Jerusalem Delivered

by Torquato Tasso

  And at the haught self-confidence of youth;

  But still I follow my old customs, as

  The sage desires, and, tho’ unchanged in limb,

  Am now a different man to what I was,

  Since I look up to and depend on him:

  XLVII

  ‘In him I rest, he teaches and commands,

  My sovran lord, my guide and master, who

  Actions at times deserving of his hands

  Scorns not through my poor agency to do.

  Now, ’tis my charge from his captivity

  Back to the camp the unconquered knight to lead,

  Since he ordained it; and long time have I

  Looked for your coming, as by him decreed.’

  XLVIII

  While thus conversing with the knights, he gained

  The spot that formed his hermit-like retreat

  Shaped like a grot, it in itself contained

  Galleries and halls, capacious and complete;

  All that the earth in her rich veins comprised,

  Did there its full magnificence impart;

  And every ornament was so disguised,

  That it seemed work of Nature not of Art.

  XLIX

  Pages in hundreds were not wanting there

  To serve the guests, and, dazzling to behold,

  On gorgeous tables of pure silver were

  Large vases ranged of crystal and of gold.

  But soon as sated were their appetites

  And quenched their thirst, the old magician cried:

  ‘High time it is, you bold adventurous knights,

  That your still greater wants be satisfied.’

  L

  And thus continued: ‘Ye all know in part

  The schemes and tricks Armida introduced;

  How to the camp she came, and by what art

  So many knights to follow her seduced;

  Ye know how, after, that, she, faithless host,

  Fettered and then despatched her captive prey,

  Under strong escort, to far Gaza’s coast,

  And how they were delivered on the way.

  LI

  ‘Now I will tell you of what happened then,

  And, tho’ ye know it not, the tale is true.

  Soon as her prey, by such devices ta’en,

  Retaken was, the wicked sorceress knew;

  Both hands she bit — so mortified, so crost —

  And to herself, inflamed with malice, said:

  “Ah, it shall ne’er be true — he ne’er shall boast

  To have so many of my captives freed.

  LII

  ‘“If he freed others, let him keep and bear

  The pain reserved for others — others’ thrall;

  Nor yet shall this suffice; I would, I swear,

  One general ruin could ingulph them all.”

  Thus fuming, she, with unexampled spite,

  Plotted the unjust fraud which ye shall hear.

  She went to where Rinaldo had in fight

  Vanquished and partly slain her escort; here

  LIII

  ‘He having left his arms upon the field,

  A Turk’s had substituted for his own,

  Perhaps because he wished to go concealed

  Beneath device less famous and less known.

  The enchantress seized his armour, and inclosed

  In it a headless mutilated bust,

  Which on the river’s margent she exposed,

  Where she foreknew pass by the Christians must.

  LIV

  ‘Nor was this knowledge difficult, since she,

  From scouts employed by her in thousands, learned

  News of the Frank encampment frequently,

  And who from thence departed and returned.

  Besides, she often with dark spirits spoke,

  And did with them for lengthened periods dwell.

  She placed the corse then in a certain nook,

  That for her base design seemed suited well.

  LV

  ‘And a smart varlet in the adjoining wood

  Stationed to watch, in shepherd’s garb arrayed,

  And drilled him both what say and do he should

  In that feigned guise; and was in all obeyed.

  He spoke with yours, and in them sowed that seed

  Of dark unjust suspicion, which, thence fed,

  Bore broils and civil discords, and indeed

  Had almost to intestine warfare led.

  LVI

  ‘Since all believed, as she, designing, feigned,

  That Godfred ’twas who killed the gallant youth,

  Albeit suspicion, wrongly entertained,

  Fled when confronted with the light of truth.

  This was the first, most cunning stratagem

  Framed by Armida, which ye now have heard;

  How then the fair enchantress followed him,

  I’ll tell you, with what afterwards occurred.

  LVII

  ‘She for Rinaldo at the passage waits

  Like cautious huntress. He at the Orontes lights,

  Where in two parts the river separates,

  And, having formed an isle, again unites:

  A marble column on the bank he spies,

  Near which lay moored a shallop; he proceeds,

  And, fixing on its workmanship his eyes,

  In golden characters engraven reads:

  LVIII

  ‘“Whoe’er thou art whom choice or fortune guides

  In pilgrimage to this enchanting coast,

  No greater marvel than this islet hides

  Can the east or west throughout its confines boast;

  Cross, if thou wilt its paradise behold.”

  He on the impulse yields, now curious grown;

  But since the boat could not his esquires hold,

  He leaves them there, and passes o’er alone.

  LIX

  ‘Arrived, with eager and enquiring glance

  He gazed around, yet nothing there perceived

  But grottoes, fountains, herbage, flowers, and plants,

  From which he fancied he had been deceived.

  But still the spot so lured him and so charmed,

  That he seemed spell-bound by the attractions there;

  And, sitting down, his glowing brow disarmed,

  To bathe it in the soft refreshing air.

  LX

  ‘Meanwhile he heard, and thither bent his eyes,

  The river gurgle in unusual strain,

  And saw a wave in the stream’s centre rise,

  Which, in itself, whirled round and round again;

  Whence just peeped forth a lock of golden hair,

  Then lovely face of youthful damsel rose,

  Then neck and breasts, and of her form to where

  Shame round the rest her decent mantle throws.

  LXI

  ‘Thus, slowly rising from the stage at night,

  A goddess, or some fairy nymph appears.

  This, tho’ no siren, but a magic sprite,

  Might pass for one of those, in bygone years,

  That dwelt within the smooth, insidious sea,

  Near the Etrurian shore: her face as fair,

  Nor less enchanting the sweet melody

  She sang, and charmed the listening skies and air

  LXII

  ‘“Thrice happy youth! while April and sweet May

  Your glowing brow with flowery garlands bind,

  Ah! let not tinsel Fame’s fallacious ray,

  Or specious Virtue, lure your tender mind;

  Who plucks the fruit each season’s change supplies,

  And follows pleasure, as the good most choice,

  Heeds Nature’s dictates, and alone is wise;

  And will you steel yourself ‘gainst Nature’s voice?

  LXIII

  Why cast, insensate, the dear boon away,

  Of life’s gold prime, that is so brief on earth?


  Mere names, and empty idols of a day,

  Are what the world calls fortitude and worth.

  Fame, which you haughty mortals would persuade

  With witching voice, and which appears so fair,

  An echo is — a dream — nay, a dream’s shade,

  Dispersed, like smoke, by the first breath of air.

  LXIV

  “‘Enjoy your lives; with pleasing objects let

  Your tranquil spirits the frail senses fill;

  Bygone annoyance in new joys forget;

  Nor hasten woes, anticipating ill;

  Heedless of lightning’s flash or thunder’s strife,

  Let at its will Heaven all its wrath display:

  This wisdom is, this is a happy life;

  Thus Nature teaches, thus points out the way.”

  LXV

  ‘Thus sang that traitress; lulling into sleep

  The youth, by spell of her voluptuous strain.

  Little by little gentle slumbers creep,

  And o’er his senses such strong mastery gain,

  That thunder now had not the sleeper woke

  From that calm image of Sleep’s sister — Death.

  Forth from her ambush, then, the false witch broke,

  And o’er him stood, with vengeance-quickened breath.

  LXVI

  “But when she had fixed her gaze on him awhile,

  And saw how placidly the youth reposed,

  And in his eyes such sweet expression smile,

  Tho’ sealed by sleep, (what were they if unclosed?)

  Perplexed at first, she paused, then sat down near,

  And felt — beholding one so fair, so young —

  All trace of her resentment disappear,

  As o’er his brow Narcissus-like she hung.

  LXVII

  ‘And, gathering in her veil the delicate

  And living pearls that on his forehead rise,

  Essayed, by fanning him, to mitigate

  The glowing fervour of midsummer skies.

  Thus (who would credit it?) the heat suppressed

  In his closed eyes dissolved the mass of snow

  That, hard as adamant, congealed her breast,

  And lover she became, in place of foe.

  LXVIII

  ‘With privet, then, with lily and the rose,

  That flowered profusely on those pleasant plains,

  Did she with skill entwine, and thence compose

  Pliant, but strong and most unyielding, chains.

  These round his neck, and arms, and feet she laced,

  Thus bound, and thus secured her captive prize;

  Whom, as he slept, upon her car she placed

  And thence transported thro’ the liquid skies;

  LXIX

  ‘Nor to Damascus’ realms returned, nor where

  Secure her wave-encircled castle lay;

  Since, jealous of a pledge so very dear,

  And of her love ashamed, she fled away,

  And hid herself in the unbounded sea,

  Where ship from us or ne’er or rarely goes;

  And there, long past our farthest confines, she,

  For her retreat, a little island chose.

  LXX

  ‘An isle which, with the neighbouring islets, takes

  Its name from Fortune: there the enamoured maid

  At once her way to a high mountain makes,

  All uninhabited, and dark with shade.

  By magic she then cast a snowy band

  Around its sides and spurs, but left the peak

  Snowless, and on that verdant table-land

  A princely palace built beside a lake;

  LXXI

  ‘Where, in perpetual April, the fond pair

  Each others’ sweet society enjoy.

  Now from that distant and secluded lair,

  Tis yours to drag the infatuated boy,

  And the guards conquer of the jealous fair,

  Who both the palace and the mount defend;

  Nor will be wanting one to guide you there,

  Nor arms, for the great enterprise, to lend.

  LXXII

  ‘Scarce issued from the river, ye will find

  A damsel, young in face but old in years,

  Known by the hair around her forehead twined,

  And by the party-coloured robe she wears.

  She will conduct you thro’ the soundless main,

  Swifter than eagle’s wings the air divide,

  Or lightnings flash; and, coming back again,

  In her ye’ll find a no less faithful guide.

  LXXIII

  ‘At the hill’s foot where dwells the enchantress, ye

  Will hear outlandish crawling pythons hiss;

  Curling their bristling backs, wild boars ye’ll see,

  And bears and lions ope their jaws’ abyss;

  But shaking this, my own enchanter-wand,

  They’ll fear to approach its sound. Yet, judging right,

  A far, far greater trial lies beyond,

  Which ye’ll encounter on the mountain’s height.

  LXXIV

  ‘There from a fountain such pure water steals,

  That to behold it causes thirst intense;

  But deep in its cold crystal it conceals

  A poison of such secret virulence,

  That of its lucid waves the smallest drop

  The soul intoxicates, and man inspires

  To laugh so, that at last he cannot stop,

  But laughs, and laughs, till laughing he expires.

  LXXV

  ‘Far from its homicidal waters turn

  Disdainfully your lips; the banquet laid

  Upon the water’s mossy margent, spurn,

  Nor let the tongue of treacherous girls persuade,

  Whose siren voices, and soft eloquent eyes,

  Possess such tempting, such destructive baits;

  But both their looks and blandishments despise,

  And enter boldly through the lofty gates.

  LXXVI

  ‘Within, all’s masked by tortuous walls from view,

  That in themselves a complex labyrinth make;

  For this, on parchment, I will give the clue,

  So that the road ye cannot well mistake:

  In centre of the maze a garden lies,

  That breathes forth love from every leaf, and here,

  On the green carpet of its paradise,

  Ye’ll find the damsel and the cavalier.

  LXXVII

  ‘But as she, leaving her dear lover, strays

  To other parts, I will that ye surprise

  The wanton youth by showing yourselves, and raise

  The diamond shield I’ll give before his eyes;

  That seeing himself in his true naked light,

  And the effeminate garb in which he’s drest,

  Shame and remorse at such reproachful sight

  May drive the unworthy passion from his breast.

  LXXVIII

  ‘Superfluous ‘twere that I should more dilate,

  Save that in perfect safety ye may go,

  And to the parts most secret penetrate

  Of the intricate edifice; for know,

  Not all the power of sorcery can bar,

  Not ev’n delay your journey, nor can she,

  Since guided by such influence ye are,

  Be able your arrival to foresee.

  LXXIX

  ‘Nor less securely from the enchanted halls

  Shall ye retire and take your homeward way;

  But now the hour to gentle slumber calls,

  And ye must rise to-morrow with the day,’

  He ceased, and led the noble envoys where

  They could their senses in night’s lethe steep;

  And having left the pleased but pensive pair,

  The gentle sage retired himself to sleep.

  CANTO XV.

  I

  ALREADY to t
heir toils the dawn’s first lights

  Had called earth’s habitants, when prompt the old

  And friendly sage came to the warrior knights,

  Bringing the chart, the shield, and wand of gold;

  And said: ‘Prepare for your great journey ere

  The breaking day mount higher in the skies;

  Here are the spells I promised you, and here

  All that the witch’s charms can exorcise.’

  II

  Already they had risen, already they

  Their stalwart limbs in armour had arrayed,

  And, by paths never lighted by the day,

  The old man followed thro’ the gloomy shade;

  And the same footmarks ‘gan again retread,

  That on their coming first imprinted were;

  But on arriving at the river’s bed,

  ‘Success be yours,’ he cried; ‘I leave you here.’

  III

  Them in its buoyant breast the stream receives,

  And bears up gently to the surface; so

  Are wont to rise up from the bottom leaves

  That violent eddies have forced down below.

  Thus to the humid bank they now return,

  Where they the escort promised them behold;

  The little bark is there, and in its stem

  The fatal damsel that its course controlled.

  IV

  Her hair voluminous round her forehead lies,

  Most heavenly is her aspect, and as fair

  As angel’s are her calm propitious eyes,

  Such radiant lustre burns and sparkles there;

  Her robe you’d call now crimson and now blue,

  As at each moment with new colours lit,

  So that you see it wear a different hue

  As oft as you return to look at it.

  V

  Thus the gay plumage, which at times we view

  Encircling amorous turtle’s delicate neck,

  Ne’er for a moment keeps the self-same hue,

  But from the sun doth countless colours take;

  Of burning rubies it now necklace seems,

  Now with the green of softer emerald vies,

  Now all confused in one bright iris beams,

  And in a hundred ways delights the eyes.

  VI

  ‘Enter this bark, O favoured pair!’ she cries,

  ‘In which I safely cross the sounding main;

  ‘Gainst it no storms spring up, no tempests rise;

  The heaviest weights it can with ease sustain.

  My gracious lord, unsparing of his grace,

  Me sends as escort to conduct you o’er.’

  Thus spake the damsel, and began to place

  The graceful shallop nearer to the shore.

  VII

  When safely had embarked the noble pair,

  She slacks the bit, and leaves the river’s sides;

  And having spread the canvas to the air,

  Sits at the rudder, and the vessel guides.