Jerusalem Delivered

by Torquato Tasso

His wisest councillors. He seems to fear,

  More than perhaps he should, the frowns of fate;

  Much needed wilt thou come. In silence hear,

  Then, at the fitting time — expostulate.’

  XXXIII

  With his huge frame, as thus he spoke, the knight

  Blocked up the low-roofed cave, and fearless sped

  Thro’ paths obscured by never-ending night,

  Following the wizard wheresoe’er he led.

  At first they stooped, but as the little grot

  Expanded more the farther they went on,

  They mounted with facility and got

  To the dark cavern’s centre; whereupon

  XXXIV

  Ismeno straightway opened a small gate,

  And they climbed up a rarely trodden stair,

  Whose only light proceeded from a grate

  Thro’ which stole glimmerings of lack-lustre air;

  At length they reached a cloister underground;

  Thence onward passed into a hall of state,

  Where, with his sceptre and with diadem crowned,

  ‘Mid his sad council the sad monarch sat.

  XXXV

  Hid in the cloud, the Turk, himself unseen,

  With eager eyes o’er all the assembly ran,

  And heard meanwhile the monarch, Aladine,

  Who, from his splendid throne, the first began:

  ‘Truly, my faithful counsellors, the last

  Was for our realm a most disastrous day;

  The lofty hopes we formed are well-nigh past;

  Alone from Egypt’s aid there gleams one ray.

  XXXVI

  ‘But well ye see how that, from peril near,

  The hope is distant, for which reason I

  Have you assembled, that each worthy peer

  May counsel us in this emergency.’

  He ceased, and straight an ominous buzz was heard,

  Like breezes whispering through umbrageous glade,

  When rising up, serene and undeterred,

  Arganté thus the murmuring sounds allayed:

  XXXVII

  ‘Magnanimous monarch,’ was the proud reply

  Of that undaunted, fiery cavalier,

  ‘Why seek to prove us? why to us apply?

  No need there is for our opinion here;

  In our own selves let us alone confide;

  And if it’s true that nothing Virtue harms,

  From her assistance ask, make her our guide;

  Life let us love not, when she calls to arms.

  XXXVIII

  ‘Nor speak I thus that I at all despair

  Of Egypt’s speedy and most certain aid;

  Nor is it right in you, nor is it fair,

  To doubt the promises my liege has made:

  I only speak because I wish to see

  In some of us more dauntless spirits rise,

  Which, prompt alike for every destiny,

  Were pledge of victory and would death despise.’

  XXXIX

  Those words Arganté spoke, and only those,

  Like one who spoke of no uncertain things;

  When with commanding air Orcano rose,

  One who, descended from a race of kings,

  In warlike deeds approved himself of yore;

  But now united to a youthful bride,

  As sire and spouse the battle-field forbore;

  In home affections all his manhood died.

  XL

  ‘Sire,’ he exclaimed, ‘far be it from me to accuse

  The fervour of high-minded words that start

  From warm magnanimous impulse, and refuse

  To be confined within the swelling heart;

  Whence if his nature too much warmth betrays

  When before thee the brave Circassian pleads,

  We well his fire may pardon, who displays

  An equal fervour in heroic deeds,

  XLI

  ‘But ’tis thy duty, whom each added year

  And long experience have so prudent made,

  To place the curb of thy advice whene’er

  He into too great transports is betrayed;

  The hopes to balance of prospective aid

  With danger near — nay, present to our view,

  And with the arms and charge of Frank brigade,

  Thy time-worn rampart and defences new.

  XLII

  ‘We have, if freely I may speak my thought,

  A city strong by nature and by art,

  But against it what huge machines are brought,

  What dreadful engines on the adverse part!

  The end is doubtful, still I hope, my liege,

  Yet dread the war’s uncertainty, and fear

  If on us pressed a closer state of siege,

  That ‘mong us famine will at length appear.

  XLIII

  ‘For all the stores of cattle and of grain,

  That yesterday within the walls were brought,

  Was great good fortune, while on yonder plain

  The Franks alone of crimson battle thought;

  Yet that were poor provision to supply

  So large a city, should the siege endure;

  And last it will, tho’ Egypt, our ally,

  Came on the very day he named as sure.

  XLIV

  ‘ — But what if he delay? Well, well, I grant

  That he his promise and thy hope forestalls;

  But not for that do I behold him plant

  His conquering flag on these beleaguered walls:

  We must, O king, with that same Godfred fight,

  With those same chiefs, and those same legions, who

  So often have dispersed and put to flight

  Turks, Arabs, Persians, and us Syrians, too.

  XLV

  ‘And what they are, Arganté, thou shouldst know,

  Who didst so often before them retreat,

  Who didst so often thy broad shoulders show,

  For safety trusting to thy nimble feet;

  I also know it, and the warrior maid,

  Nor is there one can taunt the other; I

  Would none reproach or blame; we all displayed,

  As much as mortals could, our bravery.

  XLVI

  ‘Aye, tho’ Arganté scowls with deadly hate,

  Enraged, unwilling the sad truth to hear,

  I see, by fixed, inevitable Fate,

  The foe conducted to sure goal, and fear

  Not hosts unnumbered, not the strongest wall

  Will e’er prevent their reign and their command;

  And this I say — to witness Heaven I call —

  From love of thee and of my native land.

  XLVII

  ‘Ah, prudent king of Tripoli! how wise

  Both peace and his dominions to retain,

  While dead the stubborn soldan is, or lies

  Bound by the foot in slavery’s galling chain,

  Or for still greater miseries reserved,

  An exiled, timid runaway, doth smart;

  Yet had he yielded part, he had preserved,

  By gifts and tribute, the remaining part.’

  XLVIII

  In such a roundabout and tortuous cloak

  Orcano did his covert sense disguise;

  To sue for peace and bend to others’ yoke,

  He dared not openly the king advise.

  But the indignant soldan could no more

  Endure his language, or concealed remain,

  When the magician whispered him: ‘Signor,

  Canst tamely hear him speak in such a strain?’

  XLIX

  ‘I, for my part, against my will crouch here,

  And burn with rage and shame,’ the soldan said.

  The angry accents scarcely uttered were

  When the cloud’s veil that was around them spread,

  Dissolving, vanished in the void of space,

  And in the light of
day he stood confessed;

  With noble spirit shone his haughty face,

  As thus the startled council he addressed:

  L

  ‘I, whom ye prate of, in your presence stand —

  No runaway, no timid soldan I —

  And offer now to prove, with this right hand,

  That you vile coward in his throat doth lie;

  I, who of blood such ample torrents poured,

  And piled up hills of carnage in the fight,

  Hemmed in by foes, without one friend to afford

  The least assistance — I accused of flight!

  LI

  ‘But should you wretch, or any such as he,

  False to his creed and country, venture but

  To hint at league of such indignity —

  Thy pardon, sire — I slay him on the spot;

  First lambs and wolves shall mingle in one fold,

  And doves and serpents in one nest agree,

  Ere the same country Turks and Christians hold,

  Without incarnate animosity.’

  LII

  While speaking thus, in threatening attitude,

  On his sword’s hilt he kept his fierce right hand;

  Dumb with astonishment, the others viewed

  His furious look and savage reprimand.

  At length he made obeisance to the king,

  With a less wicked and enfeloned brow; ‘

  Hope!’ he exclaimed; ‘no trifling aid I bring:

  Prince Solyman, my liege, is with thee now.’

  LIII

  King Aladine, who had to greet him sped,

  Answered: ‘How welcome is thy presence here;

  I feel not now the loss of thousands dead,

  Dear friend, and I began the worst to fear.

  Thou canst my throne secure, and in brief space

  The fallen condition of thine own renew,

  If Heaven forbid not’ Then in close embrace

  Around his neck his circling arms he threw.

  LIV

  Their greeting over, his own chair of state

  The king conceded to the great Nicene,

  Then placed himself upon the left, while sate

  Close at his side the sapient seer, Ismene;

  But while the monarch asked him to disclose

  The news, and he complied with his request,

  To honour Solyman Clorinda rose

  First of the court, then followed all the rest;

  LV

  ‘Mong them Ormusses, he who undertook

  To guide his Arab troop, and while the blaze

  Of war burned fiercest, the high road forsook,

  And wound about so amid blind by-ways,

  That, favoured by the silence and the shade,

  At length he brought them safe into the town,

  And, with the forage Captured in the raid,

  Afforded succour to the garrison.

  LVI

  With scowl that his disdainful dudgeon shows,

  Sole stayed Arganté, motionless and mute,

  Like a majestic lion in repose,

  That rolls his eyes, but stirreth not a foot;

  Orcano hung his crest-fallen head, nor could

  The withering glance of Solyman withstand.

  In council thus the Syrian tyrant stood,

  The Turkish king, and magnates of the land.

  LVII

  But Godfred, following up his victory,

  Had cleared the passes as the vanquished fled,

  And had ordained that the last honours be

  Rendered meanwhile to the illustrious dead;

  And now commands that on the second day

  The troops be ready to assault the walls,

  And with war’s fiercest, deadliest display

  The close-invested Saracen appals.

  LVIII

  And since he recognised the troop that came

  To his assistance, ‘gainst the infidel,

  Consisted of his dearest friends, the same

  That followed the insidious syren’s spell;

  And with them Prince Tancredi, who was thrown

  Into vile bondage by Armida’s hand;

  Before the hermit and some friends alone

  He straightway summoned that adventurous band,

  LIX

  Arrived, ‘Pray one of you,’ he said, ‘declare

  The uncertain course of your brief wandering,

  And by what fortune ye enabled were

  In such great need such great relief to bring.’

  Ashamed, they hung their heads, for all begun

  To feel what bitter thoughts slight error woke;

  At length the British king’s illustrious son,

  Raising his brow, the painful silence broke.

  LX

  ‘Departed we, who were not drawn by lot,

  Each following furtively, alone, the trace —

  The trace fallacious, I deny it not —

  Of loadstone Love, of fair insidious face;

  But as we went thro’ many a tortuous pass,

  Among us discords sprang and jealousies,

  Our love fomented and our hate (alas!

  Too late, I knew it) by her words and eyes.

  LXI

  ‘At length we reached that spot on which God chose,

  In flaky torrents, to pour down his fire,

  Revenging outraged Nature upon those

  So strongly wedded to depraved desire;

  Where once was fruitful soil and country fair,

  Bituminous waters form a barren lake,

  And where they reach with vapours load the air,

  And all around a foul effluvium make,

  LXII

  ‘This is that stagnant sea where may be thrown

  The heaviest weight, yet ne’er the bottom reach;

  Man floats thereon — nay, steel and solid stone,

  As tho’ light fir they were, or buoyant beech.

  In it a castle sits in lonely pride,

  A narrow, bridge gives access to the pile:

  Here she received us, and — when once inside,

  I know not how — all nature seemed to smile.

  LXIII

  ‘The air was soft, the atmosphere serene,

  And all creation wore a joyous look;

  There, thro’ sweet groves of myrtle, ever green,

  A fountain rose, and fell a brawling brook;

  The leaves rained dreamy music on the grass,

  And tranquil slumbers in their fall impart;

  Birds sang: the marble and the gold I pass,

  Though marvels they of labour and of art

  LXIV

  ‘On the smooth sward, where fell the deepest shade,

  Near the soft murmur of the crystal flood,

  With sculptured vases decked, a feast was laid

  Of the most costly wines and daintiest food.

  There was the produce of each season, there

  All earth and sea could yield, or art provide;

  While round a hundred damsels, no less fair,

  That smart attended, and our wants supplied.

  LXV

  ‘She with her charming smile and winning speech

  Tempered the fatal food and deadly draught,

  And while still seated at the table, each

  A long oblivion in the goblet quaffed.

  She rose and said, “I soon come back.” Her look,

  Returned, was not so tranquil as before;

  In her right hand a little wand she shook,

  Her left a volume held of mystic lore.

  LXVI

  ‘But as the enchantress read, I felt a change

  Of place, of life, volition, and of thought;

  A new desire crept o’er me (influence strange!);

  I plunged into the brook — I swam — nor ought

  Knew I how wondrously each limb draws in,

  Nor how both arms into my body slide;

 
; I shrivel up; scales take the place of skin;

  No longer man — transformed to fish, I glide.

  LXVII

  ‘Thus changed in nature and in shape were all,

  And with me swam in that bright silvery stream:

  What I was then, I can but now recall

  As a distempered and illusive dream.

  Our forms, at length, it pleased her to restore;

  But we were dumb, ‘twixt wonder and affright,

  When she, with brow still cloudy as before,

  Menaced us with fresh witness of her might.

  LXVIII

  ‘“Known, then,” she said, “is my supremacy,

  And what full empire o’er your lives I hold;

  For it depends upon my will that ye,

  Eternal prisoners, ne’er Heaven’s light behold;

  Or birds become, or shoot forth spreading roots,

  Within the earth’s prolific bosom sown;

  Or, clothed with shaggy foreheads, roam as brutes;

  To water melt, or petrify to stone.

  LXIX

  ‘ “Still ye may all avoid my bitter rage

  By paying strict obedience to my words;

  Pagans become, and for our kingdom wage,

  ‘Gainst impious Godfred, your avenging swords.”

  We all refused, with horror, the foul pact;

  Alone Rambaldo the enchantress gains.

  Then — since her power ‘twere vain to counteract,

  She cast us in a dungeon, bound in chains.

  LXX

  ‘To that same castle Prince Tancredi came

  By chance, and he was made a prisoner too;

  But a short time in durance the false dame

  Detained us; and if what I heard be true,

  An envoy from Damascus’ lord obtained

  Permission from the sorceress to bring

  Us captives back, helpless, unarmed, enchained,

  With an armed escort, to the Egyptian king.

  LXXI

  ‘Thus we the weary road were journeying o’er,

  When, by Heaven’s lofty Providence decreed,

  Gallant Rinaldo, who doth evermore

  Exalt his glory by some fresh bright deed,

  Fell in with us, nor failed at once to attack

  The knights, our guards, whom, with his wonted powers,

  He slew and conquered, and to us gave back

  The arms they wore, which formerly were ours.

  LXXII

  ‘I saw — these saw him — in that hour of strife;

  We heard his voice, and grasped his noble hand;

  False are the rumours that report his life

  As lost, and spread confusion thro’ the land:

  But three days since he with a pilgrim guide

  Took leave of us, and unto Antioch went;

  But, before starting, cast his arms aside,

  Bloodstained, and from repeated battle rent.’

  LXXIII

  Thus spoke the prince; meanwhile his beaming eyes

  Heavenwards the hermit turned, with fervent air;