XLIV As the aspect of the paladin of France, The wavering Moorish files betray their fear; And, trembling in their hands, is seen the lance, Their thighs and stirrups quivering, like the spear.

King Pulian only marks the knight's advance, Knowing Rinaldo not, unchanged in cheer; Nor thinking such a cruel shock to meet, Gallops against him on his courser fleet.

XLV He stoops upon the weapon which he strains, Whole and collected for the martial game: Then to his horse abandoning the reins, And goading with both spurs the courser, came.

Upon the other side no valour feigns, But shows, by doings, what he is in name; -- With what rare grace and matchless art he wars, The son of Aymon, rather son of Mars.

XLVI Well-matched in skill, they aimed their cruel blows, With lances at each other's heads addrest; Ill matched, in arms and valour, were the foes, For this past on, and that the champaigne prest.

More certain proof of worth, when warriors close, There needs than knightly lance, well placed in rest; But Fortune even more than Valour needs, Which ill, without her saving succour, speeds.

XLVII With the good spear new levelled in his fist, At Oran's king behold Rinaldo dart.

Of bulk, and bone, and sinew, to resist The monarch was, but ill supplied with heart.

And his might pa.s.s for a fair stroke in list, Though planted in the buckler's nether part.

Let those excuse it who refuse to admire, Since the good paladin could reach no higher.

XLVIII Nor did the buckler so the weapon stay, Though made of palm within, and steel without, But that it pierced the paunch, and made a way To let that mean and ill matched spirit out.

The courser, who had deemed that all the day He must so huge a burden bear about, Thanked in his heart the warrior, who well met, Had thus preserved him from so sore a sweat.

XLIX Rinaldo, having broke his rested spear, So wheels his horse, he seems equipt with wings; Who, turning swiftly with the cavalier, Amid the closest crowd, impetuous springs.

Composed of brittle gla.s.s the arms appear Where Sir Rinaldo red Fusberta swings.

Nor tempered steel is there, nor corslet thick, Which keeps the sword from biting to the quick.

L Yet few the tempered plates or iron pins With which encounters that descending brand; But targets, some of oak and some of skins, And quilted vest and turban's twisted band.

Lightly such drapery good Rinaldo thins, And cleaves, and bores, and shears, on either hand; Nor better from his sword escapes the swarm, Than gra.s.s from sweeping scythe, or grain from storm.

LI The foremost squadron had been put to flight, When thither the vanguard Zerbino led.

Forth p.r.i.c.king from the following crowd, in sight Appeared, with levelled lance, their youthful head: With no less fury those who trooped to fight Beneath his banner, to the combat sped; Like lions, like so many wolves, who leap In fury to the a.s.sault of goat or sheep.

LII Both spurred their coursers on, with rested lance, When either warrior to his foe was near; And that short interval, that small expanse, Of plain, between, was seen to disappear.

Was never witnessed yet a stranger dance!

For the Scots only ply the murderous spear; Only the scattered paynims slaughtered lie, As if conducted thither but to die.

LIII It seemed as if each coward paynim grew More cold than ice, each Scot more fierce than flame.

The Moors believed that with Rinaldo's thew And muscle fortified, each Christian came.

Sobrino quickly moved his ordered crew, Nor stayed till herald should his call proclaim: Better were they than those which went before, For captain, armour, and for martial lore.

LIV Less worthless men of Africa were they, Though ill had they been deemed of much avail.

Ill harnessed, and worse trained to martial fray, Forthwith King Dardinel, the foe to a.s.sail, Moved up his host, himself in helmet gay, And sheathing all his limbs in plate and mail.

The fourth division I believe was best, Which, under Isolier, to battle prest.

LV Thraso, this while, the valiant Duke of Mar, Glad in the tumult, for the cavaliers Who muster in his train, uplifts the bar, And to the lists of fame his following chears, When Isolier, with hors.e.m.e.n of Navarre, Entered in that fierce fray he sees and hears.

Next Ariodantes moved his chivalry, Who was of late made Duke of Albany.

LVI The deep sonorous trumpet's bellowing, And sound of drum, and barbarous instrument, Combined with tw.a.n.g of bow, and whiz of sling, Wheel and machine, and stone from engine sent, And (what more loud than these appeared to ring) Tumult, and shriek, and groan, and loud lament, Composed a direr whole than what offends The neighbouring tribes where deafening Nile descends.

LVII The arrows' double shower the ample sky With wide-extended shade is seen to shrowd; Breath, smoke of sweat and dust ascend on high, And seem to stamp in air a murky cloud.

By turns each host gives way, and you might spy, Now chasing, now in flight, the self-same crowd; And here some wight, beside his foeman slain, Or little distant, prostrate on the plain.

LVIII When, hara.s.sed with fatigue, a wearied crew Withdraw, fresh files their fellows reinforce: Men, here and there, the wasted ranks renew; Here march supplies of foot, and there of horse: Her mantle green for robe of crimson hue Earth shifts, ensanguined where the warriors course: And there were azure flowers and yellow sprung, Now slaughtered men lie stretched their steeds among.

LIX Zerbino was more wonders seen to do Than ever stripling of his age, he strowed The ground with heaps of dead, and overthrew The paynim numbers which about him flowed.

The valiant Ariodantes to his new- Entrusted squadron mighty prowess showed; Filling with dread and wonder, near and far, The squadrons of Castile and of Navarre.

LX Chelindo and Mosco (b.a.s.t.a.r.ds were the twain Of Calabrun, late king of Arragon), And one esteemed among the valiant train, Calamidor, of Barcellona's town, Leaving their standards, in the hope to gain, By young Zerbino's death, a glorious force, And wounded in his flanks the prince's horse.

LXI Pierced by three lances lay the courser strong, But bold Zerbino quickly rose anew; And, eager to avenge his charger's wrong, The a.s.sailants, where he sees them, will pursue.

Zerbino at Mosco first, that overhung Him, in the hope to make him prisoner, flew, And pierced him in the flank; who from his sell, Pallid and cold, upon the champaign fell.

LXII When him so killed, as 'twere by stealthy blow, Chelindo viewed, to avenge his brother slain, He charged, intent the prince to overthrow; But he seized fast his courser by the rein, And, thence to rise not, laid the charger low, Destined no more to feed on hay or grain; For at one stroke, so matchless was his force, Zerbino cleft the rider and his horse.

LXIII When that fell blow Calamidor espied, He turned the bridle short to speed away, But him with downright cut Zerbino plied Behind, and cried withal, "Stay, traitor, stay."

Nor from its aim the sword-stroke wandered wide, Though from the mark it went somedeal astray; The falchion missed the rider as he fled, But reached the horse's croup, and stretched him dead,

LXIV He quits the horse, and thence for safety crawls; But he with little boot escapes his foe; For him Duke Thraso's horse o'erturns and mawls, Opprest the ponderous courser's weight below.

Where the huge crowd upon Zerbino falls, Ariodantes and Lurcanio go; And with them many a cavalier and count, Who do their best Zerbino to remount.

LXV Then Artalico and Margano knew The force of Ariodantes' circling brand: While Casimir and Enearco rue More deeply yet the puissance of his hand.

Smote by the knight, escaped the former two; The others were left dead upon the strand.

Lurcanio shows what are his force and breath; Who charges, smites, o'erturns, and puts to death.

LXVI Sir, think not that more inland on the plain The warfare is less mortal than along The stream, nor that the troops behind remain Which to the duke of Lancaster belong.

He valiantly a.s.sailed the flags of Spain, And long in even scale the battle hung.

For Horse and Foot, and Captains of those bands, On either side, could deftly ply their hands.

LXVII Forward Sir Oldrad p.r.i.c.ks and Fieramont; This Glocester's duke, and York's the other knight; With them conjoined is Richard, Warwick's count, And the bold duke of Clarence, Henry hight.

These Follicon and Matalista front, And Baricond, with all they lead to fight.

Almeria this, and that Granada guides, And o'er Marjorca Baricond presides.

LXVIII Well matched awhile the Christian and the Moor Appeared, without advantage in the fray.

Not this, now that gave ground, like corn before The light and fickle breeze which blows in May: Or as the sea which ripples on the sh.o.r.e, Still comes and goes, nor keeps one certain way, When hollow Fortune thus had sported long, She proved disastrous to the paynim throng.

LXIX The duke of Glocester Matalista bold a.s.sailed this while, and hurtled from his sell; Fieramont Follicon o'erturned and rolled, In the right shoulder smit, on earth as well.

The advancing English either paynim hold, And bear their prisoners off to dungeon cell.

This while, Sir Baricond is, in the strife, By Clarence's bold duke deprived of life.

LXX Hence 'tis among the Moors amazement all, While hence the Christians take such heart and pride, The bands do nought but quit their ground and fall, And break their order on the Paynim side, What time the Christian troops come on, and gall Their flying rants, which nowhere will abide: And had not one arrived to aid their host.

The Paynim camp had on that side been lost.

LXXI But Ferrau, who till this time ever nigh Marsilius, scarce had quitted him that day, When half destroyed he marked his chivalry, And saw that baffled banner born away, p.r.i.c.ked his good courser forth, in time to spy, (Where mid those squadrons hottest waxed the fray) With his head severed in a griesly wound, Olympio de la Serra fall to ground:

LXXII A stripling he, who such sweet musick vented, Accorded to the horned lyre's soft tone; That at the dulcet melody relented The hearer's heart, though harder than a stone.

Happy! if, with such excellence contented, He had pursued so fair a fame alone, And loathed shield, quiver, helmet, sword and lance; Destined by these to die a youth in France.

LXXIII When bold French beheld his cruel plight, For whom he love and much esteem profest, He felt more pity at the doleful sight Than, 'mid those thousands slain, for all the rest.

And smote the foe who slew him with such might, That he his helm divided from the crest; Cut front, eyes, visage, and mid bosom through, And cast him down amid the slaughtered crew.

LXXIV Nor stops he here, nor leaves a corslet whole, Nor helm unbroken, where his sword is plied, Of this the front or cheek, of that the poll, The arm of other foe his strokes divide; And he, of these divorcing body and soul, Restores the wavering battle on that side; Whence the disheartened and ign.o.ble throng Are scattered wide, and broke, and driven along.

LXXV Into the medley p.r.i.c.ks King Agramant, Desirous there his b.l.o.o.d.y course to run; With him King Baliverzo, Farurant, Soridan, Bambirago, Prusion; And next so many more of little vaunt, Whose blood will form a lake ere day be done, That I could count each leaf with greater ease When autumn of their mantle strips the trees.