LX.
After him gallops not, nor hurries ought,
Bradamant, who pursues her road at ease:
Much evermore revolving in her thought
Things that may chance, she finally foresees
That through the buckler by that damsel brought,
Will follow strife and boundless enmities,
Amid king Charles’s peerage and the rest,
If with that shield he shall reward the best.
LXI.
This grieved the damsel’s heart, but far above
That grief, the former fear her heart did goad;
That young Rogero had withdrawn his love
From her, and on the warlike queen[1] bestowed.
So buried in the thoughts wherewith she strove,
Was Bradamant, she heeded not her road,
Nor took she care where, at the close of light,
To find befitting shelter for the night.
LXII.
As when from squall, or other chance, a barge
Drives from the river-side[3], where late it lay,
Under no mariner or pilot’s charge,
The winds and waves at will transport their prey;
So Rabican with Bradamant, at large,
—She musing on Rogero—wends his way.
For thence, by many miles, was distant wide
That mind which should her courser’s bridle guide.
- ↑ Marphisa.
