Jerusalem Delivered

by Torquato Tasso

  Is thine own face, as thus thou slightest me;

  Since thy bright glance, dissatisfied elsewhere,

  Can in itself alone contented be.

  The clearest crystal but thy beauty mars;

  How can small glass a Paradise comprise?

  Heaven is thy worthy mirror, and the stars

  Alone reflect the lustre of thine eyes,’

  XXIII

  Armida smiled at that, but ceases not

  To snatch fresh charms from her coquettish toils:

  She smooths her flowing hair, and, having got

  Into fair shape its wanton errors, coils

  It into ringlets, which with flowers she inweaves,

  As with enamel gold; with alien roses

  The native lilies of her breast relieves,

  And then, self-satisfied, her veil composes.

  XXIV

  The peacock ne’er such beauty spreads in show

  In the full splendour of his Argus plumes;

  Not Iris such, when her dew-spangled bow

  With gold and glowing purple she illumes.

  But rich, beyond all measure, was her zone,

  Relinquished never, even when undrest,

  And made of immaterial things: alone

  She to compose it the rare skill possessed.

  XXV

  The coy refusal, the voluptuous leer,

  The feuds and truces, the heart-piercing eyes,

  The tender kiss, the sympathetic tear,

  The playful raillery, the broken sighs,

  She fused together, welded into one,

  Then tempered slowly o’er the furnace blast,

  And with them formed the talismanic zone,

  Whose mystic circle girt her lissome waist.

  XXVI

  At length, her toilette o’er, she asks his leave,

  Embraces her dear lover, and departs,

  Since during day she took a short reprieve,

  Intent on business and her magic arts.

  But he remains; she ne’er permission grants

  Him for a moment from that spot to stir;

  He can but wander ‘mid the beasts and plants,

  A hermit lover, but for being with her.

  XXVII

  But when the twilight’s friendly silence calls

  The impatient lovers to their stolen delight,

  Beneath one roof, inside the garden walls,

  They pass the blissful moments of the night;

  Now, when Armida, for severer rites,

  Had left the garden and love’s gentle charms,

  From their umbrageous hiding-place the knights

  Disclosed themselves, arrayed in pompous arms.

  XXVIII

  Like war horse, that, triumphant at the close

  Of the campaign’s fatigues and fame, repairs,

  As wanton sire in infamous repose,

  To roam at will ‘mid pastures and the mares;

  If but awakened by the trumpet’s strain

  Or flashing steel, he neighs and gallops there;

  He burns to tread the martial lists again,

  And in the charge once more his rider bear:

  XXIX

  So felt Rinaldo, as the lightning rays

  Of armour burst upon his dazzled sight;

  Instant his warrior spirit was ablaze,

  Excited, maddened by the welcome light,

  Though morbid ease and pleasures had entranced

  His facile mind. Meanwhile in full revealed,

  Ubaldo from the underwood advanced,

  And on him turned the adamantine shield.

  XXX

  In the bright shield the youth himself beheld,

  Such as he was; marked his effeminate air,

  What perfume saw and wantonness exhaled,

  His sybarite robes, his mantle, and his hair;

  The very sabre pendent at his side

  Appeared a woman’s gaudy ornament,

  Forming a useless article of pride,

  And not a manly warlike instrument.

  XXXI

  As one with deep and leaden sleep oppressed,

  Comes, the dream past, unto himself again,

  So turned he from the mirror’s faithful test,

  Nor longer could the sickening sight sustain;

  With drooping eyes he gazed upon the ground,

  Timid, abashed; a prey to burning shame,

  ‘Neath the wild waves he wishes he were drowned,

  Sunk in earth’s centre, or consumed by flame.

  XXXII

  Then spake Ubaldo: ‘Far from this lonely shore,

  Europe and Asia bloody battle wage,

  And those who thirst for fame, and Christ adore,

  Now sheathed in arms in Palestine engage:

  Thee, only thee, Bertholdo’s son, removed

  Outside the world, a little nook shuts in;

  By the world’s movements thou art alone unmoved,

  A Pagan trull’s illustrious paladin!

  XXXIII

  ‘What sleep, what fatal lethargy unites,

  Thy soul, thy valour to contaminate?

  Up, up! Thee, Godfred, thee the camp invites;

  Fortune and victory for thy coming wait;

  Come, fated champion! and, ‘neath Salem’s wall,

  Complete the task begun, and let the horde

  Which thou hast shaken so already, fall

  Beneath the sweep of thy predestined sword.’

  XXXIV

  He ceased. The noble youth remained a space,

  Voiceless, moveless, confused — but when the stings

  Of shame to indignation had given place,

  Armed indignation that from reason springs;

  And to his blushes flashed another fire,

  That raged more fiercely, and more warmth bespoke;

  He rent asunder all his vain attire,

  The wretched sign of his disgraceful yoke.

  XXXV

  And springing up with haste precipitate,

  Through the wild mazes of the labyrinth fled;

  Meanwhile the guardian of her royal gate

  Armida, horror-struck, saw lying dead:

  She first suspected, but too soon had proof,

  That ’twas her lover hurrying away;

  She saw him turn his back on that sweet roof,

  (Ah, woeful spectacle!) then strove to say:

  XXXVI

  ‘Whither, O cruel, leavest thou me alone?’

  But grief had closed the passage to the sound,

  So that returned the faint and dolorous tone,

  Within her heart more sadly to rebound;

  Yes, power and knowledge greater than thine own,

  Poor wretch, have robbed thee of thy heart’s delight;

  This she well knew, and vainly now had gone

  To try could magic yet arrest his flight.

  XXXVII

  All the foul words Thessalian witches e’er

  Breathed from their lips obscene, with every spell

  That could arrest the planets in the air,

  Or summon spirits from the abyss of hell;

  All, all she knew: and yet could not effect

  That hell would ev’n make answer to her speech.

  The sorceress then her incantations checked,

  To try would beauty prove a better witch.

  XXXVIII

  She flies, nor recks of honour, or of state.

  Where are her triumphs now, and vaunted power?

  She who Love’s empire, howsoever great,

  Turned and o’erturned by a sole glance before;

  Whose pride was matched with such disdain, that she

  Loved to be loved, and yet her lovers hated;

  Herself her idol, her delight to see

  In others the impression she created.

  XXXIX

  Tho’ slighted now, abandoned, and neglected,

  She follows him who flies her, and who scor
ns;

  And her rare beauty, for itself rejected,

  With tears, to make more beautiful, adorns.

  Away she goes; nor do her tender feet

  Heed frost or Alpine roughness, and before

  She sends loud cries, as heralds, to entreat;

  Nor reaches him till he had gained the shore.

  XL

  Then madly cries: ‘ O thou that bear’st with thee

  Part of myself, and leavest part behind,

  Or take thou this, or that restore to me,

  Or both destroy! Ah, stay! ah, stay! unkind!

  Let my last dying accents reach thine ear;

  Kisses, a fairer will henceforth supply;

  Why to remain, unfeeling, dost thou fear?

  Thou canst refuse, who hadst the heart to fly.’

  XLI

  At this the cavalier stood still, while she

  Came up all breathless and dissolved in tears;

  And tho’ in greater grief she could not be,

  Still not more sad than lovely she appears.

  She looks — she looks him thro’ — yet speaketh naught:

  Or that she scorns, or thinks, or does not dare.

  He durst not look; and if a glance he caught,

  ’Twas with a furtive self-reproachful air.

  XLII

  As gentle singer, who before he dares

  Free to loud burst of melody his tongue,

  With a sweet prelude of low notes prepares

  The listening world for his harmonious song:

  So she, who, tho’ in bitter grief immersed,

  Had not forgotten her deceitful art,

  Breathed a short symphony of sighs at first,

  To predispose admission to his heart.

  XLIII

  ‘Think not, ah cruel!’ she began, ‘ that I

  To thee as lover should to lover pray.

  Such we were once; but shouldst thou scorn this tie,

  Or that its memory on thy mind doth weigh,

  Hear me at least as foe; a foeman will

  At times ev’n listen to a foe’s desire:

  Thou well mayst grant what I demand, and still

  Preserve thy anger and thy hate entire.

  XLIV

  ‘If thou dost hate me, and in that delight,

  Hate on; I leave thee to that feeling free.

  Thou deem’st it just, ’tis just; since I admit

  The Franks I hated — yes, I hated thee.

  I, Pagan born, a thousand means employed

  Thy realm to ruin, and with deep laid plot

  Thee followed, captured, and from arms decoyed,

  Far, far away, to a strange unknown spot.

  XLV

  ‘And add to this, what more thy hate will move,

  And will the burden of my wrongs complete,

  I cheated and enticed thee into love.

  Most impious fraud, forsooth! most base deceit,

  To yield the flower of maidenhood and pride,

  And make another master of these charms,

  And that which unto thousands was denied,

  To give unsought for to a stranger’s arms!

  XLVI

  ‘Count this too ‘mong the sins I have to bear,

  And let the faults of poor Armida move

  Thee to depart from hence; no more to care

  For this sweet roof, mute witness of our love.

  Go, battle, toil, haste back to Palestine;

  I’ll speed thee on: destroy our faith — Ah me!

  Why say I ours? Alas! no longer mine;

  Since, cruel idol, I but worship thee.

  XLVII

  ‘Let me but follow thee, and quit this soil;

  Ev’n foes would reckon that a small request.

  The spoiler leaves not thus behind his spoil;

  The conqueror goes, why then should captive rest?

  Me let the camp among thy trophies see,

  And add this triumph to thy former fame,

  That thou hast mocked the woman that mocked thee,

  So that they point their fingers at my shame.

  XLVIII

  ‘Shamed and despised, for whom, then, shall I save

  These flowing tresses thou hast rendered vile?

  I’ll cut them off, and follow thee as slave,

  And to that grade my bearing reconcile.

  Thee will I follow through the hostile crowd,

  Where hottest battle doth its risks enhance;

  With strength sufficient is my arm endowed

  To lead thy charger, or support thy lance.

  XLIX

  ‘Yes, I will be or I will bear thy shield,

  Nor spare myself, so thou uninjured be;

  Thro’ this bare bosom, on the bloody field,

  Shall pass the sword, before it reaches thee.

  Barbarian sure were not inhuman so

  As point ‘gainst thee, thro’ this my breast, his arms;

  And may the pleasure of revenge forego

  For these, whate’er they be, neglected charms.

  L

  ‘Fool! do I still presume, still vaunt the worth

  Of slighted beauty, that can nought obtain?’

  More she had said, but scalding tears burst forth,

  Like torrent sweeping down an Alpine chain.

  To seize his hand, his cloak, she had begun,

  Kneeling in suppliant posture on the ground:

  But he drew back, resisted her, and won;

  No entrance love, his tears no exit found.

  LI

  Love entered not to tan the former flame

  That in his bosom reason had congealed,

  But in its stead, at least, compassion came —

  Love’s chaste companion — whose mute voice appealed.

  And touched him, so that it was all he could

  Retrain from tears; yet, by strong will, he reined

  His yearning bias to that tender mood.

  And, by an effort, calm indifference feigned,

  LII

  Then said: ‘Armida grieved enough I am.

  And fain would, an I could, remove from thee

  The burning spirit of thy ill-starred flame,

  Since I from anger and from bate am free,

  Nor wrongs remember, nor revenge pursue;

  Nor can I thee as slave or foe address:

  Thou hast erred and passed beyond all bounds, ’tis true,

  Carrying thy love and hatred to excess.

  LIII

  ‘But then, such errors common are, and them

  Thy native laws, thy sex, thy youth excuse.

  I, too, have erred, nor can I thee condemn,

  Unless I indulgence to myself refuse:

  In weal, in woe, in life, aye, ev’n in death

  Thy memory will be honoured and most dear;

  And, so far as my honour and my faith

  Allow of it, I’ll be thy cavalier.

  LIV

  ‘But let us now our shame and sin give o’er;

  Such is, Armida, my last prayer to thee,

  And on this distant solitary shore

  For ever buried let their memory be;

  Of all my deeds be this alone forgot,

  Nor in the world exist of it one trace;

  And, ah, permit no ignominious blot

  Thy beauty, worth, and lineage to disgrace.

  LV

  ‘Remain in peace; I go, but thou must stay —

  My guide forbids thy flight with me; remain,

  Or seek some other, better, happier way,

  And, as thou art wise, these mad resolves restrain.’

  No longer could the infuriate fair disguise

  Her growing wrath, as thus Rinaldo spoke;

  Awhile she scanned him with despiteful eyes,

  Then into these malign reproaches broke:

  LVI

  ‘Thee fair Sofia ne’er produced, not thus

  Dost thou the blood of Az
zo’s stock attest:

  Thy parents were the icy Caucasus

  And wild sea-waves; thy nurse some tigress’ breast.

  Why more dissemble to a man that shows

  Not ev’n a vestige of humanity?

  Has he changed colour, or for my deep woes

  One tear-drop shed, or breathed a single sigh?

  LVII

  ‘What things shall I pass over or repeat?

  He says he’s mine, yet from my presence goes;

  Compassionate, generous victor, to forget

  And ev’n forgive the offences of his foes!

  Hear how this chaste, this argumentative

  Zenocrates his theory of love refines!

  Ye Gods! O Heaven! what — let these sinners live,

  Yet hurl destruction ‘gainst your sacred shrines.

  LVIII

  ‘But go, hard-hearted monster! with that peace

  Thou leav’st to me; unjust, relentless, go!

  But never shall my naked spirit cease

  To haunt thy presence, and torment thee — no!

  New Fury, I with serpents and with fire

  Will torture thee, as I have loved before;

  And, shouldst thou ‘scape the raging billows’ ire,

  And safely reach the battle-field once more,

  LIX

  ‘There, ‘mid the dead and dying prostrate, all

  My pangs thou shalt repay, false cavalier;

  And by her name Armida often call

  At thy last gasp — this, this I hope to hear.’

  But now the exhausted sufferer sank, nor could

  Complete the words that in her passion rose:

  She falls, half-lifeless, her dank pores exude

  An icy sweat, her heavy eyelids close.

  LX

  Closed are thine eyes, Armida; aught to cheer

  Thy parting pangs invidious Heaven denies.

  Ah, wretched, ope them, and behold the tear,

  The bitter tear that blinds Rinaldo’s eyes.

  Couldst thou but hear the music of his sighs,

  How it would soothe thee, and thy anguish quell;

  All that he can he gives, in piteous guise

  Then takes (yet seest thou not!) a last farewell.

  LXI

  What should he do? Upon the barren sands

  Desert her thus, half living and half dead?

  His stay compassion, courtesy demands;

  But hard necessity compels — He fled.

  Away, away, the gentle westering gales

  Thro’ the fair tresses of his escort blew;

  O’er the deep ocean fly the golden sails;

  The coast he watches till it sinks from view.

  LXII

  But when restored Armida gazed around,

  Nought but the silent desert met her eye.

  ‘ And is he gone?’ she cried; ‘upon the ground

  Could he forsake me thus, perhaps to die?

  Could not the traitor, in need’s extreme hour,

  Have stayed one moment, some assistance lent?