And with the sword he would have murder'd Gan,
But Oliver thrust in between the pair,
And from his hand extracted Durlindan,
And thus at length they separated were.
Orlando angry too with Carloman,
Wanted but little to have slain him there;
Then forth alone from Paris went the chief,
And burst and madden'd with disdain and grief.
From Ermellina, consort of the Dane,
He took Cortana, and then took Rondell,
And on towards Brara prick'd him o'er the plain ;
And when she saw him coming, Aldabelle
Stretch'd forth her arms to clasp her lord again :
Orlando, in whose brain all was not well,
As "Welcome, my Orlando, home," she said,
Raised up his sword to smite her on the head.
Like him a fury counsels; his revenge
On Gan in that rash act he seem'd to take,
Which Aldabella thought extremely strange;
But soon Orlando found himself awake;
And his spouse took his bridle on this change,
And he dismounted from his horse, and spake
Of every thing which pass'd without demur,
And then reposed himself some days with her.
Then full of wrath departed from the place,
As far as pagan countries roam'd astray,
And while he rode, yet still at every pace
The traitor Gan remember'd by the way;
And wandering on in error a long space,
An abbey which in a lone desert lay,
'Midst glens obscure, and distant lands, he found, Which form'd the Christian's and the pagan's bound.
L'abate si chiamava Chiaramonte,
Era del sangue disceso d'Anglante:
Di sopra a la badía v' era un gran monte,
Dove abitava alcun fiero gigante,
De' quali uno avea nome Passamonte,
L'altro Alabastro, e 'l terzo era Morgante:
Con certe frombe gittavan da alto,
Ed ogni dì facevan qualche assalto.
I monachetti non potieno uscire
Del monistero o per legne o per acque :
Orlando picchia, e non volieno aprire,
Fin che a l'abate a la fine pur piacque ;
Entrato drento cominciava a dire,
Come colui, che di Maria già nacque
Adora, ed era Cristian battezzato,
E com' egli era a la badía arrivato.
Disse l'abate: il ben venuto sia :
Di quel ch' io ho volentier ti daremo,
Poi che tu credi al figliuol di Maria;
E la cagion, cavalier, ti diremo,
Acciò che non l' imputi a villania,
Perchè a l'entrar resistenza facemo,
E non ti volle aprir quel monachetto :
Così intervien chi vive con sospetto.
Quando ci venni al principio abitare
Queste montagne, benchè sieno oscuro
Come tu vedi; pur si potea stare
Sanza sospetto, ch' ell' eran sicure:
Sol da le fiere t' avevi a guardare;
Fernoci spesso di brutte paure;
Or ci bisogna, se vogliamo starci,
Da le bestie dimestiche guardarci.
The abbot was call'd Clermont, and by blood
Descended from Angrante: under cover
Of a great mountain's brow the abbey stood,
But certain savage giants look'd him over;
One Passamont was foremost of the brood,
And Alabaster and Morgante hover
Second and third, with certain slings, and throw
In daily jeopardy the place below.
The monks could pass the convent gate no more, Nor leave their cells for water or for wood; Orlando knock'd, but none would ope, before Unto the prior it at length seem'd good; Enter'd, he said that he was taught to adore
Him who was born of Mary's holiest blood, And was baptized a Christian; and then show'd How to the abbey he had found his road.
Said the abbot, "You are welcome; what is mine We give you freely, since that you believe
With us in Mary Mother's son divine;
And that you may not, cavalier, conceive The cause of our delay to let you in
To be rusticity, you shall receive
The reason why our gate was barr'd to you :
Thus those who in suspicion live must do.
"When hither to inhabit first we came
These mountains, albeit that they are obscure, As you perceive, yet without fear or blame They seem'd to promise an asylum sure: From savage brutes alone, too fierce to tame, 'Twas fit our quiet dwelling to secure; But now, if here we'd stay, we needs must guard Against domestic beasts with watch and ward.
Queste ci fan piuttosto stare a segno
Sonci appariti tre fieri giganti,
Non so di quel paese o di qual regno,
Ma molto son feroci tutti quanti :
La forza e'l malvoler giunt'a lo 'ngegno
Sai che può 'l tutto; e noi non siam bastanti;
Questi perturban sì l' orazion nostra,
Che non so più che far, s' altri nol mostra.
Gli antichi padri nostri nel deserto,
Se le lor opre sante erano e giuste,
Del ben servir da Dio n'avean buon merto;
Nè creder sol vivessin di locuste:
Piovea dal ciel la manna, questo è certo;
Ma qui convien che spesso assaggi e guste
Sassi che piovon di sopra quel monte,
Che gettano Alabastro e Passamonte.
E'l terzo ch'è Morgante, assai più fiero,
Isveglie e pini e faggi e cerri e gli oppi,
E gettagli infin qui: questo è pur vero;
Non posso far che d' ira non iscoppi.
Mentre che parlan così in cimitero,
Un sasso par che Rondel quasi sgroppi;
Che da' giganti giù venne da alto
Tanto, ch' e' prese sotto il tetto un salto.
Tirati drento, cavalier, per Dio,
Disse l'abate, che la manna casca.
Risponde Orlando: caro abate mio,
Costui non vuol che 'l mio caval più pasca :
Veggo che lo guarrebbe del restìo:
Quel sasso par che di buon braccio nasca.
Rispose il santo padre: io non t' inganno,
Credo che 'l monte un giorno gitteranno.
"These make us stand, in fact, upon the watch; For late there have appear'd three giants rough, What nation or what kingdom bore the batch
I know not, but they are all of savage stuff; When force and malice with some genius match,
You know, they can do all-we are not enough: And these so much our orisons derange,
I know not what to do, till matters change.
"Our ancient fathers living the desert in,
For just and holy works were duly fed;
Think not they lived on locusts sole, 'tis certain
That manna was rain'd down from heaven instead;
But here 'tis fit we keep on the alert in
Our bounds, or taste the stones shower'd down for bread,
From off yon mountain daily raining faster,
And flung by Passamont and Alabaster.
"The third, Morgante, 's savagest by far; he
Plucks up pines, beeches, poplar-trees, and oaks,
And flings them, our community to bury;
And all that I can do but more provokes."
While thus they parley in the cemetery,
A stone from one of their gigantic strokes,
Which nearly crush'd Rondell, came tumbling over,
So that he took a long leap under cover.
"For God-sake, cavalier, come in with speed;
The manna's falling now," the abbot cried.
"This fellow does not wish my horse should feed,
Dear abbot," Roland unto him replied.
"Of restiveness he'd cure him had he need;
That stone seems with good will and aim applied." The holy father said, "I don't deceive;
They'll one day fling the mountain, I believe."
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