No More Learning

Gradasso follows and will reach him, so
That he but little more pursues the foe;

XCVIII
But turning round, beholds the royal Moor
To the utmost peril in that battle brought;
For by the shining helmet which he wore,
With the left hand, him Brandimart had caught;
Already had unlaced the casque before,
And with his dagger would new ill have wrought:
Nor much defence could make the Moorish lord;
For Brandimart as well had reft his sword.

XCIX
Gradasso turned, nor more Orlando sought,
But hastened where he Agramant espied:
The incautious Brandimart, suspecting nought
Orlando would have let him turn aside,
Had not Gradasso in his eyes or thought,
And to the paynim's throat his knife applied.
Gradasso came, and at his helmet layed,
Wielding with either hand his trenchant blade.

C
Father of heaven! 'mid spirits chosen by thee,
To him thy martyr true, a place accord;
Who, having traversed his tempestuous sea,
Now furls his sails in port. Ah! ruthless sword,
So cruel, Durindana, can'st thou be,
To good Orlando, to thine ancient lord,
That thou can'st slaughter, in the warrior's view,
Of all his friends the dearest and most true?

CI
An iron ring that girt his helmet round,
Two inches thick, was broke by that fell blow
And cleft; and with the solid iron bound,
Was parted the good cap of steel below,
Bold Brandimart, reversed upon the ground,
With haggard face beside his horse lies low;
And issuing widely from the warrior's head
A stream of life-blood dyes the shingle red.

CII
Come to himself, the County turns his eye
And sees his Brandimart upon the plain,
And in such act Gradasso standing by
As clearly shows by whom the knight was slain.
If he most raged or grieved I know not, I,
But such short time is left him to complain,
His hasty wrath breaks forth, his grief gives way;
But now 'tis time that I suspend my lay.


CANTO 42

ARGUMENT
The victory with Count Orlando lies;
But good Rinaldo and Bradamant at heart,
(One for Angelica, the other sighs
For young Rogero) suffer cruel smart.
Him that in chase of the Indian damsel hies
Disdain preserves; from thence does he depart
Towards Italy, and is with courteous cheer
And welcome guested by a cavalier.


I
What bit, what iron curb is to be found,
Or (could it be) what adamantine rein,
That can make wrath keep order and due bound,
And within lawful limits him contain?
When one, to whom the constant heart is bound
And linked by Love with solid bolt and chain,
We see, through violence or through foul deceit,
With mortal damage or dishonour meet.

II
And is the mind sometimes, if so possest,
To ill and savage action led astray,
It may deserve excuse; in that the breast
No more is under Reason's sovereign sway.
Achilles, when, beneath his borrowed crest,
He saw Patroclus crimsoning the way,
Was with his murderer's slaughter ill content,
Till he his mangled corse had dragged and shent.

III
Unconquered Duke Alphonso, anger so
Inflamed thy host the day that weighty stone
Wounded thy forehead with such grievous blow,
That all believed it to its rest was gone;
-- Inflamed them with such fury, for the foe
In rampart, fosse, or wall, defence was none,
Who, one and all, within their works lay dead,
Nor wight was left the woeful news to spread.

IV
Seeing thy fall caused thine such mighty pain,
They were to fury moved; hadst thou, my lord,
Maintained thy footing, haply might thy train
Have with less licence plied the murderous sword.
Enough for thee thy Bastia to regain!
In fewer hours replaced beneath thy ward,
Then Cordova's and fierce Granada's band
Took days erewhile, to wrest it from thy hand.

V
Haply Heaven's vengeance ordered what befel,
And in that case thy wound so hindered thee
To the end, the cruel outrage, foul and fell,
Done by that band before, should punished be.
For after the unhappy Vestidel,
Wearied and hurt, had sought their clemency,
Among them (mostly an unchristened train)
He, mid a hundred swords, unarmed, was slain.

VI
To end; I say that other rage is none
Which can be weighed with that in equal wise,
Which kindles, when an injury is done
To kinsman, friend or lord before our eyes.
Then justly in Orlando's heart, for one
So dear to him, might sudden fury rise;
When him he saw, extended on the sand,
Slain by the stroke of fierce Gradasso's brand.

VII
As nomade swain, who darting on its way
In slippery line the horrid snake has seen,
That his young son, amid the sands at play,
Has killed with venomed tooth, enflamed with spleen,
Grasps his batoon, the poisonous worm to slay;
His sword, than every other sword more keen,
So, in his fury grasped Anglantes' knight,
And wreaked on Agramant his first despite,

VIII
Scaped, bleeding, with helm loosened form his head,
With half a shield and swordless, through his mail,
Sore wounded in more places than is said;
As from the dull or envious falcon's nail,
Escapes the unhappy sparrowhawk, half dead,
With ruffled plumage and with loss of tail.
On him Orlando came and smote him just
Where with the helmed head confined the bust.

IX
Loosed was the helm, the neck without its band:
So, like a rush, was severed by the sword.
Down-fell, and shook its last upon the sand
The heavy trunk of Libya's mighty lord.
His spirit, which flitted to the Stygian strand,
Charon with crooked boat-hook dragged aboard.
On him Orlando wastes no further pain,
But, sword in hand, seeks him of Sericane.

X
As the headless trunk of Africk's cavalier
Extended on the shore Gradasso's viewed,
(What never had befallen him whilere)
He shook at heart, a troubled visage shewed,
And, at the coming of Anglantes' peer,
Presageful of his fate, appears subdued:
Nor seeks he means of fence against his foe,
When fierce Orlando deals the fatal blow.