XXXIII
Filled with dead bodies of the paynim horde,
Blood issued from so many a gaping wound,
A fouler fosse was formed and worse to ford
Than girdles the infernal city round.
From house to house the fire in fury poured;
Mosque, portico, and palace, went to ground;
And spoiled and empty mansions with the clang,
Of beaten breast, and groan and outcry rang.
XXXIV
The victors, laden with their mighty prey,
From that unhappy city's gates are gone,
One with fair vase, and one with rich array,
Or silver plate from ancient altar won.
The mother this, that bore the child away;
Rapes and a thousand evil things were done.
Of much, and what they cannot hinder, hear
Renowned Orlando and fair England's peer.
XXXV
By Olivier, amid that slaughter wide,
Fell Bucifaro of the paynim band;
And — every hope and comfort cast aside —
Branzardo slew himself with his own brand;
Pierced with three wounds whereof he shortly died,
Folvo was taken by Astolpho's hand;
The monarchs three, intrusted to whose care
Agramant's African dominions were.
XXXVI
Agramant, who had left without a guide
His fleet this while, and with Sobrino fled,
Wept over his Biserta when he spied
Those fires that on the royal city fed.
When nearer now the king was certified,
How in that cruel strife his town had sped,
He thought of dying, and himself had slain,
But that Sobrino's words his arm restrain.
XXXVII
"What victory, my lord," (Sobrino cries)
"Could better than thy death the Christian cheer,
Whence he might hope to joy in quiet wise
Fair Africa, from all annoyance clear?
Thy being yet alive this hope denies;
Hence shall he evermore have cause for fear.
For well the foeman knows, save thou art gone,
He for short time will fill thine Africk throne.
XXXVIII
"Thy subjects by thy death deprived will be
Of hope, the only good they have in store,
Thou, if thou liv'st, I trust, shalt set us free,
Redeem from trouble, and to joy restore.
Captives for ever, if thou diest, are we;
Africk is tributary evermore.
Although not for thyself, yet not to give
My liege, annoyance to thy followers, live.
XXXIX
"The soldan, he thy neighbour, will be won,
Surely with men and money thee to aid:
By him with evil eye King Pepin's son,
So strong in Africa, will be surveyed.
All efforts to restore thee to thy throne
By Norandine, thy kinsman, will be made.
Turk, Persian and Armenian, Arab, Mede,
If prayed, will all assist thee in thy need."
XL
In such and such like words, with wary art,
With hope of quickly winning back his reign,
Sobrino soothed the king, while in his heart
He other thought perchance did entertain.
Well knows he to what pass, what evil mart
That lord is brought; how often sighs in vain,
Whoe'er foregoes the sceptre which he swayed,
And to barbarians hath recourse for aid.
XLI
Jugurtha, martial Hannibal, and more
In ancient times, good proof of this afford:
In our own era, Lewis, hight the Moor,
Delivered into other Lewis' ward.
Your brother, Duke Alphonso, wiser lore
Learned from their fate; — I speak to you, my lord —
Wont them as very madmen to decry,
That more on others than themselves rely;
XLII
And therefore aye, throughout that warfare drear
Waged by the pontiff, in his fierce disdain,
Albeit upon his feeble powers the peer
Could ill depend, though from Italian plain
Was driven the friend that aided him whilere,
And by the foe possessed was Naples' reign,
He against menace, against promise steeled,
Ne'er to another would his dukedom yield.