Jerusalem Delivered

by Torquato Tasso

  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 aft
er 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.

  JOHN KINGSTON JAMES 1865 TRANSLATION

  CONTENTS

  HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCESS VICTORIA OF BOURBON (CAPUA).

  PREFACE.

  CANTO I.

  CANTO II.

  CANTO III.

  CANTO IV.

  CANTO V.

  CANTO VI.

  CANTO VII.

  CANTO VIII

  CANTO IX.

  CANTO X.

  CANTO XI.

  CANTO XII.

  CANTO XIII.

  CANTO XIV.

  CANTO XV.

  CANTO XVI.

  CANTO XVII.

  CANTO XVIII.

  CANTO XIX.

  CANTO XX.

  HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCESS VICTORIA OF BOURBON (CAPUA).

  I little deemed when first I sought thy name,

  To grace the efforts of my idle hours,

  That thou my indolent nature couldst inflame

  With the desire in this cold clime of ours,

  To acclimatise thy native country’s flowers;

  Nor had I in Torquato’s magic lore,

  Not in Erminia’s love, Armida’s bowers

  Found inspiration equal thine — of yore

  Such drew the enraptured bard from lovely Eleonore.

  From her proud race thy princely sire is sprung,

  Its azure streams meander in thy veins,

  And as I echo what the minstrel sung,

  I trace in those fair-worded, high-flown strains,

  Where he his idol in Sophronia feigns —

  The prototype of thee in her he loved;

  Thy peerless beauty now the world enchains,

  As Leonora once his being moved,

  Thy rival graces have thy kindred lineage proved.

  Yet not alone thy beauty and thy birth,

  I fain would in this transitory lay

  Immortalise as noblest upon earth,

  These patent are to all — but only they

  Who know thy temperament’s unceasing play,

  Can realise its all absorbing power,

  Or feel the warmth of its unclouded ray:

  Aye — tho’ around the storms of fortune lower,

  Thy rainbow smiles to light can turn the darkest hour.

  Like bold Clorinda, thou canst back the steed,

  And wing the wild bird in its rapid flight;

  Nor, tho’ thou dost in such pursuits exceed,

  Fails thy more ample nature to unite

  Those gentler graces which she held in slight.

  Unlike Clorinda, thou dost not disdain

  Our eyes to gladden, and our ears delight,

  Now on the canvas, nature’s self to feign,

  Now rival seraph’s song by thy bewitching strain.

  On the blue margent of the Midland sea

  A city lies, beyond expression fair,

  The heaven-descended, bright Parthenope;

  With it none made by mortal can compare:

  Ah! couldst thou to its Paradise repair,

  The rare perfection of thy mind and face

  Had soon created a new Tasso there,

  A living Leonora to replace

  The lost — were found in thee — fair scion of her race.

  I then had ventured not my voice to raise,

  But left to poets of thy classic land

  To shed the lustre of its golden rays

  O’er thee, now exiled from its sunny strand.

  E’en as I write, my dreams, my thoughts expand,

  In hopes thy banishment may soon be o’er;

  There — thou hadst with delighted vision scanned

  The Siren’s isle, and on that haunted shore

  Hadst to their number added one enchantress more.

  Then I had not thy glorious countryman

  Presented in this barbarous disguise,

  To one who in their native splendour can

  See to what height his lofty numbers rise:

  Still as thy mother’s tongue, I deemed thine eyes

  Might trace some memories which its sight endear,

  Waking sweet thoughts of home — in this surmise

  To thee I dedicate my task, nor fear

  How the cold world will judge, if it but please thine ear.

  PREFACE.

  HAVING been elected a corresponding member of the Royal Academy della Crusca in testimony of their approval of my translation of the “Gerusalemme liberata,” I have deemed it a duty to revise and correct this present edition in the hope of rendering it still more worthy of that high honour.

  J. K. J.

  London, 1884.

  CANTO I.

  I

  THE pious arms and pious Chief I sing,

  Who the great sepulchre of Jesu freed;

  Much help did he in field and council bring,

  And much he suffered in the glorious deed;

  And Hell in vain opposed him, and in vain

  Afric, allied with Asia, drew the sword:

  Since Heaven its favour gave him, and again

  His errant comrades to the Cross restored.

  II

  O Muse! not thou that dost enwreathe thy brow

  With fading laurels upon Helicon;

  But high in heaven, ‘mid choirs celestial, Thou

  That hast of deathless stars a golden crown,

  Do thou my breast with heavenly warmth inspire,

  My song illumine, nor thy grace decline,

  If I the Truth embellish, or attire

  These leaves in other ornaments than thine.

  III

  Childlike, the world runs ever there, where most

  The attractive Muse pours forth her sweetest strains

  And Truth, enriched by flowing song, thou knowst,

  Through its disguise the most reluctant gains;

  Thus the fond mother o’er the vase’s lips

  Spreads the sweet snare, which her sick child she gives

  Deluded, he the bitter potion sips,

  And from his own delusion life receives.

  IV

  August Alphonso, who from Fortune’s shocks

  Didst rescue, and bring safely into port

  Me — wandering pilgrim — who, ‘mid waves and rocks,

  Was tossed about, and made their cruel sport:

  Receive these leaves of mine with kindly ken,

  Which unto thee I dedicate, I vow.

  The day may come that my prophetic pen

  Dare write of thee what it foreshadows now.

  V

  And right it were (if aye the Christians make

  A league of peace together, and essay,

  With ships and banded armies, to retake

  From the fierce Thracian his ill-gotten prey,)

  That unto thee command on shore belong,

  Or on the sea, if it possess more charms:

  Of Godfrey emulous, meanwhile hear my song,

  Arm, and prepare to meet the shock of arms.

  VI

  Six years had nearly passed since in the East,

  The Christian host began their great Crusade;

  By st
orm Nicea they had won, nor ceased

  Till Antioch fell by art’s strategic aid,

  Which they then held against the Persian; they

  Then took Tortosa from Judæa’s king;

  To winter’s rigour afterwards gave way;

  Awaiting anxiously the coming spring.

  VII

  And now the wintry season was near gone

  That gave their arms a truce, and spring was nigh,

  When the Eternal Father from His throne —

  Placed in the purest regions of the sky,

  And raised as far above the starry sphere,

  As it from hell’s abyss — to look down deigned

  And in a moment, at a glance, from there

  Saw what the world within itself contained

  VIII

  All things He saw, and, then in Palestine,

  Upon the Christian princes fixed His eyes,

  And with that look of His which, man’s design,

  Can to its inmost secrets scrutinise;

  Godfrey perceived, who with impatience burns

  To drive the Pagans from the Holy Town,

  And filled with faith and holy fervour, spurns

  All mortal glory, riches, and renown.

  IX

  But saw in Baldwin one whose every thought

  On worldly grandeur and repute was bent;

  In Tancred one who held his life at nought,

  So much his heart did hopeless love torment;

  Boemond, in his new realm of Antioch, saw

  Found institutions, and with resolute rod

  Establish order, while imposing law,

  And rites, and worship, of the one true God;

  X

  And wrapped up so entirely in that thought,

  That he all other enterprise forgets;

  Marked with what warlike soul Rinaldo’s fraught,

  And how his spirit at inaction frets;

  His blind devotion viewed in honour’s cause,

  Free from all lust of empire or of gold;

  Saw him intent on Guelpho’s sayings pause,

  Example learning of the illustrious old.

  XI

  But when the world’s Omniscient King had scanned

  The inmost bent of these and other hearts,

  Gabriel He summoned from the angelic band,

  Who ‘mid the first sustained the second parts,

  And between God and better spirits was

  Interpreter and herald. Down he bears

  To earth’s low regions Heaven’s eternal laws,

  And thence brings back to Heaven man’s zeal and prayers.

  XII

  God thus His herald spoke: ‘Go, Godfrey find

  And ask the cause of his delay from me.

  Why doth he not renew the war, designed

  Enslaved, oppressed Jerusalem to free?