by Marsilius, and Angiolin of Bellonda by Sirionne; and Berlinghieri and Ottone are gone; and then Astolfo went, in revenge of whose death Orlando turned the spot on which he died into a gulf of Saracen blood.  Rinaldo met the luckless Bujaforte, who had just begun to explain how he seemed to be fighting on the side which his father hated, when the impatient hero exclaimed, “He who is not with me is against me;” and gave him a volley of such horrible cuffs about the head and ears, that Bujaforte died without being able to speak another word.  Orlando, cutting his way to a spot in which there was a great struggle and uproar, found the poor youth Baldwin, the son of Gan, with two spears in his breast.  “I am no traitor now,” said Baldwin; and so saying, fell dead to the earth; and Orlando lifted up his voice and wept, for he was bitterly sorry to have been the cause of his death.  He then joined Rinaldo in the hottest of the tumult; and all the surviving Paladins gathered about them, including Turpin the archbishop, who fought as hardily as the rest; and the slaughter was lavish and horrible, so that the eddies of the wind chucked the blood into the air, and earth appeared a very seething-cauldron of hell.  At length down went Uliviero himself.  He had become blind with his own blood, and smitten Orlando without knowing him, who had never received such a blow in his life.

“How now, cousin!” cried Orlando; “have you too gone over to the enemy?”

“O, my lord and master, Orlando,” cried the other, “I ask your pardon, if I have struck you.  I can see nothing—­I am dying.  The traitor Arcaliffe has stabbed me in the back; but I killed him for it.  If you love me, lead my horse into the thick of them, so that I may not die unavenged.”

“I shall die myself before long,” said Orlando, “out of very toil and grief; so we will go together.  I have lost all hope, all pride, all wish to live any longer; but not my love for Uliviero.  Come—­let us give them a few blows yet; let them see what you can do with your dying hands.  One faith, one death, one only wish be ours.”

Orlando led his cousin’s horse where the press was thickest, and dreadful was the strength of the dying man and of his half-dying companion.  They made a street, through which they passed out of the battle; and Orlando led his cousin away to his tent, and said, “Wait a little till I return, for I will go and sound the horn on the hill yonder.”

“’Tis of no use,” said Uliviero; “and my spirit is fast going, and desires to be with its Lord and Saviour.”  He would have said more, but his words came from him imperfectly, like those of a man in a dream; only his cousin gathered that he meant to commend to him his sister, Orlando’s wife, Alda the Fair, of whom indeed the great Paladin had not thought so much in this world as he might have done.  And with these imperfect words he expired.

But Orlando no sooner saw him dead, than he felt as if he was left alone on the earth; and he was quite willing to leave it; only he wished that Charles at St. John Pied de Port should hear how the case stood before he went; and so he took up the horn, and blew it three times with such force that the blood burst out of his nose and mouth.  Turpin says, that at the third blast the horn broke in two.