That breaks the trees, destroys the golden grain,
And marrs the harvest of th' expecting swain.
Oft have you heard of Durindana's fame,
What fatal wounds from Balisarda came,
Judge what their strokes must prove which two such warriors aim.
But while so wary each his guard maintain'd, No blows descended worthy either's hand:
The Tartar first his dreadful sword impell'd
That through the middle of the buckler held
Its biting course, thence through the corselet hew'd,
And to the flesh its cruel way pursu❜d.
A wound so dreadful freezes every heart
Of those that favour'd good Rogero's part;
And would but Fortune so exert her sway,
To give the palm where general suffrage lay,
Stern Mandricardo soon must fall or yield;
And thus this stroke offended half the field.
But sure some Angel's interposing power
Preserv❜d Rogero in that dangerous hour.
All terrible in wrath the warrior burn'a,
And to the foe his answer swift return'd:
At Mandricardo's helmet from above
He rais'd the sword, but with such haste he drove, 390
It fell not edgeways : nor the knight I blame,
Whose noble warmth deceiv'd his better aim.
And had not Balisarda fail'd to wound,
In vain the foe had Hector's helmet found.
So sorely Mandricardo felt the stroke,
Senseless he seem'd, the reins his hand forsook;
And threatening headlong thrice to fall, he reel'd,
While Brigliadoro cours'd around the field;
That Brigliadoro, once Orlando's care,
Who still laments a foreign lord to bear.
Not with such rage the trodden serpent glows;
Not half so fierce the wounded lion shows:
As Mandricardo to himself restor❜d
From the late fury of Rogero's sword:
The deeper wrath and pride inflam'd his breast,
The more his strength and valour shone confess'd.
He spurs his steed, and to Rogero flies,
He lifts his sword, he measures with his eyes,
High on his stirrups rais'd in fell design
With one fierce stroke to cleave him to the chine.
Rogero, heedful of the foe's intent,
While yet the hand hung threatening in descent,
Beneath his arm impell'd the pointed blade,
And through the mail an ample passage made,
Then from the wound with life-blood smoking drew 415
His Balisarda dy'd to crimson hue;
And took such vigour from the stroke away,
That Durindana fell with lighter sway,
Though backward to his courser's crupper sent,
His brows, with anguish writh'd, Rogero bent;
And had his helm of common steel been fram'd,
That stroke had well the striker's force proclaim'd.
Rogero to his steed the spur apply'd,
And swift at Mandricardo's better side
The weapon aim'd, where jointed armour clos'd
With strongly temper'd plates, in vain oppos'd:
The fatal falchion, forg'd with potent charms,
Where'er it falls divides the strongest arms;
Through plate and mail a speedy course it found,
And in the Tartar's side infix'd a wound;
Who, loud blaspheming, with such fury raves,
As roaring ocean black with stormy waves.
Prepar❜d to prove his strength, the fatal shield
That bears the eagle on its azure field,
With fierce impatience to the ground he cast,
And grasp'd with either hand his falchion fast.
Full dearly hast thou prov'd (Rogero cry'd)
Thou ill deserv'st the crest thou throw'st aside;
Now thrown aside, cleft by thy sword before,
Claim not to this thy right or title more.
Thus he; but while he spoke was doom'd to feel
The fatal edge of Durindana's steel.
Divided sheer its force the vizor prov❜d,
At happy distance from his face remov'd;
Next through the saddle-bow with dire descent,
Through iron plates the gleaming falchion went,
Through skirted mail the jointed cuishes found,
And in his thigh impress'd a ghastly wound.
From both the combatants the gushing tide
To purple hue their shining armour dy'd;
That doubtful yet it seem'd of either knight
Who best might claim th' advantage of the fight:
But soon Rogero shall that doubt decide;
The fatal sword by which such numbers dy'd,
He whirl'd around, and the sharp point impell'd
Where late the Tartar knight his buckler held:
Ver. 132. As roaring ocean--] So Spenser when the monster is wounded by the Red-Cross knight:
He cry'd, as raging seas are wont to roar.
cleft by thy sword before, ] See ver. 376, where Man
dricardo cuts through Rogero's shield.
Corselet and side he pierc'd with thrilling smart,
And found a passage to his panting heart,
His heart unguarded by his ample shield;
Stern Mandricardo now to fate must yield;
Must yield the eagle to its youthful lord;
Must yield his title to the glorious sword;
And ah! for final issue to the strife,
With sword and targe must yield his dearer life.
He dy'd; nor yet without revenge he dy'd, For, ere the hostile weapon pierc'd his side, His falchion, won so ill, he rais'd anew,
Whose edge had cleft Rogero's brows in two,
But that the wound the Tartar knight receiv'd,
Of wonted strength his furious arm bereav'd.
From Mandricardo as Rogero took
His wretched life, the Tartar aim'd the stroke;
And through the helm with unresisted sway,
Deep Durindana forc'd its cruel way.
Back fell Rogero senseless on the ground,
A purple current gushing from the wound.
First fell Rogero, while the Tartar knight
Still kept his seat, as victor of the fight,
And each believ'd his valiant arm had gain'd
The wreath in such a glorious list obtain❜d.
Fair Doralis, in that day's fight deceiv'd
With fears and hopes, th' event with all believ'd;
And gave with lifted hands her thanks to Heaven
For such an issue to the combat given :
But when appear'd to all the Pagan train
Rogero living, Mandricardo slain;
Ver. 486. Rogero living, Mandricardo slain. ] reader will agree that this combat is admirably described, that. all.
In different breasts new passions take their turn,
These smile that wept, and those that triumph'd mourn.
The king, the lords, and knights the most renown'd,
To brave Rogero, scarcely from the ground
With anguish rais'd, a friendly greeting give,
And in their arms the conquering youth receive.
All with the knight rejoice, and all express
Sincere the thoughts their secret souls confess :
All save Gradasso, who within conceals
Far other feeling than his tongue reveals:
His outward looks the marks of joy impart,
But hidden envy rankles at his heart,
While oft he calls the lot of fate accurst
That from the urn disclos'd Rogero first.
How shall I speak the marks of love sincere
By royal Agramant, who held him dear,
Giv'n to the youth, without whose valiant hand
The king refus'd t' embark from Afric's land,
To spread his martial banners to the wind,
Or trust the force of all his powers combin'd?
And now by him the Tartar chief o'erthrown,
He deems all strength compriz'd in him alone.
Not only to Rogero's weal inclin'd
The manly sex, but woman's gentler kind;
From Spain and Afric, many a lovely dame,
That with the banded powers to Gallia came,
With looks and tongue would now his worth and
praise proclaim.
the turns of fortune are painted in the most lively colours, the expectation artfully kept up, and the issue unexpectedly brought about by the death of Mandricardo and the victory of Rogero..
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