LIV Oh! of how many battles the success Is different from what was hoped before! Not only failed the dame to repossess, As thought, her lover flying from her shore, But out of ships, even now so numberless, That ample ocean scarce the navy bore, From all her vessels, to the flames a prey, But with one bark escaped the wretched fay. LV Alcina flies; and her sad troop around Routed and taken, burnt or sunk, remains To have lost Rogero, sorrow more profound Wakes in her breast than all her other pains; And she in bitter tears for ever drowned, Of the Child's loss by night and day complains; And bent to end her woes, with many a sigh, Often laments her that she cannot die. LVI No fairy dies, or can, while overhead The sun shall burn, or heaven preserve their stile, Or Clotho had been moved to cut her thread, Touched by such grief; or, as on funeral pile Fair Dido, she beneath the steel had bled; Or, haply, like the gorgeous Queen of Nile, In mortal slumber would have closed her eye: But fairies cannot at their pleasure die. LVII Return we, where eternal fame is due, Leaving Alcina in her trouble sore: I speak of valorous Rogero, who Had disembarked upon the safer shore. He turned his back upon the waters blue, Giving God thanks for all with pious lore; And on dry ground now landed, made repair Towards the lofty castle planted there. LVIII Than this a stronger or more bright in show Was never yet before of mortal sight, Or after, viewed; with stones the ramparts glow More rich than carbuncle or diamond bright. We of like gems discourse not here below, And he who would their nature read aright Must thither speed: none such elsewhere, I ween, Except perhaps in heaven above, are seen. LIX What gives to them superiority O'er every other sort of gem, confessed, Is, man in these his very soul may see; His vices and his virtues see expressed. Hence shall he after heed no flattery, Nor yet by wrongful censure be depressed. His form he in the lucid mirror eyes, And by the knowledge of himself grows wise. LX Their rays, which imitate the sunshine, fill All round about with such a flood of light, That he who has them, Phoebus, may at will Create himself a day, in thy despite. Nor only marvellous the gems; the skill Of the artificer and substance bright So well contend for mastery, of the two, 'Tis hard to judge where preference is due. LXI On arches raised, whereon the firmament Seemed to repose as props, so fair in show Are lovely gardens, and of such extent, As even would be hard to have below. Clustering 'twixt lucid tower or battlement, Green odoriferous shrubs are seen to grow, Which through the summer and the winter shoot, And teem with beauteous blossom and ripe fruit.