When on his back Orlando felt him beat, He turned, and turning on his youthful foe, Smote with clenched fist, and force which nought can meet, -- Smote on his horse's head, a fearful blow;
And, with skull smashed like glass, that courser fleet Was by the madman's furious stroke laid low.
In the same breath Orlando turned anew, And chased the damsel that before him flew.
