known, if him she had espied;
Whom in Montalban, long to her consigned,
The gentle damsel had been wont to ride.
Rogero, that but schemes, but hath in mind
How he from Brandamant himself shall hide,
Neither Frontino nor yet other thing.
Whereby he may be known, afield will bring.

LXVIII
With a new sword will he the maid await;
For well he knew against the enchanted blade
As soft as paste would prove all mail and plate;
For never any steel its fury stayed;
And heavily with hammer, to rebate
Its edge, as well he on this faulchion layed.
So armed, Rogero in the lists appeared,
When the first dawn of day the horizon cheered.

LXIX
To look like Leo, o'er his breast is spread
The surcoat that the prince is wont to wear;
And the gold eagle with its double head
He blazoned on the crimson shield doth bear;
And (what the Child's disguisement well may stead)
Of equal size and stature are the pair.
In the other's form presents himself the one;
That other lets himself be seen of none.

LXX
Dordona's martial maid is of a vein
Right different from the gentle youth's, who sore
Hammers and blunts the faulchion's tempered grain,
Lest it his opposite should cleave or bore.
She whets her steel, and into it would fain
Enter, that stripling to the quick to gore:
Yea, would such fury to her strokes impart,
That each should go directly to his heart.

LXXI
As on the start the generous barb in spied,
When he the signal full of fire attends;
And paws now here now there; and opens wide
His nostrils, and his pointed ears extends;
So the bold damsel, to the lists defied,
Who knows not with Rogero she contends,
Seemed to have fire within her veins, nor found
Resting-place, waiting for the trumpet's sound.

LXXII
As sometimes after thunder sudden wind
Turns the sea upside down; and far and nigh
Dim clouds of dust the cheerful daylight blind,
Raised in a thought from earth, and whirled heaven-high;
Scud beasts and herd together with the hind;
And into hail and rain dissolves the sky;
So she upon the signal bared her brand,
And fell on her Rogero, sword in hand.

LXXIII
But well-built wall, strong tower, or aged oak,
No more are moved by blasts that round them rave,
No more by furious sea is moved the rock,
Smote day and night by the tempestuous wave,
Than in those arms, secure from hostile stroke,
Which erst to