XXVI How, foul and pestilent discovery, Didst thou find place within the human heart? Through thee is martial glory lost, through thee The trade of arms became a worthless art: And at such ebb are worth and chivalry, That the base often plays the better part. Through thee no more shall gallantry, no more Shall valour prove their prowess as of yore. XXVII Through thee, alas! are dead, or have to die, So many noble lords and cavaliers Before this war shall end, which, Italy Afflicting most, has drowned the world in tears, That, if I said the word, I err not, I, Saying he sure the cruellest appears And worst, of nature's impious and malign, Who did this hateful engine first design: XXVIII And I shall think, in order to pursue The sin for ever, God has doomed to hell That cursed soul, amid the unhappy crew, Beside the accursed Judas there to dwell. But follow we the good Orlando, who So burns to seek Ebuda's island fell, Whose foul inhabitants a monster sate With flesh of women, fair and delicate. XXIX But no less slow than eager was the knight: The winds appear, which still his course delay; Who, whether blowing on the left or right, Or poop, so faintly in his canvas play, His bark makes little speed; and, spent outright, The breeze which wafts her sometimes dies away, Or blows so foul, that he is fain to steer Another course, or to the leeward veer. XXX It was the will of Heaven that he, before The King of Ireland, should not reach the land, The he with greater ease upon that shore Might act what shortly you shall understand. "Make for the isle. Now" (said he) "may'st thou moor," (Thus issuing to the pilot his command), "And give me for my need the skiff; for I Will to the rock without more company. XXXI "The biggest cable that thou hast aboard, And biggest anchor to my hands consign; Thou shalt perceive why thus my boat is stored, If I but meet that monster of the brine." He bade them lower the pinnace overboard, With all things that befitted his design: His arms he left behind, except his blade, And singly for the rocky island made. XXXII Home to his breast the count pulls either oar, With the island at his back, to which he wends, In guise that, crawling up the sandy shore, The crooked crab from sea or marsh ascends. It was the hour Aurora gay before The rising sun her yellow hair extends (His orb as yet half-seen, half-hid from sight) Not without stirring jealous Tithon's spite. XXXIII Approaching to the naked rock as near As vigorous hand might serve to cast a stone, He knew not if he heard, or did not hear A cry, so faint and feeble was the moan. When, turning to the left, the cavalier, His level sight along the water thrown, Naked as born, bound to a stump, espied A dame whose feet were wetted by the tide.