No More Learning

How happy was that other not to die!
Who risqued his neck in that deep bottom, who
Rehearsed the tale so often, Turpin heard,
And handed down to us the wondrous word.

LVII
These and more marvels does the count, who bends
His steps across that mountain to the plain;
And, seeking long a path, at length descends
Towards the south, upon the land of Spain.
His way along the beach he after wends,
Near Arragon, beside the rumbling main,
And, ever prompted by his phrensy rank,
Will make himself a dwelling on the bank,

LVIII
Where he somedeal may shun the noontide ray,
With dry and powdery sea-sand covered o'er;
And here, while so employed, upon their way
Arrives Angelica with her Medore,
Who, as you have been told in former lay,
Had from the hills descended on that shore.
Within a yard or less approached the fair,
Ere yet she of his presence was aware.

LIX
So different from himself was he to sight,
Nought of Orlando she in him surveyed:
For, from the time that rage possest his sprite,
He had gone naked forth in sun and shade.
Had he been born on hot Syene's site,
Or sands where worship is to Ammon paid,
Or nigh those hills, whence Nile's full waters spin,
Orlando had not borne a dingier skin.

LX
Nigh buried in their sockets are his eyes,
Spare in his visage, and as dry as bone:
Dishevelled is his hair in woeful wise,
With frightful beard his cheek is overgrown:
No sooner is he seen, than backward flies
Angelica, who, trembling sore, is flown:
She shrieking loud, all trembling and dismaid,
Betakes her to her youthful guide for aid.

LXI
When crazed Orlando was of her aware,
To seize the damsel he upsprang in haste;
So pleased the wretched count her visage fair,
So quickly was his mood inflamed: effaced
In him all ancient recollections are,
How she by him was whilom served and graced.
Behind her speech the count and hunts that dame,
As questing dog pursues the sylvan game.

LXII
The youth, that sees him chase his love who fled,
His courser spurs, and in pursuit is gone.
With naked faulchion after him he sped,
And cut and thrust at Roland as he run.
He from his shoulders hoped to cleave his head,
But found the madman's skin as hard as bone;
Yea, harder far than steel, nor to be harmed;
So good Orlando at his birth was charmed.

LXIII
When on his back Orlando felt him beat,
He turned, and turning on his youthful foe,
Smote with clenched fist, and force which nought can meet,
-- Smote on his horse's head, a fearful blow;
And, with skull smashed like glass, that courser fleet
Was by the madman's furious stroke laid low.
In the same breath Orlando turned anew,
And chased the damsel that before him flew.
LXIV
At speed Angelica impelled her mare.
And whipt and spurred her evermore; whom slow
She would esteem, albeit that palfrey were
Yet faster than a shaft dismist from bow:
Her ring she thought upon, and this the fair
Placed in her mouth; nor failed its virtue now;
For putting it between her lips, like light
Extinguished by a puff, she past from sight.

LXV
Was it through fear, or was she, while she stript
This from her finger, shaken in her seat;
Or was it rather, that her palfrey tript,
(For neither this nor that I surely weet)
Angelica, while 'twixt her lips she slipt
The virtuous ring, and hid her visage sweet,
Her stirrups lost; and, tumbling form the sell,
Reversed upon the sand that lady fell.

LXVI
If but two inches short had fallen his prey,
Upon her would have pounced Orlando near;
Who would have crushed her in his furious way,
But that kind Fortune saved her from the peer.
Let her by other theft herself purvey
With other palfrey, as she did whilere;
For never will she have this courser more,
Who chased by swift Orlando scours the shore.

LXVII
Doubt not that she another will provide;
And follow we in mad Orlando's rear;
Whose rage and fury nevermore subside,
Wroth that Angelica should disappear:
After that beast along the sands he hied,
Aye gaining on the mare in this career.
Now, now he touches her, and lo! The mane
He grasps, and now secures her by the rein.

LXVIII
Orlando seizes her with that delight
That other man might seize a damsel fair;
The bit and bridle he adjusts aright,
Springs on her back, and o'er the sea-beach bare
For many miles impels the palfrey's flight,
Without repose or pause, now here, now there:
Nor ever sell or bridle be displaced,
Nor let her grass or heartening forage taste.

LXIX
As in this course to o'erleap a ditch he sought,
Head over heels, she with her rider went:
Nor harmed was he, nor felt that tumble aright;
But she, with shoulder slipt, lay foully shent.
Long how to bear her thence Orlando thought,
And in the end upon his shoulders hent.
He from the bottom climbed, thus loaded sore,
And carried her three bow-shots' length and more.

LXX
Next, for he felt that weight too irksome grow,
He put her down, to lead her by the rein;
Who followed him with limping gait and slow,
"Come on," Orlando cried, and cried in vain;
And, could the palfrey at a gallop go,
This ill would satisfy his mood insane.
The halter from her head he last unloosed,
Wherewith her hind off-foot the madman noosed.

LXXI
'Tis thus he comforts and drags on that mare,
That she may follow with more ease, so led;
Who whiles despoiled of flesh, and whiles of hair,
Is scathed by stones which that ill road o'erspread.
At length the misused beast, with wear and tear
Of the rude rocks, and suffering sore, lies dead.