changed armor and steed, and during the night stole away from the hateful place to the greenwood that he might die there, since he could never possess his beloved. At the same time, Bradamant gave way to her grief in such a manner that Marphisa, already indignant at the treatment of her brother, appeared before the king in his behalf. She declared that Rogero and Bradamant had already exchanged all the vows of those who marry and therefore she was not free to wed another. She then suggested that since the matter had gone so far, Leo and Rogero should meet in the lists to decide to whom the lady belonged. Leo at once set out in search of his knight of the unicorn, who he believed would defend him from all peril, and found him in the forest, almost fainting from fasting and sleeplessness. The Greek embraced Rogero tenderly and implored him to betray the cause of his grief, and so tender were his words and so gracious his manner that Rogero could not but unbosom himself. And when Leo learned that his unknown champion was no other than Rogero himself he declared that he would gladly forego Bradamant for him, and would rather have forfeited his life than caused such grief to such a faithful friend. Joy filled the court when the story of Rogero's fidelity was made known, and the joy was increased when ambassadors came from Bulgaria, seeking the unknown knight of the unicorn that they might offer their throne to him. Duke Aymon and his wife were reconciled when they found that Rogero was to be a king, and the wedding was celebrated with the greatest splendor, Charlemagne providing for Bradamant as though she were his daughter. In the midst of the celebrations Rodomont appeared to defy Rogero, and that knight, nothing loath, met him in the lists. The Moor fell under Rogero's blows, and all the Christian court rejoiced to see the last of the pagan knights fall by the hand of their champion. SELECTION FROM THE ORLANDO FURIOSO. THE DEATH OF ZERBINO. As Orlando talked with Zerbino, whose life he had saved and to whom he had given his lady Isabel, also rescued by him, Mandricardo the Tartar king came up and challenged Orlando to single combat. While they fought, Mandricardo's steed, from which Orlando had slipped the rein, became unmanageable, and fled with its rider. Orlando asked Zerbino and Isabel to tell Mandricardo, if they overtook him, that he would wait for him in that place for three days to renew the battle. But while waiting, Orlando learned of Angelica's love for Medoro, and losing his senses from grief, threw away his armor, and went wandering through France. Zerbino and Isabel returned to the place to see if Mandricardo had returned, and there learned of Orlando's condition. Far off, he [Zerbino] saw that something shining lay, Which whilom African Almontes crowned: He in the thicket heard a courser neigh, For Durindane, he sought the greenwood, round, Had but the lovers seen a drop of blood, They might have well believed Orlando dead: Questioned by good Zerbino, him the swain Of all which there had chanced, informed aright. And went about, collecting from the ground Isabel lights as well; and, where they lie Here Prince Zerbino all the arms unites, Zerbino having done the pious deed, Is bowning him to climb his horse; when, lo! "None can (he said) the action reprehend, Has feigned him mad, and cast the sword away; But if the champion so excuse his shame, "Take it not thence," to him Zerbino cried, In 'scaping Durindane, a flame in show Smite him, will join the enamored ghosts, which rove As the swift-footed dog, who does espy Swine severed from his fellows, hunts him hard, On the other side, where'er the foe is seen To threaten stroke in vain, or make it good, In the end he cannot 'scape one downright blow, Thick was the steel wherein his paunch was drest: Equally opened either iron vest; And cleft whate'er it swept in its descent, And to the saddle-bow, through cuirass, went. And, but that somewhat short the blow descends More than a span in length the wound extends; Of little depth of blood a tepid tide To his feet descending, with a crimson line, 'Tis so, I sometimes have been wont to view A hand more white than alabaster, part Here little vantage young Zerbino drew The fearful stroke was mightier in show, Than in effect, by which the prince was prest; Almost on his steed's neck the Tartar fell, Bent by the weighty blow Zerbino sped; Zerbino, on the watch, whose eager eye Waits on his wit, wheels quickly to the right; But not withal so quickly, as to fly The trenchant sword, which smote the shield outright, And cleft from top to bottom equally; Shearing the sleeve beneath it, and the knight Smote on his arm; and next the harness rended, Zerbino, here and there, seeks every way By which to wound, nor yet his end obtains; He ever wastes his blood; his energies Fail, though he feels it not, as 't would appear; His lady, during this, whose crimson dyes |