And hoisting up the horse from where he fell,

He said, “Now look if I the gout have got,
Orlando, in the legs — or if I have force;
And then he made two gambols with the horse.

Morgante was like any mountain framed;

So if he did this, 'tis no prodigy ;
But secretly himself Orlando blamed,

Because he was one of his family ;
And fearing that he might be hurt or maimed,

Once more he bade him lay his burden by :
“Put down, nor bear him further the desert in."
Morgante said, “I'll carry him for certain."

He did; and stowed him in some nook away,

And to the abbey then returned with speed.
Orlando said, “ Why longer do we stay?

Morgante, here is naught to do indeed."



(Translated by J. A. Symonds.)

[MATTEO MARIA BOIARDO, count of Scandiano in the Modenese territory, was born there, perhaps about 1434 ; studied at the University of Ferrara ; became versed in the classics and Oriental languages; a favorite at the court of Ferrara, was made governor of Reggio and captain of Modena. He died in 1494. He wrote sonnets and canzones, a comedy, and other small pieces ; but his great work is the unfinished epic “Orlando Innamorato,” well constructed and dramatic though heavy in style, which was Italy's first good romantic epic, and led to two far greater works - Ariosto's sequel the “Orlando Furioso," and Tasso's “Gerusalemme Liberata."']


Upon his steed forthwith hath sprung the knight,
And with the damsel rideth fast

away :
Not far they fared, when slowly waned the light,

And forced them to dismount and there to stay.
Rinaldo 'neath a tree slept all the night;

Close at his side the lovely lady lay :
But the strong magic of wise Merlin's well
Had on the baron's temper cast a spell.

He now can sleep anigh that beauteous dame,

Nor of her neighborhood have any care.
Erewhile a sea, a flood, a raging flame

Would not have stayed his quick desire, I swear;
To clasp so fair a creature without shame,

Walls, mountains he'd have laid in ruins there!
Now side by side they sleep, and naught he recks;
While her, methinks, far other thoughts perplex.

The air, meanwhile, was growing bright around,

Although not yet the sun his face had shown;
Some stars the tranquil brows of heaven still crowned;

The birds upon the trees sang one by one;
Dark night had flown; bright day was not yet found:

Then toward Rinaldo turned the maid alone;
For she with morning light had cast off sleep,
While he upon the grass still slumbered deep.

Beauteous he was, and but a stripling then:

Strong-thewed, and lithe, and with a lively face;
Broad in the chest, but in the haunches thin:

The lady gazed, smit with his manly grace;
His beard scarce budded upon cheek and chin;

Gazing, she all but fainted in that place,
And took such pleasure in so sweet a sight
That naught she heeds beyond this one delight.

ORLANDO's LAMENT OVER RINALDO. [They have recently fought over Angelica, and Orlando, finding his rival's

sword, supposes him dead.]
Hearing these dulcet words, the Count began

Little by little of his will to yield;
Backward, already he withdrew a span,

When, gazing on the bridge and guarded field,
Force was that he the armor bright should scan

Which erst Rinaldo bore — broadsword and shield:
Then weeping, “ Who hath done me this despite ?"
He cried : “Oh, who hath slain my perfect knight?

“Here wast thou killed by foulest treachery

Of that false robber on this slippery bridge;
For all the world could not have conquered thee

In fair fight, front to front, and edge to edge:
Cousin, from heaven incline thine ear to me!

Where now thou reignest, list thy lord and liege!

Me who so loved thee, though my brief misprision, Through too much love, wrought 'twixt our lives division.

"I crave thy pardon, pardon me, I pray,

If e'er I did thee wrong, sweet cousin mine! I was thine ever, as I am alway,

Though false suspicion, or vaia love malign, And jealous blindness, on an evil day,

Brought me to cross my furious brand with thine ; Yet all the while I loved thee - love thee now: Mine was the fault, and only mine, I vow.

“ What traitorous wolf ravening for blood was he

Who thus debarred us twain from kind return To concord sweet and sweet tranquillity,

Sweet kisses, and sweet tears of souls that yearn?
This is the anguish keen that conquers me,

That now I may not to thy bosom turn,
Ánd speak, and beg for pardon, ere I part;
This is the grief, the dole that breaks my heart."


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After the sun below the hills was laid,

And with bright stars the sky began to glow, Unto the king these words Orlando said,

“What shall we do, now that the day is low ? " Then Agricane made answer, "Make our bed

Together here, amid the herbs that grow; And then to-morrow with the dawn of light We can return and recommence the fight.”

No sooner said, than straight they were agreed :

Each ties his horse to trees that near them grew;
Then down they lay upon


mead You might have thought they were old friends and true, So close and careless couched they in the reed.

Orlando nigh unto the fountain drew,
And Agricane hard by the forest laid
His head beneath a mighty pine-tree's shade.

Herewith the twain began to hold debate

Of fitting things, and meet for noble knights.
The Count looked up to heaven and cried, “How great

And fair is yonder frame of glittering lights,

Which God, the mighty monarch, did create ;

The silvery moon, and stars that gem our nights,
The light of day, yea, and the lustrous sun,
For us poor men God made them every one!”
But Agricane: “Full well I apprehend

It is your wish toward faith our talk to turn:
Of science less than naught I comprehend ;

Nay, when I was a boy, I would not learn, But broke my master's head to make amend

For his much prating; no one since did yearn To teach me book or writing, such the dread Wherewith I filled them for my hardihead.

“ And so I let my boyish days flow by

In hunting, feats of arms, and horsemanship;
Nor is it meet, meseems, for chivalry

To pore the livelong day o'er scholarship.
True knights should strive to show the skill, say I,

And strength of limb in noble fellowship;
Leave priests and teaching men from books to learn,
I know enough, thank God, to serve my turn.”
Then spake the Count: “Thus far we both agree :

Arms are the chief prime honor of a knight.
Yet knowledge brings no shame that I can see,

But rather fame, as fields with flowers are bright.
More like an ox, a stock, a stone is he

Who never thinks of God's eternal light;
Nor without learning can we rightly dwell
On his high majesty adorable."
Then Agricane: “Small courtesy it were,

War with advantage so complete to wage!
My nature I have laid before you bare:

I know full well that you are learned and sage ;
Therefore to answer you I do not care.

Sleep if you like; in sleep your soul assuage;
Or if you choose with me to hold discourse,
I look for talk of love, and deeds of force.
“Now I beseech you, answer me the truth

Of what I ask, upon a brave man's faith:
Are you the great Orlando, in good sooth,

Whose name and fame the whole world echoeth ? Whence are you come, and why? And since your youth

Were you by love enthralled ? For story saith

That any knight who loves not, though he seem
To sight alive, yet lives but in a dream."

Then spake the Count: “Orlando sure am I,

Who both Almonte and his brother slew. Imperious love hath lost me utterly,

And made me journey to strange lands and new; She who now lies within Albracca's wall, Gallafra's daughter, holds my heart in thrall.”

RINALDO's Vision.

When to the leafy wood his feet were brought,

Toward Merlin's Fount at once he took his way; Unto the fount that changes amorous thought

Journeyed the Paladin without delay;
But a new sight, the which he had not sought,

Caused him upon the path his feet to stay.
Within the wood there is a little close,
Full of pink flowers, and white, and various :

And in the midst thereof a naked boy,

Singing, took solace with surpassing cheer; Three ladies round him, as around their joy,

Danced naked in the light so soft and clear. No sword, no shield, hath been his wonted toy;

Brown are his eyes; yellow his curls appear; His downy beard hath scarce begun to grow One saith 'tis there, and one might say no!

With violets, roses, flowers of every dye,

Baskets they filled, and eke their beauteous hands : Then as they dance in joy and amity,

The Lord of Montalbano near them stands: Whereat “Behold the traitor!” loud they cry,

Soon as they mark the foe within their bands “Behold the thief, the scorner of delight, Caught in the trap at last in sorry plight !”

Then with their baskets all with one consent

Upon Rinaldo like a tempest bore:
One flings red roses, one with violets blent

Showers lilies, hyacinths, fast as she can pour:
Each flower in falling with strange pain hath rent

His heart and pricked his marrow to the core,
VOL. XI.-7

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