LI.
A mile an-end with Aquilant he prest,
Gryphon, Alardo, and Vivian of his race,
Guido and Sansonetto, and the rest,
Without word spoken, and with stealthy pace.
The Moorish guard they find with sleep opprest:
They slaughter all, nor grant one paynim grace;
And, ere they were by others seen or heard,
Into their midmost camp the squadron spurred.
LII.
At the first charge on that unchristened band,
Their guard and sentries, taken by surprise,
So broken are by good Rinaldo’s brand,
No wight is left, save he who slaughtered lies.
Their first post forced, the paynims understand
No laughing matter is the lord’s emprize;
For, sleeping and dismaid, their naked swarms
Make small resistance to such warriors’ arms.
LIII.
To strike more dread into the Moorish foe,
Mount Alban’s champion, leading the assault,
Bade beat his drums and bade his bugles blow,
And with loud echoing cries his name exalt.
He spurs Bayardo, that is nothing slow;
He clears the lofty barriers at a vault,
Trampling down foot, o’erturning cavalier,
And scatters booth and tent in his career.
