"From hour to hour his favour stronger grows
With Saragossa's monarch, till it seems
Marsilius through his knowledge all things knows,
Thinks with his thoughts and with his reason deems:
One day it chanced, beneath the verdant rows
Of poplar fringing rapid Ebro's streams,
Tired with the chase, that from the noontide heat They sought together a secure retreat;
"And there, to end my tale,-between them plann'd A work so full of monstrous villainy,
That, heard in hell, the whole infernal band
Raised one loud shout, reechoing to the sky.
The mine is now prepared, the work in hand;
Nor can I in the signs of Heaven descry,-
If godlike virtue may not guard the event,-
Aught to divert its full accomplishment.
"It matters not, their bloody league complete,
As from the bank arose that son of hell,
That the wild carob shook, and at his feet (12)
The accursed fruit, sign of Heaven's anger, fell;
Though, since Iscariot's death, the judgment seat
Had never witness'd deed so damnable.
A moment's space the traitor stood aghast,—
The next, laugh'd at his fears and onward pass'd.
"How, if Orlando fears?' He shall not fear,'
The traitor answer'd:-' to confirm him ours,
Give me the surcoat thou art used to bear (13)
In purple wrought and stiff with golden flowers:
That vest my son, my only son, shall wear,-
A safe protection when the battle lowers,-
And thus begirt, as with Jove's ægis, be
Himself the guide of Clermont's chivalry,
“Their ignorant guide to havoc and despair :
Do thou but pledge thy solemn faith to mine,
To bid thy soldiers watch with special care,
And when they mark, amidst the Christian line,
The embroider'd vest their sovereign used to wear
Upon a young and gallant warrior shine,
That warrior see ye spare, and spare alone!
That warrior is the son of Ganellon.""
The dæmon paused; and thus the enchanter said: "Too well, oh Astaroth! too well I see
A sight to fill the stoutest heart with dread,
The fearful hour of Gallia's chivalry.
Already are the mountains wide o'erspread,
Wave following wave, by one devouring sea,
While in the vale our Paladins await,
Thoughtless of ill, the o'erwhelming rush of fate.
"But say, is there no hope of safety yet? No buckler yet the impending blow to stay?" "None-Roncesvalles is the fowler's net, Already cast around the unconscious prey. They know it not; but ere the sun hath set That dawns upon the third portentous day, For every lance in that devoted band Unnumber'd Paynim swords will sweep across the land (14)."
Silent and sad awhile the enchanter sate;
Then cried, "Oh yet-Orlando's powerful sword
May yet carve out for France a nobler fate."
"Yes, so it please high heaven's imperial Lord
That for the weal of that neglectful state
The days of Amalek shall be restored."
The irreverent taunt the enchanter heeded not,
But inly musing" Whatsoe'er their lot,
"Would," he exclaim'd, "they had Rinaldo there
That wondrous arm might turn the opposing scale.”
Then thus to Astaroth," Say, dæmon, where
Lingers my cousin in this mortal vale?”
Eastward he turn'd those eyes that through mid air
T'en thousand leagues can swift as lightning sail.
I see him now beneath the sultry skies
Where Pharaoh's everlasting temples rise."
Then Malagigi gave his last command,-
That in three days the dæmon should convey
Montalban's knight from Egypt's burning sand
To Roncesvalles, through the aërial way.
"Henceforth be free from spell of mortal band,
As thou shalt this my last behest obey!"
Grimly the dæmon smiled his last farewell.
"Thou art obey'd," he cried; then plunged to hell.
Montalban's towers and silent streams and glades
Sleep in the quiet moonshine, when from far
Borne through mid heaven attend the courser shades
Self-harness'd to their visionary car.
"To Charlemain, ere yet the moonbeam fades,
Lost in the brightness of Aurora's star,
Bear me, my steeds, in silence through the sky:
Yet may we change Orlando's destiny!
He who from dull repose short hours can steal,
Alone to wander mid the calm serene
Of a fair summer's midnight, and can feel
His soul accordant to that solemn scene,
May think how joyful, swift as thought, to wheel
From fleecy cloud to cloud, while all between
Is one pure flood of light, and dim and slow
Rolls the wide world of vapour far below.
And now o'er Roncesvalles' fatal plain
Hovering, the wise enchanter bids descend
His coursers, and awhile their speed restrain:
Now far o'er hill and vale his eyes extend,
Beyond ungifted vision's furthest strain ;
And, miles and miles around, space without end,
Where'er the moonbeams fell, their sparkling light
Glanced back from groves of steel, and scared the
peaceful night.
Yet not a breath disturbs the air; nor sound
Of clashing arms, nor shout of revelry,
Nor squadrons trampling o'er the hollow ground
Give signal of the Moorish chivalry.
Twice more the sun must walk his daily round
And bathe his forehead in the Gascon sea,
Ere yet the tallest Pagan spear shall show
Its glittering point to the devoted foe.
Who wakes in Roncesvalles? Is there one
That slumbers not, secure from thought of ill?
All slumber,-all save Oliver alone,—
All but unhappy Oliver, whom still
That icy grasp of death, that stifled groan,
Those words of more than mortal warning thrill
With memory's pangs, and force him wide to stray,
A sad, self brooding man, till dawn of day.
|