Dentro a Valenza o dentro a Barcellona
Per qualche giorno avean pensato porsi,
Fin che accadesse alcuna nave buona,
Che per Levante apparecchiasse a sciorsi.
Videro il mar scoprir sotto a Girona
Ne lo smontar giù de i montani dorsi;
E, costeggiando a man sinistra il lito,
A Barcellona andâr pel camin trito.
Ma non vi giunser prima ch'un uom pazzo
Giacer trovaro in su l'estreme arene,
Che, come porco, di loto e di guazzo
Tutto era brutto, e volto e petto e schene.
Costui si scagliò lor, come cagnazzo
Ch' assalir forestier subito viene;
E diè for noia e fu per far lor scorno.
* * * * *
The troop then follow'd where their chief had gone,
Pursuing his stern chase among the trees,
And leave the two companions there alone,
One surely dead, the other scarcely less.
Long time Medoro lay without a groan,
Losing his blood in such large quantities,
That life would surely have gone out at last,
Had not a helping hand been coming past.
There came, by chance, a damsel passing there,
Dress'd like a shepherdess in lowly wise,
But of a royal presence, and an air
Noble as handsome, with clear maiden eyes.
'Tis so long since I told you news of her,
Perhaps you know her not in this disguise.
This, you must know then, was Angelica,
Proud daughter of the Khan of great Cathay.
You know the magic ring and her distress?
Well, when she had recover'd this same ring,
It so increas'd her pride and haughtiness,
She seem'd too high for any living thing.
She goes alone, desiring nothing less
Than a companion, even though a king
She even scorns to recollect the flame
Of one Orlando, or his very name.
But, above all, she hates to recollect
That she had taken to Rinaldo so;
She thinks it the last want of self-respect,
Pure degradation, to have look'd so low.
"Such arrogance," said Cupid, "must be check'd."
The little god betook him with his bow
To where Medoro lay; and, standing by,
Held the shaft ready with a lurking eye.
Now when the princess saw the youth all pale,
And found him grieving with his bitter wound,
Not for what one so young might well bewail,
But that his king should not be laid in ground,—
She felt a something strange and gentle steal
Into her heart by some new way it found,
Which touch'd its hardness, and turn'd all to grace;
And more so, when he told her all his case.
And calling to her mind the little arts
Of healing, which she learnt in India,
(For 'twas a study valued in those parts
Even by those who were in sovereign sway,
And yet so easy too, that, like the heart's,
'Twas more inherited than learnt, they say),
She cast about, with herbs and balmy juices,
To save so fair a life for all its uses.
And thinking of an herb that caught her eye
As she was coming, in a pleasant plain
(Whether 'twas panacea, dittany,
Or some such herb accounted sovereign
For stanching blood quickly and tenderly,
And winning out all spasm and bad pain),
She found it not far off, and gathering some,
Returned with it to save Medoro's bloom.