orlando a le noiose piume Del veloce pensier fà parte assai.
It may be presumed that Ariosto was little read in Lucretius, or he might have found in him some new hints for this picture.
11.
“—Since he would trust her to Duke Namus’ care, “That he should lose her in this way, alone “Sorts with my wish,” &c.
Stanza lxxv. lines 3, 4, 5.
In the original,
Che l’abbia data a Namo mi consona Sol, perchè a perder l’abbia a questa sorte.
This peevish exclamation, which at first sight may appear obscure, is, perhaps, in unison with the character of Orlando. His meaning is, ‘That he, Namus, should lose her in this way (since he was to have the charge of her) is the only thing in this transaction which pleases me.’
12.
Already every where, with due repose, Creatures restored their weary spirits; laid These upon stones and upon feathers those, Or greensward, in the beech or myrtle’s shade: But scarcely did thine eyes, Orlando, close.
Stanza lxxix. lines 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.
is imitated from a passage in Virgil’s fourth Æneid.
pecudes pictæque volucres,
Quæque lacus late liquidos, quæque aspera dumis Rura tenent, somno positæ sub nocte silenti, Lenibant curas, et corda oblita labor um. At non infelix animi Phœnissa, etc.
13.
Hope not on earth to enjoy the blessing more.
Stanza lxxxiii. line 6.
This line, in the text,
Non sperar più gioirne in terra mai,
is taken, with little variation, from Petrarch’s
Non sperar più vederla in terra mai;
but Ariosto could not imitate him without transfusing something of a warmer colouring into his copy.
14.
That erst he from an Amostantes bore, Whom he had slain in fight some time before.
Stanza lxxxv. lines 7 and 8.
I cannot find to whom this alludes, but we may presume to some paynim vanquished by Orlando in some anterior romance; though we find no mention of any such in the Innamorato.