the poor;
To heaven thy parting steps may safely bend,
Whose works have opened wide salvation's door.

Thy tongue the fount of heavenly eloquence,
That still would slake the thirst, and never pall,
Endowed with graceful wit, and manly sense,
Proclaimed thee common father, friend of all.

Blest Chief, farewell! but not the marbled urn
That holds thy ashes can thy soul contain:
Our wondering eyes to heaven above we turn,
Where thou for ever dost triumphant reign.

CHAPTER XXV.

_Archbishop Turpin's Vision, and the King's Lamentation for Orlando._

What more shall we say? Whilst the soul of the blessed Orlando was
leaving his body, I, Turpin, standing near the King in the valley of
Charles, at the moment I was celebrating the mass of the dead, namely,
on the 16th day of June, fell into a trance, and, hearing the angelic
choir sing aloud, I wondered what it might be. Now, when they had
ascended on high, behold, there came after them a phalanx of terrible
ones, like warriors returning from the spoil, bearing their prey.
Presently I inquired of one of them what it meant, and was answered, "We
are bearing the soul of Marsir to hell, but yonder is Michael bearing
the Horn-winder to heaven." When mass was over, I told the King what I
had seen; and whilst I was yet speaking, behold Baldwin rode up on
Orlando's horse, and related what had befallen him, and where he had
left the hero in the agonies of death, beside a stone in the meadows at
the foot of the mountain; whereupon the whole army immediately marched
back to Ronceval.

The King himself first discovered the hero, lying in the form of a
cross, and began to lament over him with bitter sighs and sobs, wringing
his hands, and tearing his hair and beard. "O right arm," cried he, "of
thy Sovereign's body; honour of the French; sword of justice, inflexible
spear, inviolable breast-plate, shield of safety; a Judas Maccabeus in
probity, a Samson in strength; in death like Saul and Jonathan; brave,
experienced soldier, great and noble defender of the Christians, scourge
of the Saracens; a wall to the clergy, the widow's and orphan's friend,
just and faithful in judgment!--Renowned Count of the French, valiant
captain of our armies, why did I leave thee here to perish? How can I
behold thee dead, and not die myself? Why hast thou left me sorrowful
and alone? A poor miserable King! But thou art exalted to the kingdom of
heaven, and dost enjoy the