Jerusalem Delivered

by Torquato Tasso

  Which, as it with attention he beheld,

  That of a youthful beardless boy appeared.

  LV.

  ‘That it the same soon afterwards suspended

  In a silk apron from his saddle-bow,

  And that from their attire he apprehended

  They, like ourselves, were Christian soldiers, too.

  I made them strip the corse, so deeply grieving,

  That the bare doubt caused tears in floods to fall;

  The arms I took away, injunctions leaving

  To give the dead befitting burial

  LVI.

  ‘But if the corse be that which I believe,

  Far other tomb and pomp it merits well.’

  Thus Aliprando spoke, then took his leave,

  Since he had no more certain facts to tell.

  Pensive Prince Godfred stood, and deeply sighed;

  Still of his sad suspicion felt not sure,

  And of the headless trunk and homicide

  Wished evidence more certain to procure.

  LVII.

  Meanwhile uprose the night, and ‘neath her wings

  Covered the boundless regions of the sky;

  And sleep, which quiet and oblivion brings,

  Assuaged the sorrows of mortality.

  Thou only, Argillan by grave thoughts oppressed.

  And stung by sorrow, didst sad vigils keep:

  In vain thine eyes and agitated breast

  Wooed calm repose, or sweet refreshing sleep.

  LVIII.

  Of ready hand, of bold unbridled tongue,

  Hot-headed, fervent, and impulsive, he

  On Trontos banks was born and bred, among

  Intestine broils of hate and anarchy.

  Then from his country into exile sent.

  He filled with blood the hills and shores around.

  Till into Asia to make war he went,

  And thro’ more worthy means became renowned

  LIX.

  At length, towards dawn, ev’n he his eyelids closed

  But not in tranquil or refreshing sleep;

  A stupor twas Alecto had infused,

  Not death itself more heavy was, or deep.

  It seemed his inmost senses to delude,

  So that, tho’ sleeping, he obtained no rest,

  Since, in a goblins grim similitude,

  The Fury came, and terrified his breast.

  LX.

  A mighty bust’s incarnate form she feigned,

  From which the right hand and the head were gone;

  Her left a reeking severed skull sustained,

  With blood bedabbled, and from pallor wan.

  The lifeless features breathed, and breathing spoke,

  And speaking, poured forth blood and many a sigh:

  ‘Fly your false leader’s tents and hateful yoke.

  See you not yet the truth? Argillan, fly!

  LXI.

  ‘Who will protect you, comrades, from the fraud

  Of ruthless Godfred, who has murdered me?

  By blackest envy is the villain gnawed,

  Nor thinks he but how you may murdered be.

  Still, if your hand aspired to noble praise,

  If in it place such confidence you could,

  Fly not! no, no, but let the wretch appease

  My guileless shade with his malignant blood.

  LXII.

  ‘A shadow ministrant, with steel and ire

  I’ll arm your hand, and animate your breast.’

  Thus spoke, nor failed such language to inspire

  New springs of fury. From his restless rest

  Sudden he started, rolling all aghast

  His eyes, with venom and blind rage infect;

  Armed as he was, he rushed with breathless haste

  The Italian knights together to collect.

  LXIII.

  Them he assembled where suspended hung

  Rinaldo’s well-known arms, and in the excess

  Of his unbridled, domineering tongue,

  Disgorged his fancied wrongs and bitterness:

  ‘What! shall a tyrant barbarous multitude,

  That reason prize not, and no faith maintain —

  Shall they, ne’er satisfied with gold and blood,

  Our spirits bridle, and our necks enchain?

  LXIV.

  ‘The hardships and indignities that we,

  Beneath their yoke, for seven long years have borne,

  Sufficient were to fire all Italy

  And Rome, for ages, with despite and scorn.

  I pass in silence Tancred’s wrongs, and how

  His head and hand Cilicia’s realm subdued,

  Thro’ treason which the Frank enjoyeth now,

  And fraud usurps the prize of fortitude.

  LXV.

  ‘I pass, when time and utmost need require

  Unflinching nerve, firm purpose, ready hand,

  How thro’ a thousand deaths we first aspire

  To use the sword, and bear the blazing brand;

  And when, peace made, apportioned are the shares

  Of palms and pillage ‘mid the victor bands,

  Not ours the prizes, but entirely theirs

  The fame, the gold, the honours, and the lands.

  LXVI.

  ‘Time was, perhaps, when such iniquities

  Had seemed most grave and monstrous in our sight.

  I pass them now as nothing, since all these

  Have through a heinous crime become most light.

  They have slain Rinaldo, thus despising even

  The laws of God, and scorning human right.

  Where are thy bolts, insulted, outraged Heaven?

  Earth, where the jaws of thy perpetual night?

  LXVII.

  ‘They have slain Rinaldo, our faith’s sword and shield,

  And, unrevenged, shall we sit tamely by?

  Yes, unrevenged he is, and on the field

  They have let his maimed, unburied body lie.

  Will ye that I his murderer declare?

  But ah, from whom can be concealed his name?

  For who can ignorant be what envy bear

  Godfred and Baldwin to Italian fame?

  LXVIII.

  ‘But why seek proofs? By yonder heaven I swear,

  And Heaven who heareth will not let me lie,

  At dawn of day I saw his ghost appear —

  An errant, hapless shade, it flitted by.

  Ah, cruel spectacle, and hard to bear!

  What frauds of Godfred doth it not premise?

  No dream it was — I saw him, and where’er

  I turn my glance, still, still, he haunts mine eyes.

  LXIX.

  ‘What shall we do, then? Serve the crimson hand

  Still reeking with Rinaldo’s guiltless blood?

  Or from hence travel to that distant land,

  Thro’which the Euphrates rolls its golden flood,

  And thro’ a fertile plain lush plenty pours

  For the unwarlike race that lines its banks?

  Nay, for ourselves; for it we may make ours,

  Nor hold divided empire with the Franks.

  LXX.

  ‘If such your will, away! Revenge withhold

  For the youth’s innocent, illustrious blood;

  Tho’, if that valour, which is now so cold,

  Possessed the warmth and spirit that it should,

  This pestilential and malignant snake.

  Who thus the pride of Italy devours,

  Would by his death a good example make

  To every tyrant in this world of ours.

  LXXI.

  ‘I — I would, if your ancient valour dared,

  And had the will, as it still has the way,

  That his false heart, that nest of treason, shared

  Rinaldo’s fate, thro’ this my arm, to-day.’

  Thus frenzied spoke, and with his wild alarms

  And rage, infect
ed all those standing by.

  ‘Arms, arms!’ he shouts, excitedly. ‘Arms, arms!’

  The haughty youth to his appeal reply.

  LXXII.

  ‘Mid them, with armed right hand, Alecto burst,

  And in their breasts poured poison mixed with flame,

  Whence, passion, frenzy, and the wolf-like thirst

  For blood, more fierce and ravenous became.

  Then creeping spreads that noisome pestilence,

  Nor sated ‘mid the Italian quarters stands,

  But, passing onwards, taints the Swiss, and thence

  Its venom scatters ‘mid the British bands.

  LXXIII.

  Nor did the public loss and his hard fate

  Alone arouse the foreign legions’ ire;

  Old causes their new wrath exasperate,

  And add fresh fuel to their present fire;

  Their dormant rancour grows regenerate;

  The Franks, as impious tyrants, they arraign;

  In haughty threats bursts forth, unmasked, their hate,

  Nor any longer can repressed remain.

  LXXIV.

  Thus water boiling in a brazen cup,

  From fire too ardent, gurgles, smokes, and roars,

  Nor can contain itself, but bubbles up

  Ev’n to the brim, o’er which it foaming pours;

  Too few were those, enlightened by Truth’s ray,

  To curb the rabble’s rage, and from their post

  Tancredi and Camillus were away,

  William, and the chief captains of the host.

  LXXV.

  The infuriate legions, uncontrolled, to arms

  In crowds confused precipitately ran,

  And thunder forth war’s terrible alarms

  The brazen throats of rebel trumps began.

  Meanwhile fleet messengers on Godfred call

  To arm himself: they from all quarters ride;

  But gallant Baldwin, ready before all,

  Flew at the summons to his brother’s side.

  LXXVI.

  Hearing the charge, to heaven he raised his eyes,

  And, as his wont, sought refuge in the Lord.

  ‘Oh, God! who know’st the zeal that in me lies,

  And how by me is civil strife abhorred,

  From their benighted minds the veil remove,

  And curb the fury that transports them so;

  And as ’tis known to thee and thine above,

  Let the blind world, that I am guiltless, know.’

  LXXVII.

  He ceased, and felt a strange unwonted heat

  Course thro’ his veins, by Heaven itself infused,

  Whence, with firm hope and strength sublime replete,

  That made him bolder and his brow suffused,

  Girt by his friends, he straight advanced ‘gainst those

  Who thought to vindicate Rinaldo’s cause;

  Nor, tho’ the din of threats and arms arose,

  Did pious Godfred for a moment pause.

  LXXVIII.

  He had his corslet on, and was bedight

  With pomp unwonted in a princely vest;

  Unarmed his hands and face were, and the light

  Of majesty divine was there expressed;

  The golden sceptre of command he shook,

  And thought with that their fury to confound:

  Such he appeared to them, nor, as he spoke,

  Did his rapt voice like that of mortal’s sound.

  LXXIX.

  ‘What empty menaces are these I hear?

  Whence this vain clash of arms? Who urged you on?

  Is it thus your well-tried captain you revere?

  Is it thus from such long trial he is known,

  That there are those who Godfred would suspect,

  Of fraud accuse him, and approve it too?

  Perhaps there are among you who expect

  That I would reason, cringe, and pray to you?

  LXXX.

  ‘Ah, Heaven forbid such base indignity

  The world, that echoes with my name, should hear

  No; let this mace and Truth my guardians be,

  And the proud memory of my past career.

  Still justice shall to clemency give place,

  Nor on the guilty will I vengeance take;

  Your former merits shall this crime efface,

  I pardon you for your Rinaldo’s sake.

  LXXXI.

  ‘Alone Argillan’s blood must expiate

  The common crime; its author he who, led

  By lightest doubts, did others instigate

  To the same error, and the evil spread.’

  Flashes of honour and command appeared

  To light his princely brow as thus he spoke,

  So that, confounded, Argillano feared

  The wrath (who would believe it?) of a look.

  LXXXII.

  And they, so insolent and bold before,

  Who bursting were with passion and with pride,

  Who with such promptitude the falchion bore,

  The spear and torch that demon wrath supplied,

  Were speechless, hearing his imperious words,

  Nor dared, thro’ shame and fear, look from the ground;

  And, tho’ protected by encircling swords,

  They let Argillan by his guards be bound.

  LXXXIII.

  A lion thus, that shakes his horrid mane,

  And thunders forth his haught defiant roar,

  If he his former master see again,

  Who tamed the fierceness he possessed of yore,

  Submissive, bears the yoke’s ignoble weight,

  By stern command and menace terrified;

  Nor can great hide, teeth, claws, however great,

  Arouse his spirit or bring back his pride.

  LXXXIV.

  ’Tis said a wingèd warrior was seen,

  Of threatening attitude and rigid look,

  Holding a guardian shield, wherewith to screen

  The pious Godfred, while his right arm shook

  A naked sword that lightened in his hand,

  And with still fresh ensanguined blood-gouts smoked,

  The blood, perchance, of city or of land

  That had Heaven’s long-enduring wrath provoked.

  LXXXV.

  The tumult thus appeased, all cast aside

  Their arms, and with them most their ill-intent.

  On various thoughts and projects occupied,

  Godfred returned to the imperial tent,

  Since he determined to assault the town

  Before the second or third day was spent;

  Inspected then the beams that were cut down,

  Into war’s dread machines already bent.

  CANTO IX.

  I.

  BUT the infernal monster who beheld

  Their stormy bosoms calm, and anger spent,

  And saw ‘gainst Fate how vainly she rebelled,

  Or tried to change the changeless Mind’s intent,

  Departs; and where her shadow passes, dries

  The smiling fields, and pales the sun’s pure light;

  And for some further hellish enterprise

  Bearing fresh ills and fury, hastes her flight.

  II.

  She who, from the arts of her foul consorts, knew

  That the Frank camp had for the moment lost

  Bertholdo’s son and Prince Tancredi too,

  With the most brave and dreaded of the host,

  Exclaimed, ‘Why longer wait? Let Solyman

  Fall on them now, and strike a sudden blow.

  I hope, nay, feel most certain we should gain

  An easy triumph o’er the weakened foe.’

  III.

  This said, she ‘mid the errant squadrons flew,

  Where, chief self-made, encamped was Solyman —

  That Solyman than whom was not, she knew,

  Of all God’s rebels a more desperate on
e,

  Nor had been — no; though earth again rebelled,

  And for fresh strife renewed her Titans. He

  Was the Turks’ king, and in Nicæa held

  The seat supreme of his authority.

  IV.

  And from the Sangar to Meander spread

  His broad dominions towards the Grecian coast,

  By Mysians, Phrygians, Lydians tenanted,

  By Pontus’ people and Bithynia’s host;

  But when against the Turks and their allies

  The Pilgrim armies into Asia passed,

  In general action he was worsted twice,

  His throne subverted, and his lands laid waste.

  V.

  Once more his fortune having vainly tried,

  And being constrained to fly, the battle lost,

  To Egypt’s king for shelter he applied,

  Who proved a friendly and magnanimous host;

  Delighted he that warrior so brave,

  Offered himself as comrade in the emprise,

  He being determined Palestine to save,

  And thwart the Christians of their sought-for prize.

  VI.

  But ere he openly to them declared

  The bitter war he meant to prosecute,

  He willed, with largess for that purpose spared,

  That Solyman the Arabs should recruit.

  Thus while each day his host more numerous grew,

  From Moorish tribes and Asiatic hordes,

  With ease the soldan to his standard drew

  The greedy Arabs’ mercenary swords.

  VII.

  Whence made their captain, with his lawless host

  He overran and plundered Judah, so

  That ‘twixt the Christian army and the coast

  Was barred communication to and fro;

  And brooding o’er his wrongs and the dire fate

  Of his subverted empire, he revolved

  Within his burning breast exploits more great,

  But how to effect them, wavered, unresolved.

  VIII.

  To him came fierce Alecto; as a man

  Advanced in life the infernal fiend appeared,

  ‘Neath whose seamed skin no genial currents ran;

  His chin was shorn, his lip displayed a beard,

  A folded turban round his head was tied,

  An ample robe fell down his knees below,

  A scimetar hung jangling at his side,

  His back a quiver bore, his hand a bow.

  IX.

  ‘We,’ she exclaimed, ‘are passing thro’ this plain

  Of sterile sands, thro’ trackless unknown ways,

  Where we can neither plunder get, nor gain

  Victory deserving of the faintest praise,

  While Godfred shakes the city, and the wall

  Has breached already with his thundering towers;

  Yes, we shall see, if more we loiter, fall

  On it the fiery ruin of the Giaours.

  X.

  ‘What then — shall Rocks and herds, and cabins fired,