Blest Chief, farewell! but not the marbled urn
That holds thy ashes can thy soul contain:
Our wondering eyes to heaven above we turn,
Where thou for ever dost triumphant reign.
CHAPTER XXV.
Archbishop Turpin's Vision, and the King's Lamentation for Orlando.
What more shall we say? Whilst the soul of the blessed Orlando was leaving his body, I, Turpin, standing near the King in the valley of Charles, at the moment I was celebrating the mass of the dead, namely, on the 16th day of June, fell into a trance, and, hearing the angelic choir sing aloud, I wondered what it might be. Now, when they had ascended on high, behold, there came after them a phalanx of terrible ones, like warriors returning from the spoil, bearing their prey. Presently I inquired of one of them what it meant, and was answered, "We are bearing the soul of Marsir to hell, but yonder is Michael bearing the Horn-winder to heaven." When mass was over, I told the King what I had seen; and whilst I was yet speaking, behold Baldwin rode up on Orlando's horse, and related what had befallen him, and where he had left the hero in the agonies of death, beside a stone in the meadows at the foot of the mountain; whereupon the whole army immediately marched back to Ronceval.
The King himself first discovered the hero, lying in the form of a cross, and began to lament over him with bitter sighs and sobs, wringing his hands, and tearing his hair and beard. "O right arm," cried he, "of thy Sovereign's body; honour of the French; sword of justice, inflexible spear, inviolable breast-plate, shield of safety; a Judas Maccabeus in probity, a Samson in strength; in death like Saul and Jonathan; brave, experienced soldier, great and noble defender of the Christians, scourge of the Saracens; a wall to the clergy, the widow's and orphan's friend, just and faithful in judgment!—Renowned Count of the French, valiant captain of our armies, why did I leave thee here to perish? How can I behold thee dead, and not die myself? Why hast thou left me sorrowful and alone? A poor miserable King! But thou art exalted to the kingdom of heaven, and dost enjoy the company of angels and martyrs. Without cease I shall lament over thee, as David did over Saul and Jonathan, and his son Absalom.
Thy soul is fled to happier scenes above,
And left us mourning to lament thee here;
Blest in thy God and Saviour's fav'ring love,
Who wipes from every eye the trickling tear.
Six lustres and eight years thou dwelledst below,
But snatched from earth to heaven, thou reign'st on high,
Where feasts divine immortal spirits know,
And joys transcendent fill the starry sky.
Thus did Charles mourn for Orlando to the very last day of his life. On the spot where he died he encamped; and caused the body to be embalmed with balsam, myrrh, and aloes. The whole camp watched it that night, honouring his corse with hymns and songs, and innumerable torches and fires kindled on the adjacent mountains.
CHAPTER XXVI.
How the Sun stood still for three Days;
the Slaughter of four thousand Saracens; and the
Death of Ganalon.