While with the king Clorinda still delays.’
LXXXIX.
Thus she determined, urged and goaded on
By Love’s mad frenzy, nor a moment wastes,
But from Clorinda’s chamber to her own
To carry off the stolen armour hastes;
Which was not hard, since each attendant maid
Left as she came, and she remained alone;
Her theft was screened, too, by the friendly shade
That night round lovers and round thieves had thrown.
XC.
Then seeing the heavens, that erst some stars displayed,
Put on more black and sombre an attire,
No longer she her purposed flight delayed,
But summoned secretly her faithful squire,
And her beloved and confidential maid,
To whom her project she revealed in part;
She told the object of her flight, but said
That other cause compelled her to depart.
XCI.
With bustling haste prepared the loyal squire,
What he considered for their wants most meet.
Erminia then cast off her rich attire,
Whose flowing skirt descended to her feet,
And in her unadorned simplicity
Looked, past all credence, elegant and light;
Nor was there one assistance gave, save she
Selected as companion of her flight.
XCII.
The unyielding steel’s incumbent weight offends
Her delicate white neck and golden hair,
Her tender arm beneath the burden bends
Of a huge shield it has not strength to bear.
Refulgent thus in glittering arms, the maid
Constrained herself to assume a martial air;
Love, near her, smiled, rememb’ring how he made
Alcides once the weeds of women wear.
XCIII.
Oh, with what great fatigue she now sustains
The excessive weight, how move her footsteps slow;
As for support upon her maid she leans,
Who doth before, to give assistance, go!
But love and hope her spirits reinforce,
And to her burdened limbs fresh vigour bring,
So that they reach where wait the squire and horse,
And with all haste into the saddle spring.
XCIV.
Disguised they go, and purposely repair
Through the most lone and unfrequented ways,
Yet still with many meet; the shadowy air
From flashing steel on all sides is ablaze.
Still none their progress venture to arrest,
But yielding up the pathway, backward fall,
Since the white mantle and the dreaded crest,
Ev’n in the dark are recognised by all.
XCV.
Though this in part diminishes her doubt,
She cannot all solicitude dissolve;
Apprehensive in the end to be found out,
She feels the terror of her rash resolve:
But at the gate arrived, she checks her dread,
The guard deluding who that post defends.
‘I am Clorinda! ope the gate,’ she said,
‘Me on important service the king sends.’
XCVI.
So like Clorinda’s, her soft voice’s charms
Facilitate the trembling girl’s deceit;
(Another maid, not knowing use of arms,
Thus armed and mounted, who would dream to meet?)
Whence her commands the sentry obeyed, while she
Swift with her escort through the gateway sped,
And then, descending for security,
Through the vale’s long and devious cross-roads fled.
XCVII.
But when Erminia found herself at last
Deep in the lonely valley, she drew rein,
Nor feared, the first risks having safely passed,
That aught could now impede her or detain.
Then thought of what had not occurred before
To her rapt fancy; access she perceived
Would still be very difficult, much more
Than in love’s fevered transports she believed.
XCVIII.
She saw what utter folly she had shown,
In going through bitter foes in warlike guise;
Moreover she desired to pass unknown,
And first be seen by the beloved eyes.
To him with frank unsullied modesty
She wished to come an unexpected guest;
Whence, made more cautious by such scruples, she
Paused, and her squire to this effect addressed:
XCIX.
‘Thou must, O faithful, my precursor be,
But thou must be both diligent and wise.
Go to the camp, and find one on some plea
To introduce thee where Tancredi lies;
Tell him that hither hath a lady flown,
Who brings him health, and doth for peace apply:
Peace, since to war Love urges me alone,
Whence he may health experience, solace I;
C.
‘And has in him such trustful lively faith,
As at his hands to feel no shame, no scorn.
Nor breathe but this; if more he questioneth,
Feign ignorance, and hasten thy return;
Meanwhile to yonder wood I will retire,
Since it appeareth a secure retreat.’
Thus spake the lady, and that loyal squire
Went, as though wingèd were his nimble feet.
CI.
And managed so adroitly his career,
That through the intrenchments he was led, and took
Her message to the couchant cavalier,
Who heard its import with delighted look.
Then, leaving him revolving o’er and o’er
A thousand wild conjectures in his mind,
Back to his mistress courteous answer bore,
That she could safe and secret ingress find.
CII.
Impatient she meanwhile, to whom appears
An age each moment, in impetuous mood
The footsteps counts that she in fancy hears:
‘He reaches — enters — now return he should.’
To her it seems, for which she frets, that he
Uses less speed than wont; and in suspense,
Gallops at length to an acclivity
Where a first view she catches of the tents.
CIII.
’Twas Night, who over the still sleeping world,
Robed in her starry veil, unclouded shone;
Already shed her luminous rays, impearled
With frost of living pearl, the rising moon;
Her flame exhaling, the enamoured maid
In fancy soared to those bright realms above;
And the dumb fields and friendly silence made
The confidants of her devoted love.
CIV.
And said, while gazing on the camp below,
‘How lovely in mine eyes ye tents appear!
The sweet refreshing gales that from you blow
Fresh comfort waft as I approach you near.
So to my stormy and eventful life
May Heaven afford some respite, some release,
As but from you I seek it: mid the strife
Of arms alone, it seems, I meet with peace.
CV.
‘Receive me then, and in you let me find
That pity which Love promised to afford,
And which when to captivity consigned,
Was ever shown me by my gentle lord.
Favoured by you, I seek not to make war,
My throne and royal honours to regain;
Reft of my sceptre, I am happier far
To serve as slave with you, than elsewhere reign.’
CVI.
&n
bsp; Thus spake Erminia, who but little thought
What sad misfortune was in store for her.
She was so placed that the clear moonbeams caught
Her burnished armour, which at every stir
Reflected back the radiant sheen around,
So that afar was seen its brilliancy,
And the great tigress on the silver ground
So brightly sparkled that all said, “Tis she.’
CVII.
And as Fate willed it, near the expectant fair
Was stationed a large force in ambuscade,
Whose leaders two Italian brothers were,
Alcander this, that Polypherne, who laid
In wait to cut off all the Turks’ supplies
Of sheep and oxen to the city sent;
And if her esquire passed their watchful eyes,
’Twas that he took a round and swifter went.
CVIII.
The youthful Polypherne, whose sire had been
Beneath his eyes by bold Clorinda slain,
Having the white emblazoned armour seen,
Felt sure he saw that warrior fair again,
And against her urged on his ambushed band,
Unable his heart’s impulse to restrain
(Since, when enraged, he lost all self-command),
Shouting, ‘Thou art dead!’ and launched his spear in vain.
CIX.
As when a hind inflamed with burning thirst,
In search of limpid living water goes
To where from rocks pellucid torrents burst,
Or ‘twixt umbrageous banks a river flows;
Then meets with hounds as her tired frame she tries
To cool in summer shade and crystal clear,
Quick doubles back, and like an arrow flies,
Fatigue and thirst forgotten in her fear;
CX.
So she, who thought Love’s burning thirst, that glows
For ever fiercest in the gentlest breast,
To quench in kind reception, and repose
Her mind with such anxiety opprest,
Now made of such impediments aware,
The deadly menace and the clank of steel,
Herself, her love, abandons in despair
And her fleet palfrey pricks with timid heel.
CXI.
Away Erminia flies; with wingèd feet
Her destrier flies; the other damsel too
Follows her flying mistress’s retreat,
Nor fails fierce Polypherno to pursue;
When from the tents, lo! came the squire in sight,
Bringing the news, but bringing it in vain.
Perplexed he joined the others in their flight,
And fear dispersed them o’er the wide champaign.
CXII.
But his more prudent brother, though he, too,
Had her he deemed to be Clorinda seen,
Since he was farther off, did not pursue,
But kept in covert of his ambushed screen;
And to the camp a herald sent to say
That ’twas not beasts nor fleecy flocks they viewed,
But that Clorinda was the frightened prey
Whom his brave brother Polypherne pursued.
CXIII.
Nor did he think, nor was it like, that she
Who not mere soldier but a leader was,
To sally forth at such an hour would be
Tempted, without some grave and urgent cause;
That he would execute his lord’s commands,
Who thus advised could judge of the events.
Such was the news that reached the Christian bands,
And first was heard among the Latin tents.
CXIV.
Tancred, whose heart already hung in doubt
From the first message, when this last was known,
Thinks, ‘Ah, perhaps she kindly seeks me out,
And has endangered for my life her own:’
Flings on a portion of his arms in haste,
Vaults on his steed, and silently departs;
And following up the footmarks freshly traced,
Swift as an arrow from the encampment darts.
CANTO VII.
I.
THRO’ the thick covert of an ancient wood,
Erminia meanwhile by her horse was led;
To hold the rein her hand no longer could,
And she appeared half living and half dead,
As thro’a thousand paths her untired steed
Bore her at his wild will. At last, from view
Of all she disappeared, and little need
‘Twere now for ev’n the swiftest to pursue.
II.
As after lengthened and fatiguing chase,
The panting hounds return in downcast mood,
Foiled of their prey, of whom they have lost all trace,
In the thick covert of some sheltering wood;
Such signs, on their return, of rage and shame
Were in the faces of the Christians viewed.
Bewildered, still fled on the affrighted dame,
Nor once turned round to see if still pursued.
III.
All night she fled, and next day’s weary round
Wandered without a plan, without a guide;
Nor saw but tears, nor heard the slightest sound,
Save what the outburst of her plaints supplied.
But when Apollo had unyoked his team
From his gold car, and ‘neath the horizon sank,
She reached the noble Jordan’s sparkling stream,
And there lay down exhausted on its bank.
IV.
No food the fair one takes; her sole repast
Misfortune’s cud, and only thirsts for tears;
But Sleep, that doth his sweet oblivion cast
O’er wretched mortals, comforts them and cheers,
Extends his soothing soporific wing,
And in forgetfulness her senses steeps;
Tho’ Cupid ceases not her breast to wring,
Her peace disturbing, even while she sleeps.
V.
She slept, till wakened by the dulcet call
Of twittering birds, that hailed the break of day;
Heard the shrubs rustle, the crisped river brawl,
And breath of mom with flowers and waters play.
Then opes her languid eyes, nor aught perceives,
But solitary huts of shepherds near;
Then deems she hears a voice among the leaves,
That back recalls the bitter sigh and tear.
VI.
But as she weeps, her plaints are broken by
Clear tones, that seem, nay, truly do proceed
From pastoral voices blent in harmony
With music of the uncultivated reed.
Thither she goes, and one with hoary locks
Sees seated there, the pleasant shades among,
Engaged in weaving baskets near his flocks,
And listening while three little children sung.
VII.
The sudden apparition of her arms
Their simple souls affrighted, since so rare;
Whence, reassuring them from all alarms,
Erminia showed her eyes and golden hair.
‘O fortunate, Heaven-belovèd folk,’ she cries,
‘Your innocent tasks continue, since no wrong
These arms intend against the exercise
Or of your craft, or of your simple song.
VIII.
‘But tell me, father, how, when all around
The flames of war spread terror through the land,
Thou hast so peaceful an asylum found,
Nor fear’st incursion of marauding band?’
‘Here, son,’ he answered, ‘free from wrongs and scorn,
My family and flocks have aye remained;
No clank of steel, nor blast of martial horn,
Has yet the calm o
f this lone spot profaned.
IX.
‘Or be it God’s grace that hallows and sustains
The innocent shepherd’s inoffensive lot,
Or as fierce lightning scorns the lowly plains
And vents its fury on the highest spot,
So foreign swords, disdainful of the poor,
Unsheathed alone against great kings you see;
Nor can a greedy soldiery allure
Our abject and disparaged poverty.
X.
‘Abject to others, but to me how dear!
Who without wealth and power contented rest;
No greedy ambition, no voracious care,
Dwells ever now within my tranquil breast.
My thirst I quench in limpid streams, which I
Dread not polluted with foul poison are;
My little garden and these flocks supply
My frugal table with unpurchased fare.
XI.
‘Few are our wishes, and our wants but few,
Whence life for us is easy to sustain.
These are my sons, whom I point out to you;
They tend my flocks, no servants I maintain.
Thus in secluded cloister I abide,
Watching the deer and nimble goats bound by,
The fish in this translucent river glide,
And birds unfold their plumage to the sky.
XII.
‘Time was — when, in life’s dreamy spring-time, man
Most doting is — that other aims I had:
I sdeigned to pasture flocks and herds, and ran
From this sweet spot, where I was born and bred,
And made my way to royal Memphis, where
I ev’n found service in the imperial fort,
And tho’ mere keeper of the gardens, there
I saw and knew the vices of a court.
XIII.
‘By daring hopes seductive impulse led,
I long endured that which I hated most;
But when the flowers of life’s sweet spring had fled,
My spirit bow’d — my expectations crost —
I wept the calm of this low life, and sighing
O’er my lost peace, exclaimed, O courts, farewell!
And to these woods from their false pleasures flying,
Here in contented true enjoyment dwell’
XIV.
As thus he spoke, intent Erminia hung
Upon his lips’ sweet accents, for in part
The sage discourse of his experienced tongue
Allayed the storm of her distracted heart
Whence she resolved, in her unaided strait,
In that remote seclusion to sojourn,
And stay till Fortune should facilitate
The means (the longed-for means) of her return.
XV.
Whence she replied, ‘Old man, how fortunate
The ordeal of misfortune to have proved;
Ah, may Heaven grudge thee not thy happy state
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