Jerusalem Delivered

by Torquato Tasso

  Let fall his sword — his least sensation fear;

  Nor could contain himself. Before him stood

  His murdered idol, moaning and in tears;

  He can’t endure the sight of her dear blood,

  Nor the faint plaintive wails that reach his ears.

  XLVI

  Thus the bold heart no dread of death could move,

  No form of danger, no horrific fears;

  Alone enfeebled by all-powerful love,

  A phantom false deludes and idle tears.

  A blast of wind meanwhile his sabre bore

  Beyond the wood, so that o’ercome he left;

  But on the roadway found, and grasped once more,

  The sword amazement from his hand had reft

  XLVII

  Still he returned not, nor attempted more

  The hidden secrets of the wood to scan,

  But Godfred sought, and, trying to restore

  Somewhat his scattered senses, thus began:

  ‘Of things not credited or credible

  Herald am I, and must confirm their view,

  Since all the accounts of the dread spectacle

  And of the fearful sounds are strictly true.

  XLVIII

  ‘Before mine eyes a wondrous fire appeared,

  Which, self-sustained and quickly kindling, rose,

  And thence dilating, lofty ramparts reared,

  Where monsters stood my passage to oppose;

  Yet these I passed, nor hindrance had, nor fight

  Uninjured I, tho’ flames around me burned;

  When of a sudden winter came and night,

  But soon broad day and summer skies returned.

  XLIX

  ‘Still more — within each tree there is transferred

  A human soul, man’s very counterpart;

  I know it from experience, having heard

  A voice whose moans still echo in my heart;

  The wounded trees distilled red drops of gore,

  As formed of tender flesh. I must avow

  My own defeat. No, no; I dare no more

  Strip off the bark or pluck another bough.’

  L

  As thus he spake, the captain ‘gan to wave

  In a great tempest of distracting thought,

  Thinking should he the enchanted forest brave

  (For such he fancied it), or if he ought

  Material seek in some more distant place,

  But not so difficult As thus he weighed

  Both plans, the hermit sought his doubts to chase,

  Recalled him from his reverie, and said:

  LI

  ‘The bold design abandon; other hands

  Must fell the wood. Lo! urged by favouring gales,

  The fatal bark has reached the desert sands,

  And now in harbour furls her golden sails;

  Now, burst his bondage in Armida’s bower,

  The expected warrior leaves his lone retreat;

  Nor is far distant the predestined hour

  Of Sion’s capture, and our foe’s defeat’

  LII

  While speaking thus, with zeal his features burned,

  And more than mortal did his words resound.

  And pious Godfred to new projects turned

  His active thoughts, that little respite found;

  But having entered in fierce Cancer’s sign,

  The sun brought heat intense, unusual,

  To his soldiers adverse, and to his own design,

  As rendering labour insupportable.

  LIII

  Spent are the heavens’ benignant, friendly lamps,

  And baleful meteors lord it in the sky,

  Whence rains a blighting influence, that stamps

  On air the seal of its malignant die;

  The noxious heat increases, and aye breeds

  On every side mortality more keen;

  To deadly day more deadly night succeeds,

  And days still worse are in succession seen.

  LIV

  The sun ne’er rises, that, o’ershadowed now

  With blood-red mists which in and round it play,

  It shows not clearly, in its angry brow,

  The presage sad of an unhappy day;

  Nor sets, that, with red blotches overcast,

  At its return it threats not equal doom,

  Embittering thus their sufferings of the past,

  With certain dread of sufferings yet to come.

  LV

  And when it pours its radiance from on high,

  Around, as far as mortal eye can stray,

  The leaves are seen to fade, the flowers to die,

  The parched-up grass to wither and decay;

  Water to ‘minish, the cracked earth to gape,

  Nor is there aught that ‘scapes heaven’s burning ire;

  The barren clouds in air assume the shape

  And awful semblance of great globes of fire.

  LVI

  A lurid furnace seems the leaden sky,

  Nor to refresh the sight doth aught appear;

  Still in their grots the slumbering zephyrs lie,

  Hushed altogether is each breath of air;

  Alone, as if from blazing torch, there blows

  Sirocco’s blast from Mauritanian sands,

  Whose stifling breath more dense each moment grows,

  And strikes and suffocates the Christian bands.

  LVII

  No longer grateful fall the shades of night,

  But with the sun’s full glare imprinted seem;

  Inwrought her mantle is with comets bright,

  With many a meteor flash, and fiery beam;

  Nor to thy thirst, sad earth! her dewy showers

  Concedes the miser moon. Thro’ all the plain,

  The withered herbage, the exhausted flowers

  Long for their vital moisture, but in vain.

  LVIII

  From restless nights sweet slumber exiled flies,

  Nor can faint mortals call it back; repose

  Comes not, though fondly courted, to their eyes;

  But thirst is still the greatest of their woes:

  Since with inhuman craft Judaea’s king

  Did with the fountains deadly poison mix,

  And thus more black and turbid made each spring

  Than the infernal Acheron or Styx.

  LIX

  And little Siloë, whose crystal tide

  Erst to the Franks its grateful treasures spread,

  Now but a scant restorative supplied;

  Its tepid waters scarce conceal its bed;

  Nor had appeared superfluous to their want,

  The Po in May, when it profoundest grows,

  ‘Nor Ganges, nor the Nile, when, not content

  With its seven homes, it Egypt overflows.

  LX

  If any e’er thro’ shady banks had seen

  Pure molten silver stagnate in a lake,

  Or living water dash down Alps between,

  Or its calm course thro’ flowery meadows take;

  These in fond fancy they once more behold,

  They furnish fresh material for their pain;

  Their image, so refreshing and so cold,

  Parches their lips and parboils in their brain.

  LXI

  The limbs of manliest, stoutest cavaliers,

  That proof ‘gainst journey o’er the roughest road,

  ‘Gainst weight of armour, proof ‘gainst levelled spears

  Of cruel foemen thirsting for their blood,

  Relaxed and melted by the burning heat,

  Now to themselves a useless burden lay,

  While in their veins lurk secret fires, that eat

  By slow degrees their very life away.

  LXII

  The war-horse languishes, so fierce before,

  And loathes the grass, his former dearest food;

  His faint limbs totter, the proud crest he bor
e

  Droops to the ground dejected and subdued;

  No longer mindful of his victories,

  Nor with the love of glory more elate,

  His victor trappings and embroideries

  He now despises as ignoble weight.

  LXIII

  The faithful dog, too, languishes; all care

  Of home and lord forgotten as he lies

  Panting, outstretched, and with fresh draughts of air

  To mitigate his inward fever tries;

  For if boon Nature respiration gave,

  To temper heat’s excessive vehemence,

  Now it can none or small refreshment have,

  Since this they breathe so heavy is and dense.

  LXIV

  Thus pined the earth; in such condition lay

  Its wretched sons, consumed by burning thirst;

  And the good, faithful host, despairing they

  Of victory now, anticipate the worst.

  On every side lamenting voices pour

  Their loud complaints with simultaneous breath:

  ‘What hopes for Godfred? Why delays he more,

  Till all the camp is swallowed up by death?

  LXV

  ‘Ah! with what forces doth he hope to gain

  The strong defences of our enemies?

  Whence arms expect? Doth he alone disdain

  To see Heaven’s wrath revealed in signs like these?

  A thousand prodigies, a thousand signs,

  How adverse is the Almighty mind assure;

  On us the sun with such fierce fervour shines,

  Less needs relief the Indian or the Moor.

  LXVI

  To him, insensible! imports it not

  That we advance unto a death of pain;

  Vile, useless beings, slighted and forgot,

  That he forsooth his royal power maintain!

  What! is it then such happiness to reign,

  That he with so much eagerness should try

  The pomp and ease of kingship to retain,

  While thus around his subject-people die?

  LXVII

  ‘Behold the piteous care and mind humane

  Of him who bears the name of Pious — yet,

  An empty, dangerous honour to retain,

  Doth thus the safety of his troops forget;

  And, seeing for us the founts and river dry,

  For its cool crystal to the Jordan sends,

  And at gay feasts, in joyous company,

  The wines of Crete with its fresh water blonds,’

  LXVIII

  Thus the Franks murmured. But the Grecian chief,

  Already tired their standard to pursue,

  Exclaimed: ‘Why here expire without relief?

  Why witness thus my people perish too?

  If, in his madness, Godfred be so blind,

  Let him and his the consequences rue;

  What’s that to us?’ Nor would he stay behind

  Ev’n to take leave, but in the night withdrew.

  LXIX

  Contagious was the precedent, and far

  As daylight showed, the rank infection spread.

  Those whom Clotharius had, and Ademar,

  And the other chiefs, now bones and ashes, led,

  Now that the Power, which all dissolves, had freed

  Them from their sworn allegiance, talk of flight;

  Nay some, the more adventurous, succeed

  In flying under cover of the night.

  LXX

  These facts were heard and noted by the chief,

  Who by harsh measures could have all repressed:

  But these he abhorred; and, with that firm belief

  Which can make mountains move and rivers rest,

  To God raised up devotionate appeal,

  That he would ope the fountain of his grace.

  He clasped his hands, and, rapt with fervent zeal,

  To Heaven addressed his words and beaming face:

  LXXI

  ‘Father and Lord! if, in the desert, thou

  Didst on thy people sweet refreshment rain,

  Or mortal hands didst with the power endow

  Hard rocks to rive, and living streams obtain

  From the cleft stone, — to us do not deny

  Like love; and if unequal be our claim,

  Do our deficiency by grace supply,

  Nor let us vainly plead who bear thy name.’

  LXXII

  No lagging course his pious prayers pursue,

  Since sprung from humble and so just desire,

  But prompt and light through heaven’s crystallin flew,

  Like winged birds, unto their God. The Sire

  Eternal heard, and on His faithful host

  Cast down a tender and compassionate look;

  And, grieving for their toils and numbers lost,

  In these benignant, friendly accents spoke:

  LXXIII

  ‘Tho’ my loved camp may have suffered till this hour

  Painful and perilous adversity,

  Though hell with all its secret arts and power,

  And though the world against it armèd be,

  Now a new state of fortune shall begin,

  And turn its grief to joy. Let rain fall down,

  Return its own unconquered paladin,

  And Egypt’s host arrive — his fame to crown.’

  LXXIV

  He ceased, and bowed his head; — then shook the sky;

  The stars and wandering planets felt the spell;

  Trembled the reverent air, the mountains high,

  The fields of ocean, and the abyss of hell;

  Leftwards forked lightning flashed, and with it pealed

  Loud claps of thunder through the lowering skies.

  Each flash, each peal, the gladdened army hailed

  With joyful clamour and exulting cries.

  LXXV

  Lo! sudden clouds, and they not earthly born,

  Or upwards drawn by virtue of the sun,

  But from high heaven — which had asunder torn

  Its mighty gates — fall, rushing swiftly down.

  Lo! sudden night the light of day enchains

  Within its shade, that all around is spread;

  Succeeded by such fierce, impetuous rains,

  That Siloë now o’erleaps his narrow bed.

  LXXVI

  As in midsummer’s season, if the shower

  So pined, so longed for, from the heavens descend,

  In fond impatience of the welcome hour,

  By arid streams hoarse chattering ducks attend,

  Spreading their pinions to the grateful cool;

  None from the clear, refreshing moisture blench,

  And, where the gathering freshet forms a pool,

  Plunge in its depths their burning thirst to quench;

  LXXVII

  So these salute with screams of wild delight

  The falling rain, that with compassionate hand

  God sent His faithful people to requite.

  Uncloaked, nay more, unhelmeted, all stand;

  This drinks from glass, that with his helmet vies,

  These keep their hands immersed beneath the rill;

  Some bathe their throbbing temples, some their eyes;

  Vessels, for better use, the crafty fill.

  LXXVIII

  And not alone the human race is glad,

  Its previous waste rejoicing to restore;

  But the parched earth, that was so faint, so sad,

  And in its limbs such gaping fissures bore,

  Sucks in the moisture, and unites once more;

  And spreads it thence throughout its inmost veins,

  Supplying largely each exhausted flower,

  Each herb and plant with heaven’s nutritious rains:

  LXXIX

  Resembling sickly girl whose fever was

  By vital draughts and cordial balms subdued,

  Whence, disencumbere
d of the fatal cause

  That made her limbs its appetising food,

  As fresh and as recruited she becomes

  As in the season of her greatest charms,

  And now, forgetting her past ills, resumes

  Her robes, her garlands, and all beauty’s arms.

  LXXX

  The rains now cease; the sun returns at length,

  But with a genial and attempered ray,

  As it is wont, replete with virile strength,

  At the end of April or the birth of May.

  O gentle faith! alone thy virtue can

  The air’s death-bearing poison dissipate,

  Can change the seasons’ order and their plan,

  Thwart the stars’ influence, and discomfit Fate.

  CANTO XIV.

  I

  Now issuing from her mother’s womb, the night

  O’er heaven and earth her sable shadows threw;

  Bearer she was of zephyrs passing light,

  And of big showers of pure and precious dew;

  Shaking the humid border of her veil,

  She with its drops the grass and flowers impearled;

  And flapping his glad wings the gentle gale,

  Fanned the soft slumbers of the sleeping world.

  II

  And all the cares on day attendant, night

  Had in refreshing deep oblivion drowned;

  But, watching from his throne of endless light,

  The world’s great monarch sat, and, turning round,

  Fixed on the Christian army’s chief supreme

  His sympathetic and propitious eye;

  Then sent as harbinger a joyous dream,

  His high and sovran will to signify.

  III

  There stands in the orient a crystallin door,

  Near those gold gates from which in full array

  The sun comes forth, and which is oped before

  Unbarred’s the portal for the rising day;

  From it proceed those dreams the Almighty sends

  To pure unsullied minds by special grace;

  Thence one to pious Godfred now descends,

  And spreads its golden pinions in his face.

  IV

  No vision e’er in wildest dreams disclosed

  Such fair, such pleasing picture to the eye,

  As this which to their inmost depths exposed

  The secrets of the stars and of the sky;

  In which, as in a mirror, he can see

  In all their splendour their contents displayed;

  He seemed transported to a galaxy,

  A white serene in golden flames arrayed.

  V

  And while he did in that high place admire

  The expanse, the motion, harmony, and light,

  Lo! girt with sunbeams, girt with radiant fire,

  That almost blinded him, approached a knight,

  Who spoke with voice to which would harsh appear

  The sweetest upon earth. ‘Godfred,’ he cries,