XXIII Returning, she upon a swain did light, Who was on horseback passing through the wood. Strayed from the lowing herd, the rustic wight A heifer, missing for two days, pursued. Him she with her conducted, where the might Of the faint youth was ebbing with his blood: Which had the ground about so deeply dyed, Life was nigh wasted with the gushing tide. XXIV Angelica alights upon the ground, And he her rustic comrade, at her hest. She hastened 'twixt two stones the herb to pound, Then took it, and the healing juice exprest: With this did she foment the stripling's wound, And, even to the hips, his waist and breast; And (with such virtue was the salve endued) It stanched his life-blood, and his strength renewed; XXV And into him infused such force again, That he could mount the horse the swain conveyed; But good Medoro would not leave the plain Till he in earth had seen his master laid. He, with the monarch, buried Cloridane, And after followed whither pleased the maid, Who was to stay with him, by pity led, Beneath the courteous shepherd's humble shed. XXVI Nor would the damsel quit the lowly pile (So she esteemed the youth) till he was sound; Such pity first she felt, when him erewhile She saw outstretched and bleeding on the ground. Touched by his mien and manners next, a file She felt corrode her heart with secret wound; She felt corrode her heart, and with desire, By little and by little warmed, took fire. XXVII The shepherd dwelt, between two mountains hoar, In goodly cabin, in the greenwood shade, With wife and children; and, short time before, The brent-new shed had builded in the glade. Here of his griesly wound the youthful Moor Was briefly healed by the Catayan maid; But who in briefer space, a sorer smart Than young Medoro's, suffered at her heart. XXVIII A wound far wider and which deeper lies, Now in her heart she feels, from viewless bow; Which from the boy's fair hair and beauteous eyes Had the winged archer dealt: a sudden glow She feels, and still the flames increasing rise; Yet less she heeds her own than other's woe: -- Heeds not herself, and only to content The author of her cruel ill is bent. XXIX Her ill but festered and increased the more The stripling's wounds were seen to heal and close: The youth grew lusty, while she suffered sore, And, with new fever parched, now burnt, now froze: From day to day in beauty waxed Medore: She miserably wasted; like the snow's Unseasonable flake, which melts away Exposed, in sunny place, to scorching ray.