Arm the assailants and them animate,
The scaling ladders which he holds, to scale;
He, who enrobed in venerable stole,
And crowned with mitre, stands upon the hill,
Is Bishop Ademar, thrice happy soul!
See how on you he signs his blessing still.
XCVI
‘Lift up still higher thy glowing eyes, upon
Heaven’s host entire together joined.’ Whence he
Looked up, and saw them all drawn out in one
Innumerable, wingèd soldiery.
In three great squadrons, each extended wide,
And in three ranks, was ranged the heavenly host,
Which more extended, as the more outside
The circles were, and least where innermost.
XCVII
Here he cast down, o’erpowered, then raised his eyes,
Nor more the glorious spectacle could see,
But looking round upon his troops, descries
That from all sides on them shone victory.
Some followed where Rinaldo led the way,
And slew the Syrians that dared make a stand.
Godfred at this could brook no more delay,
But snatched an ensign from its bearer’s hand,
XCVIII
And was the first to pass the bridge; on it
The soldan stood, his passage to oppose;
Small space sufficed for valour infinite,
Which for its proof required not many blows.
‘For others’ lives,’ cried fiery Solyman,
‘My own I give a sacrifice to be;
Cut down the bridge behind me, tho’alone,
No easy victim shall they find in me.’
XCIX
But, seeing towards him irate Rinaldo wend,
And that the Turks before him frightened fled,
‘What shall I do? If here my life I spend,
I spend and waste it uselessly,’ he said.
Then planning new defences backward falls,
And yields free passage to the chief across:
Who, threatening, followed, and on Salem’s walls
Planted the standard of the Sacred Cross.
C
The victor ensign waved in myriad wreaths
Proudly, as conscious of the victory won; —
On it the air, it seemed, more softly breathes,
On it more brilliantly to shine the sun;’
And every lance and arrow launched ‘gainst it
Seemed or to shun it or rebound from thence:
And Sion and the mountain opposite
Their heads to bow, with joy and reverence.
CI
From the whole force then burst triumphant cheers
At their great joyous victory: and among
The hills, in answer to the cavaliers’
Last shouts, reverberating echoes rung.
At the same moment Tancred overthrew
All the defences that Arganté made,
And his bridge launching forth, passed swiftly too,
And on the walls the purple Cross displayed.
CII
But, towards the south, where hoary Raymond fought
With varying odds against the Syrian king,
As yet the Gascon cavaliers could not
Up to the battlements their turret bring,
Since the king’s troops, with stubborn resolute will,
All efforts of the enemy defied:
And if the wall was there less solid, still,
With engines it was better fortified.
CIII
Besides that greater hindrance in that part
Than elsewhere the unwieldy turret found;
Nor could their utmost exercise of art
O’ercome the rugged nature of the ground.
Meanwhile, the Gascons and the Pagans too
Heard victory’s loud and long-continued strain,
From which both Raymond and the tyrant knew
The city had been taken towards the plain.
CIV
Whence with a cheer, ‘Hark! hark! the city’s won,’
To his companions gallant Raymond cries;
‘Won, shall it us resist? Shall we alone
Not share the honour of the great emprise? ‘
Despairing of prolonged defence, at length
King Aladine retreated, nor did halt
Until he reached a fortress of great strength,
Where he still trusted to sustain the assault.
CV
Then entered pell-mell the victorious host
Thro’ the wide gates, not by the walls alone,
Since every strong defence, each sheltered post,
Now open lay, burnt, battered, overthrown;
Here stalked the falchion’s Fury, there Death goes,
By Mourning and Despair accompanied;
In clotted pools here stagnates blood, there flows
In rivers from the dying and the dead.
CANTO XIX.
I
Now death, or prudence, or o’erwhelming dread
Had all the Turks removed from the defence.
On the won walls alone Arganté stayed,
With dogged and persistent confidence.
Still, with unflinching look and resolute eye,
He sought the sad disaster to redeem.
He feared to be driven backward, not to die;
And, even dying, would unconquered seem.
II
But, bitterer far than all his enemies,
On came Tancredi, and resumed their feud;
Nor was Arganté slow to recognise,
By the proud bearing, arms, and attitude,
The knight he had fought with, and who promisèd
In six days to return, nor kept his plight.
Whence: ‘Is it thus thou keepest faith? he said,
‘Is it thus returns Tancredi to the fight?
III
‘Late thou return’st, and not alone, still I
Grudge not another trial of thy might,
Altho’ thou seemest, in a soldier’s eye,
More like inventor of machines than knight,’
But bring strange arms and engines to this spot,
Go make a shield of thy mechanic bands;
Ev’n then, bold slayer of women, thou shalt not
Again escape destruction at my hands.’
IV
Tancredi smiled with most profound disdain,
And in these haughty terms replied: ‘Tho’ be
Late my return, yet well assured remain
That soon enough it will appear to thee;
Nay, thou wilt wish that ‘twixt thyself and me
Vast oceans rolled, or Alps rose up, since here,
By bitter proof, bold braggart, thou shalt see
If I was stopped by cowardice or fear.
V
‘Stand forth, then, thou that deignest to chastise
Giants, and doughty demigods alone:
Thee to thy teeth the woman-slayer defies.’
Thus him addressed; then, turning to his own,
Bade them retire, and their revenge forego,
Nor hurt Arganté, or in life or limb:
‘For he is less public than my private foe:
Old reckonings bind me closely unto him.’
VI
‘Ev’n as thou wilt, escorted or alone,
Come down,’ the savage Saracen replied:
‘Select the ground most crowded or most lone;
Whate’er the odds, I do not quit thy side.
Received the challenge, in such terms conveyed,
They went concordant to the mortal strife,
Accompanied by rancorous Hate, who made
One foe the champion of the other’s life.
VII
Great was the zeal for fame, great the desire
For the Turk’s blood that Tancred’s bosom fil
led,
Who deemed he could not slake his thirst for ire,
If by another’s hand one drop were spilled.
Him with his shield he covered, shouting: ‘No —
Strike not!’ to those far off. Thus safe from harms,
At length he rescued his most mortal foe
From his friends’ angered and victorious arms.
VIII
They left, their shoulders turning on the town,
And on the Christian camp, descending where
A zigzag pathway led them gently down,
By many a secret turn and winding; there
They found a narrow and umbrageous glade,
Buried among the hills, as though it were
A spacious theatre, on purpose made
For bull-baiting or mimic scenes of war.
IX
Here they both halted, and in sad suspense
Arganté turned towards the afflicted town;
But seeing the Turk without his shield’s defence,
Tancredi nobly flung away his own.
Then said: ‘What thoughts oppress thee? dost thou think
The hour is come prescribed for thee by Fate?
If that foreseeing, thou, dismayed, dost shrink,
Thy fears are now ill-seasoned and too late.’
X
‘I think on yonder city,’ he replied,
‘Judaea’s glorious and time-honoured Queen,
Which, conquered, falls; while vainly I have tried
Her fate-appointed downfall to sustain.
Ev’n thy proud head, which Heaven now destines me,
To my despite is small atonement due.’
He ceased: the knights advanced most cautiously,
Since each his adversary’s prowess knew.
XI
In frame Tancredi is most lithe and light,
Quick with his hands and most swift-footed; him
The brawny Pagan far exceeds in height,
In magnitude and massiveness of limb.
Collected, crouching, Tancred traversed round,
As if to get beneath his guard he tried,
And with his own his foeman’s falchion found,
Which he strained every means to turn aside.
XII
But bolt upright the fierce Circassian stood,
And with like skill, but unlike manner, fought;
With arm stretched out far as at least he could,
Tancredi’s body, not his sword, he sought,
Who every moment new approaches tried;
But he, with sword directed toward his face,
Kept him at bay, and, menacing, denied
Each furtive entrance and each sudden pass.
XIII
Thus when no zephyr curls the glassy sea,
The tempest o’er, two ships are seen to fight,
Altho’ unequal, with equality,
Since what this gains from speed, that has in height;
This to the charge returns a thousand times, and veers
From stem to stem; unmoved, the other bides,
And when the dwarf its giant rival nears,
Hurls down destruction from its lofty sides.
XIV
While to rush in again the Latin tries,
And beat the blade that gleams before him back,
Arganté thrusts his sword, and ‘gainst his eyes
Directs its point; he parries the attack:
But with such violence the Pagan aimed,
That ere the Christian champion had recoiled,
He struck his side, and shouted, seeing him maimed,
‘At his own game behold the fencer’s foiled.’
XV
Twixt shame and rage Tancredi was consumed,
And cast aside all caution; with such heat
For quick revenge his fiery spirit fumed,
That tardy triumph he had deemed defeat.
His sword alone replied to that rebuke,
Where the barred ventayle light admits: his aim
Arganté parried; when, with resolute look,
‘Gainst him Tancredi at half sword’s length came.
XVI
Athwart his left foot rapidly he passed,
And with his left hand seized Arganté’s right,
And with his right hand mortally, at last,
The right side wounded of the Pagan knight.
That’s the foiled fencer’s answer,’ he replied,
‘To his triumphant master in the fray.’
Arganté roaring, writhing, struggling, tried
To get — but failed — his captive arm away.
XVII
His sword, then, leaving pendent by its chain,
From underneath, the gallant Frank he grasped;
Who did the same; with all their might and main
In mortal struggle they each other clasped.
Alcides ne’er, upon the arid sands,
The mighty giant with more force upheaved,
Than that with which the rivals’ nervous hands
In various forms tenacious knots enweaved.
XVIII
So fiercely wrestled the twined combatants,
That both together fell upon the heath;
Arganté had, by management or chance,
His right hand uppermost, his left beneath.
But as Tancredi’s sword-arm crippled lay
Beneath the Turk’s superincumbent weight,
The risk and disadvantage seen, away
He freed himself, and sprung upon his feet.
XIX
Not near so quick got up the Saracen,
Who ere he rose received a slashing blow;
But as its leafy head the pliant pine
Bends and upraises to the east wind, so
Arganté’s valour more sublimely rose,
When stricken down he again so nearly fell;
The desperate pair once more in combat close,
Which, void of art, became more horrible.
XX
Blood ran from Tancred in more spots than one,
But from the Pagan poured almost a flood,
Who, like a fire ill-nourished, had begun
To feel his fury wane with loss of blood.
Tancredi, seeing what little strength possessed
His languid arm, as fainter grew each stroke,
Banished all wrath from his magnanimous breast,
Drew back some paces, and thus kindly spoke:
XXI
‘Yield thee, undaunted man, and recognise,
From strength or chance, thy conqueror in me:
In thy defeat I seek no spoil, no prize,
No right of conquest I reserve o’er thee.’
At this the Turk, more terrible than e’er,
His gathered fury flashing from his face,
Exclaimed: ‘What! vaunt to have the best, and dare
Arganté tempt with offers of disgrace!
XXII
‘Thy fortune use, since I from fear am free,
And yet will thy impertinence chastise.’
Like flickering torch that in extremity
Revives a moment, then all splendour dies,
So, heating with fresh ire his ebbing blood,
He did his sinking strength invigorate;
His parting hour, approaching fast, he would
With one last brilliant act commemorate.
XXIII
Joining his left hand with its fellow right,
He drave a blow with both conjoined in one;
Down fell his sword, and tho’ the Christian knight
Opposed his own, it forced it, and passed on;
Thro’ shoulder, ribs, that single stroke impressed
Full many wounds upon the cavalier.
If Tancred feared not, his audacious breast
Nature had made incapable of fear.
XXIV
He then redoubled the terrific blow,
B
ut to the winds its force was idly spent,
Since Tancred watching, ere it fell below,
Sprang on one side, and balked his dread intent:
While downwards dragged by thy unwieldy weight,
Thou didst, Arganté, on the greensward sprawl,
Thro’ thy own act laid low, thus fortunate
That there was none could vaunt him of thy fall.
XXV
His open wounds the fall dilated wide,
From them the blood in welling torrents poured;
He fixed his left hand on the ground, and tried,
Raised on one knee, to use once more his sword.
‘Yield thee,’ again the courteous conqueror cried,
Nor took advantage. To this fresh appeal
The treacherous Turk with stealthy stroke replied,
And struck his generous rival in the heel.
XXVI
Who, bursting forth into a fury, said:
‘Villain, is it thus my mercy you abuse?’
And thro’ his vizor plunged and plunged his blade,
Than which more certain way he could not choose.
Thus died Arganté: as he lived, so died —
Dying, he threats, nor languishes in death;
Made up of hate, ferocity, and pride,
Were his last struggles and his parting breath.
XXVII
His sword Tancredi sheathed, and reverently
Gave thanks to Jesus for the honour gained;
But that ensanguined hard-fought victory
The victor’s lifeblood had so nearly drained,
He feared his failing forces would not bear
The motion of the journey: still he went,
And step by step, with faint and feeble air,
His wearied course by the old pathway bent.
XXVIII
Drag on his frame he could no more, and weak
And weaker grew the more he persevered;
Whence down he sat upon the ground, his cheek
Propped by his arm, which trembling reed appeared.
All things before his swimming eyes whirled round,
Into dim shadows changed the waning light;
Nor could one well distinguish, when he swooned,
Which was the victor, which the vanquished knight.
XXIX
While here the lonely fight was taking place,
That private cause so sanguinary made,
Throughout the city ‘gainst the impious race
The victors’ ire its virulence displayed.
But who could scene so harrowing portray
As what the storm and sack brought forth to light?
What tongue in language adequate convey
The awful horrors of that piteous sight?
XXX
Carnage had choked the town, no spot was leer,
Corpses were piled in mounds, in masses spread;
There lay the wounded on the slain, and here
The wounded buried ‘neath the unburied dead.
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