Scarce half a league from Gelva the knight dismounted stood,
Leaning upon his upright spear, and bitter was his mood.
He thought upon Celinda's curse, and Zaida's fickle mind,
"Ah, Fortune, thou to me," he cried, "hast ever proved unkind."
And from his valiant bosom burst a storm of angry sighs,
And acts and words of anguish before his memory rise.
"Celinda's loss I count as naught, nor fear her wicked will;
I were a fool, thus cursed by her, to love the lady still."
In rage from out the sod he drew his spear-head, as he spoke,
And in three pieces shivered it against a knotted oak.
He tore away the housings that 'neath his saddle hang,
He rent his lady's favor as with a lion's fang--
The silken ribbon, bright with gold, which in his crest he bore,
By loved Celinda knotted there, now loved by him no more.
He drew, as rage to madness turned, her portrait from his
breast;
He spat on it, and to that face derisive jeers addressed.
"Why should I dress in robes of joy, whose heart is wounded
sore,
By curses, that requite so ill the duteous love I bore?
Stripped as I am of every hope, 'tis better I go bare,
For the black mantle of my soul is but tormenting care;
I vengeance take on yonder oak, pierced by my lance's steel--
I dote, for, ah! the trees I wound, cannot, like women, feel."
He took the bridle off his steed, "Roam as thou wilt," said he.
"As I gave Zaida her release, I give release to thee."
The swift horse galloped out of sight; in melancholy mood,
The knight, unhorsed and helmetless, his lonely path pursued.