And on the east with fervent rapture gazed.
‘Father and Lord! with eye of clemency
This my first life, these my first errors view;
Shower down, O God, thy favour, and in me
Purge the old Adam, and my heart renew.’
XV
The vermeil dawn, as thus Rinaldo prayed,
Now living gold become, arose in front;
It gilt his casque and armour, and arrayed
In gold the verdant summit of the mount.
He felt the spirit of the grateful air
With its soft breath his brow and bosom fan,
While o’er his head, wrung from Aurora’s hair,
A crystal shower of pearly dewdrops ran.
XVI
Upon his surcoat, that seemed ashes gray,
Heaven’s dew fell down and rebaptized the knight,
Washed it, and took its mournful tint away,
And in its place induced a lucid white.
Thus their spoilt foliage withered flowers resume,
Refreshed, recruited, by the matin cold;
Blithe serpents so renew their youthful bloom,
And gleam bedizened in fresh scales of gold.
XVII
The whiteness of his changed accoutrements
Ev’n he himself with admiration viewed,
And, with bold heart and buoyant confidence,
His course directed towards the antique wood.
He had arrived now where alone the fear
Its sight inspired, the less courageous stayed:
To him not fearful did the wood appear —
No gloom he saw, but only pleasant shade.
XVIII
Onwards he passed, and caught a sound meanwhile
That round diffused most dulcet melody;
Heard the hoarse murmur of a brawling rill,
And, ‘mid the forest’s leaves, the breezes sigh;
Lyres, organs, human voices, and the wail,
The dying wail, of the melodious swan,
With plaintive answer of the nightingale,
And all these various sounds expressed in one.
XIX
As happened to the rest, the cavalier
Expecting was loud thunder’s fearful tone,
But did descant of nymphs and sirens hear,
Of air, of water, and of birds alone.
Whence blank bewilderment enchained his feet,
Then slowly he advanced, nor on the road
Did other hindrance or obstruction meet,
Save where a tranquil stream before him flowed.
XX
Odours perfumed, and Nature’s choicest charms
Pranked either bank, that sweetly smiled and smelt;
And the stream so far stretched its circling arms,
That the great forest sat within its belt;
And not alone a garland round it made,
But a branch parted, and between it flowed:
So, with fair change of water and of shade,
Wood screened the water, water bathed the wood.
XXI
While the knight looked to find a ford, behold!
Spanning the stream, a wondrous bridge appeared;
A gorgeous bridge of brightly burnished gold,
That formed a road, on massive arches reared.
He crossed the golden passage, which fell down
Soon as his foot had touched the opposite shore,
And the stream, now into a torrent grown,
With it away the crumbling fabric bore.
XXII
He turned, and saw that to a flood profound
Had grown the stream, as if from melted snow,
Which, voluble in itself, whirled round and round,
In thousand eddies, as it dashed below.
Still keen desire of fresh adventure drew —
The eager youth that dense old wood to see,
And in that sylvan waste some wonder new
Excited aye his curiosity.
XXIII
Where’er, in passing, did his foot repose,
There flowers sprang up or living crystal gushed;
Here oped the lily, there burst forth the rose;
Here water leaped, there in a river rushed:
And o’er and round him the old wood its bloom
Seemed to renew; the rugged bark was seen
To soften, the whole forest to assume
A look more joyous and a tint more green.
XXIV
With manna rorid was each teeming tree,
And odorous honey from its bark distilled;
Again that sweet unearthly harmony
The air with song and lamentation filled.
Nor knew he where was hid the human choir,
That with the air, the swan, and waters blent,
Nor saw the organ or mysterious lyre,
Nor those that made such sweet accompaniment.
XXV
But while he gazed round, and belief denied
To what his senses offered him as true,
Standing apart, a myrtle he descried,
Where a piazza closed the avenue;
Its towering branches the strange myrtle spread
The haughty palm and cypress far above:
There, raising past all other trees its head,
Appeared to be the palace of the grove.
XXVI
In the piazza the knight saw, surprised,
Still greater novelties; for in the earth
Appeared an oak, that, of itself incised,
Opened its pregnant bosom, and gave birth.
Whence issued forth, arrayed in wondrous guise,
A lovely nymph, in beauty’s ripest bloom;
At the same time a hundred plants he spies,
Producing each a nymph from out its womb.
XXVII
As sylvan goddesses display their charms
Upon the stage, or in some painting fair,
With tucked-up dresses and uncovered arms,
With dainty buskins and dishevelled hair,
The rugged trees’ fictitious daughters so
Appeared Rinaldo’s startled gaze before,
Save that, instead of quiver and of bow,
A viol this, that lute or cittern bore,
XXVIII
They then began to carol and dance round,
And of themselves inwove a garland, whence
They in their cirque the youthful warrior bound,
As point within its own circumference.
They bound the tree, too, and these words of love
Were all he could, amid their descant, glean:
‘Welcome, thrice welcome, to this pleasant grove,
Thou cherished hope and idol of our queen!
XXIX
‘Longed for, thou com’st, the patient to restore,
Consumed, exhausted by love’s wasting flame:
This wood, so dreary, and so dark before,
And which so well her dolorous life became,
At thy approach resumes its gaiety,
And in still lovelier form is clothed anew.’
Such was the song; when from the myrtle tree
Issued sweet sounds, and then it oped in two.
XXX
Within Sileni, in the days of yore,
Our sires saw wondrous images enclosed,
But this large myrtle, from its opened core,
A far more rare and lovely form exposed;
It showed a woman, whose false look excelled
An angel’s in its loveliness and grace.
Rinaldo gazed, and fancied he beheld
Armida’s likeness, and her witching face.
XXXI
Half glad, half sorrowful, the youth she eyed;
A thousand feelings centred in one look.
‘I see thee, then; thou, then, at length,’ she cried,
‘Returnest back to her whom you forsook.
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Why art thou here? Is’t by thy presence now
To cheer my widowed nights and mournful days?
Or to wage war, and drive me hence, that thou
But show’st thine arms, and hid’st thy lovely face?
XXXII
‘Com’st thou as friend or foe. ’Twas not for foes
I caused the bridge like magic to appear,
Nor oped the stream, the fountain, and the rose,
To smooth a passage for thy coming here.
Bare, then, thy brow, remove that envious crest,
And, if still friend, fix thy dear eyes on mine;
Join lip to lip once more, and breast to breast;
Or take at least this trembling hand in thine.’
XXXIII
She went on still addressing him, and rolled
(Pallid as death) in piteous cirques her eyes,
Dissembling and deceiving as of old,
With melting tears, sweet sobs, and deep-drawn sighs.
It would have moved a heart of stone to hear
The flood of anguish the false siren poured;
But the forewarned, not heartless, cavalier
No longer waited, but unsheathed his sword;
XXXIV
And straight proceeded to the myrtle tree,
Which she embraced, and, interposing, cried:
‘Hold! nor inflict such outrage upon me;
Thou wouldst not, surely, my dear trunk divide?
Lay down thy sword, or, cruel as thou art,
Let it the life-blood of Armida drain:
To this dear myrtle, through this breast, this heart,
Alone a passage can thy falchion gain.’
XXXV
Deaf to her prayer, he raised his sword, while she
(O novel prodigy!) transformed became.
Thus metamorphosed suddenly we see
One figure to another in a dream;
So waxed her limbs, and turned to swarthy hue
Of her fair face the pink and ivory charms;
She to a most colossal giant grew —
Briareus, armèd with a hundred arms.
XXXVI
Fifty broad swords she griped, and fifty shields
Clashed with defiant menace in his ear.
Each other nymph, now horrid Cyclops, wields
Falchion and targe; but still he felt no fear:
Nay, on the guarded plant renewed his blows,
Which ‘neath them groaned, as animate it were;
While in such numbers ghosts and monsters rose,
That Stygian fields appeared the fields of air.
XXXVII
Beneath, earth thundered; overhead, the skies
Lightened, and quaked the vast terrestrial sphere;
Warred the wild elements, and in his eyes
With fury smote him. Still the cavalier
Paused not a moment, tho’ the lightning gleamed,
Nor in his stroke or purpose ever erred.
He felled the nut— ’tis nut that myrtle seemed —
The charm was broke, the spirits disappeared.
XXXVIII
Heaven fair became, the tempest passed away,
The wood returned unto its natural state:
Not from enchantments dreadful, still not gay;
Replete with gloom, but gloom that was innate.
Then tried the victor, and retried again,
If aught else hindered him the wood to hew;
And, smiling, said: ‘Ye semblances! how vain,
How weak is man to be deterred by you!’
XXXIX
His lonely way then towards the camp pursued,
Where Peter meanwhile cried, excitedly:
‘O’ercome’s the dread enchantment of the wood —
Returns the victor from his victory.
Lo! where he comes!’ Afar was seen to loom
The snow-white mantle of Bertholdo’s son,
And, with unwonted sheen, the silver plume
Of Esters eagle glistered in the sun.
XL
Arrived, the camp acknowledged its delight
By deafening plaudits for the victory won;
And pious Godfred welcomed back the knight
With highest honours, that were grudged by none.
‘Sire,’ said Rinaldo, ‘to the dreadful wood
I went, and saw it, as thou orderedst me;
I saw, and its enchantments have subdued:
Send, then, the workmen there — the ways are free,’
XLI
To the old wood they went, and felled each bough
That practised judgment for the purpose chose.
And tho’ the unskilled workmen knew not how
The first machines adroitly to compose;
This time an artist of celebrity
The ponderous beams with pliant withies wove;
William, the Genoese chief, who on the sea
Was wont as corsair formerly to rove.
XLII
Forced to retire then, to the Saracen
He yielded up dominion of the seas,
And from the ships now brought both arms and men
To the encampment as auxiliaries.
Nor could one, ‘mid the most intelligent,
His peer in knowledge of mechanics find;
With him a hundred minor workmen went,
To execute the plans that he designed.
XLIII
He at once began, not only to compose
Balistae, catapults, and rams, and each
Machine that could with the high ramparts close,
Destroy their fences, and the bastions breach;
But made a greater work, a wondrous tower,
With planks of pine and fir enwove inside;
And to protect it from the fire-balls’ shower,
Without, wrapped up in swathes of moistened hide.
XLIV
The fabric takes to pieces and unites,
With joints together joined by subtile art;
And a huge beam with ram’s head tipped, that fights
Ram-like, emerges from the lower part.
Midway leaps forth a bridge, and with such power,
As at first spring to reach the adverse wall;
And from the top shoots up a lesser tower,
That grows, forced upwards, and looks over all.
XLV
Voluble, on a hundred wheels, to glide
It ‘gan along the smoothened ways, and tho’
Pregnant with arms, pregnant with men inside,
Without much labour it appeared to go.
The troops stood watching, with astonied eyes,
The workmen’s quickness and dexterity,
When, lo! two other towers were seen to rise,
That of the first twin sisters seemed to be.
XLVI
Meanwhile the Christians’ doings were not altogether hidden from the Saracens,
Since, towards the nearest points, upon the wall
Were stationed guards to watch the Franks’ designs;
Great loads of pine and elm trees from the wood
They saw conducted to the Christian host;
Machines they saw, but not entirely could
Their form distinguish from their distant post
XLVII
They, too, made engines, and with no less art
The towers and ramparts reinforced again,
And raised them up so, in whatever part
Ill-fitted seemed war’s fury to sustain,
That they believed the greatest force of Mars
Henceforth unable was to take the town;
But, beyond all defence, Ismene prepares
Strange fires upon the assailants to throw down.
XLVIII
The wretch with sulphur did bitumen, mix,
Brought from the lake of Sodom; and to hell
Methinks he went, and from the river Styx,
That n
ine times girds it, was supplied as well.
Such smoke and stench he in the fire-balls wrought,
Which, burning hot, were darted in the face;
Well by those dread combustibles he thought
To avenge of his fell’d forest the disgrace.
XLIX
While thus the camp prepared for the assault,
And the beleaguered city for defence,
Lo! swiftly skimming the aerial vault,
A dove was seen to cross the Gallic tents:
Nor moved her pinions, but with outstretched wing
The pilgrim messenger came sailing down
Through the lush fields of air, as if to bring,
From the high clouds, a message to the town;
L
When swooped a falcon — from I know not whence,
Armed with great talons and hooked beak, as tho’
To oppose her ‘twixt the city and the tents;
But she awaited not his cruel blow;
He, darting down, pursued her as she fled
To Godfred’s tent, and nearer, nearer drew;
His talons almost struck her gentle head,
When to the prince’s sheltering lap she flew.
LI
Her he protected, as she frightened clung,
And saw, examining, a curious thing;
For from her neck, bound by a ribbon, hung
A folded letter hid beneath her wing;
He opes, unfolds it, and the not long whole
Of its contents completely comprehends.
‘To Judah’s lord’ (so ran the secret scroll)
‘The Egyptian captain health and greeting sends.
LII
‘Do not despair, O king, resist, and wait
For four days longer, or for five at most,
When I will come these walls to liberate,
By conquering ‘neath them the besieging host.’
This was the secret which the missive bore,
In rude barbaric characters displayed,
And to the dove entrusted; for of yore
Such envoys letters in the East conveyed.
LIII
Prince Godfred set the captive turtle free,
Who having thus her master’s secrets bared,
To him a rebel deemed herself to be,
Nor to return, successless envoy, dared.
The greater chief did then the minor call,
Showed them the letter, and exclaimed: ‘Behold,
How the high providence of God has all
The foe’s designs to His believers told.
LIV
‘We must no more, then, dally or delay,
But new approaches ‘gainst the heights commence,
Nor spare fatigue or trouble, that we may
O’ercome the crags that form the south’s defence;
Hard it may be to make a path there; still,
Make it we can: the ground is known to me;
Be sure that wall, protected by the hill,
With arms and works must less defended be.
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