And by renowned Orlando so adored,
Did but to him a worthless thing appear.
What he through love had lost, to reacquire
Was his whole study, was his whole desire.

LXII
Meanwhile Bardino told to Brandimart,
How Monodantes, his good sire, was dead,
And, on his brother, Gigliantes' part,
To call him to his kingdom had he sped,
As well as from those isles, which most apart
From other lands, in eastern seas are spread,
That prince's fair inheritance; than which
Was none more pleasant, populous, or rich.

LXIII
He said, mid many reasons which he prest,
That home was sweet, and -- were the warrior fain
To taste that sweet -- he ever would detest
A wandering life; and Brandimart again
Replies, through all that war, he will not rest
From serving Roland and King Charlemagne;
And after, if he lives to see its end,
To his own matters better will attend.

LXIV
Upon the following day, for Provence steer
The shipping under Danish Dudon's care;
When with the duke retired Anglantes' peer,
And heard that lord the warfare's state declare:
Then prest with siege Biserta, far and near,
But let good England's knight the honour wear
Of every vantage; while Astolpho still
In all was guided by Orlando's will.

LXV
The order taken to attack the town
Of huge Biserta, when, and on what side;
How, at the first assault, the walls are won,
And with Orlando who the palm divide,
Lament not that I now shall leave unshown,
Since for short time I lay my tale aside.
In the meanwhile, how fierce an overthrow
The Moors received in France, be pleased to know.

LXVI
Well nigh abandoned was their royal lord
In his worst peril; for to Arles again
Had gone, with many of the paynim horde,
The sage Sobrino and the king of Spain;
Who, for the deemed the land unsafe, aboard
Their barks sought refuge, with a numerous train,
Barons and cavaliers, that served the Moor;
Who moved by their example put from shore.

LXVII
Yet royal Agramant the fight maintains;
But when he can no longer make a stand,
Turns from the combat, and directly strains
For Arles, not far remote, upon the strand.
Him Rabican pursues, with flowing reins,
Whom Aymon's daughter drives with heel and hand.
Him would she slay, through whom so often crost,
That martial maid had her Rogero lost.

LXVIII
Marphisa by the same desire was stirred,
Who had her t