LXXXIV.
The good Rinaldo, who to overthrow
The strongest of the foemen covets still,
At Agramant directs a deadly blow,
—Who seems too passing-proud, and greater ill
Works there, than thousand others of the foe—
And spurs his horse, the Moorish chief to spill.
He smote the monarch, broadside charged the steed,
And man and horse reversed upon the mead.
LXXXV.
What time, without, in such destructive frays
Hate, Rage, and Fury, all offend by turns,
In Paris Rodomont the people slays,
And costly house, and holy temple burns:
While Charles elsewhere another duty stays,
Who nothing hears of this, nor aught discerns.
He, in the town, receives the British band,
Which Edward and Sir Ariman command.
LXXXVI.
To him a squire approached, who pale with dread,
Scarce drew his breath, and cried; “Oh, well away!
“Alas! alas!” (and thus he often said,
Ere he could utter aught beside) “To-day,
“To-day, sire, is the Roman empire sped,
“And Christ to the heathen makes his flock a prey.
“A fiend from air to-day has dropt, that none
“Henceforth may in this city make their won[13].
