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And close behind, in well-rang'a files were seen,
Rhodolpho's train, a small but faithful band, ISO
With measur'd steps swift gliding o'er the green,
To aid their gen'ral, and his foes withstand.
No longer Gondibert nor he remain
Within the limits of their narrow bound,
But pass the wood, swift iffuing on the plain,
15$ And leave behind, with scorn, the rural mound.
Close follows Hurgonil with steady pace,
Who gladly mixes with thofe leaders brave,
That young Rhodolpho's warlike legions grace,
And on their shoulders wore the scarfs he gave. 169
Among those chiefs stood Adelmar the sage,
Cherbert and Rollo, not unknown to fame,
W'ith many'a knight, the flow'r of all that age,
The pride and glory of che Lombard name.
On these Prince Hubert pour'd his warriours down,
Out-numb'ring by the half their scanty band, 166
But the stout few,whom dear-bought laurelsсrown'd,
Abide their fury, and the Shock withstand:
Till raging Borgio, barb'rous, fierce, and bold,
Gualthierus, and gigantick Melador,
Thro' op'ning lines their course resisless hold,
And mark the road they pass with streams of gore.
First felltwo youths, with honest wounds o'erfpread,
Whom late from Gaulthe great Rhodolpho brought,
But now the Tuscan land receives them dead,
And gives that honour which in life they fought.
Cherbert the next a dang'rous wound receiv'd,
Full on his breast, and there had sunk to-night,
But that Rhodolpho's timely aid reliev'd,
Whoftraigheruth'd dreadful to the fcene of fight. 180
And near him Gondibert with Orgo stood,
Who yet in war ne'er flesh'd his maiden sword,
This hour he dy'd it deep in warriour's blood,
And thep fell bravely fighting by his lord :
For now as Melador's and Borgio's force 185
Were join'd, at Gondibert to strike amain,
The youth oppos'd his breast to Borgio's force,
While by his lord bold Melador was lain.
XLVIII. The giant sunk untimely to his grave, Like some tall pine, truck by celestial fircs, Igo While Borgio curs'd the erring blow he gave, As from che Duke he sullenly retires.
XLIX. And but Gualthierus' ready aid was near, His father's offspring by a foreign bed, Here he had run his last of life's career, 195 And swellid the growing number of the dead.
L. But now so variously the combat bleeds, That Fame, tho'allhertonguesshould givethem breath, Could not express the bold and warlike deeds Of warriours ranging thro' this field of death. 200
At length, while yet the sun's revolving ray
Wheel'dround the ocean's brim with trembling light,
The battle swerv'd with the declining day,
Who Gondibert fucceeded in the fight.
And perfect vidor had the Duke remaiu'd,
But that Prince Hubert privately retir'd,
And long before the camp at Brescia gain’d,
Whence he return'd with double fury fir'd.
By secret ways his chofen band he draws,
Till in a snare their enemies they thrall,
Who feel th' effect, discerning not the cause,
And die, unknowing by what hands they fall.
But soon Rhodolpho and the Duke could tell
The fatal guile, and found their struggle vain,
But by the first of them had Hubert fell,
215 Yet that he fenc'd him with a heap of Nain.
As thus the chiefs contend, a veil of clouds
(While thunders roll and gath'ring show'rs descend)
Alike the vanquishid and the vidor shrouds,
Yet in the storm the eager troops contend.
But now a chosen few the Duke selects,
With whom he pierces Hubert's thick array,
And while the fay'ring form his rear protes,
Thro’all the fighting ranks he wins his way:
Nor stops, till Bergamo's white tents he fpies, 225
Deck'd with the radiance of afcending morn,
And enters there, what time the shepherds rise,
And early huntsinen wind the sill-ton'd hora, 278
Black Dalga's wiles full timely do explore
Brave Sigebert and prudent Ulfinore:
Them Goltho loses in a winding way,
And falls to barb'rous Borgio's troops a prey.
Hubert's design upon Verona's tow'rs
Disclos'd with horrour in the gloomy hours:
Sage Aribert in vain coasults his peers,
The council broken amidft panick fears.
Alas! that man, creation's glorious lord,
And bless'd with sway supreme o'er sea and land,
With wisdom's wealth should be so thinly storid,
As by an harlot's smiles to be trepann'd.
Jp vain hę boals him of his strength and pow's,
In vain the image of his Maker wears,
If prone to evil in the dang'rous hour,
He falls a prey to penitence and tears.
Who that had seen young Golțho's force in fight,
Who that had known the virtues of his youth,
Had thought he held them both fo cheap and light,
To risk his fafety on a harlot's truth?
To facrifice his worth at such a fhrine,
To waste his hours in dalliance at her fide,