CLV The night preceding that ill-omened day Flordelice dreamed the vest of sable grain That she had made, her husband to array, And woven with her hand and worked with pain, Before her eyes all sprinkled-over lay With ruddy drops, in guise of pattering rain.

That she had worked it so the lady thought; And then was grieved at seeing what was wrought.

CLVI And seemed to say, "Yet from my lord have I Command to make it all of sable hue; Now wherefore it is stained with other dye Against his will, in mode so strange to view?"

She from that dream draws evil augury; And thither on that eve the tidings flew: But these concealed Astolpho from the dame Till he to her with Sansonetto came.

CLVII When they are entered, and she sees no show Of joyful triumphs, she, without a word, Without a hint to indicate that woe, Knows that no longer living is her lord.

With that her gentle heart was riven so, And so her hara.s.sed eyes the light abhorred, And so was every other sense astound, That, like one dead, she sank upon the ground.

CLVIII She in her hair, when life returns again, Fastens her hand; and on her lovely cheeks, Repeating the beloved name in vain, With all her force her scorn and fury wreaks; Uproots and tears, her locks, and in her pain Like woman, smit by evil demon, shrieks, Or, as Bacchante at the horn's rude sound, Erewhile was seen to run her restless round.

CLIX Now to the one, to the other now her prayer She made for knife, wherewith her heart to smite; Now she aboard the pinnace would repair That brought the corse of either paynim knight, And would on either, lifeless as they were, Do cruel scathe, and vent her fierce despite.

Now would she seek her lord, till at his side She rested from her weary search, and died.

CLX "Ah! wherefore, Brandimart, did I let thee Without me wend on such a dire emprize?

She ne'er before did thy departure see, But Flordelice aye followed thee," she cries: "Well aided mightest thou have been by me; For I on thee should still have kept my eyes; And when Grada.s.so came behind thee, I Thee might have succoured with a single cry;

CLXI "And haply I so nimbly might have made Between you, that the stroke I might have caught, And with my head, as with a buckler, stayed: For little ill my dying would have wrought.

Anyhow I shall die; and -- that debt paid -- My melancholy death will profit nought: When, had I died, defending thee in strife, I could not better have bestowed my life.

CLXII "Even is averse had been hard Destiny, And all heaven's host, when thee I sought to aid, At least my tears had bathed thy visage, I Should the last kiss thereon, at least, have laid; And, ere amid the blessed hierarchy Thy spirit mixt, 'Depart' -- I should have said -- 'In peace, and wait me in thy rest; for there, Where'er thou art, I swiftly shall repair.'

CLXIII "Is this, O Brandimart, is this the reign, Whose honoured sceptre thou wast now to take?

With thee to Dommogire, thy fair domain, Thus went I; me thus welcome dost thou make?

Alas! what hope to-day thou renderest vain!

Ah! what designs, fell Fortune, dost thou break!

Ah! wherefore fear I, since a lot so blest, Is lost, to lose as well the worthless rest?"

CLXIV Repeating this and other plaint, so spite And fury waxed, that she in her despair Made new a.s.sault upon her tresses bright, As if the fault was wholly in her hair: Wildly her hands together doth she smite, And gnaw; with nails her lip and bosom tear.

But I return to Roland and his peers; While she bemoans herself and melts in tears.

CLXV Roland with Olivier, who much requires Such leech's care, his anguish to allay; And who, himself, some worthy place desires As much, wherein Sir Brandimart to lay, Steers for the lofty mountain, that with fires Brightens the night, with smoke obscures the day.

The wind blows fair, and on the starboard hand, Not widely distant from them, lies that land.

CLXVI With a fresh wind, that in their favour blows, They loose their hawser at the close of day: In heaven above the silent G.o.ddess shows Her shining horn, to guide them on their way; And on the following morn before them rose The pleasant sh.o.r.es that round Girgenti lay.

Here Roland orders for the ensuing night All that is needful for the funeral rite.

CLXVII He, when he saw his order duly done, And now the westering sun's fair light was spent.

With many n.o.bles, who from neighbouring town, At his invital, to Girgenti went, -- The sh.o.r.e with torches blazing up and down, And sounding wide with cries and loud lament, -- Thither returned where late, of life bereft, His friends, beloved in life and death, was left.

CLXVIII There stands Bardino, weeping o'er the bier, Who under Age's heavy burden bows; Who, in the tears on shipboard shed whilere.

Might well have wept away his eyes and brows: Upbraiding skies and stars, the cavalier, Like lion, in whose veins a fever glows, Roars as he wreathes his wayward hands within His h.o.a.ry hair, and rends his wrinkled skin.

CLXIX Upon the paladin's return the cry Redoubled, and the mourning louder grew Orlando to the corse approached more nigh, And speechless stood awhile, his friends to view, Pale, as at eve is the acanthus' dye Or lily's, which were plucked at morn: he drew A heavy sigh, and on the warrior dead Fixing his stedfast eyes, the County said:

CLXX "O comrade bold and true, there here liest slain, And who dost live in heaven above, I know, Rewarded with a life, thy glorious gain, Which neither heat nor cold can take, my woe Forgive, if thou beholdest me complain: Because I sorrow to remain below, And not to share in such delights with thee; Not that thou art not left behind with me.

CLXXI "Alone, without thee, there is nought I may Ever possess, without thee, that can please.

If still with thee in tempest and affray, Ah wherefore not with thee in calm and ease?

Right sore must be my trespa.s.s, since this clay Will not to follow thee my soul release.

If in thy troubles still I bore a burden, Why am I not a partner of thy guerdon?

CLXXII "Thine is the guerdon; mine the loss; thy gain Is single; but not single is my woe: Partners with me in sorrow are Almayne, And grieving France and Italy; and oh!

How will my lord and uncle, Charlemagne, How will his paladins lament the blow!

How will the Christian church and empire moan, Whose best defence in thee is overthrown!

CLXXIII "Oh! how thy foes will by the death of thee Be freed henceforward from alarm and fear!

Alas! how strengthened paynimry will be!

What hardiment will now be theirs! what cheer!

What of thy consort will become? I see Even here her mourning, and her outcries hear.

Me she accuses, haply hates, I know; In that, through me, her every hope lies low.

CLXXIV "Yet by one comfort, Flordelice, is followed His loss, for us that reft of him remain: His death, with such surpa.s.sing glory hallowed, To die all living warriors should be fain.

Those Decii; Curtius, in Rome's forum swallowed; Cordus, so vaunted by the Grecian train; Not with more honour to themselves, with more Profit to others, went to death of yore."

CLXXV These sad laments and more Orlando made; And all this while white friars, and black, and gray, With other clerks, by two and two arrayed, Behind in long procession took their way; And they to G.o.d for the departed prayed, That he would to his rest his soul convey.

Before and all about were torches reared, And changed to day the sable night appeared.

CLXXVI They raise the warrior's bier, and ranged to bear By turns that honoured weight were earl and knight.

The pall was purple silk, with broidery rare Of gold, and pearls in costly circles dight.

Thereon, of lordly work and no less fair, Cushions were laid, with jewels shining bright.

On which was stretched the lifeless knight in view, Arrayed in vest of like device and hue.

CLXXVII A hundred men had past before the rest, All taken from the poorest of the town; And in one fashion equally were drest Those beadsmen all, in black and trailing gown.

A hundred pages followed them, who prest A hundred puissant steeds, for warfare bown; And by those pages backed, the portly steeds Went, sweeping wide the ground with sable weeds.

CLXXVIII Banners in front and banners borne in rear, Whose fields with diverse ensignry is stained, Unfurled accompany the funeral bier; Which from a thousand vanquished bands were gained, For Caesar and for Peter's church whilere, By that rare force, which now extinct remained.

Bucklers by other followers carried are, Won from good warriors, whose device they bear.

CLXXIX By hundreds and by hundreds followed more, Ordained for different tasks, the steps of those; Who burning torches like those others bore.

Mantled, say rather closely m.u.f.fled, goes Roland in sables next, and evermore His eyes suffused and red with weeping shows.

Nor wears a gladder face Montalban's peer.

At home his wound detains Sir Olivier.

CLx.x.x The ceremonies would be long to say In verse, wherewith Sir Brandimart was mourned; The mantles, black or purple, given away; The many torches which that eve were burned.

Wending to the cathedral, where the array Past on its road, were no dry eyes discerned: All s.e.xes, ages, ranks, in pitying mood Gazed upon him so youthful, fair, and good.

CLx.x.xI He in the church was placed; and, when with vain Lament the women had bemoaned the dead, And Kyrie Eleison, by the priestly train, And other holy orisons were said, In a fair ark, upraised on columns twain, Was reared, with sumptuous cloth of gold o'erspread.

So willed Orlando; till he could be laid In sepulchre of costlier matter made:

CLx.x.xII Nor out of Sicily the Count departs, Till porphyries he procures and alabasters, And fair designs; and in their several arts Has with large hire engaged the primest masters.

Next Flordelice, arriving in those parts, Raises the quarried slabs and rich pilasters; Who, good Orlando being gone before, Is. .h.i.ther wafted from the Africk sh.o.r.e.

CLx.x.xIII She, seeing that her tears unceasing flow, And that of long lament she never tires; Nor she, for ma.s.s or service said, her woe Can ease, or satisfy her sad desires, Vows in her heart she thence will never go Till from the wearied corse her soul expires; And builds in that fair sepulchre a cell; There shuts herself; therein for life will dwell.

CLx.x.xIV Thither in person, having courier sent And letter, Roland goes, her thence to take; Her, would she wend to France, with goodly rent Would gift, and Galerana's inmate make; As far as Lizza convoy her, if bent On journeying to her father; for her sake If wholly she to serve her G.o.d was willed, A monastery would the warrior build.

CLx.x.xV Still in that sepulchre she dwelt, and worn By weary penance, praying night and day, It was not long, ere by the Parcae shorn Was her life's thread: already on their way Were the three Christian warriors, homeward borne, Sorrowing and afflicted sore in mind For their fourth comrade who remained behind.

CLx.x.xVI They would not go without a leech, whose skill Might ease the wound of warlike Olivier; Which, as in the beginning it could ill Be salved, is hard to heal. Meanwhile they hear The champion so complain, his outcries fill Orlando and all that company with fear.