Hence burned and breached are the most lofty walls,
Hence armèd legions scattered are and slain.
LXXXV
‘Hence courage takes its birth, and hope we greet,
Not from our forces, fragile and fatigued;
Not from Frank arms, not from the friendly fleet,
Not from the Greeks, if altogether leagued.
So long as God his ægis arm extends,
Though all else fail us, we are not dismayed;
Who knows both how it strikes and how defends,
In danger’s hour requires no other aid.
LXXXVI
‘But should our sins or secret judgment doom
Us to the want of His almighty aid,
Which of us would not die to have his tomb
Where his Redeemer’s hallowed limbs were laid?
Then die we will, nor envy those that live;
Then die we will, nor unrevengèd die;
Nor at our fate her smiles will Asia give,
Nor will our death extract from us one sigh.
LXXXVII
‘Yet think not we a state of peace refuse,
As one avoids or fears a mortal fight,
Or that we wish thy liege’s love to lose,
Or that alliance with his arms we slight
But about Judah why so careful? lies
It subject to his rule? Let him then cease
To thwart us further in our enterprise,
And his own subjects rule in tranquil peace.’
LXXXVIII
Stung was Arganté to the very core
At Godfrey’s answer; nor could longer hide
His rampant fury, but advanced before
The captain, and with tumid lips replied:
‘Who wills not peace shall have his glut of war;
There lack not causes to unsheathe the sword.
All thoughts of peace thou must indeed abhor,
To slight the terms now offered by our lord.’
LXXXIX
Then took his mantle by the skirt, and made
With it an urn, which he held forth and burst
Into still greater fury, and inveighed
In tones still more despiteful than at first:
‘Thou who success wouldst hazard on a die,
Lo, War and Peace within this urn I bear.
Thine the selection be — quick, quick reply!
Take which thou wilt, and further parley spare.’
XC
His taunting attitude and words moved all
To shout for ‘War’ with simultaneous cry.
They paused not even for their general,
The chivalrous Prince Godfrey, to reply.
Unfolding then the urn, he shook his cloak:
‘To mortal war I challenge you,’ he cried,
And with such fierce and impious gesture spoke,
That Janus’ portals seemed to open wide.
XCI
It seemed he poured forth from the fatal urn
Fierce Discord and mad Fury on the land,
And seemed in his malignant eyes to bum
Alecto’s and Megæra’s flaming brand.
Such looked that mighty one, who to the skies
Erected Error’s giant pile, and even
So Babel saw his proud defiant eyes
Menace with scornful look the unheeding Heaven.
XCII
Then Godfrey added: ‘To your king repair
With this my answer, that he come; meanwhile
Accepted is the war which ye declare,
And should he fail, to expect us at the Nile.’
He then dismissed them in most courteous guise,
And honoured them with gifts of choice display:
To Alethes gave a helmet — a rich prize,
Seized at Nicea with the other prey.
XCIII
A sword upon Arganté he bestowed,
Whose hilt with gold and jewels was embossed;
And tho’ with lavish brilliancy it glowed,
Its value in the workmanship was lost.
But when he had examined narrowly
How rich the sheath was, and the blade how fine,
He said to Godfrey: ‘Thou wilt shortly see
How I will use this precious gift of thine,’
XCIV
He then took leave, and to his comrade—’ Now
Let us set off at once, our mission done,
I towards Jerusalem, towards Egypt thou;
I at eve’s close, and thou at rise of sun.
No need there is of me or of my art,
Where thou returnest to spread war’s alarms;
Bear thou the answer then: I’ll not depart
When honour, trumpet-tongued, invites to arms.’
XCV
Arrived ambassador, he leaves as foe.
Was it a timely or untimely haste
That had offended ancient use, or no?
He recks not, nor a single thought doth waste,
Nor heeds reply; but, chafing at delay,
By friendly silence of the stars proceeds
To the high ramparts; while no less their stay
Ill borne impatience in the army breeds.
XCVI
Tis night! The winds are hushed, the waters still,
And the mute world is wrapped in death-like sleep;
The wearied animals — the fish that fill
Clear lakes, or tenant the unfathomed deep;
The beasts concealed in fold or crouched in lair,
The painted songsters in oblivion gay,
‘Neath the deep horrors of the lightless air
Appease their hearts, and dream their cares away.
XCVII
But not the pious chief nor faithful camp
Gives way to sleep, or for a moment rests;
To see the welcome dawn relume her lamp
Creates such longing in their eager breasts
That their approach it might illumined make
To Salem’s walls, the goal of their Crusade:
They watch each moment for one ray to break
And pierce the gloom of night’s invidious shade.
CANTO III.
I
ALREADY was awake the herald air
To announce that fair Aurora ‘gan to rise,
Who decked herself and wreathed her golden hair
With fresh-blown roses culled in Paradise;
When from the camp, ere yet reveillée rung,
There rose a murmur from the deep-toned throats
Of arming thousands. The shrill trumpet’s tongue
Then pealed forth livelier and more tuneful notes.
II
The wise commander with paternal care,
Directs their bent and regulates their force;
Since much more easy near Charybdis ‘twere
To turn the rolling billows from their course,
Or Boreas check when down the Apennines
It sweeps, engulfing vessels in the sea.
He orders, starts, by trumpet rules the lines
Rapidly — still by rule, though rapidly.
III
Winged are their eager hearts and winged their feet;
Unconscious of their speed, on, on, they fly.
But when the ascending sun with fervent heat
Had struck the arid plains and risen on high,
Lo! fair Jerusalem appears in sight,
Lo! countless fingers point there, and exclaim
Ten thousand voices that in one unite,
‘Hail! Hail! Jerusalem, Jerusalem!’
IV
Thus, when a crew of hardy mariners
Lured by the hope of new discovery, finds
Upon uncertain seas, ‘neath unknown stars,
Fallacious waters and deceptive winds,
If they at length behold the wished-for land
Afar salute it with exultant cries;
E
ach points it out to each with eager hand,
Forgetting his past toils and miseries.
V
To the great pleasure which that first fond look
Of Salem’s walls excited in each breast,
Succeeded deep contrition that partook
Of fear and reverence, by whose weight oppressed
They scarcely dared lift up their longing gaze
To where Christ chose to fix His earthly reign,
There where He died, and where He buried was,
And where triumphantly He rose again.
VI
The mute appeal, the supplicating voice,
The broken sobs, the plaintive wailing sighs
Of those still grieving ev’n as they rejoice,
Cause such a murmur through the air to rise
As in dense forests strikes the traveller’s ear,
When through its leaves the blasts of autumn pour;
Or as when dashed upon the rocks we hear
With hollow boom the broken billows roar.
VII
Barefoot the soldiers tread the hallowed path,
Each by his captain’s meek example led;
His silken scarf and haughty crest each hath
Straightway removed from his now humbled head,
And with it cast aside his heart’s proud dress,
While warm repentant tears his eyes suffuse.
Yet as if such could not his grief express,
Each thus repining doth himself accuse:
VIII
‘What! where Thou didst, O Lord! bedew the earth,
With countless bloody rivers, may not I
At least two living rivulets pour forth
Of bitter drops in such sad memory?
Art made of ice, my heart, as not to leak
Distilled in tears through these mine eyes? Art thou
So made of stone as not dissolve and break?
Thou ‘dst aye deserve to weep, if tearless now.’
IX
Meanwhile the watch that from a tower descries
The mountains and the plain, beheld down there
The circling dust in such dense volumes rise,
That a cloud seemed imprinted in the air:
It seemed to flash with lurid light and blaze,
As pregnant with fierce flames and lightning’s force
Now marked the sheen of steel’s refulgent rays,
And now distinguished even man and horse.
X
Doubting no more, he raised the loud alarm:
‘What dust I see, and how it seems to shine!
Up, up, O citizens! arm, quickly arm!
And for defence the embattled ramparts line,
The foe’s already here: ‘and then more loud,
‘Haste to your arms! arise, I say arise!
Behold the enemy, he’s here; you cloud
Of lurid dust behold that veils the skies.’
XI
Unarmed old age, and simple innocence,
The crowd of women smitten with despair,
Unfitted for attack or for defence,
Mournful and suppliant to the mosques repair.
The rest, who on stout hearts and hands depend,
Snatch up their trusty arms; some man the wall,
Others rush off the portals to defend;
The king goes round, provides, and sees to all
XII
He gave his orders quickly and withdrew,
Where ‘twixt two gates a turret soars on high, (2)
So that in need he’s near, and whence the view
Of each high land seems lower to the eye.
Thither he bade Erminia to repair,
Lovely Erminia whom his court received
When the Frank troops had captured Antioch, where
She was of her dear sire, the king, bereaved.
XIII
Clorinda then spurred forth to meet the Franks, (3)
Many went with her, but she led them all,
While at the sally-port Arganté ranks
His troops for rescue, should she backward fall:
Nor failed the fair her followers to incite
By her bold words and bearing for the fray.
‘By good beginnings,’ she exclaimed, ‘’tis right
That we found Asia’s future hopes to-day.’
XIV
Even as she spoke, not distant far was seen
A troop of Franks removing rustic prey.
They, as their wont, a foraging had been,
And with their spoil now campwards bent their way.
She against them, and in a fatal hour
‘Gainst her advanced their chief, who marked her course —
Gardo by name, a soldier of great power,
But yet not one that could resist her force.
XV.
By that fierce shock Gardo was hurled afar
Upon the earth, ‘neath Franks’ and Pagans’ eyes;
At which the latter shout, and of the war
Infer propitious but false auguries;
Then spurring on, she closed in with the rest.
Equal to hundreds her sole arm appeared,
While her bold followers through the passage pressed,
Which her fierce charge had oped, and broad sword cleared.
XVI.
Soon from the spoiler is redeemed the spoil,
And slow fell back the Franks until they found
A hill on which they rallied for a while,
Being there supported by the rising ground.
Then as a whirlwind is unloosed, or falls
A thunderbolt from the offended skies,
The gallant Tancred, to whom Godfred calls,
Couches his lance and to the rescue flies;
XVII.
And bears so firmly its great weight, and seems,
Though young, so brave and graceful in the fight,
That, watching from on high, the tyrant deems
Amid the choicest he’s a chosen knight.
Whence to the maiden at his side he cries
(Whose breast already did strong tremors feel),
‘From such long habit thou must recognise
Each Christian knight, although encased in steel;
XVIII.
‘Who then is he who doth the rest eclipse
In graceful port, and doth so fierce appear?’
Mute was Erminia’s tongue, but to her lips
Sprang a soft sigh, and to her lids a tear:
Though checking somewhat both her tears and sighs,
She still perceptible emotion shows,
Since a red circle stained her pregnant eyes,
And a deep sigh but half suppressed arose.
XIX.
Then answered, but equivocating was, —
And other passion hid ‘neath hate’s disguise:
‘Ah me! I know him well, and have good cause
Amid a thousand him to recognise,
Since I have often seen him strew the ground
And fill the trenches with my people’s gore.
Ah me! how cruel are his blows; the wound
He gives, no herb, no magic can restore.
XX.
‘Tancredi is his name. Ah would he were
My captive once! I do not wish him dead;
I want him living, that my fierce desire
By sweet revenge might be alleviated.’
While speaking thus, the truth her language shaped,
Was by the king in other meaning ta’en;
And, mingling with her closing words, escaped
A deep-drawn sigh which she repressed in vain.
XXI.
Clorinda, meanwhile, with her lance in rest,
Dashed forth to meet Tancredi. As they closed,
Each struck the other fiercely on the crest,
And by the shock she was in part exposed,
Since rent her helmet’s straps; from
off her head
It with a bound (oh, wondrous stroke) did fall,
And as the breeze her golden locks outspread,
A youthful damsel she appeared to all.
XXII.
Then flashed her eyes, and shone her lightning glance;
Sweet even in wrath, what were it an she smiled?
What think’st of, Tancred? That fair countenance
Forgettest thou, that so thy heart beguiled?
This is the face that burned thee to the core,
As it — since there its image lives — can tell;
This same is she whom thou beheld’st of yore
Her brow refreshing at the lonely well.
XXIII.
He who at first had not remarked her crest
And blazoned shield, stood petrified, while she,
Covering her head as best she could, still pressed
The fierce assault; and back retreated he,
And against others whirled his cruel brand,
Yet not the less obtained her grace. She cried,
Him following with loud menace, ‘Turn and stand,’
And to a double death her foe defied.
XXIV.
Though struck the knight, he striketh not, nor seeks
So much his personal safety from the foe
As to behold her lovely eyes and cheeks,
Whence Cupid bends his unavoidable bow;
And to himself: ‘Void are at times the blows
That her armed hand delivers, but each dart
Launched from her fair and unarmed features goes
Straight to its goal, and penetrates my heart.’
XXV.
Of pity hopeless, he resolved at length
To tell his passion, nor in silence die,
And let her know she threw away her strength
On one already in captivity;
Whence, ‘Cruel maid, that seem’st to have,’ he cried,
‘Me for thy foe alone of all these swarms,
Retire we from this turmoil, and aside
In mortal strife make trial of our arms:
XXVI.
‘Then will be seen if my strength equals thine.’
To his request Clorinda gave assent,
Nor at the loss of helmet did repine,
But boldly she, while he disheartened, went.
Prepared for battle stood the martial maid,
And had already struck the enamoured knight,
When ‘Hold, and let us make,’ Tancredi said,
‘In the first place conditions for the fight.’
XXVII.
She stayed her arm; wild feelings of despair
A reckless courage to the knight impart.
‘Since,’ he exclaimed, ‘all peace thou dost forswear,
The terms shall be that thou pluck out my heart.
My heart, no more mine own, if not thy will
That it should live, a willing victim dies;
’Tis thine long since, nor is the moment ill
Jerusalem Delivered Page 66