That Ariosto, apart from his boundless invention and command of language and narrative, was a true poet, is shown by the extreme beauty of the majority of the introductions to his cantos, where he appears even more at home than in the descriptions of the deeds of prowess of which he was at bottom so sceptical. Another strong point is the number, vividness, and originality of his similes, not in general copied from ancient poets, but peculiar to himself, and perfectly descriptive of the object designed to be illustrated. One of the most apparently characteristic similes of a great master of quaint comparison, the late Coventry Patmore, is borrowed from him.[15] The sense of Ariosto is easily represented in English, but it is another matter to reproduce his felicity of phrase. The following stanzas in Miss Ellen Clerke’s version are from the description of Angelica’s flight from Rinaldo: _Through dark and fearsome woods she takes her flight, By desert places wild, and lonely ways. The stirring of the leaves and foliage light Of oak, or elm, or beech that softly sways, Doth startle her aside in sudden fright, To wander here and there as in a maze; While every shadow seen on hill or hollow Seems to her fear Rinaldo’s who doth follow._ _As baby fawn, or tender bleating goat, Which from its leafy cradle hath espied Its hapless dam seized by the quivering throat, By leopard fierce, and oped her breast or side, Flees from the brute to sylvan depths remote, Trembling with fears by fancy multiplied, And at each stump that she in passing touches, Deems that the monster grasps her in its clutches._ _That day and night, and all the next, sped she In circles round about, she knew not where, But reached at last a grove right fair to see, Stirred lightly by the cool and fragrant air. Two crystal streamlets, murmuring o’er the lea, Perennially refreshed the herbage there, And a sweet tune sang, in melodious treble, Their gentle current, chafed by flint and pebble._ _And deeming that she here is safe indeed, A thousand miles beyond Rinaldo’s quest, Weary of summer heat and travel speed, Resolves she for brief spell to take a rest; 'Mid flowers dismounts, and looses in the mead Her palfrey, and doth of the rein divest, To wander by the wave pellucid flowing, With juicy grasses on its margin growing._ _A tempting bush site sees, not far away, Of thorn a-bloom with roses blushing red, Which in the wave doth glass itself alway, Screened from the sun by spreading oaks o’erhead. An empty space within it doth display A chamber cool, with densest shade o’erspread, Where leaves and branches roof so close have woven, Nor sun nor glance its dusk hath ever cloven._