My promise keep-chide not my long delay,
Far other wounds than love have caus'd my stay.
At this her slumber fled, and with it flew
Her dear Rogero from her longing view:
The damsel then her heavy grief renew'd,.
And thus in secret her complaint pursu❜d.
What gives me joy, to lying dreams I owe,
What gives me pain, from waking truths I know.
As shadows vain my fleeting bliss removes;
But, ah! my constant woe no shadow proves.
Why flies, alas! from waking eye or ear,
What late I seem'd to see, what late to hear?
What are ye, wretched eyes! that clos'd can show
Each wish'd-for joy, and open but to woe?
Sleep soothes with hope of peace my future life,
But when I wake, I wake to pain and strife.
Sweet sleep, alas! such fancy'd peace can make,
But soon to truth and wretchedness I wake.
If sorrow springs from truth, from falsehood joy,
O ne'er may truth these eyes, these ears employ !
To pleasure since I sleep, and wake to pain,
O! let me sleep, and never wake again.
Thrice happy you, among the bestial kind,
For six long months to quiet rest consign'd:
Does such a state as mine death's image give?
I wake, alas! to die, but sleep to live.
Ver. 452. What are ye, wretched eyes !---] This speech of Bradamant abounds with those puerile conceits in which the writers of that age, and particularly the Italians, so much delighted. In this respect even Tasso, in other parts so truly classical, is equally faulty with Ariosto: we see nothing of this kind in Homer or Virgil.
If death indeed resembles such repose,
Come, welcome Death, these eyes for ever close!
Now in the east the sun his beams had shed,
And ting'd the vapoury clouds with blushing red,
Bright and more bright effus'd the golden ray,
And gave the promise of a fairer day;
When, starting from her short and troubled rest,
Soon Bradamant her limbs in armour dress'd;
And grateful thanks return'd the courteous lord
For every honour at his bed and board.
Already now th' ambassadress she found
Who with her squires and dames attending round,
Had left the lodge, and issu'd at the gate,
Where stood the three her coming thence to wait,
Where till the morn their irksome hours they pass'd, 480
Their loose teeth chattering to the chilly blast;
Drench'd in the rain, and every need deny'd,
No food to knight, nor food to steed supply'd,
Battering the slimy soil---but o'er the rest
This dire reflection pain'd each wretched breast,
That she the witness of their luckless chance
Would bear the fatal tidings back from France;
And to their queen ador'd the story tell,
How, the first spear they met at tilt, they fell.
They now resolv'd to die or heal their shame,
That so Ulania (such the virgin's name
Till now untold) might banish from her thought
What ill effect their late defeat had wrought.
When issuing from the castle they descry'd
Brave Amon's daughter, each again defy'd
The generous dame, nor deem'd a maid to find
Where every act proclaim'd a manly kind.
Of stay impatient, Bradamant refus'd
T'accept their joust, but every art they us'd
To fire her ardor, till the martial fair
No longer could unblam'd the course forbear.
Her spear she levels, with three strokes she sends
The three to earth; and thus the contest ends.
No more she turn'd, but eager to pursue
Her purpos'd journey, vanish'd from their view.
The hapless three who came so far to gain
The golden shield, rose slowly from the plain,
While lost in shame, and speechless with surprise,
Each from Ulania turn'd his downcast eyes.
How oft with her, as from Islanda's coast
They voyag'd, each had made his haughty boast,
That not a knight or Paladin should stand
The least of these in battle hand to hand.
And now the virgin further to depress
Their courage, baffled by their ill success,
And quench their pride, declar'd that not the force
Of knight or Paladin had won the course;
But that a female arm (in fight renown'd)
Had hurl'd each mighty champion to the ground.
What think ye, since a virgin could suffice
T'unhorse three knights like you (Ulania cries)
Must great Orlando or Rinaldo prove
So justly held all martial names above?
Did one of these possess the golden shield,
Say, would ye better then maintain the field,
Than with a woman here--but well I guess
That each will now th' ungrateful truth confess.
Then cease--nor further seek t' essay your might,
For he, who rashly dares through France invite
A second proof, may rush on greater harms
To blot with new disgrace his boasted arms:
Unless perchance he blest that fate may call,
Which gives him by such valorous hands to fall.
When thus Ulania show'd a woman's power
Had stain'd their glory, never stain'd before,
When many a squire, and many a damsel near,
Confirm'd a truth each warrior blush'd to hear;
Such shame, such anguish, every knight impress'd,
As urg'd at first against its master's breast
To turn the steel--and now with frantic haste
Each from his limbs the plate and mail unbrac'd;
Each from his side ungirt the falchion drew,
And in the castle's moat the weapon threw,
And vow'd one year despoil'd of arms, to lead
A life of penance for the shameful deed;
From place to place forlorn on foot to stray
Through rocky paths, rough hills, or thorny way;
Nor when the year should run its circling race,
To mount the courser or the cuirass lace,
Unless his valour first should win by force
The shining armour and the warrior horse.
And hence on foot, at fair Ulania's side
They wait to punish their o'erweening pride:
The rest in meet array and glittering splendor ride.
Now Bradamant to Paris urg'd her way,
And reach'd a castle at declining day,
Where first the news she heard that Afric's bands Where quell'd by Charles and her brave brother's hands.
Ver. 554.--and glittering splendor ride.] Ulania appears again, Book xxxvii. ver. 185, and these three kings are mentioned in the same book,
Here treatment fair she met at bed and board,
But this to her can little ease afford;
Lost is her appetite for food and rest,
And gentle peace is banish'd from her breast.
Yet let me not so far her tale pursue
As not again those noble knights to view,
Who each, by compact meeting, fast beside
A lonely fount his beast securely ty’d.
Their battle, which the muse prepares to tell,
Was not in wealth or empire to excel,
But to decide who victor from the plain
Should Durindana and Bayardo gain.
Without a trumpet's breath to give the sign,
Or herald's voice to bid the champions join;
Without a master to direct, or raise
In either's breast the thirst of noble praise;
At once, as by accord, their swords they drew,
And each on each with generous ardor flew.
Now swift, now heavy fell the sounding blows,
Deep and more deep the kindling combat glows.
No swords like these could through the world be found, So fram'd at all essays with temper sound,
But meeting thus, had shiver'd as they clos'd:
While these, so temper'd, edge to edge oppos'd,
A thousand times in horrid crash could meet,
And still with blade unhurt each stroke repeat.
Now here, now there his steps Rinaldo ply'd
And every art of long experience try'd
Ver. 563. Let me not so far ---] He returns to Bradamant, Book
those noble knights---] The last we heard of these
two knights was in Book xxxi. the end.
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