LXXXII Meanwhile the unhappy lover lost the dame In that dim air, nor how he lost her, weets; And, roving far and near, her beauteous name Through every sounding wood and plain repeats. And while, "Oh wretched me!" is his exclaim, "Who has to poison changed my promised sweets?" He of his sovereign lady who with tears Demands his aid, the lamentation hears. LXXXIII Thither, whence comes the sound, he swiftly hies, And toils, now here, now there, with labour sore: Oh! what tormenting grief, to think his eyes Cannot again the lovely rays explore! -- Lo! other voice from other quarter cries -- "Hope not on earth to enjoy the blessing more." At that alarming cry he woke, and found Himself in tears of bitter sorrow drowned. LXXXIV Not thinking that like images are vain, When fear, or when desire disturbs our rest, The thought of her, exposed to shame and pain, In such a mode upon his fancy pressed, He, thundering, leaped from bed, and with what chain And plate behoved, his limbs all over dressed; Took Brigliadoro from the stall he filled, Nor any squire attendant's service willed. LXXXV And to pass every where, yet not expose By this his dignity to stain or slight, The old and honoured ensign he foregoes, His ancient bearing, quartered red and white. And in its place a sable ensign shows, Perhaps as suited to his mournful plight, That erst he from an Amostantes bore, Whom he had slain in fight some time before. LXXXVI At midnight he departed silently, Not to his uncle spake, not to his true And faithful comrade Brandimart, whom he So dearly cherished, even bade adieu; But when, with golden tresses streaming-free, The sun from rich Tithonus' inn withdrew, And chased the shades, and cleared the humid air, The king perceived Orlando was not there. LXXXVII To Charles, to his displeasure, were conveyed News that his nephew had withdrawn at night, When most he lacked his presence and his aid; Nor could he curb his choler at the flight, But that with foul reproach he overlaid, And sorely threatened the departed knight, By him so foul a fault should be repented, Save he, returning home, his wrath prevented. LXXXVIII Nor would Orlando's faithful Brandimart, Who loved him as himself, behind him stay; Whether to bring him back he in his heart Hoped, or of him ill brooked injurious say: And scarce, in his impatience to depart, Till fall of eve his sally would delay. Lest she should hinder his design, of this He nought imparted to his Flordelis: LXXXIX To him this was a lady passing dear, And from whose side he unwont to stray; Endowed with manners, grace, and beauteous cheer, Wisdom and wit: if now he went away And took no leave, it was because the peer Hoped to revisit her that very day. But that befel him after, as he strayed, Which him beyond his own intent delayed.