Among them Godfred charged, and through his shield,
Pierced fell Corcuté’s face and Rosten’s flank;
Then from the shoulders severed Selim’s head,
And shore Rossano’s right and left arm thro’;
Nor these alone beneath his sabre bled,
Elseways he many maimed and many slew.
XCI.
But while he thus attacked the infidel,
And bore the fury of their slashing swords,
And in no single point desponding fell
The hopes and fortunes of the barbarous hordes,
Lo! a fresh cloud of ominous dust draws nigh,
Big with the rattling thunderbolts of war;
From gleaming arms, lo! sudden flashes fly,
That panic strike the Saracen. They are
XCII.
Fifty Crusaders, that, in silver clad,
Display the purple and triumphant Cross;
Not if a hundred mouths and tongues I had,
And lungs of iron and an iron voice,
Could I recount the numbers that were slain
By the first charge of that impetuous troop:
The unwarlike Arab falls, the Turk in vain
Resists, and sinks beneath their lightning swoop.
XCIII.
Horror, affright, despair, and cruelty
Stalk round the battle-field; in varied guise,
Triumphant Death in every part you see,
And lakes of blood, in crimson billows, rise.
As tho’ presaging failure, with his train
The king already had passed thro’ the gate,
And from a height beheld the subject plain,
Where battle trembled in the scales of Fate.
XCIV.
But when he saw the main force wavering, he
Sounds the recall, and from the direful wrack
Commands, with iterated urgency,
Arganté and Clorinda to fall back.
At first the savage couple disobeyed,
Blinded with rage, and drunk and mad with ire;
At last they yielded, but too late essayed
To make the troops more orderly retire.
XCV.
For who can rule a crowd, or govern fright,
Or give faint-hearted cowards confidence?
They fling away their arms and take to flight;
The sword is now a burden, not defence.
From west to south extends a rugged vale
Between the town and camp; to this they fly,
While, towards the walls, borne onwards by the gale,
Black clouds of dust obscure the azure sky.
XCVI.
As down the steep they rushed, upon their rear
The Christians hanging, frightful carnage made,
But afterwards, when mounting, they were near,
And had received the barbarous tyrant’s aid,
Guelph, at such disadvantage, would not run
The risk of forcing the precipitous height,
And checked his troops; the king withdrew his own,
No small remains of that disastrous fight
XCVII.
Meanwhile, the soldan had done all Heaven grants
To strength of mortal man; he can no more.
His flanks upheave, as out of breath he pants,
And down his face run streams of sweat and gore;
‘Neath the shield’s weight declines his languid arm;
The sluggish steel can no effect produce;
It breaks, but cuts not — blunt, it does no harm;
The sabre now has lost a sabre’s use.
XCVIII.
And feeling this, he ponders in the act
Of one that ‘twixt two projects doubtful stands;
Whether to die, and of that glorious fact
Rob others by his suicidal hands;
Or, if surviving this disaster, wait,
And place his person in security.
At length he cried, ‘To thee I yield me, Fate!
Let this my flight sign of thy triumph be.
CANTO X.
I
WHILE speaking thus, he spied upon the plain
A steed direct towards him its errant course:
At once he laid his hand upon the rein,
And vaulted up, tho’ weak, upon the horse.
Drooped is that crest which erst so fiercely rose
Leaving the helm undignified and base;
Torn is his surcoat, and no longer shows
Of its once regal pomp the slightest trace.
II
As skulks away and hides himself a wolf
(Driven from a sheep-fold), in the sheltering wood,
Who, tho’ he have his stomach’s greedy gulf
Filled to repletion, still athirst for blood
The ravening glutton lolls his red tongue out,
And from his slavering lips licks off the gore;
So slunk the soldan from that bloody rout,
Tho’ gorged with blood, still covetous for more.
III
Escaping, as by Providence ordained,
The clouds of arrows that around him flew,
From swords, and spears, and instruments that rained
Destruction round, in safety he withdrew.
Then, wandering on, unheeded and unknown,
The tracks most wild and unfrequented sought,
Revolving what was wisest to be done,
In a fierce tempest of distracting thought.
IV
At length he fixed to go where Egypt’s king
His mighty host assembles, and imite
With him his arms, and their leagued forces bring
To try the fortune of another fight
Resolved on this, he makes no vain delay,
But thither by the shortest road proceeds;
Nor needeth guide, since he well knows the way
That to the coast of antique Gaza leads.
V
Nor, tho’ his wounds torment him, and the blows
Dealt so severely in the late affray,
Will he his armour doff, or seek repose,
But in sore travail spends the livelong day.
At length, when night earth’s various colours took,
And all converted into one black suit,
Dismounting, he bound up his wounds, and shook
From a high palm, as best he could, the fruit
VI
Refreshed therefrom, upon the naked field
His jaded limbs to accommodate he sought,
And his head pillowed on his iron shield,
To calm the throbbings of o’erwearied thought.
But, as each moment passed, still more and more
He felt his wounds’ uneasiness and pain;
Gnawed is his bosom, rent his heart’s proud core,
By the inward vultures, sorrow and disdain.
VII
At length, when buried in Cimmerian gloom
Of deepest night, all things were calm around,
And he too, by exhaustion overcome,
In Lethe had his carking troubles drowned,
And, in a brief and fitful sleep, composed
His heavy limbs and eyes, — in tones severe
A voice, even while the wearied warrior dozed
And caught some rest, thus thundered in his ear:
VIII
‘O Solymano, for a happier hour
And fitter time, thy slothful slumbers save,
Since, ‘neath the yoke of the accursed Giaour,
The land, once ruled by thee, is still a slave.
Canst on this earth repose thy sluggard head,
While here such marks of thy disgrace, remain?
While blanch the bones of thy unburied dead,
Canst idly wait till mom return again?’
IX
Awaked, the soldan lifts his eyes, and sees
One with appearance of extreme old age
,
With a curved staff support his tottering knees
And guide his steps, and asks him in his rage:
‘What wantest here? and tell me who art thou,
Intrusive spirit, that has dared to break
The brief repose of travellers? and how
Can my revenge or shame thy interest wake?’
X
‘I,’ said the hoary sage, ‘am one, to whom
Is known, at least in part, thy new design;
And, as a friend more careful of thee, come,
Than in thy ignorance thou mayst opine.
Nor idle are the biting truths I preach,
Since wrath is valour’s whetstone; whence, good sir,
Kindly receive these words, and let my speech
Act on thy ready heart as whip and spur.
XI
‘As, then, thy steps, if I judge right, are bent
Toward Egypt’s mighty monarch, I forebode
A rough and useless journey, if intent,
Thou still persistest to pursue that road.
The Saracens, ev’n if thou shouldst not go,
Will soon collect, and march to their allies;
Nor place is there, where to employ or show
Thy valour ‘gainst our common enemies.
XII
‘But if thou’lt follow me, I pledge my word
To lead thee safely, in the broad day light
(Nor wilt thou have occasion for thy sword),
Within those walls, now girt; by Latin might;
There thou mayst reap the glory and delight
Of struggles gainst discomforts and the Giaours,
And Salem hold till, to renew the fight,
The Egyptian army joins its force with ours,’
XIII
The Turk could not, though angry, fail to admire
The old man’s eyes and voice, as thus he spoke,
And cast away all trace of pride and ire
From his intolerant thoughts and savage look.
‘Ready,’ he said, ‘to follow thy behest
Am I, O father, nor will e’er recoil;
And that advice to me will seem the best
Which greatest risks combines with greatest toil.’
XIV
The sage approved; and since his wounds were chilled
By the night breeze, which rankled them still more,
In them a sovran balsam he instilled,
To staunch the blood, and his lost strength restore;
When, seeing Apollo light with gold the roses,
Already blushing from Aurora’s hues:
“Tis time to leave; the sun our path discloses,
And the world calls to its diurnal dues.’
XV
To his chariot, then, which waited his command,
He with the fierce Nicæan straight proceeds;
Mounts, slacks the reins, and with a master hand
Lashes alternately the snorting steeds,
Who fly so swiftly that the dusty plain
No trace preserves of hoof or glowing wheel.
Away, away! — they smoke, they pant, they strain,
Blanching with flecks of foam the burnished steel.
XVI
I will tell marvels: The surrounding air
Was gathered and embodied in a shroud,
Veiling the enchanted chariot, altho’ there
Appeared not ev’n the vestige of a cloud;
Yet rocks could not have pierced its density,
When launched from war’s most powerful machine;
Still from its deep recess they both could see
Around the cloud, beyond the sky serene.
XVII
The warrior gazed in mute bewilderment,
With brow contracted and uplifted eye,
At cloud and car, which all impediment
So swiftly passed that they appeared to fly.
The sage, who, by his fixed, yet vacant stare,
Perceived his stupor, the dead silence broke,
Calling the prince from his abstracted air,
Who with an effort roused himself, and spoke:
XVIII
‘Whoe’er thou art, that, passing mortal skill,
To strange unearthly use doth Nature bind,
And, secrets scanning, rangest at thy will
Thro’ the most dark recesses of the mind;
If, with the knowledge that thy God bestows,
Thou canst things hidden and remote foresee,
Ah, tell me, pray, amid her mighty throes,
Is peace or ruin Asia’s destiny?
XIX
‘But first reveal thy name, and by what art
Thou doest things that mortal powers transcend;
But if this stupor does not first depart,
How to thy other words can I attend?’
The old man smiled: ‘In one part not at all
’Tis hard to gratify thy wish. I am hight
Ismeno, and the Syrian people call
Me wizard, since those arts are my delight.
XX
‘But to unveil the future, and unfold
The eternal records of hid Destiny,
Is aim too lofty and desire too bold,
Nor is such granted to mortality;
To face misfortune and contend ‘gainst wrong,
Let each employ his head and hands, since not
Unoft it happens that the wise and strong
Carve for themselves the best and happiest lot.
XXI
‘Thy unconquered arm (to which it easy were
To shake the straggling forces of the West,
Much more to guard the strong position where
Their ruthless legions Salem’s walls invest)
Prepare ‘gainst fire — prepare, I say, ‘gainst arms
Dare, suffer, trust — my hope is great; but thee
I now will tell what should possess great charms,
And which, obscurely, as thro’ clouds I see.
XXII
‘I see, or seem to see, before me borne,
Ere yonder sun thro’ many lustres roll,
One that will Asia with bright deeds adorn,
And fruitful Egypt ‘neath his sway control.
I pass in silence, since I scarce can see,
The charms of peaceful arts and leisure hours,
And all his virtues; but enough for thee
That he’ll not only shake the Christian powers,
XXIII
‘But, in his last proud triumph, from its base
Will hurl the fabric of their rule unjust,
And the sad remnant to a narrow place,
Alone defended by the ocean, thrust
He of thy blood will be.’ Here ceased the sage,
And the other said: ‘O happy, whom Fate’s voice
Selects for such a glorious heritage’ —
And tho’ he envies, inly doth rejoice.
XXIV
Adding: ‘Let Fortune change, or good or ill,
As is predestined by divine decree,
No power has she to thwart my resolute will,
Nor me, shall ever but undaunted, see;
The moon and stars shall first their course forsake
Ere I one step from what is just and right
Swerve in the least.’ As thus the soldan spake,
His eye-balls Hashed with more than mortal light.
XXV
Thus on they went conversing, till they were
Nigh where they saw the Frank pavilions rise.
Ah, cruel spectacle, and hard to bear!
Ah, in what various forms Death met their eyes!
With gloom and anger the fierce soldan’s swelled;
His face grew woe-begone, as, deeply sighing,
In abject degradation he beheld
Upon the ground his once-feared standards lying,
XXVI
And scouring o’er it, Franks
, exulting, tread
Upon the face and breast of some known friend,
And scornfully from the unburied dead
Their armour and ill-fated vestments rend;
O’er their departed comrades some convene
To pay the last sad rites — some carry fire —
And here an intermingled crowd is seen
Of Turks and Arabs feed one common pyre.
XXVII
Deeply he sighed, and, burning for the attack,
Sprang from the chariot with uplifted blade;
But the old wizard caught and drew him back,
And, having chid his mad resolve, and made
Him mount the car again, his course inclined
To where the mountain rears its lofty flanks.
Thus for a time they journeyed, till behind
They left the entire encampment of the Franks.
XXVIII
They then alighted from the magic car,
Which vanished; but, still screened beneath the veil
Of the same cloud, on foot the adventurous pair
Leftwards descended thro’ a lonely vale,
Until they reached a spot where, towards the west, (7)
Majestic Sion turns her shoulders; here
The wizard halted, and, as if in quest
Of something hid, the beetling steep drew near.
XXIX
In the hard rock a hollow cavern oped,
Wrought in the mountain centuries before;
But from disuse the aperture was stopped
By briars and brambles which concealed the door.
The wizard cleared the way, and, stooping low,
With body suited to the passage, tried,
One hand being pilot, through the pass to go,
And to the prince the other gave as guide.
XXX
Outspake the soldan then: ‘What! thither grope?
What end can this thy furtive path afford?
Other, it may be, better I could ope,
By thy permission, with my trusty sword,’
‘Disdain not thou, fastidious soul,’ he said,
‘Brave tho’ thou be, to pass these darksome ways;
Since mighty Herod here was wont to tread,
Whose feats in arms are still the theme of praise.
XXXI
‘The king of whom I speak this cavern framed,
‘ When the unruly Jews he would restrain,
And thro’ it, by that lofty turret, named,
From his great friend, Antonia, he could gain
A secure entrance, visible to none,
Into the massive venerable fane;
From thence escape in secret from the town,
Lead squadrons out and bring them back again.
XXXII
‘But to myself, alone of living men,
This dark and solitary path is known;
We will pass through its secret windings then,
To where the king has gathered round his throne
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