Bradamante had a cousin named Astulf, who finally by a series of events became the owner of the winged steed, and on this animal he made the queerest trip ever heard of, a journey to the Mountains of the Moon.  The Hippogrif soared up and up, and up, till tall palms looked like bunches of fern beneath him, and he penetrated belts of thick white clouds, and finally drew his bridle rein on summits laid out in lovely gardens, where flowers and fruit abounded, and the climate was soft and balmy as that of June.  The traveler walked through a fine grove, in the centre of which rose a stately palace of the purest ivory, large enough to shelter a nation of kings within its walls, and ornamented throughout with carving more exquisite than that of an Indian casket.

While Astulf was gazing on this scene of splendor he was approached by a man of noble and courteous aspect, dressed in the toga of an ancient Roman, and bound about the brows with a laurel chaplet, who gave him grave and kindly salutation, saying:  “Hail, noble Sir Duke, and marvel not that I know who you are, or that I expected you to-day in these gardens.  For this is the Earthly Paradise, where poets have their dwelling after death; and I am the Mantuan VIRGIL, who sang the deeds of AEneas, and was the friend of the wise Emperor Augustus.  But if you wish to know the reason of your coming hither, it is appointed for you to get back the lost wits of the peerless Count Roland, whose senses have been put away in the moon among the rest of the earth’s missing rubbish.  Now the mountains on the top of which we stand are called the Mountains of the Moon, because they are the only place from which an ascent to the moon is possible; and this very night I intend to guide you thither on your errand.  But first, I pray you, take your dinner with us in our palace, for you have need of refreshment to prepare you for so strange a journey.”  I need hardly tell you that Astulf was delighted at being chosen to go to the moon on so worthy a mission, and thanked the noble poet a thousand times for his courtesy and kindness.  But Virgil answered:  “It is a pleasure to be of any service to such valiant warriors as Count Roland and yourself;” and thereupon he took the Duke through the shady alleys to the ivory palace which stood in the midst of the garden.

Here was Astulf conducted with much ceremony to a refectory where a banquet was spread.  The great doors were thrown open, and the company of poets ranged themselves in two rows, while their King passed down between their ranks.  He was a majestic old man with curly beard and hair, and his broad forehead was furrowed with lines that betokened a life of noble thought; but alas! he was totally blind, and leaned upon the shoulder of a beautiful Greek youth who guided him.  Every head was bowed reverently as he passed, and Virgil whispered to his guest:  “That is HOMER, the Father and King of poets.”