XXXVII As wolf or mastiff-dog, who comes the last Where the remains of slaughtered bullock lie, And finds but horn and bones, where rich repast Had fed the ravening hound and vulture night, Glares vainly on the scull, unsmacked; so passed The barbarous Tartar king those bodies by; And grudged, lamenting, like the hungry beast, To have come too late for such a sumptuous feast. XXXVIII That day, and half the next, in search he strayed Of him who wore the sable vest and shield. When lo! he saw a mead, o'ertopt with shade, Where a deep river wound about the field, With narrow space between the turns it made, Where'er from side to side the water wheeled. Even such a spot as this with circling waves Below Otricoli the Tyber laves. XXXIX Where this deep stream was fordable, he scanned A crowd of cavaliers that armour bore: And these the paynim questioned who had manned, With such a troop, and to what end, the shore? To him replied the captain of the band, Moved by his lordly air, and arms he wore, Glittering with gold and jewels, -- costly gear, Which showed him an illustrious cavalier. XL "In charge" (he said) "we of the daughter go Of him our king, who fills Granada's throne, Espoused by Rodomont of Sarza, though To fame the tidings are as yet unknown. And we, departing when the sun is low, And the cicala hushed, which now alone Is heard, shall bring her where her father keeps I' the Spanish camp; meanwhile the lady sleeps." XLI He who for scorn had daffed the world aside, Designs to see at once, how able were Those horsemen to defend the royal bride, Committed by their sovereign to their care. "The maid, by what I hear, is fair" (he cried). "Fain would I now be certified, how fair: Then me to her, or her to me convey, For I must quickly wend another way." XLII "Thou needs art raving mad," replied in few The chief, -- nor more. But with his lance in rest, The Tartar monarch at the speaker flew, And with the levelled spear transfixed his breast. For the point pierced the yielding corslet through, And lifeless he, perforce, the champaign prest. The son of Agrican his lance regained, Who weaponless without the spear remained. XLIII Now sword nor club the warlike Tartar bore, Since, when the Trojan Hector's plate and chain He gained, because the faulchion lacked, he swore (To this obliged), nor swore the king in vain, That save he won the blade Orlando wore, He would no other grasp, -- that Durindane. Held in high value by Almontes bold, Which Roland bears, and Hector bore of old.