The monster, which the paladin soon spied,
Opened its mouth to gulp him down its throat,
Forming a cavern where a man might ride
On horseback; there Orlando entered, boat
And all, if I mistake not; and inside,
The gaping gullet with the anchor smote.
One of the flukes was from its palate hung;
The other was embedded in its tongue.

Thus neither jaw the monster can move up
Or down; just so, as further underground
A miner burrows, with a metal prop
He underpins the earth above all round,
Lest, as he works, it should collapse on top
Of him and bury him beneath its mound.
So far apart the anchor's arms extend,
Orlando cannot reach from end to end.

Knowing the monster cannot close its jaws,
For he has made the anchor well secure,
His Durindana from its sheath he draws
And lays about him in that cave obscure.
As the besieged will every hindrance cause
To those who in their walls a breach procure,
So every method then of self-defense
The orc employed to spew Orlando hence.

Weakened by pain, it thrashed to either hand,
Exposing now its flanks and now its spine,
Or, diving, with its belly stirred the sand,
Which in a shower rose to cloud the brine.
So, judging it was time to make for land
(Or to a watery grave himself resign),
Leaving the monster's gullet thus imbrangled,
He seized the rope from which the anchor dangled.

Then he began with rapid strokes to swim
Towards the naked rock, where he sets foot
And gradually hauls in after him
The rope, the anchor and, at last, the brute,
In mortal peril of its life and limb
By virtue of his strength, of world repute,
That strength which with one single tug pulls more
Than any capstan pulled ten times before.

As a wild bull, which feels about his horn
The sudden tightening of a hunter's noose,
Will leap and plunge and rear and twist and turn,
In all its vain endeavours to break loose,
So, from its ancient element now torn
By that strong arm, the orc, with many a ruse,
With many a sudden jerk, and many a twist,
The rope in vain attempted to resist.

So copiously from its mouth it bled,
Its lashing tail so furiously plied,
The sea that day might well be called the Red,
And might be seen to open and divide.
The tossing waves to such a height are sped,
They reach the welkin, and the sunlight hide.
The woods, the mountains and the distant shores
Re-echo with the savage monster's roars.

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