LVII.
The courser from the myrtle he untied.
And by the bridle led behind him still;
Nor would he, as before, the horse bestride,
Lest he should bear him off against his will:
He mused this while how safely he might find
A passage to the land of Logistil;
Firm in his purpose every nerve to strain,
Lest empire over him Alcina gain.
LVIII.
He to remount the steed, and through the air
To spur him to a new career again
Now thought; but doubted next, in fear to fare
Worse on the courser, restive to the rein.
“No, I will win by force the mountain-stair,”
Rogero said; (but the resolve was vain)
Nor by the beach two miles his way pursued,
Ere he Alcina’s lovely city viewed.
LIX.
A lofty wall at distance meets his eye
Which girds a spacious town within its bound;
It seems as if its summit touched the sky,
And all appears like gold from top to ground.
Here some one says it is but alchemy,
—And haply his opinion is unsound—
And haply he more wittily divines:
For me; I deem it gold because it shines.
