LVII
"Can it be true, my life, that to forsake
Thy champion for this Greek should grieve not thee?
"Can it be true, my life, that to forsake
Thy champion for this Greek should grieve not thee?
Ariosoto - Orlando Furioso
XLIX
Of other goods which Nature's hand supplies,
Or which acquired by man's own study are,
He such a portion in himself espies,
Such and so large was never other's share:
In that, no beauty with his beauty vies;
In that, resistance to his might is rare.
The palm by none from him can challenged be,
In regal splendour, magnanimity.
L
But they at whose disposal honours lie,
Who give at will, and take away renown;
The vulgar herd; and from the vulgar I,
Except the prudent man, distinguished none;
Nor emperor, pope, nor king, is raised more high
Than these by sceptre, mitre, or by crown,
Nor save by prudence; save by judgement, given
But to the favoured few by partial Heaven;
LI
This vulgar (to say out what I would say)
Which only honours wealth, therewith more smit
Than any worldly thing beside, nor they
Aught heed or aught esteem, ungraced with it,
Be beauty or be daring what it may,
Dexterity or prowess, worth, or wit,
Or goodness -- yet more vulgar stands confest
In that whereof I speak than in the rest.
LII
Rogero said: "If Aymon is disposed
An empress in his Bradamant to see,
Let not his treaty be so quickly closed
With Leo; let a year be granted me:
In that, meanwhile, I hope, by me deposed
Shall Leo with his royal father be,
And I, encircled with their forfeit crown,
Shall be for Aymon no unworthy son.
LIII
"But if he give without delay, as said,
His daughter to the son of Constantine,
If to that promise no regard be paid,
Which good Rinaldo and the paladine,
His cousin, erst before the hermit made,
The Marquis Olivier and King Sobrine,
What shall I do? such grievous wrong shall I
Endure, or, rather than endure it, die?
LIV
"What shall I do? her father then pursue,
On whom for vengeance this grave outrage cries?
I heed not that the deed is hard to do,
Or if the attempt in me is weak or wise: --
But presuppose that, with his kindred crew
Slain by my hand that unjust elder dies;
This will in nothing further my content;
Nay it will wholly frustrate my intent.
LV
" `Twas ever my intent, and still 'tis so
To have the love, not hatred, of that fair;
But should I Aymon slay, or bring some woe
By plot or practice, on his house or heir,
Will she not justly hold me as her foe,
And me, that foeman, as her lord forswear?
What shall I do, endure such injury?
Ah! no, by Heaven! far rather I will die.
LVI
"Nay die I will not; but with better right
Shall Leo die, who so disturbs my joy;
He and his unjust sire; less dear his flight
With Helen paid her paramour of Troy;
Nor yet in older time that foul despite,
Done to Proserpina, cost such annoy
To bold Pirithous, as for her I've lost
My grief of heart shall son and father cost.
LVII
"Can it be true, my life, that to forsake
Thy champion for this Greek should grieve not thee?
And could thy father force thee him to take,
Though joined thy brethren with thy sire should be?
But 'tis my fear that thou would'st rather make
Accord withal with Aymon than with me;
And that it seemeth better in thy sight
To wed with Caesar than with simple wight.
LVIII
"Can it be true that royal name should blind,
Imperial title, pomp and majesty,
And taint my Bradamant's egregious mind,
Her mighty valour and her virtue high,
So that, as cheaper, she should cast behind
Her plighted faith, and from her promise fly?
Nor sooner she a foe to Love be made,
Than she no longer say, what once she said? "
LIX
These things Rogero said, and more beside,
Discoursing with himself, and in such strain
Oftentimes the afflicted warrior cried,
That stander-by o'erheard the knight complain,
And more than once his grief was signified
To her that was the occasion of his pain;
Who no less for his cruel woe, when known,
Lamented than for sorrows of her own.
LX
But most, of all the sorrows that were said
To vex Rogero, most it works her woe
To hear that he afflicts himself, in dread
Lest for the Grecian prince she him forego.
Hence this belief, this error, from his head
To drive, comfort on the knight bestow,
The trustiest of her bower-women, one day,
She to Rogero bade these words convey.
LXI
"Rogero, I what I was till death will be;
And be more faithful, if I can be more:
Deals Love in kindness or in scorn with me;
Hath doubtful Fortune good or ill in store;
I am a very rock of faith, by sea
And winds unmoved, which round about it roar
Nor I have changed for calm or storm, nor I
Will ever change to all eternity.
LXII
"Sooner shall file or chisel made of lead
To the rough diamond various forms impart,
Than any stroke, by fickle Fortune sped,
Or Love's keen anger, break my constant heart:
Sooner return, to Alp, their fountain-head,
The troubled streams that from its summit part,
Than e'er, for change or chances, good or nought,
Shall wander from its way my stedfast thought.
LXIII
"All power o'er me have I bestowed on you,
Rogero; and more than others may divine:
I know that to a prince whose throne is new
Was never fealty sworn more true than mine;
Nor ever surer state, this wide world through,
By king or keysar was possest than thine.
Thou need'st not dig a ditch nor build a tower,
In fear lest any rob thee of that power.
LXIV
"For if thou hire no aids, assault is none,
But what thereon shall aye be made in vain;
Nor shall it be by any riches won:
So vile a price no gentle heart can gain:
Nor by nobility, nor kingly crown,
That dazzle so the silly vulgar train;
Nor beauty, puissant with the weak and light,
Shall ever make me thee for other slight.
LXV
"Thou hast no cause, amid thy griefs, to fear
My heart should ever bear new impress more:
So deeply is thine image graven here,
It cannot be removed: that my heart's core
Is not of wax is proved; for Love whilere
Smote it a hundred times, not once, before
He by his blows a single scale displaced,
What time therein his hand thine image traced.
LXVI
"Ivory, gem, and every hard-grained stone
That best resists the griding tool, may break:
But, save the form it once hath taken, none
Will ever from the graver's iron take.
My heart like marble is, or thing least prone
Beneath the chisel's trenchant edge to flake:
Love this may wholly splinter, ere he may
Another's beauty in its core enlay.