As far as a strong arm a stone might throw
The island was when, still approaching it,
He seems to hear, yet not to hear, a low
Lament which breezes fitfully repeat;
And, to the left, he glimpses there below
(The water gently lapping at her feet),
Bound to a tree, a damsel all forlorn,
As naked as the day when she was born.

And he is still too far away and she
Her face holds low, he cannot yet discern
It, nor be sure of her identity.
Both oars he plies in eagerness to learn,
When a great roar arises suddenly;
The woods and caves resound, the waters churn,
And lo ! the dreadful monster now appears
And half the sea beneath it disappears.

As from a gloomy vale a cloud of rain,
Laden with tempest, rises in the air,
The daylight quenching with so dark a stain
That blindest night may not with it compare,
So now the orc approaches, of the main
Enveloping an all-embracing share.
The waters shake; unmoved Orlando stays,
The monster fixing with a haughty gaze.

Like one who has resolved what he will do,
With rapid movements, calm and purposeful,
Between the damsel and the orc he drew,
Thus with one stroke to make it possible
To save her and attack the monster too.
His good blade leaving in its scabbard still,
He took the cable, to the anchor mated,
And for the monster, with high courage, waited.