XXX.

The abbot sign'd the great cross on his front, << Then go you with God's benison and mine ;>> Orlando, after he had scaled the mount,

As the abbot had directed, kept the line Right to the usual haunt of Passamont; Who, seeing him alone in this design, Survey'd him fore and aft with eyes observant, Then asked him, «If he wish'd to stay as servant?»

XXXI.

And promised him an office of great ease;

But, said Orlando, «Saracen insane!

I come to kill you, if it shall so please

God, not to serve as footboy in your train;

You with his monks so oft have broke the peace-
Vile dog! 't is past his patience to sustain.>>
The giant ran to fetch his arms, quite furious,
When he received an answer so injurious.

XXXII.

And being return'd to where Orlando stood,

Who had not moved him from the spot, aud swinging
The cord, he hurl'd a stone with strength so rude,
As show'd a sample of his skill in slinging;
It roll'd on Count Orlando's helmet good

And head, and set both head and helmet ringing,
So that he swoon'd with pain as if he died,
But more than dead, he seem'd so stupified.

XXXIII.

Then Passamont, who thought him slain outright,
Said, I will go, and, while he lies along,
Disarm me why such craven did I fight ?»
But Christ his servants ne'er abandons long,
Especially Orlando, such a knight,

As to desert would almost be a wrong.
While the giant goes to put off his defences,
Orlando has recall'd his force and senses:

XXXIV.

And loud he shouted, «Giant, where dost go?

Thou thought'st me doubtless for the bier outlaid; To the right about-without wings thou 'rt too slow To fly my vengeance-currish renegade!

'T was but by treachery thou laid'st me low.»
The giant his astonishment betray'd,

And turn'd about, and stopp'd his journey on,
And then he stoop'd to pick up a great stone.

XXXV.

Orlando had Cortana bare in hand,

To split the head in twain was what he schemed— Cortana clave the skull like a true brand,

And Pagan Passamont died unredeem'd. Yet harsh and haughty, as he lay he bann'd,

And most devoutly Macon still blasphemed; But while his crude, rude blasphemies he heard, Orlando thank'd the Father and the Word,

XXXVI.

Saying, What grace to me thou 'st given!
And I to thee, oh Lord, am ever bound.

I know my life was saved by thee from heaven,
Since by the giant I was fairly down'd.
All things by thee are measured just and even;
Our power without thine aid would nought be found:
I pray thee take heed of me, till I cau
At least return once more to Carloman.»

XXXVII.

And having said thus much, he went his way;
And Alabaster he found out below,
Doing the very best that in him lay

To root from out a bank a rock or two,
Orlando, when he reach'd him, loud 'gan say,

<< How think'st thou, glutton, such a stone to throw ?» When Alabaster heard his deep voice ring, He suddenly betook him to his sling.

XXXVIII.

And hurl'd a fragment of a size so large,

That if it had in fact fulfill'd its mission,

And Roland not avail'd him of his targe,
There would have been no need of a physician.
Orlando set himself in turn to charge,

And in his bulky bosom made incision
With all his sword. The lout fell; but, o'erthrown, he
However by no means forgot Macone.

ΧΧΧΙΧ.

Morgante had a palace in his mode,

Composed of branches, logs of wood, and earth, And stretch'd himself at ease in this abode, And shut himself at night within his birth. Orlando knock'd, and knock'd, again to goad

The giant from his sleep; and he came forth,
The door to open, like a crazy thing,

For a rough dream had shook him slumbering.
XL.

He thought that a fierce serpent had attack'd him,
And Mahomet he call'd, but Mahomet

Is nothing worth, and not an instant back'd him;
But praying blessed Jesu, he was set

At liberty from all the fears which rack'd him;
And to the gate he came with great regret-
<«< Who knocks here?» grumbling all the while, said he :
That,» said Orlando, you will quickly see.

Morgante said, «O gentle cavalier!
Now by thy God say me no villany;
The favour of your name I fain would hear,
And if a Christian, speak for courtesy.»>
Replied Orlando, « So much to your ear
I by my faith disclose contentedly;
Christ I adore, who is the genuine Lord,
And, if you please, by you may be adored,
XLIII.

The Saracen rejoin'd in humble tone,
« I have had an extraordinary vision;

A savage serpent fell on me alone,

And Macon would not pity my condition; Hence to thy God, who for ye did atone

Upon the cross, preferr'd I my petition; Ilis timely succour set me safe and free, And I a Christian am disposed to be.»

XLIV.

Orlando answer'd, « Baron just and pious,
If this good wish your heart can really move
To the true God, who will not then deny us

Eternal honour, you will go above.

And, if you please, as friends we will ally us,
And I will love you with a perfect love.
Your idols are vain liars full of fraud,
The only true God is the Christian's God.

XLV.

<< The Lord descended to the virgin breast
Of Mary Mother, sinless and divine;
If you acknowledge the Redeemer blest,

Without whom neither sun or star can shine, Abjure bad Macon's false and felon test,

Your renegado God, and worship mine,Baptise yourself with zeal, since you repeut.»> To which Morgante answer'd, «< I'm content. >> XLVI.

And then Orlando to embrace him flew,

And made much of his convert, as he cried, « To the abbey I will gladly marshal you:>> To whom Morgante, « Let us go,» replied; « I to the friars have for peace to sue.»>

Which thing Orlando heard with inward pride, Saying, My brother, so devout and good,

Ask the abbot pardon, as I wish you would:

LI.

And here our doctors are of one accord,

Coming on this point to the same conclusionThat in their thoughts who praise in heaven the Lord, If pity e'er was guilty of intrusion

For their unfortunate relations stored

In hell below, and damn'd in great confusion,-
Their happiness would be reduced to nought,
And thus unjust the Almighty's self be thought.

LII.

«But they in Christ have firmest hope, and all Which seems to him, to them too must appear Well done; nor could it otherwise befal;

He never can in any purpose err:

If sire or mother suffer endless thrall,

They don't disturb themselves for him or her; What pleases God to them must joy inspire;— Such is the observance of the eternal choir.» LIII.

«A word unto the wise,» Morgante said,
«Is wont to be enough, and
shall see
you
How much I grieve about my brethren dead;
And if the will of God seem good to me,
Just, as you tell me, 't is in heaven obey'd—
Ashes to ashes,-merry let us be!

I will cut off the hands from both their trunks,
And carry them unto the holy monks.

LIV.

« So that all persons may be sure and certain That they are dead, and have no further fear To wander solitary this desert in,

And that they may perceive my spirit clear

By the Lord's grace, who hath withdrawn the curtain
Of darkness, making his bright realm appear.»>
He cut his brethren's hands off at these words,
And left them to the savage beasts and birds.

LV.

Then to the abbey they went on together,

Where waited them the abbot in great doubt. The monks, who knew not yet the fact, ran thither To their superior, all in breathless rout, Saying, with tremor, « Please to tell us whether You wish to have this person in or out?» The abbot, looking through upon the giant, Too greatly fear'd, at first, to be compliant.

LVI.

Orlando, seeing him thus agitated,

Said quickly, « Abbot, be thou of good cheer;

He Christ believes, as Christian must be rated,
And hath renounced his Macon false;» which here
Morgante with the hands corroborated,

A proof of both the giants' fate quite clear:
Thence, with due thanks, the abbot God adored,
Saying, Thou hast contented me, oh Lord!»

LVII.

He gazed; Morgante's height he calculated,
And more than once contemplated his size;
And then he said, «Oh giant celebrated,

Know, that no more my wonder will arise,
How you could tear and fling the trees you late did,
When I behold your form with my own eyes.

You now a true and perfect friend will show
Yourself to Christ, as once you were a foe.

LVIII.

«And one of our apostles, Saul once named, Long persecuted sore the faith of Christ, Till one day by the Spirit being inflamed,

'Why dost thou persecute me thus?' said Christ; And then from his offence he was reclaim'd, And went for ever after preaching Christ; And of the faith became a trump, whose sounding O'er the whole earth is echoing and rebounding. LIX.

«So, my Morgante, you may do likewise;

He who repents,-thus writes the Evangelist,Occasions more rejoicing in the skies

Than ninety-nine of the celestial list.
You may be sure, should each desire arise

With just zeal for the Lord, that you'il exist
Among the happy saints for evermore;
But you were lost and damn'd to hell before!»>

Arrived there, a prodigious noise he hears,
Which suddenly along the forest spread;
Whereat from out his quiver he prepares

An arrow for his bow, and lifts his head;
And lo! a monstrous herd of swine appears,
And onward rushes with tempestuous tread,
And to the fountain's brink precisely pours,
So that the giant's join'd by all the boars.
LXIII.

Morgante at a venture shot an arrow,

Which pierced a pig precisely in the ear, And pass'd unto the other side quite thorough, So that the boar, defunct, lay tripp'd up near. Another, to revenge his fellow farrow,

Against the giant rush'd in fierce career,
And reach'd the passage with so swift a foot,
Morgante was not now in time to shoot.
LXIV.

Perceiving that the pig was on him close,
He gave him such a punch upon the head
As floor'd him, so that he no more arose-
Smashing the very bone; and he fell dead
Next to the other. Having seen such blows,
The other pigs along the valley fled;
Morgante on his neck the bucket took,

LXV.

The tun was on one shoulder, and there were
The hogs on t' other, and he brush'd apace
On to the abbey, though by no means near,
Nor spilt one drop of water in his race.
Orlando, seeing him so soon appear

With the dead boars, and with that brimful vase,
Marvell'd to see his strength so very great;—
So did the abbot, and set wide the gate.

LXVI.

The monks, who saw the water fresh and good, Rejoiced, but much more to perceive the pork; All animals are glad at sight of food:

They lay their breviaries to sleep, and work With greedy pleasure, and in such a mood,

That the flesh needs no salt beneath their fork. Of rankness and of rot there is no fear, For all the fasts are now left in arrear.

LXVII.

As though they wish'd to burst at once, they ate;
And gorged so that, as if the bones had been
In water, sorely grieved the dog and cat,
Perceiving that they all were pick'd too clean.
The abbot, who to all did honour great,

A few days after this convivial scene,
Gave to Morgante a fine horse well train'd,
Which he long time had for himself maintain'd.
LXVIII.

The horse Morgante to a meadow led,*
To gallop, and to put him to the proof,
Thinking that he a back of iron had,

Or to skim eggs unbroke was light enough;
But the horse, sinking with the pain, fell dead,
And burst, while cold on earth lay head and hoof.
Morgante said, «Get up, thou sulky cur!»
And still continued pricking with the

LXIX.

spur.

The giant said, «< Then carry him I will,
Since that to carry me he was so slack-
To render, as the gods do, good for ill;

But lend a hand to place him on my back.»
Orlando answer'd, «If my counsel still
May weigh, Morgante, do not undertake
To lift or carry this dead courser, who,

And said with great respect, he had agreed To leave his Reverence; but for this decision He wish'd to have his pardon and permission. LXXVI.

The honours they continued to receive

Perhaps exceeded what his merits claim'd: He said, «I mean, and quickly, to retrieve

The lost days of time past, which may be blamed; Some days ago I should have ask'd your leave,

Kind father, but I really was ashamed, And know not how to show my sentiment, So much I see you with our stay content.

LXXVII.

But in my heart I bear through every clime,
The abbot, abbey, and this solitude-

So much I love you in so short a time;

For me, from heaven reward you with all good The God so true, the eternal Lord sublime!

Whose kingdom at the last hath open stood: Meanwhile we stand expectant of your blessing, And recommend us to your prayers with pressing.»> LXXVIII.

Now when the abbot Count Orlando heard,
His heart grew soft with inner tenderness,
Such fervour in his bosom bred each word;
And, & Cavalier,» he said, « if I have less
Courteous and kind to your great worth appear'd,
Than fits me for such gentle blood to express,
I know I've done too little in this case;
But blame our ignorance, and this poor place.

LXXIX.

We can indeed but honour you with masses,
And sermons, thanksgivings, and pater-nosters,
Hot suppers, dinners (fitting other places

In verity much rather than the cloisters);
But such a love for you my heart embraces,
For thousand virtues which your bosom fosters,
That wheresoe'er you go, I too shall be,
And, on the other part, you rest with me.

LXXX.

<<This may involve a seeming contradiction,
But you, I know, are sage, and feel, and taste,
And understand my speech with full conviction.
For your just pious deeds may you be graced
With the Lord's great reward and benediction,
By whom you were directed to this waste:
To his high mercy is our freedom due,
For which we render thanks to him and you.
LXXXI.

<< You saved at once our life and soul: such fear The giants caused us, that the way was lost By which we could pursue a fit career

In search of Jesus and the saintly host; And your departure breeds such sorrow here, That comfortless we all are to our cost;

But months and years you could not stay in sloth, Nor are you form'd to wear our sober cloth;

LXXXII.

« But to bear arms and wield the lance; indeed,
With these as much is done as with this cowl;
In proof of which the scripture you may read.
This giant up to heaven may bear his soul
By your compassion; now in peace proceed.

Your state and name I seek not to unroll, But, if I'm ask'd, this answer shall be given, That here an angel was sent down from heaven.

LXXXIII.

« If you want armour or aught else, go in, Look o'er the wardrobe, and take what you chuse;

And cover with it o'er this giant's skin.»>

Orlando answer'd, « If there should lie loose

Some armour, ere our journey we begin,

Which might be turn'd to my companion's use,

The gift would be acceptable to me.»>
The abbot said to him, «Come in and see.»>

LXXXIV.

And in a certain closet, where the wall

Was cover'd with old armonr like a crust, The abbot said to them, « I give you all.»

Morgante rummaged piece-meal from the dust The whole, which, save one cuirass, was too small, And that too had the mail inlaid with rust. They wonder'd how it fitted him exactly, Which ne'er had suited others so compactly. LXXXV.

'T was an immeasurable giant's, who By the great Milo of Argante fell Before the abbey many years ago.

The story on the wall was figured well; In the last moment of the abbey's foe,

Who long had waged a war implacable: Precisely as the war occurr'd they drew him, And there was Milo as he overthrew him.

Note 1. Page 500, stanza 64.

LXXXVI.

Seeing this history, Count Orlando said
In his own heart, «Oh God! who in the sky
Know'st all things, how was Milo hither led,

Who caused the giant in this place to die?» And certain letters, weeping, then he read,

So that he could not keep his visage dry,— As I will tell in the ensuing story.

From evil keep you, the high King of Glory!

It is

He gave him such a punch upon the head. « Gli dette in sulla testa un gran punzone.»> strange that Pulci should have literally anticipated the technical terms of my old friend and master, Jackson, and the art which he has carried to its highest pitch. « A punch on the head,» or « a punch in the head,» <«< un punzone in sulla testa,» is the exact and frequent phrase of our best pugilists, who little dream that they are talking the purest Tuscan.

TO THE PUBLISHER.

SIR,

I

I AM a country gentleman of a midland county. might have been a parliament-man for a certain borough, having had the offer of as many votes as General T. at the general election in 1812. But I was all for domestic happiness; as, fifteen years ago, on a visit to London, I married a middle-aged maid of honour. We lived happily at Hornem Hall till last season, when wife and I were invited by the my Countess of Waltzaway (a distant relation of my spouse) to pass the winter in town. Thinking no harm, and our girls being come to a marriageable (or as they call it, marketable) age, and having besides a chancery suit inveterately entailed upon the family estate, we came up in our old chariot, of which, by the bye, my wife

grew so much ashamed in less than a week, that I was obliged to buy a second-hand barouche, of which I might mount the box, Mrs H. says, if I could drive, but never see the inside-that place being reserved for the honourable Augustus Tiptoe, her partnergeneral and opera-knight. Hearing great praises of Mrs H.'s dancing (she was famous for birth-night minuets in the latter end of the last century), I unbooted, and went to a ball at the Countess's, expecting to see a country dance, or, at most, cotillious, reels, and all the old paces to the newest tunes. But, judge of my surprise, on arriving, to see poor dear Mrs Hornem with her arms half round the loins of a huge hussarlooking gentleman I never set eyes on before; and his, to say truth, rather more than half round her waist, turning round, and rouud, and round, to a d——d see

་

saw up and down sort of tune, that reminded me of the « black joke,» only more « affettuoso,» till it made me quite giddy with wondering they were not so. By and by they stopped a bit, and I thought they would sit or fall down:-but, no; with Mrs H.'s hand on his shoulder, «quam familiariter» 2 (as Terence said when I was at school), they walked about a minute, and then at it again, like two cock-chafers spitted on the same bodkin. I asked what all this meant, when, with a loud laugh, a child no older than our Wilhelmina (a name I never heard but in the Vicar of Wakefield, though her mother would call her after the Princess of Swappenbach), said, « Lord, Mr Hornem, can't you see they are valtzing,» or waltzing (I forget which); and then up she got, and her mother and sister, and away they went, and round-abouted it till supper-time. Now that I know what it is, I like it of all things, and so does Mrs H. (though I have broken my shins, and four

times overturned Mrs Hornem's maid in practising the

preliminary steps in a morning.) Indeed, so much do I like it, that having a turn for rhyme, tastily displayed in some election ballads, and songs in honour of all the victories (but till lately I have had little practice in that way) I sat down, and with the aid of W. F. Esq., and a few hints from Dr B. (whose recitations I attend, and am monstrous fond of Master B.'s manner of delivering his father's late successful D. L. address), I composed the following hymn, wherewithal to make my sentiments known to the public, whom, nevertheless, I heartily despise as well as the critics.

I am, Sir, yours, etc., etc.

HORACE HORNEM.