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diff --git a/old/392.txt b/old/392.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a121a0a --- /dev/null +++ b/old/392.txt @@ -0,0 +1,19877 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Jerusalem Delivered, by Torquato Tasso + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Jerusalem Delivered + +Author: Torquato Tasso + +Posting Date: August 4, 2008 [EBook #392] +Release Date: January, 1995 +[Last updated: March 26, 2012] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JERUSALEM DELIVERED *** + + + + +Produced by Douglas B. Killings. + + + + + + + + +Gerusalemme Liberata +("Jerusalem Delivered") + +by + +Torquato Tasso +(1544-1595) + + + + +Published 1581 in Parma, Italy. + +Translated by Edward Fairfax (1560-1635); +translation first published in London, 1600. + + + + + + FIRST BOOK + + THE ARGUMENT. + God sends his angel to Tortosa down, + Godfrey unites the Christian Peers and Knights; + And all the Lords and Princes of renown + Choose him their Duke, to rule the wares and fights. + He mustereth all his host, whose number known, + He sends them to the fort that Sion hights; + The aged tyrant Juda's land that guides, + In fear and trouble, to resist provides. + + + I + The sacred armies, and the godly knight, + That the great sepulchre of Christ did free, + I sing; much wrought his valor and foresight, + And in that glorious war much suffered he; + In vain 'gainst him did Hell oppose her might, + In vain the Turks and Morians armed be: + His soldiers wild, to brawls and mutinies prest, + Reduced he to peace, so Heaven him blest. + + II + O heavenly Muse, that not with fading bays + Deckest thy brow by the Heliconian spring, + But sittest crowned with stars' immortal rays + In Heaven, where legions of bright angels sing; + Inspire life in my wit, my thoughts upraise, + My verse ennoble, and forgive the thing, + If fictions light I mix with truth divine, + And fill these lines with other praise than thine. + + III + Thither thou know'st the world is best inclined + Where luring Parnass most his sweet imparts, + And truth conveyed in verse of gentle kind + To read perhaps will move the dullest hearts: + So we, if children young diseased we find, + Anoint with sweets the vessel's foremost parts + To make them taste the potions sharp we give; + They drink deceived, and so deceived, they live. + + IV + Ye noble Princes, that protect and save + The Pilgrim Muses, and their ship defend + From rock of Ignorance and Error's wave, + Your gracious eyes upon this labor bend: + To you these tales of love and conquest brave + I dedicate, to you this work I send: + My Muse hereafter shall perhaps unfold + Your fights, your battles, and your combats bold. + + V + For if the Christian Princes ever strive + To win fair Greece out of the tyrants' hands, + And those usurping Ismaelites deprive + Of woful Thrace, which now captived stands, + You must from realms and seas the Turks forth drive, + As Godfrey chased them from Juda's lands, + And in this legend, all that glorious deed, + Read, whilst you arm you; arm you, whilst you read. + + VI + Six years were run since first in martial guise + The Christian Lords warraid the eastern land; + Nice by assault, and Antioch by surprise, + Both fair, both rich, both won, both conquered stand, + And this defended they in noblest wise + 'Gainst Persian knights and many a valiant band; + Tortosa won, lest winter might them shend, + They drew to holds, and coming spring attend. + + VII + The sullen season now was come and gone, + That forced them late cease from their noble war, + When God Almighty form his lofty throne, + Set in those parts of Heaven that purest are + (As far above the clear stars every one, + As it is hence up to the highest star), + Looked down, and all at once this world beheld, + Each land, each city, country, town and field. + + VIII + All things he viewed, at last in Syria stayed + Upon the Christian Lords his gracious eye, + That wondrous look wherewith he oft surveyed + Men's secret thoughts that most concealed lie + He cast on puissant Godfrey, that assayed + To drive the Turks from Sion's bulwarks high, + And, full of zeal and faith, esteemed light + All worldly honor, empire, treasure, might: + + IX + In Baldwin next he spied another thought, + Whom spirits proud to vain ambition move: + Tancred he saw his life's joy set at naught, + So woe-begone was he with pains of love: + Boemond the conquered folk of Antioch brought, + The gentle yoke of Christian rule to prove: + He taught them laws, statutes and customs new, + Arts, crafts, obedience, and religion true; + + X + And with such care his busy work he plied, + That to naught else his acting thoughts he bent: + In young Rinaldo fierce desires he spied, + And noble heart of rest impatient; + To wealth or sovereign power he naught applied + His wits, but all to virtue excellent; + Patterns and rules of skill, and courage bold, + He took from Guelpho, and his fathers old. + + XI + Thus when the Lord discovered had, and seen + The hidden secrets of each worthy's breast, + Out of the hierarchies of angels sheen + The gentle Gabriel called he from the rest, + 'Twixt God and souls of men that righteous been + Ambassador is he, forever blest, + The just commands of Heaven's Eternal King, + 'Twixt skies and earth, he up and down doth bring. + + XII + To whom the Lord thus spake: "Godfredo find, + And in my name ask him, why doth he rest? + Why be his arms to ease and peace resigned? + Why frees he not Jerusalem distrest? + His peers to counsel call, each baser mind + Let him stir up; for, chieftain of the rest + I choose him here, the earth shall him allow, + His fellows late shall be his subjects now." + + XIII + This said, the angel swift himself prepared + To execute the charge imposed aright, + In form of airy members fair imbared, + His spirits pure were subject to our sight, + Like to a man in show and shape he fared, + But full of heavenly majesty and might, + A stripling seemed he thrive five winters old, + And radiant beams adorned his locks of gold. + + XIV + Of silver wings he took a shining pair, + Fringed with gold, unwearied, nimble, swift; + With these he parts the winds, the clouds, the air, + And over seas and earth himself doth lift, + Thus clad he cut the spheres and circles fair, + And the pure skies with sacred feathers clift; + On Libanon at first his foot he set, + And shook his wings with rory May dews wet. + + XV + Then to Tortosa's confines swiftly sped + The sacred messenger, with headlong flight; + Above the eastern wave appeared red + The rising sun, yet scantly half in sight; + Godfrey e'en then his morn-devotions said, + As was his custom, when with Titan bright + Appeared the angel in his shape divine, + Whose glory far obscured Phoebus' shine. + + XVI + "Godfrey," quoth he, "behold the season fit + To war, for which thou waited hast so long, + Now serves the time, if thou o'erslip not it, + To free Jerusalem from thrall and wrong: + Thou with thy Lords in council quickly sit; + Comfort the feeble, and confirm the strong, + The Lord of Hosts their general doth make thee, + And for their chieftain they shall gladly take thee. + + XVII + "I, messenger from everlasting Jove, + In his great name thus his behests do tell; + Oh, what sure hope of conquest ought thee move, + What zeal, what love should in thy bosom dwell!" + This said, he vanished to those seats above, + In height and clearness which the rest excel, + Down fell the Duke, his joints dissolved asunder, + Blind with the light, and strucken dead with wonder. + + XVIII + But when recovered, he considered more, + The man, his manner, and his message said; + If erst he wished, now he longed sore + To end that war, whereof he Lord was made; + Nor swelled his breast with uncouth pride therefore, + That Heaven on him above this charge had laid, + But, for his great Creator would the same, + His will increased: so fire augmenteth flame. + + XIX + The captains called forthwith from every tent, + Unto the rendezvous he them invites; + Letter on letter, post on post he sent, + Entreatance fair with counsel he unites, + All, what a noble courage could augment, + The sleeping spark of valor what incites, + He used, that all their thoughts to honor raised, + Some praised, some paid, some counselled, all pleased. + + XX + The captains, soldiers, all, save Boemond, came, + And pitched their tents, some in the fields without, + Some of green boughs their slender cabins frame, + Some lodged were Tortosa's streets about, + Of all the host the chief of worth and name + Assembled been, a senate grave and stout; + Then Godfrey, after silence kept a space, + Lift up his voice, and spake with princely grace: + + XXI + "Warriors, whom God himself elected hath + His worship true in Sion to restore, + And still preserved from danger, harm and scath, + By many a sea and many an unknown shore, + You have subjected lately to his faith + Some provinces rebellious long before: + And after conquests great, have in the same + Erected trophies to his cross and name. + + XXII + "But not for this our homes we first forsook, + And from our native soil have marched so far: + Nor us to dangerous seas have we betook, + Exposed to hazard of so far sought war, + Of glory vain to gain an idle smook, + And lands possess that wild and barbarous are: + That for our conquests were too mean a prey, + To shed our bloods, to work our souls' decay. + + XXIII + "But this the scope was of our former thought,-- + Of Sion's fort to scale the noble wall, + The Christian folk from bondage to have brought, + Wherein, alas, they long have lived thrall, + In Palestine an empire to have wrought, + Where godliness might reign perpetual, + And none be left, that pilgrims might denay + To see Christ's tomb, and promised vows to pay. + + XXIV + "What to this hour successively is done + Was full of peril, to our honor small, + Naught to our first designment, if we shun + The purposed end, or here lie fixed all. + What boots it us there wares to have begun, + Or Europe raised to make proud Asia thrall, + If our beginnings have this ending known, + Not kingdoms raised, but armies overthrown? + + XXV + "Not as we list erect we empires new + On frail foundations laid in earthly mould, + Where of our faith and country be but few + Among the thousands stout of Pagans bold, + Where naught behoves us trust to Greece untrue, + And Western aid we far removed behold: + Who buildeth thus, methinks, so buildeth he, + As if his work should his sepulchre be. + + XXVI + "Turks, Persians conquered, Antiochia won, + Be glorious acts, and full of glorious praise, + By Heaven's mere grace, not by our prowess done: + Those conquests were achieved by wondrous ways, + If now from that directed course we run + The God of Battles thus before us lays, + His loving kindness shall we lose, I doubt, + And be a byword to the lands about. + + XXVII + "Let not these blessings then sent from above + Abused be, or split in profane wise, + But let the issue correspondent prove + To good beginnings of each enterprise; + The gentle season might our courage move, + Now every passage plain and open lies: + What lets us then the great Jerusalem + With valiant squadrons round about to hem? + + XXVIII + "Lords, I protest, and hearken all to it, + Ye times and ages, future, present, past, + Hear all ye blessed in the heavens that sit, + The time for this achievement hasteneth fast: + The longer rest worse will the season fit, + Our sureties shall with doubt be overcast. + If we forslow the siege I well foresee + From Egypt will the Pagans succored be." + + XXIX + This said, the hermit Peter rose and spake, + Who sate in counsel those great Lords among: + "At my request this war was undertake, + In private cell, who erst lived closed long, + What Godfrey wills, of that no question make, + There cast no doubts where truth is plain and strong, + Your acts, I trust, will correspond his speech, + Yet one thing more I would you gladly teach. + + XXX + "These strifes, unless I far mistake the thing, + And discords raised oft in disordered sort, + Your disobedience and ill managing + Of actions lost, for want of due support, + Refer I justly to a further spring, + Spring of sedition, strife, oppression, tort, + I mean commanding power to sundry given, + In thought, opinion, worth, estate, uneven. + + XXXI + "Where divers Lords divided empire hold, + Where causes be by gifts, not justice tried, + Where offices be falsely bought and sold, + Needs must the lordship there from virtue slide. + Of friendly parts one body then uphold, + Create one head, the rest to rule and guide: + To one the regal power and sceptre give, + That henceforth may your King and Sovereign live." + + XXXII + And therewith stayed his speech. O gracious Muse, + What kindling motions in their breasts do fry? + With grace divine the hermit's talk infuse, + That in their hearts his words may fructify; + By this a virtuous concord they did choose, + And all contentions then began to die; + The Princes with the multitude agree, + That Godfrey ruler of those wars should be. + + XXXIII + This power they gave him, by his princely right, + All to command, to judge all, good and ill, + Laws to impose to lands subdued by might, + To maken war both when and where he will, + To hold in due subjection every wight, + Their valors to be guided by his skill; + This done, Report displays her tell-tale wings, + And to each ear the news and tidings brings. + + XXXIV + She told the soldiers, who allowed him meet + And well deserving of that sovereign place. + Their first salutes and acclamations sweet + Received he, with love and gentle grace; + After their reverence done with kind regreet + Requited was, with mild and cheerful face, + He bids his armies should the following day + On those fair plains their standards proud display. + + XXXV + The golden sun rose from the silver wave, + And with his beams enamelled every green, + When up arose each warrior bold and brave, + Glistering in filed steel and armor sheen, + With jolly plumes their crests adorned they have, + And all tofore their chieftain mustered been: + He from a mountain cast his curious sight + On every footman and on every knight. + + XXXVI + My mind, Time's enemy, Oblivion's foe, + Disposer true of each noteworthy thing, + Oh, let thy virtuous might avail me so, + That I each troop and captain great may sing, + That in this glorious war did famous grow, + Forgot till now by Time's evil handling: + This work, derived from my treasures dear, + Let all times hearken, never age outwear. + + XXXVII + The French came foremost battailous and bold, + Late led by Hugo, brother to their King, + From France the isle that rivers four infold + With rolling streams descending from their spring, + But Hugo dead, the lily fair of gold, + Their wonted ensign they tofore them bring, + Under Clotharius great, a captain good, + And hardy knight ysprong of princes' blood. + + XXXVIII + A thousand were they in strong armors clad, + Next whom there marched forth another band, + That number, nature, and instruction had, + Like them to fight far off or charge at hand, + All valiant Normans by Lord Robert lad, + The native Duke of that renowned land, + Two bishops next their standards proud upbare, + Called Reverend William, and Good Ademare. + + XXXIX + Their jolly notes they chanted loud and clear + On merry mornings at the mass divine, + And horrid helms high on their heads they bear + When their fierce courage they to war incline: + The first four hundred horsemen gathered near + To Orange town, and lands that it confine: + But Ademare the Poggian youth brought out, + In number like, in hard assays as stout. + + XL + Baldwin, his ensign fair, did next dispread + Among his Bulloigners of noble fame, + His brother gave him all his troops to lead, + When he commander of the field became; + The Count Carinto did him straight succeed, + Grave in advice, well skilled in Mars his game, + Four hundred brought he, but so many thrice + Led Baldwin, clad in gilden arms of price. + + XLI + Guelpho next them the land and place possest, + Whose fortunes good with his great acts agree, + By his Italian sire, fro the house of Est, + Well could he bring his noble pedigree, + A German born with rich possessions blest, + A worthy branch sprung from the Guelphian tree. + 'Twixt Rhene and Danubie the land contained + He ruled, where Swaves and Rhetians whilom reigned. + + XLII + His mother's heritage was this and right, + To which he added more by conquest got, + From thence approved men of passing might + He brought, that death or danger feared not: + It was their wont in feasts to spend the night, + And pass cold days in baths and houses hot. + Five thousand late, of which now scantly are + The third part left, such is the chance of war. + + XLIII + The nation then with crisped locks and fair, + That dwell between the seas and Arden Wood, + Where Mosel streams and Rhene the meadows wear, + A battel soil for grain, for pasture good, + Their islanders with them, who oft repair + Their earthen bulwarks 'gainst the ocean flood, + The flood, elsewhere that ships and barks devours, + But there drowns cities, countries, towns and towers; + + XLIV + Both in one troop, and but a thousand all, + Under another Robert fierce they run. + Then the English squadron, soldiers stout and tall, + By William led, their sovereign's younger son, + These archers be, and with them come withal, + A people near the Northern Pole that wone, + Whom Ireland sent from loughs and forests hoar, + Divided far by sea from Europe's shore. + + XLV + Tancredi next, nor 'mongst them all was one, + Rinald except, a prince of greater might, + With majesty his noble countenance shone, + High were his thoughts, his heart was bold in fight, + No shameful vice his worth had overgone, + His fault was love, by unadvised sight, + Bred in the dangers of adventurous arms, + And nursed with griefs, with sorrows, woes, and harms. + + XLVI + Fame tells, that on that ever-blessed day, + When Christian swords with Persian blood were dyed, + The furious Prince Tancredi from that fray + His coward foes chased through forests wide, + Till tired with the fight, the heat, the way, + He sought some place to rest his wearied side, + And drew him near a silver stream that played + Among wild herbs under the greenwood shade. + + XLVII + A Pagan damsel there unwares he met, + In shining steel, all save her visage fair, + Her hair unbound she made a wanton net, + To catch sweet breathing from the cooling air. + On her at gaze his longing looks he set, + Sight, wonder; wonder, love; love bred his care; + O love, o wonder; love new born, new bred, + Now groan, now armed, this champion captive led. + + XLVIII + Her helm the virgin donned, and but some wight + She feared might come to aid him as they fought, + Her courage earned to have assailed the knight; + Yet thence she fled, uncompanied, unsought, + And left her image in his heart ypight; + Her sweet idea wandered through his thought, + Her shape, her gesture, and her place in mind + He kept, and blew love's fire with that wind. + + XLIX + Well might you read his sickness in his eyes, + Their banks were full, their tide was at the flow, + His help far off, his hurt within him lies, + His hopes unstrung, his cares were fit to mow; + Eight hundred horse (from Champain came) he guies, + Champain a land where wealth, ease, pleasure, grow, + Rich Nature's pomp and pride, the Tirrhene main + There woos the hills, hills woo the valleys plain. + + L + Two hundred Greeks came next, in fight well tried, + Not surely armed in steel or iron strong, + But each a glaive had pendant by his side, + Their bows and quivers at their shoulders hung, + Their horses well inured to chase and ride, + In diet spare, untired with labor long; + Ready to charge, and to retire at will, + Though broken, scattered, fled, they skirmish still; + + LI + Tatine their guide, and except Tatine, none + Of all the Greeks went with the Christian host; + O sin, O shame, O Greece accurst alone! + Did not this fatal war affront thy coast? + Yet safest thou an idle looker-on, + And glad attendest which side won or lost: + Now if thou be a bondslave vile become, + No wrong is that, but God's most righteous doom. + + LII + In order last, but first in worth and fame, + Unfeared in fight, untired with hurt or wound, + The noble squadron of adventurers came, + Terrors to all that tread on Asian ground: + Cease Orpheus of thy Minois, Arthur shame + To boast of Lancelot, or thy table round: + For these whom antique times with laurel drest, + These far exceed them, thee, and all the rest. + + LIII + Dudon of Consa was their guide and lord, + And for of worth and birth alike they been, + They chose him captain, by their free accord, + For he most acts had done, most battles seen; + Grave was the man in years, in looks, in word, + His locks were gray, yet was his courage green, + Of worth and might the noble badge he bore, + Old scars of grievous wounds received of yore. + LIV + After came Eustace, well esteemed man + For Godfrey's sake his brother, and his own; + The King of Norway's heir Gernando than, + Proud of his father's title, sceptre, crown; + Roger of Balnavill, and Engerlan, + For hardy knights approved were and known; + Besides were numbered in that warlike train + Rambald, Gentonio, and the Gerrards twain. + + LV + Ubaldo then, and puissant Rosimond, + Of Lancaster the heir, in rank succeed; + Let none forget Obizo of Tuscain land, + Well worthy praise for many a worthy deed; + Nor those three brethren, Lombards fierce and yond, + Achilles, Sforza, and stern Palamede; + Nor Otton's shield he conquered in those stowres, + In which a snake a naked child devours. + + LVI + Guascher and Raiphe in valor like there was. + The one and other Guido, famous both, + Germer and Eberard to overpass, + In foul oblivion would my Muse be loth, + With his Gildippes dear, Edward alas, + A loving pair, to war among them go'th + In bond of virtuous love together tied, + Together served they, and together died. + + LVII + In school of love are all things taught we see, + There learned this maid of arms the ireful guise, + Still by his side a faithful guard went she, + One true-love knot their lives together ties, + No would to one alone could dangerous be, + But each the smart of other's anguish tries, + If one were hurt, the other felt the sore, + She lost her blood, he spent his life therefore. + + LVIII + But these and all, Rinaldo far exceeds, + Star of his sphere, the diamond of this ring, + The nest where courage with sweet mercy breeds: + A comet worthy each eye's wondering, + His years are fewer than his noble deeds, + His fruit is ripe soon as his blossoms spring, + Armed, a Mars, might coyest Venus move, + And if disarmed, then God himself of Love. + + LIX + Sophia by Adige's flowery bank him bore, + Sophia the fair, spouse to Bertoldo great, + Fit mother for that pearl, and before + The tender imp was weaned from the teat, + The Princess Maud him took, in Virtue's lore + She brought him up fit for each worthy feat, + Till of these wares the golden trump he hears, + That soundeth glory, fame, praise in his ears. + + LX + And then, though scantly three times five years old, + He fled alone, by many an unknown coast, + O'er Aegean Seas by many a Greekish hold, + Till he arrived at the Christian host; + A noble flight, adventurous, brave, and bold, + Whereon a valiant prince might justly boast, + Three years he served in field, when scant begin + Few golden hairs to deck his ivory chin. + + LXI + The horsemen past, their void-left stations fill + The bands on foot, and Reymond them beforn, + Of Tholouse lord, from lands near Piraene Hill + By Garound streams and salt sea billows worn, + Four thousand foot he brought, well armed, and skill + Had they all pains and travels to have borne, + Stout men of arms and with their guide of power + Like Troy's old town defenced with Ilion's tower. + + LXII + Next Stephen of Amboise did five thousand lead, + The men he prest from Tours and Blois but late, + To hard assays unfit, unsure at need, + Yet armed to point in well-attempted plate, + The land did like itself the people breed, + The soil is gentle, smooth, soft, delicate; + Boldly they charge, but soon retire for doubt, + Like fire of straw, soon kindled, soon burnt out. + + LXIII + The third Alcasto marched, and with him + The boaster brought six thousand Switzers bold, + Audacious were their looks, their faces grim, + Strong castles on the Alpine clifts they hold, + Their shares and coulters broke, to armors trim + They change that metal, cast in warlike mould, + And with this band late herds and flocks that guide, + Now kings and realms he threatened and defied. + + LXIV + The glorious standard last to Heaven they sprad, + With Peter's keys ennobled and his crown, + With it seven thousand stout Camillo had, + Embattailed in walls of iron brown: + In this adventure and occasion, glad + So to revive the Romans' old renown, + Or prove at least to all of wiser thought, + Their hearts were fertile land although unwrought. + + LXV + But now was passed every regiment, + Each band, each troop, each person worth regard + When Godfrey with his lords to counsel went, + And thus the Duke his princely will declared: + "I will when day next clears the firmament, + Our ready host in haste be all prepared, + Closely to march to Sion's noble wall, + Unseen, unheard, or undescried at all. + + LXVI + "Prepare you then for travel strong and light, + Fierce to the combat, glad to victory." + And with that word and warning soon was dight, + Each soldier, longing for near coming glory, + Impatient be they of the morning bright, + Of honor so them pricked the memory: + But yet their chieftain had conceived a fear + Within his heart, but kept it secret there. + + LXVII + For he by faithful spial was assured, + That Egypt's King was forward on his way, + And to arrive at Gaza old procured, + A fort that on the Syrian frontiers lay, + Nor thinks he that a man to wars inured + Will aught forslow, or in his journey stay, + For well he knew him for a dangerous foe: + An herald called he then, and spake him so: + + LXVIII + "A pinnace take thee swift as shaft from bow, + And speed thee, Henry, to the Greekish main, + There should arrive, as I by letters know + From one that never aught reports in vain, + A valiant youth in whom all virtues flow, + To help us this great conquest to obtain, + The Prince of Danes he is, and brings to war + A troop with him from under the Arctic star. + + LXIX + "And for I doubt the Greekish monarch sly + Will use with him some of his wonted craft, + To stay his passage, or divert awry + Elsewhere his forces, his first journey laft, + My herald good and messenger well try, + See that these succors be not us beraft, + But send him thence with such convenient speed + As with his honor stands and with our need. + + LXX + "Return not thou, but Legier stay behind, + And move the Greekish Prince to send us aid, + Tell him his kingly promise doth him bind + To give us succors, by his covenant made." + This said, and thus instruct, his letters signed + The trusty herald took, nor longer stayed, + But sped him thence to done his Lord's behest, + And thus the Duke reduced his thoughts to rest. + + LXXI + Aurora bright her crystal gates unbarred, + And bridegroom-like forth stept the glorious sun, + When trumpets loud and clarions shrill were heard, + And every one to rouse him fierce begun, + Sweet music to each heart for war prepared, + The soldiers glad by heaps to harness run; + So if with drought endangered be their grain, + Poor ploughmen joy when thunders promise rain. + + LXXII + Some shirts of mail, some coats of plate put on, + Some donned a cuirass, some a corslet bright, + And halbert some, and some a habergeon, + So every one in arms was quickly dight, + His wonted guide each soldier tends upon, + Loose in the wind waved their banners light, + Their standard royal toward Heaven they spread, + The cross triumphant on the Pagans dead. + + LXXIII + Meanwhile the car that bears the lightning brand + Upon the eastern hill was mounted high, + And smote the glistering armies as they stand, + With quivering beams which dazed the wondering eye, + That Phaeton-like it fired sea and land, + The sparkles seemed up to the skies to fly, + The horses' neigh and clattering armors' sound + Pursue the echo over dale and down. + + LXXIV + Their general did with due care provide + To save his men from ambush and from train, + Some troops of horse that lightly armed ride + He sent to scour the woods and forests main, + His pioneers their busy work applied + To even the paths and make the highways plain, + They filled the pits, and smoothed the rougher ground, + And opened every strait they closed found. + + LXXV + They meet no forces gathered by their foe, + No towers defenced with rampire, moat, or wall, + No stream, no wood, no mountain could forslow + Their hasty pace, or stop their march at all; + So when his banks the prince of rivers, Po, + Doth overswell, he breaks with hideous fall + The mossy rocks and trees o'ergrown with age, + Nor aught withstands his fury and his rage. + + LXXVI + The King of Tripoli in every hold + Shut up his men, munition and his treasure, + The straggling troops sometimes assail he would, + Save that he durst not move them to displeasure; + He stayed their rage with presents, gifts and gold, + And led them through his land at ease and leisure, + To keep his realm in peace and rest he chose, + With what conditions Godfrey list impose. + + LXXVII + Those of Mount Seir, that neighboreth by east + The Holy City, faithful folk each one, + Down from the hill descended most and least, + And to the Christian Duke by heaps they gone, + And welcome him and his with joy and feast; + On him they smile, on him they gaze alone, + And were his guides, as faithful from that day + As Hesperus, that leads the sun his way. + + LXXVIII + Along the sands his armies safe they guide + By ways secure, to them well known before, + Upon the tumbling billows fraughted ride + The armed ships, coasting along the shore, + Which for the camp might every day provide + To bring munition good and victuals store: + The isles of Greece sent in provision meet, + And store of wine from Scios came and Crete. + + LXXIX + Great Neptune grieved underneath the load + Of ships, hulks, galleys, barks and brigantines, + In all the mid-earth seas was left no road + Wherein the Pagan his bold sails untwines, + Spread was the huge Armado, wide and broad, + From Venice, Genes, and towns which them confines, + From Holland, England, France and Sicil sent, + And all for Juda ready bound and bent. + + LXXX + All these together were combined, and knit + With surest bonds of love and friendship strong, + Together sailed they fraught with all things fit + To service done by land that might belong, + And when occasion served disbarked it, + Then sailed the Asian coasts and isles along; + Thither with speed their hasty course they plied, + Where Christ the Lord for our offences died. + + LXXXI + The brazen trump of iron-winged fame, + That mingleth faithful troth with forged lies, + Foretold the heathen how the Christians came, + How thitherward the conquering army hies, + Of every knight it sounds the worth and name, + Each troop, each band, each squadron it descries, + And threat'neth death to those, fire, sword and slaughter, + Who held captived Israel's fairest daughter. + + LXXXII + The fear of ill exceeds the evil we fear, + For so our present harms still most annoy us, + Each mind is prest and open every ear + To hear new tidings though they no way joy us, + This secret rumor whispered everywhere + About the town, these Christians will destroy us, + The aged king his coming evil that knew, + Did cursed thoughts in his false heart renew. + + LXXXIII + This aged prince ycleped Aladine, + Ruled in care, new sovereign of this state, + A tyrant erst, but now his fell engine + His graver are did somewhat mitigate, + He heard the western lords would undermine + His city's wall, and lay his towers prostrate, + To former fear he adds a new-come doubt, + Treason he fears within, and force without. + + LXXXIV + For nations twain inhabit there and dwell + Of sundry faith together in that town, + The lesser part on Christ believed well, + On Termagent the more and on Mahown, + But when this king had made this conquest fell, + And brought that region subject to his crown, + Of burdens all he set the Paynims large, + And on poor Christians laid the double charge. + + LXXXV + His native wrath revived with this new thought, + With age and years that weakened was of yore, + Such madness in his cruel bosom wrought, + That now than ever blood he thirsteth more? + So stings a snake that to the fire is brought, + Which harmless lay benumbed with cold before, + A lion so his rage renewed hath, + Though fame before, if he be moved to wrath. + + LXXXVI + "I see," quoth he, "some expectation vain, + In these false Christians, and some new content, + Our common loss they trust will be their gain, + They laugh, we weep; they joy while we lament; + And more, perchance, by treason or by train, + To murder us they secretly consent, + Or otherwise to work us harm and woe, + To ope the gates, and so let in our foe. + + LXXXVII + "But lest they should effect their cursed will, + Let us destroy this serpent on his nest; + Both young and old, let us this people kill, + The tender infants at their mothers' breast, + Their houses burn, their holy temples fill + With bodies slain of those that loved them best, + And on that tomb they hold so much in price, + Let's offer up their priests in sacrifice." + + LXXXVIII + Thus thought the tyrant in his traitorous mind, + But durst not follow what he had decreed, + Yet if the innocents some mercy find, + From cowardice, not truth, did that proceed, + His noble foes durst not his craven kind + Exasperate by such a bloody deed. + For if he need, what grace could then be got, + If thus of peace he broke or loosed the knot? + + LXXXIX + His villain heart his cursed rage restrained, + To other thoughts he bent his fierce desire, + The suburbs first flat with the earth he plained, + And burnt their buildings with devouring fire, + Loth was the wretch the Frenchman should have gained + Or help or ease, by finding aught entire, + Cedron, Bethsaida, and each watering else + Empoisoned he, both fountains, springs, and wells. + + XC + So wary wise this child of darkness was; + The city's self he strongly fortifies, + Three sides by site it well defenced has, + That's only weak that to the northward lies; + With mighty bars of long enduring brass, + The steel-bound doors and iron gates he ties, + And, lastly, legions armed well provides + Of subjects born, and hired aid besides. + + + + SECOND BOOK + + THE ARGUMENT. + Ismeno conjures, but his charms are vain; + Aladine will kill the Christians in his ire: + Sophronia and Olindo would be slain + To save the rest, the King grants their desire; + Clorinda hears their fact and fortunes plain, + Their pardon gets and keeps them from the fire: + Argantes, when Aletes' speeches are + Despised, defies the Duke to mortal war. + + + I + While thus the tyrant bends his thoughts to arms, + Ismeno gan tofore his sight appear, + Ismen dead bones laid in cold graves that warms + And makes them speak, smell, taste, touch, see, and hear; + Ismen with terror of his mighty charms, + That makes great Dis in deepest Hell to fear, + That binds and looses souls condemned to woe, + And sends the devils on errands to and fro. + + II + A Christian once, Macon he now adores, + Nor could he quite his wonted faith forsake, + But in his wicked arts both oft implores + Help from the Lord, and aid from Pluto black; + He, from deep caves by Acheron's dark shores, + Where circles vain and spells he used to make, + To advise his king in these extremes is come, + Achitophel so counselled Absalom. + + III + "My liege," he says, "the camp fast hither moves, + The axe is laid unto this cedar's root, + But let us work as valiant men behoves, + For boldest hearts good fortune helpeth out; + Your princely care your kingly wisdom proves, + Well have you labored, well foreseen about; + If each perform his charge and duty so, + Nought but his grave here conquer shall your foe. + + IV + "From surest castle of my secret cell + I come, partaker of your good and ill, + What counsel sage, or magic's sacred spell + May profit us, all that perform I will: + The sprites impure from bliss that whilom fell + Shall to your service bow, constrained by skill; + But how we must begin this enterprise, + I will your Highness thus in brief advise. + + V + "Within the Christian's church from light of skies, + An hidden alter stands, far out of sight, + On which the image consecrated lies + Of Christ's dear mother, called a virgin bright, + An hundred lamps aye burn before her eyes, + She in a slender veil of tinsel dight, + On every side great plenty doth behold + Of offerings brought, myrrh, frankincense and gold. + + VI + "This idol would I have removed away + From thence, and by your princely hand transport, + In Macon's sacred temple safe it lay, + Which then I will enchant in wondrous sort, + That while the image in that church doth stay, + No strength of arms shall win this noble fort, + Of shake this puissant wall, such passing might + Have spells and charms, if they be said aright." + + VII + Advised thus, the king impatient + Flew in his fury to the house of God, + The image took, with words unreverent + Abused the prelates, who that deed forbode, + Swift with his prey, away the tyrant went, + Of God's sharp justice naught he feared the rod, + But in his chapel vile the image laid, + On which the enchanter charms and witchcraft said. + + VIII + When Phoebus next unclosed his wakeful eye, + Up rose the sexton of that place profane, + And missed the image, where it used to lie, + Each where he sough in grief, in fear, in vain; + Then to the king his loss he gan descry, + Who sore enraged killed him for his pain; + And straight conceived in his malicious wit, + Some Christian bade this great offence commit. + + IX + But whether this were act of mortal hand, + Or else the Prince of Heaven's eternal pleasure, + That of his mercy would this wretch withstand, + Nor let so vile a chest hold such a treasure, + As yet conjecture hath not fully scanned; + By godliness let us this action measure, + And truth of purest faith will fitly prove + That this rare grace came down from Heaven above. + + X + With busy search the tyrant gan to invade + Each house, each hold, each temple and each tent + To them the fault or faulty one bewrayed + Or hid, he promised gifts or punishment, + His idle charms the false enchanter said, + But in this maze still wandered and miswent, + For Heaven decreed to conceal the same, + To make the miscreant more to feel his shame. + + XI + But when the angry king discovered not + What guilty hand this sacrilege had wrought, + His ireful courage boiled in vengeance hot + Against the Christians, whom he faulters thought; + All ruth, compassion, mercy he forgot, + A staff to beat that dog he long had sought, + "Let them all die," quoth he, "kill great and small, + So shall the offender perish sure withal. + + XII + "To spill the wine with poison mixed with spares? + Slay then the righteous with the faulty one, + Destroy this field that yieldeth naught but tares, + With thorns this vineyard all is over-gone, + Among these wretches is not one, that cares + For us, our laws, or our religion; + Up, up, dear subjects, fire and weapon take, + Burn, murder, kill these traitors for my sake." + + XIII + This Herod thus would Bethlem's infants kill, + The Christians soon this direful news receave, + The trump of death sounds in their hearing shrill, + Their weapon, faith; their fortress, was the grave; + They had no courage, time, device, or will, + To fight, to fly, excuse, or pardon crave, + But stood prepared to die, yet help they find, + Whence least they hope, such knots can Heaven unbind. + + XIV + Among them dwelt, her parents' joy and pleasure, + A maid, whose fruit was ripe, not over-yeared, + Her beauty was her not esteemed treasure; + The field of love with plough of virtue eared, + Her labor goodness; godliness her leisure; + Her house the heaven by this full moon aye cleared, + For there, from lovers' eyes withdrawn, alone + With virgin beams this spotless Cynthia shone. + + XV + But what availed her resolution chaste, + Whose soberest looks were whetstones to desire? + Nor love consents that beauty's field lie waste, + Her visage set Olindo's heart on fire, + O subtle love, a thousand wiles thou hast, + By humble suit, by service, or by hire, + To win a maiden's hold, a thing soon done, + For nature framed all women to be won. + + XVI + Sophronia she, Olindo hight the youth, + Both or one town, both in one faith were taught, + She fair, he full of bashfulness and truth, + Loved much, hoped little, and desired nought, + He durst not speak by suit to purchase ruth, + She saw not, marked not, wist not what he sought, + Thus loved, thus served he long, but not regarded, + Unseen, unmarked, unpitied, unrewarded. + + XVII + To her came message of the murderment, + Wherein her guiltless friends should hopeless starve, + She that was noble, wise, as fair and gent, + Cast how she might their harmless lives preserve, + Zeal was the spring whence flowed her hardiment, + From maiden shame yet was she loth to swerve: + Yet had her courage ta'en so sure a hold, + That boldness, shamefaced; shame had made her bold. + + XVIII + And forth she went, a shop for merchandise + Full of rich stuff, but none for sale exposed, + A veil obscured the sunshine of her eyes, + The rose within herself her sweetness closed, + Each ornament about her seemly lies, + By curious chance, or careless art, composed; + For what the most neglects, most curious prove, + So Beauty's helped by Nature, Heaven, and Love. + + XIX + Admired of all, on went this noble maid, + Until the presence of the king she gained, + Nor for he swelled with ire was she afraid, + But his fierce wrath with fearless grace sustained, + "I come," quoth she, "but be thine anger stayed, + And causeless rage 'gainst faultless souls restrained-- + I come to show thee, and to bring thee both, + The wight whose fact hath made thy heart so wroth." + + XX + Her molest boldness, and that lightning ray + Which her sweet beauty streamed on his face, + Had struck the prince with wonder and dismay, + Changed his cheer, and cleared his moody grace, + That had her eyes disposed their looks to play, + The king had snared been in love's strong lace; + But wayward beauty doth not fancy move, + A frown forbids, a smile engendereth love. + + XXI + It was amazement, wonder and delight, + Although not love, that moved his cruel sense; + "Tell on," quoth he, "unfold the chance aright, + Thy people's lives I grant for recompense." + Then she, "Behold the faulter here in sight, + This hand committed that supposed offence, + I took the image, mine that fault, that fact, + Mine be the glory of that virtuous act." + + XXII + This spotless lamb thus offered up her blood, + To save the rest of Christ's selected fold, + O noble lie! was ever truth so good? + Blest be the lips that such a leasing told: + Thoughtful awhile remained the tyrant wood, + His native wrath he gan a space withhold, + And said, "That thou discover soon I will, + What aid? what counsel had'st thou in that ill?" + + XXIII + "My lofty thoughts," she answered him, "envied + Another's hand should work my high desire, + The thirst of glory can no partner bide, + With mine own self I did alone conspire." + "On thee alone," the tyrant then replied, + "Shall fall the vengeance of my wrath and ire." + "'Tis just and right," quoth she, "I yield consent, + Mine be the honor, mine the punishment." + + XXIV + The wretch of new enraged at the same, + Asked where she hid the image so conveyed: + "Not hid," quoth she, "but quite consumed with flame, + The idol is of that eternal maid, + For so at least I have preserved the same, + With hands profane from being eft betrayed. + My Lord, the thing thus stolen demand no more, + Here see the thief that scorneth death therefor. + + XXV + "And yet no theft was this, yours was the sin, + I brought again what you unjustly took." + This heard, the tyrant did for rage begin + To whet his teeth, and bend his frowning look, + No pity, youth; fairness, no grace could win; + Joy, comfort, hope, the virgin all forsook; + Wrath killed remorse, vengeance stopped mercy's breath + Love's thrall to hate, and beauty's slave to death. + + XXVI + Ta'en was the damsel, and without remorse, + The king condemned her guiltless to the fire, + Her veil and mantle plucked they off by force, + And bound her tender arms in twisted wire: + Dumb was the silver dove, while from her corse + These hungry kites plucked off her rich attire, + And for some deal perplexed was her sprite, + Her damask late, now changed to purest white. + + XXVII + The news of this mishap spread far and near, + The people ran, both young and old, to gaze; + Olindo also ran, and gan to fear + His lady was some partner in this case; + But when he found her bound, stript from her gear, + And vile tormentors ready saw in place, + He broke the throng, and into presence brast; + And thus bespake the king in rage and haste: + + XXXVIII + "Not so, not so this grief shall bear away + From me the honor of so noble feat, + She durst not, did not, could not so convey + The massy substance of that idol great, + What sleight had she the wardens to betray? + What strength to heave the goddess from her seat? + No, no, my Lord, she sails but with my wind." + Ah, thus he loved, yet was his love unkind! + + XXIX + He added further: "Where the shining glass, + Lets in the light amid your temple's side, + By broken by-ways did I inward pass, + And in that window made a postern wide, + Nor shall therefore this ill-advised lass + Usurp the glory should this fact betide, + Mine be these bonds, mine be these flames so pure, + O glorious death, more glorious sepulture!" + + XXX + Sophronia raised her modest looks from ground, + And on her lover bent her eyesight mild, + "Tell me, what fury? what conceit unsound + Presenteth here to death so sweet a child? + Is not in me sufficient courage found, + To bear the anger of this tyrant wild? + Or hath fond love thy heart so over-gone? + Wouldst thou not live, nor let me die alone?" + + XXXI + Thus spake the nymph, yet spake but to the wind, + She could not alter his well-settled thought; + O miracle! O strife of wondrous kind! + Where love and virtue such contention wrought, + Where death the victor had for meed assigned; + Their own neglect, each other's safety sought; + But thus the king was more provoked to ire, + Their strife for bellows served to anger's fire. + + XXXII + He thinks, such thoughts self-guiltiness finds out, + They scorned his power, and therefore scorned the pain, + "Nay, nay," quoth he, "let be your strife and doubt, + You both shall win, and fit reward obtain." + With that the sergeants hent the young man stout, + And bound him likewise in a worthless chain; + Then back to back fast to a stake both ties, + Two harmless turtles dight for sacrifice. + + XXXIII + About the pile of fagots, sticks and hay, + The bellows raised the newly-kindled flame, + When thus Olindo, in a doleful lay, + Begun too late his bootless plaints to frame: + "Be these the bonds? Is this the hoped-for day, + Should join me to this long-desired dame? + Is this the fire alike should burn our hearts? + Ah, hard reward for lovers' kind desarts! + + XXXIV + "Far other flames and bonds kind lovers prove, + But thus our fortune casts the hapless die, + Death hath exchanged again his shafts with love, + And Cupid thus lets borrowed arrows fly. + O Hymen, say, what fury doth thee move + To lend thy lamps to light a tragedy? + Yet this contents me that I die for thee, + Thy flames, not mine, my death and torment be. + + XXXV + "Yet happy were my death, mine ending blest, + My torments easy, full of sweet delight, + It this I could obtain, that breast to breast + Thy bosom might receive my yielded sprite; + And thine with it in heaven's pure clothing drest, + Through clearest skies might take united flight." + Thus he complained, whom gently she reproved, + And sweetly spake him thus, that so her loved: + + XXXVI + "Far other plaints, dear friend, tears and laments + The time, the place, and our estates require; + Think on thy sins, which man's old foe presents + Before that judge that quits each soul his hire, + For his name suffer, for no pain torments + Him whose just prayers to his throne aspire: + Behold the heavens, thither thine eyesight bend, + Thy looks, sighs, tears, for intercessors send." + + XXXVII + The Pagans loud cried out to God and man, + The Christians mourned in silent lamentation, + The tyrant's self, a thing unused, began + To feel his heart relent, with mere compassion, + But not disposed to ruth or mercy than + He sped him thence home to his habitation: + Sophronia stood not grieved nor discontented, + By all that saw her, but herself, lamented. + + XXXVIII + The lovers standing in this doleful wise, + A warrior bold unwares approached near, + In uncouth arms yclad and strange disguise, + From countries far, but new arrived there, + A savage tigress on her helmet lies, + The famous badge Clorinda used to bear; + That wonts in every warlike stowre to win, + By which bright sign well known was that fair inn. + + XXXIX + She scorned the arts these silly women use, + Another thought her nobler humor fed, + Her lofty hand would of itself refuse + To touch the dainty needle or nice thread, + She hated chambers, closets, secret news, + And in broad fields preserved her maidenhead: + Proud were her looks, yet sweet, though stern and stout, + Her dam a dove, thus brought an eagle out. + + XL + While she was young, she used with tender hand + The foaming steed with froary bit to steer, + To tilt and tourney, wrestle in the sand, + To leave with speed Atlanta swift arear, + Through forests wild, and unfrequented land + To chase the lion, boar, or rugged bear, + The satyrs rough, the fauns and fairies wild, + She chased oft, oft took, and oft beguiled. + + XLI + This lusty lady came from Persia late, + She with the Christians had encountered eft, + And in their flesh had opened many a gate, + By which their faithful souls their bodies left, + Her eye at first presented her the state + Of these poor souls, of hope and help bereft, + Greedy to know, as is the mind of man, + Their cause of death, swift to the fire she ran. + + XLII + The people made her room, and on them twain + Her piercing eyes their fiery weapons dart, + Silent she saw the one, the other 'plain, + The weaker body lodged the nobler heart: + Yet him she saw lament, as if his pain + Were grief and sorrow for another's smart, + And her keep silence so, as if her eyes + Dumb orators were to entreat the skies. + + XLIII + Clorinda changed to ruth her warlike mood, + Few silver drops her vermeil cheeks depaint; + Her sorrow was for her that speechless stood, + Her silence more prevailed than his complaint. + She asked an aged man, seemed grave and good, + "Come say me, sir," quoth she, "what hard constraint + Would murder here love's queen and beauty's king? + What fault or fare doth to this death them bring?" + + XLIV + Thus she inquired, and answer short he gave, + But such as all the chance at large disclosed, + She wondered at the case, the virgin brave, + That both were guiltless of the fault supposed, + Her noble thought cast how she might them save, + The means on suit or battle she reposed. + Quick to the fire she ran, and quenched it out, + And thus bespake the sergeants and the rout: + + XLV + "Be there not one among you all that dare + In this your hateful office aught proceed, + Till I return from court, nor take you care + To reap displeasure for not making speed." + To do her will the men themselves prepare, + In their faint hearts her looks such terror breed; + To court she went, their pardon would she get, + But on the way the courteous king she met. + + XLVI + "Sir King," quoth she, "my name Clorinda hight, + My fame perchance has pierced your ears ere now, + I come to try my wonted power and might, + And will defend this land, this town, and you, + All hard assays esteem I eath and light, + Great acts I reach to, to small things I bow, + To fight in field, or to defend this wall, + Point what you list, I naught refuse at all." + + XLVII + To whom the king, "What land so far remote + From Asia's coasts, or Phoebus' glistering rays, + O glorious virgin, that recordeth not + Thy fame, thine honor, worth, renown, and praise? + Since on my side I have thy succors got, + I need not fear in these my aged days, + For in thine aid more hope, more trust I have, + Than in whole armies of these soldiers brave. + + XLVIII + "Now, Godfrey stays too long; he fears, I ween; + Thy courage great keeps all our foes in awe; + For thee all actions far unworthy been, + But such as greatest danger with them draw: + Be you commandress therefore, Princess, Queen + Of all our forces: be thy word a law." + This said, the virgin gan her beaver vail, + And thanked him first, and thus began her tale. + + XLIX + "A thing unused, great monarch, may it seem, + To ask reward for service yet to come; + But so your virtuous bounty I esteem, + That I presume for to intreat this groom + And silly maid from danger to redeem, + Condemned to burn by your unpartial doom, + I not excuse, but pity much their youth, + And come to you for mercy and for ruth. + + L + "Yet give me leave to tell your Highness this, + You blame the Christians, them my thoughts acquite, + Nor be displeased, I say you judge amiss, + At every shot look not to hit the white, + All what the enchanter did persuade you, is + Against the lore of Macon's sacred rite, + For us commandeth mighty Mahomet + No idols in his temple pure to set. + + LI + "To him therefore this wonder done refar, + Give him the praise and honor of the thing, + Of us the gods benign so careful are + Lest customs strange into their church we bring: + Let Ismen with his squares and trigons war, + His weapons be the staff, the glass, the ring; + But let us manage war with blows like knights, + Our praise in arms, our honor lies in fights." + + LII + The virgin held her peace when this was said; + And though to pity he never framed his thought, + Yet, for the king admired the noble maid, + His purpose was not to deny her aught: + "I grant them life," quoth he, "your promised aid + Against these Frenchmen hath their pardon bought: + Nor further seek what their offences be, + Guiltless, I quit; guilty, I set them free." + + LIII + Thus were they loosed, happiest of humankind, + Olindo, blessed be this act of thine, + True witness of thy great and heavenly mind, + Where sun, moon, stars, of love, faith, virtue, shine. + So forth they went and left pale death behind, + To joy the bliss of marriage rites divine, + With her he would have died, with him content + Was she to live that would with her have brent. + + LIV + The king, as wicked thoughts are most suspicious, + Supposed too fast this tree of virtue grew, + O blessed Lord! why should this Pharaoh vicious, + Thus tyrannize upon thy Hebrews true? + Who to perform his will, vile and malicious, + Exiled these, and all the faithful crew, + All that were strong of body, stout of mind, + But kept their wives and children pledge behind. + + LV + A hard division, when the harmless sheep + Must leave their lambs to hungry wolves in charge, + But labor's virtues watching, ease her sleep, + Trouble best wind that drives salvation's barge, + The Christians fled, whither they took no keep, + Some strayed wild among the forests large, + Some to Emmaus to the Christian host, + And conquer would again their houses lost. + + LVI + Emmaus is a city small, that lies + From Sion's walls distant a little way, + A man that early on the morn doth rise, + May thither walk ere third hour of the day. + Oh, when the Christian lord this town espies + How merry were their hearts? How fresh? How gay? + But for the sun inclined fast to west, + That night there would their chieftain take his rest. + + LVII + Their canvas castles up they quickly rear, + And build a city in an hour's space. + When lo, disguised in unusual gear, + Two barons bold approachen gan the place; + Their semblance kind, and mild their gestures were, + Peace in their hands, and friendship in their face, + From Egypt's king ambassadors they come, + Them many a squire attends, and many a groom. + + LVIII + The first Aletes, born in lowly shed, + Of parents base, a rose sprung from a brier, + That now his branches over Egypt spread, + No plant in Pharaoh's garden prospered higher; + With pleasing tales his lord's vain ears he fed, + A flatterer, a pick-thank, and a liar: + Cursed be estate got with so many a crime, + Yet this is oft the stair by which men climb. + + LIX + Argantes called is that other knight, + A stranger came he late to Egypt land, + And there advanced was to honor's height, + For he was stout of courage, strong of hand, + Bold was his heart, and restless was his sprite, + Fierce, stern, outrageous, keen as sharpened brand, + Scorner of God, scant to himself a friend, + And pricked his reason on his weapon's end. + + LX + These two entreatance made they might be heard, + Nor was their just petition long denied; + The gallants quickly made their court of guard, + And brought them in where sate their famous guide, + Whose kingly look his princely mind declared, + Where noblesse, virtue, troth, and valor bide. + A slender courtesy made Argantes bold, + So as one prince salute another wold; + + LXI + Aletes laid his right hand on his heart, + Bent down his head, and cast his eyes full low, + And reverence made with courtly grace and art, + For all that humble lore to him was know; + His sober lips then did he softly part, + Whence of pure rhetoric, whole streams outflow, + And thus he said, while on the Christian lords + Down fell the mildew of his sugared words: + + LXII + "O only worthy, whom the earth all fears, + High God defend thee with his heavenly shield, + And humble so the hearts of all thy peers, + That their stiff necks to thy sweet yoke may yield: + These be the sheaves that honor's harvest bears, + The seed thy valiant acts, the world the field, + Egypt the headland is, where heaped lies + Thy fame, worth, justice, wisdom, victories. + + LXIII + "These altogether doth our sovereign hide + In secret store-house of his princely thought, + And prays he may in long accordance bide, + With that great worthy which such wonders wrought, + Nor that oppose against the coming tide + Of proffered love, for that he is not taught + Your Christian faith, for though of divers kind, + The loving vine about her elm is twined. + + LXIV + "Receive therefore in that unconquered hand + The precious handle of this cup of love, + If not religion, virtue be the band + 'Twixt you to fasten friendship not to move: + But for our mighty king doth understand, + You mean your power 'gainst Juda land to prove, + He would, before this threatened tempest fell, + I should his mind and princely will first tell. + + LXV + "His mind is this, he prays thee be contented + To joy in peace the conquests thou hast got, + Be not thy death, or Sion's fall lamented, + Forbear this land, Judea trouble not, + Things done in haste at leisure be repented: + Withdraw thine arms, trust not uncertain lot, + For oft to see what least we think betide; + He is thy friend 'gainst all the world beside. + + LXVI + "True labour in the vineyard of thy Lord, + Ere prime thou hast the imposed day-work done, + What armies conquered, perished with thy sword? + What cities sacked? what kingdoms hast thou won? + All ears are mazed while tongues thine acts record, + Hands quake for fear, all feet for dread do run, + And though no realms you may to thraldom bring, + No higher can your praise, your glory spring. + + LXVII + "Thy sign is in his Apogaeon placed, + And when it moveth next, must needs descend, + Chance in uncertain, fortune double faced, + Smiling at first, she frowneth in the end: + Beware thine honor be not then disgraced, + Take heed thou mar not when thou think'st to mend, + For this the folly is of Fortune's play, + 'Gainst doubtful, certain; much, 'gainst small to lay. + + LXVIII + "Yet still we sail while prosperous blows the wind, + Till on some secret rock unwares we light, + The sea of glory hath no banks assigned, + They who are wont to win in every fight + Still feed the fire that so inflames thy mind + To bring more nations subject to thy might; + This makes thee blessed peace so light to hold, + Like summer's flies that fear not winter's cold. + + LXIX + "They bid thee follow on the path, now made + So plain and easy, enter Fortune's gate, + Nor in thy scabbard sheathe that famous blade, + Till settled by thy kingdom, and estate, + Till Macon's sacred doctrine fall and fade, + Till woeful Asia all lie desolate. + Sweet words I grant, baits and allurements sweet, + But greatest hopes oft greatest crosses meet. + + LXX + "For, if thy courage do not blind thine eyes, + If clouds of fury hide not reason's beams, + Then may'st thou see this desperate enterprise. + The field of death, watered with danger's streams; + High state, the bed is where misfortune lies, + Mars most unfriendly, when most kind he seems, + Who climbeth high, on earth he hardest lights, + And lowest falls attend the highest flights. + + LXXI + "Tell me if, great in counsel, arms and gold, + The Prince of Egypt war 'gainst you prepare, + What if the valiant Turks and Persians bold, + Unite their forces with Cassanoe's heir? + Oh then, what marble pillar shall uphold + The falling trophies of your conquest fair? + Trust you the monarch of the Greekish land? + That reed will break; and breaking, wound your hand. + + LXXII + "The Greekish faith is like that half-cut tree + By which men take wild elephants in Inde, + A thousand times it hath beguiled thee, + As firm as waves in seas, or leaves in wind. + Will they, who erst denied you passage free, + Passage to all men free, by use and kind, + Fight for your sake? Or on them do you trust + To spend their blood, that could scarce spare their dust? + + LXXIII + "But all your hope and trust perchance is laid + In these strong troops, which thee environ round; + Yet foes unite are not so soon dismayed + As when their strength you erst divided found: + Besides, each hour thy bands are weaker made + With hunger, slaughter, lodging on cold ground, + Meanwhile the Turks seek succors from our king, + Thus fade thy helps, and thus thy cumbers spring. + + LXXIV + "Suppose no weapon can thy valor's pride + Subdue, that by no force thou may'st be won, + Admit no steel can hurt or wound thy side, + And be it Heaven hath thee such favor done: + 'Gainst Famine yet what shield canst thou provide? + What strength resist? What sleight her wrath can shun? + Go, shake the spear, and draw thy flaming blade, + And try if hunger so be weaker made. + + LXXV + "The inhabitants each pasture and each plain + Destroyed have, each field to waste is laid, + In fenced towers bestowed is their grain + Before thou cam'st this kingdom to invade, + These horse and foot, how canst them sustain? + Whence comes thy store? whence thy provision made? + Thy ships to bring it are, perchance, assigned, + Oh, that you live so long as please the wind! + + LXXVI + "Perhaps thy fortune doth control the wind, + Doth loose or bind their blasts in secret cave, + The sea, pardie, cruel and deaf by kind, + Will hear thy call, and still her raging wave: + But if our armed galleys be assigned + To aid those ships which Turks and Persians have, + Say then, what hope is left thy slender fleet? + Dare flocks of crows, a flight of eagles meet? + + LXXVII + "My lord, a double conquest must you make, + If you achieve renown by this emprize: + For if our fleet your navy chase or take, + For want of victuals all your camp then dies; + Of if by land the field you once forsake, + Then vain by sea were hope of victories. + Nor could your ships restore your lost estate: + For steed once stolen, we shut the door too late. + + LXXVIII + "In this estate, if thou esteemest light + The proffered kindness of the Egyptian king, + Then give me leave to say, this oversight + Beseems thee not, in whom such virtues spring: + But heavens vouchsafe to guide my mind aright, + To gentle thoughts, that peace and quiet bring, + So that poor Asia her complaints may cease, + And you enjoy your conquests got, in peace. + + LXXIX + "Nor ye that part in these adventures have, + Part in his glory, partners in his harms, + Let not blind Fortune so your minds deceive, + To stir him more to try these fierce alarms, + But like the sailor 'scaped from the wave + From further peril that his person arms + By staying safe at home, so stay you all, + Better sit still, men say, than rise to fall." + + LXXX + This said Aletes: and a murmur rose + That showed dislike among the Christian peers, + Their angry gestures with mislike disclose + How much his speech offends their noble ears. + Lord Godfrey's eye three times environ goes, + To view what countenance every warrior bears, + And lastly on the Egyptian baron stayed, + To whom the duke thus for his answer said: + + LXXXI + "Ambassador, full both of threats and praise, + Thy doubtful message hast thou wisely told, + And if thy sovereign love us as he says, + Tell him he sows to reap an hundred fold, + But where thy talk the coming storm displays + Of threatened warfare from the Pagans bold: + To that I answer, as my cousin is, + In plainest phrase, lest my intent thou miss. + + LXXXII + "Know, that till now we suffered have much pain, + By lands and seas, where storms and tempests fall, + To make the passage easy, safe, and plain + That leads us to this venerable wall, + That so we might reward from Heaven obtain, + And free this town from being longer thrall; + Nor is it grievous to so good an end + Our honors, kingdoms, lives and goods to spend. + + LXXXIII + "Nor hope of praise, nor thirst of worldly good, + Enticed us to follow this emprise, + The Heavenly Father keep his sacred brood + From foul infection of so great a vice: + But by our zeal aye be that plague withstood, + Let not those pleasures us to sin entice. + His grace, his mercy, and his powerful hand + Will keep us safe from hurt by sea and land. + + LXXXIV + "This is the spur that makes our coursers run; + This is our harbor, safe from danger's floods; + This is our bield, the blustering winds to shun: + This is our guide, through forests, deserts, woods; + This is our summer's shade, our winter's sun: + This is our wealth, our treasure, and our goods: + This is our engine, towers that overthrows, + Our spear that hurts, our sword that wounds our foes. + + LXXXV + "Our courage hence, our hope, our valor springs, + Not from the trust we have in shield or spear, + Not from the succors France or Grecia brings, + On such weak posts we list no buildings rear: + He can defend us from the power of kings, + From chance of war, that makes weak hearts to fear; + He can these hungry troops with manna feed, + And make the seas land, if we passage need. + + LXXXVI + "But if our sins us of his help deprive, + Of his high justice let no mercy fall; + Yet should our deaths us some contentment give, + To die, where Christ received his burial, + So might we die, not envying them that live; + So would we die, not unrevenged all: + Nor Turks, nor Christians, if we perish such, + Have cause to joy, or to complain too much. + + LXXXVII + "Think not that wars we love, and strife affect, + Or that we hate sweet peace, or rest denay, + Think not your sovereign's friendship we reject, + Because we list not in our conquests stay: + But for it seems he would the Jews protect, + Pray him from us that thought aside to lay, + Nor us forbid this town and realm to gain, + And he in peace, rest, joy, long more may reign." + + LXXXVIII + This answer given, Argantes wild drew nar, + Trembling for ire, and waxing pale for rage, + Nor could he hold, his wrath increased so far, + But thus inflamed bespake the captain sage: + "Who scorneth peace shall have his fill of war, + I thought my wisdom should thy fury 'suage, + But well you show what joy you take in fight, + Which makes you prize our love and friendship light." + + LXXXIX + This said, he took his mantle's foremost part, + And gan the same together fold and wrap; + Then spake again with fell and spiteful heart, + So lions roar enclosed in train or trap, + "Thou proud despiser of inconstant mart, + I bring thee war and peace closed in this lap, + Take quickly one, thou hast no time to muse; + If peace, we rest, we fight, if war thou choose." + + XC + His semblance fierce and speechless proud, provoke + The soldiers all, "War, war," at once to cry, + Nor could they tarry till their chieftain spoke, + But for the knight was more inflamed hereby, + His lap he opened and spread forth his cloak: + "To mortal wars," he says, "I you defy;" + And this he uttered with fell rage and hate, + And seemed of Janus' church to undo the gate. + + XCI + It seemed fury, discord, madness fell + Flew from his lap, when he unfolds the same; + His glaring eyes with anger's venom swell, + And like the brand of foul Alecto flame, + He looked like huge Tiphoius loosed from hell + Again to shake heaven's everlasting frame, + Or him that built the tower of Shinaar, + Which threat'neth battle 'gainst the morning star. + + XCII + Godfredo then: "Depart, and bid your king + Haste hitherward, or else within short while,-- + For gladly we accept the war you bring,-- + Let him expect us on the banks of Nile." + He entertained them then with banqueting, + And gifts presented to those Pagans vile; + Aletes had a helmet, rich and gay, + Late found at Nice among the conquered prey. + + XCIII + Argant a sword, whereof the web was steel, + Pommel, rich stone; hilt gold; approved by touch + With rarest workmanship all forged weel, + The curious art excelled the substance much: + Thus fair, rich, sharp, to see, to have, to feel, + Glad was the Paynim to enjoy it such, + And said, "How I this gift can use and wield, + Soon shall you see, when first we meet in field." + + XCIV + Thus took they congee, and the angry knight + Thus to his fellow parleyed on the way, + "Go thou by day, but let me walk by night, + Go thou to Egypt, I at Sion stay, + The answer given thou canst unfold aright, + No need of me, what I can do or say, + Among these arms I will go wreak my spite; + Let Paris court it, Hector loved to fight." + + XCV + Thus he who late arrived a messenger + Departs a foe, in act, in word, in thought, + The law of nations or the lore of war, + If he transgresses or no, he recketh naught, + Thus parted they, and ere he wandered far + The friendly star-light to the walls him brought: + Yet his fell heart thought long that little way, + Grieved with each stop, tormented with each stay. + + XCVI + Now spread the night her spangled canopy, + And summoned every restless eye to sleep; + On beds of tender grass the beasts down lie, + The fishes slumbered in the silent deep, + Unheard were serpent's hiss and dragon's cry, + Birds left to sing, and Philomen to weep, + Only that noise heaven's rolling circles kest, + Sung lullaby to bring the world to rest. + + XCVII + Yet neither sleep, nor ease, nor shadows dark, + Could make the faithful camp or captain rest, + They longed to see the day, to hear the lark + Record her hymns and chant her carols blest, + They yearned to view the walls, the wished mark + To which their journeys long they had addressed; + Each heart attends, each longing eye beholds + What beam the eastern window first unfolds. + + + + THIRD BOOK + + THE ARGUMENT. + The camp at great Jerusalem arrives: + Clorinda gives them battle, in the breast + Of fair Erminia Tancred's love revives, + He jousts with her unknown whom he loved best; + Argant th' adventurers of their guide deprives, + With stately pomp they lay their Lord in chest: + Godfrey commands to cut the forest down, + And make strong engines to assault the town. + + + I + The purple morning left her crimson bed, + And donned her robes of pure vermilion hue, + Her amber locks she crowned with roses red, + In Eden's flowery gardens gathered new. + When through the camp a murmur shrill was spread, + Arm, arm, they cried; arm, arm, the trumpets blew, + Their merry noise prevents the joyful blast, + So hum small bees, before their swarms they cast. + + II + Their captain rules their courage, guides their heat, + Their forwardness he stayed with gentle rein; + And yet more easy, haply, were the feat + To stop the current near Charybdis main, + Or calm the blustering winds on mountains great, + Than fierce desires of warlike hearts restrain; + He rules them yet, and ranks them in their haste, + For well he knows disordered speed makes waste. + + III + Feathered their thoughts, their feet in wings were dight, + Swiftly they marched, yet were not tired thereby, + For willing minds make heaviest burdens light. + But when the gliding sun was mounted high, + Jerusalem, behold, appeared in sight, + Jerusalem they view, they see, they spy, + Jerusalem with merry noise they greet, + With joyful shouts, and acclamations sweet. + + IV + As when a troop of jolly sailors row + Some new-found land and country to descry, + Through dangerous seas and under stars unknowe, + Thrall to the faithless waves, and trothless sky, + If once the wished shore begun to show, + They all salute it with a joyful cry, + And each to other show the land in haste, + Forgetting quite their pains and perils past. + + V + To that delight which their first sight did breed, + That pleased so the secret of their thought + A deep repentance did forthwith succeed + That reverend fear and trembling with it brought, + Scantly they durst their feeble eyes dispreed + Upon that town where Christ was sold and bought, + Where for our sins he faultless suffered pain, + There where he died and where he lived again. + + VI + Soft words, low speech, deep sobs, sweet sighs, salt tears + Rose from their hearts, with joy and pleasure mixed; + For thus fares he the Lord aright that fears, + Fear on devotion, joy on faith is fixed: + Such noise their passions make, as when one hears + The hoarse sea waves roar, hollow rocks betwixt; + Or as the wind in holts and shady greaves, + A murmur makes among the boughs and leaves. + + VII + Their naked feet trod on the dusty way, + Following the ensample of their zealous guide, + Their scarfs, their crests, their plumes and feathers gay, + They quickly doffed, and willing laid aside, + Their molten hearts their wonted pride allay, + Along their watery cheeks warm tears down slide, + And then such secret speech as this, they used, + While to himself each one himself accused. + + VIII + "Flower of goodness, root of lasting bliss, + Thou well of life, whose streams were purple blood + That flowed here, to cleanse the soul amiss + Of sinful men, behold this brutish flood, + That from my melting heart distilled is, + Receive in gree these tears, O Lord so good, + For never wretch with sin so overgone + Had fitter time or greater cause to moan." + + IX + This while the wary watchman looked over, + From tops of Sion's towers, the hills and dales, + And saw the dust the fields and pastures cover, + As when thick mists arise from moory vales. + At last the sun-bright shields he gan discover, + And glistering helms for violence none that fails, + The metal shone like lightning bright in skies, + And man and horse amid the dust descries. + + X + Then loud he cries, "O what a dust ariseth! + O how it shines with shields and targets clear! + Up, up, to arms, for valiant heart despiseth + The threatened storm of death and danger near. + Behold your foes;" then further thus deviseth, + "Haste, haste, for vain delay increaseth fear, + These horrid clouds of dust that yonder fly, + Your coming foes does hide, and hide the sky." + + XI + The tender children, and the fathers old, + The aged matrons, and the virgin chaste, + That durst not shake the spear, nor target hold, + Themselves devoutly in their temples placed; + The rest, of members strong and courage bold, + On hardy breasts their harness donned in haste, + Some to the walls, some to the gates them dight, + Their king meanwhile directs them all aright. + + XII + All things well ordered, he withdrew with speed + Up to a turret high, two ports between, + That so he might be near at every need, + And overlook the lands and furrows green. + Thither he did the sweet Erminia lead, + That in his court had entertained been + Since Christians Antioch did to bondage bring, + And slew her father, who thereof was king. + + XIII + Against their foes Clorinda sallied out, + And many a baron bold was by her side, + Within the postern stood Argantes stout + To rescue her, if ill mote her betide: + With speeches brave she cheered her warlike rout, + And with bold words them heartened as they ride, + "Let us by some brave act," quoth she, "this day + Of Asia's hopes the groundwork found and lay." + + XIV + While to her folk thus spake the virgin brave, + Thereby behold forth passed a Christian band + Toward the camp, that herds of cattle drave, + For they that morn had forayed all the land; + The fierce virago would that booty save, + Whom their commander singled hand for hand, + A mighty man at arms, who Guardo hight, + But far too weak to match with her in fight. + + XV + They met, and low in dust was Guardo laid, + 'Twixt either army, from his sell down kest, + The Pagans shout for joy, and hopeful said, + Those good beginnings would have endings blest: + Against the rest on went the noble maid, + She broke the helm, and pierced the armed breast, + Her men the paths rode through made by her sword, + They pass the stream where she had found the ford. + + XVI + Soon was the prey out of their hands recovered, + By step and step the Frenchmen gan retire, + Till on a little hill at last they hovered, + Whose strength preserved them from Clorinda's ire: + When, as a tempest that hath long been covered + In watery clouds breaks out with sparkling fire, + With his strong squadron Lord Tancredi came, + His heart with rage, his eyes with courage flame. + + XVII + Mast great the spear was which the gallant bore + That in his warlike pride he made to shake, + As winds tall cedars toss on mountains hoar: + The king, that wondered at his bravery, spake + To her, that near him seated was before, + Who felt her heart with love's hot fever quake, + "Well shouldst thou know," quoth he, "each Christian knight, + By long acquaintance, though in armor dight. + + XVIII + "Say, who is he shows so great worthiness, + That rides so rank, and bends his lance so fell?" + To this the princess said nor more nor less, + Her heart with sighs, her eyes with tears, did swell; + But sighs and tears she wisely could suppress, + Her love and passion she dissembled well, + And strove her love and hot desire to cover, + Till heart with sighs, and eyes with tears ran over: + + XIX + At last she spoke, and with a crafty sleight + Her secret love disguised in clothes of hate: + "Alas, too well," she says, "I know that knight, + I saw his force and courage proved late, + Too late I viewed him, when his power and might + Shook down the pillar of Cassanoe's state; + Alas what wounds he gives! how fierce, how fell! + No physic helps them cure, nor magic's spell. + + XX + "Tancred he hight, O Macon, would he wear + My thrall, ere fates him of this life deprive, + For to his hateful head such spite I bear, + I would him reave his cruel heart on live." + Thus said she, they that her complainings hear + In other sense her wishes credit give. + She sighed withal, they construed all amiss, + And thought she wished to kill, who longed to kiss. + + XXI + This while forth pricked Clorinda from the throng + And 'gainst Tancredi set her spear in rest, + Upon their helms they cracked their lances long, + And from her head her gilden casque he kest, + For every lace he broke and every thong, + And in the dust threw down her plumed crest, + About her shoulders shone her golden locks, + Like sunny beams, on alabaster rocks. + + XXII + Her looks with fire, her eyes with lightning blaze, + Sweet was her wrath, what then would be her smile? + Tancred, whereon think'st thou? what dost thou gaze? + Hast thou forgot her in so short a while? + The same is she, the shape of whose sweet face + The God of Love did in thy heart compile, + The same that left thee by the cooling stream, + Safe from sun's heat, but scorched with beauty's beam. + + XXIII + The prince well knew her, though her painted shield + And golden helm he had not marked before, + She saved her head, and with her axe well steeled + Assailed the knight; but her the knight forbore, + 'Gainst other foes he proved him through the field, + Yet she for that refrained ne'er the more, + But following, "Turn thee," cried, in ireful wise; + And so at once she threats to kill him twice. + + XXIV + Not once the baron lifts his armed hand + To strike the maid, but gazing on her eyes, + Where lordly Cupid seemed in arms to stand, + No way to ward or shun her blows he tries; + But softly says, "No stroke of thy strong hand + Can vanquish Tancred, but thy conquest lies + In those fair eyes, which fiery weapons dart, + That find no lighting place except this heart." + + XXV + At last resolved, although he hoped small grace, + Yet ere he did to tell how much he loved, + For pleasing words in women's ears find place, + And gentle hearts with humble suits are moved: + "O thou," quoth he, "withhold thy wrath a space, + For if thou long to see my valor proved, + Were it not better from this warlike rout + Withdrawn, somewhere, alone to fight it out? + + XXVI + "So singled, may we both our courage try:" + Clorinda to that motion yielded glad, + And helmless to the forestward gan hie, + Whither the prince right pensive wend and sad, + And there the virgin gan him soon defy. + One blow she strucken, and he warded had, + When he cried, "Hold, and ere we prove our might, + First hear thou some conditions of the fight." + + XXVII + She stayed, and desperate love had made him bold; + "Since from the fight thou wilt no respite give, + The covenants be," he said, "that thou unfold + This wretched bosom, and my heart out rive, + Given thee long since, and if thou, cruel, would + I should be dead, let me no longer live, + But pierce this breast, that all the world may say, + The eagle made the turtle-dove her prey. + + XXVIII + "Save with thy grace, or let thine anger kill, + Love hath disarmed my life of all defence; + An easy labor harmless blood to spill, + Strike then, and punish where is none offence." + This said the prince, and more perchance had will + To have declared, to move her cruel sense. + But in ill time of Pagans thither came + A troop, and Christians that pursued the same. + + XXIX + The Pagans fled before their valiant foes, + For dread or craft, it skills not that we know, + A soldier wild, careless to win or lose, + Saw where her locks about the damsel flew, + And at her back he proffereth as he goes + To strike where her he did disarmed view: + But Tancred cried, "Oh stay thy cursed hand," + And for to ward the blow lift up his brand. + + XXX + But yet the cutting steel arrived there, + Where her fair neck adjoined her noble head, + Light was the wound, but through her amber hair + The purple drops down railed bloody red, + So rubies set in flaming gold appear: + But Lord Tancredi, pale with rage as lead, + Flew on the villain, who to flight him bound; + The smart was his, though she received the wound. + + XXXI + The villain flies, he, full of rage and ire, + Pursues, she stood and wondered on them both, + But yet to follow them showed no desire, + To stray so far she would perchance be loth, + But quickly turned her, fierce as flaming fire, + And on her foes wreaked her anger wroth, + On every side she kills them down amain, + And now she flies, and now she turns again. + + XXXII + As the swift ure by Volga's rolling flood + Chased through the plains the mastiff curs toforn, + Flies to the succor of some neighbor wood, + And often turns again his dreadful horn + Against the dogs imbrued in sweat and blood, + That bite not, till the beast to flight return; + Or as the Moors at their strange tennice run, + Defenced, the flying balls unhurt to shun: + + XXXIII + So ran Clorinda, so her foes pursued, + Until they both approached the city's wall, + When lo! the Pagans their fierce wrath renewed, + Cast in a ring about they wheeled all, + And 'gainst the Christians' backs and sides they showed + Their courage fierce, and to new combat fall, + When down the hill Argantes came to fight, + Like angry Mars to aid the Trojan knight. + + XXXIV + Furious, tofore the foremost of his rank, + In sturdy steel forth stept the warrior bold, + The first he smote down from his saddle sank, + The next under his steel lay on the mould, + Under the Saracen's spear the worthies shrank, + No breastplate could that cursed tree outhold, + When that was broke his precious sword he drew, + And whom he hit, he felled, hurt, or slew. + + XXXV + Clorinda slew Ardelio; aged knight, + Whose graver years would for no labor yield, + His age was full of puissance and might + Two sons he had to guard his noble eild, + The first, far from his father's care and sight, + Called Alicandro wounded lay in field, + And Poliphern the younger, by his side, + Had he not nobly fought had surely died. + + XXXVI + Tancred by this, that strove to overtake + The villain that had hurt his only dear, + From vain pursuit at last returned back, + And his brave troop discomfit saw well near, + Thither he spurred, and gan huge slaughter make, + His shock no steed, his blow no knight could bear, + For dead he strikes him whom he lights upon, + So thunders break high trees on Lebanon. + + XXXVII + Dudon his squadron of adventurers brings, + To aid the worthy and his tired crew, + Before the residue young Rinaldo flings + As swift as fiery lightning kindled new, + His argent eagle with her silver wings + In field of azure, fair Erminia knew, + "See there, sir King," she says, "a knight as bold + And brave, as was the son of Peleus old. + + XXXVIII + "He wins the prize in joust and tournament, + His acts are numberless, though few his years, + If Europe six likes him to war had sent + Among these thousand strong of Christian peers, + Syria were lost, lost were the Orient, + And all the lands the Southern Ocean wears, + Conquered were all hot Afric's tawny kings, + And all that dwells by Nilus' unknown springs. + + XXXIX + "Rinaldo is his name, his armed fist + Breaks down stone walls, when rams and engines fail, + But turn your eyes because I would you wist + What lord that is in green and golden mail, + Dudon he hight who guideth as him list + The adventurers' troop whose prowess seld doth fail, + High birth, grave years, and practise long in war, + And fearless heart, make him renowned far. + + XL + "See that big man that all in brown is bound, + Gernando called, the King of Norway's son, + A prouder knight treads not on grass or ground, + His pride hath lost the praise his prowess won; + And that kind pair in white all armed round, + Is Edward and Gildippes, who begun + Through love the hazard of fierce war to prove, + Famous for arms, but famous more for love." + + XLI + While thus they tell their foemen's worthiness, + The slaughter rageth in the plain at large. + Tancred and young Rinaldo break the press, + They bruise the helm, and press the sevenfold targe; + The troop by Dudon led performed no less, + But in they come and give a furious charge: + Argantes' self fell at one single blow, + Inglorious, bleeding lay, on earth full low: + + XLII + Nor had the boaster ever risen more, + But that Rinaldo's horse e'en then down fell, + And with the fall his leg opprest so sore, + That for a space there must be algates dwell. + Meanwhile the Pagan troops were nigh forlore, + Swiftly they fled, glad they escaped so well, + Argantes and with him Clorinda stout, + For bank and bulwark served to save the rout. + + XLIII + These fled the last, and with their force sustained + The Christians' rage, that followed them so near; + Their scattered troops to safety well they trained, + And while the residue fled, the brunt these bear; + Dudon pursued the victory he gained, + And on Tigranes nobly broke his spear, + Then with his sword headless to ground him cast, + So gardeners branches lop that spring too fast. + + XLIV + Algazar's breastplate, of fine temper made, + Nor Corban's helmet, forged by magic art, + Could save their owners, for Lord Dudon's blade + Cleft Corban's head, and pierced Algazar's heart, + And their proud souls down to the infernal shade, + From Amurath and Mahomet depart; + Not strong Argantes thought his life was sure, + He could not safely fly, nor fight secure. + + XLV + The angry Pagan bit his lips for teen, + He ran, he stayed, he fled, he turned again, + Until at last unmarked, unviewed, unseen, + When Dudon had Almansor newly slain, + Within his side he sheathed his weapon keen, + Down fell the worthy on the dusty plain, + And lifted up his feeble eyes uneath, + Opprest with leaden sleep, of iron death. + + XLVI + Three times he strove to view Heaven's golden ray, + And raised him on his feeble elbow thrice, + And thrice he tumbled on the lowly lay, + And three times closed again his dying eyes, + He speaks no word, yet makes his signs to pray; + He sighs, he faints, he groans, and then he dies; + Argantes proud to spoil the corpse disdained, + But shook his sword with blood of Dudon stained. + + XLVII + And turning to the Christian knights, he cried: + "Lordlings, behold, this bloody reeking blade + Last night was given me by your noble guide, + Tell him what proof thereof this day is made, + Needs must this please him well that is betide, + That I so well can use this martial trade, + To whom so rare a gift he did present, + Tell him the workman fits the instrument. + + XLVIII + "If further proof thereof he long to see, + Say it still thirsts, and would his heart-blood drink; + And if he haste not to encounter me, + Say I will find him when he least doth think." + The Christians at his words enraged be, + But he to shun their ire doth safely shrink + Under the shelter of the neighbor wall, + Well guarded with his troops and soldiers all. + + XLIX + Like storms of hail the stones fell down from high, + Cast from their bulwarks, flankers, ports and towers, + The shafts and quarries from their engines fly, + As thick as falling drops in April showers: + The French withdrew, they list not press too nigh, + The Saracens escaped all the powers, + But now Rinaldo from the earth upleapt, + Where by the leg his steed had long him kept; + L + He came and breathed vengeance from his breast + 'Gainst him that noble Dudon late had slain; + And being come thus spoke he to the rest, + "Warriors, why stand you gazing here in vain? + Pale death our valiant leader had opprest, + Come wreak his loss, whom bootless you complain. + Those walls are weak, they keep but cowards out + No rampier can withstand a courage stout. + + LI + "Of double iron, brass or adamant, + Or if this wall were built of flaming fire, + Yet should the Pagan vile a fortress want + To shroud his coward head safe from mine ire; + Come follow then, and bid base fear avaunt, + The harder work deserves the greater hire;" + And with that word close to the walls he starts, + Nor fears he arrows, quarries, stones or darts. + + LII + Above the waves as Neptune lift his eyes + To chide the winds, that Trojan ships opprest, + And with his countenance calmed seas, winds and skies; + So looked Rinaldo, when he shook his crest + Before those walls, each Pagan fears and flies + His dreadful sight, or trembling stayed at least: + Such dread his awful visage on them cast. + So seem poor doves at goshawks' sight aghast. + + LIII + The herald Ligiere now from Godfrey came, + To will them stay and calm their courage hot; + "Retire," quoth he, "Godfrey commands the same; + To wreak your ire this season fitteth not;" + Though loth, Rinaldo stayed, and stopped the flame, + That boiled in his hardy stomach hot; + His bridled fury grew thereby more fell, + So rivers, stopped, above their banks do swell. + + LIV + The hands retire, not dangered by their foes + In their retreat, so wise were they and wary, + To murdered Dudon each lamenting goes, + From wonted use of ruth they list not vary. + Upon their friendly arms they soft impose + The noble burden of his corpse to carry: + Meanwhile Godfredo from a mountain great + Beheld the sacred city and her seat. + + LV + Hierusalem is seated on two hills + Of height unlike, and turned side to side, + The space between, a gentle valley fills, + From mount to mount expansed fair and wide. + Three sides are sure imbarred with crags and hills, + The rest is easy, scant to rise espied: + But mighty bulwarks fence that plainer part, + So art helps nature, nature strengtheneth art. + + LVI + The town is stored of troughs and cisterns, made + To keep fresh water, but the country seems + Devoid of grass, unfit for ploughmen's trade, + Not fertile, moist with rivers, wells and streams; + There grow few trees to make the summer's shade, + To shield the parched land from scorching beams, + Save that a wood stands six miles from the town,' + With aged cedars dark, and shadows brown. + + LVII + By east, among the dusty valleys, glide + The silver streams of Jordan's crystal flood; + By west, the Midland Sea, with bounders tied + Of sandy shores, where Joppa whilom stood; + By north Samaria stands, and on that side + The golden calf was reared in Bethel wood; + Bethlem by south, where Christ incarnate was, + A pearl in steel, a diamond set in brass. + + LVIII + While thus the Duke on every side descried + The city's strength, the walls and gates about, + And saw where least the same was fortified, + Where weakest seemed the walls to keep him out; + Ermina as he armed rode, him spied, + And thus bespake the heathen tyrant stout, + "See Godfrey there, in purple clad and gold, + His stately port, and princely look behold. + + LIX + "Well seems he born to be with honor crowned, + So well the lore he knows of regiment, + Peerless in fight, in counsel grave and sound, + The double gift of glory excellent, + Among these armies is no warrior found + Graver in speech, bolder in tournament. + Raymond pardie in counsel match him might; + Tancred and young Rinaldo like in fight." + + LX + To whom the king: "He likes me well therefore, + I knew him whilom in the court of France + When I from Egypt went ambassador, + I saw him there break many a sturdy lance, + And yet his chin no sign of manhood bore; + His youth was forward, but with governance, + His words, his actions, and his portance brave, + Of future virtue, timely tokens gave. + + LXI + "Presages, ah too true:" with that a space + He sighed for grief, then said, "Fain would I know + The man in red, with such a knightly grace, + A worthy lord he seemeth by his show, + How like to Godfrey looks he in the face, + How like in person! but some-deal more low." + "Baldwin," quoth she, "that noble baron hight, + By birth his brother, and his match in might. + + LXII + "Next look on him that seems for counsel fit, + Whose silver locks betray his store of days, + Raymond he hight, a man of wondrous wit, + Of Toulouse lord, his wisdom is his praise; + What he forethinks doth, as he looks for, hit, + His stratagems have good success always: + With gilded helm beyond him rides the mild + And good Prince William, England's king's dear child. + + LXIII + "With him is Guelpho, as his noble mate, + In birth, in acts, in arms alike the rest, + I know him well, since I beheld him late, + By his broad shoulders and his squared breast: + But my proud foe that quite hath ruinate + My high estate, and Antioch opprest, + I see not, Boemond, that to death did bring + Mine aged lord, my father, and my king." + + LXIV + Thus talked they; meanwhile Godfredo went + Down to the troops that in the valley stayed, + And for in vain he thought the labor spent, + To assail those parts that to the mountains laid, + Against the northern gate his force he bent, + Gainst it he camped, gainst it his engines played; + All felt the fury of his angry power, + That from those gates lies to the corner tower. + + LXV + The town's third part was this, or little less, + Fore which the duke his glorious ensigns spread, + For so great compass had that forteress, + That round it could not be environed + With narrow siege--nor Babel's king I guess + That whilom took it, such an army led-- + But all the ways he kept, by which his foe + Might to or from the city come or go. + + LXVI + His care was next to cast the trenches deep, + So to preserve his resting camp by night, + Lest from the city while his soldiers sleep + They might assail them with untimely flight. + This done he went where lords and princes weep + With dire complaints about the murdered knight, + Where Dudon dead lay slaughtered on the ground. + And all the soldiers sat lamenting round. + + LXVII + His wailing friends adorned the mournful bier + With woful pomp, whereon his corpse they laid, + And when they saw the Bulloigne prince draw near, + All felt new grief, and each new sorrow made; + But he, withouten show or change of cheer, + His springing tears within their fountains stayed, + His rueful looks upon the corpse he cast + Awhile, and thus bespake the same at last; + + LXVIII + "We need not mourn for thee, here laid to rest, + Earth is thy bed, and not the grave the skies + Are for thy soul the cradle and the nest, + There live, for here thy glory never dies: + For like a Christian knight and champion blest + Thou didst both live and die: now feed thine eyes + With thy Redeemer's sight, where crowned with bliss + Thy faith, zeal, merit, well-deserving is. + + LXIX + "Our loss, not thine, provokes these plaints and tears: + For when we lost thee, then our ship her mast, + Our chariot lost her wheels, their points our spears, + The bird of conquest her chief feather cast: + But though thy death far from our army hears + Her chiefest earthly aid, in heaven yet placed + Thou wilt procure its help Divine, so reaps + He that sows godly sorrow, joy by heaps. + + LXX + "For if our God the Lord Armipotent + Those armed angels in our aid down send + That were at Dothan to his prophet sent, + Thou wilt come down with them, and well defend + Our host, and with thy sacred weapons bent + Gainst Sion's fort, these gates and bulwarks rend, + That so by hand may win this hold, and we + May in these temples praise our Christ for thee." + + LXXI + Thus he complained; but now the sable shade + Ycleped night, had thick enveloped + The sun in veil of double darkness made; + Sleep, eased care; rest, brought complaint to bed: + All night the wary duke devising laid + How that high wall should best be battered, + How his strong engines he might aptly frame, + And whence get timber fit to build the same. + + LXXII + Up with the lark the sorrowful duke arose, + A mourner chief at Dudon's burial, + Of cypress sad a pile his friends compose + Under a hill o'ergrown with cedars tall, + Beside the hearse a fruitful palm-tree grows, + Ennobled since by this great funeral, + Where Dudon's corpse they softly laid in ground, + The priest sung hymns, the soldiers wept around. + + LXXIII + Among the boughs, they here and there bestow + Ensigns and arms, as witness of his praise, + Which he from Pagan lords, that did them owe, + Had won in prosperous fights and happy frays: + His shield they fixed on the hole below, + And there this distich under-writ, which says, + "This palm with stretched arms, doth overspread + The champion Dudon's glorious carcase dead." + + LXXIV + This work performed with advisement good, + Godfrey his carpenters, and men of skill + In all the camp, sent to an aged wood, + With convoy meet to guard them safe from ill. + Within a valley deep this forest stood, + To Christian eyes unseen, unknown, until + A Syrian told the duke, who thither sent + Those chosen workmen that for timber went. + + LXXV + And now the axe raged in the forest wild, + The echo sighed in the groves unseen, + The weeping nymphs fled from their bowers exiled, + Down fell the shady tops of shaking treen, + Down came the sacred palms, the ashes wild, + The funeral cypress, holly ever green, + The weeping fir, thick beech, and sailing pine, + The married elm fell with his fruitful vine. + + LXXVI + The shooter grew, the broad-leaved sycamore, + The barren plantain, and the walnut sound, + The myrrh, that her foul sin doth still deplore, + The alder owner of all waterish ground, + Sweet juniper, whose shadow hurteth sore, + Proud cedar, oak, the king of forests crowned; + Thus fell the trees, with noise the deserts roar; + The beasts, their caves, the birds, their nests forlore. + + + + FOURTH BOOK + + THE ARGUMENT. + Satan his fiends and spirits assembleth all, + And sends them forth to work the Christians woe, + False Hidraort their aid from hell doth call, + And sends Armida to entrap his foe: + She tells her birth, her fortune, and her fall, + Asks aid, allures and wins the worthies so + That they consent her enterprise to prove; + She wins them with deceit, craft, beauty, love. + + + I + While thus their work went on with lucky speed, + And reared rams their horned fronts advance, + The Ancient Foe to man, and mortal seed, + His wannish eyes upon them bent askance; + And when he saw their labors well succeed, + He wept for rage, and threatened dire mischance. + He choked his curses, to himself he spake, + Such noise wild bulls that softly bellow make. + + II + At last resolving in his damned thought + To find some let to stop their warlike feat, + He gave command his princes should be brought + Before the throne of his infernal seat. + O fool! as if it were a thing of naught + God to resist, or change his purpose great, + Who on his foes doth thunder in his ire, + Whose arrows hailstones he and coals of fire. + + III + The dreary trumpet blew a dreadful blast, + And rumbled through the lands and kingdoms under, + Through wasteness wide it roared, and hollows vast, + And filled the deep with horror, fear and wonder, + Not half so dreadful noise the tempests cast, + That fall from skies with storms of hail and thunder, + Not half so loud the whistling winds do sing, + Broke from the earthen prisons of their King. + + IV + The peers of Pluto's realm assembled been + Amid the palace of their angry King, + In hideous forms and shapes, tofore unseen, + That fear, death, terror and amazement bring, + With ugly paws some trample on the green, + Some gnaw the snakes that on their shoulders hing, + And some their forked tails stretch forth on high, + And tear the twinkling stars from trembling sky. + + V + There were Silenus' foul and loathsome route, + There Sphinxes, Centaurs, there were Gorgons fell, + There howling Scillas, yawling round about, + There serpents hiss, there seven-mouthed Hydras yell, + Chimera there spues fire and brimstone out, + And Polyphemus blind supporteth hell, + Besides ten thousand monsters therein dwells + Misshaped, unlike themselves, and like naught else. + + VI + About their princes each took his wonted seat + On thrones red-hot, ybuilt of burning brass, + Pluto in middest heaved his trident great, + Of rusty iron huge that forged was, + The rocks on which the salt sea billows beat, + And Atlas' tops, the clouds in height that pass, + Compared to his huge person mole-hills be, + So his rough front, his horns so lifted he. + + VII + The tyrant proud frowned from his lofty cell, + And with his looks made all his monsters tremble, + His eyes, that full of rage and venom swell, + Two beacons seem, that men to arms assemble, + His feltered locks, that on his bosom fell, + On rugged mountains briars and thorns resemble, + His yawning mouth, that foamed clotted blood, + Gaped like a whirlpool wide in Stygian flood. + + VIII + And as Mount Etna vomits sulphur out, + With cliffs of burning crags, and fire and smoke, + So from his mouth flew kindled coals about, + Hot sparks and smells that man and beast would choke, + The gnarring porter durst not whine for doubt; + Still were the Furies, while their sovereign spoke, + And swift Cocytus stayed his murmur shrill, + While thus the murderer thundered out his will: + + IX + "Ye powers infernal, worthier far to sit + About the sun, whence you your offspring take, + With me that whilom, through the welkin flit, + Down tumbled headlong to this empty lake; + Our former glory still remember it, + Our bold attempts and war we once did make + Gainst him, that rules above the starry sphere, + For which like traitors we lie damned here. + + X + "And now instead of clear and gladsome sky, + Of Titan's brightness, that so glorious is, + In this deep darkness lo we helpless lie, + Hopeless again to joy our former bliss, + And more, which makes my griefs to multiply, + That sinful creature man, elected is; + And in our place the heavens possess he must, + Vile man, begot of clay, and born of dust. + + XI + "Nor this sufficed, but that he also gave + His only Son, his darling to be slain, + To conquer so, hell, death, sin and the grave, + And man condemned to restore again, + He brake our prisons and would algates save + The souls there here should dwell in woe and pain, + And now in heaven with him they live always + With endless glory crowned, and lasting praise. + + XII + "But why recount I thus our passed harms? + Remembrance fresh makes weakened sorrows strong, + Expulsed were we with injurious arms + From those due honors, us of right belong. + But let us leave to speak of these alarms, + And bend our forces gainst our present wrong: + Ah! see you not, how he attempted hath + To bring all lands, all nations to his faith? + + XIII + "Then, let us careless spend the day and night, + Without regard what haps, what comes or goes, + Let Asia subject be to Christians' might, + A prey he Sion to her conquering foes, + Let her adore again her Christ aright, + Who her before all nations whilom chose; + In brazen tables he his lore ywrit, + And let all tongues and lands acknowledge it. + + XIV + "So shall our sacred altars all be his, + Our holy idols tumbled in the mould, + To him the wretched man that sinful is + Shall pray, and offer incense, myrrh and gold; + Our temples shall their costly deckings miss, + With naked walls and pillars freezing cold, + Tribute of souls shall end, and our estate, + Or Pluto reign in kingdoms desolate. + + XV + "Oh, he not then the courage perished clean, + That whilom dwelt within your haughty thought, + When, armed with shining fire and weapons keen, + Against the angels of proud Heaven we fought, + I grant we fell on the Phlegrean green, + Yet good our cause was, though our fortune naught; + For chance assisteth oft the ignobler part, + We lost the field, yet lost we not our heart. + + XVI + "Go then, my strength, my hope, my Spirits go, + These western rebels with your power withstand, + Pluck up these weeds, before they overgrow + The gentle garden of the Hebrews' land, + Quench out this spark, before it kindles so + That Asia burn, consumed with the brand. + Use open force, or secret guile unspied; + For craft is virtue gainst a foe defied. + + XVII + "Among the knights and worthies of their train, + Let some like outlaws wander uncouth ways, + Let some be slain in field, let some again + Make oracles of women's yeas and nays, + And pine in foolish love, let some complain + On Godfrey's rule, and mutinies gainst him raise, + Turn each one's sword against his fellow's heart, + Thus kill them all or spoil the greatest part." + + XVIII + Before his words the tyrant ended had, + The lesser devils arose with ghastly roar, + And thronged forth about the world to gad, + Each land they filled, river, stream and shore, + The goblins, fairies, fiends and furies mad, + Ranged in flowery dales, and mountains hoar, + And under every trembling leaf they sit, + Between the solid earth and welkin flit. + + XIX + About the world they spread forth far and wide, + Filling the thoughts of each ungodly heart + With secret mischief, anger, hate and pride, + Wounding lost souls with sin's empoisoned dart. + But say, my Muse, recount whence first they tried + To hurt the Christian lords, and from what part, + Thou knowest of things performed so long agone, + This latter age hears little truth or none. + + XX + The town Damascus and the lands about + Ruled Hidraort, a wizard grave and sage, + Acquainted well with all the damned rout + Of Pluto's reign, even from his tender age; + Yet of this war he could not figure out + The wished ending, or success presage, + For neither stars above, nor powers of hell, + Nor skill, nor art, nor charm, nor devil could tell. + + XXI + And yet he thought,--Oh, vain conceit of man, + Which as thou wishest judgest things to come!-- + That the French host to sure destruction ran, + Condemned quite by Heaven's eternal doom: + He thinks no force withstand or vanquish can + The Egyptian strength, and therefore would that some + Both of the prey and glory of the fight + Upon this Syrian folk would haply light. + + XXII + But for he held the Frenchmen's worth in prize, + And feared the doubtful gain of bloody war, + He, that was closely false and slyly war, + Cast how he might annoy them most from far: + And as he gan upon this point devise,-- + As counsellors in ill still nearest are,-- + At hand was Satan, ready ere men need, + If once they think, to make them do, the deed. + + XXIII + He counselled him how best to hunt his game, + What dart to cast, what net, what toil to pitch, + A niece he had, a nice and tender dame, + Peerless in wit, in nature's blessings rich, + To all deceit she could her beauty frame, + False, fair and young, a virgin and a witch; + To her he told the sum of this emprise, + And praised her thus, for she was fair and wise: + + XXIV + "My dear, who underneath these locks of gold, + And native brightness of thy lovely hue, + Hidest grave thoughts, ripe wit, and wisdom old, + More skill than I, in all mine arts untrue, + To thee my purpose great I must unfold, + This enterprise thy cunning must pursue, + Weave thou to end this web which I begin, + I will the distaff hold, come thou and spin. + + XXV + "Go to the Christians' host, and there assay + All subtle sleights that women use in love, + Shed brinish tears, sob, sigh, entreat and pray, + Wring thy fair hands, cast up thine eyes above, + For mourning beauty hath much power, men say, + The stubborn hearts with pity frail to move; + Look pale for dread, and blush sometime for shame, + In seeming truth thy lies will soonest frame. + + XXVI + "Take with the bait Lord Godfrey, if thou may'st; + Frame snares of look, strains of alluring speech; + For if he love, the conquest then thou hast, + Thus purposed war thou may'st with ease impeach, + Else lead the other Lords to deserts waste, + And hold them slaves far from their leader's reach:" + Thus taught he her, and for conclusion, saith, + "All things are lawful for our lands and faith." + + XXVII + The sweet Armida took this charge on hand, + A tender piece, for beauty, sex and age, + The sun was sunken underneath the land, + When she began her wanton pilgrimage, + In silken weeds she trusteth to withstand, + And conquer knights in warlike equipage, + Of their night ambling dame the Syrians prated, + Some good, some bad, as they her loved or hated. + + XXVIII + Within few days the nymph arrived there + Where puissant Godfrey had his tents ypight; + Upon her strange attire, and visage clear, + Gazed each soldier, gazed every knight: + As when a comet doth in skies appear, + The people stand amazed at the light; + So wondered they and each at other sought, + What mister wight she was, and whence ybrought. + + XXIX + Yet never eye to Cupid's service vowed + Beheld a face of such a lovely pride; + A tinsel veil her amber locks did shroud, + That strove to cover what it could not hide, + The golden sun behind a silver cloud, + So streameth out his beams on every side, + The marble goddess, set at Cnidos, naked + She seemed, were she unclothed, or that awaked. + + XXX + The gamesome wind among her tresses plays, + And curleth up those growing riches short; + Her spareful eye to spread his beams denays, + But keeps his shot where Cupid keeps his fort; + The rose and lily on her cheek assays + To paint true fairness out in bravest sort, + Her lips, where blooms naught but the single rose, + Still blush, for still they kiss while still they close. + + XXXI + Her breasts, two hills o'erspread with purest snow, + Sweet, smooth and supple, soft and gently swelling, + Between them lies a milken dale below, + Where love, youth, gladness, whiteness make their dwelling, + Her breasts half hid, and half were laid to show, + So was the wanton clad, as if this much + Should please the eye, the rest unseen, the touch. + + XXXII + As when the sunbeams dive through Tagus' wave, + To spy the store-house of his springtime gold, + Love-piercing thought so through her mantle drave, + And in her gentle bosom wandered bold; + It viewed the wondrous beauty virgins have, + And all to fond desire with vantage told, + Alas! what hope is left, to quench his fire + That kindled is by sight, blown by desire. + + XXXIII + Thus passed she, praised, wished, and wondered at, + Among the troops who there encamped lay, + She smiled for joy, but well dissembled that, + Her greedy eye chose out her wished prey; + On all her gestures seeming virtue sat, + Toward the imperial tent she asked the way: + With that she met a bold and lovesome knight, + Lord Godfrey's youngest brother, Eustace hight. + + XXXIV + This was the fowl that first fell in the snare, + He saw her fair, and hoped to find her kind; + The throne of Cupid had an easy stair, + His bark is fit to sail with every wind, + The breach he makes no wisdom can repair: + With reverence meet the baron low inclined, + And thus his purpose to the virgin told, + For youth, use, nature, all had made him bold. + + XXXV + "Lady, if thee beseem a stile so low, + In whose sweet looks such sacred beauty shine,-- + For never yet did Heaven such grace bestow + On any daughter born of Adam's line-- + Thy name let us, though far unworthy, know, + Unfold thy will, and whence thou art in fine, + Lest my audacious boldness learn too late + What honors due become thy high estate." + + XXXVI + "Sir Knight," quoth she, "your praises reach too high + Above her merit you commenden so, + A hapless maid I am, both born to die + And dead to joy, that live in care and woe, + A virgin helpless, fugitive pardie, + My native soil and kingdom thus forego + To seek Duke Godfrey's aid, such store men tell + Of virtuous ruth doth in his bosom dwell. + + XXXVII + "Conduct me then that mighty duke before, + If you be courteous, sir, as well you seem." + "Content," quoth he, "since of one womb ybore, + We brothers are, your fortune good esteem + To encounter me whose word prevaileth more + In Godfrey's hearing than you haply deem: + Mine aid I grant, and his I promise too, + All that his sceptre, or my sword, can do." + + XXXVIII + He led her easily forth when this was said, + Where Godfrey sat among his lords and peers, + She reverence did, then blushed, as one dismayed + To speak, for secret wants and inward fears, + It seemed a bashful shame her speeches stayed, + At last the courteous duke her gently cheers; + Silence was made, and she began her tale, + They sit to hear, thus sung this nightingale: + + XXXIX + "Victorious prince, whose honorable name + Is held so great among our Pagan kings, + That to those lands thou dost by conquest tame + That thou hast won them some content it brings; + Well known to all is thy immortal fame, + The earth, thy worth, thy foe, thy praises sings, + And Paynims wronged come to seek thine aid, + So doth thy virtue, so thy power persuade. + + XL + "And I though bred in Macon's heathenish lore, + Which thou oppressest with thy puissant might, + Yet trust thou wilt an helpless maid restore, + And repossess her in her father's right: + Others in their distress do aid implore + Of kin and friends; but I in this sad plight + Invoke thy help, my kingdom to invade, + So doth thy virtue, so my need persuade. + + XLI + "In thee I hope, thy succors I invoke, + To win the crown whence I am dispossest; + For like renown awaiteth on the stroke + To cast the haughty down or raise the opprest; + Nor greater glory brings a sceptre broke, + Than doth deliverance of a maid distrest; + And since thou canst at will perform the thing, + More is thy praise to make, than kill a king. + + XLII + "But if thou would'st thy succors due excuse, + Because in Christ I have no hope nor trust, + Ah yet for virtue's sake, thy virtue use! + Who scorneth gold because it lies in dust? + Be witness Heaven, if thou to grant refuse, + Thou dost forsake a maid in cause most just, + And for thou shalt at large my fortunes know, + I will my wrongs and their great treasons show. + + XLIII + "Prince Arbilan that reigned in his life + On fair Damascus, was my noble sire, + Born of mean race he was, yet got to wife + The Queen Chariclia, such was the fire + Of her hot love, but soon the fatal knife + Had cut the thread that kept their joys entire, + For so mishap her cruel lot had cast, + My birth, her death; my first day, was her last. + + XLIV + "And ere five years were fully come and gone + Since his dear spouse to hasty death did yield, + My father also died, consumed with moan, + And sought his love amid the Elysian fields, + His crown and me, poor orphan, left alone, + Mine uncle governed in my tender eild; + For well he thought, if mortal men have faith, + In brother's breast true love his mansion hath. + + XLV + "He took the charge of me and of the crown, + And with kind shows of love so brought to pass + That through Damascus great report was blown + How good, how just, how kind mine uncle was; + Whether he kept his wicked hate unknown + And hid the serpent in the flowering grass, + On that true faith did in his bosom won, + Because he meant to match me with his son. + + XLVI + "Which son, within short while, did undertake + Degree of knighthood, as beseemed him well, + Yet never durst he for his lady's sake + Break sword or lance, advance in lofty sell; + As fair he was, as Citherea's make, + As proud as he that signoriseth hell, + In fashions wayward, and in love unkind, + For Cupid deigns not wound a currish mind. + + XLVII + "This paragon should Queen Armida wed, + A goodly swain to be a princess' fere, + A lovely partner of a lady's bed, + A noble head a golden crown to wear: + His glosing sire his errand daily said, + And sugared speeches whispered in mine ear + To make me take this darling in mine arms, + But still the adder stopt her ears from charms. + + XLVIII + "At last he left me with a troubled grace, + Through which transparent was his inward spite, + Methought I read the story in his face + Of these mishaps that on me since have light, + Since that foul spirits haunt my resting-place, + And ghastly visions break any sleep by night, + Grief, horror, fear my fainting soul did kill, + For so my mind foreshowed my coming ill. + + XLIX + "Three times the shape of my dear mother came, + Pale, sad, dismayed, to warn me in my dream, + Alas, how far transformed from the same + Whose eyes shone erst like Titan's glorious beam: + 'Daughter,' she says, 'fly, fly, behold thy dame + Foreshows the treasons of thy wretched eame, + Who poison gainst thy harmless life provides:' + This said, to shapeless air unseen she glides. + + L + "But what avail high walls or bulwarks strong, + Where fainting cowards have the piece to guard? + My sex too weak, mine age was all to young, + To undertake alone a work so hard, + To wander wild the desert woods among, + A banished maid, of wonted ease debarred, + So grievous seemed, that liefer were my death, + And there to expire where first I drew my breath. + + LI + "I feared deadly evil if long I stayed, + And yet to fly had neither will nor power, + Nor durst my heart declare it waxed afraid, + Lest so I hasten might my dying hour: + Thus restless waited I, unhappy maid, + What hand should first pluck up my springing flower, + Even as the wretch condemned to lose his life + Awaits the falling of the murdering knife. + + LII + "In these extremes, for so my fortune would + Perchance preserve me to my further ill, + One of my noble father's servants old, + That for his goodness bore his child good will, + With store of tears this treason gan unfold, + And said; my guardian would his pupil kill, + And that himself, if promise made be kept, + Should give me poison dire ere next I slept. + + LIII + "And further told me, if I wished to live, + I must convey myself by secret flight, + And offered then all succours he could give + To aid his mistress, banished from her right. + His words of comfort, fear to exile drive, + The dread of death, made lesser dangers light: + So we concluded, when the shadows dim + Obscured the earth I should depart with him. + + LIV + "Of close escapes the aged patroness, + Blacker than erst, her sable mantle spread, + When with two trusty maids, in great distress, + Both from mine uncle and my realm I fled; + Oft looked I back, but hardly could suppress + Those streams of tears, mine eyes uncessant shed, + For when I looked on my kingdom lost, + It was a grief, a death, an hell almost. + + LV + "My steeds drew on the burden of my limbs, + But still my locks, my thoughts, drew back as fast, + So fare the men, that from the heaven's brims, + Far out to sea, by sudden storm are cast; + Swift o'er the grass the rolling chariot swims, + Through ways unknown, all night, all day we haste, + At last, nigh tired, a castle strong we fand, + The utmost border of my native land. + + LVI + "The fort Arontes was, for so the knight + Was called, that my deliverance thus had wrought, + But when the tyrant saw, by mature flight + I had escaped the treasons of his thought, + The rage increased in the cursed wight + Gainst me, and him, that me to safety brought, + And us accused, we would have poisoned + Him, but descried, to save our lives we fled. + + LVII + "And that in lieu of his approved truth, + To poison him I hired had my guide, + That he despatched, mine unbridled youth + Might rage at will, in no subjection tied, + And that each night I slept--O foul untruth!-- + Mine honor lost, by this Arontes' side: + But Heaven I pray send down revenging fire, + When so base love shall change my chaste desire. + + LVIII + "Not that he sitteth on my regal throne, + Nor that he thirst to drink my lukewarm blood, + So grieveth me, as this despite alone, + That my renown, which ever blameless stood, + Hath lost the light wherewith it always shone: + With forged lies he makes his tale so good, + And holds my subjects' hearts in such suspense, + That none take armor for their queen's defence. + + LIX + "And though he do my regal throne possess, + Clothed in purple, crowned with burnished gold; + Yet is his hate, his rancor, ne'er the less, + Since naught assuageth malice when 'tis old: + He threats to burn Arontes' forteress, + And murder him unless he yield the hold, + And me and mine threats not with war, but death, + Thus causeless hatred, endless is uneath. + + LX + "And so he trusts to wash away the stain, + And hide his shameful fact with mine offence, + And saith he will restore the throne again + To his late honor and due excellence, + And therefore would I should be algates slain, + For while I live, his right is in suspense, + This is the cause my guiltless life is sought, + For on my ruin is his safety wrought. + + LXI + "And let the tyrant have his heart's desire, + Let him perform the cruelty he meant, + My guiltless blood must quench the ceaseless fire + On which my endless tears were bootless spent, + Unless thou help; to thee, renowned Sire, + I fly, a virgin, orphan, innocent, + And let these tears that on thy feet distil, + Redeem the drops of blood, he thirsts to spill. + + LXII + "By these thy glorious feet, that tread secure + On necks of tyrants, by thy conquests brave, + By that right hand, and by those temples pure + Thou seek'st to free from Macon's lore, I crave + Help for this sickness none but thou canst cure, + My life and kingdom let thy mercy save + From death and ruin: but in vain I prove thee, + If right, if truth, if justice cannot move thee. + + LXIII + "Thou who dost all thou wishest, at thy will, + And never willest aught but what is right, + Preserve this guiltless blood they seek to spill; + Thine be my kingdom, save it with thy might: + Among these captains, lords, and knights of skill, + Appoint me ten, approved most in fight, + Who with assistance of my friends and kin, + May serve my kingdom lost again to win. + + LXIV + "For lo a knight, that had a gate to ward, + A man of chiefest trust about his king, + Hath promised so to beguile the guard + That me and mine he undertakes to bring + Safe, where the tyrant haply sleepeth hard + He counselled me to undertake this thing, + Of these some little succor to intreat, + Whose name alone accomplish can the feat." + + LXV + This said, his answer did the nymph attend, + Her looks, her sighs, her gestures all did pray him: + But Godfrey wisely did his grant suspend, + He doubts the worst, and that awhile did stay him, + He knows, who fears no God, he loves no friend, + He fears the heathen false would thus betray him: + But yet such ruth dwelt in his princely mind, + That gainst his wisdom, pity made him kind. + + LXVI + Besides the kindness of his gentle thought, + Ready to comfort each distressed wight, + The maiden's offer profit with it brought; + For if the Syrian kingdom were her right, + That won, the way were easy, which he sought, + To bring all Asia subject to his might: + There might he raise munition, arms and treasure + To work the Egyptian king and his displeasure. + + LXVII + Thus was his noble heart long time betwixt + Fear and remorse, not granting nor denying, + Upon his eyes the dame her lookings fixed, + As if her life and death lay on his saying, + Some tears she shed, with sighs and sobbings mixed, + As if her hopes were dead through his delaying; + At last her earnest suit the duke denayed, + But with sweet words thus would content the maid: + + LXVIII + "If not in service of our God we fought, + In meaner quarrel if this sword were shaken, + Well might thou gather in thy gentle thought, + So fair a princess should not be forsaken; + But since these armies, from the world's end brought, + To free this sacred town have undertaken, + It were unfit we turned our strength away, + And victory, even in her coming, stay. + + LXIX + "I promise thee, and on my princely word + The burden of thy wish and hope repose, + That when this chosen temple of the Lord, + Her holy doors shall to his saints unclose + In rest and peace; then this victorious sword + Shall execute due vengeance on thy foes; + But if for pity of a worldly dame + I left this work, such pity were my shame." + + LXX + At this the princess bent her eyes to ground, + And stood unmoved, though not unmarked, a space, + The secret bleeding of her inward wound + Shed heavenly dew upon her angel's face, + "Poor wretch," quoth she, "in tears and sorrows drowned, + Death be thy peace, the grave thy resting-place, + Since such thy hap, that lest thou mercy find + The gentlest heart on earth is proved unkind. + + LXXI + "Where none attends, what boots it to complain? + Men's froward hearts are moved with women's tears + As marble stones are pierced with drops of rain, + No plaints find passage through unwilling ears: + The tyrant, haply, would his wraith restrain + Heard he these prayers ruthless Godfrey hears, + Yet not thy fault is this, my chance, I see, + Hath made even pity, pitiless in thee. + + LXXII + "So both thy goodness, and good hap, denayed me, + Grief, sorrow, mischief, care, hath overthrown me, + The star that ruled my birthday hath betrayed me, + My genius sees his charge, but dares not own me, + Of queen-like state, my flight hath disarrayed me, + My father died, ere he five years had known me, + My kingdom lost, and lastly resteth now, + Down with the tree sith broke is every bough. + + LXXIII + "And for the modest lore of maidenhood, + Bids me not sojourn with these armed men, + O whither shall I fly, what secret wood + Shall hide me from the tyrant? or what den, + What rock, what vault, what cave can do me good? + No, no, where death is sure, it resteth then + To scorn his power and be it therefore seen, + Armida lived, and died, both like a queen." + + LXXIV + With that she looked as if a proud disdain + Kindled displeasure in her noble mind, + The way she came she turned her steps again, + With gesture sad but in disdainful kind, + A tempest railed down her cheeks amain, + With tears of woe, and sighs of anger's wind; + The drops her footsteps wash, whereon she treads, + And seems to step on pearls, or crystal beads. + + LXXV + Her cheeks on which this streaming nectar fell, + Stilled through the limbeck of her diamond eyes, + The roses white and red resembled well, + Whereon the rory May-dew sprinkled lies + When the fair morn first blusheth from her cell, + And breatheth balm from opened paradise; + Thus sighed, thus mourned, thus wept this lovely queen, + And in each drop bathed a grace unseen. + + LXXVI + Thrice twenty Cupids unperceived flew + To gather up this liquor, ere it fall, + And of each drop an arrow forged new, + Else, as it came, snatched up the crystal ball, + And at rebellious hearts for wildfire threw. + O wondrous love! thou makest gain of all; + For if she weeping sit, or smiling stand, + She bends thy bow, or kindleth else thy brand. + + LXXVII + This forged plaint drew forth unfeigned tears + From many eyes, and pierced each worthy's heart; + Each one condoleth with her that her hears, + And of her grief would help her bear the smart: + If Godfrey aid her not, not one but swears + Some tigress gave him suck on roughest part + Midst the rude crags, on Alpine cliffs aloft: + Hard is that heart which beauty makes not soft. + + LXXVIII + But jolly Eustace, in whose breast the brand + Of love and pity kindled had the flame, + While others softly whispered underhand, + Before the duke with comely boldness came: + "Brother and lord," quoth he, "too long you stand + In your first purpose, yet vouchsafe to frame + Your thoughts to ours, and lend this virgin aid: + Thanks are half lost when good turns are delayed. + + LXXIX + "And think not that Eustace's talk assays + To turn these forces from this present war, + Or that I wish you should your armies raise + From Sion's walls, my speech tends not so far: + But we that venture all for fame and praise, + That to no charge nor service bounden are, + Forth of our troop may ten well spared be + To succor her, which naught can weaken thee. + + LXXX + "And know, they shall in God's high service fight, + That virgins innocent save and defend: + Dear will the spoils be in the Heaven's sight, + That from a tyrant's hateful head we rend: + Nor seemed I forward in this lady's right, + With hope of gain or profit in the end; + But for I know he arms unworthy bears, + To help a maiden's cause that shuns or fears. + + LXXXI + "Ah! be it not pardie declared in France, + Or elsewhere told where courtesy is in prize, + That we forsook so fair a chevisance, + For doubt or fear that might from fight arise; + Else, here surrender I both sword and lance, + And swear no more to use this martial guise; + For ill deserves he to be termed a knight, + That bears a blunt sword in a lady's right." + + LXXXII + Thus parleyed he, and with confused sound, + The rest approved what the gallant said, + Their general their knights encompassed round, + With humble grace, and earnest suit they prayed: + "I yield," quoth he, "and it be happy found, + What I have granted, let her have your aid: + Yours be the thanks, for yours the danger is, + If aught succeed, as much I fear, amiss. + + LXXXIII + "But if with you my words may credit find, + Oh temper then this heat misguides you so!" + Thus much he said, but they with fancy blind, + Accept his grant, and let his counsel go. + What works not beauty, man's relenting mind + Is eath to move with plaints and shows of woe: + Her lips cast forth a chain of sugared words, + That captive led most of the Christian lords. + + LXXXIV + Eustace recalled her, and bespake her thus: + "Beauty's chief darling, let those sorrows be, + For such assistance shall you find in us + As with your need, or will, may best agree:" + With that she cheered her forehead dolorous, + And smiled for joy, that Phoebus blushed to see, + And had she deigned her veil for to remove, + The God himself once more had fallen in love. + + LXXXV + With that she broke the silence once again, + And gave the knight great thanks in little speech, + She said she would his handmaid poor remain, + So far as honor's laws received no breach. + Her humble gestures made the residue plain, + Dumb eloquence, persuading more than speech: + Thus women know, and thus they use the guise, + To enchant the valiant, and beguile the wise. + + LXXXVI + And when she saw her enterprise had got + Some wished mean of quick and good proceeding, + She thought to strike the iron that was hot, + For every action hath his hour of speeding: + Medea or false Circe changed not + So far the shapes of men, as her eyes spreading + Altered their hearts, and with her syren's sound + In lust, their minds, their hearts, in love she drowned. + + LXXXVII + All wily sleights that subtle women know, + Hourly she used, to catch some lover new. + None kenned the bent of her unsteadfast bow, + For with the time her thoughts her looks renew, + From some she cast her modest eyes below, + At some her gazing glances roving flew, + And while she thus pursued her wanton sport, + She spurred the slow, and reined the forward short. + + LXXXVIII + If some, as hopeless that she would be won, + Forebore to love, because they durst not move her, + On them her gentle looks to smile begun, + As who say she is kind if you dare prove her + On every heart thus shone this lustful sun, + All strove to serve, to please, to woo, to love her, + And in their hearts that chaste and bashful were, + Her eye's hot glance dissolved the frost of fear. + + LXXXIX + On them who durst with fingering bold assay + To touch the softness of her tender skin, + She looked as coy, as if she list not play, + And made as things of worth were hard to win; + Yet tempered so her deignful looks alway, + That outward scorn showed store of grace within: + Thus with false hope their longing hearts she fired, + For hardest gotten things are most desired. + + XC + Alone sometimes she walked in secret where, + To ruminate upon her discontent, + Within her eyelids sate the swelling tear, + Not poured forth, though sprung from sad lament, + And with this craft a thousand souls well near + In snares of foolish ruth and love she hent, + And kept as slaves, by which we fitly prove + That witless pity breedeth fruitless love. + + XCI + Sometimes, as if her hope unloosed had + The chains of grief, wherein her thoughts lay fettered, + Upon her minions looked she blithe and glad, + In that deceitful lore so was she lettered; + Not glorious Titan, in his brightness clad, + The sunshine of her face in lustre bettered: + For when she list to cheer her beauties so, + She smiled away the clouds of grief and woe. + + XCII + Her double charm of smiles and sugared words, + Lulled on sleep the virtue of their senses, + Reason shall aid gainst those assaults affords, + Wisdom no warrant from those sweet offences; + Cupid's deep rivers have their shallow fords, + His griefs, bring joys; his losses, recompenses; + He breeds the sore, and cures us of the pain: + Achilles' lance that wounds and heals again. + + XCIII + While thus she them torments twixt frost and fire, + Twixt joy and grief, twixt hope and restless fear, + The sly enchantress felt her gain the nigher, + These were her flocks that golden fleeces bear: + But if someone durst utter his desire, + And by complaining make his griefs appear, + He labored hard rocks with plaints to move, + She had not learned the gamut then of love. + + XCIV + For down she bet her bashful eyes to ground, + And donned the weed of women's modest grace, + Down from her eyes welled the pearls round, + Upon the bright enamel of her face; + Such honey drops on springing flowers are found + When Phoebus holds the crimson morn in chase; + Full seemed her looks of anger, and of shame; + Yet pity shone transparent through the same. + + XCV + If she perceived by his outward cheer, + That any would his love by talk bewray, + Sometimes she heard him, sometimes stopped her ear, + And played fast and loose the livelong day: + Thus all her lovers kind deluded were, + Their earnest suit got neither yea nor nay; + But like the sort of weary huntsmen fare, + That hunt all day, and lose at night the hare. + + XCVI + These were the arts by which she captived + A thousand souls of young and lusty knights; + These were the arms wherewith love conquered + Their feeble hearts subdued in wanton fights: + What wonder if Achilles were misled, + Of great Alcides at their ladies' sights, + Since these true champions of the Lord above + Were thralls to beauty, yielden slaves to lore. + + + + FIFTH BOOK + + THE ARGUMENT. + Gernando scorns Rinaldo should aspire + To rule that charge for which he seeks and strives, + And slanders him so far, that in his ire + The wronged knight his foe of life deprives: + Far from the camp the slayer doth retire, + Nor lets himself be bound in chains or gyves: + Armide departs content, and from the seas + Godfrey hears news which him and his displease. + + + I + While thus Armida false the knights misled + In wandering errors of deceitful love, + And thought, besides the champions promised, + The other lordlings in her aid to move, + In Godfrey's thought a strong contention bred + Who fittest were this hazard great to prove; + For all the worthies of the adventures' band + Were like in birth, in power, in strength of hand. + + II + But first the prince, by grave advice, decreed + They should some knight choose at their own election, + That in his charge Lord Dudon might succeed, + And of that glorious troop should take protection; + So none should grieve, displeased with the deed, + Nor blame the causer of their new subjection: + Besides, Godfredo showed by this device, + How much he held that regiment in price. + + III + He called the worthies then, and spake them so: + "Lordlings, you know I yielded to your will, + And gave you license with this dame to go, + To win her kingdom and that tyrant kill: + But now again I let you further know, + In following her it may betide yon ill; + Refrain therefore, and change this forward thought + For death unsent for, danger comes unsought. + + IV + "But if to shun these perils, sought so far, + May seem disgraceful to the place yon hold; + If grave advice and prudent counsel are + Esteemed detractors from your courage bold; + Then know, I none against his will debar, + Nor what I granted erst I now withhold; + But he mine empire, as it ought of right, + Sweet, easy, pleasant, gentle, meek and light. + + V + "Go then or tarry, each as likes him best, + Free power I grant you on this enterprise; + But first in Dudon's place, now laid in chest, + Choose you some other captain stout and wise; + Then ten appoint among the worthiest, + But let no more attempt this hard emprise, + In this my will content you that I have, + For power constrained is but a glorious slave." + + VI + Thus Godfrey said, and thus his brother spake, + And answered for himself and all his peers: + "My lord, as well it fitteth thee to make + These wise delays and cast these doubts and fears, + So 'tis our part at first to undertake; + Courage and haste beseems our might and years; + And this proceeding with so grave advice, + Wisdom, in you, in us were cowardice. + + VII + "Since then the feat is easy, danger none, + All set in battle and in hardy fight, + Do thou permit the chosen ten to gone + And aid the damsel:" thus devised the knight, + To make men think the sun of honor shone + There where the lamp of Cupid gave the light: + The rest perceive his guile, and it approve, + And call that knighthood which was childish love. + + VIII + But loving Eustace, that with jealous eye + Beheld the worth of Sophia's noble child, + And his fair shape did secretly envy, + Besides the virtues in his breast compiled, + And, for in love he would no company, + He stored his mouth with speeches smoothly filed, + Drawing his rival to attend his word; + Thus with fair sleight he laid the knight abord: + + IX + "Of great Bertoldo thou far greater heir, + Thou star of knighthood, flower of chivalry, + Tell me, who now shall lead this squadron fair, + Since our late guide in marble cold doth lie? + I, that with famous Dudon might compare + In all, but years, hoar locks, and gravity, + To whom should I, Duke Godfrey's brother, yield, + Unless to thee, the Christian army's shield? + + X + "Thee whom high birth makes equal with the best + Thine acts prefer both me and all beforn; + Nor that in fight thou both surpass the rest, + And Godfrey's worthy self, I hold in scorn; + Thee to obey then am I only pressed; + Before these worthies be thine eagle borne; + This honor haply thou esteemest light, + Whose day of glory never yet found night. + + XI + "Yet mayest thou further by this means display + The spreading wings of thy immortal fame; + I will procure it, if thou sayest not nay, + And all their wills to thine election frame: + But for I scantly am resolved which way + To bend my force, or where employ the same, + Leave me, I pray, at my discretion free + To help Armida, or serve here with thee." + + XII + This last request, for love is evil to hide, + Empurpled both his cheeks with scarlet red; + Rinaldo soon his passions had descried, + And gently smiling turned aside his head, + And, for weak Cupid was too feeble eyed + To strike him sure, the fire in him was dead; + So that of rivals was he naught afraid, + Nor cared he for the journey or the maid. + + XIII + But in his noble thought revolved he oft + Dudon's high prowess, death and burial, + And how Argantes bore his plumes aloft, + Praising his fortunes for that worthy's fall; + Besides, the knight's sweet words and praises soft + To his due honor did him fitly call, + And made his heart rejoice, for well he knew, + Though much he praised him, all his words were true. + + XIV + "Degrees," quoth he, "of honors high to hold, + I would them first deserve, and the desire; + And were my valor such as you have told, + Would I for that to higher place aspire: + But if to honors due raise me you would, + I will not of my works refuse the hire; + And much it glads me, that my power and might + Ypraised is by such a valiant knight. + + XV + "I neither seek it nor refuse the place, + Which if I get, the praise and thanks be thine." + Eustace, this spoken, hied thence apace + To know which way his fellows' hearts incline: + But Prince Gernando coveted the place, + Whom though Armida sought to undermine, + Gainst him yet vain did all her engines prove, + His pride was such, there was no place for love. + + XVI + Gernando was the King of Norway's son, + That many a realm and region had to guide, + And for his elders lands and crowns had won. + His heart was puffed up with endless pride: + The other boasts more what himself had done + Than all his ancestors' great acts beside; + Yet his forefathers old before him were + Famous in war and peace five hundred years. + + XVII + This barbarous prince, who only vainly thought + That bliss in wealth and kingly power doth lie, + And in respect esteemed all virtue naught + Unless it were adorned with titles high, + Could not endure, that to the place he sought + A simple knight should dare to press so nigh; + And in his breast so boiled fell despite, + That ire and wrath exiled reason quite. + + XVIII + The hidden devil, that lies in close await + To win the fort of unbelieving man, + Found entry there, where ire undid the gate, + And in his bosom unperceived ran; + It filled his heart with malice, strife and hate, + It made him rage, blaspheme, swear, curse and ban, + Invisible it still attends him near, + And thus each minute whispereth in his ear. + + XIX + What, shall Rinaldo match thee? dares he tell + Those idle names of his vain pedigree? + Then let him say, if thee he would excel, + What lands, what realms his tributaries be: + If his forefathers in the graves that dwell, + Were honored like thine that live, let see: + Oh how dares one so mean aspire so high, + Born in that servile country Italy? + + XX + Now, if he win, or if he lose the day, + Yet is his praise and glory hence derived, + For that the world will, to his credit, say, + Lo, this is he that with Gernando strived. + The charge some deal thee haply honor may, + That noble Dudon had while here he lived; + But laid on him he would the office shame, + Let it suffice, he durst desire the same. + + XXI + If when this breath from man's frail body flies + The soul take keep, or know the things done here, + Oh, how looks Dudon from the glorious skies? + What wrath, what anger in his face appear, + On this proud youngling while he bends his eyes, + Marking how high he doth his feathers rear? + Seeing his rash attempt, how soon he dare, + Though but a boy, with his great worth compare. + + XXII + He dares not only, but he strives and proves, + Where chastisement were fit there wins he praise: + One counsels him, his speech him forward moves; + Another fool approveth all he says: + If Godfrey favor him more than behoves, + Why then he wrongeth thee an hundred ways; + Nor let thy state so far disgraced be, + Now what thou art and canst, let Godfrey see. + + XXIII + With such false words the kindled fire began + To every vein his poisoned heart to reach, + It swelled his scornful heart, and forth it ran + At his proud looks, and too audacious speech; + All that he thought blameworthy in the man, + To his disgrace that would be each where preach; + He termed him proud and vain, his worth in fight + He called fool-hardise, rashness, madness right. + + XXIV + All that in him was rare or excellent, + All that was good, all that was princely found, + With such sharp words as malice could invent, + He blamed, such power has wicked tongue to wound. + The youth, for everywhere those rumors went, + Of these reproaches heard sometimes the sound; + Nor did for that his tongue the fault amend, + Until it brought him to his woful end. + + XXV + The cursed fiend that set his tongue at large, + Still bred more fancies in his idle brain, + His heart with slanders new did overcharge, + And soothed him still in his angry vein; + Amid the camp a place was broad and large, + Where one fair regiment might easily train; + And there in tilt and harmless tournament + Their days of rest the youths and gallants spent. + + XXVI + There, as his fortune would it should betide, + Amid the press Gernando gan retire, + To vomit out his venom unespied, + Wherewith foul envy did his heart inspire. + Rinaldo heard him as he stood beside, + And as he could not bridle wrath and ire, + "Thou liest," cried he loud, and with that word + About his head he tossed his flaming sword. + + XXVII + Thunder his voice, and lightning seemed his brand, + So fell his look, and furious was his cheer, + Gernando trembled, for he saw at hand + Pale death, and neither help nor comfort near, + Yet for the soldiers all to witness stand + He made proud sign, as though he naught did fear, + But bravely drew his little-helping blade, + And valiant show of strong resistance made. + + XXVIII + With that a thousand blades of burnished steel + Glistered on heaps like flames of fire in sight, + Hundreds, that knew not yet the quarrel weel, + Ran thither, some to gaze and some to fight: + The empty air a sound confused did feel + Of murmurs low, and outcries loud on height, + Like rolling waves and Boreas' angry blasts + When roaring seas against the rocks he casts. + + XXIX + But not for this the wronged warrior stayed + His just displeasure and incensed ire, + He cared not what the vulgar did or said, + To vengeance did his courage fierce aspire: + Among the thickest weapons way he made, + His thundering sword made all on heaps retire, + So that of near a thousand stayed not one, + But Prince Gernando bore the brunt alone. + + XXX + His hand, too quick to execute his wrath, + Performed all, as pleased his eye and heart, + At head and breast oft times he strucken hath, + Now at the right, now at the other part: + On every side thus did he harm and scath, + And oft beguile his sight with nimble art, + That no defence the prince of wounds acquits, + Where least he thinks, or fears, there most he hits. + + XXXI + Nor ceased be, till in Gernando's breast + He sheathed once or twice his furious blade; + Down fell the hapless prince with death oppressed, + A double way to his weak soul was made; + His bloody sword the victor wiped and dressed, + Nor longer by the slaughtered body stayed, + But sped him thence, and soon appeased hath + His hate, his ire, his rancor and his wrath. + + XXXII + Called by the tumult, Godfrey drew him near, + And there beheld a sad and rueful sight, + The signs of death upon his face appear, + With dust and blood his locks were loathly dight, + Sighs and complaints on each side might he hear, + Made for the sudden death of that great knight: + Amazed, he asked who durst and did so much; + For yet he knew not whom the fault would touch. + + XXXIII + Arnoldo, minion of the Prince thus slain, + Augments the fault in telling it, and saith, + This Prince murdered, for a quarrel vain, + By young Rinaldo in his desperate wrath, + And with that sword that should Christ's law maintain, + One of Christ's champions bold he killed hath, + And this he did in such a place and hour, + As if he scorned your rule, despised your power. + + XXXIV + And further adds, that he deserved death + By law, and law should inviolate, + That none offence could greater be uneath, + And yet the place the fault did aggravate: + If he escapes, that mischief would take breath, + And flourish bold in spite of rule and state; + And that Gernando's friends would venge the wrong, + Although to justice that did first belong, + + XXXV + And by that means, should discord, hate and strife + Raise mutinies, and what therefore ensueth: + Lastly he praised the dead, and still had rife + All words he thought could vengeance move or rut + Against him Tancred argued for life, + With honest reasons to excuse the youth: + The Duke heard all, but with such sober cheer, + As banished hope, and still increased fear. + + XXXVI + "Great Prince," quoth Tancred; "set before thine eyes + Rinaldo's worth and courage what it is, + How much our hope of conquest in him lies; + Regard that princely house and race of his; + He that correcteth every fault he spies, + And judgeth all alike, doth all amiss; + For faults, you know, are greater thought or less, + As is the person's self that doth transgress." + + XXXVII + Godfredo answered him; "If high and low + Of sovereign power alike should feel the stroke, + Then, Tancred, ill you counsel us, I trow; + If lords should know no law, as erst you spoke, + How vile and base our empire were you know, + If none but slaves and peasants bear the yoke; + Weak is the sceptre and the power is small + That such provisos bring annexed withal. + + XXXVIII + "But mine was freely given ere 'twas sought, + Nor that it lessened be I now consent; + Right well know I both when and where I ought + To give condign reward and punishment, + Since you are all in like subjection brought, + Both high and low obey, and be content." + This heard, Tancredi wisely stayed his words, + Such weight the sayings have of kings and lords. + + XXXIX + Old Raymond praised his speech, for old men think + They ever wisest seem when most severe, + "'Tis best," quoth he, "to make these great ones shrink, + The people love him whom the nobles fear: + There must the rule to all disorders sink, + Where pardons more than punishments appear; + For feeble is each kingdom, frail and weak, + Unless his basis be this fear I speak." + + XL + These words Tancredi heard and pondered well, + And by them wist how Godfrey's thoughts were bent, + Nor list he longer with these old men dwell, + But turned his horse and to Rinaldo went, + Who, when his noble foe death-wounded fell, + Withdrew him softly to his gorgeous tent; + There Tancred found him, and at large declared + The words and speeches sharp which late you heard. + + XLI + And said, "Although I wot the outward show + Is not true witness of the secret thought, + For that some men so subtle are, I trow, + That what they purpose most appeareth naught; + Yet dare I say Godfredo means, I know, + Such knowledge hath his looks and speeches wrought, + You shall first prisoner be, and then be tried + As he shall deem it good and law provide." + + XLII + With that a bitter smile well might you see + Rinaldo cast, with scorn and high disdain, + "Let them in fetters plead their cause," quoth he, + "That are base peasants, born of servile stain, + I was free born, I live and will die free + Before these feet be fettered in a chain: + These hands were made to shake sharp spears and swords, + Not to be tied in gyves and twisted cords. + + XLIII + "If my good service reap this recompense, + To be clapt up in close and secret mew, + And as a thief be after dragged from thence, + To suffer punishment as law finds due; + Let Godfrey come or send, I will not hence + Until we know who shall this bargain rue, + That of our tragedy the late done fact + May be the first, and this the second, act. + + XLIV + "Give me mine arms," he cried; his squire them brings, + And clad his head, and dressed in iron strong, + About his neck his silver shield he flings, + Down by his side a cutting sword there hung; + Among this earth's brave lords and mighty kings, + Was none so stout, so fierce, so fair, so young, + God Mars he seemed descending from his sphere, + Or one whose looks could make great Mars to fear. + + XLV + Tancredi labored with some pleasing speech + His spirits fierce and courage to appease; + "Young Prince, thy valor," thus he gan to preach, + "Can chastise all that do thee wrong, at ease, + I know your virtue can your enemies teach, + That you can venge you when and where you please: + But God forbid this day you lift your arm + To do this camp and us your friends such harm. + + XLVI + "Tell me what will you do? why would you stain + Your noble hands in our unguilty blood? + By wounding Christians, will you again + Pierce Christ, whose parts they are and members good? + Will you destroy us for your glory vain, + Unstayed as rolling waves in ocean flood? + Far be it from you so to prove your strength, + And let your zeal appease your rage at length. + + XLVII + "For God's love stay your heat, and just displeasure, + Appease your wrath, your courage fierce assuage, + Patience, a praise; forbearance, is a treasure; + Suffrance, an angel's is; a monster, rage; + At least you actions by example measure, + And think how I in mine unbridled age + Was wronged, yet I would not revengement take + On all this camp, for one offender's sake. + + XLVIII + "Cilicia conquered I, as all men wot, + And there the glorious cross on high I reared, + But Baldwin came, and what I nobly got + Bereft me falsely when I least him feared; + He seemed my friend, and I discovered not + His secret covetise which since appeared; + Yet strive I not to get mine own by fight, + Or civil war, although perchance I might. + + XLIX + "If then you scorn to be in prison pent, + If bonds, as high disgrace, your hands refuse; + Or if your thoughts still to maintain are bent + Your liberty, as men of honor use: + To Antioch what if forthwith you went? + And leave me here your absence to excuse, + There with Prince Boemond live in ease and peace, + Until this storm of Godfrey's anger cease. + + L + "For soon, if forces come from Egypt land, + Or other nations that us here confine, + Godfrey will beaten be with his own wand, + And feel he wants that valor great of thine, + Our camp may seem an arm without a hand, + Amid our troops unless thy eagle shine:" + With that came Guelpho and those words approved, + And prayed him go, if him he feared or loved. + + LI + Their speeches soften much the warrior's heart, + And make his wilful thoughts at last relent, + So that he yields, and saith he will depart, + And leave the Christian camp incontinent. + His friends, whose love did never shrink or start, + Preferred their aid, what way soe'er he went: + He thanked them all, but left them all, besides + Two bold and trusty squires, and so he rides. + + LII + He rides, revolving in his noble spright + Such haughty thoughts as fill the glorious mind; + On hard adventures was his whole delight, + And now to wondrous acts his will inclined; + Alone against the Pagans would he fight, + And kill their kings from Egypt unto Inde, + From Cynthia's hills and Nilus' unknown spring + He would fetch praise and glorious conquest bring. + + LIII + But Guelpho, when the prince his leave had take + And now had spurred his courser on his way, + No longer tarriance with the rest would make, + But tastes to find Godfredo, if he may: + Who seeing him approaching, forthwith spake, + "Guelpho," quoth he, "for thee I only stay, + For thee I sent my heralds all about, + In every tent to seek and find thee out." + + LIV + This said, he softly drew the knight aside + Where none might hear, and then bespake him thus: + "How chanceth it thy nephew's rage and pride, + Makes him so far forget himself and us? + Hardly could I believe what is betide, + A murder done for cause so frivolous, + How I have loved him, thou and all can tell; + But Godfrey loved him but whilst he did well. + + LV + "I must provide that every one have right, + That all be heard, each cause be well discussed, + As far from partial love as free from spite, + I hear complaints, yet naught but proves I trust: + Now if Rinaldo weigh our rule too light, + And have the sacred lore of war so brust, + Take you the charge that he before us come + To clear himself and hear our upright dome. + + LVI + "But let him come withouten bond or chain, + For still my thoughts to do him grace are framed; + But if our power he haply shall disdain, + As well I know his courage yet untamed, + To bring him by persuasion take some pain: + Else, if I prove severe, both you be blamed, + That forced my gentle nature gainst my thought + To rigor, lest our laws return to naught." + + LVII + Lord Guelpho answered thus: "What heart can bear + Such slanders false, devised by hate and spite? + Or with stayed patience, reproaches hear, + And not revenge by battle or by fight? + The Norway Prince hath bought his folly dear, + But who with words could stay the angry knight? + A fool is he that comes to preach or prate + When men with swords their right and wrong debate. + + LVIII + "And where you wish he should himself submit + To hear the censure of your upright laws; + Alas, that cannot be, for he is flit + Out if this camp, withouten stay or pause, + There take my gage, behold I offer it + To him that first accused him in this cause, + Or any else that dare, and will maintain + That for his pride the prince was justly slain. + + LIX + "I say with reason Lord Gernando's pride + He hath abated, if he have offended + Gainst your commands, who are his lord and guide, + Oh pardon him, that fault shall be amended." + "If he be gone," quoth Godfrey, "let him ride + And brawl elsewhere, here let all strife be ended: + And you, Lord Guelpho, for your nephew's sake, + Breed us no new, nor quarrels old awake." + + LX + This while, the fair and false Armida strived + To get her promised aid in sure possession, + The day to end, with endless plaint she derived; + Wit, beauty, craft for her made intercession: + But when the earth was once of light deprived, + And western seas felt Titan's hot impression, + 'Twixt two old knights, and matrons twain she went, + Where pitched was her fair and curious tent. + + LXI + But this false queen of craft and sly invention,-- + Whose looks, love's arrows were; whose eyes his quivers; + Whose beauty matchless, free from reprehension, + A wonder left by Heaven to after-livers,-- + Among the Christian lord had bred contention + Who first should quench his flames in Cupid's rivers, + While all her weapons and her darts rehearsed, + Had not Godfredo's constant bosom pierced. + + LXII + To change his modest thought the dame procureth, + And proffereth heaps of love's enticing treasure: + But as the falcon newly gorged endureth + Her keeper lure her oft, but comes at leisure; + So he, whom fulness of delight assureth + What long repentance comes of love's short pleasure, + Her crafts, her arts, herself and all despiseth, + So base affections fall, when virtue riseth. + + LXIII + And not one foot his steadfast foot was moved + Out of that heavenly path, wherein he paced, + Yet thousand wiles and thousand ways she proved, + To have that castle fair of goodness raised: + She used those looks and smiles that most behoved + To melt the frost which his hard heart embraced, + And gainst his breast a thousand shot she ventured, + Yet was the fort so strong it was not entered. + + LXIV + The dame who thought that one blink of her eye + Could make the chastest heart feel love's sweet pain, + Oh, how her pride abated was hereby! + When all her sleights were void, her crafts were vain, + Some other where she would her forces try, + Where at more ease she might more vantage gain, + As tired soldiers whom some fort keeps out, + Thence raise their siege, and spoil the towns about. + + LXV + But yet all ways the wily witch could find + Could not Tancredi's heart to loveward move, + His sails were filled with another wind, + He list no blast of new affection prove; + For, as one poison doth exclude by kind + Another's force, so love excludeth love: + These two alone nor more nor less the dame + Could win, the rest all burnt in her sweet flame. + + LXVI + The princess, though her purpose would not frame, + As late she hoped, and as still she would, + Yet, for the lords and knights of greatest name + Became her prey, as erst you heard it told, + She thought, ere truth-revealing time or frame + Bewrayed her act, to lead them to some hold, + Where chains and band she meant to make them prove, + Composed by Vulcan not by gentle love. + + LXVII + The time prefixed at length was come and past, + Which Godfrey had set down to lend her aid, + When at his feet herself to earth she cast, + "The hour is come, my Lord," she humbly said, + "And if the tyrant haply hear at last, + His banished niece hath your assistance prayed, + He will in arms to save his kingdom rise, + So shall we harder make this enterprise. + + LXVIII + "Before report can bring the tyrant news, + Or his espials certify their king, + Oh let thy goodness these few champions choose, + That to her kingdom should thy handmaid bring; + Who, except Heaven to aid the right refuse, + Recover shall her crown, from whence shall spring + Thy profit; for betide thee peace or war, + Thine all her cities, all her subjects are." + + LXIX + The captain sage the damsel fair assured, + His word was passed and should not be recanted, + And she with sweet and humble grace endured + To let him point those ten, which late he granted: + But to be one, each one fought and procured, + No suit, no entreaty, intercession wanted; + There envy each at others' love exceeded, + And all importunate made, more than needed. + + LXX + She that well saw the secret of their hearts, + And knew how best to warm them in their blood, + Against them threw the cursed poisoned darts + Of jealousy, and grief at others' good, + For love she wist was weak without those arts, + And slow; for jealousy is Cupid's food; + For the swift steed runs not so fast alone, + As when some strain, some strive him to outgone. + + LXXI + Her words in such alluring sort she framed, + Her looks enticing, and her wooing smiles, + That every one his fellows' favors blamed, + That of their mistress he received erewhiles: + This foolish crew of lovers unashamed, + Mad with the poison of her secret wiles, + Ran forward still, in this disordered sort, + Nor could Godfredo's bridle rein them short. + + LXXII + He that would satisfy each good desire, + Withouten partial love, of every knight, + Although he swelled with shame, with grief and ire + To see these fellows and these fashions light; + Yet since by no advice they would retire, + Another way he sought to set them right: + "Write all your names," quoth he, "and see whom chance + Of lot, to this exploit will first advance." + + LXXIII + Their names were writ, and in an helmet shaken, + While each did fortune's grace and aid implore; + At last they drew them, and the foremost taken + The Earl of Pembroke was, Artemidore, + Doubtless the county thought his bread well baken; + Next Gerrard followed, then with tresses hoar + Old Wenceslaus, that felt Cupid's rage + Now in his doating and his dying age. + + LXXIV + Oh how contentment in their foreheads shined! + Their looks with joy; thoughts swelled with secret pleasure, + These three it seemed good success designed + To make the lords of love and beauty's treasure: + Their doubtful fellows at their hap repined, + And with small patience wait Fortune's leisure, + Upon his lips that read the scrolls attending, + As if their lives were on his words depending. + + LXXV + Guasco the fourth, Ridolpho him succeeds, + Then Ulderick whom love list so advance, + Lord William of Ronciglion next he reads, + Then Eberard, and Henry born in France, + Rambaldo last, whom wicked lust so leads + That he forsook his Saviour with mischance; + This wretch the tenth was who was thus deluded, + The rest to their huge grief were all excluded. + + LXXVI + O'ercome with envy, wrath and jealousy, + The rest blind Fortune curse, and all her laws, + And mad with love, yet out on love they cry, + That in his kingdom let her judge their cause: + And for man's mind is such, that oft we try + Things most forbidden, without stay or pause, + In spite of fortune purposed many a knight + To follow fair Armida when 'twas night. + + LXXVII + To follow her, by night or else by day, + And in her quarrel venture life and limb. + With sighs and tears she gan them softly pray + To keep that promise, when the skies were dim, + To this and that knight did she plain and say, + What grief she felt to part withouten him: + Meanwhile the ten had donned their armor best, + And taken leave of Godfrey and the rest. + + LXXVIII + The duke advised them every one apart, + How light, how trustless was the Pagan's faith, + And told what policy, what wit, what art, + Avoids deceit, which heedless men betray'th; + His speeches pierce their ear, but not their heart, + Love calls it folly, whatso wisdom saith: + Thus warned he leaves them to their wanton guide, + Who parts that night; such haste had she to ride. + + LXXIX + The conqueress departs, and with her led + These prisoners, whom love would captive keep, + The hearts of those she left behind her bled, + With point of sorrow's arrow pierced deep. + But when the night her drowsy mantle spread, + And filled the earth with silence, shade and sleep, + In secret sort then each forsook his tent, + And as blind Cupid led them blind they went. + + LXXX + Eustatio first, who scantly could forbear, + Till friendly night might hide his haste and shame, + He rode in post, and let his breast him bear + As his blind fancy would his journey frame, + All night he wandered and he wist not where; + But with the morning he espied the dame, + That with her guard up from a village rode + Where she and they that night had made abode. + + LXXXI + Thither he galloped fast, and drawing near + Rambaldo knew the knight, and loudly cried, + "Whence comes young Eustace, and what seeks he here?" + "I come," quoth he, "to serve the Queen Armide, + If she accept me, would we all were there + Where my good-will and faith might best be tried." + "Who," quoth the other, "choseth thee to prove + This high exploit of hers?" He answered, "Love." + + LXXXII + "Love hath Eustatio chosen, Fortune thee, + In thy conceit which is the best election?" + "Nay, then, these shifts are vain," replied he, + "These titles false serve thee for no protection, + Thou canst not here for this admitted be + Our fellow-servant, in this sweet subjection." + "And who," quoth Eustace, angry, "dares deny + My fellowship?" Rambaldo answered, "I." + + LXXXIII + And with that word his cutting sword he drew, + That glittered bright, and sparkled flaming fire; + Upon his foe the other champion flew, + With equal courage, and with equal ire. + The gentle princess, who the danger knew, + Between them stepped, and prayed them both retire. + "Rambald," quoth she, "why should you grudge or plain, + If I a champion, you an helper gain? + + LXXXIV + "If me you love, why wish you me deprived + In so great need of such a puissant knight? + But welcome Eustace, in good time arrived, + Defender of my state, my life, my right. + I wish my hapless self no longer lived, + When I esteem such good assistance light." + Thus talked they on, and travelled on their way + Their fellowship increasing every day. + + LXXXV + From every side they come, yet wist there none + Of others coming or of others' mind, + She welcomes all, and telleth every one, + What joy her thoughts in his arrival find. + But when Duke Godfrey wist his knights were gone, + Within his breast his wiser soul divined + Some hard mishap upon his friends should light, + For which he sighed all day, and wept all night. + + LXXXVI + A messenger, while thus he mused, drew near, + All soiled with dust and sweat, quite out of breath, + It seemed the man did heavy tidings bear, + Upon his looks sate news of loss and death: + "My lord," quoth he, "so many ships appear + At sea, that Neptune bears the load uneath, + From Egypt come they all, this lets thee weet + William Lord Admiral of the Genoa fleet, + + LXXXVII + "Besides a convoy coming from the shore + With victual for this noble camp of thine + Surprised was, and lost is all that store, + Mules, horses, camels laden, corn and wine; + Thy servants fought till they could fight no more, + For all were slain or captives made in fine: + The Arabian outlaws them assailed by night, + When least they feared, and least they looked for fight. + + LXXXVIII + "Their frantic boldness doth presume so far, + That many Christians have they falsely slain, + And like a raging flood they spared are, + And overflow each country, field and plain; + Send therefore some strong troops of men of war, + To force them hence, and drive them home again, + And keep the ways between these tents of thine + And those broad seas, the seas of Palestine." + + LXXXIX + From mouth to mouth the heavy rumor spread + Of these misfortunes, which dispersed wide + Among the soldiers, great amazement bred; + Famine they doubt, and new come foes beside: + The duke, that saw their wonted courage fled, + And in the place thereof weak fear espied, + With merry looks these cheerful words he spake, + To make them heart again and courage take. + + XC + "You champions bold, with me that 'scaped have + So many dangers, and such hard assays, + Whom still your God did keep, defend and save + In all your battles, combats, fights and frays, + You that subdued the Turks and Persians brave, + That thirst and hunger held in scorn always, + And vanquished hills, and seas, with heat and cold, + Shall vain reports appal your courage bold? + + XCI + "That Lord who helped you out at every need, + When aught befell this glorious camp amiss, + Shall fortune all your actions well to speed, + On whom his mercy large extended is; + Tofore his tomb, when conquering hands you spreed, + With what delight will you remember this? + Be strong therefore, and keep your valors high + To honor, conquest, fame and victory." + + XCII + Their hopes half dead and courage well-nigh lost, + Revived with these brave speeches of their guide; + But in his breast a thousand cares he tost, + Although his sorrows he could wisely hide; + He studied how to feed that mighty host, + In so great scarceness, and what force provide + He should against the Egyptian warriors sly, + And how subdue those thieves of Araby. + + + + SIXTH BOOK + + THE ARGUMENT. + Argantes calls the Christians out to just: + Otho not chosen doth his strength assay, + But from his saddle tumbleth in the dust, + And captive to the town is sent away: + Tancred begins new fight, and when both trust + To win the praise and palm, night ends the fray: + Erminia hopes to cure her wounded knight, + And from the city armed rides by night. + + + I + But better hopes had them recomforted + That lay besieged in the sacred town; + With new supply late were they victualled, + When night obscured the earth with shadows brown; + Their armes and engines on the walls they spread, + Their slings to cast, and stones to tumble down; + And all that side which to the northward lies, + High rampiers and strong bulwarks fortifies. + + II + Their wary king commands now here now there, + To build this tower, to make that bulwark strong, + Whether the sun, the moon, or stars appear, + To give them time to work, no time comes wrong: + In every street new weapons forged were, + By cunning smiths, sweating with labor long; + While thus the careful prince provision made, + To him Argantes came, and boasting said: + + III + "How long shall we, like prisoners in chains, + Captived lie inclosed within this wall? + I see your workmen taking endless pains + To make new weapons for no use at all; + Meanwhile these western thieves destroy the plains, + Your towns are burnt, your forts and castles fall, + Yet none of us dares at these gates out-peep, + Or sound one trumpet shrill to break their sleep. + + IV + "Their time in feasting and good cheer they spend, + Nor dare we once their banquets sweet molest, + The days and night likewise they bring to end, + In peace, assurance, quiet, ease and rest; + But we must yield whom hunger soon will shend, + And make for peace, to save our lives, request, + Else, if th' Egyptian army stay too long, + Like cowards die within this fortress strong. + + V + "Yet never shall my courage great consent + So vile a death should end my noble days, + Nor on mine arms within these walls ypent + To-morrow's sun shall spread his timely rays: + Let sacred Heavens dispose as they are bent + Of this frail life, yet not withouten praise + Of valor, prowess, might, Argantes shall + Inglorious die, or unrevenged fall. + + VI + "But if the roots of wonted chivalry + Be not quite dead your princely breast within, + Devise not how with frame and praise to die, + But how to live, to conquer and to win; + Let us together at these gates outfly, + And skirmish bold and bloody fight begin; + For when last need to desperation driveth, + Who dareth most he wisest counsel giveth. + + VII + "But if in field your wisdom dare not venture + To hazard all your troops to doubtful fight, + Then bind yourself to Godfrey by indenture, + To end your quarrels by one single knight: + And for the Christian this accord shall enter + With better will, say such you know your right + That he the weapons, place and time shall choose, + And let him for his best, that vantage use. + + VIII + "For though your foe had hands, like Hector strong, + With heart unfeared, and courage stern and stout, + Yet no misfortune can your justice wrong, + And what that wanteth, shall this arm help out, + In spite of fate shall this right hand ere long, + Return victorious: if hereof you doubt, + Take it for pledge, wherein if trust you have, + It shall yourself defend and kingdom save." + + IX + "Bold youth," the tyrant thus began to speak, + "Although I withered seem with age and years, + Yet are not these old arms so faint and weak, + Nor this hoar head so full of doubts and fears + But whenas death this vital thread shall break, + He shall my courage hear, my death who hears: + And Aladine that lived a king and knight, + To his fair morn will have an evening bright. + + X + "But that which yet I would have further blazed, + To thee in secret shall be told and spoken, + Great Soliman of Nice, so far ypraised, + To be revenged for his sceptre broken, + The men of arms of Araby hath raised, + From Inde to Africk, and, when we give token, + Attends the favor of the friendly night + To victual us, and with our foes to fight. + + XI + "Now though Godfredo hold by warlike feat + Some castles poor and forts in vile oppression, + Care not for that; for still our princely seat, + This stately town, we keep in our possession, + But thou appease and calm that courage great, + Which in thy bosom make so hot impression; + And stay fit time, which will betide ere long, + To increase thy glory, and revenge our wrong." + + XII + The Saracen at this was inly spited, + Who Soliman's great worth had long envied, + To hear him praised thus he naught delighted, + Nor that the king upon his aid relied: + "Within your power, sir king," he says, "united + Are peace and war, nor shall that be denied; + But for the Turk and his Arabian band, + He lost his own, shall he defend your land? + + XIII + "Perchance he comes some heavenly messenger, + Sent down to set the Pagan people free, + Then let Argantes for himself take care, + This sword, I trust, shall well safe-conduct me: + But while you rest and all your forces spare, + That I go forth to war at least agree; + Though not your champion, yet a private knight, + I will some Christian prove in single fight." + + XIV + The king replied, "Though thy force and might + Should be reserved to better time and use; + Yet that thou challenge some renowned knight, + Among the Christians bold I not refuse." + The warrior breathing out desire of fight, + An herald called, and said, "Go tell those news + To Godfrey's self, and to the western lords, + And in their hearings boldly say these words: + + XV + "Say that a knight, who holds in great disdain + To be thus closed up in secret mew, + Will with his sword in open field maintain, + If any dare deny his words for true, + That no devotion, as they falsely feign, + Hath moved the French these countries to subdue; + But vile ambition, and pride's hateful vice, + Desire of rule, and spoil, and covetice. + + XVI + "And that to fight I am not only prest + With one or two that dare defend the cause, + But come the fourth or fifth, come all the rest, + Come all that will, and all that weapon draws, + Let him that yields obey the victor's hest, + As wills the lore of mighty Mars his laws:" + This was the challenge that fierce Pagan sent, + The herald donned his coat-of-arms, and went. + + XVII + And when the man before the presence came + Of princely Godfrey, and his captains bold: + "My Lord," quoth he, "may I withouten blame + Before your Grace, my message brave unfold?" + "Thou mayest," he answered, "we approve the same; + Withouten fear, be thine ambassage told." + "Then," quoth the herald, "shall your highness see, + If this ambassage sharp or pleasing be." + + XVIII + The challenge gan he then at large expose, + With mighty threats, high terms and glorious words; + On every side an angry murmur rose, + To wrath so moved were the knights and lords. + Then Godfrey spake, and said, "The man hath chose + An hard exploit, but when he feels our swords, + I trust we shall so far entreat the knight, + As to excuse the fourth or fifth of fight. + + XIX + "But let him come and prove, the field I grant, + Nor wrong nor treason let him doubt or fear, + Some here shall pay him for his glorious vaunt, + Without or guile, or vantage, that I swear. + The herald turned when he had ended scant, + And hasted back the way he came whileare, + Nor stayed he aught, nor once forslowed his pace, + Till he bespake Argantes face to face. + + XX + "Arm you, my lord," he said, "your bold defies + By your brave foes accepted boldly been, + This combat neither high nor low denies, + Ten thousand wish to meet you on the green; + A thousand frowned with angry flaming eyes, + And shaked for rage their swords and weapons keen; + The field is safely granted by their guide," + This said, the champion for his armor cried. + + XXI + While he was armed, his heart for ire nigh brake, + So yearned his courage hot his foes to find: + The King to fair Clorinda present spake; + "If he go forth, remain not you behind, + But of our soldiers best a thousand take, + To guard his person and your own assigned; + Yet let him meet alone the Christian knight, + And stand yourself aloof, while they two fight." + + XXII + Thus spake the King, and soon without abode + The troop went forth in shining armor clad, + Before the rest the Pagan champion rode, + His wonted arms and ensigns all he had: + A goodly plain displayed wide and broad, + Between the city and the camp was spread, + A place like that wherein proud Rome beheld + The forward young men manage spear and shield. + + XXIII + There all alone Argantes took his stand, + Defying Christ and all his servants true, + In stature, stomach, and in strength of hand, + In pride, presumption, and in dreadful show, + Encelade like, on the Phlegrean strand, + Or that huge giant Jesse's infant slew; + But his fierce semblant they esteemed light, + For most not knew, or else not feared his might. + + XXIV + As yet not one had Godfrey singled out + To undertake this hardy enterprise, + But on Prince Tancred saw he all the rout + Had fixed their wishes, and had cast their eyes, + On him he spied them gazing round about, + As though their honor on his prowess lies, + And now they whispered louder what they meant, + Which Godfrey heard and saw, and was content. + + XXV + The rest gave place; for every one descried + To whom their chieftain's will did most incline, + "Tancred," quoth he, "I pray thee calm the pride, + Abate the rage of yonder Saracine:" + No longer would the chosen champion bide, + His face with joy, his eyes with gladness shine, + His helm he took, and ready steed bestrode, + And guarded with his trusty friends forth rode. + + XXVI + But scantly had he spurred his courser swift + Near to the plain, where proud Argantes stayed, + When unawares his eyes he chanced to lift, + And on the hill beheld the warlike maid, + As white as snow upon the Alpine clift + The virgin shone in silver arms arrayed, + Her vental up so high, that he descried + Her goodly visage, and her beauty's pride. + + XXVII + He saw not where the Pagan stood, and stared, + As if with looks he would his foeman kill, + But full of other thoughts he forward fared, + And sent his looks before him up the hill, + His gesture such his troubled soul declared, + At last as marble rock he standeth still, + Stone cold without; within, burnt with love's flame, + And quite forgot himself, and why he came. + + XXVIII + The challenger, that yet saw none appear + That made or sign or show he came to just, + "How long," cried he, "shall I attend you here? + Dares none come forth? dares none his fortune trust?" + The other stood amazed, love stopped his ear, + He thinks on Cupid, think of Mars who lust; + But forth stert Otho bold, and took the field, + A gentle knight whom God from danger shield. + + XXIX + This youth was one of those, who late desired + With that vain-glorious boaster to have fought, + But Tancred chosen, he and all retired; + Now when his slackness he awhile admired, + And saw elsewhere employed was his thought, + Nor that to just, though chosen, once he proffered, + He boldly took that fit occasion offered. + + XXX + No tiger, panther, spotted leopard, + Runs half so swift, the forests wild among, + As this young champion hasted thitherward, + Where he attending saw the Pagan strong: + Tancredi started with the noise he heard, + As waked from sleep, where he had dreamed long, + "Oh stay," he cried, "to me belongs this war!" + But cried too late, Otho was gone too far. + + XXXI + Then full of fury, anger and despite, + He stayed his horse, and waxed red for shame, + The fight was his, but now disgraced quite + Himself he thought, another played his game; + Meanwhile the Saracen did hugely smite + On Otho's helm, who to requite the same, + His foe quite through his sevenfold targe did bear, + And in his breastplate stuck and broke his spear. + + XXXII + The encounter such, upon the tender grass, + Down from his steed the Christian backward fell; + Yet his proud foe so strong and sturdy was, + That he nor shook, nor staggered in his sell, + But to the knight that lay full low, alas, + In high disdain his will thus gan he tell, + "Yield thee my slave, and this thine honor be, + Thou may'st report thou hast encountered me." + + XXXIII + "Not so," quoth he, "pardy it's not the guise + Of Christian knights, though fall'n, so soon to yield; + I can my fall excuse in better wise, + And will revenge this shame, or die in field." + The great Circassian bent his frowning eyes, + Like that grim visage in Minerva's shield, + "Then learn," quoth he, "what force Argantes useth + Against that fool that proffered grace refuseth." + + XXXIV + With that he spurred his horse with speed and haste, + Forgetting what good knights to virtue owe, + Otho his fury shunned, and, as he passed, + At his right side he reached a noble blow, + Wide was the wound, the blood outstreamed fast, + And from his side fell to his stirrup low: + But what avails to hurt, if wounds augment + Our foe's fierce courage, strength and hardiment? + + XXXV + Argantes nimbly turned his ready steed, + And ere his foe was wist or well aware, + Against his side he drove his courser's head, + What force could he gainst so great might prepare? + Weak were his feeble joints, his courage dead, + His heart amazed, his paleness showed his care, + His tender side gainst the hard earth he cast, + Shamed, with the first fall; bruised, with the last. + + XXXVI + The victor spurred again his light-foot steed, + And made his passage over Otho's heart, + And cried, "These fools thus under foot I tread, + That dare contend with me in equal mart." + Tancred for anger shook his noble head, + So was he grieved with that unknightly part; + The fault was his, he was so slow before, + With double valor would he salve that sore. + + XXXVII + Forward he galloped fast, and loudly cried: + "Villain," quoth he, "thy conquest is thy shame, + What praise? what honor shall this fact betide? + What gain? what guerdon shall befall the same? + Among the Arabian thieves thy face go hide, + Far from resort of men of worth and fame, + Or else in woods and mountains wild, by night, + On savage beasts employ thy savage might." + + XXXVIII + The Pagan patience never knew, nor used, + Trembling for ire, his sandy locks he tore, + Out from his lips flew such a sound confused, + As lions make in deserts thick, which roar; + Or as when clouds together crushed and bruised, + Pour down a tempest by the Caspian shore; + So was his speech imperfect, stopped, and broken, + He roared and thundered when he should have spoken. + + XXXIX + But when with threats they both had whetted keen + Their eager rage, their fury, spite and ire, + They turned their steeds and left large space between + To make their forces greater, 'proaching nigher, + With terms that warlike and that worthy been: + O sacred Muse, my haughty thoughts inspire, + And make a trumpet of my slender quill + To thunder out this furious combat shrill. + + XL + These sons of Mavors bore, instead of spears, + Two knotty masts, which none but they could lift, + Each foaming steed so fast his master bears, + That never beast, bird, shaft flew half so swift; + Such was their fury, as when Boreas tears + The shattered crags from Taurus' northern clift, + Upon their helms their lances long they broke, + And up to heaven flew splinters, sparks and smoke. + + XLI + The shock made all the towers and turrets quake, + And woods and mountains all nigh hand resound; + Yet could not all that force and fury shake + The valiant champions, nor their persons wound; + Together hurtled both their steeds, and brake + Each other's neck, the riders lay on ground: + But they, great masters of war's dreadful art, + Plucked forth their swords and soon from earth up start. + + XLII + Close at his surest ward each warrior lieth, + He wisely guides his hand, his foot, his eye, + This blow he proveth, that defence he trieth, + He traverseth, retireth, presseth nigh, + Now strikes he out, and now he falsifieth, + This blow he wardeth, that he lets slip by, + And for advantage oft he lets some part + Discovered seem; thus art deludeth art. + + XLIII + The Pagan ill defenced with sword or targe, + Tancredi's thigh, as he supposed, espied + And reaching forth gainst it his weapon large, + Quite naked to his foe leaves his left-side; + Tancred avoideth quick his furious charge, + And gave him eke a wound deep, sore and wide; + That done, himself safe to his ward retired, + His courage praised by all, his skill admired. + + XLIV + The proud Circassian saw his streaming blood, + Down from his wound, as from a fountain, running, + He sighed for rage, and trembled as he stood, + He blamed his fortune, folly, want of cunning; + He lift his sword aloft, for ire nigh wood, + And forward rushed: Tancred his fury shunning, + With a sharp thrust once more the Pagan hit, + To his broad shoulder where his arm is knit. + + XLV + Like as a bear through pierced with a dart + Within the secret woods, no further flieth, + But bites the senseless weapon mad with smart, + Seeking revenge till unrevenged she dieth; + So mad Argantes fared, when his proud heart + Wound upon wound, and shame on shame espieth, + Desire of vengeance so o'ercame his senses, + That he forgot all dangers, all defences. + + XLVI + Uniting force extreme, with endless wrath, + Supporting both with youth and strength untired, + His thundering blows so fast about he layeth, + That skies and earth the flying sparkles fired; + His foe to strike one blow no leisure hath, + Scantly he breathed, though he oft desired, + His warlike skill and cunning all was waste, + Such was Argantes' force, and such his haste. + + XLVII + Long time Tancredi had in vain attended + When this huge storm should overblow and pass, + Some blows his mighty target well defended, + Some fell beside, and wounded deep the grass; + But when he saw the tempest never ended, + Nor that the Paynim's force aught weaker was, + He high advanced his cutting sword at length, + And rage to rage opposed, and strength to strength. + + XLVIII + Wrath bore the sway, both art and reason fail, + Fury new force, and courage new supplies, + Their armors forged were of metal frail, + On every side thereof, huge cantels flies, + The land was strewed all with plate and mail. + That, on the earth; on that, their warm blood lies. + And at each rush and every blow they smote + Thunder the noise, the sparks, seemed lightning hot. + + XLIX + The Christian people and the Pagans gazed, + On this fierce combat wishing oft the end, + Twixt hope and fear they stood long time amazed, + To see the knights assail, and eke defend, + Yet neither sign they made, nor noise they raised, + But for the issue of the fight attend, + And stood as still, as life and sense they wanted, + Save that their hearts within their bosoms panted. + + L + Now were they tired both, and well-nigh spent, + Their blows show greater will than power to wound; + But Night her gentle daughter Darkness, sent, + With friendly shade to overspread the ground, + Two heralds to the fighting champions went, + To part the fray, as laws of arms them bound + Aridens born in France, and wise Pindore, + The man that brought the challenge proud before. + + LI + These men their sceptres interpose, between + The doubtful hazards of uncertain fight; + For such their privilege hath ever been, + The law of nations doth defend their right; + Pindore began, "Stay, stay, you warriors keen, + Equal your honor, equal is your might; + Forbear this combat, so we deem it best, + Give night her due, and grant your persons rest. + + LII + "Man goeth forth to labor with the sun, + But with the night, all creatures draw to sleep, + Nor yet of hidden praise in darkness won + The valiant heart of noble knight takes keep:" + Argantes answered him, "The fight begun + Now to forbear, doth wound my heart right deep: + Yet will I stay, so that this Christian swear, + Before you both, again to meet me here." + + LIII + "I swear," quoth Tancred, "but swear thou likewise + To make return thy prisoner eke with thee; + Else for achievement of this enterprise, + None other time but this expect of me;" + Thus swore they both; the heralds both devise, + What time for this exploit should fittest be: + And for their wounds of rest and cure had need, + To meet again the sixth day was decreed. + + LIV + This fight was deep imprinted in their hearts + That saw this bloody fray to ending brought, + An horror great possessed their weaker parts, + Which made them shrink who on their combat thought: + Much speech was of the praise and high desarts + Of these brave champions that so nobly fought; + But which for knightly worth was most ypraised, + Of that was doubt and disputation raised. + + LV + All long to see them end this doubtful fray, + And as they favor, so they wish success, + These hope true virtue shall obtain the day, + Those trust on fury, strength and hardiness; + But on Erminia most this burden lay, + Whose looks her trouble and her fear express; + For on this dangerous combat's doubtful end + Her joy, her comfort, hope and life depend. + + LVI + Her the sole daughter of that hapless king, + That of proud Antioch late wore the crown, + The Christian soldiers to Tancredi bring, + When they had sacked and spoiled that glorious town; + But he, in whom all good and virtue spring, + The virgin's honor saved, and her renown; + And when her city and her state was lost, + Then was her person loved and honored most. + + LVII + He honored her, served her, and leave her gave, + And willed her go whither and when she list, + Her gold and jewels had he care to save, + And them restored all, she nothing missed, + She, that beheld this youth and person brave, + When, by this deed, his noble mind she wist, + Laid ope her heart for Cupid's shaft to hit, + Who never knots of love more surer knit. + + LVIII + Her body free, captivated was her heart, + And love the keys did of that prison bear, + Prepared to go, it was a death to part + From that kind Lord, and from that prison dear, + But thou, O honor, which esteemed art + The chiefest virtue noble ladies wear, + Enforcest her against her will, to wend + To Aladine, her mother's dearest friend. + + LIX + At Sion was this princess entertained, + By that old tyrant and her mother dear, + Whose loss too soon the woful damsel plained, + Her grief was such, she lived not half the year, + Yet banishment, nor loss of friends constrained + The hapless maid her passions to forbear, + For though exceeding were her woe and grief, + Of all her sorrows yet her love was chief. + + LX + The silly maid in secret longing pined, + Her hope a mote drawn up by Phoebus' rays, + Her love a mountain seemed, whereon bright shined + Fresh memory of Tancred's worth and praise, + Within her closet if her self she shrined, + A hotter fire her tender heart assays: + Tancred at last, to raise her hope nigh dead, + Before those walls did his broad ensign spread. + + LXI + The rest to view the Christian army feared, + Such seemed their number, such their power and might, + But she alone her troubled forehead cleared, + And on them spread her beauty shining bright; + In every squadron when it first appeared, + Her curious eye sought out her chosen knight; + And every gallant that the rest excels, + The same seems him, so love and fancy tells. + + LXII + Within the kingly palace builded high, + A turret standeth near the city's wall, + From which Erminia might at ease descry + The western host, the plains and mountains all, + And there she stood all the long day to spy, + From Phoebus' rising to his evening fall, + And with her thoughts disputed of his praise, + And every thought a scalding sigh did raise. + + LXIII + From hence the furious combat she surveyed, + And felt her heart tremble with fear and pain, + Her secret thoughts thus to her fancy said, + Behold thy dear in danger to be slain; + So with suspect, with fear and grief dismayed, + Attended she her darling's loss or gain, + And ever when the Pagan lift his blade, + The stroke a wound in her weak bosom made. + + LXIV + But when she saw the end, and wist withal + Their strong contention should eftsoons begin, + Amazement strange her courage did appal, + Her vital blood was icy cold within; + Sometimes she sighed, sometimes tears let fall, + To witness what distress her heart was in; + Hopeless, dismayed, pale, sad, astonished, + Her love, her fear; her fear, her torment bred. + + LXV + Her idle brain unto her soul presented + Death in an hundred ugly fashions painted, + And if she slept, then was her grief augmented, + With such sad visions were her thoughts acquainted; + She saw her lord with wounds and hurts tormented, + How he complained, called for her help, and fainted, + And found, awaked from that unquiet sleeping, + Her heart with panting sore; eyes, red with weeping. + + LXVI + Yet these presages of his coming ill, + Not greatest cause of her discomfort were, + She saw his blood from his deep wounds distil, + Nor what he suffered could she bide or bear: + Besides, report her longing ear did fill, + Doubling his danger, doubling so her fear, + That she concludes, so was her courage lost, + Her wounded lord was weak, faint, dead almost. + + LXVII + And for her mother had her taught before + The secret virtue of each herb that springs, + Besides fit charms for every wound or sore + Corruption breedeth or misfortune brings,-- + An art esteemed in those times of yore, + Beseeming daughters of great lords and kings-- + She would herself be surgeon to her knight, + And heal him with her skill, or with her sight. + + LXVIII + Thus would she cure her love, and cure her foe + She must, that had her friends and kinsfolk slain: + Some cursed weeds her cunning hand did know, + That could augment his harm, increase his pain; + But she abhorred to be revenged so, + No treason should her spotless person stain, + And virtueless she wished all herbs and charms + Wherewith false men increase their patients' harms. + + LXIX + Nor feared she among the bands to stray + Of armed men, for often had she seen + The tragic end of many a bloody fray; + Her life had full of haps and hazards been, + This made her bold in every hard assay, + More than her feeble sex became, I ween; + She feared not the shake of every reed, + So cowards are courageous made through need. + + LXX + Love, fearless, hardy, and audacious love, + Emboldened had this tender damsel so, + That where wild beasts and serpents glide and move + Through Afric's deserts durst she ride or go, + Save that her honor, she esteemed above + Her life and body's safety, told her no; + For in the secret of her troubled thought, + A doubtful combat, love and honor fought. + + LXXI + "O spotless virgin," Honor thus begun, + "That my true lore observed firmly hast, + When with thy foes thou didst in bondage won, + Remember then I kept thee pure and chaste, + At liberty now, where wouldest thou run, + To lay that field of princely virtue waste, + Or lose that jewel ladies hold so dear? + Is maidenhood so great a load to bear? + + LXXII + "Or deem'st thou it a praise of little prize, + The glorious title of a virgin's name? + That thou will gad by night in giglot wise, + Amid thine armed foes, to seek thy shame. + O fool, a woman conquers when she flies, + Refusal kindleth, proffers quench the flame. + Thy lord will judge thou sinnest beyond measure, + If vainly thus thou waste so rich a treasure." + + LXXIII + The sly deceiver Cupid thus beguiled + The simple damsel, with his filed tongue: + "Thou wert not born," quoth he, "in desert wild + The cruel bears and savage beasts among, + That you shouldest scorn fair Citherea's child, + Or hate those pleasures that to youth belong, + Nor did the gods thy heart of iron frame; + To be in love is neither sin nor shame. + + LXXIV + "Go then, go, whither sweet desire inviteth, + How can thy gentle knight so cruel be? + Love in his heart thy grief and sorrows writeth, + For thy laments how he complaineth, see. + Oh cruel woman, whom no care exciteth + To save his life, that saved and honored thee! + He languished, one foot thou wilt not move + To succor him, yet say'st thou art in love. + + LXXV + "No, no, stay here Argantes' wounds to cure, + And make him strong to shed thy darling's blood, + Of such reward he may himself assure, + That doth a thankless woman so much good: + Ah, may it be thy patience can endure + To see the strength of this Circassian wood, + And not with horror and amazement shrink, + When on their future fight thou hap'st to think? + + LXXVI + "Besides the thanks and praises for the deed, + Suppose what joy, what comfort shalt thou win, + When thy soft hand doth wholesome plaisters speed, + Upon the breaches in his ivory skin, + Thence to thy dearest lord may health succeed, + Strength to his limbs, blood to his cheeks so thin, + And his rare beauties, now half dead and more, + Thou may'st to him, him to thyself restore. + + LXXVII + "So shall some part of his adventures bold + And valiant acts henceforth be held as thine; + His dear embracements shall thee straight enfold, + Together joined in marriage rites divine: + Lastly high place of honor shalt thou hold + Among the matrons sage and dames Latine, + In Italy, a land, as each one tells, + Where valor true, and true religion dwells." + + LXXVIII + With such vain hopes the silly maid abused, + Promised herself mountains and hills of gold; + Yet were her thoughts with doubts and fears confused + How to escape unseen out of that hold, + Because the watchman every minute used + To guard the walls against the Christians bold, + And in such fury and such heat of war, + The gates or seld or never opened are. + + LXXIX + With strong Clorinda was Erminia sweet + In surest links of dearest friendship bound, + With her she used the rising sun to greet, + And her, when Phoebus glided under ground, + She made the lovely partner of her sheet; + In both their hearts one will, one thought was found; + Nor aught she hid from that virago bold, + Except her love, that tale to none she told. + + LXXX + That kept she secret, if Clorinda heard + Her make complaints, or secretly lament, + To other cause her sorrow she referred: + Matter enough she had of discontent, + Like as the bird that having close imbarred + Her tender young ones in the springing bent, + To draw the searcher further from her nest, + Cries and complains most where she needeth least. + + LXXXI + Alone, within her chamber's secret part, + Sitting one day upon her heavy thought, + Devising by what means, what sleight, what art, + Her close departure should be safest wrought, + Assembled in her unresolved heart + An hundred passions strove and ceaseless fought; + At last she saw high hanging on the wall + Clorinda's silver arms, and sighed withal: + + LXXXII + And sighing, softly to herself she said, + "How blessed is this virgin in her might? + How I envy the glory of the maid, + Yet envy not her shape, or beauty's light; + Her steps are not with trailing garments stayed, + Nor chambers hide her valor shining bright; + But armed she rides, and breaketh sword and spear, + Nor is her strength restrained by shame or fear. + + LXXXIII + "Alas, why did not Heaven these members frail + With lively force and vigor strengthen so + That I this silken gown and slender veil + Might for a breastplate and an helm forego? + Then should not heat, nor cold, nor rain, nor hail, + Nor storms that fall, nor blustering winds that blow + Withhold me, but I would both day and night, + In pitched field, or private combat fight. + + LXXXIV + "Nor haddest thou, Argantes, first begun + With my dear lord that fierce and cruel fight, + But I to that encounter would have run, + And haply ta'en him captive by my might; + Yet should he find, our furious combat done, + His thraldom easy, and his bondage light; + For fetters, mine embracements should he prove; + For diet, kisses sweet; for keeper, love. + + LXXXV + "Or else my tender bosom opened wide, + And heart though pierced with his cruel blade, + The bloody weapon in my wounded side + Might cure the wound which love before had made; + Then should my soul in rest and quiet slide + Down to the valleys of the Elysian shade, + And my mishap the knight perchance would move, + To shed some tears upon his murdered love. + + LXXXVI + "Alas! impossible are all these things, + Such wishes vain afflict my woful sprite, + Why yield I thus to plaints and sorrowings, + As if all hope and help were perished quite? + My heart dares much, it soars with Cupid's wings, + Why use I not for once these armors bright? + I may sustain awhile this shield aloft, + Though I be tender, feeble, weak and soft. + + LXXXVII + "Love, strong, bold, mighty never-tired love, + Supplieth force to all his servants true; + The fearful stags he doth to battle move, + Till each his horns in others' blood imbrue; + Yet mean not I the haps of war to prove, + A stratagem I have devised new, + Clorinda-like in this fair harness dight, + I will escape out of the town this night. + + LXXXVIII + "I know the men that have the gate to ward, + If she command dare not her will deny, + In what sort else could I beguile the guard? + This way is only left, this will I try: + O gentle love, in this adventure hard + Thine handmaid guide, assist and fortify! + The time, the hour now fitteth best the thing, + While stout Clorinda talketh with the king." + + LXXXIX + Resolved thus, without delay she went, + As her strong passion did her rashly guide, + And those bright arms, down from the rafter hent, + Within her closet did she closely hide; + That might she do unseen, for she had sent + The rest, on sleeveless errands from her side, + And night her stealths brought to their wished end, + Night, patroness of thieves, and lovers' friend. + + XC + Some sparkling fires on heaven's bright visage shone; + His azure robe the orient blueness lost, + When she, whose wit and reason both were gone, + Called for a squire she loved and trusted most, + To whom and to a maid, a faithful one, + Part of her will she told, how that in post + She would depart from Juda's king, and feigned + That other cause her sudden flight constrained. + + XCI + The trusty squire provided needments meet, + As for their journey fitting most should be; + Meanwhile her vesture, pendant to her feet, + Erminia doft, as erst determined she, + Stripped to her petticoat the virgin sweet + So slender was, that wonder was to see; + Her handmaid ready at her mistress' will, + To arm her helped, though simple were her skill. + + XCII + The rugged steel oppressed and offended + Her dainty neck, and locks of shining gold; + Her tender arm so feeble was, it bended + When that huge target it presumed to hold, + The burnished steel bright rays far off extended, + She feigned courage, and appeared bold; + Fast by her side unseen smiled Venus' son, + As erst he laughed when Alcides spun. + + XCIII + Oh, with what labor did her shoulders bear + That heavy burthen, and how slow she went! + Her maid, to see that all the coasts were clear, + Before her mistress, through the streets was sent; + Love gave her courage, love exiled fear, + Love to her tired limbs new vigor lent, + Till she approached where the squire abode, + There took they horse forthwith and forward rode. + + XCIV + Disguised they went, and by unused ways, + And secret paths they strove unseen to gone, + Until the watch they meet, which sore affrays + Their soldiers new, when swords and weapons shone + Yet none to stop their journey once essays, + But place and passage yielded every one; + For that bright armor, and that helmet bright, + Were known and feared, in the darkest night. + + XCV + Erminia, though some deal she were dismayed, + Yet went she on, and goodly countenance bore, + She doubted lest her purpose were bewrayed, + Her too much boldness she repented sore; + But now the gate her fear and passage stayed, + The heedless porter she beguiled therefore, + "I am Clorinda, ope the gate," she cried, + "Where as the king commands, this late I ride." + + XCVI + Her woman's voice and terms all framed been, + Most like the speeches of the princess stout, + Who would have thought on horseback to have seen + That feeble damsel armed round about? + The porter her obeyed, and she, between + Her trusty squire and maiden, sallied out, + And through the secret dales they silent pass, + Where danger least, least fear, least peril was. + + XCVII + But when these fair adventurers entered were + Deep in a vale, Erminia stayed her haste, + To be recalled she had no cause to fear, + This foremost hazard had she trimly past; + But dangers new, tofore unseen, appear, + New perils she descried, new doubts she cast. + The way that her desire to quiet brought, + More difficult now seemed than erst she thought. + + XCVIII + Armed to ride among her angry foes, + She now perceived it were great oversight, + Yet would she not, she thought, herself disclose, + Until she came before her chosen knight, + To him she purposed to present the rose + Pure, spotless, clean, untouched of mortal wight, + She stayed therefore, and in her thoughts more wise, + She called her squire, whom thus she gan advise. + + XCIX + "Thou must," quoth she, "be mine ambassador, + Be wise, be careful, true, and diligent, + Go to the camp, present thyself before + The Prince Tancredi, wounded in his tent; + Tell him thy mistress comes to cure his sore, + If he to grant her peace and rest consent + Gainst whom fierce love such cruel war hath raised, + So shall his wounds be cured, her torments eased. + + C + "And say, in him such hope and trust she hath, + That in his powers she fears no shame nor scorn, + Tell him thus much, and whatso'er he saith, + Unfold no more, but make a quick return, + I, for this place is free from harm and scath, + Within this valley will meanwhile sojourn." + Thus spake the princess: and her servant true + To execute the charge imposed, flew; + + CI + And was received, he so discreetly wrought, + First of the watch that guarded in their place, + Before the wounded prince then was he brought, + Who heard his message kind, with gentle grace, + Which told, he left him tossing in his thought + A thousand doubts, and turned his speedy pace + To bring his lady and his mistress word, + She might be welcome to that courteous lord. + + CII + But she, impatient, to whose desire + Grievous and harmful seemed each little stay, + Recounts his steps, and thinks, now draws he nigher, + Now enters in, now speaks, now comes his way; + And that which grieved her most, the careful squire + Less speedy seemed than e'er before that day; + Lastly she forward rode with love to guide, + Until the Christian tents at hand she spied. + + CIII + Invested in her starry veil, the night + In her kind arms embraced all this round, + The silver moon from sea uprising bright + Spread frosty pearl upon the candid ground: + And Cynthia-like for beauty's glorious light + The love-sick nymph threw glittering beams around, + And counsellors of her old love she made + Those valleys dumb, that silence, and that shade. + + CIV + Beholding then the camp, quoth she, "O fair + And castle-like pavilions, richly wrought! + From you how sweet methinketh blows the air, + How comforts it my heart, my soul, my thought? + Through heaven's fair face from gulf of sad despair + My tossed bark to port well-nigh is brought: + In you I seek redress for all my harms, + Rest, midst your weapons; peace, amongst your arms. + + CV + "Receive me, then, and let me mercy find, + As gentle love assureth me I shall, + Among you had I entertainment kind + When first I was the Prince Tancredi's thrall: + I covet not, led by ambition blind + You should me in my father's throne install, + Might I but serve in you my lord so dear, + That my content, my joy, my comfort were." + + CVI + Thus parleyed she, poor soul, and never feared + The sudden blow of Fortune's cruel spite, + She stood where Phoebe's splendent beam appeared + Upon her silver armor double bright, + The place about her round she shining cleared + With that pure white wherein the nymph was dight: + The tigress great, that on her helmet laid, + Bore witness where she went, and where she stayed. + + CVII + So as her fortune would, a Christian band + Their secret ambush there had closely framed, + Led by two brothers of Italia land, + Young Poliphern and Alicandro named, + These with their forces watched to withstand + Those that brought victuals to their foes untamed, + And kept that passage; them Erminia spied, + And fled as fast as her swift steed could ride. + + CVIII + But Poliphern, before whose watery eyes, + His aged father strong Clorinda slew, + When that bright shield and silver helm he spies, + The championess he thought he saw and knew; + Upon his hidden mates for aid he cries + Gainst his supposed foe, and forth he flew, + As he was rash, and heedless in his wrath, + Bending his lance, "Thou art but dead," he saith. + + CIX + As when a chased hind her course doth bend + To seek by soil to find some ease or goad; + Whether from craggy rock the spring descend, + Or softly glide within the shady wood; + If there the dogs she meet, where late she wend + To comfort her weak limbs in cooling flood, + Again she flies swift as she fled at first, + Forgetting weakness, weariness and thirst. + + CX + So she, that thought to rest her weary sprite, + And quench the endless thirst of ardent love + With dear embracements of her lord and knight, + But such as marriage rites should first approve, + When she beheld her foe, with weapon bright + Threatening her death, his trusty courser move, + Her love, her lord, herself abandoned, + She spurred her speedy steed, and swift she fled. + + CXI + Erminia fled, scantly the tender grass + Her Pegasus with his light footsteps bent, + Her maiden's beast for speed did likewise pass; + Yet divers ways, such was their fear, they went: + The squire who all too late returned, alas. + With tardy news from Prince Tancredi's tent, + Fled likewise, when he saw his mistress gone, + It booted not to sojourn there alone. + + CXII + But Alicandro wiser than the rest, + Who this supposed Clorinda saw likewise, + To follow her yet was he nothing pressed, + But in his ambush still and close he lies, + A messenger to Godfrey he addressed, + That should him of this accident advise, + How that his brother chased with naked blade + Clorinda's self, or else Clorinda's shade. + + CXIII + Yet that it was, or that it could be she, + He had small cause or reason to suppose, + Occasion great and weighty must it be + Should make her ride by night among her foes: + What Godfrey willed that observed he, + And with his soldiers lay in ambush close: + These news through all the Christian army went, + In every cabin talked, in every tent. + + CXIV + Tancred, whose thoughts the squire had filled with doubt + By his sweet words, supposed now hearing this, + Alas! the virgin came to seek me out, + And for my sake her life in danger is; + Himself forthwith he singled from the rout, + And rode in haste, though half his arms he miss; + Among those sandy fields and valleys green, + To seek his love, he galloped fast unseen. + + + + SEVENTH BOOK + + THE ARGUMENT. + A shepherd fair Erminia entertains, + Whom whilst Tancredi seeks in vain to find, + He is entrapped in Armida's trains: + Raymond with strong Argantes is assigned + To fight, an angel to his aid he gains: + Satan that sees the Pagan's fury blind, + And hasty wrath turn to his loss and harm, + Doth raise new tempest, uproar and alarm. + + + I + Erminia's steed this while his mistress bore + Through forests thick among the shady treen, + Her feeble hand the bridle reins forlore, + Half in a swoon she was, for fear I ween; + But her fleet courser spared ne'er the more, + To bear her through the desert woods unseen + Of her strong foes, that chased her through the plain, + And still pursued, but still pursued in vain. + + II + Like as the weary hounds at last retire, + Windless, displeased, from the fruitless chase, + When the sly beast tapished in bush and brier, + No art nor pains can rouse out of his place: + The Christian knights so full of shame and ire + Returned back, with faint and weary pace: + Yet still the fearful dame fled swift as wind, + Nor ever stayed, nor ever looked behind. + + III + Through thick and thin, all night, all day, she drived, + Withouten comfort, company, or guide, + Her plaints and tears with every thought revived, + She heard and saw her griefs, but naught beside: + But when the sun his burning chariot dived + In Thetis' wave, and weary team untied, + On Jordan's sandy banks her course she stayed + At last, there down she light, and down she laid. + + IV + Her tears, her drink; her food, her sorrowings, + This was her diet that unhappy night: + But sleep, that sweet repose and quiet brings, + To ease the griefs of discontented wight, + Spread forth his tender, soft, and nimble wings, + In his dull arms folding the virgin bright; + And Love, his mother, and the Graces kept + Strong watch and ward, while this fair lady slept. + + V + The birds awaked her with their morning song, + Their warbling music pierced her tender ear, + The murmuring brooks and whistling winds among + The rattling boughs and leaves, their parts did bear; + Her eyes unclosed beheld the groves along + Of swains and shepherd grooms that dwellings were; + And that sweet noise, birds, winds and waters sent, + Provoked again the virgin to lament. + + VI + Her plaints were interrupted with a sound, + That seemed from thickest bushes to proceed, + Some jolly shepherd sung a lusty round, + And to his voice he tuned his oaten reed; + Thither she went, an old man there she found, + At whose right hand his little flock did feed, + Sat making baskets, his three sons among, + That learned their father's art, and learned his song. + + VII + Beholding one in shining Arms appear, + The seely man and his were sore dismay'd; + But sweet Erminia comforted their fear, + Her vental up, her visage open laid; + You happy folk, of heav'n beloved dear, + Work on, quoth she, upon your harmless trade; + These dreadful arms, I bear, no warfare bring + To your sweet toil, nor those sweet tunes you sing. + + VIII + "But, father, since this land, these towns and towers + Destroyed are with sword, with fire and spoil, + How may it be unhurt that you and yours + In safety thus apply your harmless toil?" + "My son," quoth he, "this poor estate of ours + Is ever safe from storm of warlike broil; + This wilderness doth us in safety keep, + No thundering drum, no trumpet breaks our sleep. + + IX + "Haply just Heaven's defence and shield of right + Doth love the innocence of simple swains, + The thunderbolts on highest mountains light, + And seld or never strike the lower plains; + So kings have cause to fear Bellona's might, + Not they whose sweat and toil their dinner gains, + Nor ever greedy soldier was enticed + By poverty, neglected and despised. + + X + "O poverty, chief of the heavenly brood, + Dearer to me than wealth or kingly crown: + No wish for honor, thirst of others' good, + Can move my heart, contented with mine own: + We quench our thirst with water of this flood, + Nor fear we poison should therein be thrown; + These little flocks of sheep and tender goats + Give milk for food, and wool to make us coats. + + XI + "We little wish, we need but little wealth, + From cold and hunger us to clothe and feed; + These are my sons, their care preserves from stealth + Their father's flocks, nor servants more I need: + Amid these groves I walk oft for my health, + And to the fishes, birds, and beasts give heed, + How they are fed, in forest, spring and lake, + And their contentment for example take. + + XII + "Time was, for each one hath his doating time, + These silver locks were golden tresses then, + That country life I hated as a crime, + And from the forest's sweet contentment ran, + And there became the mighty caliph's man, + and though I but a simple gardener were, + Yet could I mark abuses, see and hear. + + XIII + "Enticed on with hope of future gain, + I suffered long what did my soul displease; + But when my youth was spent, my hope was vain. + I felt my native strength at last decrease; + I gan my loss of lusty years complain, + And wished I had enjoyed the country's peace; + I bade the court farewell, and with content + My latter age here have I quiet spent." + + XIV + While thus he spake, Erminia hushed and still + His wise discourses heard, with great attention, + His speeches grave those idle fancies kill + Which in her troubled soul bred such dissension; + After much thought reformed was her will, + Within those woods to dwell was her intention, + Till Fortune should occasion new afford, + To turn her home to her desired lord. + + XV + She said therefore, "O shepherd fortunate! + That troubles some didst whilom feel and prove, + Yet livest now in this contented state, + Let my mishap thy thoughts to pity move, + To entertain me as a willing mate + In shepherd's life which I admire and love; + Within these pleasant groves perchance my heart, + Of her discomforts, may unload some part. + + XVI + "If gold or wealth, of most esteemed dear, + If jewels rich thou diddest hold in prize, + Such store thereof, such plenty have I here, + As to a greedy mind might well suffice:" + With that down trickled many a silver tear, + Two crystal streams fell from her watery eyes; + Part of her sad misfortunes then she told, + And wept, and with her wept that shepherd old. + + XVII + With speeches kind, he gan the virgin dear + Toward his cottage gently home to guide; + His aged wife there made her homely cheer, + Yet welcomed her, and placed her by her side. + The princess donned a poor pastoral's gear, + A kerchief coarse upon her head she tied; + But yet her gestures and her looks, I guess, + Were such as ill beseemed a shepherdess. + + XVIII + Not those rude garments could obscure and hide + The heavenly beauty of her angel's face, + Nor was her princely offspring damnified + Or aught disparaged by those labors base; + Her little flocks to pasture would she guide, + And milk her goats, and in their folds them place, + Both cheese and butter could she make, and frame + Herself to please the shepherd and his dame. + + XIX + But oft, when underneath the greenwood shade + Her flocks lay hid from Phoebus' scorching rays, + Unto her knight she songs and sonnets made, + And them engraved in bark of beech and bays; + She told how Cupid did her first invade, + How conquered her, and ends with Tancred's praise: + And when her passion's writ she over read, + Again she mourned, again salt tears she shed. + + XX + "You happy trees forever keep," quoth she, + "This woful story in your tender rind, + Another day under your shade maybe + Will come to rest again some lover kind; + Who if these trophies of my griefs he see, + Shall feel dear pity pierce his gentle mind;" + With that she sighed and said, "Too late I prove + There is no troth in fortune, trust in love. + + XXI + "Yet may it be, if gracious heavens attend + The earnest suit of a distressed wight, + At my entreat they will vouchsafe to send + To these huge deserts that unthankful knight, + That when to earth the man his eyes shall bend, + And sees my grave, my tomb, and ashes light, + My woful death his stubborn heart may move, + With tears and sorrows to reward my love. + + XXII + "So, though my life hath most unhappy been, + At least yet shall my spirit dead be blest, + My ashes cold shall, buried on this green, + Enjoy that good this body ne'er possessed." + Thus she complained to the senseless treen, + Floods in her eyes, and fires were in her breast; + But he for whom these streams of tears she shed, + Wandered far off, alas, as chance him led. + + XXIII + He followed on the footsteps he had traced, + Till in high woods and forests old he came, + Where bushes, thorns and trees so thick were placed, + And so obscure the shadows of the same, + That soon he lost the tract wherein he paced; + Yet went he on, which way he could not aim, + But still attentive was his longing ear + If noise of horse or noise of arms he hear. + + XXIV + If with the breathing of the gentle wind, + An aspen leaf but shaked on the tree, + If bird or beast stirred in the bushes blind, + Thither he spurred, thither he rode to see: + Out of the wood by Cynthia's favor kind, + At last, with travel great and pains, got he, + And following on a little path, he heard + A rumbling sound, and hasted thitherward. + + XXV + It was a fountain from the living stone, + That poured down clear streams in noble store, + Whose conduit pipes, united all in one, + Throughout a rocky channel ghastly roar; + Here Tancred stayed, and called, yet answered none, + Save babbling echo, from the crooked shore; + And there the weary knight at last espies + The springing daylight red and white arise. + + XXVI + He sighed sore, and guiltless heaven gan blame, + That wished success to his desire denied, + And sharp revenge protested for the same, + If aught but good his mistress fair betide; + Then wished he to return the way he came, + Although he wist not by what path to ride, + And time drew near when he again must fight + With proud Argantes, that vain-glorious knight. + + XXVII + His stalwart steed the champion stout bestrode + And pricked fast to find the way he lost, + But through a valley as he musing rode, + He saw a man that seemed for haste a post, + His horn was hung between his shoulders broad, + As is the guise with us: Tancredi crossed + His way, and gently prayed the man to say, + To Godfrey's camp how he should find the way. + + XXVIII + "Sir," in the Italian language answered he, + "I ride where noble Boemond hath me sent:" + The prince thought this his uncle's man should be, + And after him his course with speed he bent, + A fortress stately built at last they see, + Bout which a muddy stinking lake there went, + There they arrived when Titan went to rest + His weary limbs in night's untroubled nest. + + XXIX + The courier gave the fort a warning blast; + The drawbridge was let down by them within: + "If thou a Christian be," quoth he, "thou mayest + Till Phoebus shine again, here take thine inn, + The County of Cosenza, three days past, + This castle from the Turks did nobly win." + The prince beheld the piece, which site and art + Impregnable had made on every part. + + XXX + He feared within a pile so fortified + Some secret treason or enchantment lay, + But had he known even there he should have died, + Yet should his looks no sign of fear betray; + For wheresoever will or chance him guide, + His strong victorious hand still made him way: + Yet for the combat he must shortly make, + No new adventures list he undertake. + + XXXI + Before the castle, in a meadow plain + Beside the bridge's end, he stayed and stood, + Nor was entreated by the speeches vain + Of his false guide, to pass beyond the flood. + Upon the bridge appeared a warlike swain, + From top to toe all clad in armor good, + Who brandishing a broad and cutting sword, + Thus threatened death with many an idle word. + + XXXII + "O thou, whom chance or will brings to the soil, + Where fair Armida doth the sceptre guide, + Thou canst not fly, of arms thyself despoil, + And let thy hands with iron chains be tied; + Enter and rest thee from thy weary toil. + Within this dungeon shalt thou safe abide, + And never hope again to see the day, + Or that thy hair for age shall turn to gray; + + XXXIII + "Except thou swear her valiant knights to aid + Against those traitors of the Christian crew." + Tancred at this discourse a little stayed, + His arms, his gesture, and his voice he knew: + It was Rambaldo, who for that false maid + Forsook his country and religion true, + And of that fort defender chief became, + And those vile customs stablished in the same. + + XXXIV + The warrior answered, blushing red for shame, + "Cursed apostate, and ungracious wight, + I am that Tancred who defend the name + Of Christ, and have been aye his faithful knight; + His rebel foes can I subdue and tame, + As thou shalt find before we end this fight; + And thy false heart cleft with this vengeful sword, + Shall feel the ire of thy forsaken Lord." + + XXXV + When that great name Rambaldo's ears did fill, + He shook for fear and looked pale for dread, + Yet proudly said, "Tancred, thy hap was ill + To wander hither where thou art but dead, + Where naught can help, thy courage, strength and skill; + To Godfrey will I send thy cursed head, + That he may see, how for Armida's sake, + Of him and of his Christ a scorn I make." + + XXXVI + This said, the day to sable night was turned, + That scant one could another's arms descry, + But soon an hundred lamps and torches burned, + That cleared all the earth and all the sky; + The castle seemed a stage with lights adorned, + On which men play some pompous tragedy; + Within a terrace sat on high the queen, + And heard, and saw, and kept herself unseen. + + XXXVII + The noble baron whet his courage hot, + And busked him boldly to the dreadful fight; + Upon his horse long while he tarried not, + Because on foot he saw the Pagan knight, + Who underneath his trusty shield was got, + His sword was drawn, closed was his helmet bright, + Gainst whom the prince marched on a stately pace, + Wrath in his voice, rage in his eyes and face. + + XXXVIII + His foe, his furious charge not well abiding, + Traversed his ground, and stated here and there, + But he, though faint and weary both with riding, + Yet followed fast and still oppressed him near, + And on what side he felt Rambaldo sliding, + On that his forces most employed were; + Now at his helm, not at his hauberk bright, + He thundered blows, now at his face and sight. + + XXXIX + Against those members battery chief he maketh, + Wherein man's life keeps chiefest residence; + At his proud threats the Gascoign warrior quaketh, + And uncouth fear appalled every sense, + To nimble shifts the knight himself betaketh, + And skippeth here and there for his defence: + Now with his rage, now with his trusty blade, + Against his blows he good resistance made. + + XL + Yet no such quickness for defence he used, + As did the prince to work him harm and scathe; + His shield was cleft in twain, his helmet bruised, + And in his blood his other arms did bathe; + On him he heaped blows, with thrusts confused, + And more or less each stroke annoyed him hath; + He feared, and in his troubled bosom strove + Remorse of conscience, shame, disdain and love. + + XLI + At last so careless foul despair him made, + He meant to prove his fortune ill or good, + His shield cast down, he took his helpless blade + In both his hands, which yet had drawn no blood, + And with such force upon the prince he laid, + That neither plate nor mail the blow withstood, + The wicked steel seized deep in his right side, + And with his streaming blood his bases dyed: + + XLII + Another stroke he lent him on the brow, + So great that loudly rung the sounding steel; + Yet pierced he not the helmet with the blow, + Although the owner twice or thrice did reel. + The prince, whose looks disdainful anger show, + Now meant to use his puissance every deal, + He shaked his head and crashed his teeth for ire, + His lips breathed wrath, eyes sparkled shining fire. + + XLIII + The Pagan wretch no longer could sustain + The dreadful terror of his fierce aspect, + Against the threatened blow he saw right plain + No tempered armor could his life protect, + He leapt aside, the stroke fell down in vain, + Against a pillar near a bridge erect. + Thence flaming fire and thousand sparks outstart, + And kill with fear the coward Pagan's heart. + + XLIV + Toward the bridge the fearful Paynim fled, + And in swift flight, his hope of life reposed; + Himself fast after Lord Tancredi sped, + And now in equal pace almost they closed, + When all the burning lamps extinguished + The shining fort his goodly splendor losed, + And all those stars on heaven's blue face that shone + With Cynthia's self, dispeared were and gone. + + XLV + Amid those witchcrafts and that ugly shade, + No further could the prince pursue the chase, + Nothing he saw, yet forward still he made, + With doubtful steps, and ill assured pace; + At last his foot upon a threshold trad, + And ere he wist, he entered had the place; + With ghastly noise the door-leaves shut behind, + And closed him fast in prison dark and blind. + + XLVI + As in our seas in the Commachian Bay, + A silly fish, with streams enclosed, striveth, + To shun the fury and avoid the sway + Wherewith the current in that whirlpool driveth, + Yet seeketh all in vain, but finds no way + Out of that watery prison, where she diveth: + For with such force there be the tides in brought, + There entereth all that will, thence issueth naught: + + XLVII + This prison so entrapped that valiant knight; + Of which the gate was framed by subtle train, + To close without the help of human wight, + So sure none could undo the leaves again; + Against the doors he bended all his might, + But all his forces were employed in vain, + At last a voice gan to him loudly call, + "Yield thee," quoth it, "thou art Armida's thrall." + + XLVIII + "Within this dungeon buried shalt thou spend + The res'due of thy woful days and years;" + The champion list not more with words contend, + But in his heart kept close his griefs and fears, + He blamed love, chance gan he reprehend, + And gainst enchantment huge complaints he rears. + "It were small loss," softly he thus begun, + "To lose the brightness of the shining sun; + + XLIX + "But I, alas, the golden beam forego + Of my far brighter sun; nor can I say + If these poor eyes shall e'er be blessed so, + As once again to view that shining ray:" + Then thought he on his proud Circassian foe, + And said, "Ah! how shall I perform that fray? + He, and the world with him, will Tancred blame, + This is my grief, my fault, mine endless shame." + + L + While those high spirits of this champion good, + With love and honor's care are thus oppressed, + While he torments himself, Argantes wood, + Waxed weary of his bed and of his rest, + Such hate of peace, and such desire of blood, + Such thirst of glory, boiled in his breast; + That though he scant could stir or stand upright, + Yet longed he for the appointed day to fight. + + LI + The night which that expected day forewent, + Scantly the Pagan closed his eyes to sleep, + He told how night her sliding hours spent, + And rose ere springing day began to peep; + He called for armor, which incontinent + Was brought by him that used the same to keep, + That harness rich old Aladine him gave, + A worthy present for a champion brave. + + LII + He donned them on, not long their riches eyed, + Nor did he aught with so great weight incline, + His wonted sword upon his thigh he tied, + The blade was old and tough, of temper fine. + As when a comet far and wide descried, + In scorn of Phoebus midst bright heaven doth shine, + And tidings sad of death and mischief brings + To mighty lords, to monarchs, and to kings: + + LIII + So shone the Pagan in bright armor clad, + And rolled his eyes great swollen with ire and blood, + His dreadful gestures threatened horror sad, + And ugly death upon his forehead stood; + Not one of all his squires the courage had + To approach their master in his angry mood, + Above his head he shook his naked blade, + And gainst the subtle air vain battle made. + + LIV + "The Christian thief," quoth he, "that was so bold + To combat me in hard and single fight, + Shall wounded fall inglorious on the mould, + His locks with clods of blood and dust bedight, + And living shall with watery eyes behold + How from his back I tear his harness bright, + Nor shall his dying words me so entreat, + But that I'll give his flesh to dogs for meat." + + LV + Like as a bull when, pricked with jealousy, + He spies the rival of his hot desire, + Through all the fields doth bellow, roar and cry, + And with his thundering voice augments his ire, + And threatening battle to the empty sky, + Tears with his horn each tree, plant, bush and brier, + And with his foot casts up the sand on height, + Defying his strong foe to deadly fight: + + LVI + Such was the Pagan's fury, such his cry. + A herald called he then, and thus he spake; + "Go to the camp, and in my name, defy + The man that combats for his Jesus' sake;" + This said, upon his steed he mounted high, + And with him did his noble prisoner take, + The town he thus forsook, and on the green + He ran, as mad or frantic he had been. + + LVII + A bugle small he winded loud and shrill, + That made resound the fields and valleys near, + Louder than thunder from Olympus hill + Seemed that dreadful blast to all that hear; + The Christian lords of prowess, strength and skill, + Within the imperial tent assembled were, + The herald there in boasting terms defied + Tancredi first, and all that durst beside. + + LVIII + With sober chear Godfredo look'd about, + And viewed at leisure every lord and knight; + But yet for all his looks not one stepped out, + With courage bold, to undertake the fight: + Absent were all the Christian champions stout, + No news of Tancred since his secret flight; + Boemond far off, and banished from the crew + Was that strong prince who proud Gernando slew: + + LIX + And eke those ten which chosen were by lot, + And all the worthies of the camp beside, + After Armida false were followed hot, + When night were come their secret flight to hide; + The rest their hands and hearts that trusted not, + Blushed for shame, yet silent still abide; + For none there was that sought to purchase fame + In so great peril, fear exiled shame. + + LX + The angry duke their fear discovered plain, + By their pale looks and silence from each part, + And as he moved was with just disdain, + These words he said, and from his seat upstart: + "Unworthy life I judge that coward swain + To hazard it even now that wants the heart, + When this vile Pagan with his glorious boast + Dishonors and defies Christ's sacred host. + + LXI + "But let my camp sit still in peace and rest, + And my life's hazard at their ease behold. + Come bring me here my fairest arms and best;" + And they were brought sooner than could be told. + But gentle Raymond in his aged breast, + Who had mature advice, and counsel old, + Than whom in all the camp were none or few + Of greater might, before Godfredo drew, + + LXII + And gravely said, "Ah, let it not betide, + On one man's hand to venture all this host! + No private soldier thou, thou art our guide, + If thou miscarry, all our hope were lost, + By thee must Babel fall, and all her pride; + Of our true faith thou art the prop and post, + Rule with thy sceptre, conquer with thy word, + Let others combat make with spear and sword. + + LXIII + "Let me this Pagan's glorious pride assuage, + These aged arms can yet their weapons use, + Let others shun Bellona's dreadful rage, + These silver locks shall not Raymondo scuse: + Oh that I were in prime of lusty age, + Like you that this adventure brave refuse, + And dare not once lift up your coward eyes, + Gainst him that you and Christ himself defies! + + LXIV + "Or as I was when all the lords of fame + And Germain princes great stood by to view, + In Conrad's court, the second of that name, + When Leopold in single fight I slew; + A greater praise I reaped by the same, + So strong a foe in combat to subdue, + Than he should do who all alone should chase + Or kill a thousand of these Pagans base. + + LXV + "Within these arms, had I that strength again, + This boasting Paynim had not lived till now, + Yet in this breast doth courage still remain; + For age or years these members shall not bow; + And if I be in this encounter slain, + Scotfree Argantes shall not scape, I vow; + Give me mine arms, this battle shall with praise + Augment mine honor, got in younger days." + + LXVI + The jolly baron old thus bravely spake, + His words are spurs to virtue; every knight + That seemed before to tremble and to quake, + Now talked bold, example hath such might; + Each one the battle fierce would undertake, + Now strove they all who should begin the fight; + Baldwin and Roger both, would combat fain, + Stephen, Guelpho, Gernier and the Gerrards twain; + + LXVII + And Pyrrhus, who with help of Boemond's sword + Proud Antioch by cunning sleight opprest; + The battle eke with many a lowly word, + Ralph, Rosimond, and Eberard request, + A Scotch, an Irish, and an English lord, + Whose lands the sea divides far from the rest, + And for the fight did likewise humbly sue, + Edward and his Gildippes, lovers true. + + LXVIII + But Raymond more than all the rest doth sue + Upon that Pagan fierce to wreak his ire, + Now wants he naught of all his armors due + Except his helm that shone like flaming fire. + To whom Godfredo thus; "O mirror true + Of antique worth! thy courage doth inspire + New strength in us, of Mars in thee doth shine + The art, the honor and the discipline. + + LXIX + "If ten like thee of valor and of age, + Among these legions I could haply find, + I should the best of Babel's pride assuage, + And spread our faith from Thule to furthest Inde; + But now I pray thee calm thy valiant rage, + Reserve thyself till greater need us bind, + And let the rest each one write down his name, + And see whom Fortune chooseth to this game,-- + + LXX + "Or rather see whom God's high judgement taketh, + To whom is chance, and fate, and fortune slave." + Raymond his earnest suit not yet forsaketh, + His name writ with the residue would he have, + Godfrey himself in his bright helmet shaketh + The scrolls, with names of all the champions brave: + They drew, and read the first whereon they hit, + Wherein was "Raymond, Earl of Tholouse," writ. + + LXXI + His name with joy and mighty shouts they bless; + The rest allow his choice, and fortune praise, + New vigor blushed through those looks of his; + It seemed he now resumed his youthful days, + Like to a snake whose slough new changed is, + That shines like gold against the sunny rays: + But Godfrey most approved his fortune high, + And wished him honor, conquest, victory. + + LXXII + Then from his side he took his noble brand, + And giving it to Raymond, thus he spake: + "This is the sword wherewith in Saxon land, + The great Rubello battle used to make, + From him I took it, fighting hand to hand, + And took his life with it, and many a lake + Of blood with it I have shed since that day, + With thee God grant it proves as happy may." + + LXXIII + Of these delays meanwhile impatient, + Argantes threateneth loud and sternly cries, + "O glorious people of the Occident! + Behold him here that all your host defies: + Why comes not Tancred, whose great hardiment, + With you is prized so dear? Pardie he lies + Still on his pillow, and presumes the night + Again may shield him from my power and might. + + LXXIV + "Why then some other come, by band and band, + Come all, come forth on horseback, come on foot, + If not one man dares combat hand to hand, + In all the thousands of so great a rout: + See where the tomb of Mary's Son doth stand, + March thither, warriors hold, what makes you doubt? + Why run you not, there for your sins to weep + Or to what greater need these forces keep?" + + LXXV + Thus scorned by that heathen Saracine + Were all the soldiers of Christ's sacred name: + Raymond, while others at his words repine, + Burst forth in rage, he could not bear this shame: + For fire of courage brighter far doth shine + If challenges and threats augment the same; + So that, upon his steed he mounted light, + Which Aquilino for his swiftness hight. + + LXXVI + This jennet was by Tagus bred; for oft + The breeder of these beasts to war assigned, + When first on trees burgeon the blossoms soft + Pricked forward with the sting of fertile kind, + Against the air casts up her head aloft + And gathereth seed so from the fruitful wind + And thus conceiving of the gentle blast, + A wonder strange and rare, she foals at last. + + LXXVII + And had you seen the beast, you would have said + The light and subtile wind his father was; + For if his course upon the sands he made + No sign was left what way the beast did pass; + Or if he menaged were, or if he played, + He scantly bended down the tender grass: + Thus mounted rode the Earl, and as he went, + Thus prayed, to Heaven his zealous looks upbent. + + LXXVIII + "O Lord, that diddest save, keep and defend + Thy servant David from Goliath's rage, + And broughtest that huge giant to his end, + Slain by a faithful child of tender age; + Like grace, O Lord, like mercy now extend! + Let me this vile blasphemous pride assuage, + That all the world may to thy glory know, + Old men and babes thy foes can overthrow!" + + LXXIX + Thus prayed the County, and his prayers dear + Strengthened with zeal, with godliness and faith, + Before the throne of that great Lord appear, + In whose sweet grace is life, death in his wrath, + Among his armies bright and legions clear, + The Lord an angel good selected hath, + To whom the charge was given to guard the knight, + And keep him safe from that fierce Pagan's might. + + LXXX + The angel good, appointed for the guard + Of noble Raymond from his tender eild, + That kept him then, and kept him afterward, + When spear and sword he able was to wield, + Now when his great Creator's will he heard, + That in this fight he should him chiefly shield, + Up to a tower set on a rock he flies, + Where all the heavenly arms and weapons lies: + + LXXXI + There stands the lance wherewith great Michael slew + The aged dragon in a bloody fight, + There are the dreadful thunders forged new, + With storms and plagues that on poor sinners light; + The massy trident mayest thou pendant view + There on a golden pin hung up on height, + Wherewith sometimes he smites this solid land, + And throws down towns and towers thereon which stand. + + LXXXII + Among the blessed weapons there which stands + Upon a diamond shield his looks he bended, + So great that it might cover all the lands, + Twixt Caucasus and Atlas hills extended; + With it the lord's dear flocks and faithful bands, + The holy kings and cities are defended, + The sacred angel took this target sheen, + And by the Christian champion stood unseen. + + LXXXIII + But now the walls and turrets round about, + Both young and old with many thousands fill; + The king Clorinda sent and her brave rout, + To keep the field, she stayed upon the hill: + Godfrey likewise some Christian bands sent out + Which armed, and ranked in good array stood still, + And to their champions empty let remain + Twixt either troop a large and spacious plain. + + LXXXIV + Argantes looked for Tancredi bold, + But saw an uncouth foe at last appear, + Raymond rode on, and what he asked him, told, + Better by chance, "Tancred is now elsewhere, + Yet glory not of that, myself behold + Am come prepared, and bid thee battle here, + And in his place, or for myself to fight, + Lo, here I am, who scorn thy heathenish might." + + LXXXV + The Pagan cast a scornful smile and said, + "But where is Tancred, is he still in bed? + His looks late seemed to make high heaven afraid; + But now for dread he is or dead or fled; + But whe'er earth's centre or the deep sea made + His lurking hole, it should not save his head." + "Thou liest," he says, "to say so brave a knight + Is fled from thee, who thee exceeds in might." + + LXXXVI + The angry Pagan said, "I have not spilt + My labor then, if thou his place supply, + Go take the field, and let's see how thou wilt + Maintain thy foolish words and that brave lie;" + Thus parleyed they to meet in equal tilt, + Each took his aim at other's helm on high, + Even in the fight his foe good Raymond hit, + But shaked him not, he did so firmly sit. + + LXXXVII + The fierce Circassian missed of his blow, + A thing which seld befell the man before, + The angel, by unseen, his force did know, + And far awry the poignant weapon bore, + He burst his lance against the sand below, + And bit his lips for rage, and cursed and swore, + Against his foe returned he swift as wind, + Half mad in arms a second match to find. + + LXXXVIII + Like to a ram that butts with horned head, + So spurred he forth his horse with desperate race: + Raymond at his right hand let slide his steed, + And as he passed struck at the Pagan's face; + He turned again, the earl was nothing dread, + Yet stept aside, and to his rage gave place, + And on his helm with all his strength gan smite, + Which was so hard his courtlax could not bite. + + LXXXIX + The Saracen employed his art and force + To grip his foe within his mighty arms, + But he avoided nimbly with his horse, + He was no prentice in those fierce alarms, + About him made he many a winding course, + No strength, nor sleight the subtle warrior harms, + His nimble steed obeyed his ready hand, + And where he stept no print left in the sand. + + XC + As when a captain doth besiege some hold, + Set in a marsh or high up on a hill, + And trieth ways and wiles a thousandfold, + To bring the piece subjected to his will; + So fared the County with the Pagan bold; + And when he did his head and breast none ill, + His weaker parts he wisely gan assail, + And entrance searched oft 'twixt mail and mail. + + XCI + At last he hit him on a place or twain, + That on his arms the red blood trickled down, + And yet himself untouched did remain, + No nail was broke, no plume cut from his crown; + Argantes raging spent his strength in vain, + Waste were his strokes, his thrusts were idle thrown, + Yet pressed he on, and doubled still his blows, + And where he hits he neither cares nor knows. + + XCII + Among a thousand blows the Saracine + At last struck one, when Raymond was so near, + That not the swiftness of his Aquiline + Could his dear lord from that huge danger bear: + But lo, at hand unseen was help divine, + Which saves when worldly comforts none appear, + The angel on his targe received that stroke, + And on that shield Argantes' sword was broke. + + XCIII + The sword was broke, therein no wonder lies + If earthly tempered metal could not hold + Against that target forged above the skies, + Down fell the blade in pieces on the mould; + The proud Circassian scant believed his eyes, + Though naught were left him but the hilts of gold, + And full of thoughts amazed awhile he stood, + Wondering the Christian's armor was so good. + + XCIV + The brittle web of that rich sword he thought, + Was broke through hardness of the County's shield; + And so thought Raymond, who discovered naught + What succor Heaven did for his safety yield: + But when he saw the man gainst whom he fought + Unweaponed, still stood he in the field; + His noble heart esteemed the glory light, + At such advantage if he slew the knight. + + XCV + "Go fetch," he would have said, "another blade," + When in his heart a better thought arose, + How for Christ's glory he was champion made, + How Godfrey had him to this combat chose, + The army's honor on his shoulder laid + To hazards new he list not that expose; + While thus his thoughts debated on the case, + The hilts Argantes hurled at his face. + + XCVI + And forward spurred his mounture fierce withal, + Within his arms longing his foe to strain, + Upon whose helm the heavy blow did fall, + And bent well-nigh the metal to his brain: + But he, whose courage was heroical, + Leapt by, and makes the Pagan's onset vain, + And wounds his hand, which he outstretched saw, + Fiercer than eagles' talon, lions' paw. + + XCVII + Now here, now there, on every side he rode, + With nimble speed, and spurred now out, now in, + And as he went and came still laid on load + Where Lord Argantes' arms were weak and thin; + All that huge force which in his arms abode, + His wrath, his ire, his great desire to win, + Against his foe together all he bent, + And heaven and fortune furthered his intent. + + XCVIII + But he, whose courage for no peril fails, + Well armed, and better hearted, scorns his power. + Like a tall ship when spent are all her sails, + Which still resists the rage of storm and shower, + Whose mighty ribs fast bound with bands and nails, + Withstand fierce Neptune's wrath, for many an hour, + And yields not up her bruised keel to winds, + In whose stern blast no ruth nor grace she finds: + + XCIX + Argantes such thy present danger was, + When Satan stirred to aid thee at thy need, + In human shape he forged an airy mass, + And made the shade a body seem indeed; + Well might the spirit for Clorinda pass, + Like her it was, in armor and in weed, + In stature, beauty, countenance and face, + In looks, in speech, in gesture, and in pace. + + C + And for the spirit should seem the same indeed, + From where she was whose show and shape it had, + Toward the wall it rode with feigned speed, + Where stood the people all dismayed and sad, + To see their knight of help have so great need, + And yet the law of arms all help forbad. + There in a turret sat a soldier stout + To watch, and at a loop-hole peeped out; + + CI + The spirit spake to him, called Oradine, + The noblest archer then that handled bow, + "O Oradine," quoth she, "who straight as line + Can'st shoot, and hit each mark set high or low, + If yonder knight, alas! be slain in fine, + As likest is, great ruth it were you know, + And greater shame, if his victorious foe + Should with his spoils triumphant homeward go. + + CII + "Now prove thy skill, thine arrow's sharp head dip + In yonder thievish Frenchman's guilty blood, + I promise thee thy sovereign shall not slip + To give thee large rewards for such a good;" + Thus said the spirit; the man did laugh and skip + For hope of future gain, nor longer stood, + But from his quiver huge a shaft he hent, + And set it in his mighty bow new bent, + + CIII + Twanged the string, out flew the quarrel long, + And through the subtle air did singing pass, + It hit the knight the buckles rich among, + Wherewith his precious girdle fastened was, + It bruised them and pierced his hauberk strong, + Some little blood down trickled on the grass; + Light was the wound; the angel by unseen, + The sharp head blunted of the weapon keen. + + CIV + Raymond drew forth the shaft, as much behoved, + And with the steel, his blood out streaming came, + With bitter words his foe he then reproved, + For breaking faith, to his eternal shame. + Godfrey, whose careful eyes from his beloved + Were never turned, saw and marked the same, + And when he viewed the wounded County bleed, + He sighed, and feared, more perchance than need; + + CV + And with his words, and with his threatening eyes, + He stirred his captains to revenge that wrong; + Forthwith the spurred courser forward hies, + Within their rests put were their lances long, + From either side a squadron brave out flies, + And boldly made a fierce encounter strong, + The raised dust to overspread begun + Their shining arms, and far more shining sun. + + CVI + Of breaking spears, of ringing helm and shield, + A dreadful rumor roared on every side, + There lay a horse, another through the field + Ran masterless, dismounted was his guide; + Here one lay dead, there did another yield, + Some sighed, some sobbed, some prayed, and some cried; + Fierce was the fight, and longer still it lasted, + Fiercer and fewer, still themselves they wasted. + + CVII + Argantes nimbly leapt amid the throng, + And from a soldier wrung an iron mace, + And breaking through the ranks and ranges long, + Therewith he passage made himself and place, + Raymond he sought, the thickest press among. + To take revenge for late received disgrace, + A greedy wolf he seemed, and would assuage + With Raymond's blood his hunger and his rage. + + CVIII + The way he found not easy as he would, + But fierce encounters put him oft to pain, + He met Ormanno and Rogero bold, + Of Balnavile, Guy, and the Gerrards twain; + Yet nothing might his rage and haste withhold, + These worthies strove to stop him, but in vain, + With these strong lets increased still his ire, + Like rivers stopped, or closely smouldered fire. + + CIX + He slew Ormanno, and wounded Guy, and laid + Rogero low, among the people slain, + On every side new troops the man invade, + Yet all their blows were waste, their onsets vain, + But while Argantes thus his prizes played, + And seemed alone this skirmish to sustain, + The duke his brother called and thus he spake, + "Go with thy troop, fight for thy Saviour's sake; + + CX + "There enter in where hottest is the fight, + Thy force against the left wing strongly bend." + This said, so brave an onset gave the knight, + That many a Paynim bold there made his end: + The Turks too weak seemed to sustain his might, + And could not from his power their lives defend, + Their ensigns rent, and broke was their array, + And men and horse on heaps together lay. + + CXI + O'erthrown likewise away the right wing ran, + Nor was there one again that turned his face, + Save bold Argantes, else fled every man, + Fear drove them thence on heaps, with headlong chase: + He stayed alone, and battle new began, + Five hundred men, weaponed with sword and mace, + So great resistance never could have made, + As did Argantes with his single blade: + + CXII + The strokes of swords and thrusts of many a spear, + The shock of many a joust he long sustained, + He seemed of strength enough this charge to bear, + And time to strike, now here, now there, he gained + His armors broke, his members bruised were, + He sweat and bled, yet courage still he feigned; + But now his foes upon him pressed so fast, + That with their weight they bore him back at last. + + CXIII + His back against this storm at length he turned, + Whose headlong fury bore him backward still, + Not like to one that fled, but one that mourned + Because he did his foes no greater ill, + His threatening eyes like flaming torches burned, + His courage thirsted yet more blood to spill, + And every way and every mean he sought, + To stay his flying mates, but all for naught. + + CXIV + This good he did, while thus he played his part, + His bands and troops at ease, and safe, retired; + Yet coward dread lacks order, fear wants art, + Deaf to attend, commanded or desired. + But Godfrey that perceived in his wise heart, + How his bold knights to victory aspired, + Fresh soldiers sent, to make more quick pursuit, + And help to gather conquest's precious fruit. + + CXV + But this, alas, was not the appointed day, + Set down by Heaven to end this mortal war: + The western lords this time had borne away + The prize, for which they travelled had so far, + Had not the devils, that saw the sure decay + Of their false kingdom by this bloody war, + At once made heaven and earth with darkness blind, + And stirred up tempests, storms, and blustering wind. + + CXVI + Heaven's glorious lamp, wrapped in an ugly veil + Of shadows dark, was hid from mortal eye, + And hell's grim blackness did bright skies assail; + On every side the fiery lightnings fly, + The thunders roar, the streaming rain and hail + Pour down and make that sea which erst was dry. + The tempests rend the oaks and cedars brake, + And make not trees but rocks and mountains shake. + + CXVII + The rain, the lightning, and the raging wind, + Beat in the Frenchmen's eyes with hideous force, + The soldiers stayed amazed in heart and mind, + The terror such that stopped both man and horse. + Surprised with this evil no way they find, + Whither for succor to direct their course, + But wise Clorinda soon the advantage spied, + And spurring forth thus to her soldiers cried: + + CXVIII + "You hardy men at arms behold," quoth she, + "How Heaven, how Justice in our aid doth fight, + Our visages are from this tempest free, + Our hands at will may wield our weapons bright, + The fury of this friendly storm you see + Upon the foreheads of our foes doth light, + And blinds their eyes, then let us take the tide, + Come, follow me, good fortune be our guide." + + CXIX + This said, against her foes on rode the dame, + And turned their backs against the wind and rain; + Upon the French with furious rage she came, + And scorned those idle blows they struck in vain; + Argantes at the instant did the same, + And them who chased him now chased again, + Naught but his fearful back each Christian shows + Against the tempest, and against their blows. + + CXX + The cruel hail, and deadly wounding blade, + Upon their shoulders smote them as they fled, + The blood new spilt while thus they slaughter made, + The water fallen from skies had dyed red, + Among the murdered bodies Pyrrhus laid, + And valiant Raiphe his heart blood there out bled, + The first subdued by strong Argantes' might, + The second conquered by that virgin knight. + + CXXI + Thus fled the French, and then pursued in chase + The wicked sprites and all the Syrian train: + But gainst their force and gainst their fell menace + Of hail and wind, of tempest and of rain, + Godfrey alone turned his audacious face, + Blaming his barons for their fear so vain, + Himself the camp gate boldly stood to keep, + And saved his men within his trenches deep. + + CXXII + And twice upon Argantes proud he flew, + And beat him backward, maugre all his might, + And twice his thirsty sword he did imbrue, + In Pagan's blood where thickest was the fight; + At last himself with all his folk withdrew, + And that day's conquest gave the virgin bright, + Which got, she home retired and all her men, + And thus she chased this lion to his den. + + CXXIII + Yet ceased not the fury and the ire + Of these huge storms, of wind, of rain and hail, + Now was it dark, now shone the lightning fire, + The wind and water every place assail, + No bank was safe, no rampire left entire, + No tent could stand, when beam and cordage fail, + Wind, thunder, rain, all gave a dreadful sound, + And with that music deafed the trembling ground. + + + + EIGHTH BOOK + + THE ARGUMENT. + A messenger to Godfrey sage doth tell + The Prince of Denmark's valour, death and end: + The Italians, trusting signs untrue too well, + Think their Rinaldo slain: the wicked fiend + Breeds fury in their breasts, their bosoms swell + With ire and hate, and war and strife forth send: + They threaten Godfrey; he prays to the Lord, + And calms their fury with his look and word. + + + I + Now were the skies of storms and tempests cleared, + Lord Aeolus shut up his winds in hold, + The silver-mantled morning fresh appeared, + With roses crowned, and buskined high with gold; + The spirits yet which had these tempests reared, + Their malice would still more and more unfold; + And one of them that Astragor was named, + His speeches thus to foul Alecto framed. + + II + "Alecto, see, we could not stop nor stay + The knight that to our foes new tidings brings, + Who from the hands escaped, with life away, + Of that great prince, chief of all Pagan kings: + He comes, the fall of his slain lord to say, + Of death and loss he tells, and such sad things, + Great news he brings, and greatest dangers is, + Bertoldo's son shall be called home for this. + + III + "Thou knowest what would befall, bestir thee than; + Prevent with craft, what force could not withstand, + Turn to their evil the speeches of the man, + With his own weapon wound Godfredo's hand; + Kindle debate, infect with poison wan + The English, Switzer, and Italian band, + Great tumult move, make brawls and quarrels rife, + Set all the camp on uproar and at strife. + + IV + "This act beseems thee well, and of the deed + Much may'st thou boast before our lord and king." + Thus said the sprite. Persuasion small did need, + The monster grants to undertake the thing. + Meanwhile the knight, whose coming thus they dread, + Before the camp his weary limbs doth bring, + And well-nigh breathless, "Warriors bold," he cried, + "Who shall conduct me to your famous guide?" + + V + An hundred strove the stranger's guide to be, + To hearken news the knights by heaps assemble, + The man fell lowly down upon his knee, + And kissed the hand that made proud Babel tremble; + "Right puissant lord, whose valiant acts," quoth he, + "The sands and stars in number best resemble, + Would God some gladder news I might unfold," + And there he paused, and sighed; then thus he told: + + VI + "Sweno, the King of Denmark's only heir, + The stay and staff of his declining eild, + Longed to be among these squadrons fair + Who for Christ's faith here serve with spear and shield; + No weariness, no storms of sea or air, + No such contents as crowns and sceptres yield, + No dear entreaties of so kind a sire, + Could in his bosom quench that glorious fire. + + VII + "He thirsted sore to learn this warlike art + Of thee, great lord and master of the same; + And was ashamed in his noble heart, + That never act he did deserved fame; + Besides, the news and tidings from each part + Of young Rinaldo's worth and praises came: + But that which most his courage stirred hath, + Is zeal, religion, godliness, and faith. + + VIII + "He hasted forward, then without delay, + And with him took of knights a chosen band, + Directly toward Thrace we took the way, + To Byzance old, chief fortress of that land, + There the Greek monarch gently prayed him stay, + And there an herald sent from you we fand, + How Antioch was won, who first declared, + And how defended nobly afterward. + + IX + "Defended gainst Corbana, valiant knight, + That all the Persian armies had to guide, + And brought so many soldiers bold to fight, + That void of men he left that kingdom wide; + He told thine acts, thy wisdom and thy might, + And told the deeds of many a lord beside, + His speech at length to young Rinaldo passed, + And told his great achievements, first and last: + + X + "And how this noble camp of yours, of late + Besieged had this town, and in what sort, + And how you prayed him to participate + Of the last conquest of this noble fort. + In hardy Sweno opened was the gate + Of worthy anger by this brave report, + So that each hour seemed five years long, + Till he were fighting with these Pagans strong. + + XI + "And while the herald told your fights and frays, + Himself of cowardice reproved he thought, + And him to stay that counsels him, or prays, + He hears not, or, else heard, regardeth naught, + He fears no perils but whilst he delays, + Lest this last work without his help be wrought: + In this his doubt, in this his danger lies, + No hazard else he fears, no peril spies. + + XII + "Thus hasting on, he hasted on his death, + Death that to him and us was fatal guide. + The rising morn appeared yet aneath, + When he and we were armed, and fit to ride, + The nearest way seemed best, o'er hold and heath + We went, through deserts waste, and forests wide, + The streets and ways he openeth as he goes, + And sets each land free from intruding foes. + + XIII + "Now want of food, now dangerous ways we find, + Now open war, now ambush closely laid; + Yet passed we forth, all perils left behind, + Our foes or dead or run away afraid, + Of victory so happy blew the wind, + That careless all the heedless to it made: + Until one day his tents he happed to rear, + To Palestine when we approached near. + + XIV + "There did our scouts return and bring us news, + That dreadful noise of horse and arms they hear, + And that they deemed by sundry signs and shows + There was some mighty host of Pagans near. + At these sad tidings many changed their hues, + Some looked pale for dread, some shook for fear, + Only our noble lord was altered naught, + In look, in face, in gesture, or in thought. + + XV + "But said, 'A crown prepare you to possess + Of martyrdom, or happy victory; + For this I hope, for that I wish no less, + Of greater merit and of greater glory. + Brethren, this camp will shortly be, I guess, + A temple, sacred to our memory, + To which the holy men of future age, + To view our graves shall come in pilgrimage.' + + XVI + "This said, he set the watch in order right + To guard the camp, along the trenches deep, + And as he armed was, so every knight + He willed on his back his arms to keep. + Now had the stillness of the quiet night + Drowned all the world in silence and in sleep, + When suddenly we heard a dreadful sound, + Which deafed the earth, and tremble made the ground. + + XVII + "'Arm, arm,' they cried; Prince Sweno at the same, + Glistering in shining steel leaped foremost out, + His visage shone, his noble looks did flame, + With kindled brand of courage bold and stout, + When lo, the Pagans to assault us came, + And with huge numbers hemmed us round about, + A forest thick of spears about us grew, + And over us a cloud of arrows flew: + + XVIII + "Uneven the fight, unequal was the fray, + Our enemies were twenty men to one, + On every side the slain and wounded lay + Unseen, where naught but glistering weapons shone: + The number of the dead could no man say, + So was the place with darkness overgone, + The night her mantle black upon its spreads, + Hiding our losses and our valiant deeds. + + XIX + "But hardy Sweno midst the other train, + By his great acts was well descried I wot, + No darkness could his valor's daylight stain, + Such wondrous blows on every side he smote; + A stream of blood, a bank of bodies slain, + About him made a bulwark, and a mote, + And when soe'er he turned his fatal brand, + Dread in his looks and death sate in his hand. + + XX + "Thus fought we till the morning bright appeared, + And strewed roses on the azure sky, + But when her lamp had night's thick darkness cleared, + Wherein the bodies dead did buried lie, + Then our sad cries to heaven for grief we reared, + Our loss apparent was, for we descry + How all our camp destroyed was almost, + And all our people well-nigh slain and lost; + + XXI + "Of thousands twain an hundred scant survived. + When Sweno murdered saw each valiant knight, + I know not if his heart in sunder rived + For dear compassion of that woful sight; + He showed no change, but said: 'Since so deprived + We are of all our friends by chance of fight, + Come follow them, the path to heaven their blood + Marks out, now angels made, of martyrs good.' + + XXII + "This said, and glad I think of death at hand, + The signs of heavenly joy shone through his eyes, + Of Saracens against a mighty band, + With fearless heart and constant breast he flies; + No steel could shield them from his cutting brand + But whom he hits without recure he dies, + He never struck but felled or killed his foe + And wounded was himself from top to toe. + + XXIII + "Not strength, but courage now, preserved on live + This hardy champion, fortress of our faith, + Strucken he strikes, still stronger more they strive, + The more they hurt him, more he doth them scathe, + When toward him a furious knight gan drive, + Of members huge, fierce looks, and full of wrath, + That with the aid of many a Pagan crew, + After long fight, at last Prince Sweno slew. + + XXIV + "Ah, heavy chance! Down fell the valiant youth, + Nor mongst us all did one so strong appear + As to revenge his death: that this is truth, + By his dear blood and noble bones I swear, + That of my life I had not care nor ruth, + No wounds I shunned, no blows I would off bear, + And had not Heaven my wished end denied, + Even there I should, and willing should, have died. + + XXV + "Alive I fell among my fellows slain, + Yet wounded so that each one thought me dead, + Nor what our foes did since can I explain, + So sore amazed was my heart and head; + But when I opened first mine eyes again, + Night's curtain black upon the earth was spread, + And through the darkness to my feeble sight, + Appeared the twinkling of a slender light. + + XXVI + "Not so much force or judgement in me lies + As to discern things seen and not mistake, + I saw like them who ope and shut their eyes + By turns, now half asleep, now half awake; + My body eke another torment tries, + My wounds began to smart, my hurts to ache; + For every sore each member pinched was + With night's sharp air, heaven's frost and earth's cold grass. + + XXVII + "But still the light approached near and near, + And with the same a whispering murmur run, + Till at my side arrived both they were, + When I to spread my feeble eyes begun: + Two men behold in vestures long appear, + With each a lamp in hand, who said, 'O son + In that dear Lord who helps his servants, trust, + Who ere they ask, grants all things to the just.' + + XXVIII + "This said, each one his sacred blessings flings + Upon my corse, with broad our-stretched hand, + And mumbled hymns and psalms and holy things, + Which I could neither hear nor understand; + 'Arise,' quoth they, with that as I had wings, + All whole and sound I leaped up from the land. + Oh miracle, sweet, gentle, strange and true! + My limbs new strength received, and vigor new. + + XXIX + "I gazed on them like one whose heart denieth + To think that done, he sees so strangely wrought; + Till one said thus, 'O thou of little faith, + What doubts perplex thy unbelieving thought? + Each one of us a living body hath, + We are Christ's chosen servants, fear us naught, + Who to avoid the world's allurements vain, + In wilful penance, hermits poor remain. + + XXX + "'Us messengers to comfort thee elect + That Lord hath sent that rules both heaven and hell; + Who often doth his blessed will effect, + By such weak means, as wonder is to tell; + He will not that this body lie neglect, + Wherein so noble soul did lately dwell + To which again when it uprisen is + It shall united be in lasting bliss. + + XXXI + "'I say Lord Sweno's corpse, for which prepared + A tomb there is according to his worth, + By which his honor shall be far declared, + And his just praises spread from south to north:" + But lift thine eyes up to the heavens ward, + Mark yonder light that like the sun shines forth + That shall direct thee with those beams so clear, + To find the body of thy master dear.' + + XXXII + "With that I saw from Cynthia's silver face, + Like to a falling star a beam down slide, + That bright as golden line marked out the place, + And lightened with clear streams the forest wide; + So Latmos shone when Phoebe left the chase, + And laid her down by her Endymion's side, + Such was the light that well discern I could, + His shape, his wounds, his face, though dead, yet bold. + + XXXIII + "He lay not grovelling now, but as a knight + That ever had to heavenly things desire, + So toward heaven the prince lay bolt upright, + Like him that upward still sought to aspire, + His right hand closed held his weapon bright, + Ready to strike and execute his ire, + His left upon his breast was humbly laid, + That men might know, that while he died he prayed. + + XXXIV + "Whilst on his wounds with bootless tears I wept, + That neither helped him, nor eased my care, + One of those aged fathers to him stepped, + And forced his hand that needless weapon spare: + 'This sword,' quoth he, 'hath yet good token kept, + That of the Pagans' blood he drunk his share, + And blusheth still he could not save his lord, + Rich, strong and sharp, was never better sword. + + XXXV + "'Heaven, therefore, will not, though the prince be slain, + Who used erst to wield this precious brand + That so brave blade unused should remain; + But that it pass from strong to stronger hand, + Who with like force can wield the same again, + And longer shall in grace of fortune stand, + And with the same shall bitter vengeance take + On him that Sweno slew, for Sweno's sake. + + XXXVI + "'Great Solyman killed Sweno, Solyman + For Sweno's sake, upon this sword must die. + Here, take the blade, and with it haste thee than + Thither where Godfrey doth encamped lie, + And fear not thou that any shall or can + Or stop thy way, or lead thy steps awry; + For He that doth thee on this message send, + Thee with His hand shall guide, keep and defend. + + XXXVII + "'Arrived there it is His blessed will, + With true report that thou declare and tell + The zeal, the strength, the courage and the skill + In thy beloved lord that late did dwell, + How for Christ's sake he came his blood to spill, + And sample left to all of doing well, + That future ages may admire his deed, + And courage take when his brave end they read. + + XXXVIII + "'It resteth now, thou know that gentle knight + That of this sword shall be thy master's heir, + It is Rinaldo young, with whom in might + And martial skill no champion may compare, + Give it to him and say, "The Heavens bright + Of this revenge to him commit the care." + While thus I listened what this old man said, + A wonder new from further speech us stayed; + + XXXIX + "For there whereas the wounded body lay, + A stately tomb with curious work, behold, + And wondrous art was built out of the clay, + Which, rising round, the carcass did enfold; + With words engraven in the marble gray, + The warrior's name, his worth and praise that told, + On which I gazing stood, and often read + That epitaph of my dear master dead. + + XL + "'Among his soldiers,' quoth the hermit, 'here + Must Sweno's corpse remain in marble chest, + While up to heaven are flown their spirits dear, + To live in endless joy forever blest, + His funeral thou hast with many a tear + Accompanied, it's now high time to rest, + Come be my guest, until the morning ray + Shall light the world again, then take thy way.' + + XLI + "This said, he led me over holts and hags, + Through thorns and bushes scant my legs I drew + Till underneath a heap of stones and crags + At last he brought me to a secret mew; + Among the bears, wild boars, the wolves and stags, + There dwelt he safe with his disciple true, + And feared no treason, force, nor hurt at all, + His guiltless conscience was his castle's wall. + + XLII + "My supper roots; my bed was moss and leaves; + But weariness in little rest found ease: + But when the purple morning night bereaves + Of late usurped rule on lands and seas, + His loathed couch each wakeful hermit leaves, + To pray rose they, and I, for so they please, + I congee took when ended was the same, + And hitherward, as they advised me, came." + + XLIII + The Dane his woful tale had done, when thus + The good Prince Godfrey answered him, "Sir knight, + Thou bringest tidings sad and dolorous, + For which our heavy camp laments of right, + Since so brave troops and so dear friends to us, + One hour hath spent, in one unlucky fight; + And so appeared hath thy master stout, + As lightning doth, now kindled, now quenched out. + + XLIV + "But such a death and end exceedeth all + The conquests vain of realms, or spoils of gold, + Nor aged Rome's proud stately capital, + Did ever triumph yet like theirs behold; + They sit in heaven on thrones celestial, + Crowned with glory, for their conquest bold, + Where each his hurts I think to other shows, + And glories in those bloody wounds and blows. + + XLV + "But thou who hast part of thy race to run, + With haps and hazards of this world ytost, + rejoice, for those high honors they have won, + Which cannot be by chance or fortune crossed: + But for thou askest for Bertoldo's son, + Know, that he wandereth, banished from this host, + And till of him new tidings some man tell, + Within this camp I deem it best thou dwell." + + XLVI + These words of theirs in many a soul renewed + The sweet remembrance of fair Sophia's child, + Some with salt tears for him their cheeks bedewed, + Lest evil betide him mongst the Pagans wild, + And every one his valiant prowess showed, + And of his battles stories long compiled, + Telling the Dane his acts and conquests past, + Which made his ears amazed, his heart aghast. + + XLVII + Now when remembrance of the youth had wrought + A tender pity in each softened mind, + Behold returned home with all they caught + The bands that were to forage late assigned, + And with them in abundance great they brought + Both flocks and herds of every sort and kind. + And corn, although not much, and hay to feed + Their noble steeds and coursers when they need. + + XLVIII + They also brought of misadventure sad + Tokens and signs, seemed too apparent true, + Rinaldo's armor, frushed and hacked they had, + Oft pierced through, with blood besmeared new; + About the camp, for always rumors bad + Are farthest spread, these woful tidings flew. + Thither assembled straight both high and low, + Longing to see what they were loth to know. + + XLIX + His heavy hauberk was both seen and known, + And his brand shield, wherein displayed flies + The bird that proves her chickens for her own + By looking gainst the sun with open eyes; + That shield was to the Pagans often shown, + In many a hard and hardy enterprise, + But now with many a gash and many a stroke + They see, and sigh to see it, frushed and broke. + + L + While all his soldiers whispered under hand, + And here and there the fault and cause do lay, + Godfrey before him called Aliprand + Captain of those that brought of late this prey, + A man who did on points of virtue stand, + Blameless in words, and true whate'er he say, + "Say," quoth the duke, "where you this armor had, + Hide not the truth, but tell it good or bad." + + LI + He answered him, "As far from hence think I + As on two days a speedy post well rideth, + To Gaza-ward a little plain doth lie, + Itself among the steepy hills which hideth, + Through it slow falling from the mountains high, + A rolling brook twixt bush and bramble glideth, + Clad with thick shade of boughs of broad-leaved treen, + Fit place for men to lie in wait unseen. + + LII + "Thither, to seek some flocks or herds, we went + Perchance close hid under the green-wood shaw, + And found the springing grass with blood besprent, + A warrior tumbled in his blood we saw, + His arms though dusty, bloody, hacked and rent, + Yet well we knew, when near the corse we draw; + To which, to view his face, in vain I started, + For from his body his fair head was parted; + + LIII + "His right hand wanted eke, with many a wound + The trunk through pierced was from back to breast, + A little by, his empty helm we found + The silver eagle shining on his crest; + To spy at whom to ask we gazed round, + A churl then toward us his steps addressed, + But when us armed by the corse he spied, + He ran away his fearful face to hide: + + LIV + "But we pursued him, took him, spake him fair, + Till comforted at last he answer made, + How that, the day before, he saw repair + A band of soldiers from that forest shade, + Of whom one carried by the golden hair + A head but late cut off with murdering blade, + The face was fair and young, and on the chin + No sign of heard to bud did yet begin. + + LV + "And how in sindal wrapt away he bore + That head with him hung at his saddle-bow. + And how the murtherers by the arms they wore, + For soldiers of our camp he well did know; + The carcass I disarmed and weeping sore, + Because I guessed who should that harness owe, + Away I brought it, but first order gave, + That noble body should be laid in grave. + + LVI + "But if it be his trunk whom I believe, + A nobler tomb his worth deserveth well." + This said, good Aliprando took his leave, + Of certain troth he had no more to tell, + Sore sighed the duke, so did these news him grieve, + Fears in his heart, doubts in his bosom dwell, + He yearned to know, to find and learn the truth, + And punish would them that had slain the youth. + + LVII + But now the night dispread her lazy wings + O'er the broad fields of heaven's bright wilderness, + Sleep, the soul's rest, and ease of careful things, + Buried in happy peace both more and less, + Thou Argillan alone, whom sorrow stings, + Still wakest, musing on great deeds I guess, + Nor sufferest in thy watchful eyes to creep + The sweet repose of mild and gentle sleep. + + LVIII + This man was strong of limb, and all his 'says + Were bold, of ready tongue, and working sprite, + Near Trento born, bred up in brawls and frays, + In jars, in quarrels, and in civil fight, + For which exiled, the hills and public ways + He filled with blood, and robberies day and night + Until to Asia's wars at last he came, + And boldly there he served, and purchased fame. + + LIX + He closed his eyes at last when day drew near. + Yet slept he not, but senseless lay opprest + With strange amazedness and sudden fear + Which false Alecto breathed in his breast, + His working powers within deluded were, + Stone still he quiet lay, yet took no rest, + For to his thought the fiend herself presented, + And with strange visions his weak brain tormented. + + LX + A murdered body huge beside him stood, + Of head and right hand both but lately spoiled, + His left hand bore the head, whose visage good, + Both pale and wan, with dust and gore defoiled, + Yet spake, though dead, with whose sad words the blood + Forth at his lips in huge abundance boiled, + "Fly, Argillan, from this false camp fly far, + Whose guide, a traitor; captains, murderers are. + + LXI + "Godfrey hath murdered me by treason vile, + What favor then hope you my trusty friends? + His villain heart is full of fraud and guile, + To your destruction all his thoughts he bends, + Yet if thou thirst of praise for noble stile, + If in thy strength thou trust, thy strength that ends + All hard assays, fly not, first with his blood + Appease my ghost wandering by Lethe flood; + + LXII + "I will thy weapon whet, inflame thine ire, + Arm thy right hand, and strengthen every part." + This said; even while she spake she did inspire + With fury, rage, and wrath his troubled heart: + The man awaked, and from his eyes like fire + The poisoned sparks of headstrong madness start, + And armed as he was, forth is he gone, + And gathered all the Italian bands in one. + + LXIII + He gathered them where lay the arms that late + Were good Rinaldo's; then with semblance stout + And furious words his fore-conceived hate + In bitter speeches thus he vomits out; + "Is not this people barbarous and ingrate, + In whom truth finds no place, faith takes no rout? + Whose thirst unquenched is of blood and gold, + Whom no yoke boweth, bridle none can hold. + + LXIV + "So much we suffered have these seven years long, + Under this servile and unworthy yoke, + That thorough Rome and Italy our wrong + A thousand years hereafter shall be spoke: + I count not how Cilicia's kingdom strong, + Subdued was by Prince Tancredi's stroke, + Nor how false Baldwin him that land bereaves + Of virtue's harvest, fraud there reaped the sheaves: + + LXV + "Nor speak I how each hour, at every need, + Quick, ready, resolute at all assays, + With fire and sword we hasted forth with speed, + And bore the brunt of all their fights and frays; + But when we had performed and done the deed, + At ease and leisure they divide the preys, + We reaped naught but travel for our toil, + Theirs was the praise, the realms, the gold, the spoil. + + LXVI + "Yet all this season were we willing blind, + Offended unrevenged, wronged but unwroken, + Light griefs could not provoke our quiet mind, + But now, alas! the mortal blow is stroken, + Rinaldo have they slain, and law of kind, + Of arms, of nations, and of high heaven broken, + Why doth not heaven kill them with fire and thunder? + To swallow them why cleaves not earth asunder? + + LXVII + "They have Rinaldo slain, the sword and shield + Of Christ's true faith, and unrevenged he lies; + Still unrevenged lieth in the field + His noble corpse to feed the crows and pies: + Who murdered him? who shall us certain yield? + Who sees not that, although he wanted eyes? + Who knows not how the Italian chivalry + Proud Godfrey and false Baldwin both envy + + LXVIII + "What need we further proof? Heaven, heaven, I swear, + Will not consent herein we be beguiled, + This night I saw his murdered sprite appear, + Pale, sad and wan, with wounds and blood defiled, + A spectacle full both of grief and fear; + Godfrey, for murdering him, the ghost reviled. + I saw it was no dream, before mine eyes, + Howe'er I look, still, still methinks it flies. + + LXIX + "What shall we do? shall we be governed still + By this false hand, contaminate with blood? + Or else depart and travel forth, until + To Euphrates we come, that sacred flood, + Where dwells a people void of martial skill, + Whose cities rich, whose land is fat and good, + Where kingdoms great we may at ease provide, + Far from these Frenchmen's malice, from their pride; + + LXX + "Then let us go, and no revengement take + For this brave knight, though it lie in our power: + No, no, that courage rather newly wake, + Which never sleeps in fear and dread one hour, + And this pestiferous serpent, poisoned snake, + Of all our knights that hath destroyed the flower, + First let us slay, and his deserved end + Example make to him that kills his friend. + + LXXI + "I will, I will, if your courageous force, + Dareth so much as it can well perform, + Tear out his cursed heart without remorse, + The nest of treason false and guile enorm." + Thus spake the angry knight with headlong course; + The rest him followed with a furious storm, + "Arm, arm." they cried, to arms the soldiers ran. + And as they run, "Arm, arm," cried every man. + + LXXII + Mongst them Alecto strowed wasteful fire, + Envenoming the hearts of most and least, + Folly, disdain, madness, strife, rancor, ire, + Thirst to shed blood, in every breast increased, + This ill spread far, and till it set on fire + With rage the Italian lodgings, never ceased, + From thence unto the Switzers' camp it went, + And last infected every English tent. + + LXXIII + Not public loss of their beloved knight, + Alone stirred up their rage and wrath untamed, + But fore-conceived griefs, and quarrels light, + The ire still nourished, and still inflamed, + Awaked was each former cause of spite, + The Frenchmen cruel and unjust they named, + And with bold threats they made their hatred known, + Hate seld kept close, and oft unwisely shown: + + LXXIV + Like boiling liquor in a seething pot, + That fumeth, swelleth high, and bubbleth fast, + Till o'er the brims among the embers hot, + Part of the broth and of the scum is cast, + Their rage and wrath those few appeased not + In whom of wisdom yet remained some taste, + Camillo, William, Tancred were away, + And all whose greatness might their madness stay. + + LXXV + Now headlong ran to harness in this heat + These furious people, all on heaps confused, + The roaring trumpets battle gan to threat, + As it in time of mortal war is used, + The messengers ran to Godfredo great, + And bade him arm, while on this noise he mused, + And Baldwin first well clad in iron hard, + Stepped to his side, a sure and faithful guard. + + LXXVI + Their murmurs heard, to heaven he lift his een, + As was his wont, to God for aid he fled; + "O Lord, thou knowest this right hand of mine + Abhorred ever civil blood to shed, + Illumine their dark souls with light divine, + Repress their rage, by hellish fury bred, + The innocency of my guiltless mind + Thou knowest, and make these know, with fury blind." + + LXXVII + Tis said he felt infused in each vein, + A sacred heat from heaven above distilled, + A heat in man that courage could constrain + That his brave look with awful boldness filled. + Well guarded forth he went to meet the train + Of those that would revenge Rinaldo killed; + And though their threats he heard, and saw them bent + To arms on every side, yet on he went. + + LXXVIII + Above his hauberk strong a coat he ware, + Embroidered fair with pearl and richest stone, + His hands were naked, and his face was bare, + Wherein a lamp of majesty bright shone; + He shook his golden mace, wherewith he dare + Resist the force of his rebellious foe: + Thus he appeared, and thus he gan them teach, + In shape an angel, and a God in speech: + + LXXIX + "What foolish words? what threats be these I hear? + What noise of arms? who dares these tumults move? + Am I so honored? stand you so in fear? + Where is your late obedience? where your love? + Of Godfrey's falsehood who can witness bear? + Who dare or will these accusations prove? + Perchance you look I should entreaties bring, + Sue for your favors, or excuse the thing. + + LXXX + "Ah, God forbid these lands should hear or see + Him so disgraced at whose great name they quake; + This sceptre and my noble acts for me + A true defence before the world can make: + Yet for sharp justice governed shall be + With clemency, I will no vengeance take + For this offence, but for Rinaldo's love, + I pardon you, hereafter wiser prove. + + LXXXI + "But Argillano's guilty blood shall wash + This stain away, who kindled this debate, + And led by hasty rage and fury rash, + To these disorders first undid the gate;" + While thus he spoke, the lightning beams did flash + Out of his eyes of majesty and state, + That Argillan,--who would have thought it?--shook + For fear and terror, conquered with his look. + + LXXXII + The rest with indiscreet and foolish wrath + Who threatened late with words of shame and pride, + Whose hands so ready were to harm and scath, + And brandished bright swords on every side; + Now hushed and still attend what Godfrey saith, + With shame and fear their bashful looks they hide, + And Argillan they let in chains be bound, + Although their weapons him environed round. + + LXXXIII + So when a lion shakes his dreadful mane, + And beats his tail with courage proud and wroth, + If his commander come, who first took pain + To tame his youth, his lofty crest down goeth, + His threats he feareth, and obeys the rein + Of thralldom base, and serviceage, though loth, + Nor can his sharp teeth nor his armed paws, + Force him rebel against his ruler's laws. + + LXXXIV + Fame as a winged warrior they beheld, + With semblant fierce and furious look that stood, + And in his left hand had a splendent shield + Wherewith he covered safe their chieftain good, + His other hand a naked sword did wield, + From which distilling fell the lukewarm blood, + The blood pardie of many a realm and town, + Whereon the Lord his wrath had poured down. + + LXXXV + Thus was the tumult, without bloodshed, ended. + Their arms laid down, strife into exile sent. + Godfrey his thoughts to greater actions bended. + And homeward to his rich pavilion went, + For to assault the fortress he intended + Before the second or third day were spent; + Meanwhile his timber wrought he oft surveyed + Whereof his ram and engines great he made. + + + + NINTH BOOK + + THE ARGUMENT. + Alecto false great Solyman doth move + By night the Christians in their tents to kill: + But God who their intents saw from above, + Sends Michael down from his sacred hill: + The spirits foul to hell the angels drove; + The knights delivered from the witch, at will + Destroy the Pagans, scatter all their host: + The Soldan flies when all his bands are lost. + + + I + The grisly child of Erebus the grim, + Who saw these tumults done and tempest spent, + Gainst stream of grace who ever strove to swim + And all her thoughts against Heaven's wisdom bent, + Departed now, bright Titan's beams were dim + And fruitful lands waxed barren as she went. + She sought the rest of her infernal crew, + New storms to raise, new broils, and tumults new. + + II + She, that well wist her sisters had enticed, + By their false arts, far from the Christian host, + Tancred, Rinaldo, and the rest, best prized + For martial skill, for might esteemed most, + Said, of these discords and these strifes advised, + "Great Solyman, when day his light hath lost, + These Christians shall assail with sudden war, + And kill them all while thus they strive and jar." + + III + With that where Solyman remained she flew, + And found him out with his Arabian bands, + Great Solyman, of all Christ's foes untrue, + Boldest of courage, mightiest of his hands, + Like him was none of all that earth-bred crew + That heaped mountains on the Aemonian sands, + Of Turks he sovereign was, and Nice his seat, + Where late he dwelt, and ruled that kingdom great. + + IV + The lands forenenst the Greekish shore he held, + From Sangar's mouth to crooked Meander's fall, + Where they of Phrygia, Mysia, Lydia dwelled, + Bithynia's towns, and Pontus' cities all: + But when the hearts of Christian princes swelled, + And rose in arms to make proud Asia thrall, + Those lands were won where he did sceptre wield + And he twice beaten was in pitched field. + + V + When Fortune oft he had in vain assayed, + And spent his forces, which availed him naught, + To Egypt's king himself he close conveyed, + Who welcomed him as he could best have thought, + Glad in his heart, and inly well apayed, + That to his court so great a lord was brought: + For he decreed his armies huge to bring + To succor Juda land and Juda's king. + + VI + But, ere he open war proclaimed, he would + That Solyman should kindle first the fire, + And with huge sums of false enticing gold + The Arabian thieves he sent him forth to hire, + While he the Asian lords and Morians hold + Unites; the Soldan won to his desire + Those outlaws, ready aye for gold to fight, + The hope of gain hath such alluring might. + + VII + Thus made their captain to destroy and burn, + In Juda land he entered is so far, + That all the ways whereby he should return + By Godfrey's people kept and stopped are, + And now he gan his former losses mourn, + This wound had hit him on an elder scar, + On great adventures ran his hardy thought, + But naught assured, he yet resolved on naught. + + VIII + To him Alecto came, and semblant bore + Of one whose age was great, whose looks were grave, + Whose cheeks were bloodless, and whose locks were hoar + Mustaches strouting long and chin close shave, + A steepled turban on her head she wore, + Her garment wide, and by her side, her glaive, + Her gilden quiver at her shoulders hung, + And in her hand a bow was, stiff and strong. + + IX + "We have." Quoth she, "through wildernesses gone, + Through sterile sands, strange paths, and uncouth ways, + Yet spoil or booty have we gotten none, + Nor victory deserving fame or praise, + Godfrey meanwhile to ruin stick and stone + Of this fair town, with battery sore assays; + And if awhile we rest, we shall behold + This glorious city smoking lie in mould. + + X + "Are sheep-cotes burnt, or preys of sheep or kine, + The cause why Solyman these bands did arm? + Canst thou that kingdom lately lost of thine + Recover thus, or thus redress thy harm? + No, no, when heaven's small candles next shall shine, + Within their tents give them a bold alarm; + Believe Araspes old, whose grave advice + Thou hast in exile proved, and proved in Nice. + + XI + "He feareth naught, he doubts no sudden broil + From these ill-armed and worse-hearted bands, + He thinks this people, used to rob and spoil, + To such exploit dares not lift up their hands; + Up then and with thy courage put to foil + This fearless camp, while thus secure it stands." + This said, her poison in his breast she hides, + And then to shapeless air unseen she glides. + + XII + The Soldan cried, "O thou which in my thought + Increased hast my rage and fury so, + Nor seem'st a wight of mortal metal wrought, + I follow thee, whereso thee list to go, + Mountains of men by dint of sword down brought + Thou shalt behold, and seas of red blood flow + Where'er I go; only be thou my guide + When sable night the azure skies shall hide." + + XIII + When this was said, he mustered all his crew, + Reproved the cowards, and allowed the bold: + His forward camp, inspired with courage new, + Was ready dight to follow where he would: + Alecto's self the warning trumpet blew + And to the wind his standard great unrolled, + Thus on they marched, and thus on they went, + Of their approach their speed the news prevent. + + XIV + Alecto left them, and her person dight + Like one that came some tidings new to tell: + It was the time, when first the rising night + Her sparkling diamonds poureth forth to sell, + When, into Sion come, she marched right + Where Juda's aged tyrant used to dwell, + To whom of Solyman's designment bold, + The place, the manner, and the time she told. + + XV + Their mantle dark, the grisly shadows spread, + Stained with spots of deepest sanguine hue, + Warm drops of blood, on earth's black visage shed, + Supplied the place of pure and precious dew, + The moon and stars for fear of sprites were fled, + The shrieking goblins eachwhere howling flew, + The furies roar, the ghosts and fairies yell, + The earth was filled with devils, and empty hell. + + XVI + The Soldan fierce, through all this horror, went + Toward the camp of his redoubted foes, + The night was more than half consumed and spent; + Now headlong down the western hill she goes, + When distant scant a mile from Godfrey's tent + He let his people there awhile repose, + And victualled them, and then he boldly spoke + These words which rage and courage might provoke: + + XVII + "See there a camp, full stuffed of spoils and preys, + Not half so strong as false report recordeth; + See there the storehouse, where their captain lays + Our treasures stolen, where Asia's wealth he hoardeth; + Now chance the ball unto our racket plays, + Take then the vantage which good luck affordeth; + For all their arms, their horses, gold and treasure + Are ours, ours without loss, harm or displeasure. + + XVIII + "Nor is this camp that great victorious host + That slew the Persian lords, and Nice hath won: + For those in this long war are spent and lost, + These are the dregs, the wine is all outrun, + And these few left, are drowned and dead almost + In heavy sleep, the labor half is done + To send them headlong to Avernus deep, + For little differs death and heavy sleep. + + XIX + "Come, come, this sword the passage open shall + Into their camp, and on their bodies slain + We will pass o'er their rampire and their wall; + This blade, as scythes cut down the fields of grain, + Shall cut them so, Christ's kingdom now shall fall, + Asia her freedom, you shall praise obtain." + Thus he inflamed his soldiers to the fight, + And led them on through silence of the night. + + XX + The sentinel by starlight, lo, descried + This mighty Soldan and his host draw near, + Who found not as he hoped the Christians' guide + Unware, ne yet unready was his gear: + The scouts, when this huge army they descried, + Ran back, and gan with shouts the 'larum rear; + The watch stert up and drew their weapons bright, + And busked them bold to battle and to fight. + + XXI + The Arabians wist they could not come unseen, + And therefore loud their jarring trumpets sound, + Their yelling cries to heaven upheaved been, + The horses thundered on the solid ground, + The mountains roared, and the valley green, + The echoes sighed from the caves around, + Alecto with her brand, kindled in hell, + Tokened to them in David's tower that dwell. + + XXII + Before the rest forth pricked the Soldan fast, + Against the watch, not yet in order just, + As swift as hideous Boreas' hasty blast + From hollow rocks when first his storms outburst, + The raging floods, that trees and rocks down cast, + Thunders, that towns and towers drive to dust: + Earthquakes, to tear the world in twain that threat, + Are naught, compared to his fury great. + + XXIII + He struck no blow, but that his foe he hit; + And never hit, but made a grievous wound: + And never wounded, but death followed it; + And yet no peril, hurt or harm he found, + No weapon on his hardened helmet bit, + No puissant stroke his senses once astound, + Yet like a bell his tinkling helmet rung, + And thence flew flames of fire and sparks among. + + XXIV + Himself well nigh had put the watch to flight, + A jolly troop of Frenchmen strong and stout, + When his Arabians came by heaps to fight, + Covering, like raging floods, the fields about; + The beaten Christians run away full light, + The Pagans, mingled with the flying rout, + Entered their camp, and filled, as they stood, + Their tents with ruin, slaughter, death and blood. + + XXV + High on the Soldan's helm enamelled laid + An hideous dragon, armed with many a scale, + With iron paws, and leathern wings displayed, + Which twisted on a knot her forked tail, + With triple tongue it seemed she hissed and brayed, + About her jaws the froth and venom trail, + And as he stirred, and as his foes him hit, + So flames to cast and fire she seemed to spit. + + XXVI + With this strange light, the Soldan fierce appeared + Dreadful to those that round about him been, + As to poor sailors, when huge storms are reared, + With lightning flash the rafting seas are seen; + Some fled away, because his strength they feared, + Some bolder gainst him bent their weapons keen, + And forward night, in evils and mischiefs pleased, + Their dangers hid, and dangers still increased. + + XXVII + Among the rest that strove to merit praise, + Was old Latinus, born by Tiber's bank, + To whose stout heart in fights and bloody frays, + For all his eild, base fear yet never sank; + Five sons he had, the comforts of his days, + That from his side in no adventure shrank, + But long before their time, in iron strong + They clad their members, tender, soft and young. + + XXVIII + The bold ensample of their father's might + Their weapons whetted and their wrath increased, + "Come let us go," quoth he, "where yonder knight + Upon our soldiers makes his bloody feast, + Let not their slaughter once your hearts affright, + Where danger most appears, there fear it least, + For honor dwells in hard attempts, my sons, + And greatest praise, in greatest peril, wons." + + XXIX + Her tender brood the forest's savage queen, + Ere on their crests their rugged manes appear, + Before their mouths by nature armed been, + Or paws have strength a silly lamb to tear, + So leadeth forth to prey, and makes them keen, + And learns by her ensample naught to fear + The hunter, in those desert woods that takes + The lesser beasts whereon his feast he makes. + + XXX + The noble father and his hardy crew + Fierce Solyman on every side invade, + At once all six upon the Soldan flew, + With lances sharp, and strong encounters made, + His broken spear the eldest boy down threw, + And boldly, over-boldly, drew his blade, + Wherewith he strove, but strove therewith in vain, + The Pagan's steed, unmarked, to have slain. + + XXXI + But as a mountain or a cape of land + Assailed with storms and seas on every side, + Doth unremoved, steadfast, still withstand + Storm, thunder, lightning, tempest, wind, and tide: + The Soldan so withstood Latinus' band, + And unremoved did all their justs abide, + And of that hapless youth, who hurt his steed, + Down to the chin he cleft in twain the head. + + XXXII + Kind Aramante, who saw his brother slain, + To hold him up stretched forth his friendly arm, + Oh foolish kindness, and oh pity vain, + To add our proper loss, to other's harm! + The prince let fall his sword, and cut in twain + About his brother twined, the child's weak arm. + Down from their saddles both together slide, + Together mourned they, and together died. + + XXXIII + That done, Sabino's lance with nimble force + He cut in twain, and 'gainst the stripling bold + He spurred his steed, that underneath his horse + The hardy infant tumbled on the mould, + Whose soul, out squeezed from his bruised corpse, + With ugly painfulness forsook her hold, + And deeply mourned that of so sweet a cage + She left the bliss, and joys of youthful age. + + XXXIV + But Picus yet and Lawrence were on live, + Whom at one birth their mother fair brought out, + A pair whose likeness made the parents strive + Oft which was which, and joyed in their doubt: + But what their birth did undistinguished give, + The Soldan's rage made known, for Picus stout + Headless at one huge blow he laid in dust, + And through the breast his gentle brother thrust. + + XXXV + Their father, but no father now, alas! + When all his noble sons at once were slain, + In their five deaths so often murdered was, + I know not how his life could him sustain, + Except his heart were forged of steel or brass, + Yet still he lived, pardie, he saw not plain + Their dying looks, although their deaths he knows, + It is some ease not to behold our woes. + + XXXVI + He wept not, for the night her curtain spread + Between his cause of weeping and his eyes, + But still he mourned and on sharp vengeance fed, + And thinks he conquers, if revenged he dies; + He thirsts the Soldan's heathenish blood to shed, + And yet his own at less than naught doth prize, + Nor can he tell whether he liefer would, + Or die himself, or kill the Pagan bold. + + XXXVII + At last, "Is this right hand," quoth he, "so weak, + That thou disdain'st gainst me to use thy might? + Can it naught do? can this tongue nothing speak + That may provoke thine ire, thy wrath and spite?" + With that he struck, his anger great to wreak, + A blow, that pierced the mail and metal bright, + And in his flank set ope a floodgate wide, + Whereat the blood out streamed from his side. + + XXXVIII + Provoked with his cry, and with that blow, + The Turk upon him gan his blade discharge, + He cleft his breastplate, having first pierced through, + Lined with seven bulls' hides, his mighty targe, + And sheathed his weapons in his guts below; + Wretched Latinus at that issue large, + And at his mouth, poured out his vital blood, + And sprinkled with the same his murdered brood. + + XXXIX + On Apennine like as a sturdy tree, + Against the winds that makes resistance stout, + If with a storm it overturned be, + Falls down and breaks the trees and plants about; + So Latine fell, and with him felled he + And slew the nearest of the Pagans' rout, + A worthy end, fit for a man of fame, + That dying, slew; and conquered, overcame. + + XL + Meanwhile the Soldan strove his rage + To satisfy with blood of Christian spilled, + The Arabians heartened by their captain stern, + With murder every tent and cabin filled, + Henry the English knight, and Olipherne, + O fierce Draguto, by thy hands were killed! + Gilbert and Philip were by Ariadene + Both slain, both born upon the banks of Rhone. + + XLI + Albazar with his mace Ernesto slew, + Under Algazel Engerlan down fell, + But the huge murder of the meaner crew, + Or manner of their deaths, what tongue can tell? + Godfrey, when first the heathen trumpets blew, + Awaked, which heard, no fear could make him dwell, + But he and his were up and armed ere long, + And marched forward with a squadron strong. + + XLII + He that well heard the rumor and the cry, + And marked the tumult still grow more and more, + The Arabian thieves he judged by and by + Against his soldiers made this battle sore; + For that they forayed all the countries nigh, + And spoiled the fields, the duke knew well before, + Yet thought he not they had the hardiment + So to assail him in his armed tent. + + XLIII + All suddenly he heard, while on he went, + How to the city-ward, "Arm, arm!" they cried, + The noise upreared to the firmament, + With dreadful howling filled the valleys wlde: + This was Clorinda, whom the king forth sent + To battle, and Argantes by her side. + The duke, this heard, to Guelpho turned, and prayed + Him his lieutenant be, and to him said: + + XLIV + "You hear this new alarm from yonder part, + That from the town breaks out with so much rage, + Us needeth much your valor and your art + To calm their fury, and their heat to 'suage; + Go thither then, and with you take some part + Of these brave soldiers of mine equipage, + While with the residue of my champions bold + I drive these wolves again out of our fold." + + XLV + They parted, this agreed on them between, + By divers paths, Lord Guelpho to the hill, + And Godfrey hasted where the Arabians keen + His men like silly sheep destroy and kill; + But as he went his troops increased been, + From every part the people flocked still, + That now grown strong enough, he 'proached nigh + Where the fierce Turk caused many a Christian die. + + XLVI + So from the top of Vesulus the cold, + Down to the sandy valleys, tumbleth Po, + Whose streams the further from the fountain rolled + Still stronger wax, and with more puissance go; + And horned like a bull his forehead bold + He lifts, and o'er his broken banks doth flow, + And with his horns to pierce the sea assays, + To which he proffereth war, not tribute pays. + + XLVII + The duke his men fast flying did espy, + And thither ran, and thus, displeased, spake, + "What fear is this? Oh, whither do you fly? + See who they be that this pursuit do make, + A heartless band, that dare no battle try, + Who wounds before dare neither give nor take, + Against them turn your stern eye's threatening sight, + An angry look will put them all to flight." + + XLVIII + This said, he spurred forth where Solyman + Destroyed Christ's vineyard like a savage boar, + Through streams of blood, through dust and dirt he ran, + O'er heaps of bodies wallowing in their gore, + The squadrons close his sword to ope began, + He broke their ranks, behind, beside, before, + And, where he goes, under his feet he treads + The armed Saracens, and barbed steeds. + + XLIX + This slaughter-house of angry Mars he passed, + Where thousands dead, half-dead, and dying were. + The hardy Soldan saw him come in haste, + Yet neither stepped aside nor shrunk for fear, + But busked him bold to fight, aloft he cast + His blade, prepared to strike, and stepped near, + These noble princes twain, so Fortune wrought + From the world's end here met, and here they fought: + + L + With virtue, fury; strength with courage strove, + For Asia's mighty empire, who can tell + With how strange force their cruel blows they drove? + How sore their combat was? how fierce, how fell? + Great deeds they wrought, each other's harness clove; + Yet still in darkness, more the ruth, they dwell. + The night their acts her black veil covered under, + Their acts whereat the sun, the world might wonder. + + LI + The Christians by their guide's ensample hearted, + Of their best armed made a squadron strong, + And to defend their chieftain forth they started: + The Pagans also saved their knight from wrong, + Fortune her favors twixt them evenly parted, + Fierce was the encounter, bloody, doubtful, long; + These won, those lost; these lost, those won again; + The loss was equal, even the numbers slain. + + LII + With equal rage, as when the southern wind, + Meeteth in battle strong the northern blast, + The sea and air to neither is resigned, + But cloud gainst cloud, and wave gainst wave they cast: + So from this skirmish neither part declined, + But fought it out, and kept their footings fast, + And oft with furious shock together rush, + And shield gainst shield, and helm gainst helm they crush. + + LIII + The battle eke to Sionward grew hot, + The soldiers slain, the hardy knights were killed, + Legions of sprites from Limbo's prisons got, + The empty air, the hills and valleys filled, + Hearting the Pagans that they shrinked not, + Till where they stood their dearest blood they spilled; + And with new rage Argantes they inspire, + Whose heat no flames, whose burning need no fire. + + LIV + Where he came in he put to shameful flight + The fearful watch, and o'er the trenches leaped, + Even with the ground he made the rampire's height, + And murdered bodies in the ditch unheaped, + So that his greedy mates with labor light, + Amid the tents, a bloody harvest reaped: + Clorinda went the proud Circassian by, + So from a piece two chained bullets fly. + + LV + Now fled the Frenchmen, when in lucky hour + Arrived Guelpho, and his helping band, + He made them turn against this stormy shower, + And with bold face their wicked foes withstand. + Sternly they fought, that from their wounds downpour + The streams of blood and run on either hand: + The Lord of heaven meanwhile upon this fight, + From his high throne bent down his gracious sight. + + LVI + From whence with grace and goodness compassed round, + He ruleth, blesseth, keepeth all he wrought, + Above the air, the fire, the sea and ground, + Our sense, our wit, our reason and our thought, + Where persons three, with power and glory crowned, + Are all one God, who made all things of naught, + Under whose feet, subjected to his grace, + Sit nature, fortune, motion, time and place. + + LVII + This is the place, from whence like smoke and dust + Of this frail world the wealth, the pomp and power, + He tosseth, tumbleth, turneth as he lust, + And guides our life, our death, our end and hour: + No eye, however virtuous, pure and just, + Can view the brightness of that glorious bower, + On every side the blessed spirits be, + Equal in joys, though differing in degree. + + LVIII + With harmony of their celestial song + The palace echoed from the chambers pure, + At last he Michael called, in harness strong + Of never yielding diamonds armed sure, + "Behold," quoth he, "to do despite and wrong + To that dear flock my mercy hath in cure, + How Satan from hell's loathsome prison sends + His ghosts, his sprites, his furies and his fiends. + + LIX + "Go bid them all depart, and leave the care + Of war to soldiers, as doth best pertain: + Bid them forbear to infect the earth and air; + To darken heaven's fair light, bid them refrain; + Bid them to Acheron's black flood repair, + Fit house for them, the house of grief and pain: + There let their king himself and them torment, + So I command, go tell them mine intent." + + LX + This said, the winged warrior low inclined + At his Creator's feet with reverence due; + Then spread his golden feathers to the wind, + And swift as thought away the angel flew, + He passed the light, and shining fire assigned + The glorious seat of his selected crew, + The mover first, and circle crystalline, + The firmament, where fixed stars all shine; + + LXI + Unlike in working then, in shape and show, + At his left hand, Saturn he left and Jove, + And those untruly errant called I trow, + Since he errs not, who them doth guide and move: + The fields he passed then, whence hail and snow, + Thunder and rain fall down from clouds above, + Where heat and cold, dryness and moisture strive, + Whose wars all creatures kill, and slain, revive. + + LXII + The horrid darkness, and the shadows dun + Dispersed he with his eternal wings, + The flames which from his heavenly eyes outrun + Beguiled the earth and all her sable things; + After a storm so spreadeth forth the sun + His rays and binds the clouds in golden strings, + Or in the stillness of a moonshine even + A falling star so glideth down from Heaven. + + LXIII + But when the infernal troop he 'proached near, + That still the Pagans' ire and rage provoke, + The angel on his wings himself did bear, + And shook his lance, and thus at last he spoke: + "Have you not learned yet to know and fear + The Lord's just wrath, and thunder's dreadful stroke? + Or in the torments of your endless ill, + Are you still fierce, still proud, rebellious still? + + LXIV + "The Lord hath sworn to break the iron bands + The brazen gates of Sion's fort which close, + Who is it that his sacred will withstands? + Against his wrath who dares himself oppose? + Go hence, you cursed, to your appointed lands, + The realms of death, of torments, and of woes, + And in the deeps of that infernal lake + Your battles fight, and there your triumphs make. + + LXV + "There tyrannize upon the souls you find + Condemned to woe, and double still their pains; + Where some complain, where some their teeth do grind, + Some howl, and weep, some clank their iron chains:" + This said they fled, and those that stayed behind, + With his sharp lance he driveth and constrains; + They sighing left the lands, his silver sheep + Where Hesperus doth lead, doth feed, and keep. + + LXVI + And toward hell their lazy wings display, + To wreak their malice on the damned ghosts; + The birds that follow Titan's hottest ray, + Pass not in so great flocks to warmer coasts, + Nor leaves in so great numbers fall away + When winter nips them with his new-come frosts; + The earth delivered from so foul annoy, + Recalled her beauty, and resumed her joy. + + LXVII + But not for this in fierce Argantes' breast + Lessened the rancor and decreased the ire, + Although Alecto left him to infest + With the hot brands of her infernal fire, + Round his armed head his trenchant blade he blest, + And those thick ranks that seemed moist entire + He breaks; the strong, the high, the weak, the low, + Were equalized by his murdering blow. + + LXVIII + Not far from him amid the blood and dust, + Heads, arms, and legs, Clorinda strewed wide + Her sword through Berengarius' breast she thrust, + Quite through the heart, where life doth chiefly bide, + And that fell blow she struck so sure and just, + That at his back his life and blood forth glide; + Even in the mouth she smote Albinus then, + And cut in twain the visage of the man. + + LXIX + Gernier's right hand she from his arm divided, + Whereof but late she had received a wound; + The hand his sword still held, although not guided, + The fingers half alive stirred on the ground; + So from a serpent slain the tail divided + Moves in the grass, rolleth and tumbleth round, + The championess so wounded left the knight, + And gainst Achilles turned her weapon bright. + + LXX + Upon his neck light that unhappy blow, + And cut the sinews and the throat in twain, + The head fell down upon the earth below, + And soiled with dust the visage on the plain; + The headless trunk, a woful thing to know, + Still in the saddle seated did remain; + Until his steed, that felt the reins at large, + With leaps and flings that burden did discharge. + + LXXI + While thus this fair and fierce Bellona slew + The western lords, and put their troops to flight, + Gildippes raged mongst the Pagan crew, + And low in dust laid many a worthy knight: + Like was their sex, their beauty and their hue, + Like was their youth, their courage and their might; + Yet fortune would they should the battle try + Of mightier foes, for both were framed to die. + + LXXII + Yet wished they oft, and strove in vain to meet, + So great betwixt them was the press and throng, + But hardy Guelpho gainst Clorinda sweet + Ventured his sword to work her harm and wrong, + And with a cutting blow so did her greet, + That from her side the blood streamed down along; + But with a thrust an answer sharp she made, + And 'twixt his ribs colored somedeal her blade. + + LXXIII + Lord Guelpho struck again, but hit her not, + For strong Osmida haply passed by, + And not meant him, another's wound he got, + That cleft his front in twain above his eye: + Near Guelpho now the battle waxed hot, + For all the troops he led gan thither hie, + And thither drew eke many a Paynim knight, + That fierce, stern, bloody, deadly waxed the fight. + + LXXIV + Meanwhile the purple morning peeped o'er + The eastern threshold to our half of land, + And Argillano in this great uproar + From prison loosed was, and what he fand, + Those arms he hent, and to the field them bore, + Resolved to take his chance what came to hand, + And with great acts amid the Pagan host + Would win again his reputation lost. + + LXXV + As a fierce steed 'scaped from his stall at large, + Where he had long been kept for warlike need, + Runs through the fields unto the flowery marge + Of some green forest where he used to feed, + His curled mane his shoulders broad doth charge + And from his lofty crest doth spring and spreed, + Thunder his feet, his nostrils fire breathe out, + And with his neigh the world resounds about. + + LXXVI + So Argillan rushed forth, sparkled his eyes, + His front high lifted was, no fear therein, + Lightly he leaps and skips, it seems he flies, + He left no sign in dust imprinted thin, + And coming near his foes, he sternly cries, + As one that forced not all their strength a pin, + "You outcasts of the world, you men of naught + What hath in you this boldness newly wrought? + + LXXVII + "Too weak are you to bear a helm or shield + Unfit to arm your breast in iron bright, + You run half-naked trembling through the field, + Your blows are feeble, and your hope in flight, + Your facts and all the actions that you wield, + The darkness hides, your bulwark is the night, + Now she is gone, how will your fights succeed? + Now better arms and better hearts you need." + + LXXVIII + While thus he spoke, he gave a cruel stroke + Against Algazel's throat with might and main; + And as he would have answered him, and spoke, + He stopped his words, and cut his jaws in twain; + Upon his eyes death spread his misty cloak, + A chilling frost congealed every vein, + He fell, and with his teeth the earth he tore, + Raging in death, and full of rage before. + + LXXIX + Then by his puissance mighty Saladine, + Proud Agricalt and Muleasses died, + And at one wondrous blow his weapon fine, + Did Adiazel in two parts divide, + Then through the breast he wounded Ariadine, + Whom dying with sharp taunts he gan deride, + He lifting up uneath his feeble eyes, + To his proud scorns thus answereth, ere he dies: + + LXXX + "Not thou, whoe'er thou art, shall glory long + Thy happy conquest in my death, I trow, + Like chance awaits thee from a hand more strong, + Which by my side will shortly lay thee low:" + He smiled, and said, "Of mine hour short or long + Let heaven take care; but here meanwhile die thou, + Pasture for wolves and crows," on him his foot + He set, and drew his sword and life both out. + + LXXXI + Among this squadron rode a gentle page, + The Soldan's minion, darling, and delight, + On whose fair chin the spring-time of his age + Yet blossomed out her flowers, small or light; + The sweat spread on his cheeks with heat and rage + Seemed pearls or morning dews on lilies white, + The dust therein uprolled adorned his hair, + His face seemed fierce and sweet, wrathful and fair. + + LXXXII + His steed was white, and white as purest snow + That falls on tops of aged Apennine, + Lightning and storm are not so 'swift I trow + As he, to run, to stop, to turn and twine; + A dart his right hand shaked, prest to throw; + His cutlass by his thigh, short, hooked, fine, + And braving in his Turkish pomp he shone, + In purple robe, o'erfret with gold and stone. + + LXXXIII + The hardy boy, while thirst of warlike praise + Bewitched so his unadvised thought, + Gainst every band his childish strength assays, + And little danger found, though much he sought, + Till Argillan, that watched fit time always + In his swift turns to strike him as he fought, + Did unawares his snow-white courser slay, + And under him his master tumbling lay: + + LXXXIV + And gainst his face, where love and pity stand, + To pray him that rich throne of beauty spare, + The cruel man stretched forth his murdering hand, + To spoil those gifts, whereof he had no share: + It seemed remorse and sense was in his brand + Which, lighting flat, to hurt the lad forbare; + But all for naught, gainst him the point he bent + That, what the edge had spared, pierced and rent. + + LXXXV + Fierce Solyman that with Godfredo strived + Who first should enter conquest's glorious gate, + Left off the fray and thither headlong drived, + When first he saw the lad in such estate; + He brake the press, and soon enough arrived + To take revenge, but to his aid too late, + Because he saw his Lesbine slain and lost, + Like a sweet flower nipped with untimely frost. + + LXXXVI + He saw wax dim the starlight of his eyes, + His ivory neck upon his shoulders fell, + In his pale looks kind pity's image lies, + That death even mourned, to hear his passing bell. + His marble heart such soft impression tries, + That midst his wrath his manly tears outwell, + Thou weepest, Solyman, thou that beheld + Thy kingdoms lost, and not one tear could yield. + + LXXXVII + But when the murderer's sword he hapt to view + Dropping with blood of his Lesbino dead, + His pity vanished, ire and rage renew, + He had no leisure bootless tears to shed; + But with his blade on Argillano flew, + And cleft his shield, his helmet, and his head, + Down to his throat; and worthy was that blow + Of Solyman, his strength and wrath to show: + + LXXXVIII + And not content with this, down from his horse + He lights, and that dead carcass rent and tore, + Like a fierce dog that takes his angry course + To bite the stone which had him hit before. + Oh comfort vain for grief of so great force, + To wound the senseless earth that feels no sore! + But mighty Godfrey 'gainst the Soldan's train + Spent not, this while, his force and blows in vain. + + LXXXIX + A thousand hardy Turks affront he had + In sturdy iron armed from head to foot, + Resolved in all adventures good or bad, + In actions wise, in execution stout, + Whom Solyman into Arabia lad, + When from his kingdom he was first cast out, + Where living wild with their exiled guide + To him in all extremes they faithful bide; + + XC + All these in thickest order sure unite, + For Godfrey's valor small or nothing shrank, + Corcutes first he on the face did smite, + Then wounded strong Rosteno in the flank, + At one blow Selim's head he stroke off quite, + Then both Rossano's arms, in every rank + The boldest knights, of all that chosen crew, + He felled, maimed, wounded, hurt and slew. + + XCI + While thus he killed many a Saracine + And all their fierce assaults unhurt sustained, + Ere fortune wholly from the Turks decline, + While still they hoped much, though small they gained, + Behold a cloud of dust, wherein doth shine + Lightning of war in midst thereof contained, + Whence unawares burst forth a storm of swords, + Which tremble made the Pagan knights and lords. + XCII + These fifty champions were, mongst whom there stands, + In silver field, the ensign of Christ's death, + If I had mouths and tongues as Briareus hands, + If voice as iron tough, if iron breath, + What harm this troop wrought to the heathen bands, + What knights they slew, I could recount uneath + In vain the Turks resist, the Arabians fly; + If they fly, they are slain; if fight, they die. + + XCIII + Fear, cruelty, grief, horror, sorrow, pain, + Run through the field, disguised in divers shapes, + Death might you see triumphant on the plain, + Drowning in blood him that from blows escapes. + The king meanwhile with parcel of his train + Comes hastily out, and for sure conquest gapes, + And from a bank whereon he stood, beheld + The doubtful hazard of that bloody field. + + XCIV + But when he saw the Pagans shrink away, + He sounded the retreat, and gan desire + His messengers in his behalf to pray + Argantes and Clorinda to retire; + The furious couple both at once said nay, + Even drunk with shedding blood, and mad with ire, + At last they went, and to recomfort thought + And stay their troops from flight, but all for nought. + + XCV + For who can govern cowardice or fear? + Their host already was begun to fly, + They cast their shields and cutting swords arrear, + As not defended but made slow thereby, + A hollow dale the city's bulwarks near + From west to south outstretched long doth lie, + Thither they fled, and in a mist of dust, + Toward the walls they run, they throng, they thrust. + + XCVI + While down the bank disordered thus they ran, + The Christian knights huge slaughter on them made; + But when to climb the other hill they gan, + Old Aladine came fiercely to their aid: + On that steep brae Lord Guelpho would not than + Hazard his folk, but there his soldiers stayed, + And safe within the city's walls the king. + The relics small of that sharp fight did bring: + + XCVII + Meanwhile the Soldan in this latest charge + Had done as much as human force was able, + All sweat and blood appeared his members large, + His breath was short, his courage waxed unstable, + His arm grew weak to bear his mighty targe, + His hand to rule his heavy sword unable, + Which bruised, not cut, so blunted was the blade + It lost the use for which a sword was made. + + XCVIII + Feeling his weakness, he gan musing stand, + And in his troubled thought this question tossed, + If he himself should murder with his hand, + Because none else should of his conquest boast, + Or he should save his life, when on the land + Lay slain the pride of his subdued host, + "At last to fortune's power," quoth he, "I yield, + And on my flight let her her trophies build. + + XCIX + "Let Godfrey view my flight, and smile to see + This mine unworthy second banishment, + For armed again soon shall he hear of me, + From his proud head the unsettled crown to rent, + For, as my wrongs, my wrath etern shall be, + At every hour the bow of war new bent, + I will rise again, a foe, fierce, bold, + Though dead, though slain, though burnt to ashes cold." + + + + TENTH BOOK + + THE ARGUMENT. + Ismen from sleep awakes the Soldan great, + And into Sion brings the Prince by night + Where the sad king sits fearful on his seat, + Whom he emboldeneth and excites to fight; + Godfredo hears his lords and knights repeat + How they escaped Armida's wrath and spite: + Rinaldo known to live, Peter foresays + His Offspring's virtue, good deserts, and praise. + + I + A gallant steed, while thus the Soldan said, + Came trotting by him, without lord or guide, + Quickly his hand upon the reins he laid, + And weak and weary climbed up to ride; + The snake that on his crest hot fire out-braid + Was quite cut off, his helm had lost the pride, + His coat was rent, his harness hacked and cleft, + And of his kingly pomp no sign was left. + + II + As when a savage wolf chased from the fold, + To hide his head runs to some holt or wood, + Who, though he filled have while it might hold + His greedy paunch, yet hungreth after food, + With sanguine tongue forth of his lips out-rolled + About his jaws that licks up foam and blood; + So from this bloody fray the Soldan hied, + His rage unquenched, his wrath unsatisfied. + + III + And, as his fortune would, he scaped free + From thousand arrows which about him flew, + From swords and lances, instruments that be + Of certain death, himself he safe withdrew, + Unknown, unseen, disguised, travelled he, + By desert paths and ways but used by few, + And rode revolving in his troubled thought + What course to take, and yet resolved on naught. + + IV + Thither at last he meant to take his way, + Where Egypt's king assembled all his host, + To join with him, and once again assay + To win by fight, by which so oft he lost: + Determined thus, he made no longer stay, + But thitherward spurred forth his steed in post, + Nor need he guide, the way right well he could, + That leads to sandy plains of Gaza old. + + V + Nor though his smarting wounds torment him oft, + His body weak and wounded back and side, + Yet rested he, nor once his armor doffed, + But all day long o'er hills and dales doth ride: + But when the night cast up her shade aloft + And all earth's colors strange in sables dyed, + He light, and as he could his wounds upbound, + And shook ripe dates down from a palm he found. + + VI + On them he supped, and amid the field + To rest his weary limbs awhile he sought, + He made his pillow of his broken shield + To ease the griefs of his distempered thought, + But little ease could so hard lodging yield, + His wounds so smarted that he slept right naught, + And, in his breast, his proud heart rent in twain, + Two inward vultures, Sorrow and Disdain. + + VII + At length when midnight with her silence deep + Did heaven and earth hushed, still, and quiet make, + Sore watched and weary, he began to steep + His cares and sorrows in oblivion's lake, + And in a little, short, unquiet sleep + Some small repose his fainting spirits take; + But, while he slept, a voice grave and severe + At unawares thus thundered in his ear: + + VIII + "O Solyman! thou far-renowned king, + Till better season serve, forbear thy rest; + A stranger doth thy lands in thraldom bring, + Nice is a slave, by Christian yoke oppressed; + Sleepest thou here, forgetful of this thing, + That here thy friends lie slain, not laid in chest, + Whose bones bear witness of thy shame and scorn! + And wilt thou idly here attend the morn?" + + IX + The king awoke, and saw before his eyes + A man whose presence seemed grave and old, + A writhen staff his steps unstable guies, + Which served his feeble members to uphold. + "And what art thou?" the prince in scorn replies, + "What sprite to vex poor passengers so bold, + To break their sleep? or what to thee belongs + My shame, my loss, my vengeance or my wrongs." + + X + "I am the man of thine intent," quoth he, + "And purpose new that sure conjecture hath, + And better than thou weenest know I thee: + I proffer thee my service and my faith. + My speeches therefore sharp and biting be, + Because quick words the whetstones are of wrath,-- + Accept in gree, my lord, the words I spoke, + As spurs thine ire and courage to provoke. + + XI + "But now to visit Egypt's mighty king, + Unless my judgment fall, you are prepared, + I prophesy, about a needless thing + You suffer shall a voyage long and hard: + For though you stay, the monarch great will bring + His new assembled host to Juda-ward, + No place of service there, no cause of fight, + Nor gainst our foes to use your force and might. + + XII + "But if you follow me, within this wall + With Christian arms hemmed in on every side, + Withouten battle, fight, or stroke at all, + Even at noonday, I will you safely guide, + Where you delight, rejoice, and glory shall + In perils great to see your prowess tried. + That noble town you may preserve and shield, + Till Egypt's host come to renew the field." + + XIII + While thus he parleyed, of this aged guest + The Turk the words and looks did both admire, + And from his haughty eyes and furious breast + He laid apart his pride, his rage and ire, + And humbly said, "I willing am and prest + To follow where thou leadest, reverend sire, + And that advice best fits my angry vein + That tells of greatest peril, greatest pain." + + XIV + The old man praised his words, and for the air + His late received wounds to worse disposes, + A quintessence therein he poured fair, + That stops the bleeding, and incision closes: + Beholding then before Apollo's chair + How fresh Aurora violets strewed and roses, + "It's time," he says, "to wend, for Titan bright + To wonted labor summons every wight." + + XV + And to a chariot, that beside did stand, + Ascended he, and with him Solyman, + He took the reins, and with a mastering hand + Ruled his steeds, and whipped them now and than, + The wheels or horses' feet upon the land + Had left no sign nor token where they ran, + The coursers pant and smoke with lukewarm sweat + And, foaming cream, their iron mouthfuls eat. + + XVI + The air about them round, a wondrous thing, + Itself on heaps in solid thickness drew, + The chariot hiding and environing, + The subtle mist no mortal eye could view; + And yet no stone from engine cast or sling + Could pierce the cloud, it was of proof so true; + Yet seen it was to them within which ride, + And heaven and earth without, all clear beside. + + XVII + His beetle brows the Turk amazed bent, + He wrinkled up his front, and wildly stared + Upon the cloud and chariot as it went, + For speed to Cynthia's car right well compared: + The other seeing his astonishment + How he bewondered was, and how he fared, + All suddenly by name the prince gan call, + By which awaked thus he spoke withal: + + XVIII + "Whoe'er thou art above all worldly wit + That hast these high and wondrous marvels brought, + And know'st the deep intents which hidden sit + In secret closet of man's private thought, + If in thy skilful heart this lot be writ, + To tell the event of things to end unbrought; + Then say, what issue and what ends the stars + Allot to Asia's troubles, broils and wars. + + XIX + "But tell me first thy name, and by what art + Thou dost these wonders strange, above our skill; + For full of marvel is my troubled heart, + Tell then and leave me not amazed still." + The wizard smiled and answered, "In some part + Easy it is to satisfy thy will, + Ismen I hight, called an enchanter great, + Such skill have I in magic's secret feat; + + XX + "But that I should the sure events unfold + Of things to come, or destinies foretell, + Too rash is your desire, your wish too bold, + To mortal heart such knowledge never fell; + Our wit and strength on us bestowed I hold, + To shun the evils and harms, mongst which we dwell, + They make their fortune who are stout and wise, + Wit rules the heavens, discretion guides the skies. + + XXI + "That puissant arm of thine that well can rend + From Godfrey's brow the new usurped crown, + And not alone protect, save and defend + From his fierce people, this besieged town, + Gainst fire and sword with strength and courage bend, + Adventure, suffer, trust, tread perils down, + And to content, and to encourage thee, + Know this, which as I in a cloud foresee: + + XXII + "I guess, before the over-gliding sun + Shall many years mete out by weeks and days, + A prince that shall in fertile Egypt won, + Shall fill all Asia with his prosperous frays, + I speak not of his acts in quiet done, + His policy, his rule, his wisdom's praise, + Let this suffice, by him these Christians shall + In fight subdued fly, and conquered fall. + + XXIII + "And their great empire and usurped state + Shall overthrown in dust and ashes lie, + Their woful remnant in an angle strait + Compassed with sea themselves shall fortify, + From thee shall spring this lord of war and fate." + Whereto great Solyman gan thus reply: + "O happy man to so great praise ybore!" + Thus he rejoiced, but yet envied more; + + XXIV + And said, "Let chance with good or bad aspect + Upon me look as sacred Heaven's decree, + This heart to her I never will subject, + Nor ever conquered shall she look on me; + The moon her chariot shall awry direct + Ere from this course I will diverted be." + While thus he spake, it seemed he breathed fire, + So fierce his courage was, so hot his ire. + + XXV + Thus talked they, till they arrived been + Nigh to the place where Godfrey's tents were reared, + There was a woful spectacle yseen, + Death in a thousand ugly forms appeared, + The Soldan changed hue for grief and teen, + On that sad book his shame and loss he lead, + Ah, with what grief his men, his friends he found; + And standards proud, inglorious lie on ground! + + XXVI + And saw one visage of some well-known friend. + In foul despite, a rascal Frenchman tread, + And there another ragged peasant rend + The arms and garments from some champion dead, + And there with stately pomp by heaps they wend, + And Christians slain roll up in webs of lead; + Lastly the Turks and slain Arabians, brought + On heaps, he saw them burn with fire to naught. + + XXVII + Deeply he sighed, and with naked sword + Out of the coach he leaped in the mire, + But Ismen called again the angry lord, + And with grave words appeased his foolish ire. + The prince content remounted at his sword, + Toward a hill on drove the aged sire, + And hasting forward up the bank they pass, + Till far behind the Christian leaguer was. + + XXVIII + There they alight and took their way on foot, + The empty chariot vanished out of sight, + Yet still the cloud environed them about. + At their left hand down went they from the height + Of Sion's Hill, till they approached the route + On that side where to west he looketh right, + There Ismen stayed, and his eyesight bent + Upon the bushy rocks, and thither went. + + XXIX + A hollow cave was in the craggy stone, + Wrought out by hand a number years tofore, + And for of long that way had walked none, + The vault was hid with plants and bushes hoar, + The wizard stooping in thereat to gone, + The thorns aside and scratching brambles bore, + His right hand sought the passage through the cleft, + And for his guide he gave the prince his left: + + XXX + "What," quoth the Soldan, "by what privy mine, + What hidden vault behoves it me to creep? + This sword can find a better way than thine, + Although our foes the passage guard and keep." + "Let not," quoth he, "thy princely foot repine + To tread this secret path, though dark and deep; + For great King Herod used to tread the same, + He that in arms had whilom so great fame. + + XXXI + "This passage made he, when he would suppress + His subjects' pride, and them in bondage hold; + By this he could from that small forteress + Antonia called, of Antony the bold, + Convey his folk unseen of more and less + Even to the middest of the temple old, + Thence, hither; where these privy ways begin, + And bring unseen whole armies out and in. + + XXXII + "But now saye I in all this world lives none + That knows the secret of this darksome place, + Come then where Aladine sits on his throne, + With lords and princes set about his grace; + He feareth more than fitteth such an one, + Such signs of doubt show in his cheer and face; + Fitly you come, hear, see, and keep you still, + Till time and season serve, then speak your fill." + + XXXIII + This said, that narrow entrance passed the knight, + So creeps a camel through a needle's eye, + And through the ways as black as darkest night + He followed him that did him rule and guie; + Strait was the way at first, withouten light, + But further in, did further amplify; + So that upright walked at ease the men + Ere they had passed half that secret den, + + XXXIV + A privy door Ismen unlocked at last, + And up they clomb a little-used stair, + Thereat the day a feeble beam in cast, + Dim was the light, and nothing clear the air; + Out of the hollow cave at length they passed + Into a goodly hall, high, broad and fair, + Where crowned with gold, and all in purple clad + Sate the sad king, among his nobles sad. + + XXXV + The Turk, close in his hollow cloud imbarred, + Unseen, at will did all the prease behold, + These heavy speeches of the king he heard, + Who thus from lofty siege his pleasure told; + "My lords, last day our state was much impaired, + Our friends were slain, killed were our soldiers bold, + Great helps and greater hopes are us bereft, + Nor aught but aid from Egypt land is left: + + XXXVI + "And well you see far distant is that aid, + Upon our heels our danger treadeth still, + For your advice was this assembly made, + Each what he thinketh speak, and what he will." + A whisper soft arose when this was said, + As gentle winds the groves with murmur fill, + But with bold face, high looks and merry cheer, + Argantes rose, the rest their talk forbear. + + XXXVII + "O worthy sovereign," thus began to say + The hardy young man to the tyrant wise, + "What words be these? what fears do you dismay? + Who knows not this, you need not our advice! + But on your hand your hope of conquest lay, + And, for no loss true virtue damnifies, + Make her our shield, pray her us succors give, + And without her let us not wish to live. + + XXXVIII + "Nor say I this for that I aught misdeem + That Egypt's promised succors fail us might, + Doubtful of my great master's words to seem + To me were neither lawful, just, nor right! + I speak these words, for spurs I them esteem + To waken up each dull and fearful sprite, + And make our hearts resolved to all assays, + To win with honor, or to die with praise." + + XXXIX + Thus much Argantes said, and said no more, + As if the case were clear of which he spoke. + Orcano rose, of princely stem ybore, + Whose presence 'mongst them bore a mighty stroke, + A man esteemed well in arms of yore, + But now was coupled new in marriage yoke; + Young babes he had, to fight which made him loth, + He was a husband and a father both. + + XL + "My lord," quoth he, "I will not reprehend + The earnest zeal of this audacious speech, + From courage sprung, which seld is close ypend + In swelling stomach without violent breach: + And though to you our good Circassian friend + In terms too bold and fervent oft doth preach, + Yet hold I that for good, in warlike feat + For his great deeds respond his speeches great. + + XLI + "But if it you beseem, whom graver age + And long experience hath made wise and sly, + To rule the heat of youth and hardy rage, + Which somewhat have misled this knight awry, + In equal balance ponder then and gauge + Your hopes far distant, with your perils nigh; + This town's old walls and rampires new compare + With Godfrey's forces and his engines rare. + + XLII + "But, if I may say what I think unblamed, + This town is strong, by nature, site and art, + But engines huge and instruments are framed + Gainst these defences by our adverse part, + Who thinks him most secure is eathest shamed; + I hope the best, yet fear unconstant mart, + And with this siege if we be long up pent, + Famine I doubt, our store will all be spent. + + XLIII + "For all that store of cattle and of grain + Which yesterday within these walls you brought, + While your proud foes triumphant through the plain + On naught but shedding blood, and conquest thought, + Too little is this city to sustain, + To raise the siege unless some means be sought; + And it must last till the prefixed hour + That it be raised by Egypt's aid and power. + + XLIV + "But what if that appointed day they miss? + Or else, ere we expect, what if they came? + The victory yet is not ours for this, + Oh save this town from ruin, us from shame! + With that same Godfrey still our warfare is, + These armies, soldiers, captains are the same + Who have so oft amid the dusty plain + Turks, Persians, Syrians and Arabians slain. + + XLV + "And thou Argantes wotest what they be; + Oft hast thou fled from that victorious host, + Thy shoulders often hast thou let them see, + And in thy feet hath been thy safeguard most; + Clorinda bright and I fled eke with thee, + None than his fellows had more cause to boast, + Nor blame I any; for in every fight + We showed courage, valor, strength and might. + + XLVI + "And though this hardy knight the certain threat + Of near-approaching death to hear disdain; + Yet to this state of loss and danger great, + From this strong foe I see the tokens plain; + No fort how strong soe'er by art or seat, + Can hinder Godfrey why he should not reign: + This makes me say,--to witness heaven I bring, + Zeal to this state, love to my lord and king-- + + XLVII + "The king of Tripoli was well advised + To purchase peace, and so preserve his crown: + But Solyman, who Godfrey's love despised, + Is either dead or deep in prison thrown; + Else fearful is he run away disguised, + And scant his life is left him for his own, + And yet with gifts, with tribute, and with gold, + He might in peace his empire still have hold." + + XLVIII + Thus spake Orcanes, and some inkling gave + In doubtful words of that he would have said; + To sue for peace or yield himself a slave + He durst not openly his king persuade: + But at those words the Soldan gan to rave, + And gainst his will wrapt in the cloud he stayed, + Whom Ismen thus bespake, "How can you bear + These words, my lord? or these reproaches hear?" + + XLIX + "Oh, let me speak," quoth he, "with ire and scorn + I burn, and gains, my will thus hid I stay!" + This said, the smoky cloud was cleft and torn, + Which like a veil upon them stretched lay, + And up to open heaven forthwith was borne, + And left the prince in view of lightsome day, + With princely look amid the press he shined, + And on a sudden, thus declared his mind. + + L + "Of whom you speak behold the Soldan here, + Neither afraid nor run away for dread, + And that these slanders, lies and fables were, + This hand shall prove upon that coward's head, + I, who have shed a sea of blood well near, + And heaped up mountains high of Christians dead, + I in their camp who still maintained the fray, + My men all murdered, I that run away. + + LI + "If this, or any coward vile beside, + False to his faith and country, dares reply; + And speak of concord with yon men of pride, + By your good leave, Sir King, here shall he die, + The lambs and wolves shall in one fold abide, + The doves and serpents in one nest shall lie, + Before one town us and these Christians shall + In peace and love unite within one wall." + + LII + While thus he spoke, his broad and trenchant sword + His hand held high aloft in threatening guise; + Dumb stood the knights, so dreadful was his word; + A storm was in his front, fire in his eyes, + He turned at last to Sion's aged lord, + And calmed his visage stern in humbler wise: + "Behold," quoth he, "good prince, what aid I bring, + Since Solyman is joined with Juda's king." + + LIII + King Aladine from his rich throne upstart + And said, "Oh how I joy thy face to view, + My noble friend! it lesseneth in some part + My grief, for slaughter of my subjects true; + My weak estate to stablish come thou art, + And mayest thine own again in time renew, + If Heavens consent:" with that the Soldan bold + In dear embracements did he long enfold. + + LIV + Their greetings done, the king resigned his throne + To Solyman, and set himself beside, + In a rich seat adorned with gold and stone, + And Ismen sage did at his elbow bide, + Of whom he asked what way they two had gone, + And he declared all what had them betide: + Clorinda bright to Solyman addressed + Her salutations first, then all the rest. + + LV + Among them rose Ormusses' valiant knight, + Whom late the Soldan with a convoy sent, + And when most hot and bloody was the fight, + By secret paths and blind byways he went, + Till aided by the silence and the night + Safe in the city's walls himself he pent, + And there refreshed with corn and cattle store + The pined soldiers famished nigh before. + + LVI + With surly countenance and disdainful grace, + Sullen and sad, sat the Circassian stout, + Like a fierce lion grumbling in his place, + His fiery eyes that turns and rolls about; + Nor durst Orcanes view the Soldan's face, + But still upon the floor did pore and tout: + Thus with his lords and peers in counselling, + The Turkish monarch sat with Juda's king. + + LVII + Godfrey this while gave victory the rein, + And following her the straits he opened all; + Then for his soldiers and his captains slain, + He celebrates a stately funeral, + And told his camp within a day or twain + He would assault the city's mighty wall, + And all the heathen there enclosed doth threat, + With fire and sword, with death and danger great. + + LVIII + And for he had that noble squadron known, + In the last fight which brought him so great aid, + To be the lords and princes of his own + Who followed late the sly enticing maid, + And with them Tancred, who had late been thrown + In prison deep, by that false witch betrayed, + Before the hermit and some private friends, + For all those worthies, lords and knights, he sends; + + LIX + And thus he said, "Some one of you declare + Your fortunes, whether good or to be blamed, + And to assist us with your valors rare + In so great need, how was your coming framed?" + They blush, and on the ground amazed stare, + For virtue is of little guilt ashamed, + At last the English prince with countenance bold, + The silence broke, and thus their errors told: + + LX + "We, not elect to that exploit by lot, + With secret flight from hence ourselves withdrew, + Following false Cupid, I deny it not, + Enticed forth by love and beauty's hue; + A jealous fire burnt in our stomachs hot, + And by close ways we passed least in view, + Her words, her looks, alas I know too late, + Nursed our love, our jealousy, our hate. + + LXI + "At last we gan approach that woful clime, + Where fire and brimstone down from Heaven was sent + To take revenge for sin and shameful crime + Gainst kind commit, by those who nould repent; + A loathsome lake of brimstone, pitch and lime, + O'ergoes that land, erst sweet and redolent, + And when it moves, thence stench and smoke up flies + Which dim the welkin and infect the skies. + + LXII + "This is the lake in which yet never might + Aught that hath weight sink to the bottom down, + But like to cork or leaves or feathers light, + Stones, iron, men, there fleet and never drown; + Therein a castle stands, to which by sight + But o'er a narrow bridge no way is known, + Hither us brought, here welcomed us the witch, + The house within was stately, pleasant, rich. + + LXIII + "The heavens were clear, and wholsome was the air, + High trees, sweet meadows, waters pure and good; + For there in thickest shade of myrtles fair + A crystal spring poured out a silver flood; + Amid the herbs, the grass and flowers rare, + The falling leaves down pattered from the wood, + The birds sung hymns of love; yet speak I naught + Of gold and marble rich, and richly wrought. + + LXIV + "Under the curtain of the greenwood shade, + Beside the brook upon the velvet grass, + In massy vessel of pure silver made, + A banquet rich and costly furnished was, + All beasts, all birds beguiled by fowler's trade, + All fish were there in floods or seas that pass, + All dainties made by art, and at the table + An hundred virgins served, for husbands able. + + LXV + "She with sweet words and false enticing smiles, + Infused love among the dainties set, + And with empoisoned cups our souls beguiles, + And made each knight himself and God forget: + She rose and turned again within short whiles, + With changed looks where wrath and anger met, + A charming rod, a book with her she brings, + On which she mumbled strange and secret things. + + LXVI + "She read, and change I felt my will and thought, + I longed to change my life, and place of biding, + That virtue strange in me no pleasure wrought, + I leapt into the flood myself there hiding, + My legs and feet both into one were brought, + Mine arms and hands into my shoulders sliding, + My skin was full of scales, like shields of brass, + Now made a fish, where late a knight I was. + + LXVII + "The rest with me like shape, like garments wore, + And dived with me in that quicksilver stream, + Such mind, to my remembrance, then I bore, + As when on vain and foolish things men dream; + At last our shade it pleased her to restore, + Then full of wonder and of fear we seem, + And with an ireful look the angry maid + Thus threatened us, and made us thus afraid. + + LXVIII + "'You see,' quoth she, 'my sacred might and skill, + How you are subject to my rule and power, + In endless thraldom damned if I will + I can torment and keep you in this tower, + Or make you birds, or trees on craggy hill, + To bide the bitter blasts of storm and shower; + Or harden you to rocks on mountains old, + Or melt your flesh and bones to rivers cold: + + LXIX + "'Yet may you well avoid mine ire and wrath, + If to my will your yielding hearts you bend, + You must forsake your Christendom and faith, + And gainst Godfredo false my crown defend.' + We all refused, for speedy death each prayeth, + Save false Rambaldo, he became her friend, + We in a dungeon deep were helpless cast, + In misery and iron chained fast. + + LXX + "Then, for alone they say falls no mishap, + Within short while Prince Tancred thither came, + And was unwares surprised in the trap: + But there short while we stayed, the wily dame + In other folds our mischiefs would upwrap. + From Hidraort an hundred horsemen came, + Whose guide, a baron bold to Egypt's king, + Should us disarmed and bound in fetters bring. + + LXXI + "Now on our way, the way to death we ride, + But Providence Divine thus for us wrought, + Rinaldo, whose high virtue is his guide + To great exploits, exceeding human thought, + Met us, and all at once our guard defied, + And ere he left the fight to earth them brought. + And in their harness armed us in the place, + Which late were ours, before our late disgrace. + + LXXII + "I and all these the hardy champion knew, + We saw his valor, and his voice we heard; + Then is the rumor of his death untrue, + His life is safe, good fortune long it guard, + Three times the golden sun hath risen new, + Since us he left and rode to Antioch-ward; + But first his armors, broken, hacked and cleft, + Unfit for service, there he doft and left." + + LXXIII + Thus spake the Briton prince, with humble cheer + The hermit sage to heaven cast up his eyne, + His color and his countenance changed were, + With heavenly grace his looks and visage shine, + Ravished with zeal his soul approached near + The seat of angels pure, and saints divine, + And there he learned of things and haps to come, + To give foreknowledge true, and certain doom. + + LXXIV + At last he spoke, in more than human sound, + And told what things his wisdom great foresaw, + And at his thundering voice the folk around + Attentive stood, with trembling and with awe: + "Rinaldo lives," he said, "the tokens found + From women's craft their false beginnings draw, + He lives, and heaven will long preserve his days, + To greater glory, and to greater praise. + + LXXV + "These are but trifles yet, though Asia's kings + Shrink at his name, and tremble at his view, + I well foresee he shall do greater things, + And wicked emperors conquer and subdue; + Under the shadow of his eagle's wings + Shall holy Church preserve her sacred crew, + From Caesar's bird he shall the sable train + Pluck off, and break her talons sharp in twain. + + LXXVI + "His children's children at his hardiness + And great attempts shall take example fair, + From emperors unjust in all distress + They shall defend the state of Peter's chair, + To raise the humble up, pride to suppress, + To help the innocents shall be their care. + This bird of east shall fly with conquest great, + As far as moon gives light or sun gives heat; + + LXXVII + "Her eyes behold the truth and purest light, + And thunders down in Peter's aid she brings, + And where for Christ and Christian faith men fight, + There forth she spreadeth her victorious wings, + This virtue nature gives her and this might; + Then lure her home, for on her presence hings + The happy end of this great enterprise, + So Heaven decrees, and so command the skies." + + LXXVIII + These words of his of Prince Rinaldo's death + Out of their troubled hearts, the fear had rased; + In all this joy yet Godfrey smiled uneath. + In his wise thought such care and heed was placed. + But now from deeps of regions underneath + Night's veil arose, and sun's bright lustre chased, + When all full sweetly in their cabins slept, + Save he, whose thoughts his eyes still open kept. + + + + ELEVENTH BOOK + + THE ARGUMENT. + With grave procession, songs and psalms devout + Heaven's sacred aid the Christian lords invoke; + That done, they scale the wall which kept them out: + The fort is almost won, the gates nigh broke: + Godfrey is wounded by Clorinda stout, + And lost is that day's conquest by the stroke; + The angel cures him, he returns to fight, + But lost his labor, for day lost his light. + + + I + The Christian army's great and puissant guide, + To assault the town that all his thoughts had bent, + Did ladders, rams, and engines huge provide, + When reverend Peter to him gravely went, + And drawing him with sober grace aside, + With words severe thus told his high intent; + "Right well, my lord, these earthly strengths you move, + But let us first begin from Heaven above: + + II + "With public prayer, zeal and faith devout, + The aid, assistance, and the help obtain + Of all the blessed of the heavenly rout, + With whose support you conquest sure may gain; + First let the priests before thine armies stout + With sacred hymns their holy voices strain. + And thou and all thy lords and peers with thee, + Of godliness and faith examples be." + + III + Thus spake the hermit grave in words severe: + Godfrey allowed his counsel, sage, and wise, + "Of Christ the Lord," quoth he, "thou servant dear, + I yield to follow thy divine advice, + And while the princes I assemble here, + The great procession, songs and sacrifice, + With Bishop William, thou and Ademare, + With sacred and with solemn pomp prepare." + + IV + Next morn the bishops twain, the heremite, + And all the clerks and priests of less estate, + Did in the middest of the camp unite + Within a place for prayer consecrate, + Each priest adorned was in a surplice white, + The bishops donned their albes and copes of state, + Above their rochets buttoned fair before, + And mitres on their heads like crowns they wore. + + V + Peter alone, before, spread to the wind + The glorious sign of our salvation great, + With easy pace the choir come all behind, + And hymns and psalms in order true repeat, + With sweet respondence in harmonious kind + Their humble song the yielding air doth beat, + "Lastly, together went the reverend pair + Of prelates sage, William and Ademare, + + VI + The mighty duke came next, as princes do, + Without companion, marching all alone, + The lords and captains then came two and two, + With easy pace thus ordered, passing through + The trench and rampire, to the fields they gone, + No thundering drum, no trumpet shrill they hear, + Their godly music psalms and prayers were. + + VII + To thee, O Father, Son, and sacred Sprite, + One true, eternal, everlasting King; + To Christ's dear mother, Mary, vlrgin bright, + Psalms of thanksgiving and of praise they sing; + To them that angels down from heaven to fight + Gainst the blasphemous beast and dragon bring; + To him also that of our Saviour good, + Washed the sacred font in Jordan's flood. + + VIII + Him likewise they invoke, called the Rock + Whereon the Lord, they say, his Church did rear, + Whose true successors close or else unlock + The blessed gates of grace and mercy dear; + And all the elected twelve the chosen flock, + Of his triumphant death who witness bear; + And them by torment, slaughter, fire and sword + Who martyrs died to confirm his word; + + IX + And them also whose books and writings tell + What certain path to heavenly bliss us leads; + And hermits good, and ancresses that dwell + Mewed up in walls, and mumble on their beads, + And virgin nuns in close and private cell, + Where, but shrift fathers, never mankind treads: + On these they called, and on all the rout + Of angels, martyrs, and of saints devout. + + X + Singing and saying thus, the camp devout + Spread forth her zealous squadrons broad and wide'; + Toward mount Olivet went all this route, + So called of olive trees the hills which hide, + A mountain known by fame the world throughout, + Which riseth on the city's eastern side, + From it divided by the valley green + Of Josaphat, that fills the space between. + + XI + Hither the armies went, and chanted shrill, + That all the deep and hollow dales resound; + From hollow mounts and caves in every hill, + A thousand echoes also sung around, + It seemed some clever, that sung with art and skill, + Dwelt in those savage dens and shady ground, + For oft resounds from the banks they hear, + The name of Christ and of his mother dear. + + XII + Upon the walls the Pagans old and young + Stood hushed and still, amated and amazed, + At their grave order and their humble song, + At their strange pomp and customs new they gazed: + But when the show they had beholden long, + An hideous yell the wicked miscreants raised, + That with vile blasphemies the mountain hoar, + The woods, the waters, and the valleys roar. + + XIII + But yet with sacred notes the hosts proceed, + Though blasphemies they hear and cursed things; + So with Apollo's harp Pan tunes his reed, + So adders hiss where Philomela sings; + Nor flying darts nor stones the Christians dreed, + Nor arrows shot, nor quarries cast from slings; + But with assured faith, as dreading naught, + The holy work begun to end they brought. + + XIV + A table set they on the mountain's height + To minister thereon the sacrament, + In golden candlesticks a hallowed light + At either end of virgin wax there brent; + In costly vestments sacred William dight, + With fear and trembling to the altar went, + And prayer there and service loud begins, + Both for his own and all the army's sins. + + XV + Humbly they heard his words that stood him nigh, + The rest far off upon him bent their eyes, + But when he ended had the service high, + "You servants of the Lord depart," he cries: + His hands he lifted then up to the sky, + And blessed all those warlike companies; + And they dismissed returned the way they came, + Their order as before, their pomp the same. + + XVI + Within their camp arrived, this voyage ended, + Toward his tent the duke himself withdrew, + Upon their guide by heaps the bands attended, + Till his pavilion's stately door they view, + There to the Lord his welfare they commended, + And with him left the worthies of the crew, + Whom at a costly and rich feast he placed, + And with the highest room old Raymond graced. + + XVII + Now when the hungry knights sufficed are + With meat, with drink, with spices of the best, + Quoth he, "When next you see the morning star, + To assault the town be ready all and prest: + To-morrow is a day of pains and war, + This of repose, of quiet, peace, and rest; + Go, take your ease this evening, and this night, + And make you strong against to-morrow's fight." + + XVIII + They took their leave, and Godfrey's heralds rode + To intimate his will on every side, + And published it through all the lodgings broad, + That gainst the morn each should himself provide; + Meanwhile they might their hearts of cares unload, + And rest their tired limbs that eveningtide; + Thus fared they till night their eyes did close, + Night friend to gentle rest and sweet repose. + + XIX + With little sign as yet of springing day + Out peeped, not well appeared the rising morn, + The plough yet tore not up the fertile lay, + Nor to their feed the sheep from folds return, + The birds sate silent on the greenwood spray + Amid the groves unheard was hound and horn, + When trumpets shrill, true signs of hardy fights, + Called up to arms the soldiers, called the knights: + + XX + "Arm, arm at once!" an hundred squadrons cried, + And with their cry to arm them all begin. + Godfrey arose, that day he laid aside + His hauberk strong he wonts to combat in, + And donned a breastplate fair, of proof untried, + Such one as footmen use, light, easy, thin. + Scantly the warlord thus clothed had his gromes, + When aged Raymond to his presence comes. + + XXI + And furnished to us when he the man beheld, + By his attire his secret thought he guessed, + "Where is," quoth he, "your sure and trusty shield? + Your helm, your hauberk strong? where all the rest? + Why be you half disarmed? why to the field + Approach you in these weak defences dressed? + I see this day you mean a course to run, + Wherein may peril much, small praise be won. + + XXII + "Alas, do you that idle prise expect, + To set first foot this conquered wall above? + Of less account some knight thereto object + Whose loss so great and harmful cannot prove; + My lord, your life with greater care protect, + And love yourself because all us you love, + Your happy life is spirit, soul, and breath + Of all this camp, preserve it then from death." + + XXIII + To this he answered thus, "You know," he said, + "In Clarimont by mighty Urban's hand + When I was girded with this noble blade, + For Christ's true faith to fight in every land, + To God even then a secret vow I made, + Not as a captain here this day to stand + And give directions, but with shield and sword + To fight, to win, or die for Christ my Lord. + + XXIV + "When all this camp in battle strong shall be + Ordained and ordered, well disposed all, + And all things done which to the high degree + And sacred place I hold belongen shall; + Then reason is it, nor dissuade thou me, + That I likewise assault this sacred wall, + Lest from my vow to God late made I swerve: + He shall this life defend, keep and preserve." + + XXV + Thus he concludes, and every hardy knight + His sample followed, and his brethren twain, + The other princes put on harness light, + As footmen use: but all the Pagan train + Toward that side bent their defensive might + Which lies exposed to view of Charles's wain + And Zephyrus' sweet blasts, for on that part + The town was weakest, both by side and art. + + XXVI + On all parts else the fort was strong by site, + With mighty hills defenced from foreign rage, + And to this part the tyrant gan unite + His subjects born and bands that serve for wage, + From this exploit he spared nor great nor lite, + The aged men, and boys of tender age, + To fire of angry war still brought new fuel, + Stones, darts, lime, brimstone and bitumen cruel. + + XXVII + All full of arms and weapons was the wall, + Under whose basis that fair plain doth run, + There stood the Soldan like a giant tall, + So stood at Rhodes the Coloss of the sun, + Waist high, Argantes showed himself withal, + At whose stern looks the French to quake begun, + Clorinda on the corner tower alone, + In silver arms like rising Cynthia shone. + + XXVIII + Her rattling quiver at her shoulders hung, + Therein a flash of arrows feathered weel. + In her left hand her bow was bended strong, + Therein a shaft headed with mortal steel, + So fit to shoot she singled forth among + Her foes who first her quarries' strength should feel, + So fit to shoot Latona's daughter stood + When Niobe she killed and all her brood. + + XXIX + The aged tyrant tottered on his feet + From gate to gate, from wall to wall he flew, + He comforts all his bands with speeches sweet, + And every fort and bastion doth review, + For every need prepared in every street + New regiments he placed and weapons new. + The matrons grave within their temples high + To idols false for succors call and cry, + + XXX + "O Macon, break in twain the steeled lance + On wicked Godfrey with thy righteous hands, + Against thy name he doth his arm advance, + His rebel blood pour out upon these sands;" + These cries within his ears no enterance + Could find, for naught he hears, naught understands. + While thus the town for her defence ordains, + His armies Godfrey ordereth on the plains; + + XXXI + His forces first on foot he forward brought, + With goodly order, providence and art, + And gainst these towers which to assail he thought, + In battles twain his strength he doth depart, + Between them crossbows stood, and engines wrought + To cast a stone, a quarry, or a dart, + From whence like thunder's dint or lightnings new + Against the bulwark stones and lances flew. + + XXXII + His men at arms did back his bands on foot, + The light horse ride far off and serve for wings, + He gave the sign, so mighty was the rout + Of those that shot with bows and cast with slings, + Such storms of shafts and stones flew all about, + That many a Pagan proud to death it brings, + Some died, some at their loops durst scant outpeep, + Some fled and left the place they took to keep. + + XXXIII + The hardy Frenchmen, full of heat and haste, + Ran boldly forward to the ditches large, + And o'er their heads an iron pentice vast + They built, by joining many a shield and targe, + Some with their engines ceaseless shot and cast, + And volleys huge of arrows sharp discharge, + Upon the ditches some employed their pain + To fill the moat and even it with the plain. + + XXXIV + With slime or mud the ditches were not soft, + But dry and sandy, void of waters clear, + Though large and deep the Christians fill them oft, + With rubbish, fagots, stones, and trees they bear: + Adrastus first advanced his crest aloft, + And boldly gan a strong scalado rear, + And through the falling storm did upward climb + Of stones, darts, arrows, fire, pitch and lime: + + XXXV + The hardy Switzer now so far was gone + That half way up with mickle pain he got, + A thousand weapons he sustained alone, + And his audacious climbing ceased not; + At last upon him fell a mighty stone, + As from some engine great it had been shot, + It broke his helm, he tumbled from the height, + The strong Circassian cast that wondrous weight; + + XXXVI + Not mortal was the blow, yet with the fall + On earth sore bruised the man lay in a swoon. + Argantes gan with boasting words to call, + "Who cometh next? this first is tumbled down, + Come, hardy soldiers, come, assault this wall, + I will not shrink, nor fly, nor hide my crown, + If in your trench yourselves for dread you hold, + There shall you die like sheep killed in their fold." + + XXXVII + Thus boasted he; but in their trenches deep, + The hidden squadrons kept themselves from scath, + The curtain made of shields did well off keep + Both darts and shot, and scorned all their wrath. + But now the ram upon the rampiers steep, + On mighty beams his head advanced hath, + With dreadful horns of iron tough tree great, + The walls and bulwarks trembled at his threat. + + XXXVIII + An hundred able men meanwhile let fall + The weights behind, the engine tumbled down + And battered flat the battlements and wall: + So fell Taigetus hill on Sparta town, + It crushed the steeled shield in pieces small, + And beat the helmet to the wearers' crown, + And on the ruins of the walls and stones, + Dispersed left their blood their brains and bones. + + XXXIX + The fierce assailants kept no longer close + Undcr the shelter of their target fine, + But their bold fronts to chance of war expose, + And gainst those towers let their virtue shine, + The scaling ladders up to skies arose, + The ground-works deep some closely undermine, + The walls before the Frenchmen shrink and shake, + And gaping sign of headlong falling make: + + XL + And fallen they had, so far the strength extends + Of that fierce ram and his redoubted stroke, + But that the Pagan's care the place defends + And saved by warlike skill the wall nigh broke: + For to what part soe'er the engine bends, + Their sacks of wool they place the blow to choke, + Whose yielding breaks the strokes thereon which light, + So weakness oft subdues the greatest might. + + XLI + While thus the worthies of the western crew + Maintained their brave assault and skirmish hot, + Her mighty bow Clorinda often drew, + And many a sharp and deadly arrow shot; + And from her bow no steeled shaft there flew + But that some blood the cursed engine got, + Blood of some valiant knight or man of fame, + For that proud shootress scorned weaker game. + + XLII + The first she hit among the Christian peers + Was the bold son of England's noble king, + Above the trench himself he scantly rears, + But she an arrow loosed from the string, + The wicked steel his gauntlet breaks and tears, + And through his right hand thrust the piercing sting; + Disabled thus from fight, he gan retire, + Groaning for pain, but fretting more for ire. + + XLIII + Lord Stephen of Amboise on the ditch's brim, + And on a ladder high, Clotharius died, + From back to breast an arrow pierced him, + The other was shot through from side to side: + Then as he managed brave his courser trim, + On his left arm he hit the Flemings' guide, + He stopped, and from the wound the reed out-twined, + But left the iron in his flesh behind. + + XLIV + As Ademare stood to behold the fight + High on the bank, withdrawn to breathe a space, + A fatal shaft upon his forehead light, + His hand he lifted up to feel the place, + Whereon a second arrow chanced right, + And nailed his hand unto his wounded face, + He fell, and with his blood distained the land, + His holy blood shed by a virgin's hand. + + XLV + While Palamede stood near the battlement, + Despising perils all, and all mishap, + And upward still his hardy footings bent, + On his right eye he caught a deadly clap, + Through his right eye Clorinda's seventh shaft went, + And in his neck broke forth a bloody gap; + He underneath that bulwark dying fell, + Which late to scale and win he trusted well. + + XLVI + Thus shot the maid: the duke with hard assay + And sharp assault, meanwhile the town oppressed, + Against that part which to his campward lay + An engine huge and wondrous he addressed, + A tower of wood built for the town's decay + As high as were the walls and bulwarks best, + A turret full of men and weapons pent, + And yet on wheels it rolled, moved, and went. + + XLVII + This rolling fort his nigh approaches made, + And darts and arrows spit against his foes, + As ships are wont in fight, so it assayed + With the strong wall to grapple and to close, + The Pagans on each side the piece invade, + And all their force against this mass oppose, + Sometimes the wheels, sometimes the battlement + With timber, logs and stones, they broke and rent, + + XLVIII + So thick flew stones and darts, that no man sees + The azure heavens, the sun his brightness lost, + The clouds of weapons, like to swarms of bees, + Move the air, and there each other crossed: + And look how falling leaves drop down from trees, + When the moist sap is nipped with timely frost, + Or apples in strong winds from branches fall; + The Saracens so tumbled from the wall. + + XLIX + For on their part the greatest slaughter light, + They had no shelter gainst so sharp a shower, + Some left on live betook themselves to flight, + So feared they this deadly thundering tower: + But Solyman stayed like a valiant knight, + And some with him, that trusted in his power, + Argantes with a long beech tree in hand, + Ran thither, this huge engine to withstand: + + L + With this he pushed the tower, and back it drives + The length of all his tree, a wondrous way, + The hardy virgin by his side arrives, + To help Argantes in this hard assay: + The band that used the ram, this season strives + To cut the cords, wherein the woolpacks lay, + Which done, the sacks down in the trenches fall, + And to the battery naked left the wall. + + LI + The tower above, the ram beneath doth thunder, + What lime and stone such puissance could abide? + The wall began, new bruised and crushed asunder, + Her wounded lap to open broad and wide, + Godfrey himself and his brought safely under + The shattered wall, where greatest breach he spied, + Himself he saves behind his mighty targe, + A shield not used but in some desperate charge. + + LII + From hence he sees where Solyman descends, + Down to the threshold of the gaping breach, + And there it seems the mighty prince intends + Godfredo's hoped entrance to impeach: + Argantes, and with him the maid, defends + The walls above, to which the tower doth reach, + His noble heart, when Godfrey this beheld, + With courage new with wrath and valor swelled. + + LIII + He turned about and to good Sigiere spake, + Who bare his greatest shield and mighty bow, + "That sure and trusty target let me take, + Impenetrable is that shield I know, + Over these ruins will I passage make, + And enter first, the way is eath and low, + And time requires that by some noble feat + I should make known my strength and puissance great." + + LIV + He scant had spoken, scant received the charge, + When on his leg a sudden shaft him hit, + And through that part a hole made wide and large, + Where his strong sinews fastened were and knit. + Clorinda, thou this arrow didst discharge, + And let the Pagans bless thy hand for it, + For by that shot thou savedst them that day + From bondage vile, from death and sure decay. + + LV + The wounded duke, as though he felt no pain, + Still forward went, and mounted up the breach + His high attempt at first he nould refrain, + And after called his lords with cheerful speech; + But when his leg could not his weight sustain, + He saw his will did far his power outreach, + And more he strove his grief increased the more, + The bold assault he left at length therefore: + + LVI + And with his hand he beckoned Guelpho near, + And said, "I must withdraw me to my tent, + My place and person in mine absence bear, + Supply my want, let not the fight relent, + I go, and will ere long again be here; + I go and straight return:" this said, he went, + On a light steed he leaped, and o'er the green + He rode, but rode not, as he thought, unseen. + + LVII + When Godfrey parted, parted eke the heart, + The strength and fortune of the Christian bands, + Courage increased in their adverse part, + Wrath in their hearts, and vigor in their hands: + Valor, success, strength, hardiness and art, + Failed in the princes of the western lands, + Their swords were blunt, faint was their trumpet's blast, + Their sun was set, or else with clouds o'ercast. + + LVIII + Upon the bulwarks now appeared bold + That fearful band that late for dread was fled! + The women that Clorinda's strength behold, + Their country's love to war encouraged, + They weapons got, and fight like men they would, + Their gowns tucked up, their locks were loose and spread, + Sharp darts they cast, and without dread or fear, + Exposed their breasts to save their fortress dear. + + LIX + But that which most dismayed the Christian knights, + And added courage to the Pagans most, + Was Guelpho's sudden fall in all men's sights, + Who tumbled headlong down, his footing lost, + A mighty stone upon the worthy lights, + But whence it came none wist, nor from what coast; + And with like blow, which more their hearts dismayed, + Beside him low in dust old Raymond laid: + + LX + And Eustace eke within the ditches large, + To narrow shifts and last extremes they drive, + Upon their foes so fierce the Pagans charge, + And with good-fortune so their blows they give, + That whom they hit, in spite of helm or targe, + They deeply wound, or else of life deprive. + At this their good success Argantes proud, + Waxing more fell, thus roared and cried aloud: + + LXI + "This is not Antioch, nor the evening dark + Can help your privy sleights with friendly shade, + The sun yet shines, your falsehood can we mark, + In other wise this bold assault is made; + Of praise and glory quenched is the spark + That made you first these eastern lands invade, + Why cease you now? why take you not this fort? + What! are you weary for a charge so short?" + + LXII + Thus raged he, and in such hellish sort + Increased the fury in the brain-sick knight, + That he esteemed that large and ample fort + Too strait a field, wherein to prove his might, + There where the breach had framed a new-made port, + Himself he placed, with nimble skips and light, + He cleared the passage out, and thus he cried + To Solyman, that fought close by his side: + + LXIII + "Come, Solyman, the time and place behold, + That of our valors well may judge the doubt, + What sayest thou? amongst these Christians bold, + First leap he forth that holds himself most stout:" + While thus his will the mighty champion told, + Both Solyman and he at once leaped out, + Fury the first provoked, disdain the last, + Who scorned the challenge ere his lips it passed. + + LXIV + Upon their foes unlooked-for they flew, + Each spited other for his virtue's sake, + So many soldiers this fierce couple slew, + So many shields they cleft and helms they break, + So many ladders to the earth they threw, + That well they seemed a mount thereof to make, + Or else some vamure fit to save the town, + Instead of that the Christians late beat down. + + LXV + The folk that strove with rage and haste before + Who first the wall and rampire should ascend, + Retire, and for that honor strive no more, + Scantly they could their limbs and lives defend, + They fled, their engines lost the Pagans tore + In pieces small, their rams to naught they rend, + And all unfit for further service make + With so great force and rage their beams they brake. + + LXVI + The Pagans ran transported with their ire, + Now here, now there, and woful slaughters wrought, + At last they called for devouring fire, + Two burning pines against the tower they brought, + So from the palace of their hellish sire, + When all this world they would consume to naught, + The fury sisters come with fire in hands, + Shaking their snaky locks and sparkling brands: + + LXVII + But noble Tancred, who this while applied + Grave exhortations to his bold Latines, + When of these knights the wondrous acts he spied, + And saw the champions with their burning pines, + He left his talk, and thither forthwith hied, + To stop the rage of those fell Saracines. + And with such force the fight he there renewed, + That now they fled and lost who late pursued. + + LXVIII + Thus changed the state and fortune of the fray, + Meanwhile the wounded duke, in grief and teen, + Within his great pavilion rich and gay, + Good Sigiere and Baldwin stood between; + His other friends whom his mishap dismay, + With grief and tears about assembled been: + He strove in haste the weapon out to wind, + And broke the reed, but left the head behind. + + LXIX + He bade them take the speediest way they might, + Of that unlucky hurt to make him sound, + And to lay ope the depth thereof to sight, + He willed them open, search and lance the wound, + "Send me again," quoth he, "to end this fight, + Before the sun be sunken under ground;" + And leaning on a broken spear, he thrust + His leg straight out, to him that cure it must. + + LXX + Erotimus, born on the banks of Po, + Was he that undertook to cure the knight, + All what green herbs or waters pure could do, + He knew their power, their virtue, and their might, + A noble poet was the man also, + But in this science had a more delight, + He could restore to health death-wounded men, + And make their names immortal with his pen. + + LXXI + The mighty duke yet never changed cheer, + But grieved to see his friends lamenting stand; + The leech prepared his cloths and cleansing gear, + And with a belt his gown about him band, + Now with his herbs the steely head to tear + Out of the flesh he proved, now with his hand, + Now with his hand, now with his instrument + He shaked and plucked it, yet not forth it went. + + LXXII + His labor vain, his art prevailed naught, + His luck was ill, although his skill were good, + To such extremes the wounded prince he brought, + That with fell pain he swooned as he stood: + But the angel pure, that kept him, went and sought + Divine dictamnum, out of Ida wood, + This herb is rough, and bears a purple flower, + And in his budding leaves lies all his power. + + LXXIII + Kind nature first upon the craggy clift + Bewrayed this herb unto the mountain goat, + That when her sides a cruel shaft hath rift, + With it she shakes the reed out of her coat; + This in a moment fetched the angel swift, + And brought from Ida hill, though far remote, + The juice whereof in a prepared bath + Unseen the blessed spirit poured hath. + + LXXIV + Pure nectar from that spring of Lydia than, + And panaces divine therein he threw, + The cunning leech to bathe the wound began, + And of itself the steely head outflew; + The bleeding stanched, no vermile drop outran, + The leg again waxed strong with vigor new: + Erotimus cried out, "This hurt and wound + No human art or hand so soon makes sound: + + LXXV + "Some angel good I think come down from skies + Thy surgeon is, for here plain tokens are + Of grace divine which to thy help applies, + Thy weapon take and haste again to war." + In precious cloths his leg the chieftain ties, + Naught could the man from blood and fight debar; + A sturdy lance in his right hand he braced, + His shield he took, and on his helmet laced: + + LXXVI + And with a thousand knights and barons bold, + Toward the town he hasted from his camp, + In clouds of dust was Titan's face enrolled, + Trembled the earth whereon the worthies stamp, + His foes far off his dreadful looks behold, + Which in their hearts of courage quenched the lamp, + A chilling fear ran cold through every vein, + Lord Godfrey shouted thrice and all his train: + + LXXVII + Their sovereign's voice his hardy people knew, + And his loud cries that cheered each fearful heart; + Thereat new strength they took and courage new, + And to the fierce assault again they start. + The Pagans twain this while themselves withdrew + Within the breach to save that battered part, + And with great loss a skirmish hot they hold + Against Tancredi and his squadron bold. + + LXXVIII + Thither came Godfrey armed round about + In trusty plate, with fierce and dreadful look; + At first approach against Argantes stout + Headed with poignant steel a lance he shook, + No casting engine with such force throws out + A knotty spear, and as the way it took, + It whistled in the air, the fearless knight + Opposed his shield against that weapon's might. + + LXXIX + The dreadful blow quite through his target drove, + And bored through his breastplate strong and thick, + The tender skin it in his bosom rove, + The purple-blood out-streamed from the quick; + To wrest it out the wounded Pagan strove + And little leisure gave it there to stick; + At Godfrey's head the lance again he cast, + And said, "Lo, there again thy dart thou hast." + + LXXX + The spear flew back the way it lately came, + And would revenge the harm itself had done, + But missed the mark whereat the man did aim, + He stepped aside the furious blow to shun: + But Sigiere in his throat received the same, + The murdering weapon at his neck out-run, + Nor aught it grieved the man to lose his breath, + Since in his prince's stead he suffered death. + + LXXXI + Even then the Soldan struck with monstrous main + The noble leader of the Norman band, + He reeled awhile and staggered with the pain, + And wheeling round fell grovelling on the sand: + Godfrey no longer could the grief sustain + Of these displeasures, but with flaming brand, + Up to the breach in heat and haste he goes, + And hand to hand there combats with his foes; + + LXXXII + And there great wonders surely wrought he had, + Mortal the fight, and fierce had been the fray, + But that dark night, from her pavilion sad, + Her cloudy wings did on the earth display, + Her quiet shades she interposed glad + To cause the knights their arms aside to lay; + Godfrey withdrew, and to their tents they wend, + And thus this bloody day was brought to end. + + LXXXIII + The weak and wounded ere he left the field, + The godly duke to safety thence conveyed, + Nor to his foes his engines would he yield, + In them his hope to win the fortress laid; + Then to the tower he went, and it beheeld, + The tower that late the Pagan lords dismayed + But now stood bruised, broken, cracked and shivered, + From some sharp storm as it were late delivered. + + LXXXIV + From dangers great escaped, but late it was, + And now to safety brought well-nigh it seems, + But as a ship that under sail doth pass + The roaring billows and the raging streams, + And drawing nigh the wished port, alas, + Breaks on some hidden rocks her ribs and beams; + Or as a steed rough ways that well hath passed, + Before his inn stumbleth and falls at last: + + LXXXV + Such hap befell that tower, for on that side + Gainst which the Pagans' force and battery bend, + Two wheels were broke whereon the piece should ride, + The maimed engine could no further wend, + The troop that guarded it that part provide + To underprop with posts, and it defend + Till carpenters and cunning workmen came + Whose skill should help and rear again the same. + + LXXXVI + Thus Godfrey bids, and that ere springing-day, + The cracks and bruises all amend they should, + Each open passage, and each privy way + About the piece, he kept with soldiers bold: + But the loud rumor, both of that they say, + And that they do, is heard within the hold, + A thousand lights about the tower they view, + And what they wrought all night both saw and knew. + + + + TWELFTH BOOK + + THE ARGUMENT. + Clorinda hears her eunuch old report + Her birth, her offspring, and her native land; + Disguised she fireth Godfrey's rolling fort. + The burned piece falls smoking on the sand: + With Tancred long unknown in desperate sort + She fights, and falls through pierced with his brand: + Christened she dies; with sighs, with plaints and tears. + He wails her death; Argant revengement swears. + + + I + Now in dark night was all the world embarred; + But yet the tired armies took no rest, + The careful French kept heedful watch and ward, + While their high tower the workmen newly dressed, + The Pagan crew to reinforce prepared + The weakened bulwarks, late to earth down kest, + Their rampiers broke and bruised walls to mend, + Lastly their hurts the wounded knights attend. + + II + Their wounds were dressed, part of the work was brought + To wished end, part left to other days, + A dull desire to rest deep midnight wrought, + His heavy rod sleep on their eyelids lays: + Yet rested not Clorinda's working thought, + Which thirsted still for fame and warlike praise, + Argantes eke accompanied the maid + From place to place, which to herself thus said: + + III + "This day Argantes strong, and Solyman, + Strange things have done, and purchased great renown, + Among our foes out of the walls they ran, + Their rams they broke and rent their engines down: + I used my bow, of naught else boast I can, + My self stood safe meanwhile within this town, + And happy was my shot, and prosperous too, + But that was all a woman's hand could do. + + IV + "On birds and beasts in forests wild that feed + It were more fit mine arrows to bestow, + Than for a feeble maid in warlike deed + With strong and hardy knights herself to show. + Why take I not again my virgin's weed, + And spend my days in secret cell unknow?" + Thus thought, thus mused, thus devised the maid, + And turning to the knight, at last thus said: + + V + "My thoughts are full, my lord, of strange desire + Some high attempt of war to undertake, + Whether high God my mind therewith inspire + Or of his will his God mankind doth make, + Among our foes behold the light and fire, + I will among them wend, and burn or break + The tower, God grant therein I have my will + And that performed, betide me good or ill. + + VI + "But if it fortune such my chance should be, + That to this town I never turn again, + Mine eunuch, whom I dearly love, with thee + I leave my faithful maids, and all my train, + To Egypt then conducted safely see + Those woful damsels and that aged swain, + Help them, my lord, in that distressed case, + Their feeble sex, his age, deserveth grace." + + VII + Argantes wondering stood, and felt the effect + Of true renown pierce through his glorious mind, + "And wilt thou go," quoth he, "and me neglect, + Disgraced, despised, leave in this fort behind? + Shall I while these strong walls my life protect + Behold thy flames and fires tossed in the wind, + No, no, thy fellow have I been in arms, + And will be still, in praise, in death, in harms. + + VIII + "This heart of mine death's bitter stroke despiseth, + For praise this life, for glory take this breath." + "My soul and more," quoth she, "thy friendship prizeth, + For this thy proffered aid required uneath, + I but a woman am, no loss ariseth + To this besieged city by my death, + But if, as God forbid, this night thou fall, + Ah! who shall then, who can, defend this wall!" + + IX + "Too late these 'scuses vain," the knight replied, + "You bring; my will is firm, my mind is set, + I follow you whereso you list me guide, + Or go before if you my purpose let." + This said, they hasted to the palace wide + About their prince where all his lords were met, + Clorinda spoke for both, and said, "Sir king, + Attend my words, hear, and allow the thing: + + X + "Argantes here, this bold and hardy knight, + Will undertake to burn the wondrous tower, + And I with him, only we stay till night + Bury in sleep our foes at deadest hour." + The king with that cast up his hands on height, + The tears for joy upon his cheeks down pour. + "Praised," quoth he, "be Macon whom we serve, + This land I see he keeps and will preserve: + + XI + "Nor shall so soon this shaken kingdom fall, + While such unconquered hearts my state defend: + But for this act what praise or guerdon shall + I give your virtues, which so far extend? + Let fame your praises sound through nations all, + And fill the world therewith to either end, + Take half my wealth and kingdom for your meed? + You are rewarded half even with the deed." + + XII + Thus spake the prince, and gently 'gan distrain, + Now him, now her, between his friendly arms: + The Soldan by, no longer could refrain + That noble envy which his bosom warms, + "Nor I," quoth he, "bear this broad sword in vain, + Nor yet am unexpert in night alarms, + Take me with you: ah." Quoth Clorinda, "no! + Whom leave we here of prowess if you go?" + + XIII + This spoken, ready with a proud refuse + Argantes was his proffered aid to scorn, + Whom Aladine prevents, and with excuse + To Solyman thus gan his speeches torn: + "Right noble prince, as aye hath been your use + Your self so still you bear and long have borne, + Bold in all acts, no danger can affright + Your heart, nor tired is your strength with fight. + + XIV + "If you went forth great things perform you would, + In my conceit yet far unfit it seems + That you, who most excel in courage bold, + At once should leave this town in these extremes, + Nor would I that these twain should leave this hold, + My heart their noble lives far worthier deems, + If this attempt of less importance were, + Or weaker posts so great a weight could bear. + + XV + "But for well-guarded is the mighty tower + With hardy troops and squadrons round about, + And cannot harmed be with little power, + Nor fit the time to send whole armies out, + This pair who passed have many a dreadful stowre, + And proffer now to prove this venture stout, + Alone to this attempt let them go forth, + Alone than thousands of more price and worth. + + XVI + "Thou, as it best beseems a mighty king, + With ready bands besides the gate attend, + That when this couple have performed the thing, + And shall again their footsteps homeward bend, + From their strong foes upon them following + Thou may'st them keep, preserve, save and defend:" + Thus said the king, "The Soldan must consent," + Silent remained the Turk, and discontent. + + XVII + Then Ismen said, "You twain that undertake + This hard attempt, awhile I pray you stay, + Till I a wildfire of fine temper make, + That this great engine burn to ashes may; + Haply the guard that now doth watch and wake, + Will then lie tumbled sleeping on the lay;" + Thus they conclude, and in their chambers sit, + To wait the time for this adventure fit. + + XVIII + Clorinda there her silver arms off rent, + Her helm, her shield, her hauberk shining bright, + An armor black as jet or coal she hent, + Wherein withouten plume herself she dight; + For thus disguised amid her foes she meant + To pass unseen, by help of friendly night, + To whom her eunuch, old Arsetes, came, + That from her cradle nursed and kept the dame. + + XIX + This aged sire had followed far and near, + Through lands and seas, the strong and hardy maid, + He saw her leave her arms and wonted gear, + Her danger nigh that sudden change foresaid: + By his white locks from black that changed were + In following her, the woful man her prayed, + By all his service and his taken pain, + To leave that fond attempt, but prayed in vain. + + XX + "At last," quoth he, "since hardened to thine ill, + Thy cruel heart is to thy loss prepared, + That my weak age, nor tears that down distil, + Not humble suit, nor plaint, thou list regard; + Attend awhile, strange things unfold I will, + Hear both thy birth and high estate declared; + Follow my counsel, or thy will that done," + She sat to hear, the eunuch thus begun: + + XXI + "Senapus ruled, and yet perchance doth reign + In mighty Ethiop, and her deserts waste, + The lore of Christ both he and all his train + Of people black, hath kept and long embraced, + To him a Pagan was I sold for gain, + And with his queen, as her chief eunuch, placed; + Black was this queen as jet, yet on her eyes + Sweet loveliness, in black attired, lies. + + XXII + "The fire of love and frost of jealousy, + Her husband's troubled soul alike torment, + The tide of fond suspicion flowed high, + The foe to love and plague to sweet content, + He mewed her up from sight of mortal eye, + Nor day he would his beams on her had bent: + She, wise and lowly, by her husband's pleasure, + Her joy, her peace, her will, her wish did measure. + + XXIII + "Her prison was a chamber, painted round + With goodly portraits and with stories old, + As white as snow there stood a virgin bound, + Besides a dragon fierce, a champion bold + The monster did with poignant spear through wound, + The gored beast lay dead upon the mould; + The gentle queen before this image laid. + She plained, she mourned, she wept, she sighed, she prayed: + + XXIV + "At last with child she proved, and forth she brought, + And thou art she, a daughter fair and bright, + In her thy color white new terror wrought, + She wondered on thy face with strange affright, + But yet she purposed in her fearful thought + To hide thee from the king, thy father's sight, + Lest thy bright hue should his suspect approve, + For seld a crow begets a silver dove. + + XXV + "And to her spouse to show she was disposed + A negro's babe late born, in room of thee, + And for the tower wherein she lay enclosed, + Was with her damsels only wond and me, + To me, on whose true faith she most reposed, + She gave thee, ere thou couldest christened be, + Nor could I since find means thee to baptize, + In Pagan lands thou knowest it's not the guise. + + XXVI + "To me she gave thee, and she wept withal, + To foster thee in some far distant place. + Who can her griefs and plaints to reckoning call, + How oft she swooned at the last embrace: + Her streaming tears amid her kisses fall, + Her sighs, her dire complaints did interlace? + And looking up at last, 'O God,' quoth she, + 'Who dost my heart and inward mourning see, + + XXVII + "'If mind and body spotless to this day, + If I have kept my bed still undefiled, + Not for myself a sinful wretch I pray, + That in thy presence am an abject vilde, + Preserve this babe, whose mother must denay + To nourish it, preserve this harmless child, + Oh let it live, and chaste like me it make, + But for good fortune elsewhere sample take. + + XXVIII + "'Thou heavenly soldier which delivered hast + That sacred virgin from the serpent old, + If on thine altars I have offerings placed, + And sacrificed myrrh, frankincense and gold, + On this poor child thy heavenly looks down cast, + With gracious eye this silly babe behold;' + This said, her strength and living sprite was fled, + She sighed, she groaned, she swooned in her bed. + + XXIX + "Weeping I took thee, in a little chest, + Covered with herbs and leaves, I brought thee out + So secretly, that none of all the rest + Of such an act suspicion had or doubt, + To wilderness my steps I first addressed, + Where horrid shades enclosed me round about, + A tigress there I met, in whose fierce eyes + Fury and wrath, rage, death and terror lies: + + XXX + "Up to a tree I leaped, and on the grass, + Such was my sudden fear, I left thee lying, + To thee the beast with furious course did pass, + With curious looks upon thy visage prying, + All suddenly both meek and mild she was, + With friendly cheer thy tender body eying: + At last she licked thee, and with gesture mild + About thee played, and thou upon her smiled. + + XXXI + "Her fearful muzzle full of dreadful threat, + In thy weak hand thou took'st withouten dread; + The gentle beast with milk-outstretched teat, + As nurses' custom, proffered thee to feed. + As one that wondereth on some marvel great, + I stood this while amazed at the deed. + When thee she saw well filled and satisfied, + Unto the woods again the tigress hied. + + XXXII + "She gone, down from the tree I came in haste, + And took thee up, and on my journey wend, + Within a little thorp I stayed at last, + And to a nurse the charge of thee commend, + And sporting with thee there long time I passed, + Till term of sixteen months were brought to end, + And thou begun, as little children do, + With half clipped words to prattle, and to go. + + XXXIII + "But having passed the August of mine age, + When more than half my tap of life was run, + Rich by rewards given by your mother sage, + For merits past, and service yet undone, + I longed to leave this wandering pilgrimage, + And in my native soil again to won, + To get some seely home I had desire, + Loth still to warm me at another's fire. + + XXXIV + "To Egypt-ward, where I was born, I went, + And bore thee with me, by a rolling flood, + Till I with savage thieves well-nigh was hent; + Before the brook, the thieves behind me stood: + Thee to forsake I never could consent, + And gladly would I 'scape those outlaws wood, + Into the flood I leaped far from the brim, + My left hand bore thee, with the right I swim. + + XXXV + "Swift was the current, in the middle stream + A whirlpool gaped with devouring jaws, + The gulf, on such mishap ere I could dream, + Into his deep abyss my carcass draws, + There I forsook thee, the wild waters seem + To pity thee, a gentle wind there blows + Whose friendly puffs safe to the shore thee drive, + Where wet and weary I at last arrive: + + XXXVI + "I took thee up, and in my dream that night, + When buried was the world in sleep and shade, + I saw a champion clad in armor bright + That o'er my head shaked a flaming blade, + He said, 'I charge thee execute aright, + That charge this infant's mother on thee laid, + Baptize the child, high Heaven esteems her dear, + And I her keeper will attend her near: + + XXXVII + "'I will her keep, defend, save and protect, + I made the waters mild, the tigress tame, + O wretch that heavenly warnings dost reject!' + The warrior vanished having said the same. + I rose and journeyed on my way direct + When blushing morn from Tithon's bed forth came, + But for my faith is true and sure I ween, + And dreams are false, you still unchristened been. + + XXXVIII + "A Pagan therefore thee I fostered have, + Nor of thy birth the truth did ever tell, + Since you increased are in courage brave, + Your sex and nature's-self you both excel, + Full many a realm have you made bond and slave, + Your fortunes last yourself remember well, + And how in peace and war, in joy and teen, + I have your servant, and your tutor been. + + XXXIX + "Last morn, from skies ere stars exiled were, + In deep and deathlike sleep my senses drowned, + The self-same vision did again appear, + With stormy wrathful looks, and thundering sound, + 'Villain,' quoth he, 'within short while thy dear + Must change her life, and leave this sinful ground, + Thine be the loss, the torment, and the care,' + This said, he fled through skies, through clouds and air. + + XL + "Hear then my joy, my hope, my darling, hear, + High Heaven some dire misfortune threatened hath, + Displeased pardie, because I did thee lere + A lore repugnant to thy parents' faith; + Ah, for my sake, this bold attempt forbear; + Put off these sable arms, appease thy wrath." + This said, he wept, she pensive stood and sad, + Because like dream herself but lately had. + + XLI + With cheerful smile she answered him at last, + "I will this faith observe, it seems me true, + Which from my cradle age thou taught me hast; + I will not change it for religion new, + Nor with vain shows of fear and dread aghast + This enterprise forbear I to pursue, + No, not if death in his most dreadful face + Wherewith he scareth mankind, kept the place." + + XLII + Approachen gan the time, while thus she spake, + Wherein they ought that dreadful hazard try; + She to Argantes went, who should partake + Of her renown and praise, or with her die. + Ismen with words more hasty still did make + Their virtue great, which by itself did fly, + Two balls he gave them made of hollow brass, + Wherein enclosed fire, pitch, and brimstone was. + + XLIII + And forth they went, and over dale and hill + They hasted forward with a speedy pace, + Unseen, unmarked, undescried, until + Beside the engine close themselves they place, + New courage there their swelling hearts did fill, + Rage in their breasts, fury shown in their face, + They yearned to blow the fire, and draw the sword. + The watch descried them both, and gave the word. + + XLIV + Silent they passed on, the watch begun + To rear a huge alarm with hideous cries, + Therewith the hardy couple forward run + To execute their valiant enterprise: + So from a cannon or a roaring gun + At once the noise, the flame, and bullet flies, + They run, they give the charge, begin the fray, + And all at once their foes break, spoil and slay. + + XLV + They passed first through thousand thousand blows, + And then performed their designment bold, + A fiery ball each on the engine throws, + The stuff was dry, the fire took quickly hold, + Furious upon the timber-work it grows, + How it increased cannot well be told, + How it crept up the piece, and how to skies + The burning sparks and towering smoke upflies. + + XLVI + A mass of solid fire burning bright + Rolled up in smouldering fumes, there bursteth out, + And there the blustering winds add strength and might + And gather close the sparsed flames about: + The Frenchmen trembled at the dreadful light, + To arms in haste and fear ran all the rout, + Down fell the piece dreaded so much in war, + Thus what long days do make one hour doth mar. + + XLVII + Two Christian bands this while came to the place + With speedy haste, where they beheld the fire, + Argantes to them cried with scornful grace, + "Your blood shall quench these flames, and quench mine ire:" + This said, the maid and he with sober pace + Drew back, and to the banks themselves retire, + Faster than brooks which falling showers increase + Their foes augment, and faster on them press. + + XLVIII + The gilden port was opened, and forth stepped + With all his soldiers bold, the Turkish king, + Ready to aid the two his force he kept, + When fortune should them home with conquest bring, + Over the bars the hardy couple leapt + And after them a band of Christians fling, + Whom Solyman drove back with courage stout, + And shut the gate, but shut Clorinda out. + + XLIX + Alone was she shut forth, for in that hour + Wherein they closed the port, the virgin went, + And full of heat and wrath, her strength and power + Gainst Arimon, that struck her erst, she bent, + She slew the knight, nor Argant in that stowre + Wist of her parting, or her fierce intent, + The fight, the press, the night, and darksome skies + Care from his heart had ta'en, sight from his eyes. + + L + But when appeased was her angry mood, + Her fury calmed, and settled was her head, + She saw the gates were shut, and how she stood + Amid her foes, she held herself for dead; + While none her marked at last she thought it good, + To save her life, some other path to tread, + She feigned her one of them, and close her drew + Amid the press that none her saw or knew: + + LI + Then as a wolf guilty of some misdeed + Flies to some grove to hide himself from view, + So favored with the night, with secret speed + Dissevered from the press the damsel flew: + Tancred alone of her escape took heed, + He on that quarter was arrived new, + When Arimon she killed he thither came, + He saw it, marked it, and pursued the dame. + + LII + He deemed she was some man of mickle might, + And on her person would he worship win, + Over the hills the nymph her journey dight + Toward another port, there to get in: + With hideous noise fast after spurred the knight, + She heard and stayed, and thus her words begin, + "What haste hast thou? ride softly, take thy breath, + What bringest thou?" He answered, "War and death." + + LIII + "And war and death," quoth she, "here mayest thou get + If thou for battle come," with that she stayed: + Tancred to ground his foot in haste down set, + And left his steed, on foot he saw the maid, + Their courage hot, their ire and wrath they whet, + And either champion drew a trenchant blade, + Together ran they, and together stroke, + Like two fierce bulls whom rage and love provoke. + + LIV + Worthy of royal lists and brightest day, + Worthy a golden trump and laurel crown, + The actions were and wonders of that fray + Which sable knight did in dark bosom drown: + Yet night, consent that I their acts display + And make their deeds to future ages known, + And in records of long enduring story + Enrol their praise, their fame, their worth and glory. + + LV + They neither shrunk, nor vantage sought of ground, + They traverse not, nor skipped from part to part, + Their blows were neither false nor feigned found, + The night, their rage would let them use no art, + Their swords together clash with dreadful sound, + Their feet stand fast, and neither stir nor start, + They move their hands, steadfast their feet remain, + Nor blow nor loin they struck, or thrust in vain. + + LVI + Shame bred desire a sharp revenge to take, + And vengeance taken gave new cause of shame: + So that with haste and little heed they strake, + Fuel enough they had to feed the flame; + At last so close their battle fierce they make, + They could not wield their swords, so nigh they came, + They used the hilts, and each on other rushed, + And helm to helm, and shield to shield they crushed. + + LVII + Thrice his strong arms he folds about her waist, + And thrice was forced to let the virgin go, + For she disdained to be so embraced, + No lover would have strained his mistress so: + They took their swords again, and each enchased + Deep wounds in the soft flesh of his strong foe, + Till weak and weary, faint, alive uneath, + They both retired at once, at once took breath. + + LVIII + Each other long beheld, and leaning stood + Upon their swords, whose points in earth were pight, + When day-break, rising from the eastern flood, + Put forth the thousand eyes of blindfold night; + Tancred beheld his foe's out-streaming blood, + And gaping wounds, and waxed proud with the sight, + Oh vanity of man's unstable mind, + Puffed up with every blast of friendly wind! + + LIX + Why joy'st thou, wretch? Oh, what shall be thy gain? + What trophy for this conquest is't thou rears? + Thine eyes shall shed, in case thou be not slain, + For every drop of blood a sea of tears: + The bleeding warriors leaning thus remain, + Each one to speak one word long time forbears, + Tancred the silence broke at last, and said, + For he would know with whom this fight he made: + + LX + "Evil is our chance and hard our fortune is + Who here in silence, and in shade debate, + Where light of sun and witness all we miss + That should our prowess and our praise dilate: + If words in arms find place, yet grant me this, + Tell me thy name, thy country, and estate; + That I may know, this dangerous combat done, + Whom I have conquered, or who hath me won." + + LXI + "What I nill tell, you ask," quoth she, "in vain, + Nor moved by prayer, nor constrained by power, + But thus much know, I am one of those twain + Which late with kindled fire destroyed the tower." + Tancred at her proud words swelled with disdain, + "That hast thou said," quoth he, "in evil hour; + Thy vaunting speeches, and thy silence both, + Uncivil wretch, hath made my heart more wroth." + + LXII + Ire in their chafed breasts renewed the fray, + Fierce was the fight, though feeble were their might, + Their strength was gone, their cunning was away, + And fury in their stead maintained the fight, + Their swords both points and edges sharp embay + In purple blood, whereso they hit or light, + And if weak life yet in their bosoms lie, + They lived because they both disdained to die. + + LXIII + As Aegean seas when storms be calmed again + That rolled their tumbling waves with troublous blasts, + Do yet of tempests past some shows retain, + And here and there their swelling billows casts; + So, though their strength were gone and might were vain, + Of their first fierceness still the fury lasts, + Wherewith sustained, they to their tackling stood, + And heaped wound on wound, and blood on blood. + + LXIV + But now, alas, the fatal hour arrives + That her sweet life must leave that tender hold, + His sword into her bosom deep he drives, + And bathed in lukewarm blood his iron cold, + Between her breasts the cruel weapon rives + Her curious square, embossed with swelling gold, + Her knees grow weak, the pains of death she feels, + And like a falling cedar bends and reels. + + LXV + The prince his hand upon her shield doth stretch, + And low on earth the wounded damsel layeth, + And while she fell, with weak and woful speech, + Her prayers last and last complaints she sayeth, + A spirit new did her those prayers teach, + Spirit of hope, of charity, and faith; + And though her life to Christ rebellious were, + Yet died she His child and handmaid dear. + + LXVI + "Friend, thou hast won, I pardon thee, nor save + This body, that all torments can endure, + But save my soul, baptism I dying crave, + Come wash away my sins with waters pure:" + His heart relenting nigh in sunder rave, + With woful speech of that sweet creature, + So that his rage, his wrath, and anger died, + And on his cheeks salt tears for ruth down slide. + + LXVII + With murmur loud down from the mountain's side + A little runnel tumbled near the place, + Thither he ran and filled his helmet wide, + And quick returned to do that work of grace, + With trembling hands her beaver he untied, + Which done he saw, and seeing, knew her face, + And lost therewith his speech and moving quite, + Oh woful knowledge, ah unhappy sight! + + LXVIII + He died not, but all his strength unites, + And to his virtues gave his heart in guard, + Bridling his grief, with water he requites + The life that he bereft with iron hard, + And while the sacred words the knight recites, + The nymph to heaven with joy herself prepared; + And as her life decays her joys increase, + She smiled and said, "Farewell, I die in peace." + + LXIX + As violets blue mongst lilies pure men throw, + So paleness midst her native white begun; + Her looks to heaven she cast, their eyes I trow + Downward for pity bent both heaven and sun, + Her naked hand she gave the knight, in show + Of love and peace, her speech, alas, was done, + And thus the virgin fell on endless sleep,-- + Love, Beauty, Virtue, for your darling weep! + + LXX + But when he saw her gentle soul was went, + His manly courage to relent began, + Grief, sorrow, anguish, sadness, discontent, + Free empire got and lordship on the man, + His life within his heart they close up pent, + Death through his senses and his visage ran: + Like his dead lady, dead seemed Tancred good, + In paleness, stillness, wounds and streams of blood. + + LXXI + And his weak sprite, to be unbodied + From fleshly prison free that ceaseless strived, + Had followed her fair soul but lately fled + Had not a Christian squadron there arrived, + To seek fresh water thither haply led, + And found the princess dead, and him deprived + Of signs of life; yet did the knight remain + On live, nigh dead, for her himself had slain. + + LXXII + Their guide far off the prince knew by his shield, + And thither hasted full of grief and fear, + Her dead, him seeming so, he there beheld, + And for that strange mishap shed many a tear; + He would not leave the corpses fair in field + For food to wolves, though she a Pagan were, + But in their arms the soldiers both uphent, + And both lamenting brought to Tancred's tent. + + LXXIII + With those dear burdens to their camp they pass, + Yet would not that dead seeming knight awake, + At last he deeply groaned, which token was + His feeble soul had not her flight yet take: + The other lay a still and heavy mass, + Her spirit had that earthen cage forsake; + Thus were they brought, and thus they placed were + In sundry rooms, yet both adjoining near. + + LXXIV + All skill and art his careful servants used + To life again their dying lord to bring, + At last his eyes unclosed, with tears suffused, + He felt their hands and heard their whispering, + But how he thither came long time he mused, + His mind astonished was with everything; + He gazed about, his squires in fine he knew, + Then weak and woful thus his plaints out threw: + + LXXV + "What, live I yet? and do I breathe and see + Of this accursed day the hateful light? + This spiteful ray which still upbraideth me + With that accursed deed I did this night, + Ah, coward hand, afraid why should'st thou be; + Thou instrument of death, shame and despite, + Why should'st thou fear, with sharp and trenchant knife, + To cut the thread of this blood-guilty life? + + LXXVI + "Pierce through this bosom, and my cruel heart + In pieces cleave, break every string and vein; + But thou to slaughters vile which used art, + Think'st it were pity so to ease my pain: + Of luckless love therefore in torments' smart + A sad example must I still remain, + A woful monster of unhappy love, + Who still must live, lest death his comfort prove: + + LXXVII + "Still must I live in anguish, grief, and care; + Furies my guilty conscience that torment, + The ugly shades, dark night, and troubled air + In grisly forms her slaughter still present, + Madness and death about my bed repair, + Hell gapeth wide to swallow up this tent; + Swift from myself I run, myself I fear, + Yet still my hell within myself I bear. + + LXXVIII + "But where, alas, where be those relics sweet, + Wherein dwelt late all love, all joy, all good? + My fury left them cast in open street, + Some beast hath torn her flesh and licked her blood, + Ah noble prey! for savage beast unmeet, + Ah sweet! too sweet, and far too precious food, + Ah, seely nymph! whom night and darksome shade + To beasts, and me, far worse than beasts, betrayed. + + LXXIX + "But where you be, if still you be, I wend + To gather up those relics dear at least, + But if some beast hath from the hills descend, + And on her tender bowels made his feast, + Let that fell monster me in pieces rend, + And deep entomb me in his hollow chest: + For where she buried is, there shall I have + A stately tomb, a rich and costly grave." + + LXXX + Thus mourned the knight, his squires him told at last, + They had her there for whom those tears he shed; + A beam of comfort his dim eyes outcast, + Like lightning through thick clouds of darkness spread, + The heavy burden of his limbs in haste, + With mickle pain, he drew forth of his bed, + And scant of strength to stand, to move or go, + Thither he staggered, reeling to and fro. + + LXXXI + When he came there, and in her breast espied + His handiwork, that deep and cruel wound, + And her sweet face with leaden paleness dyed, + Where beauty late spread forth her beams around, + He trembled so, that nere his squires beside + To hold him up, he had sunk down to ground, + And said, "O face in death still sweet and fair! + Thou canst not sweeten yet my grief and care: + + LXXXII + "O fair right hand, the pledge of faith and love? + Given me but late, too late, in sign of peace, + How haps it now thou canst not stir nor move? + And you, dear limbs, now laid in rest and ease, + Through which my cruel blade this flood-gate rove, + Your pains have end, my torments never cease, + O hands, O cruel eyes, accursed alike! + You gave the wound, you gave them light to strike. + + LXXXIII + "But thither now run forth my guilty blood, + Whither my plaints, my sorrows cannot wend." + He said no more, but, as his passion wood + Inforced him, he gan to tear and rend + His hair, his face, his wounds, a purple flood + Did from each side in rolling streams descend, + He had been slain, but that his pain and woe + Bereft his senses, and preserved him so. + + LXXXIV + Cast on his bed his squires recalled his sprite + To execute again her hateful charge, + But tattling fame the sorrows of the knight + And hard mischance had told this while at large: + Godfrey and all his lords of worth and might, + Ran thither, and the duty would discharge + Of friendship true, and with sweet words the rage + Of bitter grief and woe they would assuage. + + LXXXV + But as a mortal wound the more doth smart + The more it searched is, handled or sought; + So their sweet words to his afflicted heart + More grief, more anguish, pain and torment brought + But reverend Peter that would set apart + Care of his sheep, as a good shepherd ought, + His vanity with grave advice reproved + And told what mourning Christian knights behoved: + + LXXXVI + "O Tancred, Tancred, how far different + From thy beginnings good these follies be? + What makes thee deaf? what hath thy eyesight blent? + What mist, what cloud thus overshadeth thee? + This is a warning good from heaven down sent, + Yet His advice thou canst not hear nor see + Who calleth and conducts thee to the way + From which thou willing dost and witting stray: + + LXXXVII + "To worthy actions and achievements fit + For Christian knights He would thee home recall; + But thou hast left that course and changed it, + To make thyself a heathen damsel's thrall; + But see, thy grief and sorrow's painful fit + Is made the rod to scourge thy sins withal, + Of thine own good thyself the means He makes, + But thou His mercy, goodness, grace forsakes. + + LXXXVIII + "Thou dost refuse of heaven the proffered + And gainst it still rebel with sinful ire, + Oh wretch! Oh whither doth thy rage thee chase? + Refrain thy grief, bridle thy fond desire, + At hell's wide gate vain sorrow doth thee place, + Sorrow, misfortune's son, despair's foul fire: + Oh see thine evil, thy plaint and woe refrain, + The guides to death, to hell, and endless pain." + + LXXXIX + This said, his will to die the patient + Abandoned, that second death he feared, + These words of comfort to his heart down went, + And that dark night of sorrow somewhat cleared; + Yet now and then his grief deep sighs forth sent, + His voice shrill plaints and sad laments oft reared, + Now to himself, now to his murdered love, + He spoke, who heard perchance from heaven above. + + XC + Till Phoebus' rising from his evening fall + To her, for her, he mourns, he calls, he cries; + The nightingale so when her children small + Some churl takes before their parents' eyes, + Alone, dismayed, quite bare of comforts all, + Tires with complaints the seas, the shores, the skies, + Till in sweet sleep against the morning bright + She fall at last; so mourned, so slept the knight. + + XCI + And clad in starry veil, amid his dream, + For whose sweet sake he mourned, appeared the maid, + Fairer than erst, yet with that heavenly beam. + Not out of knowledge was her lovely shade, + With looks of ruth her eyes celestial seem + To pity his sad plight, and thus she said, + "Behold how fair, how glad thy love appears, + And for my sake, my dear, forbear these tears. + + XCII + "Thine be the thanks, my soul thou madest flit + At unawares out of her earthly nest, + Thine be the thanks, thou hast advanced it + In Abraham's dear bosom long to rest, + There still I love thee, there for Tancred fit + A seat prepared is among the blest; + There in eternal joy, eternal light, + Thou shalt thy love enjoy, and she her knight; + + XCIII + "Unless thyself, thyself heaven's joys envy, + And thy vain sorrow thee of bliss deprive, + Live, know I love thee, that I nill deny, + As angels, men: as saints may wights on live:" + This said, of zeal and love forth of her eye + An hundred glorious beams bright shining drive, + Amid which rays herself she closed from sigh, + And with new joy, new comfort left her knight. + + XCIV + Thus comforted he waked, and men discreet + In surgery to cure his wounds were sought, + Meanwhile of his dear love the relics sweet, + As best he could, to grave with pomp he brought: + Her tomb was not of varied Spartan greet, + Nor yet by cunning hand of Scopas wrought, + But built of polished stone, and thereon laid + The lively shape and portrait of the maid. + + XCV + With sacred burning lamps in order long + And mournful pomp the corpse was brought to ground + Her arms upon a leafless pine were hung, + The hearse, with cypress; arms, with laurel crowned: + Next day the prince, whose love and courage strong + Drew forth his limbs, weak, feeble, and unsound, + To visit went, with care and reverence meet, + The buried ashes of his mistress sweet: + + XCVI + Before her new-made tomb at last arrived, + The woful prison of his living sprite, + Pale, cold, sad, comfortless, of sense deprived, + Upon the marble gray he fixed his sight, + Two streams of tears were from his eyes derived: + Thus with a sad "Alas!" began the knight, + "O marble dear on my dear mistress placed! + My flames within, without my tears thou hast. + + XCVII + "Not of dead bones art thou the mournful grave, + But of quick love the fortress and the hold, + Still in my heart thy wonted brands I have + More bitter far, alas! but not more cold; + Receive these sighs, these kisses sweet receive, + In liquid drops of melting tears enrolled, + And give them to that body pure and chaste, + Which in thy bosom cold entombed thou hast. + + XCVIII + "For if her happy soul her eye doth bend + On that sweet body which it lately dressed, + My love, thy pity cannot her offend, + Anger and wrath is not in angels blessed, + She pardon will the trespass of her friend, + That hope relieves me with these griefs oppressed, + This hand she knows hath only sinned, not I, + Who living loved her, and for love now die: + + XCIX + "And loving will I die, oh happy day + Whene'er it chanceth! but oh far more blessed + If as about thy polished sides I stray, + My bones within thy hollow grave might rest, + Together should in heaven our spirits stay, + Together should our bodies lie in chest; + So happy death should join what life doth sever, + O Death, O Life! sweet both, both blessed ever." + + C + Meanwhile the news in that besieged town + Of this mishap was whispered here and there, + Forthwith it spread, and for too true was known, + Her woful loss was talked everywhere, + Mingled with cries and plaints to heaven upthrown, + As if the city's self new taken were + With conquering foes, or as if flame and fire, + Nor house, nor church, nor street had left entire. + + CI + But all men's eyes were on Arsetes bent, + His sighs were deep, his looks full of despair, + Out of his woful eyes no tear there went, + His heart was hardened with his too much care, + His silver locks with dust he foul besprent, + He knocked his breast, his face he rent and tare, + And while the press flocked to the eunuch old, + Thus to the people spake Argantes bold: + + CII + "I would, when first I knew the hardy maid + Excluded was among her Christian foes, + Have followed her to give her timely aid, + Or by her side this breath and life to lose, + What did I not, or what left I unsaid + To make the king the gates again unclose? + But he denied, his power did aye restrain + My will, my suit was waste, my speech was vain: + + CIII + "Ah, had I gone, I would from danger free + Have brought to Sion that sweet nymph again, + Or in the bloody fight, where killed was she, + In her defence there nobly have been slain: + But what could I do more? the counsels be + Of God and man gainst my designments plain, + Dead is Clorinda fair, laid in cold grave, + Let me revenge her whom I could not save. + + CIV + "Jerusalem, hear what Argantes saith, + Hear Heaven, and if he break his oath and word, + Upon this head cast thunder in thy wrath: + I will destroy and kill that Christian lord + Who this fair dame by night thus murdered hath, + Nor from my side I will ungird this sword + Till Tancred's heart it cleave, and shed his blood, + And leave his corpse to wolves and crows for food." + + CV + This said, the people with a joyful shout + Applaud his speeches and his words approve, + And calmed their grief in hope the boaster stout + Would kill the prince, who late had slain his love. + O promise vain! it otherwise fell out: + Men purpose, but high gods dispose above, + For underneath his sword this boaster died + Whom thus he scorned and threatened in his pride. + + + + THIRTEENTH BOOK + + THE ARGUMENT. + Ismeno sets to guard the forest old + The wicked sprites, whose ugly shapes affray + And put to flight the men, whose labor would + To their dark shades let in heaven's golden ray: + Thither goes Tancred hardy, faithful, bold, + But foolish pity lets him not assay + His strength and courage: heat the Christian power + Annoys, whom to refresh God sends a shower. + + + I + But scant, dissolved into ashes cold, + The smoking tower fell on the scorched grass, + When new device found out the enchanter old + By which the town besieged secured was, + Of timber fit his foes deprive he would, + Such terror bred that late consumed mass: + So that the strength of Sion's walls to shake, + They should no turrets, rams, nor engines make. + + II + From Godfrey's camp a grove a little way + Amid the valleys deep grows out of sight, + Thick with old trees whose horrid arms display + An ugly shade, like everlasting night; + There when the sun spreads forth his clearest ray, + Dim, thick, uncertain, gloomy seems the light; + As when in evening, day and darkness strive + Which should his foe from our horizon drive. + + III + But when the sun his chair in seas doth steep, + Night, horror, darkness thick the place invade, + Which veil the mortal eyes with blindness deep + And with sad terror make weak hearts afraid, + Thither no groom drives forth his tender sheep + To browse, or ease their faint in cooling shade, + Nor traveller nor pilgrim there to enter, + So awful seems that forest old, dare venture. + + IV + United there the ghosts and goblins meet + To frolic with their mates in silent night, + With dragons' wings some cleave the welkin fleet, + Some nimbly run o'er hills and valleys light, + A wicked troop, that with allurements sweet + Draws sinful man from that is good and right, + And there with hellish pomp their banquets brought + They solemnize, thus the vain Parians thought. + + V + No twist, no twig, no bough nor branch, therefore, + The Saracens cut from that sacred spring; + But yet the Christians spared ne'er the more + The trees to earth with cutting steel to bring: + Thither went Ismen old with tresses hoar, + When night on all this earth spread forth her wing, + And there in silence deaf and mirksome shade + His characters and circles vain he made: + + VI + He in the circle set one foot unshod, + And whispered dreadful charms in ghastly wise, + Three times, for witchcraft loveth numbers odd, + Toward the east he gaped, westward thrice, + He struck the earth thrice with his charmed rod + Wherewith dead bones he makes from grave to rise, + And thrice the ground with naked foot he smote, + And thus he cried loud, with thundering note: + + VII + "Hear, hear, you spirits all that whilom fell, + Cast down from heaven with dint of roaring thunder; + Hear, you amid the empty air that dwell + And storms and showers pour on these kingdoms under; + Hear, all you devils that lie in deepest hell + And rend with torments damned ghosts asunder, + And of those lands of death, of pain and fear, + Thou monarch great, great Dis, great Pluto, hear! + + VIII + "Keep you this forest well, keep every tree, + Numbered I give you them and truly told; + As souls of men in bodies clothed be + So every plant a sprite shall hide and hold, + With trembling fear make all the Christians flee, + When they presume to cut these cedars old:" + This said, his charms he gan again repeat, + Which none can say but they that use like feat. + + IX + At those strange speeches, still night's splendent fires + Quenched their lights, and shrunk away for doubt, + The feeble moon her silver beams retires, + And wrapt her horns with folding clouds about, + Ismen his sprites to come with speed requires, + "Why come you not, you ever damned rout? + Why tarry you so long? pardie you stay + Till stronger charms and greater words I say. + + X + "I have not yet forgot for want of use, + What dreadful terms belong this sacred feat, + My tongue, if still your stubborn hearts refuse, + That so much dreaded name can well repeat, + Which heard, great Dis cannot himself excuse, + But hither run from his eternal seat, + O great and fearful!"--More he would have said, + But that he saw the sturdy sprites obeyed. + + XI + Legions of devils by thousands thither come, + Such as in sparsed air their biding make, + And thousands also which by Heavenly doom + Condemned lie in deep Avernus lake, + But slow they came, displeased all and some + Because those woods they should in keeping take, + Yet they obeyed and took the charge in hand, + And under every branch and leaf they stand. + + XII + When thus his cursed work performed was, + The wizard to his king declared the feat, + "My lord, let fear, let doubt and sorrow pass, + Henceforth in safety stands your regal seat, + Your foe, as he supposed, no mean now has + To build again his rams and engines great:" + And then he told at large from part to part, + All what he late performed by wondrous art. + + XIII + "Besides this help, another hap," quoth he, + "Will shortly chance that brings not profit small. + Within few days Mars and the Sun I see + Their fiery beams unite in Leo shall; + And then extreme the scorching heat will be, + Which neither rain can quench nor dews that fall, + So placed are the planets high and low, + That heat, fire, burning all the heavens foreshow: + + XIV + "So great with us will be the warmth therefore, + As with the Garamants or those of Inde; + Yet nill it grieve us in this town so sore, + We have sweet shade and waters cold by kind: + Our foes abroad will be tormented more, + What shield can they or what refreshing find? + Heaven will them vanquish first, then Egypt's crew + Destroy them quite, weak, weary, faint and few: + + XV + "Thou shalt sit still and conquer; prove no more + The doubtful hazard of uncertain fight. + But if Argantes bold, that hates so sore + All cause of quiet peace, though just and right, + Provoke thee forth to battle, as before, + Find means to calm the rage of that fierce knight, + For shortly Heaven will send thee ease and peace, + And war and trouble mongst thy foes increase." + + XVI + The king assured by these speeches fair, + Held Godfrey's power, his might and strength in scorn, + And now the walls he gan in part repair, + Which late the ram had bruised with iron horn, + With wise foresight and well advised care + He fortified each breach and bulwark torn, + And all his folk, men, women, children small, + With endless toil again repaired the wall. + + XVII + But Godfrey nould this while bring forth his power + To give assault against that fort in vain, + Till he had builded new his dreadful tower, + And reared high his down-fallen rams again: + His workmen therefore he despatched that hour + To hew the trees out of the forest main, + They went, and scant the wood appeared in sight + When wonders new their fearful hearts affright: + + XVIII + As silly children dare not bend their eye + Where they are told strange bugbears haunt the place, + Or as new monsters, while in bed they lie, + Their fearful thoughts present before their face; + So feared they, and fled, yet wist not why, + Nor what pursued them in that fearful chase. + Except their fear perchance while thus they fled, + New chimeras, sphinxes, or like monsters bred: + + XIX + Swift to the camp they turned back dismayed, + With words confused uncertain tales they told, + That all which heard them scorned what they said + And those reports for lies and fables hold. + A chosen crew in shining arms arrayed + Duke Godfrey thither sent of soldiers bold, + To guard the men and their faint arms provoke + To cut the dreadful trees with hardy stroke: + + XX + These drawing near the wood where close ypent + The wicked sprites in sylvan pinfolds were, + Their eyes upon those shades no sooner bent + But frozen dread pierced through their entrails dear; + Yet on they stalked still, and on they went, + Under bold semblance hiding coward fear, + And so far wandered forth with trembling pace, + Till they approached nigh that enchanted place: + + XXI + When from the grove a fearful sound outbreaks, + As if some earthquake hill and mountain tore, + Wherein the southern wind a rumbling makes, + Or like sea waves against the scraggy shore; + There lions grumble, there hiss scaly snakes, + There howl the wolves, the rugged bears there roar, + There trumpets shrill are heard and thunders fell, + And all these sounds one sound expressed well. + + XXII + Upon their faces pale well might you note + A thousand signs of heart-amating fear, + Their reason gone, by no device they wot + How to press nigh, or stay still where they were, + Against that sudden dread their breasts which smote, + Their courage weak no shield of proof could bear, + At last they fled, and one than all more bold, + Excused their flight, and thus the wonders told: + + XXIII + "My lord, not one of us there is, I grant, + That dares cut down one branch in yonder spring, + I think there dwells a sprite in every plant, + There keeps his court great Dis infernal king, + He hath a heart of hardened adamant + That without trembling dares attempt the thing, + And sense he wanteth who so hardy is + To hear the forest thunder, roar and hiss." + + XXIV + This said, Alcasto to his words gave heed, + Alcasto leader of the Switzers grim, + A man both void of wit and void of dreed, + Who feared not loss of life nor loss of limb. + No savage beasts in deserts wild that feed + Nor ugly monster could dishearten him, + Nor whirlwind, thunder, earthquake, storm, or aught + That in this world is strange or fearful thought. + + XXV + He shook his head, and smiling thus gan say, + "The hardiness have I that wood to fell, + And those proud trees low in the dust to lay + Wherein such grisly fiends and monsters dwell; + No roaring ghost my courage can dismay, + No shriek of birds, beast's roar, or dragon's yell; + But through and through that forest will I wend, + Although to deepest hell the paths descend." + + XXVI + Thus boasted he, and leave to go desired, + And forward went with joyful cheer and will, + He viewed the wood and those thick shades admired, + He heard the wondrous noise and rumbling shrill; + Yet not one foot the audacious man retired, + He scorned the peril, pressing forward still, + Till on the forest's outmost marge he stepped, + A flaming fire from entrance there him kept. + + XXVII + The fire increased, and built a stately wall + Of burning coals, quick sparks, and embers hot, + And with bright flames the wood environed all, + That there no tree nor twist Alcasto got; + The higher stretched the flames seemed bulwarks tall, + Castles and turrets full of fiery shot, + With slings and engines strong of every sort;-- + What mortal wight durst scale so strange a fort? + + XXVIII + Oh what strange monsters on the battlement + In loathsome forms stood to defend the place? + Their frowning looks upon the knight they bent, + And threatened death with shot, with sword and mace: + At last he fled, and though but slow he went, + As lions do whom jolly hunters chase; + Yet fled the man and with sad fear withdrew, + Though fear till then he never felt nor knew. + + XXIX + That he had fled long time he never wist, + But when far run he had discoverd it, + Himself for wonder with his hand he blist, + A bitter sorrow by the heart him bit, + Amazed, ashamed, disgraced, sad, silent, trist, + Alone he would all day in darkness sit, + Nor durst he look on man of worth or fame, + His pride late great, now greater made his shame. + + XXX + Godfredo called him, but he found delays + And causes why he should his cabin keep, + At length perforce he comes, but naught he says, + Or talks like those that babble in their sleep. + His shamefacedness to Godfrey plain bewrays + His flight, so does his sighs and sadness deep: + Whereat amazed, "What chance is this?" quoth he. + "These witchcrafts strange or nature's wonders be. + + XXXI + "But if his courage any champion move + To try the hazard of this dreadful spring, + I give him leave the adventure great to prove, + Some news he may report us of the thing:" + This said, his lords attempt the charmed grove, + Yet nothing back but fear and flight they bring, + For them inforced with trembling to retire, + The sight, the sound, the monsters and the fire. + + XXXII + This happed when woful Tancred left his bed + To lay in marble cold his mistress dear, + The lively color from his cheek was fled, + His limbs were weak his helm or targe to bear; + Nathless when need to high attempts him led, + No labor would he shun, no danger fear, + His valor, boldness, heart and courage brave, + To his faint body strength and vigor gave. + + XXXIII + To this exploit forth went the venturous knight, + Fearless, yet heedful; silent, well advised, + The terrors of that forest's dreadful sight, + Storms, earthquakes, thunders, cries, he all despised: + He feared nothing, yet a motion light, + That quickly vanished, in his heart arised + When lo, between him and the charmed wood, + A fiery city high as heaven up stood. + + XXXIV + The knight stepped back and took a sudden pause, + And to himself, "What help these arms?" quoth he, + "If in this fire, or monster's gaping jaws + I headlong cast myself, what boots it me? + For common profit, or my country's cause, + To hazard life before me none should be: + But this exploit of no such weight I hold, + For it to lose a prince or champion bold. + + XXXV + But if I fly, what will the Pagans say? + If I retire, who shall cut down this spring? + Godfredo will attempt it every day. + What if some other knight perform the thing? + These flames uprisen to forestall my way + Perchance more terror far than danger bring. + But hap what shall;" this said, he forward stepped, + And through the fire, oh wondrous boldness, leapt! + + XXXVI + He bolted through, but neither warmth nor heat! + He felt, nor sign of fire or scorching flame; + Yet wist he not in his dismayed conceit, + If that were fire or no through which he came; + For at first touch vanished those monsters great, + And in their stead the clouds black night did frame + And hideous storms and showers of hail and rain; + Yet storms and tempests vanished straight again. + + XXXVII + Amazed but not afraid the champion good + Stood still, but when the tempest passed he spied, + He entered boldly that forbidden wood, + And of the forest all the secrets eyed, + In all his walk no sprite or phantasm stood + That stopped his way or passage free denied, + Save that the growing trees so thick were set, + That oft his sight, and passage oft they let. + + XXXVIII + At length a fair and spacious green he spied, + Like calmest waters, plain, like velvet, soft, + Wherein a cypress clad in summer's pride, + Pyramid-wise, lift up his tops aloft; + In whose smooth bark upon the evenest side, + Strange characters he found, and viewed them oft, + Like those which priests of Egypt erst instead + Of letters used, which none but they could read. + + XXXIX + Mongst them he picked out these words at last, + Writ in the Syriac tongue, which well he could, + "Oh hardy knight, who through these woods hast passed: + Where Death his palace and his court doth hold! + Oh trouble not these souls in quiet placed, + Oh be not cruel as thy heart is bold, + Pardon these ghosts deprived of heavenly light, + With spirits dead why should men living fight?" + + XL + This found he graven in the tender rind, + And while he mused on this uncouth writ, + Him thought he heard the softly whistling wind + His blasts amid the leaves and branches knit + And frame a sound like speech of human kind, + But full of sorrow grief and woe was it, + Whereby his gentle thoughts all filled were + With pity, sadness, grief, compassion, fear. + + XLI + He drew his sword at last, and gave the tree + A mighty blow, that made a gaping wound, + Out of the rift red streams he trickling see + That all bebled the verdant plain around, + His hair start up, yet once again stroke he, + He nould give over till the end he found + Of this adventure, when with plaint and moan, + As from some hollow grave, he heard one groan. + + XLII + "Enough, enough!" the voice lamenting said, + "Tancred, thou hast me hurt, thou didst me drive + Out of the body of a noble maid + Who with me lived, whom late I kept on live, + And now within this woful cypress laid, + My tender rind thy weapon sharp doth rive, + Cruel, is't not enough thy foes to kill, + But in their graves wilt thou torment them still? + + XLIII + "I was Clorinda, now imprisoned here, + Yet not alone within this plant I dwell, + For every Pagan lord and Christian peer, + Before the city's walls last day that fell, + In bodies new or graves I wot not clear, + But here they are confined by magic's spell, + So that each tree hath life, and sense each bough, + A murderer if thou cut one twist art thou." + + XLIV + As the sick man that in his sleep doth see + Some ugly dragon, or some chimera new, + Though he suspect, or half persuaded be, + It is an idle dream, no monster true, + Yet still he fears, he quakes, and strives to flee, + So fearful is that wondrous form to view; + So feared the knight, yet he both knew and thought + All were illusions false by witchcraft wrought: + + XLV + But cold and trembling waxed his frozen heart, + Such strange effects, such passions it torment, + Out of his feeble hand his weapon start, + Himself out of his wits nigh, after went: + Wounded he saw, he thought, for pain and smart, + His lady weep, complain, mourn, and lament, + Nor could he suffer her dear blood to see, + Or hear her sighs that deep far fetched be. + + XLVI + Thus his fierce heart which death had scorned oft, + Whom no strange shape or monster could dismay, + With feigned shows of tender love made soft, + A spirit false did with vain plaints betray; + A whirling wind his sword heaved up aloft, + And through the forest bare it quite away. + O'ercome retired the prince, and as he came, + His sword he found, and repossessed the same, + + XLVII + Yet nould return, he had no mind to try + His courage further in those forests green; + But when to Godfrey's tent he proached nigh, + His spirits waked, his thoughts composed been, + "My Lord." quoth he, "a witness true am I + Of wonders strange, believe it scant though seen, + What of the fire, the shades, the dreadful sound + You heard, all true by proof myself have found; + + XLVIII + "A burning fire, so are those deserts charmed, + Built like a battled wall to heaven was reared; + Whereon with darts and dreadful weapons armed, + Of monsters foul mis-shaped whole bands appeared; + But through them all I passed, unhurt, unharmed, + No flame or threatened blow I felt or feared, + Then rain and night I found, but straight again + To day, the night, to sunshine turned the rain. + + XLIX + "What would you more? each tree through all that wood + Hath sense, hath life, hath speech, like human kind, + I heard their words as in that grove I stood, + That mournful voice still, still I bear in mind: + And, as they were of flesh, the purple blood + At every blow streams from the wounded rind; + No, no, not I, nor any else, I trow, + Hath power to cut one leaf, one branch, one bough." + L + While thus he said, the Christian's noble guide + Felt uncouth strife in his contentious thought, + He thought, what if himself in perzon tried + Those witchcrafts strange, and bring those charms to naught, + For such he deemed them, or elsewhere provide + For timber easier got though further sought, + But from his study he at last abraid, + Called by the hermit old that to him said: + + LI + "Leave off thy hardy thought, another's hands + Of these her plants the wood dispoilen shall, + Now, now the fatal ship of conquest lands, + Her sails are struck, her silver anchors fall, + Our champion broken hath his worthless bands, + And looseth from the soil which held him thrall, + The time draws nigh when our proud foes in field + Shall slaughtered lie, and Sion's fort shall yield." + + LII + This said, his visage shone with beams divine, + And more than mortal was his voice's sound, + Godfredo's thought to other acts incline, + His working brain was never idle found. + But in the Crab now did bright Titan shine, + And scorched with scalding beams the parched ground, + And made unfit for toil or warlike feat + His soldiers, weak with labor, faint with sweat: + + LIII + The planets mild their lamps benign quenched out, + And cruel stars in heaven did signorize, + Whose influence cast fiery flames about + And hot impressions through the earth and skies, + The growing heat still gathered deeper rout, + The noisome warmth through lands and kingdoms flies, + A harmful night a hurtful day succeeds, + And worse than both next morn her light outspreads. + + LIV + When Phoebus rose he left his golden weed, + And donned a gite in deepest purple dyed, + His sanguine beams about his forehead spread, + A sad presage of ill that should betide, + With vermeil drops at even his tresses bleed, + Foreshows of future heat, from the ocean wide + When next he rose, and thus increased still + Their present harms with dread of future ill, + + LV + While thus he bent gainst earth his scorching rays, + He burnt the flowers, burnt his Clytie dear, + The leaves grew wan upon the withered sprays, + The grass and growing herbs all parched were, + Earth cleft in rifts, in floods their streams decays, + The barren clouds with lightning bright appear, + And mankind feared lest Climenes' child again + Had driven awry his sire's ill-guided wain. + + LVI + As from a furnace flew the smoke to skies, + Such smoke as that when damned Sodom brent, + Within his caves sweet Zephyr silent lies, + Still was the air, the rack nor came nor went, + But o'er the lands with lukewarm breathing flies + The southern wind, from sunburnt Afric sent, + Which thick and warm his interrupted blasts + Upon their bosoms, throats, and faces casts. + + LVII + Nor yet more comfort brought the gloomy night, + In her thick shades was burning heat uprolled, + Her sable mantle was embroidered bright + With blazing stars and gliding fires for gold, + Nor to refresh, sad earth, thy thirsty sprite, + The niggard moon let fall her May dews cold, + And dried up the vital moisture was, + In trees, in plants, in herbs, in flowers, in grass. + + LVIII + Sleep to his quiet dales exiled fled + From these unquiet nights, and oft in vain + The soldiers restless sought the god in bed, + But most for thirst they mourned and most complain; + For Juda's tyrant had strong poison shed, + Poison that breeds more woe and deadly pain, + Than Acheron or Stygian waters bring, + In every fountain, cistern, well and spring: + + LIX + And little Siloe that his store bestows + Of purest crystal on the Christian bands, + The pebbles naked in his channel shows + And scantly glides above the scorched sands, + Nor Po in May when o'er his banks he flows, + Nor Ganges, waterer of the Indian lands, + Nor seven-mouthed Nile that yields all Egypt drink, + To quench their thirst the men sufficient think. + + LX + He that the gliding rivers erst had seen + Adown their verdant channels gently rolled, + Or falling streams which to the valleys green + Distilled from tops of Alpine mountains cold, + Those he desired in vain, new torments been, + Augmented thus with wish of comforts old, + Those waters cool he drank in vain conceit, + Which more increased his thirst, increased his heat. + + LXI + The sturdy bodies of the warriors strong, + Whom neither marching far, nor tedious way, + Nor weighty arms which on their shoulders hung, + Could weary make, nor death itself dismay; + Now weak and feeble cast their limbs along, + Unwieldly burdens, on the burned clay, + And in each vein a smouldering fire there dwelt, + Which dried their flesh and solid bones did melt. + + LXII + Languished the steed late fierce, and proffered grass, + His fodder erst, despised and from him cast, + Each step he stumbled, and which lofty was + And high advanced before now fell his crest, + His conquests gotten all forgotten pass, + Nor with desire of glory swelled his breast, + The spoils won from his foe, his late rewards, + He now neglects, despiseth, naught regards. + + LXIII + Languished the faithful dog, and wonted care + Of his dear lord and cabin both forgot, + Panting he laid, and gathered fresher air + To cool the burning in his entrails hot: + But breathing, which wise nature did prepare + To suage the stomach's heat, now booted not, + For little ease, alas, small help, they win + That breathe forth air and scalding fire suck in. + + LXIV + Thus languished the earth, in this estate + Lay woful thousands of the Christians stout, + The faithful people grew nigh desperate + Of hoped conquest, shameful death they doubt, + Of their distress they talk and oft debate, + These sad complaints were heard the camp throughout: + "What hope hath Godfrey? shall we still here lie + Till all his soldiers, all our armies die? + + LXV + "Alas, with what device, what strength, thinks he + To scale these walls, or this strong fort to get? + Whence hath he engines new? doth he not see, + How wrathful Heaven gainst us his sword doth whet? + These tokens shown true signs and witness be + Our angry God our proud attempts doth let, + And scorching sun so hot his beams outspreads, + That not more cooling Inde nor Aethiop needs. + + LXVI + "Or thinks he it an eath or little thing + That us despised, neglected, and disdained, + Like abjects vile, to death he thus should bring, + That so his empire may be still maintained? + Is it so great a bliss to be a king, + When he that wears the crown with blood is stained + And buys his sceptre with his people's lives? + See whither glory vain, fond mankind drives. + + LXVII + "See, see the man, called holy, just, and good, + That courteous, meek, and humble would be thought, + Yet never cared in what distress we stood + If his vain honor were diminished naught, + When dried up from us his spring and flood + His water must from Jordan streams be brought, + And how he sits at feasts and banquets sweet + And mingleth waters fresh with wines of Crete." + + LXVIII + The French thus murmured, but the Greekish knight + Tatine, that of this war was weary grown: + "Why die we here," quoth he, "slain without fight, + Killed, not subdued, murdered, not overthrown? + Upon the Frenchmen let the penance light + Of Godfrey's folly, let me save mine own," + And as he said, without farewell, the knight + And all his comet stole away by night. + + LXIX + His bad example many a troop prepares + To imitate, when his escape they know, + Clotharius his band, and Ademare's, + And all whose guides in dust were buried low, + Discharged of duty's chains and bondage snares, + Free from their oath, to none they service owe, + But now concluded all on secret flight, + And shrunk away by thousands every night. + + LXX + Godfredo this both heard, and saw, and knew, + Yet nould with death them chastise though he mought, + But with that faith wherewith he could renew + The steadfast hills and seas dry up to naught + He prayed the Lord upon his flock to rue, + To ope the springs of grace and ease this drought, + Out of his looks shone zeal, devotion, faith, + His hands and eyes to heaven he heaves, and saith: + + LXXI + "Father and Lord, if in the deserts waste + Thou hadst compassion on thy children dear, + The craggy rock when Moses cleft and brast, + And drew forth flowing streams of waters clear, + Like mercy, Lord, like grace on us down cast; + And though our merits less than theirs appear, + Thy grace supply that want, for though they be + Thy first-born son, thy children yet are we." + + LXXII + These prayers just, from humble hearts forth sent, + Were nothing slow to climb the starry sky, + But swift as winged bird themselves present + Before the Father of the heavens high: + The Lord accepted them, and gently bent + Upon the faithful host His gracious eye, + And in what pain and what distress it laid, + He saw, and grieved to see, and thus He said: + + LXXIII + "Mine armies dear till now have suffered woe, + Distress and danger, hell's infernal power + Their enemy hath been, the world their foe, + But happy be their actions from this hour: + What they begin to blessed end shall go, + I will refresh them with a gentle shower; + Rinaldo shall return, the Egyptian crew + They shall encounter, conquer, and subdue." + + LXXIV + At these high words great heaven began to shake, + The fixed stars, the planets wandering still, + Trembled the air, the earth and ocean quake, + Spring, fountain, river, forest, dale and hill; + From north to east, a lightning flash outbrake, + And coming drops presaged with thunders shrill: + With joyful shouts the soldiers on the plain, + These tokens bless of long-desired rain. + + LXXV + A sudden cloud, as when Helias prayed, + Not from dry earth exhaled by Phoebus' beams, + Arose, moist heaven his windows open laid, + Whence clouds by heaps out rush, and watery streams, + The world o'erspread was with a gloomy shade, + That like a dark mirksome even it seems; + The crashing rain from molten skies down fell, + And o'er their banks the brooks and fountains swell. + + LXXVI + In summer season, when the cloudy sky + Upon the parched ground doth rain down send, + As duck and mallard in the furrows dry + With merry noise the promised showers attend, + And spreading broad their wings displayed lie + To keep the drops that on their plumes descend, + And where the streams swell to a gathered lake, + Therein they dive, and sweet refreshing take: + + LXXVII + So they the streaming showers with shouts and cries + Salute, which heaven shed on the thirsty lands, + The falling liquor from the dropping skies + He catcheth in his lap, he barehead stands, + And his bright helm to drink therein unties, + In the fresh streams he dives his sweaty hands, + Their faces some, and some their temples wet, + And some to keep the drops large vessels set. + + LXXVIII + Nor man alone to ease his burning sore, + Herein doth dive and wash, and hereof drinks, + But earth itself weak, feeble, faint before, + Whose solid limbs were cleft with rifts and chinks, + Received the falling showers and gathered store + Of liquor sweet, that through her veins down sinks, + And moisture new infused largely was + In trees, in plants, in herbs, in flowers, in grass. + + LXXIX + Earth, like the patient was, whose lively blood + Hath overcome at last some sickness strong, + Whose feeble limbs had been the bait and food + Whereon this strange disease depastured long, + But now restored, in health and welfare stood, + As sound as erst, as fresh, as fair, as young; + So that forgetting all his grief and pain, + His pleasant robes and crowns he takes again. + + LXXX + Ceased the rain, the sun began to shine, + With fruitful, sweet, benign, and gentle ray, + Full of strong power and vigor masculine, + As be his beams in April or in May. + O happy zeal! who trusts in help divine + The world's afflictions thus can drive away, + Can storms appease, and times and seasons change, + And conquer fortune, fate, and destiny strange. + + + + FOURTEENTH BOOK + + THE ARGUMENT. + The Lord to Godfrey in a dream doth show + His will; Rinaldo must return at last; + They have their asking who for pardon sue: + Two knights to find the prince are sent in haste, + But Peter, who by vision all foreknew, + Sendeth the searchers to a wizard, placed + Deep in a vault, who first at large declares + Armida's trains, then how to shun those snares. + + I + Now from the fresh, the soft and tender bed + Of her still mother, gentle night out flew, + The fleeting balm on hills and dales she shed, + With honey drops of pure and precious dew, + And on the verdure of green forests spread + The virgin primrose and the violet blue, + And sweet-breathed Zephyr on his spreading wings, + Sleep, ease, repose, rest, peace and quiet brings. + + II + The thoughts and troubles of broad-waking day, + They softly dipped in mild Oblivion's lake; + But he whose Godhead heaven and earth doth sway, + In his eternal light did watch and wake, + And bent on Godfrey down the gracious ray + Of his bright eye, still ope for Godfrey's sake, + To whom a silent dream the Lord down sent. + Which told his will, his pleasure and intent. + + III + Far in the east, the golden gate beside + Whence Phoebus comes, a crystal port there is, + And ere the sun his broad doors open wide + The beam of springing day uncloseth this, + Hence comes the dreams, by which heaven's sacred guide + Reveals to man those high degrees of his, + Hence toward Godfrey ere he left his bed + A vision strange his golden plumes bespread. + + IV + Such semblances, such shapes, such portraits fair, + Did never yet in dream or sleep appear, + For all the forms in sea, in earth or air, + The signs in heaven, the stars in every sphere + All that was wondrous, uncouth, strange and rare, + All in that vision well presented were. + His dream had placed him in a crystal wide, + Beset with golden fires, top, bottom, side, + + V + There while he wondereth on the circles vast, + The stars, their motions, course and harmony, + A knight, with shining rays and fire embraced, + Presents himself unwares before his eye, + Who with a voice that far for sweetness passed + All human speech, thus said, approaching nigh: + "What, Godfrey, knowest thou not thy Hugo here? + Come and embrace thy friend and fellow dear!" + + VI + He answered him, "Thy glorious shining light + Which in thine eyes his glistering beams doth place, + Estranged hath from my foreknowledge quite + Thy countenance, thy favor, and thy face:" + This said, three times he stretched his hands outright + And would in friendly arms the knight embrace, + And thrice the spirit fled, that thrice he twined + Naught in his folded arms but air and wind. + + VII + Lord Hugo smiled, "Not as you think," quoth he, + "I clothed am in flesh and earthly mould, + My spirit pure, and naked soul, you see, + A citizen of this celestial hold: + This place is heaven, and here a room for thee + Prepared is among Christ's champions bold:" + "Ah when," quoth he, "these mortal bonds unknit, + Shall I in peace, in ease and rest there sit?" + + VIII + Hugo replied, "Ere many years shall run, + Amid the saints in bliss here shalt thou reign; + But first great wars must by thy hand be done, + Much blood be shed, and many Pagans slain, + The holy city by assault be won, + The land set free from servile yoke again, + Wherein thou shalt a Christian empire frame, + And after thee shall Baldwin rule the same. + + IX + "But to increase thy love and great desire + To heavenward, this blessed place behold, + These shining lamps, these globes of living fire, + How they are turned, guided, moved and rolled; + The angels' singing hear, and all their choir; + Then bend thine eyes on yonder earth and mould, + All in that mass, that globe and compass see, + Land, sea, spring, fountain, man, beast, grass and tree. + + X + "How vile, how small, and of how slender price, + Is their reward of goodness, virtue's gain! + A narrow room our glory vain upties, + A little circle doth our pride contain, + Earth like an isle amid the water lies, + Which sea sometime is called, sometime the main, + Yet naught therein responds a name so great, + It's but a lake, a pond, a marish strait." + + XI + Thus said the one, the other bended down + His looks to ground, and half in scorn he smiled, + He saw at once earth, sea, flood, castle, town, + Strangely divided, strangely all compiled, + And wondered folly man so far should drown, + To set his heart on things so base and vild, + That servile empire searcheth and dumb fame, + And scorns heaven's bliss, yet proffereth heaven the same. + + XII + Wherefore he answered, "Since the Lord not yet + Will free my spirit from this cage of clay, + Lest worldly error vain my voyage let, + Teach me to heaven the best and surest way:" + Hugo replied, "Thy happy foot is set + In the true path, nor from this passage stray, + Only from exile young Rinaldo call, + This give I thee in charge, else naught at all. + + XIII + "For as the Lord of hosts, the King of bliss, + Hath chosen thee to rule the faithful band; + So he thy stratagems appointed is + To execute, so both shall win this land: + The first is thine, the second place is his, + Thou art this army's head, and he the hand, + No other champion can his place supply, + And that thou do it doth thy state deny. + + XIV + "The enchanted forest, and her charmed treen, + With cutting steel shall he to earth down hew, + And thy weak armies which too feeble been + To scale again these walls reinforced new, + And fainting lie dispersed on the green, + Shall take new strength new courage at his view, + The high-built towers, the eastern squadrons all, + Shall conquered be, shall fly, shall die, shall fall." + + XV + He held his peace; and Godfrey answered so: + "Oh, how his presence would recomfort me! + You that man's hidden thoughts perceive and know: + If I say truth, or if I love him, see. + But say, what messengers shall for him go? + What shall their speeches, what their errand be? + Shall I entreat, or else command the man? + With credit neither well perform I can." + + XVI + "The eternal Lord," the other knight replied, + "That with so many graces hath thee blest, + Will, that among the troops thou hast to guide, + Thou honored be and feared of most and least: + Then speak not thou lest blemish some betide + Thy sacred empire if thou make request; + But when by suit thou moved art to ruth, + Then yield, forgive, and home recall the youth. + + XVII + "Guelpho shall pray thee, God shall him inspire, + To pardon this offence, this fault commit + By hasty wrath, by rash and headstrong ire, + To call the knight again; yield thou to it: + And though the youth, enwrapped in fond desire, + Far hence in love and looseness idle sit, + Year fear it not, he shall return with speed, + When most you wish him and when most you need. + + XVIII + "Your hermit Peter, to whose sapient heart + High Heaven his secrets opens, tells and shews, + Your messengers direct can to that part, + Where of the prince they shall hear certain news, + And learn the way, the manner, and the art + To bring him back to these thy warlike crews, + That all thy soldiers, wandered and misgone, + Heaven may unite again and join in one. + + XIX + "But this conclusion shall my speeches end: + Know that his blood shall mixed be with thine, + Whence barons bold and worthies shall descend, + That many great exploits shall bring to fine." + This said, he vanished from his sleeping friend, + Like smoke in wind, or mist in Titan's shine; + Sleep fled likewise, and in his troubled thought, + With wonder, pleasure; joy, with marvel fought. + + XX + The duke looked up, and saw the azure sky + With argent beams of silver morning spread, + And started up, for praise axed virtue lie + In toil and travel, sin and shame in bed: + His arms he took, his sword girt to his thigh, + To his pavilion all his lords them sped, + And there in council grave the princes sit, + For strength by wisdom, war is ruled by wit. + + XXI + Lord Guelpho there, within whose gentle breast + Heaven had infused that new and sudden thought, + His pleasing words thus to the duke addressed: + "Good prince, mild, though unasked, kind, unbesought, + Oh let thy mercy grant my just request, + Pardon this fault by rage not malice wrought; + For great offence, I grant, so late commit, + My suit too hasty is, perchance unfit. + + XXII + But since to Godfrey meek benign and kind, + For Prince Rinaldo bold, I humbly sue, + And that the suitor's self is not behind + Thy greatest friends in state or friendship true; + I trust I shall thy grace and mercy find + Acceptable to me and all this crew; + Oh call him home, this trespass to amend, + He shall his blood in Godfrey's service spend. + + XXIII + "And if not he, who else dares undertake + Of this enchanted wood to cut one tree? + Gainst death and danger who dares battle make, + With so bold face, so fearless heart as he? + Beat down these walls, these gates in pieces break, + Leap o'er these rampires high, thou shalt him see, + Restore therefore to this desirous band + Their wish, their hope, their strength, their shield, their hand; + + XXIV + "To me my nephew, to thyself restore + A trusty help, when strength of hand thou needs, + In idleness let him consume no more, + Recall him to his noble acts and deeds! + Known be his worth as was his strength of yore + Wher'er thy standard broad her cross outspreads, + Oh, let his fame and praise spread far and wide, + Be thou his lord, his teacher and his guidel" + + XXV + Thus he entreated, and the rest approve + His words, with friendly murmurs whispered low. + Godfrey as though their suit his mind did move + To that whereon he never thought tell now, + "How can my heart," quoth he, "if you I love, + To your request and suit but bend and bow? + Let rigor go, that right and justice be + Wherein you all consent and all agree. + + XXVI + "Rinaldo shall return; let him restrain + Henceforth his headstrong wrath and hasty ire, + And with his hardy deeds let him take pain + To correspond your hope and my desire: + Guelpho, thou must call home the knight again, + See that with speed he to these tents retire, + The messengers appoint as likes thy mind, + And teach them where they should the young man find." + + XXVII + Up start the Dane that bare Prince Sweno's brand, + "I will," quoth he, "that message undertake, + I will refuse no pains by sea or land, + To give the knight this sword, kept for his sake." + This man was bold of courage, strong of hand, + Guelpho was glad he did the proffer make: + "Thou shalt," quoth he, "Ubaldo shalt thou have + To go with thee, a knight, stout, wise, and grave." + + XXVIII + Ubaldo in his youth had known and seen + The fashions strange of many an uncouth land, + And travelled over all the realms between + The Arctic circle and hot Meroe's strand, + And as a man whose wit his guide had been, + Their customs use he could, tongues understand, + Forthy when spent his youthful seasons were + Lord Guelpho entertained and held him dear. + + XXIX + To these committed was the charge and care + To find and bring again the champion bold, + Guelpho commands them to the fort repair, + Where Boemond doth his seat and sceptre hold, + For public fame said that Bertoldo's heir + There lived, there dwelt, there stayed; the hermit old, + That knew they were misled by false report, + Among them came, and parleyed in this sort: + + XXX + "Sir knights," quoth he, "if you intend to ride, + And follow each report fond people say, + You follow but a rash and truthless guide + That leads vain men amiss and makes them stray; + Near Ascalon go to the salt seaside, + Where a swift brook fails in with hideous sway, + An aged sire, our friend, there shall you find, + All what he saith, that do, that keep in mind. + + XXXI + "Of this great voyage which you undertake, + Much by his skill, and much by mine advise + Hath he foreknown, and welcome for my sake + You both shall be, the man is kind and wise." + Instructed thus no further question make + The twain elected for this enterprise, + But humbly yielded to obey his word, + For what the hermit said, that said the Lord. + + XXXII + They took their leave, and on their journey went, + Their will could brook no stay, their zeal, no let; + To Ascalon their voyage straight they bent, + Whose broken shores with brackish waves are wet, + And there they heard how gainst the cliffs, besprent + With bitter foam, the roaring surges bet, + A tumbling brook their passage stopped and stayed, + Which late-fall'n rain had proud and puissant made, + + XXXIII + So proud that over all his banks he grew, + And through the fields ran swift as shaft from bow, + While here they stopped and stood, before them drew + An aged sire, grave and benign in show, + Crowned with a beechen garland gathered new, + Clad in a linen robe that raught down low, + In his right hand a rod, and on the flood + Against the stream he marched, and dry shod yode. + + XXXIV + As on the Rhene, when winter's freezing cold + Congeals the streams to thick and hardened glass, + The beauties fair of shepherds' daughters bold + With wanton windlays run, turn, play and pass; + So on this river passed the wizard old, + Although unfrozen soft and swift it was, + And thither stalked where the warriors stayed, + To whom, their greetings done, he spoke and said: + + XXXV + "Great pains, great travel, lords, you have begun, + And of a cunning guide great need you stand, + Far off, alas! is great Bertoldo's son, + Imprisoned in a waste and desert land, + What soil remains by which you must not run, + What promontory, rock, sea, shore or sand + Your search must stretch before the prince be found, + Beyond our world, beyond our half of ground! + + XXXVI + But yet vouchsafe to see my cell I pray, + In hidden caves and vaults though builded low, + Great wonders there, strange things I will bewray, + Things good for you to hear, and fit to know:" + This said, he bids the river make them way, + The flood retired, backward gan to flow, + And here and there two crystal mountains rise, + So fled the Red Sea once, and Jordan thrice. + + XXXVII + He took their hands, and led them headlong down + Under the flood, through vast and hollow deeps, + Such light they had as when through shadows brown + Of thickest deserts feeble Cynthia peeps, + Their spacious caves they saw all overflown, + There all his waters pure great Neptune keeps, + And thence to moisten all the earth he brings + Seas, rivers, floods, lakes, fountains, wells and springs: + + XXXVIII + Whence Ganges, Indus, Volga, Ister, Po, + Whence Euphrates, whence Tigris' spring they view, + Whence Tanais, whence Nilus comes also, + Although his head till then no creature knew, + But under these a wealthy stream doth go, + That sulphur yields and ore, rich, quick and new, + Which the sunbeams doth polish, purge and fine, + And makes it silver pure, and gold divine. + + XXXIX + And all his banks the rich and wealthy stream + Hath fair beset with pearl and precious stone + Like stars in sky or lamps on stage that seem, + The darkness there was day, the night was gone, + There sparkled, clothed in his azure-beam, + The heavenly sapphire, there the jacinth shone, + The carbuncle there flamed, the diamond sheen, + There glistered bright, there smiled the emerald green. + + XL + Amazed the knights amid these wonders passed, + And fixed so deep the marvels in their thought, + That not one word they uttered, till at last + Ubaldo spake, and thus his guide besought: + "O father, tell me by what skill thou hast + These wonders done? and to what place us brought? + For well I know not if I wake or sleep, + My heart is drowned in such amazement deep." + + XLI + "You are within the hollow womb," quoth he, + "Of fertile earth, the nurse of all things made, + And but you brought and guided are by me, + Her sacred entrails could no wight invade; + My palace shortly shall you splendent see, + With glorious light, though built in night and shade. + A Pagan was I born, but yet the Lord + To grace, by baptism, hath my soul restored. + + XLII + "Nor yet by help of devil, or aid from hell, + I do this uncouth work and wondrous feat, + The Lord forbid I use or charm or spell + To raise foul Dis from his infernal seat: + But of all herbs, of every spring and well, + The hidden power I know and virtue great, + And all that kind hath hid from mortal sight, + And all the stars, their motions, and their might. + + XLIII + "For in these caves I dwell not buried still + From sight of Heaven, but often I resort + To tops of Lebanon or Carmel hill, + And there in liquid air myself disport, + There Mars and Venus I behold at will! + As bare as erst when Vulcan took them short, + And how the rest roll, glide and move, I see, + How their aspects benign or froward be." + + XLIV + "And underneath my feet the clouds I view, + Now thick, now thin, now bright with Iris' bow, + The frost and snow, the rain, the hail, the dew, + The winds, from whence they come and whence they blow, + How Jove his thunder makes and lightning new, + How with the bolt he strikes the earth below, + How comate, crinite, caudate stars are framed + I knew; my skill with pride my heart inflamed. + + XLV + "So learned, cunning, wise, myself I thought, + That I supposed my wit so high might climb + To know all things that God had framed or wrought, + Fire, air, sea, earth, man, beast, sprite, place and time; + But when your hermit me to baptism brought, + And from my soul had washed the sin and crime, + Then I perceived my sight was blindness still, + My wit was folly, ignorance my skill. + + XLVI + "Then saw I, that like owls in shining sun, + So gainst the beams of truth our souls are blind, + And at myself to smile I then begun, + And at my heart, puffed up with folly's wind, + Yet still these arts, as I before had done, + I practised, such was the hermit's mind: + Thus hath he changed my thoughts, my heart, my will, + And rules mine art, my knowledge, and my skill. + + XLVII + "In him I rest, on him my thoughts depend, + My lord, my teacher, and my guide is he, + This noble work he strives to bring to end, + He is the architect, the workmen we, + The hardy youth home to this camp to send + From prison strong, my care, my charge shall be; + So He commands, and me ere this foretold + Your coming oft, to seek the champion bold." + + XLVIII + While this he said, he brought the champions twain + Down to a vault, wherein he dwells and lies, + It was a cave, high, wide, large, ample, plain, + With goodly rooms, halls, chambers, galleries, + All what is bred in rich and precious vein + Of wealthy earth, and hid from mortal eyes, + There shines, and fair adorned was every part + With riches grown by kind, not framed by art: + + XLIX + An hundred grooms, quick, diligent and neat, + Attendance gave about these strangers bold, + Against the wall there stood a cupboard great + Of massive plate, of silver, crystal, gold. + But when with precious wines and costly meat + They filled were, thus spake the wizard old: + "Now fits the time, sir knights, I tell and show + What you desire to hear, and long to know. + + L + "Armida's craft, her sleight and hidden guile + You partly wot, her acts and arts untrue, + How to your camp she came, and by what wile + The greatest lords and princes thence she drew; + You know she turned them first to monsters vile, + And kept them since closed up in secret mew, + Lastly, to Gaza-ward in bonds them sent, + Whom young Rinaldo rescued as they went. + + LI + "What chanced since I will at large declare, + To you unknown, a story strange and true. + When first her prey, got with such pain and care, + Escaped and gone the witch perceived and knew, + Her hands she wrung for grief, her clothes she tare, + And full of woe these heavy words outthrew: + 'Alas! my knights are slain, my prisoners free, + Yet of that conquest never boast shall he, + + LII + "'He in their place shall serve me, and sustain + Their plagues, their torments suffer, sorrows bear, + And they his absence shall lament in vain, + And wail his loss and theirs with many a tear:' + Thus talking to herself she did ordain + A false and wicked guile, as you shall hear; + Thither she hasted where the valiant knight + Had overcome and slain her men in fight. + + LIII + "Rinaldo there had dolt and left his own, + And on his back a Pagan's harness tied, + Perchance he deemed so to pass unknown, + And in those arms less noted false to ride. + A headless corse in fight late overthrown, + The witch in his forsaken arms did hide, + And by a brook exposed it on the sand + Whither she wished would come a Christian band: + + LIV + "Their coming might the dame foreknow right well, + For secret spies she sent forth thousand ways, + Which every day news from the camp might tell, + Who parted thence, booties to search or preys: + Beside, the sprites conjured by sacred spell, + All what she asks or doubts, reveals and says, + The body therefore placed she in that part + That furthered best her sleight, her craft and art; + + LV + "And near the corpse a varlet false and sly + She left, attired in shepherd's homely weed, + And taught him how to counterfeit and lie + As time required, and he performed the deed; + With him your soldiers spoke, of jealousy + And false suspect mongst them he strewed the seed, + That since brought forth the fruit of strife and jar, + Of civil brawls, contention, discord, war. + + LVI + "And as she wished so the soldiers thought + By Godfrey's practice that the prince was slain, + Yet vanished that suspicion false to naught + When truth spread forth her silver wings again + Her false devices thus Armida wrought, + This was her first deceit, her foremost train; + What next she practised, shall you hear me tell, + Against our knight, and what thereof befell. + + LVII + "Armida hunted him through wood and plain, + Till on Orontes' flowery banks he stayed, + There, where the stream did part and meet again + And in the midst a gentle island made, + A pillar fair was pight beside the main, + Near which a little frigate floating laid, + The marble white the prince did long behold, + And this inscription read, there writ in gold: + + LVIII + "'Whoso thou art whom will or chance doth bring + With happy steps to flood Orontes' sides, + Know that the world hath not so strange a thing, + Twixt east and west, as this small island hides, + Then pass and see, without more tarrying.' + The hasty youth to pass the stream provides, + And for the cogs was narrow, small and strait, + Alone he rowed, and bade his squires there wait; + + LIX + "Landed he stalks about, yet naught he sees + But verdant groves, sweet shades, and mossy rocks + With caves and fountains, flowers, herbs and trees, + So that the words he read he takes for mocks: + But that green isle was sweet at all degrees, + Wherewith enticed down sits he and unlocks + His closed helm, and bares his visage fair, + To take sweet breath from cool and gentle air. + + LX + "A rumbling sound amid the waters deep + Meanwhile he heard, and thither turned his sight, + And tumbling in the troubled stream took keep + How the strong waves together rush and fight, + Whence first he saw, with golden tresses, peep + The rising visage of a virgin bright, + And then her neck, her breasts, and all, as low + As he for shame could see, or she could show. + + LXI + "So in the twilight does sometimes appear + A nymph, a goddess, or a fairy queen, + And though no siren but a sprite this were + Yet by her beauty seemed it she had been + One of those sisters false which haunted near + The Tyrrhene shores and kept those waters sheen, + Like theirs her face, her voice was, and her sound, + And thus she sung, and pleased both skies and ground: + + LXII + "'Ye happy youths, who April fresh and May + Attire in flowering green of lusty age, + For glory vain, or virtue's idle ray, + Do not your tender limbs to toil engage; + In calm streams, fishes; birds, in sunshine play, + Who followeth pleasure he is only sage, + So nature saith, yet gainst her sacred will + Why still rebel you, and why strive you still? + + LXIII + "'O fools who youth possess, yet scorn the same, + A precious, but a short-abiding treasure, + Virtue itself is but an idle name, + Prized by the world 'bove reason all and measure, + And honor, glory, praise, renown and fame, + That men's proud harts bewitch with tickling pleasure, + An echo is, a shade, a dream, a flower, + With each wind blasted, spoiled with every shower. + + LXIV + "'But let your happy souls in joy possess + The ivory castles of your bodies fair, + Your passed harms salve with forgetfulness, + Haste not your coming evils with thought and care, + Regard no blazing star with burning tress, + Nor storm, nor threatening sky, nor thundering air, + This wisdom is, good life, and worldly bliss, + Kind teacheth us, nature commands us this.' + + LXV + "Thus sung the spirit false, and stealing sleep, + To which her tunes enticed his heavy eyes, + By step and step did on his senses creep, + Still every limb therein unmoved lies, + Not thunders loud could from this slumber deep, + Of quiet death true image, make him rise: + Then from her ambush forth Armida start, + Swearing revenge, and threatening torments smart. + + LXVI + "But when she looked on his face awhile, + And saw how sweet he breathed, how still he lay, + How his fair eyes though closed seemed to smile, + At first she stayed, astound with great dismay, + Then sat her down, so love can art beguile, + And as she sat and looked, fled fast away + Her wrath, that on his forehead gazed the maid, + As in his spring Narcissus tooting laid; + + LXVII + "And with a veil she wiped now and then + From his fair cheeks the globes of silver sweat, + And cool air gathered with a trembling fan, + To mitigate the rage of melting heat, + Thus, who would think it, his hot eye-glance can + Of that cold frost dissolve the hardness great + Which late congealed the heart of that fair dame, + Who late a foe, a lover now became. + + LXVIII + "Of woodbines, lilies, and of roses sweet, + Which proudly flowered through that wanton plain, + All platted fast, well knit, and joined meet, + She framed a soft but surely holding chain, + Wherewith she bound his neck his hands and feet; + Thus bound, thus taken, did the prince remain, + And in a coach which two old dragons drew, + She laid the sleeping knight, and thence she flew: + + LXIX + "Nor turned she to Damascus' kingdoms large, + Nor to the fort built in Asphalte's lake, + But jealous of her dear and precious charge, + And of her love ashamed, the way did take, + To the wide ocean whither skiff or barge + From us doth seld or never voyage make, + And there to frolic with her love awhile, + She chose a waste, a sole and desert isle. + + LXX + "An isle that with her fellows bears the name + Of Fortunate, for temperate air and mould, + There in a mountain high alight the dame, + A hill obscured with shades of forests old, + Upon whose sides the witch by art did frame + Continual snow, sharp frost and winter cold, + But on the top, fresh, pleasant, sweet and green, + Beside a lake a palace built this queen. + + LXXI + "There in perpetual sweet and flowering spring, + She lives at ease, and joys her lord at will; + The hardy youth from this strange prison bring + Your valors must, directed by my skill, + And overcome each monster and each thing, + That guards the palace or that keeps the hill, + Nor shall you want a guide, or engines fit, + To bring you to the mount, or conquer it. + + LXXII + "Beside the stream, yparted shall you find + A dame, in visage young, but old in years, + Her curled locks about her front are twined, + A party-colored robe of silk she wears: + This shall conduct you swift as air or wind, + Or that flit bird that Jove's hot weapon bears, + A faithful pilot, cunning, trusty, sure, + As Tiphys was, or skilful Palinure. + + LXXIII + "At the hill's foot, whereon the witch doth dwell, + The serpents hiss, and cast their poison vilde, + The ugly boars do rear their bristles fell, + There gape the bears, and roar the lions wild; + But yet a rod I have can easily quell + Their rage and wrath, and make them meek and mild. + Yet on the top and height of all the hill, + The greatest danger lies, and greatest ill: + + LXXIV + "There welleth out a fair, clear, bubbling spring, + Whose waters pure the thirsty guests entice, + But in those liquors cold the secret sting + Of strange and deadly poison closed lies, + One sup thereof the drinker's heart doth bring + To sudden joy, whence laughter vain doth rise, + Nor that strange merriment once stops or stays, + Till, with his laughter's end, he end his days: + + LXXV + "Then from those deadly, wicked streams refrain + Your thirsty lips, despise the dainty cheer + You find exposed upon the grassy plain, + Nor those false damsels once vouchsafe to hear, + That in melodious tunes their voices strain, + Whose faces lovely, smiling, sweet, appear; + But you their looks, their voice, their songs despise, + And enter fair Armida's paradise. + + LXXVI + "The house is builded like a maze within, + With turning stairs, false doors and winding ways, + The shape whereof plotted in vellum thin + I will you give, that all those sleights bewrays, + In midst a garden lies, where many a gin + And net to catch frail hearts, false Cupid lays; + There in the verdure of the arbors green, + With your brave champion lies the wanton queen. + + LXXVII + "But when she haply riseth from the knight, + And hath withdrawn her presence from the place, + Then take a shield I have of diamonds bright, + And hold the same before the young man's face, + That he may glass therein his garments light, + And wanton soft attire, and view his case, + That with the sight shame and disdain may move + His heart to leave that base and servile love. + + LXXVIII + "Now resteth naught that needful is to tell, + But that you go secure, safe, sure and bold, + Unseen the palace may you enter well, + And pass the dangers all I have foretold, + For neither art, nor charm, nor magic spell, + Can stop your passage or your steps withhold, + Nor shall Armida, so you guarded be, + Your coming aught foreknow or once foresee: + + LXXIX + "And eke as safe from that enchanted fort + You shall return and scape unhurt away; + But now the time doth us to rest exhort, + And you must rise by peep of springing day." + This said, he led them through a narrow port, + Into a lodging fair wherein they lay, + There glad and full of thoughts he left his guests, + And in his wonted bed the old man rests. + + + + FIFTEENTH BOOK + + THE ARGUMENT. + The well instructed knights forsake their host, + And come where their strange bark in harbor lay, + And setting sail behold on Egypt's coast + The monarch's ships and armies in array: + Their wind and pilot good, the seas in post + They pass, and of long journeys make short way: + The far-sought isle they find; Armida's charms + They scorn, they shun her sleights, despise her arms. + + + I + The rosy-fingered morn with gladsome ray + Rose to her task from old Tithonus' lap + When their grave host came where the warriors lay, + And with him brought the shield, the rod, the map. + "Arise," quoth he, "ere lately broken day, + In his bright arms the round world fold or wrap, + All what I promised, here I have them brought, + Enough to bring Armida's charms to naught." + + II + They started up, and every tender limb + In sturdy steel and stubborn plate they dight, + Before the old man stalked, they followed him + Through gloomy shades of sad and sable night, + Through vaults obscure again and entries dim, + The way they came their steps remeasured right; + But at the flood arrived, "Farewell," quoth he, + "Good luck your aid, your guide good fortune be." + + III + The flood received them in his bottom low + And lilt them up above his billows thin; + The waters so east up a branch or bough, + By violence first plunged and dived therein: + But when upon the shore the waves them throw, + The knights for their fair guide to look begin, + And gazing round a little bark they spied, + Wherein a damsel sate the stern to guide. + + IV + Upon her front her locks were curled new, + Her eyes were courteous, full of peace and love; + In look a saint, an angel bright in show, + So in her visage grace and virtue strove; + Her robe seemed sometimes red and sometimes blue, + And changed still as she did stir or move; + That look how oft man's eye beheld the same + So oft the colors changed, went and came. + + V + The feathers so, that tender, soft, and plain, + About the dove's smooth neck close couched been, + Do in one color never long remain, + But change their hue gainst glimpse of Phoebus' sheen; + And now of rubies bright a vermeil chain, + Now make a carknet rich of emeralds green; + Now mingle both, now alter, turn and change + To thousand colors, rich, pure, fair, and strange. + + VI + "Enter this boat, you happy men," she says, + "Wherein through raging waves secure I ride, + To which all tempest, storm, and wind obeys, + All burdens light, benign is stream and tide: + My lord, that rules your journeys and your ways, + Hath sent me here, your servant and your guide." + This said, her shallop drove she gainst the sand, + And anchor cast amid the steadfast land. + + VII + They entered in, her anchors she upwound, + And launched forth to sea her pinnace flit, + Spread to the wind her sails she broad unbound, + And at the helm sat down to govern it, + Swelled the flood that all his banks he drowned + To bear the greatest ship of burthen fit; + Yet was her fatigue little, swift and light, + That at his lowest ebb bear it he might. + + VIII + Swifter than thought the friendly wind forth bore + The sliding boat upon the rolling wave, + With curded foam and froth the billows hoar + About the cable murmur roar and rave; + At last they came where all his watery store + The flood in one deep channel did engrave, + And forth to greedy seas his streams he sent, + And so his waves, his name, himself he spent. + + IX + The wondrous boat scant touched the troubled main + But all the sea still, hushed and quiet was, + Vanished the clouds, ceased the wind and rain, + The tempests threatened overblow and pass, + A gentle breathing air made even and plain + The azure face of heaven's smooth looking-glass, + And heaven itself smiled from the skies above + With a calm clearness on the earth his love. + + X + By Ascalon they sailed, and forth drived, + Toward the west their speedy course they frame, + In sight of Gaza till the bark arrived, + A little port when first it took that name; + But since, by others' loss so well it thrived + A city great and rich that it became, + And there the shores and borders of the land + They found as full of armed men as sand. + + XI + The passengers to landward turned their sight, + And there saw pitched many a stately tent, + Soldier and footman, captain, lord and knight, + Between the shore and city, came and went: + Huge elephants, strong camels, coursers light, + With horned hoofs the sandy ways outrent, + And in the haven many a ship and boat, + With mighty anchors fastened, swim and float; + + XII + Some spread their sails, some with strong oars sweep + The waters smooth, and brush the buxom wave, + Their breasts in sunder cleave the yielding deep, + The broken seas for anger foam and rave, + When thus their guide began, "Sir knights, take keep + How all these shores are spread with squadrons brave + And troops of hardy knights, yet on these sands + The monarch scant hath gathered half his bands. + + XIII + "Of Egypt only these the forces are, + And aid from other lands they here attend, + For twixt the noon-day sun and morning star, + All realms at his command do bow and bend; + So that I trust we shall return from far, + And bring our journey long to wished end, + Before this king or his lieutenant shall + These armies bring to Zion's conquered wall." + + XIV + While thus she said, as soaring eagles fly + Mongst other birds securely through the air, + And mounting up behold with wakeful eye, + The radiant beams of old Hyperion's hair, + Her gondola so passed swiftly by + Twixt ship and ship, withouten fear or care + Who should her follow, trouble, stop or stay, + And forth to sea made lucky speed and way. + + XV + Themselves fornenst old Raffia's town they fand, + A town that first to sailors doth appear + As they from Syria pass to Egypt land: + The sterile coasts of barren Rhinocere + They passed, and seas where Casius hill doth stand + That with his trees o'erspreads the waters near, + Against whose roots breaketh the brackish wave + Where Jove his temple, Pompey hath his grave: + + XVI + Then Damiata next, where they behold + How to the sea his tribute Nilus pays + By his seven mouths renowned in stories old, + And by an hundred more ignoble ways: + They pass the town built by the Grecian bold, + Of him called Alexandria till our days, + And Pharaoh's tower and isle removed of yore + Far from the land, now joined to the shore: + + XVII + Both Crete and Rhodes they left by north unseen, + And sailed along the coasts of Afric lands, + Whose sea towns fair, but realms more inward been + All full of monsters and of desert sands: + With her five cities then they left Cyrene, + Where that old temple of false Hammon stands: + Next Ptolemais, and that sacred wood + Whence spring the silent streams of Lethe flood. + + XVIII + The greater Syrte, that sailors often cast + In peril great of death and loss extreme, + They compassed round about, and safely passed, + The Cape Judeca and flood Magra's stream; + Then Tripoli, gainst which is Malta placed, + That low and hid, to lurk in seas doth seem: + The little Syrte then, and Alzerhes isle, + Where dwelt the folk that Lotos ate erewhile. + + XIX + Next Tunis on the crooked shore they spied, + Whose bay a rock on either side defends, + Tunis all towns in beauty, wealth and pride + Above, as far as Libya's bounds extends; + Gainst which, from fair Sicilia's fertile side, + His rugged front great Lilybaeum bends. + The dame there pointed out where sometime stood + Rome's stately rival whilom, Carthage proud; + + XX + Great Carthage low in ashes cold doth lie, + Her ruins poor the herbs in height scant pass, + So cities fall, so perish kingdoms high, + Their pride and pomp lies hid in sand and grass: + Then why should mortal man repine to die, + Whose life, is air; breath, wind; and body, glass? + From thence the seas next Bisert's walls they cleft, + And far Sardinia on their right hand left. + + XXI + Numidia's mighty plains they coasted then, + Where wandering shepherds used their flocks to feed, + Then Bugia and Argier, the infamous den + Of pirates false, Oran they left with speed, + All Tingitan they swiftly overren, + Where elephants and angry lions breed, + Where now the realms of Fez and Maroc be, + Gainst which Granada's shores and coasts they see. + + XXII + Now are they there, where first the sea brake in + By great Alcides' help, as stories feign, + True may it be that where those floods begin + It whilom was a firm and solid main + Before the sea there through did passage win + And parted Afric from the land of Spain, + Abila hence, thence Calpe great upsprings, + Such power hath time to change the face of things. + + XXIII + Four times the sun had spread his morning ray + Since first the dame launched forth her wondrous barge + And never yet took port in creek or bay, + But fairly forward bore the knights her charge; + Now through the strait her jolly ship made way, + And boldly sailed upon the ocean large; + But if the sea in midst of earth was great, + Oh what was this, wherein earth hath her seat? + + XXIV + Now deep engulphed in the mighty flood + They saw not Gades, nor the mountains near, + Fled was the land, and towns on land that stood, + Heaven covered sea, sea seemed the heavens to bear. + "At last, fair lady," quoth Ubaldo good, + "That in this endless main dost guide us here, + If ever man before here sailed tell, + Or other lands here be wherein men dwell." + + XXV + "Great Hercules," quoth she, "when he had quailed + The monsters fierce in Afric and in Spain, + And all along your coasts and countries sailed, + Yet durst he not assay the ocean main, + Within his pillars would he have impaled + The overdaring wit of mankind vain, + Till Lord Ulysses did those bounders pass, + To see and know he so desirous was. + + XXVI + "He passed those pillars, and in open wave + Of the broad sea first his bold sails untwined, + But yet the greedy ocean was his grave, + Naught helped him his skill gainst tide and wind; + With him all witness of his voyage brave + Lies buried there, no truth thereof we find, + And they whom storm hath forced that way since, + Are drowned all, or unreturned from thence: + + XXVII + "So that this mighty sea is yet unsought, + Where thousand isles and kingdoms lie unknown, + Not void of men as some have vainly thought, + But peopled well, and wonned like your own; + The land is fertile ground, but scant well wrought, + Air wholesome, temperate sun, grass proudly grown." + "But," quoth Ubaldo, "dame, I pray thee teach + Of that hid world, what be the laws and speech?" + + XXVIII + "As diverse be their nations," answered she, + "Their tongues, their rites, their laws so different are; + Some pray to beasts, some to a stone or tree, + Some to the earth, the sun, or morning star; + Their meats unwholesome, vile, and hateful be, + Some eat man's flesh, and captives ta'en in war, + And all from Calpe's mountain west that dwell, + In faith profane, in life are rude and fell." + + XXIX + "But will our gracious God," the knight replied, + "That with his blood all sinful men hath bought, + His truth forever and his gospel hide + From all those lands, as yet unknown, unsought?" + "Oh no," quoth she, "his name both far and wide + Shall there be known, all learning thither brought, + Nor shall these long and tedious ways forever + Your world and theirs, their lands, your kingdoms sever. + + XXX + "The time shall come that sailors shall disdain + To talk or argue of Alcides' streat, + And lands and seas that nameless yet remain, + Shall well be known, their boundaries, site and seat, + The ships encompass shall the solid main, + As far as seas outstretch their waters great, + And measure all the world, and with the sun + About this earth, this globe, this compass, run. + + XXXI + "A knight of Genes shall have the hardiment + Upon this wondrous voyage first to wend, + Nor winds nor waves, that ships in sunder rent, + Nor seas unused, strange clime, or pool unkenned, + Nor other peril nor astonishment + That makes frail hearts of men to bow and bend, + Within Abilas' strait shall keep and hold + The noble spirit of this sailor bold. + + XXXII + "Thy ship, Columbus, shall her canvas wing + Spread o'er that world that yet concealed lies, + That scant swift fame her looks shall after bring, + Though thousand plumes she have, and thousand eyes; + Let her of Bacchus and Alcides sing, + Of thee to future age let this suffice, + That of thine acts she some forewarning give, + Which shall in verse and noble story live." + + XXXIII + Thus talking, swift twixt south and west they run, + And sliced out twixt froth and foam their way; + At once they saw before, the setting sun; + Behind, the rising beam of springing day; + And when the morn her drops and dews begun + To scatter broad upon the flowering lay, + Far off a hill and mountain high they spied, + Whose top the clouds environ, clothe and hide; + + XXXIV + And drawing near, the hill at ease they view, + When all the clouds were molten, fallen and fled, + Whose top pyramid-wise did pointed show, + High, narrow, sharp, the sides yet more outspread, + Thence now and then fire, flame and smoke outflew, + As from that hill, whereunder lies in bed + Enceladus, whence with imperious sway + Bright fire breaks out by night, black smoke by day. + + XXXV + About the hill lay other islands small, + Where other rocks, crags, cliffs, and mountains stood, + The Isles Fortunate these elder time did call, + To which high Heaven they reigned so kind and good, + And of his blessings rich so liberal, + That without tillage earth gives corn for food, + And grapes that swell with sweet and precious wine + There without pruning yields the fertile vine. + + XXXVI + The olive fat there ever buds and flowers, + The honey-drops from hollow oaks distil, + The falling brook her silver streams downpours + With gentle murmur from their native hill, + The western blast tempereth with dews and showers + The sunny rays, lest heat the blossoms kill, + The fields Elysian, as fond heathen sain, + Were there, where souls of men in bliss remain. + + XXXVII + To these their pilot steered, "And now," quoth she, + "Your voyage long to end is brought well-near, + The happy Isles of Fortune now you see, + Of which great fame, and little truth, you hear, + Sweet, wholesome, pleasant, fertile, fat they be, + Yet not so rich as fame reports they were." + This said, toward an island fresh she bore, + The first of ten, that lies next Afric's shore; + + XXXVIII + When Charles thus, "If, worthy governess, + To our good speed such tarriance be no let, + Upon this isle that Heaven so fair doth bless, + To view the place, on land awhile us set, + To know the folk and what God they confess, + And all whereby man's heart may knowledge get, + That I may tell the wonders therein seen + Another day, and say, there have I been." + + XXXIX + She answered him, "Well fits this high desire + Thy noble heart, yet cannot I consent; + For Heaven's decree, firm, stable, and entire, + Thy wish repugns, and gainst thy will is bent, + Nor yet the time hath Titan's gliding fire + Met forth, prefixed for this discoverment, + Nor is it lawful of the ocean main + That you the secrets know, or known explain. + + XL + "To you withouten needle, map or card + It's given to pass these seas, and there arrive + Where in strong prison lies your knight imbarred, + And of her prey you must the witch deprive: + If further to aspire you be prepared, + In vain gainst fate and Heaven's decree you strive." + While thus she said, the first seen isle gave place, + And high and rough the second showed his face. + + XLI + They saw how eastward stretched in order long, + The happy islands sweetly flowering lay; + And how the seas betwixt those isles enthrong, + And how they shouldered land from land away: + In seven of them the people rude among + The shady trees their sheds had built of clay, + The rest lay waste, unless wild beasts unseen, + Or wanton nymphs, roamed on the mountains green. + + XLII + A secret place they found in one of those, + Where the cleft shore sea in his bosom takes, + And 'twixt his stretched arms doth fold and close + An ample bay, a rock the haven makes, + Which to the main doth his broad back oppose, + Whereon the roaring billow cleaves and breaks, + And here and there two crags like turrets high, + Point forth a port to all that sail thereby: + + XLIII + The quiet seas below lie safe and still, + The green wood like a garland grows aloft, + Sweet caves within, cool shades and waters shrill, + Where lie the nymphs on moss and ivy soft; + No anchor there needs hold her frigate still, + Nor cable twisted sure, though breaking oft: + Into this desert, silent, quiet, glad, + Entered the dame, and there her haven made. + + XLIV + "The palace proudly built," quoth she, "behold, + That sits on top of yonder mountain's height, + Of Christ's true faith there lies the champion bold + In idleness, love, fancy, folly light; + When Phoebus shall his rising beams unfold, + Prepare you gainst the hill to mount upright, + Nor let this stay in your bold hearts breed care, + For, save that one, all hours unlucky are; + + XLV + "But yet this evening, if you make good speed, + To that hill's foot with daylight might you pass." + Thus said the dame their guide, and they agreed, + And took their leave and leaped forth on the grass; + They found the way that to the hill doth lead, + And softly went that neither tired was, + But at the mountain's foot they both arrived, + Before the sun his team in waters dived. + + XLVI + They saw how from the crags and clefts below + His proud and stately pleasant top grew out, + And how his sides were clad with frost and snow, + The height was green with herbs and flowerets sout, + Like hairy locks the trees about him grow, + The rocks of ice keep watch and ward about, + The tender roses and the lilies new, + Thus art can nature change, and kind subdue. + + XLVII + Within a thick, a dark and shady plot, + At the hill's foot that night the warriors dwell, + But when the sun his rays bright, shining, hot, + Dispread of golden light the eternal well, + "Up, up," they cried, and fiercely up they got, + And climbed boldly gainst the mountain fell; + But forth there crept, from whence I cannot say, + An ugly serpent which forestalled their way. + + XLVIII + Armed with golden scales his head and crest + He lifted high, his neck swelled great with ire, + Flamed his eyes, and hiding with his breast + All the broad path, he poison breathed and fire, + Now reached he forth in folds and forward pressed, + Now would he back in rolls and heaps retire, + Thus he presents himself to guard the place, + The knights pressed forward with assured pace: + + XLIX + Charles drew forth his brand to strike the snake; + Ubaldo cried, "Stay, my companion dear, + Will you with sword or weapon battle make + Against this monster that affronts us here?" + This said, he gan his charmed rod to shake, + So that the serpent durst not hiss for fear, + But fled, and dead for dread fell on the grass, + And so the passage plain, eath, open was. + + L + A little higher on the way they met + A lion fierce that hugely roared and cried, + His crest he reared high, and open set + Of his broad-gaping jaws the furnace wide, + His stern his back oft smote, his rage to whet, + But when the sacred staff he once espied + A trembling fear through his bold heart was spread, + His native wrath was gone, and swift he fled. + + LI + The hardy couple on their way forth wend, + And met a host that on them roar and gape, + Of savage beasts, tofore unseen, unkend, + Differing in voice, in semblance, and in shape; + All monsters which hot Afric doth forthsend, + Twixt Nilus, Atlas, and the southern cape, + Were all there met, and all wild beasts besides + Hyrcania breeds, or Hyrcane forest hides. + + LII + But yet that fierce, that strange and savage host + Could not in presence of those worthies stand, + But fled away, their heart and courage lost, + When Lord Ubaldo shook his charming wand. + No other let their passage stopped or crossed; + Till on the mountain's top themselves they land, + Save that the ice, the frost, and drifted snow, + Oft made them feeble, weary, faint and slow. + + LIII + But having passed all that frozen ground, + And overgone that winter sharp and keen, + A warm, mild, pleasant, gentle sky they found, + That overspread a large and ample green, + The winds breathed spikenard, myrrh, and balm around, + The blasts were firm, unchanged, stable been, + Not as elsewhere the winds now rise now fall, + And Phoebus there aye shines, sets not at all. + + LIV + Not as elsewhere now sunshine bright now showers, + Now heat now cold, there interchanged were, + But everlasting spring mild heaven down pours,-- + In which nor rain, nor storm, nor clouds appear,-- + Nursing to fields, their grass; to grass, his flowers; + To flowers their smell; to trees, the leaves they bear: + There by a lake a stately palace stands, + That overlooks all mountains, seas and lands: + + LV + The passage hard against the mountain steep + These travellers had faint and weary made, + That through those grassy plains they scantly creep; + They walked, they rested oft, they went, they stayed, + When from the rocks, that seemed for joy to weep, + Before their feet a dropping crystal played + Enticing them to drink, and on the flowers + The plenteous spring a thousand streams down pours, + + LVI + All which, united in the springing grass, + Ate forth a channel through the tender green + And underneath eternal shade did pass, + With murmur shrill, cold, pure, and scantly seen; + Yet so transparent, that perceived was + The bottom rich, and sands that golden been, + And on the brims the silken grass aloft + Proffered them seats, sweet, easy, fresh and soft. + + LVII + "See here the stream of laughter, see the spring," + Quoth they, "of danger and of deadly pain, + Here fond desire must by fair governing + Be ruled, our lust bridled with wisdom's rein, + Our ears be stopped while these Sirens sing, + Their notes enticing man to pleasure vain." + Thus passed they forward where the stream did make + An ample pond, a large and spacious lake. + + LVIII + There on a table was all dainty food + That sea, that earth, or liquid air could give, + And in the crystal of the laughing flood + They saw two naked virgins bathe and dive, + That sometimes toying, sometimes wrestling stood, + Sometimes for speed and skill in swimming strive, + Now underneath they dived, now rose above, + And ticing baits laid forth of lust and love. + + LIX + These naked wantons, tender, fair and white, + Moved so far the warriors' stubborn hearts, + That on their shapes they gazed with delight; + The nymphs applied their sweet alluring arts, + And one of them above the waters quite, + Lift up her head, her breasts and higher parts, + And all that might weak eyes subdue and take, + Her lower beauties veiled the gentle lake. + + LX + As when the morning star, escaped and fled + From greedy waves, with dewy beams up flies, + Or as the Queen of Love, new born and bred + Of the Ocean's fruitful froth, did first arise: + So vented she her golden locks forth shed + Round pearls and crystal moist therein which lies: + But when her eyes upon the knights she cast, + She start, and feigned her of their sight aghast. + + LXI + And her fair locks, that in a knot were tied + High on her crown, she 'gan at large unfold; + Which falling long and thick and spreading wide, + The ivory soft and white mantled in gold: + Thus her fair skin the dame would clothe and hide, + And that which hid it no less fair was hold; + Thus clad in waves and locks, her eyes divine, + From them ashamed did she turn and twine. + + LXII + Withal she smiled and she blushed withal, + Her blush, her smilings, smiles her blushing graced: + Over her face her amber tresses fall, + Whereunder Love himself in ambush placed: + At last she warbled forth a treble small, + And with sweet looks her sweet songs interlaced; + "Oh happy men I that have the grace," quoth she, + "This bliss, this heaven, this paradise to see. + + LXIII + "This is the place wherein you may assuage + Your sorrows past, here is that joy and bliss + That flourished in the antique golden age, + Here needs no law, here none doth aught amiss: + Put off those arms and fear not Mars his rage, + Your sword, your shield, your helmet needless is; + Then consecrate them here to endless rest, + You shall love's champions be, and soldiers blest. + + LXIV + "The fields for combat here are beds of down, + Or heaped lilies under shady brakes; + But come and see our queen with golden crown, + That all her servants blest and happy makes, + She will admit you gently for her own, + Numbered with those that of her joy partakes: + But first within this lake your dust and sweat + Wash off, and at that table sit and eat." + + LXV + While thus she sung, her sister lured them nigh + With many a gesture kind and loving show, + To music's sound as dames in court apply + Their cunning feet, and dance now swift now slow: + But still the knights unmoved passed by, + These vain delights for wicked charms they know, + Nor could their heavenly voice or angel's look, + Surprise their hearts, if eye or ear they took. + + LXVI + For if that sweetness once but touched their hearts, + And proffered there to kindle Cupid's fire, + Straight armed Reason to his charge up starts, + And quencheth Lust, and killeth fond Desire; + Thus scorned were the dames, their wiles and arts + And to the palace gates the knights retire, + While in their stream the damsels dived sad, + Ashamed, disgraced, for that repulse they had. + + + + SIXTEENTH BOOK + + THE ARGUMENT. + The searchers pass through all the palace bright + Where in sweet prison lies Rinaldo pent, + And do so much, that full of rage and spite, + With them he goes sad, shamed, discontent: + With plaints and prayers to retain her knight + Armida strives; he hears, but thence he went, + And she forlorn her palace great and fair + Destroys for grief, and flies thence through the air. + + + I + The palace great is builded rich and round, + And in the centre of the inmost hold + There lies a garden sweet, on fertile ground, + Fairer than that where grew the trees of gold: + The cunning sprites had buildings reared around + With doors and entries false a thousandfold, + A labyrinth they made that fortress brave, + Like Daedal's prison, or Porsenna's grave. + + II + The knights passed through the castle's largest gate, + Though round about an hundred ports there shine, + The door-leaves framed of carved silver-plate, + Upon their golden hinges turn and twine. + They stayed to view this work of wit and state. + The workmanship excelled the substance fine, + For all the shapes in that rich metal wrought, + Save speech, of living bodies wanted naught. + + III + Alcides there sat telling tales, and spun + Among the feeble troops of damsels mild, + He that the fiery gates of hell had won + And heaven upheld; false Love stood by and smiled: + Armed with his club fair Iole forth run, + His club with blood of monsters foul defiled, + And on her back his lion's skin had she, + Too rough a bark for such a tender tree. + + IV + Beyond was made a sea, whose azure flood + The hoary froth crushed from the surges blue, + Wherein two navies great well ranged stood + Of warlike ships, fire from their arms outflew, + The waters burned about their vessels good, + Such flames the gold therein enchased threw, + Caesar his Romans hence, the Asian kings + Thence Antony and Indian princes brings. + + V + The Cyclades seemed to swim amid the main, + And hill gainst hill, and mount gainst mountain smote, + With such great fury met those armies twain; + Here burnt a ship, there sunk a bark or boat, + Here darts and wild-fire flew, there drowned or slain + Of princes dead the bodies fleet and float; + Here Caesar wins, and yonder conquered been + The Eastern ships, there fled the Egyptian queen: + + VI + Antonius eke himself to flight betook, + The empire lost to which he would aspire, + Yet fled not he nor fight for fear forsook, + But followed her, drawn on by fond desire: + Well might you see within his troubled look, + Strive and contend, love, courage, shame and ire; + Oft looked he back, oft gazed he on the fight, + But oftener on his mistress and her flight. + + VII + Then in the secret creeks of fruitful Nile, + Cast in her lap, he would sad death await, + And in the pleasure of her lovely smile + Sweeten the bitter stroke of cursed fate: + All this did art with curious hand compile + In the rich metal of that princely gate. + The knights these stories viewed first and last, + Which seen, they forward pressed, and in they passed: + + VIII + As through his channel crooked Meander glides + With turns and twines, and rolls now to, now fro, + Whose streams run forth there to the salt sea sides + Here back return and to their springward go: + Such crooked paths, such ways this palace hides; + Yet all the maze their map described so, + That through the labyrinth they got in fine, + As Theseus did by Ariadne's line. + + IX + When they had passed all those troubled ways, + The garden sweet spread forth her green to show, + The moving crystal from the fountains plays, + Fair trees, high plants, strange herbs and flowerets new, + Sunshiny hills, dales hid from Phoebus' rays, + Groves, arbors, mossy caves, at once they view, + And that which beauty moat, most wonder brought, + Nowhere appeared the art which all this wrought. + + X + So with the rude the polished mingled was + That natural seemed all and every part, + Nature would craft in counterfeiting pass, + And imitate her imitator art: + Mild was the air, the skies were clear as glass, + The trees no whirlwind felt, nor tempest smart, + But ere the fruit drop off, the blossom comes, + This springs, that falls, that ripeneth and this blooms. + + XI + The leaves upon the self-same bough did hide + Beside the young the old and ripened fig, + Here fruit was green, there ripe with vermeil side, + The apples new and old grew on one twig, + The fruitful vine her arms spread high and wide + That bended underneath their clusters big, + The grapes were tender here, hard, young and sour, + There purple ripe, and nectar sweet forth pour. + + XII + The joyous birds, hid under greenwood shade, + Sung merry notes on every branch and bough, + The wind that in the leaves and waters played + With murmur sweet, now sung, and whistled now; + Ceased the birds, the wind loud answer made, + And while they sung, it rumbled soft and low; + Thus were it hap or cunning, chance or art, + The wind in this strange music bore his part. + + XIII + With party-colored plumes' and purple bill, + A wondrous bird among the rest there flew, + That in plain speech sung love-lays loud and shrill, + Her leden was like human language true; + So much she talked, and with such wit and skill, + That strange it seemed how much good she knew, + Her feathered fellows all stood hush to hear, + Dumb was the wind, the waters silent were. + + XIV + "The gently budding rose," quoth she, "behold, + That first scant peeping forth with virgin beams, + Half ope, half shut, her beauties doth upfold + In their dear leaves, and less seen, fairer seems, + And after spreads them forth more broad and bold, + Then languisheth and dies in last extremes, + Nor seems the same, that decked bed and bower + Of many a lady late, and paramour; + + XV + "So, in the passing of a day, doth pass + The bud and blossom of the life of man, + Nor e'er doth flourish more, but like the grass + Cut down, becometh withered, pale and wan: + Oh gather then the rose while time thou hast + Short is the day, done when it scant began, + Gather the rose of love, while yet thou mayest, + Loving, be loved; embracing, be embraced." + + XVI + He ceased, and as approving all he spoke, + The choir of birds their heavenly tunes renew, + The turtles sighed, and sighs with kisses broke, + The fowls to shades unseen by pairs withdrew; + It seemed the laurel chaste, and stubborn oak, + And all the gentle trees on earth that grew, + It seemed the land, the sea, and heaven above, + All breathed out fancy sweet, and sighed out love. + + XVII + Through all this music rare, and strong consent + Of strange allurements, sweet bove mean and measure, + Severe, firm, constant, still the knights forthwent, + Hardening their hearts gainst false enticing pleasure, + Twixt leaf and leaf their sight before they sent, + And after crept themselves at ease and leisure, + Till they beheld the queen, set with their knight + Besides the lake, shaded with boughs from sight: + + XVIII + Her breasts were naked, for the day was hot, + Her locks unbound waved in the wanton wind; + Some deal she sweat, tired with the game you wot, + Her sweat-drops bright, white, round, like pearls of Ind; + Her humid eyes a fiery smile forthshot + That like sunbeams in silver fountains shined, + O'er him her looks she hung, and her soft breast + The pillow was, where he and love took rest. + + XIX + His hungry eyes upon her face he fed, + And feeding them so, pined himself away; + And she, declining often down her head, + His lips, his cheeks, his eyes kissed, as he lay, + Wherewith he sighed, as if his soul had fled + From his frail breast to hers, and there would stay + With her beloved sprite: the armed pair + These follies all beheld and this hot fare. + + XX + Down by the lovers' side there pendent was + A crystal mirror, bright, pure, smooth, and neat, + He rose, and to his mistress held the glass, + A noble page, graced with that service great; + She, with glad looks, he with inflamed, alas, + Beauty and love beheld, both in one seat; + Yet them in sundry objects each espies, + She, in the glass, he saw them in her eyes: + + XXI + Her, to command; to serve, it pleased the knight; + He proud of bondage; of her empire, she; + "My dear," he said, "that blessest with thy sight + Even blessed angels, turn thine eyes to me, + For painted in my heart and portrayed right + Thy worth, thy beauties and perfections be, + Of which the form; the shape and fashion best, + Not in this glass is seen, but in my breast. + + XXII + "And if thou me disdain, yet be content + At least so to behold thy lovely hue, + That while thereon thy looks are fixed and bent + Thy happy eyes themselves may see and view; + So rare a shape no crystal can present, + No glass contain that heaven of beauties true; + Oh let the skies thy worthy mirror be! + And in dear stars try shape and image see." + + XXIII + And with that word she smiled, and ne'ertheless + Her love-toys still she used, and pleasures bold! + Her hair, that done, she twisted up in tress, + And looser locks in silken laces rolled, + Her curles garlandwise she did up-dress, + Wherein, like rich enamel laid on gold, + The twisted flowers smiled, and her white breast + The lilies there that spring with roses dressed. + + XXIV + The jolly peacock spreads not half so fair + The eyed feathers of his pompous train; + Nor golden Iris so bends in the air + Her twenty-colored bow, through clouds of rain; + Yet all her ornaments, strange, rich and rare, + Her girdle did in price and beauty stain, + Nor that, with scorn, which Tuscan Guilla lost, + Igor Venus Ceston, could match this for cost. + + XXV + Of mild denays, of tender scorns, of sweet + Repulses, war, peace, hope, despair, joy, fear, + Of smiles, jests, mirth, woe, grief, and sad regreet, + Sighs, sorrows, tears, embracements, kisses dear, + That mixed first by weight and measure meet, + Then at an easy fire attempered were, + This wondrous girdle did Armida frame, + And, when she would be loved, wore the same. + + XXVI + But when her wooing fit was brought to end, + She congee took, kissed him, and went her way; + For once she used every day to wend + Bout her affairs, her spells and charms to say: + The youth remained, yet had no power to bend + One step from thence, but used there to stray + Mongst the sweet birds, through every walk and grove + Alone, save for an hermit false called Love. + + XXVII + And when the silence deep and friendly shade + Recalled the lovers to their wonted sport, + In a fair room for pleasure built, they laid, + And longest nights with joys made sweet and short. + Now while the queen her household things surveyed, + And left her lord her garden and disport, + The twain that hidden in the bushes were + Before the prince in glistering arms appear: + + XXVIII + As the fierce steed for age withdrawn from war + Wherein the glorious beast had always wone, + That in vile rest from fight sequestered far, + Feeds with the mares at large, his service done, + If arms he see, or hear the trumpet's jar, + He neigheth loud and thither fast doth run, + And wiseth on his back the armed knight, + Longing for jousts, for tournament and fight: + + XXIX + So fared Rinaldo when the glorious light + Of their bright harness glistered in his eyes, + His noble sprite awaked at that sight + His blood began to warm, his heart to rise, + Though, drunk with ease, devoid of wonted might + On sleep till then his weakened virtue lies. + Ubaldo forward stepped, and to him hield + Of diamonds clear that pure and precious shield. + + XXX + Upon the targe his looks amazed he bent, + And therein all his wanton habit spied, + His civet, balm, and perfumes redolent, + How from his locks they smoked and mantle wide, + His sword that many a Pagan stout had shent, + Bewrapped with flowers, hung idly by his side, + So nicely decked that it seemed the knight + Wore it for fashion's sake but not for fight. + + XXXI + As when, from sleep and idle dreams abraid, + A man awaked calls home his wits again; + So in beholding his attire he played, + But yet to view himself could not sustain, + His looks he downward cast and naught he said, + Grieved, shamed, sad, he would have died fain, + And oft he wished the earth or ocean wide + Would swallow him, and so his errors hide. + + XXXII + Ubaldo took the time, and thus begun, + "All Europe now and Asia be in war, + And all that Christ adore and fame have won, + In battle strong, in Syria fighting are; + But thee alone, Bertoldo's noble son, + This little corner keeps, exiled far + From all the world, buried in sloth and shame, + A carpet champion for a wanton dame. + + XXXIII + "What letharge hath in drowsiness up-penned + Thy courage thus? what sloth doth thee infect? + Up, up, our camp and Godfrey for thee send, + Thee fortune, praise and victory expect, + Come, fatal champion, bring to happy end + This enterprise begun, all that sect + Which oft thou shaken hast to earth full low + With thy sharp brand strike down, kill, overthrow." + + XXXIV + This said, the noble infant stood a space + Confused, speechless, senseless, ill-ashamed; + But when that shame to just disdain gave place, + To fierce disdain, from courage sprung untamed, + Another redness blushed through his face, + Whence worthy anger shone, displeasure flamed, + His nice attire in scorn he rent and tore, + For of his bondage vile that witness bore; + + XXXV + That done, he hasted from the charmed fort, + And through the maze passed with his searchers twain. + Armida of her mount and chiefest port + Wondered to find the furious keeper slain, + Awhile she feared, but she knew in short, + That her dear lord was fled, then saw she plain, + Ah, woful sight! how from her gates the man + In haste, in fear, in wrath, in anger ran. + + XXXVI + "Whither, O cruel! leavest thou me alone?" + She would have cried, her grief her speeches stayed, + So that her woful words are backward gone, + And in her heart a bitter echo made; + Poor soul, of greater skill than she was one + Whose knowledge from her thus her joy conveyed, + This wist she well, yet had desire to prove + If art could keep, if charms recall her love. + + XXXVII + All what the witches of Thessalia land, + With lips unpure yet ever said or spake, + Words that could make heaven's rolling circles stand, + And draw the damned ghosts from Limbo lake, + All well she knew, but yet no time she fand + To use her knowledge or her charms to make, + But left her arts, and forth she ran to prove + If single beauty were best charm for love. + + XXXVIII + She ran, nor of her honor took regard, + Oh where be all her vaunts and triumphs now? + Love's empire great of late she made or marred, + To her his subjects humbly bend and bow, + And with her pride mixed was a scorn so hard, + That to be loved she loved, yet whilst they woo + Her lovers all she hates; that pleased her will + To conquer men, and conquered so, to kill. + + XXXIX + But now herself disdained, abandoned, + Ran after him; that from her fled in scorn, + And her despised beauty labored + With humble plaints and prayers to adorn: + She ran and hasted after him that fled, + Through frost and snow, through brier, bush and thorn, + And sent her cries on message her before, + That reached not him till he had reached the shore. + + XL + "Oh thou that leav'st but half behind," quoth she, + "Of my poor heart, and half with thee dost carry, + Oh take this part, or render that to me, + Else kill them both at once, ah tarry, tarry: + Hear my last words, no parting kiss of thee + I crave, for some more fit with thee to marry + Keep them, unkind; what fear'st thou if thou stay? + Thou may'st deny, as well as run away." + + XLI + At this Rinaldo stopped, stood still, and stayed, + She came, sad, breathless, weary, faint and weak, + So woe-begone was never nymph or maid + And yet her beauty's pride grief could not break, + On him she looked, she gazed, but naught she said, + She would not, could not, or she durst not speak, + At her he looked not, glanced not, if he did, + Those glances shamefaced were, close, secret, hid. + + XLII + As cunning singers, ere they strain on high, + In loud melodious tunes, their gentle voice, + Prepare the hearers' ears to harmony + With feignings sweet, low notes and warbles choice: + So she, not having yet forgot pardie + Her wonted shifts and sleights in Cupid's toys, + A sequence first of sighs and sobs forthcast, + To breed compassion dear, then spake at last: + + XLIII + "Suppose not, cruel, that I come to vow + Or pray, as ladies do their loves and lords; + Such were we late, if thou disdain it now, + Or scorn to grant such grace as love affords, + At least yet as an enemy listen thou: + Sworn foes sometimes will talk and chaffer words, + For what I ask thee, may'st thou grant right well, + And lessen naught thy wrath and anger fell. + + XLIV + "If me thou hate, and in that hate delight, + I come not to appease thee, hate me still, + It's like for like; I bore great hate and spite + Gainst Christians all, chiefly I wish thee ill: + I was a Pagan born, and all my might + Against Godfredo bent, mine art and skill: + I followed thee, took thee, and bore thee far, + To this strange isle, and kept thee safe from war. + + XLV + "And more, which more thy hate may justly move, + More to thy loss, more to thy shame and grief, + I thee inchanted, and allured to love, + Wicked deceit, craft worthy sharp reprief; + Mine honor gave I thee all gifts above, + And of my beauties made thee lord and chief, + And to my suitors old what I denayed, + That gave I thee, my lover new, unprayed. + + XLVI + "But reckon that among, my faults, and let + Those many wrongs provoke thee so to wrath, + That hence thou run, and that at naught thou set + This pleasant house, so many joys which hath; + Go, travel, pass the seas, fight, conquest get, + Destroy our faith, what shall I say, our faith? + Ah no! no longer ours; before thy shrine + Alone I pray, thou cruel saint of mine; + + XLVII + "All only let me go with thee, unkind, + A small request although I were thy foe, + The spoiler seldom leaves the prey behind, + Who triumphs lets his captives with him go; + Among thy prisoners poor Armida bind, + And let the camp increase thy praises so, + That thy beguiler so thou couldst beguile, + And point at me, thy thrall and bondslave vile. + + XLVIII + "Despised bondslave, since my lord doth hate + These locks, why keep I them or hold them dear? + Come cut them off, that to my servile state + My habit answer may, and all my gear: + I follow thee in spite of death and fate, + Through battles fierce where dangers most appear, + Courage I have, and strength enough perchance, + To lead thy courser spare, and bear thy lance: + + XLIX + "I will or bear, or be myself, thy shield, + And to defend thy life, will lose mine own: + This breast, this bosom soft shall be thy bield + Gainst storms of arrows, darts and weapons thrown; + Thy foes, pardie, encountering thee in field, + Will spare to strike thee, mine affection known, + Lest me they wound, nor will sharp vengeance take + On thee, for this despised beauty's sake. + + L + "O wretch! dare I still vaunt, or help invoke + From this poor beauty, scorned and disdained?" + She said no more, her tears her speeches broke, + Which from her eyes like streams from springs down rained: + She would have caught him by the hand or cloak, + But he stepped backward, and himself restrained, + Conquered his will, his heart ruth softened not, + There plaints no issue, love no entrance got. + + LI + Love entered not to kindle in his breast, + Which Reason late had quenched, his wonted flame; + Yet entered Pity in the place at least, + Love's sister, but a chaste and sober dame, + And stirred him so, that hardly he suppressed + The springing tears that to his eyes up came; + But yet even there his plaints repressed were, + And, as he could, he looked, and feigned cheer. + + LII + "Madam," quoth he, "for your distress I grieve, + And would amend it, if I might or could. + From your wise heart that fond affection drive: + I cannot hate nor scorn you though I would, + I seek no vengeance, wrongs I all forgive, + Nor you my servant nor my foe I hold, + Truth is, you erred, and your estate forgot, + Too great your hate was, and your love too hot. + + LIII + "But those are common faults, and faults of kind, + Excused by nature, by your sex and years; + I erred likewise, if I pardon find + None can condemn you, that our trespass hears; + Your dear remembrance will I keep in mind, + In joys, in woes, in comforts, hopes and fears, + Call me your soldier and your knight, as far + As Christian faith permits, and Asia's war. + + LIV + "Ah, let our faults and follies here take end, + And let our errors past you satisfy, + And in this angle of the world ypend, + Let both the fame and shame thereof now die, + From all the earth where I am known and kenned, + I wish this fact should still concealed lie: + Nor yet in following me, poor knight, disgrace + Your worth, your beauty, and your princely race. + + LV + "Stay here in peace, I go, nor wend you may + With me, my guide your fellowship denies, + Stay here or hence depart some better way, + And calm your thoughts, you are both sage and wise." + While thus he spoke, her passions found no stay, + But here and there she turned and rolled her eyes, + And staring on his face awhile, at last + Thus in foul terms, her bitter wrath forth brast: + + LVI + "Of Sophia fair thou never wert the child, + Nor of the Azzain race ysprung thou art, + The mad sea-waves thee hare, some tigress wild + On Caucasus' cold crags nursed thee apart; + Ah, cruel man l in whom no token mild + Appears, of pity, ruth, or tender heart, + Could not my griefs, my woes, my plaints, and all + One sigh strain from thy breast, one tear make fall? + + LVII + "What shall I say, or how renew my speech? + He scorns me, leaves me, bids me call him mine: + The victor hath his foe within his reach; + Yet pardons her, that merits death and pine; + Hear how he counsels me; how he can preach, + Like chaste Xenocrates, gainst love divine; + O heavens, O gods! why do these men of shame, + Thus spoil your temples and blaspheme your name? + + LVIII + "Go cruel, go, go with such peace, such rest, + Such joy, such comfort, as thou leavest me here: + My angry soul discharged from this weak breast, + Shall haunt thee ever, and attend thee near, + And fury-like in snakes and firebrands dressed, + Shall aye torment thee, whom it late held dear: + And if thou 'scape the seas, the rocks, and sands + And come to fight among the Pagan bands, + + LIX + "There lying wounded, mongst the hurt and slain, + Of these my wrongs thou shalt the vengeance bear, + And oft Armida shalt thou call in vain, + At thy last gasp; this hope I soon to hear:" + Here fainted she, with sorrow, grief and pain, + Her latest words scant well expressed were, + But in a swoon on earth outstretched she lies, + Stiff were her frozen limbs, closed were her eyes. + + LX + Thou closed thine eyes, Armida, heaven envied + Ease to thy grief, or comfort to thy woe; + Ah, open then again, see tears down slide + From his kind eyes, whom thou esteem'st thy foe, + If thou hadst heard, his sighs had mollified + Thine anger, hard he sighed and mourned so; + And as he could with sad and rueful look + His leave of thee and last farewell he took. + + LXI + What should he do? leave on the naked sand + This woful lady half alive, half dead? + Kindness forbade, pity did that withstand; + But hard constraint, alas! did thence him lead; + Away he went, the west wind blew from land + Mongst the rich tresses of their pilot's head, + And with that golden sail the waves she cleft, + To land he looked, till land unseen he left. + + LXII + Waked from her trance, foresaken, speechless, sad, + Armida wildly stared and gazed about, + "And is he gone," quoth she, "nor pity had + To leave me thus twixt life and death in doubt? + Could he not stay? could not the traitor-lad + From this last trance help or recall me out? + And do I love him still, and on this sand + Still unrevenged, still mourn, still weeping stand? + + LXIII + "Fie no! complaints farewell! with arms and art + I will pursue to death this spiteful knight, + Not earth's low centre, nor sea's deepest part, + Not heaven, nor hell, can shield him from my might, + I will o'ertake him, take him, cleave his heart, + Such vengeance fits a wronged lover's spite, + In cruelty that cruel knight surpass + I will, but what avail vain words, alas? + + LXIV + "O fool! thou shouldest have been cruel than, + For then this cruel well deserved thine ire, + When thou in prison hadst entrapped the man, + Now dead with cold, too late thou askest fire; + But though my wit, my cunning nothing can, + Some other means shall work my heart's desire, + To thee, my beauty, thine be all these wrongs, + Vengeance to thee, to thee revenge belongs. + + LXV + "Thou shalt be his reward, with murdering brand + That dare this traitor of his head deprive, + O you my lovers, on this rock doth stand + The castle of her love for whom you strive, + I, the sole heir of all Damascus land, + For this revenge myself and kingdom give, + If by this price my will I cannot gain, + Nature gives beauty; fortune, wealth in vain. + + LXVI + "But thee, vain gift, vain beauty, thee I scorn, + I hate the kingdom which I have to give, + I hate myself, and rue that I was born, + Only in hope of sweet revenge I live." + Thus raging with fell ire she gan return + From that bare shore in haste, and homeward drive, + And as true witness of her frantic ire, + Her locks waved loose, face shone, eyes sparkled fire. + + LXVII + When she came home, she called with outcries shrill, + A thousand devils in Limbo deep that won, + Black clouds the skies with horrid darkness fill, + And pale for dread became the eclipsed sun, + The whirlwind blustered big on every hill, + And hell to roar under her feet begun, + You might have heard how through the palace wide, + Some spirits howled, some barked, some hissed, some cried. + + LXVIII + A shadow, blacker than the mirkest night, + Environed all the place with darkness sad, + Wherein a firebrand gave a dreadful light, + Kindled in hell by Tisiphone the mad; + Vanished the shade, the sun appeared in sight, + Pale were his beams, the air was nothing glad, + And all the palace vanished was and gone, + Nor of so great a work was left one stone. + + LXIX + As oft the clouds frame shapes of castles great + Amid the air, that little time do last, + But are dissolved by wind or Titan's heat, + Or like vain dreams soon made, and sooner past: + The palace vanished so, nor in his seat + Left aught but rocks and crags, by kind there placed; + She in her coach which two old serpents drew, + Sate down, and as she used, away she flew. + + LXX + She broke the clouds, and cleft the yielding sky, + And bout her gathered tempest, storm and wind, + The lands that view the south pole flew she by, + And left those unknown countries far behind, + The Straits of Hercules she passed, which lie + Twixt Spain and Afric, nor her flight inclined + To north or south, but still did forward ride + O'er seas and streams, till Syria's coasts she spied. + + LXXI + Now she went forward to Damascus fair, + But of her country dear she fled the sight, + And guided to Asphaltes' lake her chair, + Where stood her castle, there she ends her flight, + And from her damsels far, she made repair + To a deep vault, far from resort and light, + Where in sad thoughts a thousand doubts she cast, + Till grief and shame to wrath gave place at last. + + LXXII + "I will not hence," quoth she, "till Egypt's lord + In aid of Zion's king his host shall move; + Then will I use all helps that charms afford, + And change my shape or sex if so behove: + Well can I handle bow, or lance, or sword, + The worthies all will aid me, for my love: + I seek revenge, and to obtain the same, + Farewell, regard of honor; farewell, shame. + + LXXIII + "Nor let mine uncle and protector me + Reprove for this, he most deserves the blame, + My heart and sex, that weak and tender be, + He bent to deeds that maidens ill became; + His niece a wandering damsel first made he, + He spurred my youth, and I cast off my shame, + His be the fault, if aught gainst mine estate + I did for love, or shall commit for hate." + + LXXIV + This said, her knights, her ladies, pages, squires + She all assembleth, and for journey fit + In such fair arms and vestures them attires + As showed her wealth, and well declared her wit; + And forward marched, full of strange desires, + Nor rested she by day or night one whit, + Till she came there, where all the eastern bands, + Their kings and princes, lay on Gaza's sands. + + + + SEVENTEENTH BOOK + + THE ARGUMENT. + Egypt's great host in battle-ray forth brought, + The Caliph sends with Godfrey's power to fight; + Armida, who Rinaldo's ruin sought, + To them adjoins herself and Syria's might. + To satisfy her cruel will and thought, + She gives herself to him that kills her knight: + He takes his fatal arms, and in his shield + His ancestors and their great deeds beheld. + + + I + Gaza the city on the frontier stands + Of Juda's realm, as men to Egypt ride, + Built near the sea, beside it of dry sands + Huge wildernesses lie and deserts wide + Which the strong winds lift from the parched lands + And toss like roaring waves in roughest tide, + That from those storms poor passengers almost + No refuge find, but there are drowned and lost. + + II + Within this town, won from the Turks of yore + Strong garrison the king of Egypt placed, + And for it nearer was, and fitted more + That high emprise to which his thoughts he cast, + He left great Memphis, and to Gaza bore + His regal throne, and there, from countries vast + Of his huge empire all the puissant host + Assembled he, and mustered on the coast. + + III + Come say, my Muse, what manner times these were, + And in those times how stood the state of things, + What power this monarch had, what arms they bear, + What nations subject, and what friends he brings; + From all lands the southern ocean near, + Or morning star, came princes, dukes and kings, + And only thou of half the world well-nigh + The armies, lords, and captains canst descry. + + IV + When Egypt from the Greekish emperor + Rebelled first, and Christ's true faith denied, + Of Mahomet's descent a warrior + There set his throne and ruled that kingdom wide, + Caliph he hight, and Caliphs since that hour + Are his successors named all beside: + So Nilus old his kings long time had seen + That Ptolemies and Pharaohs called had been. + + V + Established was that kingdom in short while, + And grew so great, that over Asia's lands + And Lybia's realms it stretched many a mile, + From Syria's coasts as far as Cirene sands, + And southward passed gainst the course of Nile, + Through the hot clime where burnt Syene stands, + Hence bounded in with sandy deserts waste, + And thence with Euphrates' rich flood embraced. + + VI + Maremma, myrrh and spices that doth bring, + And all the rich red sea it comprehends, + And to those lands, toward the morning spring + That lie beyond that gulf, it far extends; + Great is that empire, greater by the king + That rules it now, whose worth the land amends, + And makes more famous, lord thereof by blood, + By wisdom, valor, and all virtues good. + + VII + With Turks and Persians war he oft did wage, + And oft he won, and sometimes lost the field, + Nor could his adverse fortune aught assuage + His valor's heat or make his proud heart yield, + But when he grew unfit for war through age, + He sheathed his sword and laid aside his shield: + But yet his warlike mind he laid not down, + Nor his great thirst of rule, praise and renown, + + VIII + But by his knights still cruel wars maintained. + So wise his words, so quick his wit appears, + That of the kingdom large o'er which he reigned, + The charge seemed not too weighty for his years; + His greatness Afric's lesser kings constrained + To tremble at his name, all Ind him fears, + And other realms that would his friendship hold; + Some armed soldiers sent, some gifts, some gold. + + IX + This mighty prince assembled had the flower + Of all his realms, against the Frenchmen stout, + To break their rising empire and their power, + Nor of sure conquest had he fear or doubt: + To him Armida came, even at the hour + When in the plains, old Gaza's walls without, + The lords and leaders all their armies bring + In battle-ray, mustered before their king. + + X + He on his throne was set, to which on height + Who clomb an hundred ivory stairs first told, + Under a pentise wrought of silver bright, + And trod on carpets made of silk and gold; + His robes were such as best beseemen might + A king, so great, so grave, so rich, so old, + And twined of sixty ells of lawn and more + A turban strange adorned his tresses hoar. + + XI + His right hand did his precious sceptre wield, + His beard was gray, his looks severe and grave, + And from his eyes, not yet made dim with eild, + Sparkled his former worth and vigor brave, + His gestures all the majesty upheild + And state, as his old age and empire crave, + So Phidias carved, Apelles so, pardie, + Erst painted Jove, Jove thundering down from sky. + + XII + On either side him stood a noble lord, + Whereof the first held in his upright hand + Of severe justice the unpartial sword; + The other bare the seal, and causes scanned, + Keeping his folk in peace and good accord, + And termed was lord chancellor of the land; + But marshal was the first, and used to lead + His armies forth to war, oft with good speed. + + XIII + Of bold Circassians with their halberts long, + About his throne his guards stood in a ring, + All richly armed in gilden corslets strong, + And by their sides their crooked swords down hing: + Thus set, thus seated, his grave lords among, + His hosts and armies great beheld the king, + And every band as by his throne it went, + Their ensigns low inclined, and arms down bent: + + XIV + Their squadrons first the men of Egypt show, + In four troops, and each his several guide, + Of the high country two, two of the low + Which Nile had won out of the salt seaside, + His fertile slime first stopped the waters' flow, + Then hardened to firm land the plough to bide, + So Egypt still increased, within far placed + That part is now where ships erst anchor cast. + + XV + The foremost band the people were that dwelled + In Alexandria's rich and fertile plain, + Along the western shore, whence Nile expelled + The greedy billows of the swelling main; + Araspes was their guide, who more excelled + In wit and craft than strength or warlike pain, + To place an ambush close, or to devise + A treason false, was none so sly, so wise. + + XVI + The people next that gainst the morning rays + Along the coasts of Asia have their seat, + Arontes led them, whom no warlike praise + Ennobled, but high birth and titles great, + His helm ne'er made him sweat in toilsome frays, + Nor was his sleep e'er broke with trumpet's threat, + But from soft ease to try the toil of fight + His fond ambition brought this carpet knight. + + XVII + The third seemed not a troop or squadron small, + But an huge host; nor seemed it so much grain + In Egypt grew as to sustain them all; + Yet from one town thereof came all that train, + A town in people to huge shires equal, + That did a thousand streets and more contain, + Great Caire it hight, whose commons from each side + Came swarming out to war, Campson their guide. + + XVIII + Next under Gazel marched they that plough + The fertile lands above that town which lie + Up to the place where Nilus tumbling low + Falls from his second cataract from high; + The Egyptians weaponed were with sword and bow, + No weight of helm or hauberk list they try, + And richly armed, in their strong foes no dreed + Of death but great desire of spoil they breed. + + XIX + The naked folk of Barca these succeed, + Unarmed half, Alarcon led that band, + That long in deserts lived, in extreme need, + On spoils and preys purchased by strength of hand. + To battle strong unfit, their king did lead + His army next brought from Zumara land. + Then he of Tripoli, for sudden fight + And skirmish short, both ready, bold, and light. + + XX + Two captains next brought forth their bands to show + Whom Stony sent and Happy Araby, + Which never felt the cold of frost and snow, + Or force of burning heat, unless fame lie, + Where incense pure and all sweet odors grow, + Where the sole phoenix doth revive, not die, + And midst the perfumes rich and flowerets brave + Both birth and burial, cradle hath and grave. + + XXI + Their clothes not rich, their garments were not gay, + But weapons like the Egyptian troops they had, + The Arabians next that have no certain stay, + No house, no home, no mansion good or bad, + But ever, as the Scythian hordes stray, + From place to place their wandering cities gad: + These have both voice and stature feminine, + Hair long and black, black face, and fiery eyne. + + XXII + Long Indian canes, with iron armed, they bear, + And as upon their nimble steeds they ride, + Like a swift storm their speedy troops appear, + If winds so fast bring storms from heavens wide: + By Syphax led the first Arabians were; + Aldine the second squadron had no guide, + And Abiazar proud, brought to the fight + The third, a thief, a murderer, not a knight. + + XXIII + The islanders came then their prince before + Whose lands Arabia's gulf enclosed about, + Wherein they fish and gather oysters store, + Whose shells great pearls rich and round pour out; + The Red Sea sent with them from his left shore, + Of negroes grim a black and ugly rout; + These Agricalt and those Osmida brought, + A man that set law, faith and truth at naught. + + XXIV + The Ethiops next which Meroe doth breed, + That sweet and gentle isle of Meroe, + Twixt Nile and Astrabore that far doth spread, + Where two religions are, and kingdoms three, + These Assimiro and Canario led, + Both kings, both Pagans, and both subjects be + To the great Caliph, but the third king kept + Christ's sacred faith, nor to these wars outstepped. + + XXV + After two kings, both subjects also, ride, + And of two bands of archers had the charge, + The first Soldan of Ormus placed in the wide + Huge Persian Bay, a town rich, fair, and large: + The last of Boecan, which at every tide + The sea cuts off from Persia's southern marge, + And makes an isle; but when it ebbs again, + The passage there is sandy, dry and plain. + + XXVI + Nor thee, great Altamore, in her chaste bed + Thy loving queen kept with her dear embrace, + She tore her locks, she smote her breast, and shed + Salt tears to make thee stay in that sweet place, + "Seem the rough seas more calm, cruel," she said, + "Than the mild looks of thy kind spouse's face? + Or is thy shield, with blood and dust defiled, + A dearer armful than thy tender child?" + + XXVII + This was the mighty king of Samarcand, + A captain wise, well skilled in feats of war, + In courage fierce, matchless for strength of hand, + Great was his praise, his force was noised far; + His worth right well the Frenchmen understand, + By whom his virtues feared and loved are: + His men were armed with helms and hauberks strong, + And by their sides broad swords and maces hong. + + XXVIII + Then from the mansions bright of fresh Aurore + Adrastus came, the glorious king of Ind, + A snake's green skin spotted with black he wore, + That was made rich by art and hard by kind, + An elephant this furious giant bore, + He fierce as fire, his mounture swift as wind; + Much people brought he from his kingdoms wide, + Twixt Indus, Ganges, and the salt seaside. + + XXIX + The king's own troop come next, a chosen crew, + Of all the camp the strength, the crown, the flower, + Wherein each soldier had with honors due + Rewarded been, for service ere that hour; + Their arms were strong for need, and fair for show, + Upon fierce steeds well mounted rode this power, + And heaven itself with the clear splendor shone + Of their bright armor, purple, gold and stone. + + XXX + Mongst these Alarco fierce, and Odemare + The muster master was, and Hidraort, + And Rimedon, whose rashness took no care + To shun death's bitter stroke, in field or fort, + Tigranes, Rapold stem, the men that fare + By sea, that robbed in each creek and port, + Ormond, and Marlabust the Arabian named, + Because that land rebellious he reclaimed. + + XXXI + There Pirga, Arimon, Orindo are, + Brimarte the scaler, and with him Suifant + The breaker of wild horses brought from far; + Then the great wresteler strong Aridamant, + And Tisapherne, the thunderbolt of war, + Whom none surpassed, whom none to match durst vaunt + At tilt, at tourney, or in combat brave, + With spear or lance, with sword, with mace or glaive. + + XXXII + A false Armenian did this squadron guide, + That in his youth from Christ's true faith and light + To the blind lore of Paganism did slide, + That Clement late, now Emireno, hight; + Yet to his king he faithful was, and tried + True in all causes, his in wrong and right: + A cunning leader and a soldier bold, + For strength and courage, young; for wisdom, old. + + XXXIII + When all these regiments were passed and gone, + Appeared Armide, and came her troop to show; + Set in a chariot bright with precious stone, + Her gown tucked up, and in her hand a bow; + In her sweet face her new displeasures shone, + Mixed with the native beauties there which grow, + And quickened so her looks that in sharp wise + It seems she threats and yet her threats entice. + + XXXIV + Her chariot like Aurora's glorious wain, + With carbuncles and jacinths glistered round: + Her coachman guided with the golden rein + Four unicorns, by couples yoked and bound; + Of squires and lovely ladies hundreds twain, + Whose rattling quivers at their backs resound, + On milk-white steeds, wait on the chariot bright, + Their steeds to manage, ready; swift, to flight. + + XXXV + Followed her troop led forth by Aradin, + Which Hidraort from Syria's kingdom sent, + As when the new-born phoenix doth begin + To fly to Ethiop-ward, at the fair bent + Of her rich wings strange plumes and feathers thin + Her crowns and chains with native gold besprent, + The world amazed stands; and with her fly + An host of wondering birds, that sing and cry: + + XXXVI + So passed Armida, looked on, gazed on, so, + A wondrous dame in habit, gesture, face; + There lived no wight to love so great a foe + But wished and longed those beauties to embrace, + Scant seen, with anger sullen, sad for woe, + She conquered all the lords and knights in place, + What would she do, her sorrows passed, think you, + When her fair eyes, her looks and smiles shall woo? + + XXXVII + She passed, the king commanded Emiren + Of his rich throne to mount the lofty stage, + To whom his host, his army, and his men, + He would commit, now in his graver age. + With stately grace the man approached then; + His looks his coming honor did presage: + The guard asunder cleft and passage made, + He to the throne up went, and there he stayed. + + XXXVIII + To earth he cast his eyes, and bent his knee: + To whom the king thus gan his will explain, + "To thee this sceptre, Emiren, to thee + These armies I commit, my place sustain + Mongst them, go set the king of Judah free, + And let the Frenchmen feel my just disdain, + Go meet them, conquer them, leave none alive; + Or those that scape from battle, bring captive." + + XXXIX + Thus spake the tyrant, and the sceptre laid + With all his sovereign power upon the knight: + "I take this sceptre at your hand," he said, + "And with your happy fortune go to fight, + And trust, my lord, in your great virtue's aid + To venge all Asia's harms, her wrongs to right, + Nor e'er but victor will I see your face; + Our overthrow shall bring death, not disgrace. + + XL + "Heavens grant if evil, yet no mishap I dread, + Or harm they threaten against this camp of thine, + That all that mischief fall upon my head, + Theirs be the conquest, and the danger mine; + And let them safe bring home their captain dead, + Buried in pomp of triumph's glorious shine." + He ceased, and then a murmur loud up went, + With noise of joy and sound of instrument. + + XLI + Amid the noise and shout uprose the king, + Environed with many a noble peer + That to his royal tent the monarch bring, + And there he feasted them and made them cheer, + To him and him he talked, and carved each thing, + The greatest honored, meanest graced were; + And while this mirth, this joy and feast doth last, + Armida found fit time her nets to cast: + + XLII + But when the feast was done, she, that espied + All eyes on her fair visage fixed and bent, + And by new notes and certain signs described, + How love's empoisoned fire their entrails brent, + Arose, and where the king sate in his pride, + With stately pace and humble gestures, went; + And as she could in looks in voice she strove + Fierce, stern, bold, angry, and severe to prove. + + XLIII + "Great Emperor, behold me here," she said. + "For thee, my country, and my faith to fight, + A dame, a virgin, but a royal maid; + And worthy seems this war a princess hight, + For by the sword the sceptre is upstayed, + This hand can use them both with skill and might, + This hand of mine can strike, and at each blow + Thy foes and ours kill, wound, and overthrow. + + XLIV + "Nor yet suppose this is the foremost day + Wherein to war I bent my noble thought, + But for the surety of thy realms, and stay + Of our religion true, ere this I wrought: + Yourself best know if this be true I say, + Or if my former deeds rejoiced you aught, + When Godfrey's hardy knights and princes strong + I captive took, and held in bondage long. + + XLV + "I took them, bound them, and so sent them bound + To thee, a noble gift, with whom they had + Condemned low in dungeon under ground + Forever dwelt, in woe and torment sad: + So might thine host an easy way have found + To end this doubtful war, with conquest glad, + Had not Rinaldo fierce my knights all slain, + And set those lords, his friends, at large again. + + XLVI + "Rinaldo is well known," and there a long + And true rehearsal made she of his deeds, + "This is the knight that since hath done me wrong, + Wrong yet untold, that sharp revengement needs: + Displeasure therefore, mixed with reason strong, + This thirst of war in me, this courage breeds; + Nor how he injured me time serves to tell, + Let this suffice, I seek revengement fell, + + XLVII + "And will procure it, for all shafts that fly + Light not in vain; some work the shooter's will, + And Jove's right hand with thunders cast from sky + Takes open vengeance oft for secret ill: + But if some champion dare this knight defy + To mortal battle, and by fight him kill, + And with his hateful head will me present, + That gift my soul shall please, my heart content: + + XLVIII + "So please, that for reward enjoy he shall, + The greatest gift I can or may afford, + Myself, my beauty, wealth, and kingdoms all, + To marry him, and take him for my lord, + This promise will I keep whate'er befall, + And thereto bind myself by oath and word: + Now he that deems this purchase worth his pain, + Let him step forth and speak, I none disdain." + + XLIX + While thus the princess said, his hungry eyne + Adrastus fed on her sweet beauty's light, + "The gods forbid," quoth he, "one shaft of thine + Should be discharged gainst that discourteous knight, + His heart unworthy is, shootress divine, + Of thine artillery to feel the might; + To wreak thine ire behold me prest and fit, + I will his head cut off, and bring thee it. + + L + "I will his heart with this sharp sword divide, + And to the vultures cast his carcass out." + Thus threatened he, but Tisapherne envied + To hear his glorious vaunt and boasting stout, + And said, "But who art thou, that so great pride + Thou showest before the king, me, and this rout? + Pardie here are some such, whose worth exceeds + Thy vaunting much yet boast not of their deeds." + + LI + The Indian fierce replied, "I am the man + Whose acts his words and boasts have aye surpassed; + But if elsewhere the words thou now began + Had uttered been, that speech had been thy last." + Thus quarrelled they; the monarch stayed them than, + And 'twixt the angry knights his sceptre cast: + Then to Armida said, "Fair Queen, I see + Thy heart is stout, thy thoughts courageous be; + + LII + "Thou worthy art that their disdain and ire + At thy commands these knights should both appease, + That gainst thy foe their courage hot as fire + Thou may'st employ, both when and where you please, + There all their power and force, and what desire + They have to serve thee, may they show at ease." + The monarch held his peace when this was said, + And they new proffer of their service made. + + LIII + Nor they alone, but all that famous were + In feats of arms boast that he shall be dead, + All offer her their aid, all say and swear, + To take revenge on his condemned head: + So many arms moved she against her dear, + And swore her darling under foot to tread, + But he, since first the enchanted isle he left, + Safe in his barge the roaring waves still cleft. + + LIV + By the same way returned the well-taught boat + By which it came, and made like haste, like speed; + The friendly wind, upon her sail that smote, + So turned as to return her ship had need: + The youth sometimes the Pole or Bear did note, + Or wandering stars which dearest nights forthspread: + Sometimes the floods, the hills, or mountains steep, + Whose woody fronts o'ershade the silent deep. + + LV + Now of the camp the man the state inquires, + Now asks the customs strange of sundry lands; + And sailed, till clad in beams and bright attires + The fourth day's sun on the eastern threshold stands: + But when the western seas had quenched those fires, + Their frigate struck against the shore and sands; + Then spoke their guide, "The land of Palestine + This is, here must your journey end and mine." + + LVI + The knights she set upon the shore all three, + And vanished thence in twinkling of an eye, + Uprose the night in whose deep blackness be + All colors hid of things in earth or sky, + Nor could they house, or hold, or harbor see, + Or in that desert sign of dwelling spy, + Nor track of man or horse, or aught that might + Inform them of some path or passage right. + + LVII + When they had mused what way they travel should, + From the west shore their steps at last they twined, + And lo, far off at last their eyes behold + Something, they wist not what, that clearly shined + With rays of silver and with beams of gold + Which the dark folds of night's black mantle lined. + Forward they went and marched against the light, + To see and find the thing that shone so bright. + + LVIII + High on a tree they saw an armor new, + That glistered bright gainst Cynthia's silver ray, + Therein, like stars in skies, the diamonds show + Fret in the gilden helm and hauberk gay, + The mighty shield all scored full they view + Of pictures fair, ranged in meet array; + To keep them sate an aged man beside, + Who to salute them rose, when them he spied. + + LIX + The twain who first were sent in this pursuit + Of their wise friend well knew the aged face: + But when the wizard sage their first salute + Received and quitted had with kind embrace, + To the young prince, that silent stood and mute, + He turned his speech, "In this unused place + For you alone I wait, my lord," quoth he, + "My chiefest care your state and welfare be. + + LX + "For, though you wot it not, I am your friend, + And for your profit work, as these can tell, + I taught them how Armida's charms to end, + And bring you thither from love's hateful cell, + Now to my words, though sharp perchance, attend, + Nor be aggrieved although they seem too fell, + But keep them well in mind, till in the truth + A wise and holier man instruct thy youth. + + LXI + "Not underneath sweet shades and fountains shrill, + Among the nymphs, the fairies, leaves and flowers; + But on the steep, the rough and craggy hill + Of virtue stands this bliss, this good of ours: + By toil and travel, not by sitting still + In pleasure's lap, we come to honor's bowers; + Why will you thus in sloth's deep valley lie? + The royal eagles on high mountains fly. + + LXII + "Nature lifts up thy forehead to the skies, + And fills thy heart with high and noble thought, + That thou to heavenward aye shouldst lift thine eyes, + And purchase fame by deeds well done and wrought; + She gives thee ire, by which not courage flies + To conquests, not through brawls and battles fought + For civil jars, nor that thereby you might + Your wicked malice wreak and cursed spite. + + LXIII + "But that your strength spurred forth with noble wrath, + With greater fury might Christ's foes assault, + And that your bridle should with lesser scath + Each secret vice, and kill each inward fault; + For so his godly anger ruled hath + Each righteous man beneath heaven's starry vault, + And at his will makes it now hot, now cold, + Now lets it run, now doth it fettered hold." + + LXIV + Thus parleyed he; Rinaldo, hushed and still, + Great wisdom heard in those few words compiled, + He marked his speech, a purple blush did fill + His guilty checks, down went his eyesight mild. + The hermit by his bashful looks his will + Well understood, and said, "Look up, my child, + And painted in this precious shield behold + The glorious deeds of thy forefathers old. + + LXV + "Thine elders' glory herein see and know, + In virtue's path how they trod all their days, + Whom thou art far behind, a runner slow + In this true course of honor, fame and praise: + Up, up, thyself incite by the fair show + Of knightly worth which this bright shield bewrays, + That be thy spur to praise!" At last the knight + Looked up, and on those portraits bent his sight. + + LXVI + The cunning workman had in little space + Infinite shapes of men there well expressed, + For there described was the worthy race + And pedigree of all of the house of Est: + Come from a Roman spring o'er all the place + Flowed pure streams of crystals east and west, + With laurel crowned stood the princes old, + Their wars the hermit and their battles told. + + LXVII + He showed them Caius first, when first in prey + To people strange the falling empire went, + First Prince of Est, that did the sceptre sway + O'er such as chose him lord by tree consent; + His weaker neighbors to his rule obey, + Need made them stoop, constraint doth force content; + After, when Lord Honorius called the train + Of savage Goths into his land again, + + LXVIII + And when all Italy did burn and flame + With bloody war, by this fierce people mad, + When Rome a captive and a slave became, + And to be quite destroyed was most afraid, + Aurelius, to his everlasting fame, + Preserved in peace the folk that him obeyed: + Next whom was Forest, who the rage withstood + Of the bold Huns, and of their tyrant proud. + + LXIX + Known by his look was Attila the fell, + Whose dragon eyes shone bright with anger's spark, + Worse faced than a dog, who viewed him well + Supposed they saw him grin and heard him bark; + But when in single fight he lost the bell, + How through his troops he fled there might you mark, + And how Lord Forest after fortified + Aquilea's town, and how for it he died. + + LXX + For there was wrought the fatal end and fine, + Both of himself and of the town he kept: + But his great son renowned Acarine, + Into his father's place and honor stepped: + To cruel fate, not to the Huns, Altine + Gave place, and when time served again forth leapt, + And in the vale of Po built for his seat + Of many a village a small city great; + + LXXI + Against the swelling flood he banked it strong, + And thence uprose the fair and noble town + Where they of Est should by succession long + Command, and rule in bliss and high renown: + Gainst Odoacer then he fought, but wrong + Oft spoileth right, fortune treads courage down, + For there he died for his dear country's sake, + And of his father's praise did so partake. + + LXXII + With him died Alforisio, Azzo was + With his dear brother into exile sent, + But homeward they in arms again repass-- + The Herule king oppressed--from banishment. + His front through pierced with a dart, alas, + Next them, of Est the Epaminondas went, + That smiling seemed to cruel death to yield, + When Totila was fled, and safe his shield. + + LXXIII + Of Boniface I speak; Valerian, + His son, in praise and power succeeded him, + Who durst sustain, in years though scant a man, + Of the proud Goths an hundred squadrons trim: + Then he that gainst the Sclaves much honor wan, + Ernesto, threatening stood with visage grim; + Before him Aldoard, the Lombard stout + Who from Monselce boldly erst shut out. + + LXXIV + There Henry was and Berengare the bold + That served great Charles in his conquest high, + Who in each battle give the onset would, + A hardy soldier and a captain sly; + After, Prince Lewis did he well uphold + Against his nephew, King of Italy, + He won the field and took that king on live: + Next him stood Otho with his children five. + + LXXV + Of Almeric the image next they view, + Lord Marquis of Ferrara first create, + Founder of many churches, that upthrew + His eyes, like one that used to contemplate; + Gainst him the second Azzo stood in rew, + With Berengarius that did long debate, + Till after often change of fortune stroke, + He won, and on all Italy laid the yoke. + + LXXVI + Albert his son the Germans warred among, + And there his praise and fame was spread so wide, + That having foiled the Danes in battle strong, + His daughter young became great Otho's bride. + Behind him Hugo stood with warfare long, + That broke the horn of all the Romans' pride, + Who of all Italy the marquis hight, + And Tuscan whole possessed as his right. + + LXXVII + After Tebaldo, puissant Boniface + And Beatrice his dear possessed the stage; + Nor was there left heir male of that great race, + To enjoy the sceptre, state and heritage; + The Princess Maud alone supplied the place, + Supplied the want in number, sex and age; + For far above each sceptre, throne and crown, + The noble dame advanced her veil and gown. + + LXXVIII + With manlike vigor shone her noble look, + And more than manlike wrath her face o'erspread, + There the fell Normans, Guichard there forsook + The field, till then who never feared nor fled; + Henry the Fourth she beat, and from him took + His standard, and in Church it offered; + Which done, the Pope back to the Vatican + She brought, and placed in Peter's chair again. + + LXXIX + As he that honored her and held her dear, + Azzo the Fifth stood by her lovely side; + But the fourth Azzo's offspring far and near + Spread forth, and through Germania fructified; + Sprung from the branch did Guelpho bold appear, + Guelpho his son by Cunigond his bride, + And in Bavaria's field transplanted new + The Roman graft flourished, increased and grew. + + LXXX + A branch of Est there in the Guelfian tree + Engrafted was, which of itself was old, + Whereon you might the Guelfoes fairer see, + Renew their sceptres and their crowns of gold, + Of which Heaven's good aspects so bended be + That high and broad it spread and flourished bold, + Till underneath his glorious branches laid + Half Germany, and all under his shade. + + LXXXI + This regal plant from his Italian rout + Sprung up as high, and blossomed fair above, + Fornenst Lord Guelpho, Bertold issued out, + With the sixth Azzo whom all virtues love; + This was the pedigree of worthies stout, + Who seemed in that bright shield to live and move. + Rinaldo waked up and cheered his face, + To see these worthies of his house and race. + + LXXXII + To do like acts his courage wished and sought, + And with that wish transported him so far + That all those deeds which filled aye his thought, + Towns won, forts taken, armies killed in war, + As if they were things done indeed and wrought, + Before his eyes he thinks they present are, + He hastily arms him, and with hope and haste, + Sure conquest met, prevented and embraced. + + LXXXIII + But Charles, who had told the death and fall + Of the young prince of Danes, his late dear lord, + Gave him the fatal weapon, and withal, + "Young knight," quoth he, "take with good luck this sword, + Your just, strong, valiant hand in battle shall + Employ it long, for Christ's true faith and word, + And of his former lord revenge the wrongs, + Who loved you so, that deed to you belongs." + + LXXXIV + He answered, "God for his mercy's sake, + Grant that this hand which holds this weapon good + For thy dear master may sharp vengeance take, + May cleave the Pagan's heart, and shed his blood." + To this but short reply did Charles make, + And thanked him much, nor more on terms they stood: + For lo, the wizard sage that was their guide + On their dark journey hastes them forth to ride. + + LXXXV + "High time it is," quoth he, "for you to wend + Where Godfrey you awaits, and many a knight, + There may we well arrive ere night doth end, + And through this darkness can I guide you right." + This said, up to his coach they all ascend, + On his swift wheels forth rolled the chariot light, + He gave his coursers fleet the rod and rein, + And galloped forth and eastward drove amain; + + LXXXVI + While silent so through night's dark shade they fly, + The hermit thus bespake the young man stout: + "Of thy great house, thy race, thine offspring high, + Here hast thou seen the branch, the bole, the root, + And as these worthies born to chivalry + And deeds of arms it hath tofore brought out, + So is it, so it shall be fertile still, + Nor time shall end, nor age that seed shall kill. + + LXXXVII + "Would God, as drawn from the forgetful lap + Of antique time, I have thine elders shown; + That so I could the catalogue unwrap + Of thy great nephews yet unborn, unknown, + That ere this light they view, their fate and hap + I might foretell, and how their chance is thrown, + That like thine elders so thou mightst behold + Thy children, many, famous, stout and bold. + + LXXXVIII + "But not by art or skill, of things future + Can the plain truth revealed be and told, + Although some knowledge doubtful, dark, obscure + We have of coming haps in clouds uprolled; + Nor all which in this cause I know for sure + Dare I foretell: for of that father old, + The hermit Peter, learned I much, and he + Withouten veil heaven's secrets great doth see. + + LXXXIX + "But this, to him revealed by grace divine, + By him to me declared, to thee I say, + Was never race Greek, barbarous, or Latine, + Great in times past, or famous at this day, + Richer in hardy knights than this of thine; + Such blessings Heaven shall on thy children lay + That they in fame shall pass, in praise o'ercome, + The worthies old of Sparta, Carthage, Rome. + + XC + "But mongst the rest I chose Alphonsus bold, + In virtue first, second in place and name, + He shall be born when this frail world grows old, + Corrupted, poor, and bare of men of fame, + Better than he none shall, none can, or could, + The sword or sceptre use or guide the same, + To rule in peace or to command in fight, + Thine offspring's glory and thy house's light. + + XCI + "His younger age foretokens true shall yield + Of future valor, puissance, force and might, + From him no rock the savage beast shall shield; + At tilt or tourney match him shall no knight: + After, he conquer shall in pitched field + Great armies and win spoils in single fight, + And on his locks, rewards for knightly praise, + Shall garlands wear of grass, of oak, of bays. + + XCII + "His graver age, as well that eild it fits, + Shall happy peace preserve and quiet blest, + And from his neighbors strong mongst whom he sits + Shall keep his cities safe in wealth and rest, + Shall nourish arts and cherish pregnant wits, + Make triumphs great, and feast his subjects best, + Reward the good, the evil with pains torment, + Shall dangers all foresee, and seen, prevent. + + XCIII + "But if it hap against those wicked bands + That sea and earth invest with blood and war, + And in these wretched times to noble lands + Give laws of peace false and unjust that are, + That he be sent, to drive their guilty hands + From Christ's pure altars and high temples far, + Oh, what revenge, what vengeance shall he bring + On that false sect, and their accursed king! + + XCIV + "Too late the Moors, too late the Turkish king, + Gainst him should arm their troops and legions bold + For he beyond great Euphrates should bring, + Beyond the frozen tops of Taurus cold, + Beyond the land where is perpetual spring, + The cross, the eagle white, the lily of gold, + And by baptizing of the Ethiops brown + Of aged Nile reveal the springs unknown." + + XCV + Thus said the hermit, and his prophecy + The prince accepted with content and pleasure, + The secret thought of his posterity + Of his concealed joys heaped up the measure. + Meanwhile the morning bright was mounted high, + And changed Heaven's silver wealth to golden treasure, + And high above the Christian tents they view + How the broad ensigns trembled, waved and blew, + + XCVI + When thus again their leader sage begun, + "See how bright Phoebus clears the darksome skies, + See how with gentle beams the friendly sun + The tents, the towns, the hills and dales descries, + Through my well guiding is your voyage done, + From danger safe in travel off which lies, + Hence without fear of harm or doubt of foe + March to the camp, I may no nearer go." + + XCVII + Thus took he leave, and made a quick return, + And forward went the champions three on foot, + And marching right against the rising morn + A ready passage to the camp found out, + Meanwhile had speedy fame the tidings borne + That to the tents approached these barons stout, + And starting from his throne and kingly seat + To entertain them, rose Godfredo great. + + + + EIGHTEENTH BOOK + + THE ARGUMENT. + The charms and spirits false therein which lie + Rinaldo chaseth from the forest old; + The host of Egypt comes; Vafrin the spy + Entereth their camp, stout, crafty, wise and bold; + Sharp is the fight about the bulwarks high + And ports of Zion, to assault the hold: + Godfrey hath aid from Heaven, by force the town + Is won, the Pagans slain, walls beaten down. + + + I + Arrived where Godfrey to embrace him stood, + "My sovereign lord," Rinaldo meekly said, + "To venge my wrongs against Gernando proud + My honor's care provoked my wrath unstayed; + But that I you displeased, my chieftain good, + My thoughts yet grieve, my heart is still dismayed, + And here I come, prest all exploits to try + To make me gracious in your gracious eye." + + II + To him that kneeled, folding his friendly arms + About his neck, the duke this answer gave: + "Let pass such speeches sad, of passed harms. + Remembrance is the life of grief; his grave, + Forgetfulness; and for amends, in arms + Your wonted valor use and courage brave; + For you alone to happy end must bring + The strong enchantments of the charmed spring. + + III + "That aged wood whence heretofore we got, + To build our scaling engines, timber fit, + Is now the fearful seat, but how none wot, + Where ugly fiends and damned spirits sit; + To cut one twist thereof adventureth not + The boldest knight we have, nor without it + This wall can battered be: where others doubt + There venture thou, and show thy courage stout." + + IV + Thus said he, and the knight in speeches few + Proffered his service to attempt the thing, + To hard assays his courage willing flew, + To him praise was no spur, words were no sting; + Of his dear friends then he embraced the crew + To welcome him which came; for in a ring + About him Guelpho, Tancred and the rest + Stood, of the camp the greatest, chief and best. + + V + When with the prince these lords had iterate + Their welcomes oft, and oft their dear embrace, + Toward the rest of lesser worth and state, + He turned, and them received with gentle grace; + The merry soldiers bout him shout and prate, + With cries as joyful and as cheerful face + As if in triumph's chariot bright as sun, + He had returned Afric or Asia won. + + VI + Thus marched to his tent the champion good, + And there sat down with all his friends around; + Now of the war he asked, now of the wood, + And answered each demand they list propound; + But when they left him to his ease, up stood + The hermit, and, fit time to speak once found, + "My lord," he said, "your travels wondrous are, + Far have you strayed, erred, wandered far. + + VII + "Much are you bound to God above, who brought + You safe from false Armida's charmed hold, + And thee a straying sheep whom once he bought + Hath now again reduced to his fold, + And gainst his heathen foes these men of naught + Hath chosen thee in place next Godfrey bold; + Yet mayest thou not, polluted thus with sin, + In his high service war or fight begin. + + VIII + "The world, the flesh, with their infection vile + Pollute the thoughts impure, thy spirit stain; + Not Po, not Ganges, not seven-mouthed Nile, + Not the wide seas, can wash thee clean again, + Only to purge all faults which thee defile + His blood hath power who for thy sins was slain: + His help therefore invoke, to him bewray + Thy secret faults, mourn, weep, complain and pray." + + IX + This said, the knight first with the witch unchaste + His idle loves and follies vain lamented; + Then kneeling low with heavy looks downcast, + His other sins confessed and all repented, + And meekly pardon craved for first and last. + The hermit with his zeal was well contented, + And said, "On yonder hill next morn go pray + That turns his forehead gainst the morning ray. + + X + "That done, march to the wood, whence each one brings + Such news of furies, goblins, fiends, and sprites, + The giants, monsters, and all dreadful things + Thou shalt subdue, which that dark grove unites: + Let no strange voice that mourns or sweetly sings, + Nor beauty, whose glad smile frail hearts delights, + Within thy breast make ruth or pity rise, + But their false looks and prayers false despise." + + XI + Thus he advised him, and the hardy knight + Prepared him gladly to this enterprise, + Thoughtful he passed the day, and sad the night; + And ere the silver morn began to rise, + His arms he took, and in a coat him dight + Of color strange, cut in the warlike guise; + And on his way sole, silent, forth he went + Alone, and left his friends, and left his tent. + + XII + It was the time when gainst the breaking day + Rebellious night yet strove, and still repined, + For in the east appeared the morning gray + And yet some lamps in Jove's high palace shined, + When to Mount Olivet he took his way, + And saw, as round about his eyes he twined, + Night's shadows hence, from thence the morning's shine, + This bright, that dark; that earthly, this divine. + + XIII + Thus to himself he thought, how many bright + And splendent lamps shine in heaven's temple high, + Day hath his golden sun, her moon the night, + Her fixed and wandering stars the azure sky, + So framed all by their Creator's might + That still they live and shine, and ne'er shall die + Till, in a moment, with the last day's brand + They burn, and with them burn sea, air, and land. + + XIV + Thus as he mused, to the top he went, + And there kneeled down with reverence and fear, + His eyes upon heaven's eastern face he bent, + His thoughts above all heavens uplifted were: + "The sins and errors, which I now repent, + Of mine unbridled youth, O Father dear, + Remember not, but let thy mercy fall, + And purge my faults and mine offences all." + + XV + Thus prayed he, with purple wings upflew + In golden weed the morning's lusty queen, + Begilding with the radiant beams she threw + His helm, his harness, and the mountain green; + Upon his breast and forehead gently blew + The air, that balm and nardus breathed unseen, + And o'er his head let down from clearest skies + A cloud of pure and precious clew there flies. + + XVI + The heavenly dew was on his garments spread, + To which compared, his clothes pale ashes seem, + And sprinkled so, that all that paleness fled + And thence, of purest white, bright rays outstream; + So cheered are the flowers late withered + With the sweet comfort of the morning beam, + And so, returned to youth, a serpent old + Adorns herself in new and native gold. + + XVII + The lovely whiteness of his changed weed, + The Prince perceived well, and long admired; + Toward the forest marched he on with speed, + Resolved, as such adventures great required; + Thither he came whence shrinking back for dread + Of that strange desert's sight the first retired, + But not to him fearful or loathsome made + That forest was, but sweet with pleasant shade: + + XVIII + Forward he passed, mid in the grove before + He heard a sound that strange, sweet, pleasing was; + There rolled a crystal brook with gentle roar, + There sighed the winds as through the leaves they pass, + There did the nightingale her wrongs deplore, + There sung the swan, and singing died, alas! + There lute, harp, cittern, human voice he heard, + And all these sounds one sound right well declared. + + XIX + A dreadful thunder-clap at last he heard, + The aged trees and plants well-nigh that rent; + Yet heard the nymphs and sirens afterward, + Birds, winds, and waters, sing with sweet consent: + Whereat amazed he stayed, and well prepared + For his defence, heedful and slow forth went: + Nor in his way his passage aught withstood, + Except a quiet, still, transparent flood. + + XX + On the green banks which that fair stream inbound, + Flowers and odors sweetly smiled and smelled, + Which reaching out his stretched arms around, + All the large desert in his bosom held, + And through the grove one channel passage found; + That in the wood; in that, the forest dwelled: + Trees clad the streams; streams green those trees aye made + And so exchanged their moisture and their shade. + + XXI + The knight some way sought out the flood to pass, + And as he sought, a wondrous bridge appeared, + A bridge of gold, a huge and weighty mass, + On arches great of that rich metal reared; + When through that golden way he entered was, + Down fell the bridge, swelled the stream, and weared + The work away, nor sign left where it stood, + And of a river calm became a flood. + + XXII + He turned, amazed to see it troubled so, + Like sudden brooks increased with molten snow, + The billows fierce that tossed to and fro, + The whirlpools sucked down to their bosoms low; + But on he went to search for wonders mo, + Through the thick trees there high and broad which grow, + And in that forest huge and desert wide, + The more he sought, more wonders still he spied. + + XXIII + Whereso he stepped, it seemed the joyful ground + Renewed the verdure of her flowery weed, + A fountain here, a wellspring there he found; + Here bud the roses, there the lilies spread + The aged wood o'er and about him round + Flourished with blossoms new, new leaves, new seed, + And on the boughs and branches of those treen, + The bark was softened, and renewed the green. + + XXIV + The manna on each leaf did pearled lie, + The honey stilled from the tender rind; + Again he heard that wondrous harmony, + Of songs and sweet complaints of lovers kind, + The human voices sung a triple high, + To which respond the birds, the streams, the wind, + But yet unseen those nymphs, those singers were, + Unseen the lutes, harps, viols which they bear. + + XXV + He looked, he listened, yet his thoughts denied + To think that true which he both heard and see, + A myrtle in an ample plain he spied, + And thither by a beaten path went he: + The myrtle spread her mighty branches wide, + Higher than pine or palm or cypress tree: + And far above all other plants was seen + That forest's lady and that desert's queen. + + XXVI + Upon the trees his eyes Rinaldo bent, + And there a marvel great and strange began; + An aged oak beside him cleft and rent, + And from his fertile hollow womb forth ran, + Clad in rare weeds and strange habiliment, + A nymph, for age able to go to man, + An hundred plants beside, even in his sight, + Childed an hundred nymphs, so great, so dight. + + XXVII + Such as on stages play, such as we see + The Dryads painted whom wild Satyrs love, + Whose arms half-naked, locks untrussed be, + With buskins laced on their legs above, + And silken robes tucked short above their knee; + Such seemed the sylvan daughters of this grove, + Save that instead of shafts and boughs of tree, + She bore a lute, a harp, or cittern she. + + XXVIII + And wantonly they cast them in a ring, + And sung and danced to move his weaker sense, + Rinaldo round about environing, + As centres are with their circumference; + The tree they compassed eke, and gan to sing, + That woods and streams admired their excellence; + "Welcome, dear lord, welcome to this sweet grove, + Welcome our lady's hope, welcome her love. + + XXIX + "Thou com'st to cure our princess, faint and sick + For love, for love of thee, faint, sick, distressed; + Late black, late dreadful was this forest thick, + Fit dwelling for sad folk with grief oppressed, + See with thy coming how the branches quick + Revived are, and in new blosoms dressed:" + This was their song, and after, from it went + First a sweet sound, and then the myrtle rent. + + XXX + If antique times admired Silenus old + That oft appeared set on his lazy ass, + How would they wonder if they had behold + Such sights as from the myrtle high did pass? + Thence came a lady fair with locks of gold, + That like in shape, in face and beauty was + To sweet Armide; Rinaldo thinks he spies + Her gestures, smiles, and glances of her eyes. + + XXXI + On him a sad and smiling look she cast, + Which twenty passions strange at once bewrays: + "And art thou come," quoth she, "returned at last + To her from whom but late thou ran'st thy ways? + Com'st thou to comfort me for sorrows past? + To ease my widow nights and careful days? + Or comest thou to work me grief and harm? + Why nilt thou speak?--why not thy face disarm? + + XXXII + "Com'st thou a friend or foe? I did not frame + That golden bridge to entertain my foe, + Nor opened flowers and fountains as you came, + To welcome him with joy that brings me woe: + Put off thy helm, rejoice me with the flame + Of thy bright eyes, whence first my fires did grow. + Kiss me, embrace me, if you further venture, + Love keeps the gate, the fort is eath to enter." + + XXXIII + Thus as she woos she rolls her rueful eyes + With piteous look, and changeth oft her cheer, + An hundred sighs from her false heart upflies, + She sobs, she mourns, it is great ruth to hear; + The hardest breast sweet pity mollifies, + What stony heart resists a woman's tear? + But yet the knight, wise, wary, not unkind, + Drew forth his sword and from her careless twined. + + XXXIV + Toward the tree he marched, she thither start, + Before him stepped, embraced the plant and cried, + "Ah, never do me such a spiteful part, + To cut my tree, this forest's joy and pride, + Put up thy sword, else pierce therewith the heart + Of thy forsaken and despised Armide; + For through this breast, and through this heart unkind + To this fair tree thy sword shall passage find." + + XXXV + He lift his brand, nor cared though oft she prayed, + And she her form to other shape did change; + Such monsters huge when men in dreams are laid + Oft in their idle fancies roam and range: + Her body swelled, her face obscure was made, + Vanished her garments, her face and vestures strange, + A giantess before him high she stands, + Like Briareus armed with an hundred hands. + + XXXVI + With fifty swords, and fifty targets bright, + She threatened death, she roared, cried and fought, + Each other nymph in armor likewise dight, + A Cyclops great became: he feared them naught, + But on the myrtle smote with all his might, + That groaned like living souls to death nigh brought, + The sky seemed Pluto's court, the air seemed hell, + Therein such monsters roar, such spirits yell. + + XXXVII + Lightened the heavens above, the earth below + Roared loud, that thundered, and this shook; + Blustered the tempests strong, the whirlwinds blow, + The bitter storm drove hailstones in his look; + But yet his arm grew neither weak nor slow, + Nor of that fury heed or care he took, + Till low to earth the wounded tree down bended; + Then fled the spirits all, the charms all ended. + + XXXVIII + The heavens grew clear, the air waxed calm and still, + The wood returned to his wonted state, + Of withcrafts free, quite void of spirits ill; + Of horror full, but horror there innate; + He further proved if aught withstood his will + To cut those trees as did the charms of late, + And finding naught to stop him, smiled, and said, + "O shadows vain! O fools, of shades afraid!" + + XXXIX + From thence home to the campward turned the knight, + The hermit cried, upstarting from his seat, + "Now of the wood the charms have lost their might, + The sprites are conquered, ended is the feat, + See where he comes!" In glistering white all dight + Appeared the man, bold, stately, high and great, + His eagle's silver wings to shine begun + With wondrous splendor gainst the golden sun. + + XL + The camp received him with a joyful cry, + A cry the dales and hills about that flied; + Then Godfrey welcomed him with honors high, + His glory quenched all spite, all envy killed: + "To yonder dreadful grove," quoth he, "went I, + And from the fearful wood, as me you willed, + Have driven the sprites away, thither let be + Your people sent, the way is safe and free." + + XLI + Sent were the workmen thither, thence they brought + Timber enough, by good advice select, + And though by skilless builders framed and wrought + Their engines rude and rams were late elect, + Yet now the forts and towers from whence they fought + Were framed by a cunning architect, + William, of all the Genoese lord and guide, + Which late ruled all the seas from side to side; + + XLII + But forced to retire from him at last, + The Pagan fleet the seas moist empire won, + His men with all their stuff and store in haste + Home to the camp with their commander run, + In skill, in wit, in cunning him surpassed + Yet never engineer beneath the sun, + Of carpenters an hundred large he brought, + That what their lord devised made and wrought. + + XLIII + This man began with wondrous art to make, + Not rams, not mighty brakes, not slings alone, + Wherewith the firm and solid walls to shake, + To cast a dart, or throw a shaft or stone; + But framed of pines and firs, did undertake + To build a fortress huge, to which was none + Yet ever like, whereof he clothed the sides + Against the balls of fire with raw bull's hides. + + XLIV + In mortices and sockets framed just, + The beams, the studs and puncheons joined he fast; + To beat the city's wall, beneath forth brust + A ram with horned front, about her waist + A bridge the engine from her side out thrust, + Which on the wall when need she cast; + And from her top a turret small up stood, + Strong, surely armed, and builded of like wood. + + XLV + Set on an hundred wheels the rolling mass, + On the smooth lands went nimbly up and down, + Though full of arms and armed men it was, + Yet with small pains it ran, as it had flown: + Wondered the camp so quick to see it pass, + They praised the workmen and their skill unknown, + And on that day two towers they builded more, + Like that which sweet Clorinda burned before. + + XLVI + Yet wholly were not from the Saracines + Their works concealed and their labors hid, + Upon that wall which next the camp confines + They placed spies, who marked all they did: + They saw the ashes wild and squared pines, + How to the tents, trailed from the grove, they slid: + And engines huge they saw, yet could not tell + How they were built, their forms they saw not well. + + XLVII + Their engines eke they reared, and with great art + Repaired each bulwark, turret, port and tower, + And fortified the plain and easy part, + To bide the storm of every warlike stoure, + Till as they thought no sleight or force of Mart + To undermine or scale the same had power; + And false Ismeno gan new balls prepare + Of wicked fire, wild, wondrous, strange and rare. + + XLVIII + He mingled brimstone with bitumen fell + Fetched from that lake where Sodom erst did sink, + And from that flood which nine times compassed hell + Some of the liquor hot he brought, I think, + Wherewith the quenchless fire he tempered well, + To make it smoke and flame and deadly stink: + And for his wood cut down, the aged sire + Would thus revengement take with flame and fire. + + XLIX + While thus the camp, and thus the town were bent, + These to assault, these to defend the wall, + A speedy dove through the clear welkin went, + Straight o'er the tents, seen by the soldiers all; + With nimble fans the yielding air she rent, + Nor seemed it that she would alight or fall, + Till she arrived near that besieged town, + Then from the clouds at last she stooped down: + + L + But lo, from whence I nolt, a falcon came, + Armed with crooked bill and talons long, + And twixt the camp and city crossed her game, + That durst nor bide her foe's encounter strong; + But right upon the royal tent down came, + And there, the lords and princes great among, + When the sharp hawk nigh touched her tender head + In Godfrey's lap she fell, with fear half dead: + + LI + The duke received her, saved her, and spied, + As he beheld the bird, a wondrous thing, + About her neck a letter close was tied, + By a small thread, and thrust under her wing, + He loosed forth the writ and spread it wide, + And read the intent thereof, "To Judah's king," + Thus said the schedule, "honors high increase, + The Egyptian chieftain wisheth health and peace: + + LII + "Fear not, renowned prince, resist, endure + Till the third day, or till the fourth at most, + I come, and your deliverance will procure, + And kill your coward foes and all their host." + This secret in that brief was closed up sure, + Writ in strange language, to the winged post + Given to transport; for in their warlike need + The east such message used, oft with good speed. + + LIII + The duke let go the captive dove at large, + And she that had his counsel close betrayed, + Traitress to her great Lord, touched not the marge + Of Salem's town, but fled far thence afraid. + The duke before all those which had or charge + Or office high, the letter read, and said: + "See how the goodness of the Lord foreshows + The secret purpose of our crafty foes. + + LIV + "No longer then let us protract the time, + But scale the bulwark of this fortress high, + Through sweat and labor gainst those rocks sublime + Let us ascend, which to the southward lie; + Hard will it be that way in arms to climb, + But yet the place and passage both know I, + And that high wall by site strong on that part, + Is least defenced by arms, by work and art. + + LV + "Thou, Raymond, on this side with all thy might + Assault the wall, and by those crags ascend, + My squadrons with mine engines huge shall fight + And gainst the northern gate my puissance bend, + That so our foes, beguiled with the sight, + Our greatest force and power shall there attend, + While my great tower from thence shall nimbly slide, + And batter down some worse defended side; + + LVI + "Camillo, thou not far from me shalt rear + Another tower, close to the walls ybrought." + This spoken, Raymond old, that sate him near, + And while he talked great things tossed in his thought, + Said, "To Godfredo's counsel, given us here, + Naught can be added, from it taken naught: + Yet this I further wish, that some were sent + To spy their camp, their secret and intent, + + LVII + "That may their number and their squadrons brave + Describe, and through their tents disguised mask." + Quoth Tancred, "Lo, a subtle squire I have, + A person fit to undertake this task, + A man quick, ready, bold, sly to deceive, + To answer, wise, and well advised to ask; + Well languaged, and that with time and place, + Can change his look, his voice, his gait, his grace." + + LVIII + Sent for, he came, and when his lord him told + What Godfrey's pleasure was and what his own, + He smiled and said forthwith he gladly would. + "I go," quoth he, "careless what chance be thrown, + And where encamped be these Pagans bold, + Will walk in every tent a spy unknown, + Their camp even at noon-day I enter shall, + And number all their horse and footmen all; + + LIX + "How great, how strong, how armed this army is, + And what their guide intends, I will declare, + To me the secrets of that heart of his + And hidden thoughts shall open lie and bare." + Thus Vafrine spoke, nor longer stayed on this, + But for a mantle changed the coat he ware, + Naked was his neck, and bout his forehead bold, + Of linen white full twenty yards he rolled. + + LX + His weapons were a Syrian bow and quiver, + His gestures barbarous, like the Turkish train, + Wondered all they that heard his tongue deliver + Of every land the language true and plain: + In Tyre a born Phoenician, by the river + Of Nile a knight bred in the Egyptian main, + Both people would have thought him; forth he rides + On a swift steed, o'er hills and dales that glides. + + LXI + But ere the third day came the French forth sent + Their pioneers to even the rougher ways, + And ready made each warlike instrument, + Nor aught their labor interrupts or stays; + The nights in busy toll they likewise spent + And with long evenings lengthened forth short days, + Till naught was left the hosts that hinder might + To use their utmost power and strength in fight. + + LXII + That day, which of the assault the day forerun, + The godly duke in prayer spent well-nigh, + And all the rest, because they had misdone, + The sacrament receive and mercy cry; + Then oft the duke his engines great begun + To show where least he would their strength apply; + His foes rejoiced, deluded in that sort, + To see them bent against their surest port: + + LXIII + But after, aided by the friendly night, + His greatest engine to that side he brought + Where plainest seemed the wall, where with their might + The flankers least could hurt them as they fought; + And to the southern mountain's greatest height + To raise his turret old Raymondo sought; + And thou Camillo on that part hadst thine, + Where from the north the walls did westward twine. + + LXIV + But when amid the eastern heaven appeared + The rising morning bright as shining glass, + The troubled Pagans saw, and seeing feared, + How the great tower stood not where late it was, + And here and there tofore unseen was reared + Of timber strong a huge and fearful mass, + And numberless with beams, with ropes and strings, + They view the iron rams, the barks and slings. + + LXV + The Syrian people now were no whit slow, + Their best defences to that side to bear, + Where Godfrey did his greatest engine show, + From thence where late in vain they placed were: + But he who at his back right well did know + The host of Egypt to be proaching near, + To him called Guelpho, and the Roberts twain, + And said, "On horseback look you still remain, + + LXVI + "And have regard, while all our people strive + To scale this wall, where weak it seems and thin, + Lest unawares some sudden host arrive, + And at our backs unlooked-for war begin." + This said, three fierce assaults at once they give, + The hardy soldiers all would die or win, + And on three parts resistance makes the king, + And rage gainst strength, despair gainst hope doth bring. + + LXVII + Himself upon his limbs with feeble eild + That shook, unwieldy with their proper weight, + His armor laid and long unused shield, + And marched gainst Raymond to the mountain's height; + Great Solyman gainst Godfrey took the field; + Fornenst Camillo stood Argantes straight + Where Tancred strong he found, so fortune will + That this good prince his wonted foe shall kill. + + LXVIII + The archers shot their arrows sharp and keen, + Dipped in the bitter juice of poison strong, + The shady face of heaven was scantly seen, + Hid with the clouds of shafts and quarries long; + Yet weapons sharp with greater fury been + Cast from the towers the Pagan troops among, + For thence flew stones and clifts of marble rocks, + Trees shod with iron, timber, logs and blocks. + + LXIX + A thunderbolt seemed every stone, it brake + His limbs and armors on whom so it light, + That life and soul it did not only take + But all his shape and face disfigured quite; + The lances stayed not in the wounds they make, + But through the gored body took their flight, + From side to side, through flesh, through skin and rind + They flew, and flying, left sad death behind. + + LXX + But yet not all this force and fury drove + The Pagan people to forsake the wall, + But to revenge these deadly blows they strove, + With darts that fly, with stones and trees that fall; + For need so cowards oft courageous prove, + For liberty they fight, for life and all, + And oft with arrows, shafts, and stones that fly, + Give bitter answer to a sharp reply. + + LXXI + This while the fierce assailants never cease, + But sternly still maintain a threefold charge, + And gainst the clouds of shafts draw nigh at ease, + Under a pentise made of many a targe, + The armed towers close to the bulwarks press, + And strive to grapple with the battled marge, + And launch their bridges out, meanwhile below + With iron fronts the rams the walls down throw. + + LXXII + Yet still Rinaldo unresolved went, + And far unworthy him this service thought, + If mongst the common sort his pains he spent; + Renown so got the prince esteemed naught: + His angry looks on every side he bent, + And where most harm, most danger was, he fought, + And where the wall high, strong and surest was, + That part would he assault, and that way pass. + + LXXIII + And turning to the worthies him behind, + All hardy knights, whom Dudon late did guide, + "Oh shame," quoth he, "this wall no war doth find, + When battered is elsewhere each part, each side; + All pain is safety to a valiant mind, + Each way is eath to him that dares abide, + Come let us scale this wall, though strong and high, + And with your shields keep off the darts that fly." + + LXXIV + With him united all while thus he spake, + Their targets hard above their heads they threw, + Which joined in one an iron pentise make + That from the dreadful storm preserved the crew. + Defended thus their speedy course they take, + And to the wall without resistance drew, + For that strong penticle protected well + The knights, from all that flew and all that fell. + + LXXV + Against the fort Rinaldo gan uprear + A ladder huge, an hundred steps of height, + And in his arm the same did easily bear + And move as winds do reeds or rushes light, + Sometimes a tree, a rock, a dart or spear, + Fell from above, yet forward clomb the knight, + And upward fearless pierced, careless still, + Though Mount Olympus fell, or Ossa hill: + + LXXVI + A mount of ruins, and of shafts a wood + Upon his shoulders and his shield he bore, + One hand the ladder held whereon he stood, + The other bare his targe his face before; + His hardy troop, by his example good + Provoked, with him the place assaulted sore, + And ladders long against the wall they clap, + Unlike in courage yet, unlike in hap: + + LXXVII + One died, another fell; he forward went, + And these he comforts, and he threateneth those, + Now with his hand outstretched the battlement + Well-nigh he reached, when all his armed foes + Ran thither, and their force and fury bent + To throw him headlong down, yet up he goes, + A wondrous thing, one knight whole armed bands + Alone, and hanging in the air, withstands: + + LXXVIII + Withstands, and forceth his great strength so far, + That like a palm whereon huge weight doth rest, + His forces so resisted stronger are, + His virtues higher rise the more oppressed, + Till all that would his entrance bold debar, + He backward drove, upleaped and possessed + The wall, and safe and easy with his blade, + To all that after came, the passage made. + + LXXIX + There killing such as durst and did withstand, + To noble Eustace that was like to fall + He reached forth his friendly conquering hand, + And next himself helped him to mount the wall. + This while Godfredo and his people land + Their lives to greater harms and dangers thrall, + For there not man with man, nor knight with knight + Contend, but engines there with engines fight. + + LXXX + For in that place the Paynims reared a post, + Which late had served some gallant ship for mast, + And over it another beam they crossed, + Pointed with iron sharp, to it made fast + With ropes which as men would the dormant tossed, + Now out, now in, now back, now forward cast. + In his swift pulleys oft the men withdrew + The tree, and oft the riding-balk forth threw: + + LXXXI + The mighty beam redoubted oft his blows, + And with such force the engine smote and hit, + That her broad side the tower wide open throws, + Her joints were broke, her rafters cleft and split; + But yet gainst every hap whence mischief grows, + Prepared the piece, gainst such extremes made fit, + Launch forth two scythes, sharp, cutting, long and broad + And cut the ropes whereon the engine rode: + + LXXXII + As an old rock, which age or stormy wind + Tears from some craggy hill or mountain steep, + Doth break, doth bruise, and into dust doth grind + Woods, houses, hamlets, herds, and folds of sheep, + So fell the beam, and down with it all kind + Of arms, of weapons, and of men did sweep, + Wherewith the towers once or twice did shake, + Trembled the walls, the hills and mountains quake. + + LXXXIII + Victorious Godfrey boldly forward came, + And had great hope even then the place to win; + But lo, a fire, with stench, with smoke and flame + Withstood his passage, stopped his entrance in: + Such burning Aetna yet could never frame, + When from her entrails hot her fires begin, + Nor yet in summer on the Indian plain, + Such vapors warm from scorching air down rain. + + LXXXIV + There balls of wildfire, there fly burning spears, + This flame was black, that blue, this red as blood; + Stench well-nigh choked them, noise deafs their ears, + Smoke blinds their eyes, fire kindleth on the wood; + Nor those raw hides which for defence it wears + Could save the tower, in such distress it stood; + For now they wrinkle, now it sweats and fries, + Now burns, unless some help come down from skies. + + LXXXV + The hardy duke before his folk abides, + Nor changed he color, countenance or place, + But comforts those that from the scaldered hides + With water strove the approaching flames to chase: + In these extremes the prince and those he guides + Half roasted stood before fierce Vulcan's face, + When lo, a sudden and unlooked-for blast + The flames against the kindlers backward cast: + + LXXXVI + The winds drove back the fire, where heaped lie + The Pagans' weapons, where their engines were, + Which kindling quickly in that substance dry, + Burnt all their store and all their warlike gear: + O glorious captain! whom the Lord from high + Defends, whom God preserves, and holds so dear; + For thee heaven fights, to thee the winds, from far, + Called with thy trumpet's blast, obedient are! + + LXXXVII + But wicked Ismen to his harm that saw + How the fierce blast drove back the fire and flame, + By art would nature change, and thence withdraw + Those noisome winds, else calm and still the same; + 'Twixt two false wizards without fear or awe + Upon the walls in open sight he came, + Black, grisly, loathsome, grim and ugly faced, + Like Pluto old, betwixt two furies placed; + + LXXXVIII + And now the wretch those dreadful words begun, + Which trouble make deep hell and all her flock, + Now trembled is the air, the golden sun + His fearful beams in clouds did close and lock, + When from the tower, which Ismen could not shun, + Out fled a mighty stone, late half a rock, + Which light so just upon the wizards three, + That driven to dust their bones and bodies be. + + LXXXIX + To less than naught their members old were torn, + And shivered were their heads to pieces small, + As small as are the bruised grains of corn + When from the mill dissolved to meal they fall; + Their damned souls, to deepest hell down borne + Far from the joy and light celestial, + The furies plunged in the infernal lake: + O mankind, at their ends ensample take! + + XC + This while the engine which the tempest cold + Had saved from burning with his friendly blast, + Approached had so near the battered hold + That on the walls her bridge at ease she cast: + But Solyman ran thither fierce and bold, + To cut the plank whereon the Christians passed. + And had performed his will, save that upreared + High in the skies a turret new appeared; + + XCI + Far in the air up clomb the fortress tall, + Higher than house, than steeple, church or tower; + The Pagans trembled to behold the wall + And city subject to her shot and power; + Yet kept the Turk his stand, though on him fall + Of stones and darts a sharp and deadly shower, + And still to cut the bridge he hopes and strives, + And those that fear with cheerful speech revives. + + XCII + The angel Michael, to all the rest + Unseen, appeared before Godfredo's eyes, + In pure and heavenly armor richly dressed, + Brighter than Titan's rays in clearest skies; + "Godfrey," quoth he, "this is the moment blest + To free this town that long in bondage lies, + See, see what legions in thine aid I bring, + For Heaven assists thee, and Heaven's glorious King: + + XCIII + "Lift up thine eyes, and in the air behold + The sacred armies, how they mustered be, + That cloud of flesh in which for times of old + All mankind wrapped is, I take from thee, + And from thy senses their thick mist unfold, + That face to face thou mayest these spirits see, + And for a little space right well sustain + Their glorious light and view those angels plain. + + XCIV + "Behold the souls of every lord and knight + That late bore arms and died for Christ's dear sake, + How on thy side against this town they fight, + And of thy joy and conquest will partake: + There where the dust and smoke blind all men's sight, + Where stones and ruins such an heap do make, + There Hugo fights, in thickest cloud imbarred, + And undermines that bulwark's groundwork hard. + + XCV + "See Dudon yonder, who with sword and fire + Assails and helps to scale the northern port, + That with bold courage doth thy folk inspire + And rears their ladders gainst the assaulted fort: + He that high on the mount in grave attire + Is clad, and crowned stands in kingly sort, + Is Bishop Ademare, a blessed spirit, + Blest for his faith, crowned for his death and merit. + + XCVI + "But higher lift thy happy eyes, and view + Where all the sacred hosts of Heaven appear." + He looked, and saw where winged armies flew, + Innumerable, pure, divine and clear; + A battle round of squadrons three they show + And all by threes those squadrons ranged were, + Which spreading wide in rings still wider go, + Moved with a stone calm water circleth so. + + XCVII + With that he winked, and vanished was and gone; + That wondrous vision when he looked again, + His worthies fighting viewed he one by one, + And on each side saw signs of conquest plain, + For with Rinaldo gainst his yielding lone, + His knights were entered and the Pagans slain, + This seen, the duke no longer stay could brook, + But from the bearer bold his ensign took: + + XCVIII + And on the bridge he stepped, but there was stayed + By Solyman, who entrance all denied, + That narrow tree to virtue great was made, + The field as in few blows right soon was tried, + "Here will I give my life for Sion's aid, + Here will I end my days," the Soldan cried, + "Behind me cut or break this bridge, that I + May kill a thousand Christians first, then die." + + XCIX + But thither fierce Rinaldo threatening went, + And at his sight fled all the Soldan's train, + "What shall I do? If here my life be spent, + I spend and spill," quoth he, "my blood in vain!" + With that his steps from Godfrey back he bent, + And to him let the passage free remain, + Who threatening followed as the Soldan fled, + And on the walls the purple Cross dispread: + + C + About his head he tossed, he turned, he cast, + That glorious ensign, with a thousand twines, + Thereon the wind breathes with his sweetest blast, + Thereon with golden rays glad Phoebus shines, + Earth laughs for joy, the streams forbear their haste, + Floods clap their hands, on mountains dance the pines, + And Sion's towers and sacred temples smile + For their deliverance from that bondage vile. + + CI + And now the armies reared the happy cry + Of victory, glad, joyful, loud, and shrill. + The hills resound, the echo showereth high, + And Tancred bold, that fights and combats still + With proud Argantes, brought his tower so nigh, + That on the wall, against the boaster's will, + In his despite, his bridge he also laid, + And won the place, and there the cross displayed. + + CII + But on the southern hill, where Raymond fought + Against the townsmen and their aged king, + His hardy Gascoigns gained small or naught; + Their engine to the walls they could not bring, + For thither all his strength the prince had brought, + For life and safety sternly combating, + And for the wall was feeblest on that coast, + There were his soldiers best, and engines most. + + CIII + Besides, the tower upon that quarter found + Unsure, uneasy, and uneven the way, + Nor art could help, but that the rougher ground + The rolling mass did often stop and stay; + But now of victory the joyful sound + The king and Raymond heard amid their fray; + And by the shout they and their soldiers know, + The town was entered on the plain below. + + CIV + Which heard, Raymondo thus bespake this crew, + "The town is won, my friends, and doth it yet + Resist? are we kept out still by these few? + Shall we no share in this high conquest get?" + But from that part the king at last withdrew, + He strove in vain their entrance there to let, + And to a stronger place his folk he brought, + Where to sustain the assault awhile he thought. + + CV + The conquerors at once now entered all, + The walls were won, the gates were opened wide, + Now bruised, broken down, destroyed fall + The ports and towers that battery durst abide; + Rageth the sword, death murdereth great and small, + And proud 'twixt woe and horror sad doth ride. + Here runs the blood, in ponds there stands the gore, + And drowns the knights in whom it lived before. + + + + NINETEENTH BOOK + + THE ARGUMENT. + Tancred in single combat kills his foe, + Argantes strong: the king and Soldan fly + To David's tower, and save their persons so; + Erminia well instructs Vafrine the spy, + With him she rides away, and as they go + Finds where her lord for dead on earth doth lie; + First she laments, then cures him: Godfrey hears + Ormondo's treason, and what marks he bears. + + + I + Now death or fear or care to save their lives + From their forsaken walls the Pagans chase: + Yet neither force nor fear nor wisdom drives + The constant knight Argantes from his place; + Alone against ten thousand foes he strives, + Yet dreadless, doubtless, careless seemed his face, + Nor death, nor danger, but disgrace he fears, + And still unconquered, though o'erset, appears. + + II + But mongst the rest upon his helmet gay + With his broad sword Tancredi came and smote: + The Pagan knew the prince by his array, + By his strong blows, his armor and his coat; + For once they fought, and when night stayed that fray, + New time they chose to end their combat hot, + But Tancred failed, wherefore the Pagan knight + Cried, "Tancred, com'st thou thus, thus late to fight? + + III + "Too late thou com'st, and not alone to war, + But yet the fight I neither shun nor fear, + Although from knighthood true thou errest far, + Since like an engineer thou dost appear, + That tower, that troop, thy shield and safety are, + Strange kind of arms in single fight to bear; + Yet shalt thou not escape, O conqueror strong + Of ladies fair, sharp death, to avenge that wrong." + + IV + Lord Tancred smiled, with disdain and scorn, + And answerd thus, "To end our strife," quoth he, + "Behold at last I come, and my return, + Though late, perchance will be too soon for thee; + For thou shalt wish, of hope and help forlorn, + Some sea or mountain placed twixt thee and me, + And well shalt know before we end this fray + No fear of cowardice hath caused my stay. + + V + "But come aside, thou by whose prowess dies + The monsters, knights and giants in all lands, + The killer of weak women thee defies." + This said, he turned to his fighting bands, + And bids them all retire. "Forbear," he cries, + "To strike this knight, on him let none lay hands; + For mine he is, more than a common foe, + By challenge new and promise old also." + + VI + "Descend," the fierce Circassian gan reply, + "Alone, or all this troop for succor take + To deserts waste, or place frequented high, + For vantage none I will the fight forsake:" + Thus given and taken was the bold defy, + And through the press, agreed so, they brake, + Their hatred made them one, and as they went, + Each knight his foe did for despite defend: + + VII + Great was his thirst of praise, great the desire + That Tancred had the Pagan's blood to spill, + Nor could that quench his wrath or calm his ire + If other hand his foe should foil or kill. + He saved him with his shield, and cried "Retire!" + To all he met, "and do this knight none ill:" + And thus defending gainst his friends his foe, + Through thousand angry weapons safe they go. + + VII + They left the city, and they left behind + Godfredo's camp, and far beyond it passed, + And came where into creeks and bosoms blind + A winding hill his corners turned and cast, + A valley small and shady dale they find + Amid the mountains steep so laid and placed + As if some theatre or closed place + Had been for men to fight or beasts to chase. + + IX + There stayed the champions both with rueful eyes, + Argantes gan the fortress won to view; + Tancred his foe withouten shield espies, + And said, "Whereon doth thy sad heart devise? + Think'st thou this hour must end thy life untrue? + If this thou fear, and dost foresee thy fate, + Thy fear is vain, thy foresight comes too late." + + X + "I think," quoth he, "on this distressed town, + The aged Queen of Judah's ancient land, + Now lost, now sacked, spoiled and trodden down, + Whose fall in vain I strived to withstand, + A small revenge for Sion's fort o'erthrown, + That head can be, cut off by my strong hand." + This said, together with great heed they flew, + For each his foe for bold and hardy knew. + + XI + Tancred of body active was and light, + Quick, nimble, ready both of hand and foot; + But higher by the head, the Pagan knight + Of limbs far greater was, of heart as stout: + Tancred laid low and traversed in his fight, + Now to his ward retired, now struck out, + Oft with his sword his foe's fierce blows he broke, + And rather chose to ward-than bear his stroke. + + XII + But bold and bolt upright Argantes fought, + Unlike in gesture, like in skill and art, + His sword outstretched before him far he brought, + Nor would his weapon touch, but pierce his heart, + To catch his point Prince Tancred strove and sought, + But at his breast or helm's unclosed part + He threatened death, and would with stretched-out brand + His entrance close, and fierce assaults withstand. + + XIII + With a tall ship so doth a galley fight, + When the still winds stir not the unstable main; + Where this in nimbleness as that in might + Excels; that stands, this goes and comes again, + And shifts from prow to poop with turnings light; + Meanwhile the other doth unmoved remain, + And on her nimble foe approaching nigh, + Her weighty engines tumbleth down from high. + + XIV + The Christian sought to enter on his foe, + Voiding his point, which at his breast was bent; + Argantes at his face a thrust did throw, + Which while the Prince awards and doth prevent, + His ready hand the Pagan turned so, + That all defence his quickness far o'erwent, + And pierced his side, which done, he said and smiled, + "The craftsman is in his own craft beguiled." + + XV + Tancredi bit his lip for scorn and shame, + Nor longer stood on points of fence and skill, + But to revenge so fierce and fast he came + As if his hand could not o'ertake his will, + And at his visor aiming just, gan frame + To his proud boast an answer sharp, but still + Argantes broke the thrust; and at half-sword, + Swift, hardy, bold, in stepped the Christian lord. + + XVI + With his left foot fast forward gan he stride, + And with his left the Pagan's right arm bent, + With his right hand meanwhile the man's right side + He cut, he wounded, mangled, tore and rent. + "To his victorious teacher," Tancred cried, + "His conquered scholar hath this answer sent;" + Argantes chafed, struggled, turned and twined, + Yet could not so his captive arm unbind: + + XVII + His sword at last he let hang by the chain, + And griped his hardy foe in both his hands, + In his strong arms Tancred caught him again, + And thus each other held and wrapped in bands. + With greater might Alcides did not strain + The giant Antheus on the Lybian sands, + On holdfast knots their brawny arms they cast, + And whom he hateth most, each held embraced: + + XVIII + Such was their wrestling, such their shocks and throws + That down at once they tumbled both to ground, + Argantes,--were it hap or skill, who knows, + His better hand loose and in freedom found; + But the good Prince, his hand more fit for blows, + With his huge weight the Pagan underbound; + But he, his disadvantage great that knew, + Let go his hold, and on his feet up flew: + + XIX + Far slower rose the unwieldy Saracine, + And caught a rap ere he was reared upright. + But as against the blustering winds a pine + Now bends his top, now lifts his head on height, + His courage so, when it 'gan most decline, + The man reinforced, and advanced his might, + And with fierce change of blows renewed the fray, + Where rage for skill, horror for art, bore sway. + + XX + The purple drops from Tancred's sides down railed, + But from the Pagan ran whole streams of blood, + Wherewith his force grew weak, his courage quailed + As fires die which fuel want or food. + Tancred that saw his feeble arm now failed + To strike his blows, that scant he stirred or stood, + Assuaged his anger, and his wrath allayed, + And stepping back, thus gently spoke and said: + + XXI + "Yield, hardy knight, and chance of war or me + Confess to have subdued thee in this fight, + I will no trophy, triumph, spoil of thee, + Nor glory wish, nor seek a victor's right + More terrible than erst;" herewith grew he + And all awaked his fury, rage and might, + And said, "Dar'st thou of vantage speak or think, + Or move Argantes once to yield or shrink? + + XXII + "Use, use thy vantage, thee and fortune both + I scorn, and punish will thy foolish pride:" + As a hot brand flames most ere it forth go'th, + And dying blazeth bright on every side; + So he, when blood was lost, with anger wroth, + Revived his courage when his puissance died, + And would his latest hour which now drew nigh, + Illustrate with his end, and nobly die. + + XXIII + He joined his left hand to her sister strong, + And with them both let fall his weighty blade. + Tancred to ward his blow his sword up slung, + But that it smote aside, nor there it stayed, + But from his shoulder to his side along + It glanced, and many wounds at once it made: + Yet Tancred feared naught, for in his heart + Found coward dread no place, fear had no part. + + XXIV + His fearful blow he doubled, but he spent + His force in waste, and all his strength in vain; + For Tancred from the blow against him bent, + Leaped aside, the stroke fell on the plain. + With thine own weight o'erthrown to earth thou went, + Argantes stout, nor could'st thyself sustain, + Thyself thou threwest down, O happy man, + Upon whose fall none boast or triumph can! + + XXV + His gaping wounds the fall set open wide, + The streams of blood about him made a lake, + Helped with his left hand, on one knee he tried + To rear himself, and new defence to make: + The courteous prince stepped back, and "Yield thee!" cried, + No hurt he proffered him, no blow he strake. + Meanwhile by stealth the Pagan false him gave + A sudden wound, threatening with speeches brave: + + XXVI + Herewith Tancredi furious grew, and said, + "Villain, dost thou my mercy so despise?" + Therewith he thrust and thrust again his blade, + And through his ventil pierced his dazzled eyes, + Argantes died, yet no complaint he made, + But as he furious lived he careless dies; + Bold, proud, disdainful, fierce and void of fear + His motions last, last looks, last speeches were. + + XXVII + Tancred put up his sword, and praises glad + Gave to his God that saved him in this fight; + But yet this bloody conquest feebled had + So much the conqueror's force, strength and might, + That through the way he feared which homeward led + He had not strength enough to walk upright; + Yet as he could his steps from thence he bent, + And foot by foot a heavy pace forth-went; + + XXVIII + His legs could bear him but a little stound, + And more he hastes, more tired, less was his speed, + On his right hand, at last, laid on the ground + He leaned, his hand weak like a shaking reed, + Dazzled his eyes, the world on wheels ran round, + Day wrapped her brightness up in sable weed; + At length he swooned, and the victor knight + Naught differed from his conquered foe in fight. + + XXIX + But while these lords their private fight pursue, + Made fierce and cruel through their secret hate, + The victor's ire destroyed the faithless crew + From street to street, and chased from gate to gate. + But of the sacked town the image true + Who can describe, or paint the woful state, + Or with fit words this spectacle express + Who can? or tell the city's great distress? + + XXX + Blood, murder, death, each street, house, church defiled, + There heaps of slain appear, there mountains high; + There underneath the unburied hills up-piled + Of bodies dead, the living buried lie; + There the sad mother with her tender child + Doth tear her tresses loose, complain and fly, + And there the spoiler by her amber hair + Draws to his lust the virgin chaste and fair. + + XXXI + But through the way that to the west-hill yood + Whereon the old and stately temple stands, + All soiled with gore and wet with lukewarm blood + Rinaldo ran, and chased the Pagan bands; + Above their heads he heaved his curtlax good, + Life in his grace, and death lay in his hands, + Nor helm nor target strong his blows off bears, + Best armed there seemed he no arms that wears; + + XXXII + For gainst his armed foes he only bends + His force, and scorns the naked folk to wound; + Them whom no courage arms, no arms defends, + He chased with his looks and dreadful sound: + Oh, who can tell how far his force extends? + How these he scorns, threats those, lays them on ground? + How with unequal harm, with equal fear + Fled all, all that well armed or naked were: + + XXXIII + Fast fled the people weak, and with the same + A squadron strong is to the temple gone + Which, burned and builded oft, still keeps the name + Of the first founder, wise King Solomon; + That prince this stately house did whilom frame + Of cedar trees, of gold and marble stone; + Now not so rich, yet strong and sure it was, + With turrets high, thick walls, and doors of brass. + + XXXIV + The knight arrived where in warklike sort + The men that ample church had fortified. + And closed found each wicket, gate and port, + And on the top defences ready spied, + He left his frowning looks, and twice that fort + From his high top down to the groundwork eyed, + And entrance sought, and twice with his swift foot + The mighty place he measured about. + + XXXV + Like as a wolf about the closed fold + Rangeth by night his hoped prey to get, + Enraged with hunger and with malice old + Which kind 'twixt him and harmless sheep hath set: + So searched he high and low about that hold, + Where he might enter without stop or let, + In the great court he stayed, his foes above + Attend the assault, and would their fortune prove. + + XXXVI + There lay by chance a posted tree thereby, + Kept for some needful use, whate'er it were, + The armed galleys not so thick nor high + Their tall and lofty masts at Genes uprear; + This beam the knight against the gates made fly + From his strong hands all weights which lift and bear, + Like a light lance that tree he shook and tossed, + And bruised the gate, the threshold and the post. + + XXXVII + No marble stone, no metal strong outbore + The wondrous might of that redoubled blow, + The brazen hinges from the wall it tore, + It broke the locks, and laid the doors down low, + No iron ram, no engine could do more, + Nor cannons great that thunderbolts forth throw, + His people like a flowing stream inthrong, + And after them entered the victor strong; + + XXXVIII + The woful slaughter black and loathsome made + That house, sometime the sacred house of God, + O heavenly justice, if thou be delayed, + On wretched sinners sharper falls thy rod! + In them this place profaned which invade + Thou kindled ire, and mercy all forbode, + Until with their hearts' blood the Pagans vile + This temple washed which they did late defile. + + XXXIX + But Solyman this while himself fast sped + Up to the fort which David's tower is named, + And with him all the soldiers left he led, + And gainst each entrance new defences framed: + The tyrant Aladine eke thither fled, + To whom the Soldan thus, far off, exclaimed, + Thyself, within this fortress safe uplock: + + XL + "For well this fortress shall thee and thy crown + Defend, awhile here may we safe remain." + "Alas!" quoth he, "alas, for this fair town, + Which cruel war beats down even with the plain, + My life is done, mine empire trodden down, + I reigned, I lived, but now nor live nor reign; + For now, alas! behold the fatal hour + That ends our life, and ends our kingly power." + + XLI + "Where is your virtue, where your wisdom grave, + And courage stout?" the angry Soldan said, + "Let chance our kingdoms take which erst she gave, + Yet in our hearts our kingly worth is laid; + But come, and in this fort your person save, + Refresh your weary limbs and strength decayed:" + Thus counselled he, and did to safety bring + Within that fort the weak and aged king. + + XLII + His iron mace in both his hands he hent, + And on his thigh his trusty sword he tied, + And to the entrance fierce and fearless went, + And kept the strait, and all the French defied: + The blows were mortal which he gave or lent, + For whom he hit he slew, else by his side + Laid low on earth, that all fled from the place + Where they beheld that great and dreadful mace. + + XLIII + But old Raymondo with his hardy crew + By chance came thither, to his great mishap; + To that defended path the old man flew, + And scorned his blows and him that kept the gap, + He struck his foe, his blow no blood forth drew, + But on the front with that he caught a rap, + Which in a swoon, low in the dust him laid, + Wide open, trembling, with his arms displayed. + + XLIV + The Pagans gathered heart at last, though fear + Their courage weak had put to flight but late, + So that the conquerors repulsed were, + And beaten back, else slain before the Gate: + The Soldan, mongst the dead beside him near + That saw Lord Raymond lie in such estate, + Cried to his men, "Within these bars," quoth he, + "Come draw this knight, and let him captive be." + + XLV + Forward they rushed to execute his word, + But hard and dangerous that emprise they found, + For none of Raymond's men forsook their lord, + But to their guide's defence they flocked round, + Thence fury fights, hence pity draws the sword, + Nor strive they for vile cause or on light ground, + The life and freedom of that champion brave, + Those spoil, these would preserve, those kill, these save. + + XLVI + But yet at last if they had longer fought + The hardy Soldan would have won the field; + For gainst his thundering mace availed naught + Or helm of temper fine or sevenfold shield: + But from each side great succor now was brought + To his weak foes, now fit to faint and yield, + And both at once to aid and help the same + The sovereign Duke and young Rinaldo came. + + XLVII + As when a shepherd, raging round about + That sees a storm with wind, hail, thunder, rain, + When gloomy clouds have day's bright eye put out, + His tender flocks drives from the open plain + To some thick grove or mountain's shady foot, + Where Heaven's fierce wrath they may unhurt sustain, + And with his hook, his whistle and his cries + Drives forth his fleecy charge, and with them flies: + + XLVIII + So fled the Soldan, when he gan descry + This tempest come from angry war forthcast, + The armor clashed and lightened gainst the sky, + And from each side swords, weapons, fire outbrast: + He sent his folk up to the fortress high, + To shun the furious storm, himself stayed last, + Yet to the danger he gave place at length, + For wit, his courage; wisdom ruled his strength. + + XLIX + But scant the knight was safe the gate within, + Scant closed were the doors, when having broke + The bars, Rinaldo doth assault begin + Against the port, and on the wicket stroke + His matchless might, his great desire to win, + His oath and promise, doth his wrath provoke, + For he had sworn, nor should his word be vain, + To kill the man that had Prince Sweno slain. + + L + And now his armed hand that castle great + Would have assaulted, and had shortly won, + Nor safe pardie the Soldan there a seat + Had found his fatal foes' sharp wrath to shun, + Had not Godfredo sounded the retreat; + For now dark shades to shroud the earth begun, + Within the town the duke would lodge that night, + And with the morn renew the assault and fight. + + LI + With cheerful look thus to his folk he said, + "High God hath holpen well his children dear, + This work is done, the rest this night delayed + Doth little labor bring, less doubt, no fear, + This tower, our foe's weak hope and latest aid, + We conquer will, when sun shall next appear: + Meanwhile with love and tender ruth go see + And comfort those which hurt and wounded be; + + LII + "Go cure their wounds which boldly ventured + Their lives, and spilt their bloods to get this hold, + That fitteth more this host for Christ forth led, + Than thirst of vengeance, or desire of gold; + Too much, ah, too much blood this day is shed! + In some we too much haste to spoil behold, + But I command no more you spoil and kill, + And let a trumpet publish forth my will." + + LIII + This said, he went where Raymond panting lay, + Waked from the swoon wherein he late had been. + Nor Solyman with countenance less gay + Bespake his troops, and kept his grief unseen; + "My friends, you are unconquered this day, + In spite of fortune still our hope is green, + For underneath great shows of harm and fear, + Our dangers small, our losses little were: + + LIV + "Burnt are your houses, and your people slain, + Yet safe your town is, though your walls be gone, + For in yourselves and in your sovereign + Consists your city, not in lime and stone; + Your king is safe, and safe is all his train + In this strong fort defended from their fone, + And on this empty conquest let them boast, + Till with this town again, their lives be lost; + + LV + "And on their heads the loss at last will light, + For with good fortune proud and insolent, + In spoil and murder spend they day and night, + In riot, drinking, lust and ravishment, + And may amid their preys with little fight + At ease be overthrown, killed, slain and spent, + If in this carelessness the Egyptian host + Upon them fall, which now draws near this coast. + + LVI + "Meanwhile the highest buildings of this town + We may shake down with stones about their ears, + And with our darts and spears from engines thrown, + Command that hill Christ's sepulchre that bears:" + Thus comforts he their hopes and hearts cast down, + Awakes their valors, and exiles their fears. + But while the things hapt thus, Vafrino goes + Unknown, amid ten thousand armed foes. + + LVII + The sun nigh set had brought to end the day, + When Vafrine went the Pagan host to spy, + He passed unknown a close and secret way; + A traveller, false, cunning, crafty, sly, + Past Ascalon he saw the morning gray + Step o'er the threshold of the eastern sky, + And ere bright Titan half his course had run, + That camp, that mighty host to show begun. + + LVIII + Tents infinite, and standards broad he spies, + This red, that white, that blue, this purple was, + And hears strange tongues, and stranger harmonies + Of trumpets, clarions, and well-sounding brass: + The elephant there brays, the camel cries. + The horses neigh as to and fro they pass: + Which seen and heard, he said within his thought, + Hither all Asia is, all Afric, brought. + + LIX + He viewed the camp awhile, her site and seat, + What ditch, what trench it had, what rampire strong, + Nor close, nor secret ways to work his feat + He longer sought, nor hid him from the throng; + But entered through the gates, broad, royal, great, + And oft he asked, and answered oft among, + In questions wise, in answers short and sly; + Bold was his look, eyes quick, front lifted high: + + LX + On every side he pried here and there, + And marked each way, each passage and each tent: + The knights he notes, their steeds, and arms they bear, + Their names, their armor, and their government; + And greater secrets hopes to learn, and hear, + Their hidden purpose, and their close intent: + So long he walked and wandered, till he spied + The way to approach the great pavilions' side: + + LXI + There as he looked he saw the canvas rent, + Through which the voice found eath and open way + From the close lodgings of the regal tent + And inmost closet where the captain lay; + So that if Emireno spake, forth went + The sound to them that listen what they say, + There Vafrine watched, and those that saw him thought + To mend the breach that there he stood and wrought. + + LXII + The captain great within bare-headed stood, + His body armed and clad in purple weed, + Two pages bore his shield and helmet good, + He leaning on a bending lance gave heed + To a big man whose looks were fierce and proud, + With whom he parleyed of some haughty deed, + Godfredo's name as Vafrine watched he heard, + Which made him give more heed, take more regard: + + LXIII + Thus spake the chieftain to that surly sir, + "Art thou so sure that Godfrey shall be slain?" + "I am," quoth he, "and swear ne'er to retire, + Except he first be killed, to court again. + I will prevent those that with me conspire: + Nor other guerdon ask I for my pain + But that I may hang up his harness brave + At Gair, and under them these words engrave: + + LXIV + "'These arms Ormondo took in noble fight + From Godfrey proud, that spoiled all Asia's lands, + And with them took his life, and here on high, + In memory thereof, this trophy stands.'" + The duke replied, "Ne'er shall that deed, bold knight, + Pass unrewarded at our sovereign's hands, + What thou demandest shall he gladly grant, + Nor gold nor guerdon shalt thou wish or want. + + LXV + "Those counterfeited armors then prepare, + Because the day of fight approacheth fast." + "They ready are," quoth he; then both forbare + From further talk, these speeches were the last. + Vafrine, these great things heard, with grief and care + Remained astound, and in his thoughts oft cast + What treason false this was, how feigned were + Those arms, but yet that doubt he could not clear. + + LXVI + From thence he parted, and broad waking lay + All that long night, nor slumbered once nor slept: + But when the camp by peep of springing day + Their banner spread, and knights on horseback leapt, + With them he marched forth in meet array, + And where they pitched lodged, and with them kept, + And then from tent to tent he stalked about, + To hear and see, and learn this secret out; + + LXVII + Searching about, on a rich throne he fand + Armida set with dames and knights around, + Sullen she sat, and sighed, it seemed she scanned + Some weighty matters in her thoughts profounds, + Her rosy cheek leaned on her lily hand, + Her eyes, love's twinkling stars, she bent to ground, + Weep she, or no, he knows not, yet appears + Her humid eyes even great with child with tears. + + LXVIII + He saw before her set Adrastus grim, + That seemed scant to live, move, or respire, + So was he fixed on his mistress trim, + So gazed he, and fed his fond desire; + But Tisiphern beheld now her now him, + And quaked sometime for love, sometime for ire, + And in his cheeks the color went and came, + For there wrath's fire now burnt, now shone love's flame. + + LXIX + Then from the garland fair of virgins bright, + Mongst whom he lay enclosed, rose Altamore, + His hot desire he hid and kept from sight, + His looks were ruled by Cupid's crafty lore, + His left eye viewed her hand, her face, his right + Both watched her beauties hid and secret store, + And entrance found where her thin veil bewrayed + The milken-way between her breasts that laid. + + LXX + Her eyes Armida lift from earth at last, + And cleared again her front and visage sad, + Midst clouds of woe her looks which overcast + She lightened forth a smile, sweet, pleasant, glad; + "My lord," quoth she, "your oath and promise passed, + Hath freed my heart of all the griefs it had, + That now in hope of sweet revenge it lives, + Such joy, such ease, desired vengeance gives." + + LXXI + "Cheer up thy looks," answered the Indian king, + "And for sweet beauty's sake, appease thy woe, + Cast at your feet ere you expect the thing, + I will present the head of thy strong foe; + Else shall this hand his person captive bring + And cast in prison deep;" he boasted so. + His rival heard him well, yet answered naught, + But bit his lips, and grieved in secret thought. + + LXXII + To Tisipherne the damsel turning right, + "And what say you, my noble lord?" quoth she. + He taunting said, "I that am slow to fight + Will follow far behind, the worth to see + Of this your terrible and puissant knight," + In scornful words this bitter scoff gave he. + "Good reason," quoth the king, "thou come behind, + Nor e'er compare thee with the Prince of Ind." + + LXXIII + Lord Tisiphernes shook his head, and said, + "Oh, had my power free like my courage been, + Or had I liberty to use this blade, + Who slow, who weakest is, soon should be seen, + Nor thou, nor thy great vaunts make me afraid, + But cruel love I fear, and this fair queen." + This said, to challenge him the king forth leapt, + But up their mistress start, and twixt them stepped: + + LXXIV + "Will you thus rob me of that gift," quoth she, + "Which each hath vowed to give by word and oath? + You are my champions, let that title be + The bond of love and peace between you both; + He that displeased is, is displeased with me, + For which of you is grieved, and I not wroth?" + Thus warned she them, their hearts, for ire nigh broke, + In forced peace and rest thus bore love's yoke. + + LXXV + All this heard Vafrine as he stood beside, + And having learned the truth, he left the tent, + That treason was against the Christian's guide + Contrived, he wist, yet wist not how it went, + By words and questions far off, he tried + To find the truth; more difficult, more bent + Was he to know it, and resolved to die, + Or of that secret close the intent to spy. + + LXXVI + Of sly intelligence he proved all ways, + All crafts, all wiles, that in his thoughts abide, + Yet all in vain the man by wit assays, + To know that false compact and practice hid: + But chance, what wisdom could not tell, bewrays, + Fortune of all his doubt the knots undid, + So that prepared for Godfrey's last mishap + At ease he found the net, and spied the trap. + + LXXVII + Thither he turned again where seated was, + The angry lover, 'twixt her friends and lords, + For in that troop much talk he thought would pass, + Each great assembly store of news affords, + He sided there a lusty lovely lass, + And with some courtly terms the wench he boards, + He feigns acquaintance, and as bold appears + As he had known that virgin twenty years. + + LXXVIII + He said, "Would some sweet lady grace me so, + To chose me for her champion, friend and knight, + Proud Godfrey's or Rinaldo's head, I trow, + Should feel the sharpness of my curtlax bright; + Ask me the head, fair mistress, of some foe, + For to your beauty wooed is my might;" + So he began, and meant in speeches wise + Further to wade, but thus he broke the ice. + + LXXIX + Therewith he smiled, and smiling gan to frame + His looks so to their old and native grace, + That towards him another virgin came, + Heard him, beheld him, and with bashful face + Said, "For thy mistress choose no other dame + But me, on me thy love and service place, + I take thee for my champion, and apart + Would reason with thee, if my knight thou art." + + LXXX + Withdrawn, she thus began, "Vafrine, pardie, + I know thee well, and me thou knowest of old," + To his last trump this drove the subtle spy, + But smiling towards her he turned him bold, + "Ne'er that I wot I saw thee erst with eye, + Yet for thy worth all eyes should thee behold, + Thus much I know right well, for from the same + Which erst you gave me different is my name. + + LXXXI + "My mother bore me near Bisertus wall, + Her name was Lesbine, mine is Almansore!" + "I knew long since," quoth she, "what men thee call, + And thine estate, dissemble it no more, + From me thy friend hide not thyself at all, + If I betray thee let me die therefore, + I am Erminia, daughter to a prince, + But Tancred's slave, thy fellow-servant since; + + LXXXII + "Two happy months within that prison kind, + Under thy guard rejoiced I to dwell, + And thee a keeper meek and good did find, + The same, the same I am; behold me well." + The squire her lovely beauty called to mind, + And marked her visage fair: "From thee expel + All fear," she says, "for me live safe and sure, + I will thy safety, not thy harm procure. + + LXXXIII + "But yet I pray thee, when thou dost return, + To my dear prison lead me home again; + For in this hateful freedom even and morn + I sigh for sorrow, mourn and weep for pain: + But if to spy perchance thou here sojourn, + Great hap thou hast to know these secrets plain, + For I their treasons false, false trains can say, + Which few beside can tell, none will betray." + + LXXXIV + On her he gazed, and silent stood this while, + Armida's sleights he knew, and trains unjust, + Women have tongues of craft, and hearts of guile, + They will, they will not, fools that on them trust, + For in their speech is death, hell in their smile; + At last he said, "If hence depart you lust, + I will you guide; on this conclude we here, + And further speech till fitter time forbear." + + LXXXV + Forthwith, ere thence the camp remove, to ride + They were resolved, their flight that season fits, + Vafrine departs, she to the dames beside + Returns, and there on thorns awhile she sits, + Of her new knight she talks, till time and tide + To scape unmarked she find, then forth she gets, + Thither where Vafrine her unseen abode, + There took she horse, and from the camp they rode. + + LXXXVI + And now in deserts waste and wild arrived, + Far from the camp, far from resort and sight, + Vafrine began, "Gainst Godfrey's life contrived + The false compacts and trains unfold aright:" + Then she those treasons, from their spring derived, + Repeats, and brings their hid deceits to light, + "Eight knights," she says, "all courtiers brave, there are, + But Ormond strong the rest surpasseth far: + + LXXXVII + "These, whether hate or hope of gain them move, + Conspired have, and framed their treason so, + That day when Emiren by fight shall prove + To win lost Asia from his Christian foe, + These, with the cross scored on their arms above, + And armed like Frenchmen will disguised go, + Like Godfrey's guard that gold and white do wear, + Such shall their habit be, and such their gear: + + LXXXVIII + "Yet each will bear a token in his crest, + That so their friends for Pagans may them know: + But in close fight when all the soldiers best + Shall mingled be, to give the fatal blow + They will keep near, and pierce Godfredo's breast, + While of his faithful guard they bear false show, + And all their swords are dipped in poison strong, + Because each wound shall bring sad death ere long. + + LXXXIX + "And for their chieftain wist I knew your guise, + What garments, ensigns, and what arms you carry, + Those feigned arms he forced me to devise, + So that from yours but small or naught they vary; + But these unjust commands my thoughts despise, + Within their camp therefore I list not tarry, + My heart abhors I should this hand defile + With spot of treason, or with act of guile. + + XC + "This is the cause, but not the cause alone:" + And there she ceased, and blushed, and on the main + Cast down her eyes, these last words scant outgone, + She would have stopped, nor durst pronounce them plain. + The squire what she concealed would know, as one + That from her breast her secret thoughts could strain, + "Of little faith," quoth he, "why would'st thou hide + Those causes true, from me thy squire and guide?" + + XCI + With that she fetched a sigh, sad, sore and deep, + And from her lips her words slow trembling came, + "Fruitless," she said, "untimely, hard to keep, + Vain modesty farewell, and farewell shame, + Why hope you restless love to bring on sleep? + Why strive you fires to quench, sweet Cupid's flame? + No, no, such cares, and such respects beseem + Great ladies, wandering maids them naught esteem. + + XCII + "That night fatal to me and Antioch town, + Then made a prey to her commanding foe, + My loss was greater than was seen or known, + There ended not, but thence began my woe: + Light was the loss of friends, of realm or crown; + But with my state I lost myself also, + Ne'er to be found again, for then I lost + My wit, my sense, my heart, my soul almost. + + XCIII + "Through fire and sword, through blood and death, Vafrine, + Which all my friends did burn, did kill, did chase, + Thou know'st I ran to thy dear lord and mine, + When first he entered had my father's place, + And kneeling with salt ears in my swollen eyne; + 'Great prince,' quoth I, 'grant mercy, pity, grace, + Save not my kingdom, not my life I said, + But save mine honor, let me die a maid.' + + XCIV + "He lift me by the trembling hand from ground, + Nor stayed he till my humble speech was done; + But said, 'A friend and keeper hast thou found, + Fair virgin, nor to me in vain you run:' + A sweetness strange from that sweet voice's sound + Pierced my heart, my breast's weak fortress won, + Which creeping through my bosom soft became + A wound, a sickness, and a quenchless flame. + + XCV + "He visits me, with speeches kind and grave + He sought to ease my grief, and sorrows' smart. + He said, 'I give thee liberty, receive + All that is thine, and at thy will depart:' + Alas, he robbed me when he thought he gave, + Free was Erminia, but captived her heart, + Mine was the body, his the soul and mind, + He gave the cage but kept the bird behind. + + XCVI + "But who can hide desire, or love suppress? + Oft of his worth with thee in talk I strove, + Thou, by my trembling fit that well could'st guess + What fever held me, saidst, 'Thou art in love;' + But I denied, for what can maids do less? + And yet my sighs thy sayings true did prove, + Instead of speech, my looks, my tears, mine eyes, + Told in what flame, what fire thy mistress fries. + + XCVII + "Unhappy silence, well I might have told + My woes, and for my harms have sought relief, + Since now my pains and plaints I utter bold, + Where none that hears can help or ease my grief. + From him I parted, and did close upfold + My wounds within my bosom, death was chief + Of all my hopes and helps, till love's sweet flame + Plucked off the bridle of respect and shame, + + XCVIII + "And caused me ride to seek my lord and knight, + For he that made me sick could make me sound: + But on an ambush I mischanced to light + Of cruel men, in armour clothed round, + Hardly I scaped their hand by mature flight. + And fled to wilderness and desert ground, + And there I lived in groves and forests wild, + With gentle grooms and shepherds' daughters mild. + + XCIX + "But when hot love which fear had late suppressed, + Revived again, there nould I longer sit, + But rode the way I came, nor e'er took rest, + Till on like danger, like mishap I hit, + A troop to forage and to spoil addressed, + Encountered me, nor could I fly from it: + Thus was I ta'en, and those that had me caught, + Egyptians were, and me to Gaza brought, + + C + "And for a present to their captain gave, + Whom I entreated and besought so well, + That he mine honor had great care to save, + And since with fair Armida let me dwell. + Thus taken oft, escaped oft I have, + Ah, see what haps I passed, what dangers fell, + So often captive, free so oft again, + Still my first bands I keep, still my first chain. + + CI + "And he that did this chain so surely bind + About my heart, which none can loose but he, + Let him not say, 'Go, wandering damsel, find + Some other home, thou shalt not bide with me,' + But let him welcome me with speeches kind, + And in my wonted prison set me free:" + Thus spake the princess, thus she and her guide + Talked day and night, and on their journey ride. + + CII + Through the highways Vafrino would not pass, + A path more secret, safe and short, he knew, + And now close by the city's wall he was, + When sun was set, night in the east upflew, + With drops of blood besmeared he found the grass, + And saw where lay a warrior murdered new, + That all be-bled the ground, his face to skies + He turns, and seems to threat, though dead he lies: + + CIII + His harness and his habit both betrayed + He was a Pagan; forward went the squire, + And saw whereas another champion laid + Dead on the land, all soiled with blood and mire, + "This was some Christian knight," Vafrino said: + And marking well his arms and rich attire, + He loosed his helm, and saw his visage plain, + And cried, "Alas, here lies Tancredi slain!" + + CIV + The woful virgin tarried, and gave heed + To the fierce looks of that proud Saracine, + Till that high cry, full of sad fear and dread, + Pierced through her heart with sorrow, grief and pine, + At Tancred's name thither she ran with speed, + Like one half mad, or drunk with too much wine, + And when she saw his face, pale, bloodless, dead, + She lighted, nay, she stumbled from her steed: + + CV + Her springs of tears she looseth forth, and cries, + "Hither why bring'st thou me, ah, Fortune blind? + Where dead, for whom I lived, my comfort lies, + Where war for peace, travail for rest I find; + Tancred, I have thee, see thee, yet thine eyes + Looked not upon thy love and handmaid kind, + Undo their doors, their lids fast closed sever, + Alas, I find thee for to lose thee ever. + + CVI + "I never thought that to mine eyes, my dear, + Thou couldst have grievous or unpleasant been; + But now would blind or rather dead I were, + That thy sad plight might be unknown, unseen! + Alas! where is thy mirth and smiling cheer? + Where are thine eyes' clear beams and sparkles sheen? + Of thy fair cheek where is the purple red, + And forehead's whiteness? are all gone, all dead? + + CVII + "Though gone, though dead, I love thee still, behold; + Death wounds, but kills not love; yet if thou live, + Sweet soul, still in his breast, my follies bold + Ah, pardon love's desires, and stealths forgive; + Grant me from his pale mouth some kisses cold, + Since death doth love of just reward deprive; + And of thy spoils sad death afford me this, + Let me his mouth, pale, cold and bloodless, kiss; + + CVIII + "O gentle mouth! with speeches kind and sweet + Thou didst relieve my grief, my woe and pain, + Ere my weak soul from this frail body fleet, + Ah, comfort me with one dear kiss or twain! + Perchance if we alive had happed to meet, + They had been given which now are stolen, O vain, + O feeble life, betwixt his lips out fly, + Oh, let me kiss thee first, then let me die! + + CIX + "Receive my yielding spirit, and with thine + Guide it to heaven, where all true love hath place:" + This said, she sighed, and tore her tresses fine, + And from her eyes two streams poured on his face, + The man revived, with those showers divine + Awaked, and opened his lips a space; + His lips were open; but fast shut his eyes, + And with her sighs, one sigh from him upflies. + + CX + The dame perceived that Tancred breathed and sighed, + Which calmed her grief somedeal and eased her fears: + "Unclose thine eyes," she says, "my lord and knight, + See my last services, my plaints and tears, + See her that dies to see thy woful plight, + That of thy pain her part and portion bears; + Once look on me, small is the gift I crave, + The last which thou canst give, or I can have." + + CXI + Tancred looked up, and closed his eyes again, + Heavy and dim, and she renewed her woe. + Quoth Vafrine, "Cure him first, and then complain, + Medicine is life's chief friend; plaint her most foe:" + They plucked his armor off, and she each vein, + Each joint, and sinew felt, and handled so, + And searched so well each thrust, each cut and wound, + That hope of life her love and skill soon found. + + CXII + From weariness and loss of blood she spied + His greatest pains and anguish most proceed, + Naught but her veil amid those deserts wide + She had to bind his wounds, in so great need, + But love could other bands, though strange, provide, + And pity wept for joy to see that deed, + For with her amber locks cut off, each wound + She tied: O happy man, so cured so bound! + + CXIII + For why her veil was short and thin, those deep + And cruel hurts to fasten, roll and blind, + Nor salve nor simple had she, yet to keep + Her knight on live, strong charms of wondrous kind + She said, and from him drove that deadly sleep, + That now his eyes he lifted, turned and twined, + And saw his squire, and saw that courteous dame + In habit strange, and wondered whence she came. + + CXIV + He said, "O Vafrine, tell me, whence com'st thou? + And who this gentle surgeon is, disclose;" + She smiled, she sighed, she looked she wist not how, + She wept, rejoiced, she blushed as red as rose. + "You shall know all," she says, "your surgeon now + Commands you silence, rest and soft repose, + You shall be sound, prepare my guerdon meet," + His head then laid she in her bosom sweet. + + CXV + Vafrine devised this while how he might bear + His master home, ere night obscured the land, + When lo, a troop of soldiers did appear, + Whom he descried to be Tancredi's band, + With him when he and Argant met they were; + But when they went to combat hand for hand, + He bade them stay behind, and they obeyed, + But came to seek him now, so long he stayed. + + CXVI + Besides them, many followed that enquest, + But these alone found out the rightest way, + Upon their friendly arms the men addressed + A seat whereon he sat, he leaned, he lay: + Quoth Tancred, "Shall the strong Circassian rest + In this broad field, for wolves and crows a prey? + Ah no, defraud not you that champion brave + Of his just praise, of his due tomb and grave: + + CXVII + "With his dead bones no longer war have I, + Boldly he died and nobly was he slain, + Then let us not that honor him deny + Which after death alonely doth remain:" + The Pagan dead they lifted up on high, + And after Tancred bore him through the plain. + Close by the virgin chaste did Vafrine ride, + As he that was her squire, her guard, her guide. + + CXVIII + "Not home," quoth Tancred, "to my wonted tent, + But bear me to this royal town, I pray, + That if cut short by human accident + I die, there I may see my latest day, + The place where Christ upon his cross was rent + To heaven perchance may easier make the way, + And ere I yield to Death's and Fortune's rage, + Performed shall be my vow and pilgrimage." + + CXIX + Thus to the city was Tancredi borne, + And fell on sleep, laid on a bed of down. + Vafrino where the damsel might sojourn + A chamber got, close, secret, near his own; + That done he came the mighty duke beforn, + And entrance found, for till his news were known, + Naught was concluded mongst those knights and lords, + Their counsel hung on his report and words. + + CXX + Where weak and weary wounded Raymond laid, + Godfrey was set upon his couch's side, + And round about the man a ring was made + Of lords and knights that filled the chamber wide; + There while the squire his late discovery said, + To break his talk, none answered, none replied, + "My lord," he said, "at your command I went + And viewed their camp, each cabin, booth and tent; + + CXXI + "But of that mighty host the number true + Expect not that I can or should descry, + All covered with their armies might you view + The fields, the plains, the dales and mountains high, + I saw what way soe'er they went and drew, + They spoiled the land, drunk floods and fountains dry, + For not whole Jordan could have given them drink, + Nor all the grain in Syria, bread, I think. + + CXXII + "But yet amongst them many bands are found + Both horse and foot, of little force and might, + That keep no order, know no trumpet's sound, + That draw no sword, but far off shoot and fight, + But yet the Persian army doth abound + With many a footman strong and hardy knight, + So doth the King's own troop which all is framed + Of soldiers old, the Immortal Squadron named. + + CXXIII + "Immortal called is that band of right, + For of that number never wanteth one, + But in his empty place some other knight + Steps in, when any man is dead or gone: + This army's leader Emireno hight, + Like whom in wit and strength are few or none, + Who hath in charge in plain and pitched field, + To fight with you, to make you fly or yield. + + CXXIV + "And well I know their army and their host + Within a day or two will here arrive: + But thee Rinaldo it behoveth most + To keep thy noble head, for which they strive, + For all the chief in arms or courage boast + They will the same to Queen Armida give, + And for the same she gives herself in price, + Such hire will many hands to work entice. + + CXXV + "The chief of these that have thy murder sworn, + Is Altamore, the king of Samarcand! + Adrastus then, whose realm lies near the morn, + A hardy giant, bold, and strong of hand, + This king upon an elephant is borne, + For under him no horse can stir or stand; + The third is Tisipherne, as brave a lord + As ever put on helm or girt on sword." + + CXXVI + This said, from young Rinaldo's angry eyes, + Flew sparks of wrath, flames in his visage shined, + He longed to be amid those enemies, + Nor rest nor reason in his heart could find. + But to the Duke Vafrine his talk applies, + "The greatest news, my lord, are yet behind, + For all their thoughts, their crafts and counsels tend + By treason false to bring thy life to end." + + CXXVII + Then all from point to point he gan expose + The false compact, how it was made and wrought, + The arms and ensigns feigned, poison close, + Ormondo's vaunt, what praise, what thank he sought, + And what reward, and satisfied all those + That would demand, inquire, or ask of aught. + Silence was made awhile, when Godfrey thus,-- + "Raymondo, say, what counsel givest thou us?" + + CXXVIII + "Not as we purposed late, next morn," quoth he, + "Let us not scale, but round besiege this tower, + That those within may have no issue free + To sally out, and hurt us with their power, + Our camp well rested and refreshed see, + Provided well gainst this last storm and shower, + And then in pitched field, fight, if you will; + If not, delay and keep this fortress still. + + CXXIX + "But lest you be endangered, hurt, or slain, + Of all your cares take care yourself to save, + By you this camp doth live, doth win, doth reign, + Who else can rule or guide these squadrons brave? + And for the traitors shall be noted plain, + Command your guard to change the arms they have, + So shall their guile be known, in their own net + So shall they fall, caught in the snare they set." + + CXXX + "As it hath ever," thus the Duke begun, + "Thy counsel shows thy wisdom and thy love, + And what you left in doubt shall thus be done, + We will their force in pitched battle prove; + Closed in this wall and trench, the fight to shun, + Doth ill this camp beseem, and worse behove, + But we their strength and manhood will assay, + And try, in open field and open day. + + CXXXI + "The fame of our great conquests to sustain, + Or bide our looks and threats, they are not able, + And when this army is subdued and slain + Then is our empire settled, firm and stable, + The tower shall yield, or but resist in vain, + For fear her anchor is, despair her cable." + Thus he concludes, and rolling down the west + Fast set the stars, and called them all to rest. + + + + TWENTIETH BOOK + + THE ARGUMENT. + The Pagan host arrives, and cruel fight + Makes with the Christians and their faithful power; + The Soldan longs in field to prove his might, + With the old king quits the besieged tower; + Yet both are slain, and in eternal night + A famous hand gives each his fatal hour; + Rinald appeased Armida; first the field + The Christians win, then praise to God they yield. + + + I + The sun called up the world from idle sleep, + And of the day ten hours were gone and past + When the bold troop that had the tower to keep + Espied a sudden mist, that overcast + The earth with mirksome clouds and darkness deep, + And saw it was the Egyptian camp at last + Which raised the dust, for hills and valleys broad + That host did overspread and overload. + + II + Therewith a merry shout and joyful cry + The Pagans reared from their besieged hold; + The cranes from Thrace with such a rumor fly, + His hoary frost and snow when Hyems old + Pours down, and fast to warmer regions hie, + From the sharp winds, fierce storms and tempests cold; + And quick, and ready this new hope and aid, + Their hands to shoot, their tongues to threaten made. + + III + From whence their ire, their wrath and hardy threat + Proceeds, the French well knew, and plain espied, + For from the walls and ports the army great + They saw; her strength, her number, pomp, and pride, + Swelled their breasts with valor's noble heat; + Battle and fight they wished, "Arm, arm!" they cried; + The youth to give the sign of fight all prayed + Their Duke, and were displeased because delayed + + IV + Till morning next, for he refused to fight; + Their haste and heat he bridled, but not brake, + Nor yet with sudden fray or skirmish light + Of these new foes would he vain trial make. + "After so many wars," he says, "good right + It is, that one day's rest at least you take," + For thus in his vain foes he cherish would + The hope which in their strength they have and hold. + + V + To see Aurora's gentle beam appear, + The soldiers armed, prest and ready lay, + The skies were never half so fair and clear + As in the breaking of that blessed day, + The merry morning smiled, and seemed to wear + Upon her silver crown sun's golden ray, + And without cloud heaven his redoubled light + Bent down to see this field, this fray, this fight. + + VI + When first he saw the daybreak show and shine, + Godfrey his host in good array brought out, + And to besiege the tyrant Aladine + Raymond he left, and all the faithful rout + That from the towns was come of Palestine + To serve and succor their deliverer stout, + And with them left a hardy troop beside + Of Gascoigns strong, in arms well proved, oft tried. + + VII + Such was Godfredo's countenance, such his cheer, + That from his eye sure conquest flames and streams, + Heaven's gracious favors in his looks appear, + And great and goodly more than erst he seems; + His face and forehead full of noblesse were, + And on his cheek smiled youth's purple beams, + And in his gait, his grace, his acts, his eyes, + Somewhat, far more than mortal, lives and lies. + + VIII + He had not marched far ere he espied + Of his proud foes the mighty host draw nigh; + A hill at first he took and fortified + At his left hand which stood his army by, + Broad in the front behind more strait uptied + His army ready stood the fight to try, + And to the middle ward well armed he brings + His footmen strong, his horsemen served for wings. + + IX + To the left wing, spread underneath the bent + Of the steep hill that saved their flank and side, + The Roberts twain, two leaders good, he sent; + His brother had the middle ward to guide; + To the right wing himself in person went + Down, where the plain was dangerous, broad and wide, + And where his foes with their great numbers would + Perchance environ round his squadrons bold. + X + There all his Lorrainers and men of might, + All his best armed he placed, and chosen bands, + And with those horse some footmen armed light, + That archers were, used to that service, stands; + The adventurers then, in battle and in fight + Well tried, a squadron famous through all lands, + On the right hand he set, somedeal aside, + Rinaldo was their leader, lord and guide. + + XI + To whom the Duke, "In thee our hope is laid + Of victory, thou must the conquest gain, + Behind this mighty wing, so far displayed, + Thou with thy noble squadron close remain; + And when the Pagans would our backs invade, + Assail them then, and make their onset vain; + For if I guess aright, they have in mind + To compass us, and charge our troops behind." + + XII + Then through his host, that took so large a scope, + He rode, and viewed them all, both horse and foot; + His face was bare, his helm unclosed and ope, + Lightened his eyes, his looks bright fire shot out; + He cheers the fearful, comforts them that hope, + And to the bold recounts his boasting stout, + And to the valiant his adventures hard, + These bids he look for praise, those for reward. + + XIII + At last he stayed where of his squadrons bold + And noblest troops assembled was best part; + There from a rising bank his will he told, + And all that heard his speech thereat took heart: + And as the mountain snow from mountains cold + Runs down in streams with eloquence and art, + So from his lips his words and speeches fell, + Shrill, speedy, pleasant, sweet, and placed well. + + XIV + "My hardy host, you conquerors of the East, + You scourge wherewith Christ whips his heathen fone, + Of victory behold the latest feast, + See the last day for which you wished alone; + Not without cause the Saracens most and least + Our gracious Lord hath gathered here in one, + For all your foes and his assembled are, + That one day's fight may end seven years of war. + + XV + "This fight shall bring us many victories, + The danger none, the labor will be small, + Let not the number of your enemies + Dismay your hearts, grant fear no place at all; + For strife and discord through their army flies, + Their bands ill ranked themselves entangle shall, + And few of them to strike or fight shall come, + For some want strength, some heart, some elbow-room. + + XVI + "This host, with whom you must encounter now, + Are men half naked, without strength or skill, + From idleness, or following the plough, + Late pressed forth to war against their will, + Their swords are blunt, shields thin, soon pierced through, + Their banners shake, their bearers shrink, for ill + Their leaders heard, obeyed, or followed be, + Their loss, their flight, their death I will foresee. + + XVII + "Their captain clad in purple, armed in gold, + That seems so fierce, so hardy, stout and strong, + The Moors or weak Arabians vanquish could, + Yet can he not resist your valors long. + What can he do, though wise, though sage, though bold, + In that confusion, trouble, thrust and throng? + Ill known he is, and worse he knows his host, + Strange lords ill feared are, ill obeyed of most. + + XVIII + "But I am captain of this chosen crew, + With whom I oft have conquered, triumphed oft, + Your lands and lineages long since I knew, + Each knight obeys my rule, mild, easy, soft, + I know each sword, each dart, each shaft I view, + Although the quarrel fly in skies aloft, + Whether the same of Ireland be, or France, + And from what bow it comes, what hand perchance. + + XIX + "I ask an easy and a usual thing, + As you have oft, this day, so win the field, + Let zeal and honor be your virtue's sting, + Your lives, my fame, Christ's faith defend and shield, + To earth these Pagans slain and wounded bring, + Tread on their necks, make them all die or yield,-- + What need I more exhort you? from your eyes + I see how victory, how conquest flies." + + XX + Upon the captain, when his speech was done, + It seemed a lamp and golden light down came, + As from night's azure mantle oft doth run + Or fall, a sliding star, or shining flame; + But from the bosom of the burning sun + Proceeded this, and garland-wise the same + Godfredo's noble head encompassed round, + And, as some thought, foreshowed he should be crowned. + + XXI + Perchance, if man's proud thought or saucy tongue + Have leave to judge or guess at heavenly things, + This was the angel which had kept him long, + That now came down, and hid him with his wings. + While thus the Duke bespeaks his armies strong, + And every troop and band in order brings. + Lord Emiren his host disposed well, + And with bold words whet on their courage fell; + + XXII + The man brought forth his army great with speed, + In order good, his foes at hand he spied, + Like the new moon his host two horns did spreed, + In midst the foot, the horse were on each side, + The right wing kept he for himself to lead, + Great Altamore received the left to guide, + The middle ward led Muleasses proud, + And in that battle fair Armida stood. + + XXIII + On the right quarter stood the Indian grim, + With Tisipherne and all the king's own band; + But when the left wing spread her squadrons trim + O'er the large plain, did Altamoro stand, + With African and Persian kings with him, + And two that came from Meroe's hot sand, + And all his crossbows and his slings he placed, + Where room best served to shoot, to throw, to cast. + + XXIV + Thus Emiren his host put in array, + And rode from band to band, from rank to rank, + His truchmen now, and now himself, doth say, + What spoil his folk shall gain, what praise, what thank. + To him that feared, "Look up, ours is the day," + He says, "Vile fear to bold hearts never sank, + How dareth one against an hundred fight? + Our cry, our shade, will put them all to flight." + + XXV + But to the bold, "Go, hardy knight," he says, + "His prey out of this lion's paws go tear:" + To some before his thoughts the shape he lays, + And makes therein the image true appear, + How his sad country him entreats and prays, + His house, his loving wife, and children dear: + "Suppose," quoth he, "thy country doth beseech + And pray thee thus, suppose this is her speech. + + XXVI + "Defend my laws, uphold my temples brave, + My blood from washing of my streets withhold, + From ravishing my virgins keep, and save + Thine ancestors' dead bones and ashes cold! + To thee thy fathers dear and parents grave + Show their uncovered heads, white, hoary, old, + To thee thy wife--her breasts with tears o'erspread-- + Thy sons, their cradles, shows, thy marriage bed." + + XXVII + To all the rest, "You for her honor's sake + Whom Asia makes her champions, by your might + Upon these thieves, weak, feeble, few, must take + A sharp revenge, yet just, deserved and right." + Thus many words in several tongues he spake, + And all his sundry nations to sharp fight + Encouraged, but now the dukes had done + Their speeches all, the hosts together run. + + XXVIII + It was a great, a strange and wondrous sight, + When front to front those noble armies met, + How every troop, how in each troop each knight + Stood prest to move, to fight, and praise to get, + Loose in the wind waved their ensigns light, + Trembled the plumes that on their crests were set; + Their arms, impresses, colors, gold and stone, + Against the sunbeams smiled, flamed, sparkled, shone. + + XXIX + Of dry topped oaks they seemed two forests thick, + So did each host with spears and pikes abound, + Bent were their bows, in rests their lances stick, + Their hands shook swords, their slings held cobbles round: + Each steed to run was ready, prest and quick, + At his commander's spur, his hand, his sound, + He chafes, he stamps, careers, and turns about, + He foams, snorts, neighs, and fire and smoke breathes out. + + XXX + Horror itself in that fair fight seemed fair, + And pleasure flew amid sad dread and fear; + The trumpets shrill, that thundered in the air, + Were music mild and sweet to every ear: + The faithful camp, though less, yet seemed more rare + In that strange noise, more warlike, shrill and clear, + In notes more sweet, the Pagan trumpets jar, + These sung, their armors shined, these glistered far. + + XXXI + The Christian trumpets give the deadly call, + The Pagans answer, and the fight accept; + The godly Frenchmen on their knees down fall + To pray, and kissed the earth, and then up leapt + To fight, the land between was vanished all, + In combat close each host to other stepped; + For now the wings had skirmish hot begun, + And with their battles forth the footmen run. + + XXXII + But who was first of all the Christian train, + That gave the onset first, first won renown? + Gildippes thou wert she, for by thee slain + The King of Orms, Hircano, tumbled down, + The man's breastbone thou clov'st and rent in twain, + So Heaven with honor would thee bless and crown, + Pierced through he fell, and falling hard withal + His foe praised for her strength and for his fall. + + XXXIII + Her lance thus broke, the hardy dame forth drew + With her strong hand a fine and trenchant blade, + And gainst the Persians fierce and bold she flew, + And in their troop wide streets and lanes she made, + Even in the girdling-stead divided new + In pieces twain, Zopire on earth she laid; + And then Alarco's head she swept off clean, + Which like a football tumbled on the green. + + XXXIV + A blow felled Artaxerxes, with a thrust + Was Argeus slain, the first lay in a trance, + Ismael's left hand cut off fell in the dust, + For on his wrist her sword fell down by chance: + The hand let go the bridle where it lust, + The blow upon the courser's ears did glance, + Who felt the reins at large, and with the stroke + Half mad, the ranks disordered, troubled, broke. + + XXXV + All these, and many mo, by time forgot, + She slew and wounded, when against her came + The angry Persians all, cast on a knot, + For on her person would they purchase fame: + But her dear spouse and husband wanted not + In so great need, to aid the noble dame; + Thus joined, the haps of war unhurt they prove, + Their strength was double, double was their love. + + XXXVI + The noble lovers use well might you see, + A wondrous guise, till then unseen, unheard, + To save themselves forgot both he and she, + Each other's life did keep, defend, and guard; + The strokes that gainst her lord discharged be, + The dame had care to bear, to break, to ward, + His shield kept off the blows bent on his dear, + Which, if need be, his naked head should bear. + + XXXVII + So each saved other, each for other's wrong + Would vengeance take, but not revenge their own: + The valiant Soldan Artabano strong + Of Boecan Isle, by her was overthrown, + And by his hand, the bodies dead among, + Alvante, that durst his mistress wound, fell down, + And she between the eyes hit Arimont, + Who hurt her lord, and cleft in twain his front. + + XXXVIII + But Altamore who had that wing to lead + Far greater slaughter on the Christians made; + For where he turned his sword, or twined his steed, + He slew, or man and beast on earth down laid, + Happy was he that was at first struck dead, + That fell not down on live, for whom his blade + Had speared, the same cast in the dusty street + His horse tore with his teeth, bruised with his feet. + + XXXIX + By this brave Persian's valor, killed and slain + Were strong Brunello and Ardonia great; + The first his head and helm had cleft in twain, + The last in stranger-wise he did intreat, + For through his heart he pierced, and his seat, + Where laughter hath his fountain and his seat, + So that, a dreadful thing, believed uneath, + He laughed for pain, and laughed himself to death. + + XL + Nor these alone with that accursed knife, + Of this sweet light and breath deprived lie; + But with that cruel weapon lost their life + Gentonio, Guascar, Rosimond, and Guy; + Who knows how many in that fatal strife + He slew? what knights his courser fierce made die? + The names and countries of the people slain + Who tells? their wounds and deaths who can explain? + + XLI + With this fierce king encounter durst not one. + Not one durst combat him in equal field, + Gildippes undertook that task alone; + No doubt could make her shrink, no danger yield, + By Thermodont was never Amazone, + Who managed steeled axe, or carried shield, + That seemed so bold as she, so strong, so light, + When forth she run to meet that dreadful knight. + + XLII + She hit him, where with gold and rich anmail, + His diadem did on his helmet flame, + She broke and cleft the crown, and caused him veil + His proud and lofty top, his crest down came, + Strong seemed her arm that could so well assail: + The Pagan shook for spite and blushed for shame, + Forward he rushed, and would at once requite + Shame with disgrace, and with revenge despite. + + XLIII + Right on the front he gave that lady kind + A blow so huge, so strong, so great, so sore, + That out of sense and feeling, down she twined: + But her dear knight his love from ground upbore, + Were it their fortune, or his noble mind, + He stayed his hand and strook the dame no more: + A lion so stalks by, and with proud eyes + Beholds, but scorns to hurt a man that lies. + + XLIV + This while Ormondo false, whose cruel hand + Was armed and prest to give the trait'rous blow, + With all his fellows mongst Godfredo's band + Entered unseen, disguised that few them know: + The thievish wolves, when night o'ershades the land, + That seem like faithful dogs in shape and show, + So to the closed folds in secret creep, + And entrance seek; to kill some harmless sheep. + + XLV + He proached nigh, and to Godfredo's side + The bloody Pagan now was placed near: + But when his colors gold and white he spied, + And saw the other signs that forged were, + "See, see, this traitor false!" the captain cried, + "That like a Frenchman would in show appear, + Behold how near his mates and he are crept!" + This said, upon the villain forth he leapt; + + LXVI + Deadly he wounded him, and that false knight + Nor strikes nor wards nor striveth to be gone; + But, as Medusa's head were in his sight, + Stood like a man new turned to marble stone, + All lances broke, unsheathed all weapons bright, + All quivers emptied were on them alone, + In parts so many were the traitors cleft, + That those dead men had no dead bodies left. + + LXVII + When Godfrey was with Pagan blood bespread, + He entered then the fight and that was past + Where the bold Persian fought and combated, + Where the close ranks he opened, cleft and brast; + Before the knight the troops and squadrons fled, + As Afric dust before the southern blast; + The Duke recalled them, in array them placed, + Stayed those that fled, and him assailed that chased. + + LXVIII + The champions strong there fought a battle stout, + Troy never saw the like by Xanthus old: + A conflict sharp there was meanwhile on foot + Twixt Baldwin good and Muleasses bold: + The horsemen also near the mountains rout, + And in both wings, a furious skirmish hold, + And where the barbarous duke in person stood, + Twixt Tisiphernes and Adrastus proud; + + XLIX + With Emiren Robert the Norman strove, + Long time they fought, yet neither lost nor won; + The other Robert's helm the Indian clove, + And broke his arms, their fight would soon be done: + From place to place did Tisiphernes rove, + And found no match, against him none dust run, + But where the press was thickest thither flew + The knight, and at each stroke felled, hurt, or slew. + L + Thus fought they long, yet neither shrink nor yield, + In equal balance hung their hope and fear: + All full of broken lances lay the field, + All full of arms that cloven and shattered were; + Of swords, some to the body nail the shield, + Some cut men's throats, and some their bellies tear; + Of bodies, some upright, some grovelling lay, + And for themselves eat graves out of the clay. + + LI + Beside his lord slain lay the noble steed, + There friend with friend lay killed like lovers true, + There foe with foe, the live under the dead, + The victor under him whom late he slew: + A hoarse unperfect sound did eachwhere spread, + Whence neither silence, nor plain outcries flew: + There fury roars, ire threats, and woe complains, + One weeps, another cries, he sighs for pains. + + LII + The arms that late so fair and glorious seem, + Now soiled and slubbered, sad and sullen grow, + The steel his brightness lost, the gold his beam; + The colors had no pride nor beauty's show; + The plumes and feathers on their crests that stream, + Are strowed wide upon the earth below: + The hosts both clad in blood, in dust and mire, + Had changed their cheer, their pride, their rich attire. + + LIII + But now the Moors, Arabians, Ethiops black, + Of the left wing that held the utmost marge, + Spread forth their troops, and purposed at the back + And side their heedless foes to assail and charge: + Slingers and archers were not slow nor slack + To shoot and cast, when with his battle large + Rinaldo came, whose fury, haste and ire, + Seemed earthquake, thunder, tempest, storm and fire. + + LIV + The first he met was Asimire, his throne + That set in Meroe's hot sunburnt land, + He cut his neck in twain, flesh, skin and bone, + The sable head down tumbled on the sand; + But when by death of this black prince alone + The taste of blood and conquest once he fand, + Whole squadrons then, whole troops to earth he brought, + Things wondrous, strange, incredible he wrought. + + LV + He gave more deaths than strokes, and yet his blows + Upon his feeble foes fell oft and thick, + To move three tongues as a fierce serpent shows, + Which rolls the one she hath swift, speedy, quick, + So thinks each Pagan; each Arabian trows + He wields three swords, all in one hilt that stick; + His readiness their eyes so blinded hath, + Their dread that wonder bred, fear gave it faith. + + LVI + The Afric tyrants and the negro kings + Fell down on heaps, drowned each in other's blood, + Upon their people ran the knights he brings, + Pricked forward by their guide's example good, + Killed were the Pagans, broke their bows and slings: + Some died, some fell; some yielded, none withstood: + A massacre was this, no fight; these put + Their foes to death, those hold their throats to cut. + + LVII + Small while they stood, with heart and hardy face, + On their bold breasts deep wounds and hurts to bear, + But fled away, and troubled in the chase + Their ranks disordered be with too much fear: + Rinaldo followed them from place to place, + Till quite discomfit and dispersed they were. + That done, he stays, and all his knights recalls, + And scorns to strike his foe that flies or falls. + + LVIII + Like as the wind stopped by some wood or hill, + Grows strong and fierce, tears boughs and trees in twain, + But with mild blasts, more temperate, gentle, still, + Blows through the ample field or spacious plain; + Against the rocks as sea-waves murmur shrill, + But silent pass amid the open main: + Rinaldo so, when none his force withstood, + Assuaged his fury, calmed his angry mood; + + LIX + He scorned upon their fearful backs that fled + To wreak his ire and spend his force in vain, + But gainst the footmen strong his troops he led, + Whose side the Moors had open left and plain, + The Africans that should have succored + That battle, all were run away or slain, + Upon their flank with force and courage stout + His men at arms assailed the bands on foot: + + LX + He brake their pikes, and brake their close array, + Entered their battle, felled them down around, + So wind or tempest with impetuous sway + The ears of ripened corn strikes flat to ground: + With blood, arms, bodies dead, the hardened clay + Plastered the earth, no grass nor green was found; + The horsemen running through and through their bands, + Kill, murder, slay, few scape, not one withstands. + + LXI + Rinaldo came where his forlorn Armide + Sate on her golden chariot mounted high, + A noble guard she had on every side + Of lords, of lovers, and much chivalry: + She knew the man when first his arms she spied, + Love, hate, wrath, sweet desire strove in her eye, + He changed somedeal his look and countenance bold, + She changed from frost to fire, from heat to cold. + + LXII + The prince passed by the chariot of his dear + Like one that did his thoughts elsewhere bestow, + Yet suffered not her knights and lovers near + Their rival so to scape withouten blow, + One drew his sword, another couched his spear, + Herself an arrow sharp set in her bow, + Disdain her ire new sharped and kindled hath, + But love appeased her, love assuaged her wrath. + + LXIII + Love bridled fury, and revived of new + His fire, not dead, though buried in displeasure, + Three times her angry hand the bow updrew, + And thrice again let slack the string at leisure; + But wrath prevailed at last, the reed outflew, + For love finds mean, but hatred knows no measure, + Outflew the shaft, but with the shaft, this charm, + This wish she sent: Heaven grant it do no harm: + + LXIV + She bids the reed return the way it went, + And pierce her heart which so unkind could prove, + Such force had love, though lost and vainly spent, + What strength hath happy, kind and mutual love? + But she that gentle thought did straight repent, + Wrath, fury, kindness, in her bosom strove, + She would, she would not, that it missed or hit, + Her eyes, her heart, her wishes followed it. + + LXV + But yet in vain the quarrel lighted not, + For on his hauberk hard the knight it hit, + Too hard for woman's shaft or woman's shot, + Instead of piercing, there it broke and split; + He turned away, she burnt with fury hot, + And thought he scorned her power, and in that fit + Shot oft and oft, her shafts no entrance found, + And while she shot, love gave her wound on wound. + + LXVI + "And is he then unpierceable," quoth she, + "That neither force nor foe he needs regard? + His limbs, perchance, armed with that hardness be, + Which makes his heart so cruel and so hard, + No shot that flies from eye or hand I see + Hurts him, such rigor doth his person guard, + Armed, or disarmed; his foe or mistress kind + Despised alike, like hate, like scorn I find. + + LXVII + "But what new form is left, device or art, + By which, to which exchanged, I might find grace? + For in my knights, and all that take my part, + I see no help; no hope, no trust I place; + To his great prowess, might, and valiant heart, + All strength is weak, all courage vile and base." + This said she, for she saw how through the field + Her champions fly, faint, tremble, fall and yield. + + LXVIII + Nor left alone can she her person save, + But to be slain or taken stands in fear, + Though with a bow a javelin long she have, + Yet weak was Phebe's bow, blunt Pallas' spear. + But, as the swan, that sees the eagle brave + Threatening her flesh and silver plumes to tear, + Falls down, to hide her mongst the shady brooks: + Such were her fearful motions, such her looks. + + LXIX + But Altamore, this while that strove and sought + From shameful flight his Persian host to stay, + That was discomfit and destroyed to nought, + Whilst he alone maintained the fight and fray, + Seeing distressed the goddess of his thought, + To aid her ran, nay flew, and laid away + All care both of his honor and his host: + If she were safe, let all the world be lost. + + LXX + To the ill-guarded chariot swift he flew, + His weapon made him way with bloody war: + Meanwhile Lord Godfrey and Rinaldo slew + His feeble bands, his people murdered are, + He saw their loss, but aided not his crew, + A better lover than a leader far, + He set Armida safe, then turned again + With tardy succor, for his folk were slain. + + LXXI + And on that side the woful prince beheld + The battle lost, no help nor hope remained; + But on the other wing the Christians yield, + And fly, such vantage there the Egyptians gained, + One of the Roberts was nigh slain in field; + The other by the Indian strong constrained + To yield himself his captive and his slave; + Thus equal loss and equal foil they have. + + LXXII + Godfredo took the time and season fit + To bring again his squadrons in array, + And either camp well ordered, ranged and knit, + Renewed the furious battle, fight and fray, + New streams of blood were shed, new swords them hit; + New combats fought, new spoils were borne away, + And unresolved and doubtful, on each side, + Did praise and conquest, Mars and Fortune ride. + + LXXIII + Between the armies twain while thus the fight + Waxed sharp, hot, cruel, though renewed but late, + The Soldan clomb up to the tower's height, + And saw far off their strife and fell debate, + As from some stage or theatre the knight + Saw played the tragedy of human state, + Saw death, blood, murder, woe and horror strange, + And the great acts of fortune, chance, and change. + + LXXIV + At first astonished and amazed he stood + Then burnt with wrath, and self-consuming ire, + Swelled his bosom like a raging flood, + To be amid that battle; such desire, + Such haste he had; he donned his helmet good, + His other arms he had before entire, + "Up, up!" he cried, "no more, no more, within + This fortress stay, come follow, die or win." + + LXXV + Whether the same were Providence divine + That made him leave the fortress he possessed, + For that the empire proud of Palestine + This day should fall, to rise again more blessed; + Or that he breaking felt the fatal line + Of life, and would meet death with constant breast, + Furious and fierce he did the gates unbar, + And sudden rage brought forth, and sudden war. + + LXXVI + Nor stayed he till the folk on whom he cried + Assemble might, but out alone he flies, + A thousand foes the man alone defied, + And ran among a thousand enemies: + But with his fury called from every side, + The rest run out, and Aladine forth hies, + The cowards had no fear, the wise no care, + This was not hope, nor courage, but despair. + + LXXVII + The dreadful Turk with sudden blows down cast + The first he met, nor gave them time to plain + Or pray, in murdering them he made such haste + That dead they fell ere one could see them slain; + From mouth to mouth, from eye to eye forth passed + The fear and terror, that the faithful train + Of Syrian folk, not used to dangerous fight, + Were broken, scattered, and nigh put to flight. + + LXXVIII + But with less terror, and disorder less, + The Gascoigns kept array, and kept their ground, + Though most the loss and peril them oppress, + Unwares assailed they were, unready found. + No ravening tooth or talon hard I guess + Of beast or eager hawk, doth slay and wound + So many sheep or fowls, weak, feeble, small, + As his sharp sword killed knights and soldiers tall. + + LXXIX + It seemed his thirst and hunger 'suage he would + With their slain bodies, and their blood poured out, + With him his troops and Aladino old + Slew their besiegers, killed the Gascoign rout: + But Raymond ran to meet the Soldan bold, + Nor to encounter him had fear or doubt, + Though his right hand by proof too well he know, + Which laid him late for dead at one huge blow. + + LXXX + They met, and Raymond fell amid the field, + This blow again upon his forehead light, + It was the fault and weakness of his eild, + Age is not fit to bear strokes of such might, + Each one lift up his sword, advanced his shield, + Those would destroy, and these defend the knight. + On went the Soldan, for the man he thought + Was slain, or easily might be captive brought. + + LXXXI + Among the rest he ran, he raged, he smote, + And in small space, small time, great wonders wrought + And as his rage him led and fury hot, + To kill and murder, matter new he sought: + As from his supper poor with hungry throat + A peasant hastes, to a rich feast ybrought; + So from this skirmish to the battle great + He ran, and quenched with blood his fury's heat. + + LXXXII + Where battered was the wall he sallied out, + And to the field in haste and heat he goes, + With him went rage and fury, fear and doubt + Remained behind, among his scattered foes: + To win the conquest strove his squadron stout, + Which he unperfect left; yet loth to lose + The day, the Christians fight, resist and die, + And ready were to yield, retire and fly. + + LXXXIII + The Gascoign bands retired, but kept array, + The Syrian people ran away outright, + The fight was near the place where Tancred lay, + His house was full of noise and great affright, + He rose and looked forth to see the fray, + Though every limb were weak, faint, void of might; + He saw the country lie, his men o'erthrown, + Some beaten back, some killed, some felled down. + + LXXXIV + Courage in noble hearts that ne'er is spent, + Yet fainted not, though faint were every limb, + But reinforced each member cleft and rent, + And want of blood and strength supplied in him; + In his left hand his heavy shield he hent, + Nor seemed the weight too great, his curtlax trim + His right hand drew, nor for more arms he stood + Or stayed, he needs no more whose heart is good: + + LXXXV + But coming forth, cried, "Whither will you run, + And leave your leader to his foes in prey? + What! shall these heathen of his armor won, + In their vile temples hang up trophies gay? + Go home to Gascoign then, and tell his son + That where his father died, you ran away:" + This said, against a thousand armed foes, + He did his breast weak, naked, sick, oppose. + + LXXXVI + And with his heavy, strong and mighty targe, + That with seven hard bulls' hides was surely lined, + And strengthened with a cover thick and large + Of stiff and well-attempered steel behind, + He shielded Raymond from the furious charge, + From swords, from darts, from weapons of each kind, + And all his foes drove back with his sharp blade, + That sure and safe he lay, as in a shade. + + LXXXVII + Thus saved, thus shielded, Raymond 'gan respire, + He rose and reared himself in little space, + And in his bosom burned the double fire + Of vengeance; wrath his heart; shame filled his face; + He looked around to spy, such was his ire, + The man whose stroke had laid him in that place, + Whom when he sees not, for disdain he quakes, + And on his people sharp revengement takes. + + LXXXVIII + The Gascoigns turn again, their lord in haste + To venge their loss his hand recorded brings, + The troop that durst so much now stood aghast, + For where sad fear grew late, now boldness springs, + Now followed they that fled, fled they that chased; + So in one hour altereth the state of things, + Raymond requites his loss, shame, hurt and all, + And with an hundred deaths revenged one fall. + + LXXXIX + Whilst Raymond wreaked thus his just disdain + On the proud-heads of captains, lords and peers, + He spies great Sion's king amid the train, + And to him leaps, and high his sword he rears, + And on his forehead strikes, and strikes again, + Till helm and head he breaks, he cleaves, he tears; + Down fell the king, the guiltless land he bit, + That now keeps him, because he kept not it. + + XC + Their guides, one murdered thus, the other gone, + The troops divided were, in diverse thought, + Despair made some run headlong gainst their fone, + To seek sharp death that comes uncalled, unsought; + And some, that laid their hope on flight alone, + Fled to their fort again; yet chance so wrought, + That with the flyers in the victors pass, + And so the fortress won and conquered was. + + XCI + The hold was won, slain were the men that fled, + In courts, halls, chambers high; above, below, + Old Raymond fast up to the leads him sped, + And there, of victory true sign and show, + His glorious standard to the wind he spread, + That so both armies his success might know. + But Solyman saw not the town was lost, + For far from thence he was, and near the host; + + XCII + Into the field he came, the lukewarm blood + Did smoke and flow through all the purple field, + There of sad death the court and palace stood, + There did he triumphs lead, and trophies build; + An armed steed fast by the Soldan yood, + That had no guide, nor lord the reins to wield, + The tyrant took the bridle, and bestrode + The courser's empty back, and forth he rode. + + XCIII + Great, yet but short and sudden was the aid + That to the Pagans, faint and weak, he brought, + A thunderbolt he was, you would have said, + Great, yet that comes and goes as swift as thought + And of his coming swift and flight unstayed + Eternal signs in hardest rocks hath wrought, + For by his hand a hundred knights were slain, + But time forgot hath all their names but twain; + + XCIV + Gildippes fair, and Edward thy dear lord, + Your noble death, sad end, and woful fate, + If so much power our vulgar tongue afford, + To all strange wits, strange ears let me dilate, + That ages all your love and sweet accord, + Your virtue, prowess, worth may imitate, + And some kind servant of true love that hears, + May grace your death, my verses, with some tears. + + XCV + The noble lady thither boldly flew, + Where first the Soldan fought, and him defied, + Two mighty blows she gave the Turk untrue, + One cleft his shield, the other pierced his side; + The prince the damsel by her habit knew, + "See, see this mankind strumpet, see," he cried, + "This shameless whore, for thee fit weapons were + Thy neeld and spindle, not a sword and spear." + + XCVI + This said, full of disdain, rage and despite, + A strong, a fierce, a deadly stroke he gave, + And pierced her armor, pierced her bosom white, + Worthy no blows, but blows of love to have: + Her dying hand let go the bridle quite, + She faints, she falls, 'twixt life and death she strave, + Her lord to help her came, but came too late, + Yet was not that his fault, it was his fate. + + XCVII + What should he do? to diverse parts him call + Just ire and pity kind, one bids him go + And succor his dear lady, like to fall, + The other calls for vengeance on his foe; + Love biddeth both, love says he must do all, + And with his ire joins grief, with pity woe. + What did he then? with his left hand the knight + Would hold her up, revenge her with his right. + + XCVIII + But to resist against a knight so bold + Too weak his will and power divided were; + So that he could not his fair love uphold, + Nor kill the cruel man that slew his dear. + His arm that did his mistress kind enfold, + The Turk cut off, pale grew his looks and cheer, + He let her fall, himself fell by her side, + And, for he could not save her, with her died. + + XCIX + As the high elm, whom his dear vine hath twined + Fast in her hundred arms and holds embraced, + Bears down to earth his spouse and darling kind + If storm or cruel steel the tree down cast, + And her full grapes to naught doth bruise and grind, + Spoils his own leaves, faints, withers, dies at last, + And seems to mourn and die, not for his own, + But for her death, with him that lies o'erthrown: + + C + So fell he mourning, mourning for the dame + Whom life and death had made forever his; + They would have spoke, but not one word could frame, + Deep sobs their speech, sweet sighs their language is, + Each gazed on other's eyes, and while the same + Is lawful, join their hands, embrace and kiss: + And thus sharp death their knot of life untied, + Together fainted they, together died. + + CI + But now swift fame her nimble wings dispread, + And told eachwhere their chance, their fate, their fall, + Rinaldo heard the case, by one that fled + From the fierce Turk and brought him news of all. + Disdain, good-will, woe, wrath the champion led + To take revenge; shame, grief, for vengeance call; + But as he went, Adrastus with his blade + Forestalled the way, and show of combat made. + + CII + The giant cried, "By sundry signs I note + That whom I wish, I search, thou, thou art he, + I marked each worthy's shield, his helm, his coat, + And all this day have called and cried for thee, + To my sweet saint I have thy head devote, + Thou must my sacrifice, my offering be, + Come let us here our strength and courage try, + Thou art Armida's foe, her champion I." + + CIII + Thus he defied him, on his front before, + And on his throat he struck him, yet the blow + His helmet neither bruised, cleft nor tore, + But in his saddle made him bend and bow; + Rinaldo hit him on the flank so sore, + That neither art nor herb could help him now; + Down fell the giant strong, one blow such power, + Such puissance had; so falls a thundered tower. + + CIV + With horror, fear, amazedness and dread, + Cold were the hearts of all that saw the fray, + And Solyman, that viewed that noble deed, + Trembled, his paleness did his fear bewray; + For in that stroke he did his end areed, + He wist not what to think, to do, to say, + A thing in him unused, rare and strange, + But so doth heaven men's hearts turn, alter, change. + + CV + As when the sick or frantic men oft dream + In their unquiet sleep and slumber short, + And think they run some speedy course, and seem + To move their legs and feet in hasty sort, + Yet feel their limbs far slower than the stream + Of their vain thoughts that bears them in this sport, + And oft would speak, would cry, would call or shout, + Yet neither sound, nor voice, nor word send out: + + CVI + So run to fight the angry Soldan would, + And did enforce his strength, his might, his ire, + Yet felt not in himself his courage old, + His wonted force, his rage and hot desire, + His eyes, that sparkled wrath and fury bold, + Grew dim and feeble, fear had quenched that fire, + And in his heart an hundred passions fought, + Yet none on fear or base retire he thought. + + CVII + While unresolved he stood, the victor knight + Arrived, and seemed in quickness, haste and speed, + In boldness, greatness, goodliness and might, + Above all princes born of human seed: + The Turk small while resists, not death nor fight + Made him forget his state or race, through dreed, + He fled no strokes, he fetched no groan nor sigh, + Bold were his motions last, proud, stately, high. + + CVIII + Now when the Soldan, in these battles past + That Antheus-like oft fell oft rose again, + Evermore fierce, more fell, fell down at last + To lie forever, when this prince was slain, + Fortune, that seld is stable, firm or fast, + No longer durst resist the Christian train, + But ranged herself in row with Godfrey's knights, + With them she serves, she runs, she rides, she fights. + + CIX + The Pagan troops, the king's own squadron fled, + Of all the east, the strength, the pride, the flower, + Late called Immortal, now discomfited, + It lost that title proud, and lost all power; + To him that with the royal standard fled, + Thus Emireno said, with speeches sour, + "Art not thou he to whom to bear I gave + My king's great banner, and his standard brave? + + CX + "This ensign, Rimedon, I gave not thee + To be the witness of thy fear and flight, + Coward, dost thou thy lord and captain see + In battle strong, and runn'st thyself from fight? + What seek'st thou? safety? come, return with me, + The way to death is path to virtue right, + Here let him fight that would escape; for this + The way to honor, way to safety is." + + CXI + The man returned and swelled with scorn and shame, + The duke with speeches grave exhorts the rest; + He threats, he strikes sometime, till back they came, + And rage gainst force, despair gainst death addressed. + Thus of his broken armies gan he frame + A battle now, some hope dwelt in his breast, + But Tisiphernes bold revived him most, + Who fought and seemed to win, when all was lost; + + CXII + Wonders that day wrought noble Tisipherne, + The hardy Normans all he overthrew; + The Flemings fled before the champion stern, + Gernier, Rogero, Gerard bold he slew; + His glorious deeds to praise and fame etern + His life's short date prolonged, enlarged and drew, + And then, as he that set sweet life at nought, + The greatest peril, danger, most he sought. + + CXIII + He spied Rinaldo, and although his field + Of azure purple now and sanguine shows, + And though the silver bird amid his shield + Were armed gules; yet he the champion knows. + And says, "Here greatest peril is, heavens yield + Strength to my courage, fortune to my blows, + That fair Armida her revenge may see, + Help, Macon, for his arms I vow to thee." + + CXIV + Thus prayed he, but all his vows were vain, + Mahound was deaf, or slept in heavens above, + And as a lion strikes him with his train, + His native wrath to quicken and to move, + So he awaked his fury and disdain, + And sharped his courage on the whetstone love; + Himself he saved behind his mighty targe, + And forward spurred his steed and gave the charge. + + CXV + The Christian saw the hardy warrior come, + And leaped forth to undertake the fight, + The people round about gave place and room, + And wondered on that fierce and cruel sight, + Some praised their strength, their skill and courage some, + Such and so desperate blows struck either knight, + That all that saw forgot both ire and strife, + Their wounds, their hurts, forgot both death and life. + + CXVI + One struck, the other did both strike and wound, + His arms were surer, and his strength was more; + From Tisipheme the blood streamed down around; + His shield was deft, his helm was rent and tore. + The dame, that saw his blood besmear the ground, + His armor broke, limbs weak, wounds deep and sore, + And all her guard dead, fled, and overthrown, + Thought, now her field lay waste, her hedge lay down: + + CXVII + Environed with so brave a troop but late, + Now stood she in her chariot all alone, + She feared bondage, and her life did hate, + All hope of conquest and revenge was gone, + Half mad and half amazed from where she sate, + She leaped down, and fled from friends' and fone, + On a swift horse she mounts, and forth she rides + Alone, save for disdain and love, her guides. + + CXVIII + In days of old, Queen Cleopatra so + Alone fled from the fight and cruel fray, + Against Augustus great his happy foe, + Leaving her lord to loss and sure decay. + And as that lord for love let honor go, + Followed her flying sails and lost the day: + So Tisipherne the fair and fearful dame + Would follow, but his foe forbids the same. + + CXIX + But when the Pagan's joy and comfort fled, + It seemed the sun was set, the day was night, + Gainst the brave prince with whom he combated + He turned, and on the forehead struck the knight: + When thunders forged are in Typhoius' bed, + Not Brontes' hammer falls so swift, so right; + The furious stroke fell on Rinaldo's crest, + And made him bend his head down to his breast. + + CXX + The champion in his stirrups high upstart, + And cleft his hauberk hard and tender side, + And sheathed his weapon in the Pagan's heart, + The castle where man's life and soul do bide; + The cruel sword his breast and hinder part + With double wound unclosed, and opened wide; + And two large doors made for his life and breath, + Which passed, and cured hot love with frozen death. + + CXXI + This done, Rinaldo stayed and looked around, + Where he should harm his foes, or help his friends; + Nor of the Pagans saw he squadron sound: + Each standard falls, ensign to earth descends; + His fury quiet then and calm he found, + There all his wrath, his rage, and rancor ends, + He called to mind how, far from help or aid, + Armida fled, alone, amazed, afraid: + + CXXII + Well saw he when she fled, and with that sight + The prince had pity, courtesy and care; + He promised her to be her friend and knight + When erst he left her in the island bare: + The way she fled he ran and rode aright, + Her palfrey's feet signs in the grass outware: + But she this while found out an ugly shade, + Fit place for death, where naught could life persuade. + + CXXIII + Well pleased was she with those shadows brown, + And yet displeased with luck, with life, with love; + There from her steed she lighted, there laid down + Her bow and shafts, her arms that helpless prove. + "There lie with shame," she says, "disgraced, o'erthrown, + Blunt are the weapons, blunt the arms I move, + Weak to revenge my harms, or harm my foe, + My shafts are blunt, ah, love, would thine were so! + + CXXIV + Alas, among so many, could not one, + Not one draw blood, one wound or rend his skin? + All other breasts to you are marble stone, + Dare you then pierce a woman's bosom thin? + See, see, my naked heart, on this alone + Employ your force this fort is eath to win, + And love will shoot you from his mighty bow, + Weak is the shot that dripile falls in snow. + + CXXV + "I pardon will your fear and weakness past, + Be strong, mine arrows, cruel, sharp, gainst me, + Ah, wretch, how is thy chance and fortune cast, + If placed in these thy good and comfort be? + But since all hope is vain all help is waste, + Since hurts ease hurts, wounds must cure wounds in thee; + Then with thine arrow's stroke cure stroke of love, + Death for thy heart must salve and surgeon prove. + + CXXVI + "And happy me if, being dead and slain, + I bear not with me this strange plague to hell: + Love, stay behind, come thou with me disdain, + And with my wronged soul forever dwell; + Or else with it turn to the world again + And vex that knight with dreams and visions fell, + And tell him, when twixt life and death I strove + My last wish, was revenge--last word, was love." + + CXXVII + And with that word half mad, half dead, she seems, + An arrow, poignant, strong and sharp she took, + When her dear knight found her in these extremes, + Now fit to die, and pass the Stygian brook, + Now prest to quench her own and beauty's beams; + Now death sat on her eyes, death in her look, + When to her back he stepped, and stayed her arm + Stretched forth to do that service last, last harm. + + CXXVIII + She turns and, ere she knows, her lord she spies, + Whose coming was unwished, unthought, unknown, + She shrieks, and twines away her sdainful eyes + From his sweet face, she falls dead in a swoon, + Falls as a flower half cut, that bending lies: + He held her up, and lest she tumble down, + Under her tender side his arm he placed, + His hand her girdle loosed, her gown unlaced; + + CXXIX + And her fair face, fair bosom he bedews + With tears, tears of remorse, of ruth, of sorrow. + As the pale rose her color lost renews + With the fresh drops fallen from the silver morrow, + So she revives, and cheeks empurpled shows + Moist with their own tears and with tears they borrow; + Thrice looked she up, her eyes thrice closed she; + As who say, "Let me die, ere look on thee." + + CXXX + And his strong arm, with weak and feeble hand + She would have thrust away, loosed and untwined: + Oft strove she, but in vain, to break that band, + For he the hold he got not yet resigned, + Herself fast bound in those dear knots she fand, + Dear, though she feigned scorn, strove and repined: + At last she speaks, she weeps, complains and cries; + Yet durst not, did not, would not see his eyes. + + CXXXI + "Cruel at thy departure, at return + As cruel, say, what chance thee hither guideth, + Would'st thou prevent her death whose heart forlorn + For thee, for thee death's strokes each hour divideth? + Com'st thou to save my life? alas, what scorn, + What torment for Armida poor abideth? + No, no, thy crafts and sleights I well descry, + But she can little do that cannot die. + + CXXXII + "Thy triumph is not great nor well arrayed + Unless in chains thou lead a captive dame: + A dame now ta'en by force, before betrayed, + This is thy greatest glory, greatest fame: + Time was that thee of love and life I prayed, + Let death now end my love, my life, my shame. + Yet let not thy false hand bereave this breath, + For if it were thy gift, hateful were death. + + CXXXIII + "Cruel, myself an hundred ways can find, + To rid me from thy malice, from thy hate, + If weapons sharp, if poisons of all kind, + If fire, if strangling fail, in that estate, + Yet ways enough I know to stop this wind: + A thousand entries hath the house of fate. + Ah, leave these flatteries, leave weak hope to move, + Cease, cease, my hope is dead, dead is my love." + + CXXXIV + Thus mourned she, and from her watery eyes + Disdain and love dropped down, rolled up in tears; + From his pure fountains ran two streams likewise, + Wherein chaste pity and mild ruth appears: + Thus with sweet words the queen he pacifies, + "Madam, appease your grief, your wrath, your fears, + For to be crowned, not scorned, your life I save; + Your foe nay, but your friend, your knight, your slave. + + CXXXV + "But if you trust no speech, no oath, no word; + Yet in mine eyes, my zeal, my truth behold: + For to that throne, whereof thy sire was lord, + I will restore thee, crown thee with that gold, + And if high Heaven would so much grace afford + As from thy heart this cloud this veil unfold + Of Paganism, in all the east no dame + Should equalize thy fortune, state and fame." + + CXXXVI + Thus plaineth he, thus prays, and his desire + Endears with sighs that fly and tears that fall; + That as against the warmth of Titan's fire, + Snowdrifts consume on tops of mountains tall, + So melts her wrath; but love remains entire. + "Behold," she says, "your handmaid and your thrall: + My life, my crown, my wealth use at your pleasure;" + Thus death her life became, loss proved her tensure. + + CXXXVII + This while the captain of the Egyptian host,-- + That saw his royal standard laid on ground, + Saw Rimedon, that ensign's prop and post, + By Godfrey's noble hand killed with one wound, + And all his folk discomfit, slain and lost, + No coward was in this last battle found, + But rode about and sought, nor sought in vain, + Some famous hand of which he might be slain; + + CXXXVIII + Against Lord Godfrey boldly out he flew, + For nobler foe he wished not, could not spy, + Of desperate courage showed he tokens true, + Where'er he joined, or stayed, or passed by, + And cried to the Duke as near he drew, + "Behold of thy strong hand I come to die, + Yet trust to overthrow thee with my fall, + My castle's ruins shall break down thy wall." + + CXXXIX + This said, forth spurred they both, both high advance + Their swords aloft, both struck at once, both hit, + His left arm wounded had the knight of France, + His shield was pierced, his vantbrace cleft and split, + The Pagan backward fell, half in a trance, + On his left ear his foe so hugely smit, + And as he sought to rise, Godfredo's sword + Pierced him through, so died that army's lord. + + CXL + Of his great host, when Emiren was dead, + Fled the small remnant that alive remained; + Godfrey espied as he turned his steed, + Great Altamore on foot, with blood all stained, + With half a sword, half helm upon his head, + Gainst whom a hundred fought, yet not one gained. + "Cease, cease this strife," he cried: "and thou, brave knight, + Yield, I am Godfrey, yield thee to my might!" + + CXLI + He that till then his proud and haughty heart + To act of humbleness did never bend, + When that great name he heard, from the north part + Of our wide world renowned to Aethiop's end, + Answered, "I yield to thee, thou worthy art, + I am thy prisoner, fortune is thy friend: + On Altamoro great thy conquest bold + Of glory shall be rich, and rich of gold: + + CXLII + "My loving queen, my wife and lady kind + Shall ransom me with jewels, gold and treasure." + "God shield," quoth Godfrey, "that my noble mind + Should praise and virtue so by profit measure, + All that thou hast from Persia and from Inde + Enjoy it still, therein I take no pleasure; + I set no rent on life, no price on blood, + I fight, and sell not war for gold or good." + + CXLIII + This said, he gave him to his knights to keep + And after those that fled his course he bent; + They to their rampiers fled and trenches deep, + Yet could not so death's cruel stroke prevent: + The camp was won, and all in blood doth steep + The blood in rivers streamed from tent to tent, + It soiled, defiled, defaced all the prey, + Shields, helmets, armors, plumes and feathers gay. + + CXLIV + Thus conquered Godfrey, and as yet the sun + Dived not in silver waves his golden wain, + But daylight served him to the fortress won + With his victorious host to turn again, + His bloody coat he put not off, but run + To the high temple with his noble train, + And there hung up his arms, and there he bows + His knees, there prayed, and there performed his vows. + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Jerusalem Delivered, by Torquato Tasso + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JERUSALEM DELIVERED *** + +***** This file should be named 392.txt or 392.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/392/ + +Produced by Douglas B. 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