XVIII Yet not for this would lend the champion aid, But to behold the cruel strife stood nigh. Lo! a two-handed stroke the giant made Upon the lesser warrior's casque, and by The mighty blow the knight was overlaid: The other, when astound he saw him lie, To deal the foe his death, his helm untied, So that the warrior's face Rogero spied. XIX Of his sweet lady, of his passing fair, And dearest Bradamant Rogero spies The lovely visage of its helmet bare; Towards whom, to deal her death, the giant hies: So that, advancing with his sword in air, To sudden battle him the Child defies, But he, who will not wait for new alarm, Takes the half-lifeless lady in his arm, XX And on his shoulder flings and bears away; As sometimes wolf a little lamb will bear, Or eagle in her crooked claws convey Pigeon, or such-like bird, through liquid air. Rogero runs with all the speed he may, Who sees how needed is his succour there. But with such strides the giant scours the plain, Him with his eyes the knight pursues with pain. XXI This flying and that following, the two Kept a close path which widened still, and they Piercing that forest, issued forth to view On a wide meadow, which without it lay. -- No more of this. Orlando I pursue, That bore Cymosco's thunder-bolt away; And this had in the deepest bottom drowned, That never more the mischief might be found. XXII But with small boot: for the impious enemy Of human nature, taught the bolt to frame, After the shaft, which darting from the sky Pierces the cloud and comes to ground in flame, Who, when he tempted Eve to eat and die With the apple, hardly wrought more scathe and shame, Some deal before, or in our grandsires' day, Guided a necromancer where it lay. XXIII More than a hundred fathom buried so, Where hidden it had lain a mighty space, The infernal tool by magic from below Was fished and born amid the German race; Who, by one proof and the other, taught to know Its powers, and he who plots for our disgrace, The demon, working on their weaker wit, As last upon its fatal purpose hit. XXIV To Italy and France, on every hand The cruel art among all people past: And these the bronze in hollow mould expand, First in the furnace melted by the blast: Others the iron bore, and small or grand, Fashion the various tube they pierce or cast. And bombard, gun, according to its frame, Or single cannon this, or double, name. XXV This saker, culverine, or falcon hight, I hear (all names the inventor has bestowed); Which splits or shivers steel and stone outright, And, where the bullet passes, makes a road. -- Down to the sword, restore thy weapons bright, Sad soldier, to the forge, a useless load; And gun or carbine on thy shoulder lay, Who without these, I wot, shalt touch no pay.