Two black and slender arches rise above

Two clear black eyes, say suns of radiant light;
Which ever softly beam and slowly move;
Round these appears to sport in frolic flight,
Hence scattering all his shafts, the little Love,
And seems to plunder hearts in open sight.
Thence, through mid visage, does the nose descend,
Where Envy finds not blemish to amend.

As if between two vales, which softly curl,
The mouth with vermeil tint is seen to glow:
Within are strung two rows of orient pearl,
Which her delicious lips shut up or show.
Of force to melt the heart of any churl,
However rude, hence courteous accents flow;
And here that gentle smile receives its birth,
Which opes at will a paradise on earth.

Like milk the bosom, and the neck of snow;
Round is the neck, and full and large the breast;
Where, fresh and firm, two ivory apples grow,
Which rise and fall, as, to the margin pressed
By pleasant breeze, the billows come and go.
Not prying Argus could discern the rest.
Yet might the observing eye of things concealed
Conjecture safely, from the charms revealed.

To all, her arms a just proportion bear,

And a white hand is oftentimes descried,

Which narrow is, and some deal long; and where

No knot appears, nor vein is signified.

For finish of that stately shape and rare,

A foot, neat, short, and round, beneath is spied.
Angelic visions, creatures of the sky,
Concealed beneath no covering veil can lie.

A springe is planted in Rogero's way,

On all sides did she speak, smile, sing, or move;
No wonder then the stripling was her prey,
Who in the fairy saw such show of love.
With him the guilt and falsehood little weigh,
Of which the offended myrtle told above.
Nor will he think that perfidy and guile
Can be united with so sweet a smile.

THE SAVING OF MEDORO.

(From "Orlando Furioso.")

By chance arrived a damsel at the place,

Who was (though mean and rustic was her wear)
Of royal presence and of beauteous face,
And lofty manners, sagely debonair.
Her have I left unsung so long a space,

That you will hardly recognize the fair
Angelica in her (if known not) scan
The lofty daughter of Catay's great khan.

Angelica, when she had won again

The ring Brunello had from her conveyed,
So waxed in stubborn pride and haught disdain,

She seemed to scorn this ample world, and strayed

Alone, and held as cheap each living swain,
Although amid the best by fame arrayed;
Nor brooked she to remember a gallant
In Count Orlando or King Sacripant:

And above every other deed repented,

That good Rinaldo she had loved of yore;
And that to look so low she had consented,
(As by such choice dishonored) grieved her sore.
Love, hearing this, such arrogance resented,

And would the damsel's pride endure no more.
Where young Medoro lay he took his stand,
And waited her, with bow and shaft in hand.

When fair Angelica the stripling spies,

Nigh hurt to death in that disastrous fray, Who for his king, that there unsheltered lies, More sad than for his own misfortune lay, She feels new pity in her bosom rise,

Which makes its entry in unwonted way.

Touched was her haughty heart, once hard and curst, And more when he his piteous tale rehearsed.

And calling back to memory her art,

For she in Ind had learned chirurgery,
(Since it appears such studies in that part
Worthy of praise and fame are held to be,
And, as an heirloom, sires to sons impart,
With little aid of books, the mystery,)
Disposed herself to work with simples' juice,
Till she in him should healthier life produce.

And recollects an herb had caught her sight
In passing thither, on a pleasant plain :
What (whether dittany or pancy hight)

I know not; fraught with virtue to restrain
The crimson blood forth-welling, and of might
To sheathe each perilous and piercing pain.
She found it near, and having pulled the weed,
Returned to seek Medoro on the mead.

Returning, she upon a swain did light,

Who was on horseback passing through the wood. Strayed from the lowing herd, the rustic wight A heifer missing for two days pursued. Him she with her conducted, where the might

Of the faint youth was ebbing with his blood: Which had the ground about so deeply dyed Life was nigh wasted with the gushing tide.

Angelica alights upon the ground,

And he, her rustic comrade, at her hest. She hastened 'twixt two stones the herb to pound, Then took it, and the healing juice exprest: With this did she foment the stripling's wound, And even to the hips, his waist and breast; And (with such virtue was the salve endued) It stanched his life-blood, and his strength renewed.

And into him infused such force again,

That he could mount the horse the swain conveyed; But good Medoro would not leave the plain

Till he in earth had seen his master laid.

He, with the monarch, buried Cloridane,

And after followed whither pleased the maid.
Who was to stay with him, by pity led,
Beneath the courteous shepherd's humble shed.

Nor would the damsel quit the lowly pile

(So she esteemed the youth) till he was sound; Such pity first she felt, when him erewhile

She saw outstretched and bleeding on the ground. Touched by his mien and manners next

She felt corrode her heart with secr She felt corrode her heart, and with d By little and by little warmed, took fi

The shepherd dwelt between two mountains hoar,
In goodly cabin, in the greenwood shade,
With wife and children; in short time before,
The brand-new shed had builded in the glade.
Here of his grisly wound the youthful Moor
Was briefly healed by the Catayan maid;
But who in briefer space, a sorer smart
Than young Medoro's suffered at her heart.

[She pines for love of him, and at length makes her love known. They solemnize their marriage, and remain a month there with great happiness.]

Amid such pleasures, where, with tree o'ergrown,

Ran stream, or bubbling fountain's wave did spin,

On bark or rock, if yielding were the stone,

The knife was straight at work, or ready pin.

And there, without, in thousand places lone,
And in as many places graved, within,
Medoro and Angelica were traced,

In divers ciphers quaintly interlaced.

When she believed they had prolonged their stay
More than enow, the damsel made design

In India to revisit her Catay,

And with its crown Medoro's head entwine.
She had upon her wrist an armlet, gay

With costly gems, in witness and in sign
Of love to her by Count Orlando borne,
And which the damsel for long time had worn.

No love which to the paladin she bears,

But that it costly is and wrought with care,
This to Angelica so much endears,

That never more esteemed was matter rare;
This she was suffered, in the isle of tears,
I know not by what privilege, to wear,
When, naked, to the whale exposed for food
By that inhospitable race and rude.

She, not possessing wherewithal to pay

The kindly couple's hospitality,-
Served by them in their cabin, from the day
She there was lodged, with such fidelity, -
Unfastened from her arm the bracelet gay,
And bade them keep it for her memory.
Departing hence, the lovers climb the side.
Of hills, which fertile France from Spain divide.

472

THE MADNESS OF ORLANDO.

(From "Orlando Furioso.")

THE course in pathless woods, which without rein
The Tartar's charger had pursued astray,
Made Roland for two days, with fruitless pain,
Follow him, without tidings of his way.
Orlando reached a rill of crystal vein,

On either bank of which a meadow lay;
Which, stained with native hues and rich, he sees,
And dotted o'er with fair and many trees.

The mid-day fervor made the shelter sweet

To hardy herd as well as naked swain ;
So that Orlando well beneath the heat

Some deal might wince, opprest with plait and chain.
He entered for repose the cool retreat,

And found it the abode of grief and pain;
And place of sojourn more accursed and fell,
On that unhappy day, than tongue can tell.

Turning him round, he there on many a tree
Beheld engraved, upon the woody shore,
What as the writing of his deity

He knew, as soon as he had marked the lore.
This was a place of those described by me,
Whither oft-times, attended by Medore,
From the near shepherd's cot had wont to stray
The beauteous lady, sovereign of Catay.

In a hundred knots, amid these green abodes,

In a hundred parts, their ciphered names are dight; Whose many letters are so many goads,

Which Love has in his bleeding heart-core pight.

He would discredit in a thousand modes

That which he credits in his own despite;

And would perforce persuade himself that rind
Other Angelica than his had signed.

"And yet I know these characters," he cried,
"Of which I have so many read and seen;
By her may this Medoro be belied,

And me, she, figured in the name, may mean."
Feeding on suchlike phantasies, beside

The real truth, did sad Orlando lean
Upon the empty hope, though ill contented,

Which he by self-illus had fomented.