Of his sweet lady, of his passing fair, And dearest Bradamant Rogero spies The lovely visage of its helmet bare;
Towards whom, to deal her death, the giant hies:
So that, advancing with his sword in air, To sudden battle him the Child defies, But he, who will not wait for new alarm, Takes the half-lifeless lady in his arm, XX
And on his shoulder flings and bears away;
As sometimes wolf a little lamb will bear, Or eagle in her crooked claws convey Pigeon, or such-like bird, through liquid air.
Rogero runs with all the speed he may, Who sees how needed is his succour there.
But with such strides the giant scours the plain, Him with his eyes the knight pursues with pain.