Jerusalem Delivered

by Torquato Tasso

  As well their duties did the rest fulfil,

  A tomb this country for thy foes would be.

  IV

  ‘I, for my part, have hither come to share

  With thee whatever danger may befall,

  And all that can experience, and whate’er

  My magic art can do, I promise all.

  The angels fallen from heaven I will compel

  In our exertions to participate;

  But from what point I will begin the spell,

  And in what manner, I will first relate.

  V

  ‘Hid in the temple of the Christians lies

  A subterranean shrine, where is adored

  She whom that herd of bigots idolize

  As mother of their born and buried Lord.

  A quenchless lamp before her image shines,

  Which a veil shroudeth from the public eye,

  And round it hang in long extended lines

  The votive offerings of credulity.

  VI

  ‘Now this their image, seized from thence, I will

  Thou earnest off, my liege, with thine own arm,

  And in thy temple place it: my weird skill

  Shall then employ so magical a charm,

  That while it there is guarded, it shall be

  For Salem’s gates a fatal guard and sure.

  In walls impregnable thy monarchy

  Shall through new mystic influence be secure.’

  VII

  He thus persuaded him. Impatiently

  Flew to God’s sacred temple Aladine,

  Forced back the priests, and most irreverently

  Seized the chaste image from its sacred shrine,

  And bore it off to that accursed fane,

  Where with foul rites they oft incensed the Lord.

  On the blest image in that place profane

  The wizard then his blasphemies outpoured.

  VIII

  But when in heaven appeared the morrow’s light,

  The guard in charge of the polluted fane,

  Not seeing the image where ’twas placed last night,

  And searching for it on all sides in vain,

  Informed the king, who at the tidings grew

  Like one of reason suddenly bereft,

  And justly deemed it was some Christian, who

  Committed had and then concealed the theft.

  IX

  Whether it were the work of Christian guile,

  Or Heaven did with its influence intervene,

  Indignant that receptacle so vile

  Should harbour her, its Goddess and its Queen,

  Is doubtful still, and it were hard to say

  If the deed should to man or God be given;

  But it is piety — man giving way —

  To ascribe its dubious authorship to Heaven.

  X

  The king then made them search on every side,

  Each church, each private dwelling, and awards

  Torture to those that did the image hide,

  And for the informer liberal rewards;

  And the magician left unturned no stone

  The truth to fathom, but could not succeed;

  Since, were the act of mortal or its own,

  Heaven, spite of all his spells, concealed the deed.

  XI

  But when the cruel king perceived that they

  Hid what he deemed the Christians’ crime, he turned

  On them his hate, cast all respect away,

  And with intense immoderate anger burned.

  ‘Revenge myself,’ the tyrant cried, ‘will I,

  And wreak my fury, let what will befall;

  Provided that the unknown robber die,

  In one wide ruin let them perish all.

  XII

  ‘To find the guilty let the guiltless die,

  The just and innocent. But whom call just?

  They are guilty all, nor is there one that I

  Of the whole brood could ever love or trust:

  And even if any of this crime be clear,

  Let these new pains for old offences pay.

  Up, up, my faithful, up! Why linger here?

  Up, up — with fire and sword consume and slay.’

  XIII

  Thus to the crowd did he his venom vent,

  And swift the tidings ‘mong the Faithful flew,

  Who were bewildered at the imminent

  Terror of death presented to their view.

  None tried defence or flight — none sought for grace

  Or proffered supplication. But released

  In a strange manner was that timid race,

  And safety found, where it could hope for least.

  XIV

  In maiden prime there dwelt a maiden there

  High-souled and passing beautiful; but she

  Seemed for her peerless beauty not to care,

  Or only as adorning modesty:

  And to her greater merit she withdrew,

  And hid her merits beneath humble roof;

  Away from glances of gallants she flew,

  And from their honeyed words remained aloof.

  XV

  But beauty cannot wholly be concealed,

  Beauty which but to see is to admire:

  Nor e’en had Love consented, who revealed

  Her charms and did a youthful bosom fire.

  Cupid! who blind at times now Argus art,

  Dost ope and turn, and now blindfold’st the eyes,

  Through thee to maiden’s bower, most vestal part,

  Past thousand guards the glance of lover flies.

  XVI

  Sophronia she, Olindo he: they were

  Both of one town, in common creed both taught;

  He was as modest as the maid was fair,

  Much wished, hoped little, and demanded nought,

  Nor dared, or knew not how his love to tell;

  She spurned or saw him not, or nought perceived.

  This hitherto is what the youth befell;

  Unseen, unknown, or was but ill received

  XVII

  Meantime was spread abroad the dire decree

  That doomed the Christians to a dreadful death;

  When, no less generous than modest, she

  Resolved to save the sharers of her faith.

  Virtue this great thought wakened, but was stayed

  By virginal propriety and shame,

  But virtue won, nay, joined with it and made

  Itself ashamed, while daring shame became.

  XVIII

  Thro’ the dense crowds the maid walked forth alone,

  Nor did her loveliness expose nor hide:

  Wrapt in a veil she went, with eyes cast down,

  Distant her manner was and dignified.

  ‘Twere hard to say if study or neglect,

  If art or chance her lovely face composed;

  Her seeming negligence appeared effect

  By nature, love, and friendly Heaven disposed.

  XIX

  Gazed at by all, on passes without heed

  The high-souled dame, and the king’s presence gains,

  Nor tho’ his looks breathe fury, would recede,

  But without flinching his fierce look sustains.

  ‘I come,’ she said ‘(but first, O mighty king,

  Restrain thy minions and thy wrath assuage),

  I come to name, and in thy presence bring

  Secured, the culprit who has roused thy rage.’

  XX

  Her modest boldness, and the light that flashed

  From her majestic, saint-like loveliness,

  Almost o’ercame the tyrant, who abashed,

  Smoothed his fierce brow, and did his wrath repress.

  Then, had he been less stern, or she possessed

  Aspect less stem, his heart had been subdued;

  But haughty beauty wins not haughty breast,

  Endearments are Love’s appetising
food.

  XXI

  Desire it was, amazement, and delight,

  If ‘twere not love, that moved his villain breast.

  ‘Tell all,’ he said, ‘my kingly word I plight

  That none of mine the Christians shall molest’

  And she, ‘The guilty one before you stands:

  I took the image. I am she you seek.

  The robbery was committed by these hands;

  On me your bloody retribution wreak.’

  XXII

  Thus her proud head she gave, in prime of youth,

  A ransom for the common fate to be.

  O noble glorious Falsehood! Where is Truth

  So lovely as to be preferred to thee?

  Doubting awhile the cruel king remained,

  And longer than his wont from anger freed,

  At length resumed, ‘I wish to have explained

  Who counselled, and who shared with thee the deed.’

  XXIII

  And she, ‘I would not let another, sire,

  Partake my glory in the least degree;

  Alone did I with my own self conspire,

  Alone I planned and acted.’

  ‘Then on thee

  Alone,’ replied infuriate Aladine,

  ‘My vengeful wrath shall fall.’ ‘I am content,’

  She calmly said, ‘since all the honour is mine,

  That I alone should bear the punishment.’

  XXIV

  The tyrant now began with freshened ire,

  ‘Say where thou didst the accursed image hide.’

  ‘’Tis not concealed; I cast it in the fire,

  And deemed the act most laudable,’ she cried,

  ‘As thus at least no unbeliever’s hand

  Could more profane our Goddess’ sanctity;

  If thou the theft — if thou the thief demand,

  That thou shalt never — this behold in me;

  XXV

  ‘Albeit not mine a theft, nor robber I,

  To get back what was wrongfully obtained.’

  The king, still more incensed at her reply,

  Muttered deep threats, nor more his rage restrained.

  Vain are your hopes for grace or pardon now,

  Immaculate heart, fair face, exalted mind!

  And vainly, Love, against his rancour, thou

  An aegis of her beauty hadst designed.

  XXVI

  Seized is the lovely maid: the cruel king

  Condemns to death by fire those peerless charms.

  Away her mantle and chaste veil they fling,

  And pinion with rough cords her delicate arms.

  Silent she was, and if her stout heart grew

  Ruffled somewhat, no trace of fear was there.

  Her beautiful face now faded to a hue

  Which was not pale, but only passing fair.

  XXVII

  Quick spread the news, and among others drew

  Olindo there, and soon a crowd collects;

  He the broad fact but not the person knew,

  Yet that it is the loved one half suspects.

  But when in the act he saw the pinioned fair

  Of one not guilty alone, but doomed to die,

  And their vile work the officers prepare,

  Through the dense crowd he burst, and with a cry,

  XXVIII

  Screamed to the king, ‘Not she! not she! you err;

  She’s guiltless and from vanity vaunts the feat

  How could a lone unpractised girl like her,

  Plan, dare, or execute a deed so great?

  How were the guards deceived, and from the shrine

  How was the image of our saint removed?

  Let her say how. The theft, O king, was mine.’

  Thus deep, alas! the unloved lover loved!

  XXIX

  Adding, ‘The image from your mosque I stole,

  Where it receives the air and light of day;

  By night I clomb, and through a little hole

  That seemed almost impassable, pushed my way.

  As mine the glory was, be mine the pains;

  Shall she usurp my martyrdom? this fire

  For me ascends to heaven: mine are these chains;

  For me alone’s prepared the funeral pyre.’

  XXX

  Sophronia raised her head, and on him bent

  Her eyes, where glistened a compassionate tear.

  ‘What art thou come for, wretched innocent?

  What rash resolve, what frenzy guides thee here?

  Can I not bear without thy aid the breath

  Of man’s vain anger, and despise his power?

  I have a heart, too, that makes light of death,

  Nor need companion in this fatal hour.’

  XXXI

  Thus she appealed, but could not cause that he

  His words retracted or would change his thought.

  Oh noble sight! in such dispute to see

  Exalted virtue and affection brought!

  Where for the victor the reward is death,

  And life is what the vanquished has to fear!

  This more provokes the king: as with one breath

  To accuse themselves they fondly persevere.

  XXXII

  It seemed that thus his orders they contemn,

  And that in scorn of him they scorn the pain.

  ‘ — Believed be both,’ he cried, ‘let both of them

  Win, and their fitting recompense obtain.’

  Then gave the sign; the sergeants were not slack

  Around the youth the fatal chain to place.

  Both were now bound to the same stake, and back

  To back was turned, and face concealed from face.

  XXXIII

  Round them the pyre stood ready piled, and nursed

  Already had the bellows’ breath the flames,

  When into piteous plants Olindo burst,

  And to his pinioned partner thus exclaims:

  ‘Are these the bonds, then, that I fondly thought

  Would us in life-long company unite?

  Are these the flames with which my own heart caught,

  I hoped in thine would equal fervour light?

  XXXIV

  ‘ — Far other flames Love promised: other knots

  Than those thwart Destiny prepared hath.

  Too, ah! too long, it has disjoined our lots,

  But now unites them close enough in death.

  Still, ’tis some comfort if by anguish torn

  Perish thou must, to share thy pyre, if I

  Cannot thy bed: thy fate alone I mourn,

  But not mine own, since at thy side I die.

  XXXV

  ‘And oh! my lot how altogether blest,

  How passing sweet my martyrdom would be,

  Could I obtain, united breast to breast,

  Within thy lips to breathe my soul away;

  And that, expiring the same time with me,

  Thou pour’dst in mine thy last, thy parting sighs! ‘

  Thus through his scalding tears he spoke, and she

  Him gently chid, and counselled in this wise:

  XXXVI

  ‘Far other thoughts, and of a loftier kind,

  Far other plaints, dear friend, this dread hour needs;

  Why think not of thy sins, and call to mind

  The crown God promises for virtuous deeds?

  In His name borne, sweet will thy sufferings be,

  ‘With joy for His supernal seat prepare;

  Behold the heavens, how beautiful, and see

  The sun that cheers us and invites us there.’

  XXXVII

  At this the Pagans wept aloud; their dole

  The Faithful much more silently expressed,

  And even something like compassion stole

  (Unusual feeling) through the king’s hard breast;

  He felt it coming, and was vexed, nor would

  Yield — turned his eyes
away, and left the spot

  No tears, Sophronia, thy fair cheeks bedewed:

  Wept by them all, alone thou weepest not

  XXXVIII

  While in such risk they were, a warrior came

  (At least he seemed such) of most princely mien,

  Whose foreign arms and strange attire proclaim

  That he in distant land had journeying been;

  His helmet for its crest a tigress bore,

  A badge that drew unto itself all eyes,

  The badge Clorinda aye in battle wore,

  Whence that ’tis she they rightly all surmise.

  XXXIX

  From childhood she, and now in maiden bloom,

  All occupations of her sex disdained;

  To needle, distaff, or Arachne’s loom,

  To incline her haughty hand she never deigned;

  Soft garments, too, and indoor life did spurn,

  For virtue still may dwell in camps. She armed

  With pride her countenance; to make it stem

  Delighted her, and even stem, she charmed.

  XL

  While yet a girl, she with her baby hand

  Now urged, now checked the ardour of her horse,

  Handled with master skill both spear and brand,

  And nerved her limbs by wrestling for the course;

  Then o’er the hills and woodlands wild pursued

  The bear’s and lion’s track; then in the van

  Of battle flashed, where she, as in the wood,

  To man a beast appeared, to beasts a man.

  XLI

  From Persia now she came, with all her power

  The Christians to resist, though often she

  Had strown their mangled limbs upon the shore,

  And with their blood encarnadined the sea.

  Now on arriving from that distant clime,

  The apparatus seen for death decreed,

  Wishing to examine and to know what crime

  The guilty doomed, she presses on her steed.

  XLII

  The crowd falls back, while she her palfrey reins,

  The fettered victims to examine close.

  She sees her silent, and that he complains,

  And that the weaker sex more courage shows.

  She sees him weep, like one compassion tries —

  Not sorrow — or if sorrow, not his own;

  While silent she to heaven so fixed her eyes,

  That there her spirit seemed already flown.

  XLIII

  Clorinda, touched, their hapless fate condoles,

  Nor can refrain from weeping, but appears

  To feel for her more, who her grief controls;

  Her silence more affects her than his tears.

  Nor waited longer, but turned swiftly round

  To an old grey-haired man. ‘Tell me,’ she said,

  ‘Who is this pair, and why together bound?

  Is’t fate or crime that has them hither led?’

  XLIV

  Thus questioned, and to her demand received