before us, although they have certain characteristics of their own, are not real beings, but those that dwell in a land of fancy.  As the poet tells these stories of a bygone age, a smile of irony plays upon his face; he cannot take them seriously; and while he never goes so far as to turn into ridicule the ideals of chivalry, yet, in such episodes as the prodigious exploits of Rodomonte within the walls of Paris, and the voyage of Astolfo to the moon, he does approach dangerously near to the burlesque.

We are not inspired by large and noble thoughts in reading the ’Orlando Furioso.’  We are not deeply stirred by pity or terror.  No lofty principles are inculcated.  Even the pathetic scenes, such as the death of Zerbino and Isabella, stir no real emotion in us, but we experience a sense of the artistic effect of a poetic death.

It is not often, in these days of the making of many books of which there is no end, that one has time to read a poem which is longer than the ‘Iliad’ and the ‘Odyssey’ together.  But there is a compelling charm about the ‘Orlando,’ and he who sits down to read it with serious purpose will soon find himself under the spell of an attraction which comes from unflagging interest and from perfection of style and construction.  No translation can convey an adequate sense of this beauty of color and form; but the versions of William Stewart Rose, here cited, suggest the energy, invention, and intensity of the epic.

In 1532 Ariosto published his final edition of the poem, now enlarged to forty-six cantos, and retouched from beginning to end.  He died not long afterward, in 1533, and was buried in the church of San Benedetto, where a magnificent monument marks his resting-place.

[Illustration:  Signature L. OSCAR KUHNS]

     THE FRIENDSHIP OF MEDORO AND CLORIDANE

From ‘Orlando Furioso,’ Cantos 18 and 19

     Two Moors among the Paynim army were,
       From stock obscure in Ptolomita grown;
     Of whom the story, an example rare
       Of constant love, is worthy to be known. 
     Medore and Cloridane were named the pair;
       Who, whether Fortune pleased to smile or frown,
     Served Dardinello with fidelity,
     And late with him to France had crost the sea.

     Of nimble frame and strong was Cloridane,
       Throughout his life a follower of the chase. 
     A cheek of white, suffused with crimson grain,
       Medoro had, in youth, a pleasing grace;
     Nor bound on that emprize, ’mid all the train,
       Was there a fairer or more jocund face. 
     Crisp hair he had of gold, and jet-black eyes;
     And seemed an angel lighted from the skies.

     These two were posted on a rampart’s height,
       With more to guard the encampment from surprise,
     When ’mid the equal intervals, at night,
       Medoro gazed on heaven with sleepy eyes. 
     In all his talk, the stripling, woeful wight,
       Here cannot choose, but of his lord devise,
     The royal Dardinel; and evermore
     Him left unhonored on the field, deplore.