CLXXVIII As, in full fold, a lion long unfed, Whom wasting famine had made lean and spare, Devours and rends, and swallows, and lays dead The feeble flock, which at his mercy are; So, in their sleep, the cruel paynim bled Our host, and made wide slaughter everywhere: Nor blunted was the young Medoro's sword, But he disdained to smite the ignoble horde. CLXXIX He to Labretto's duke, leaving those dead, Had come, who slumbered with a gentle mate, Each clasping each so closely in their bed, That air between them could not penetrate. From both Medoro cleanly lopt the head. Oh! blessed way of death! oh! happy fate! For 'tis my trust, that as their bodies, so Their souls embracing to their bourne shall go. CLXXX Malindo, with Andalico, he slew, His brother, sons to the earl of Flanders they: To whom has bearings (each to arms was new) Charles had the lilies given; because that day The monarch had beheld the valiant two With crimsoned staves, returning from the fray; And them with lands in Flanders vowed to glad; And would, but that Medoro this forbad. CLXXXI Rearing the insidious blade, the pair are near The place, where round King Charles' pavilion Are tented warlike paladin and peer, Guarding the side that each is camped upon. When in good time the paynims backward steer, And sheathe their swords, the impious slaughter done; Deeming impossible, in such a number, But they must light on one who does not slumber. CLXXXII And though they might escape well charged with prey, To save themselves they think sufficient gain. Thither by what he deems the safest way (Medoro following him) went Cloridane Where, in the field, 'mid bow and falchion, lay, And shield and spear, in pool of purple stain, Wealthy and poor, the king and vassal's corse, And overthrown the rider and his horse. CLXXXIII The horrid mixture of the bodies there Which heaped the plain where roved these comrades sworn, Might well have rendered vain their faithful care Amid the mighty piles, till break of morn, Had not the moon, at young Medoro's prayer, Out of a gloomy cloud put forth her horn. Medoro to the heavens upturns his eyes Towards the moon, and thus devoutly cries: CLXXXIV "O holy goddess! whom our fathers well Have styled as of a triple form, and who Thy sovereign beauty dost in heaven, and hell, And earth, in many forms reveal; and through The greenwood holt, of beast and monster fell, -- A huntress bold -- the flying steps pursue, Show where my king, amid so many lies, Who did, alive, thy holy studies prize."