And in the soldants presence him defied;
CII
Shouting aloud: ‘By well-known signs thou art he
Whom I pursue, and burn to meet again;
Shield there is not but I have scanned, and thee
Have called by name the livelong day in vain;
Now, to my goddess will I pay my vow
Of vengeance with thy head. Turn, then, and try
By proof our valour, nay, our fury, thou
Armida’s foeman, her defender I.’
CIII
Thus challenged him and dealt a desperate stroke,
First on his temples, then his neck, nor clave
His helmet, that no mortal arm had broke,
But to his saddle-bow Rinaldo drave;
Who in the side Adrastus wounded so,
That vain the aid Apollo’s art could bring,
Whence fell (the honour due to one sole blow)
The monstrous mortal, the unconquered king.
CIV
Horror and mute amazement, blent with awe,
The hearts and blood of the bystanders froze;
And Solymano, when that stroke he saw,
Perturbed became at heart — his colour goes,
And clearly seeing his impending doom,
Could not determine what ‘twere best to do;
For him unusual circumstance, but whom
On earth do not Heaven’s laws eterne subdue.
CV
As in their fitful slumbers the insane,
Or sick, at times strange troublous visions see,
Now they desire to run, and stretch, and strain
Their limbs, with desperate but vain energy,
Since to the greatest efforts which they make,
Responds not palsied hand or nerveless foot;
Now they would loose the tongue and try to speak,
But no words follow, and the voice is mute.
CVI
So would the soldan force himself to engage
The Christian prince, and strove and struggled too,
But knew not in himself his wonted rage,
For ev’n himself in his spent forces knew;
What sparks of courage rose within him, were
Quenched by a sense of supernatural fright;
Still, though perplexed his bosom was, he ne’er.
Thought of submission, and still less of flight.
CVII
The victor reached the irresolute Turk at last,
And on up-coming (so it seemed to him)
Likeness to aught of mortal mould surpassed,
In fury, speed, and magnitude of limb;
Little resisted he, nor, as he died,
Uttered one groan, or ever blenched the brand;
With every generous usage he complied,
Nor act performed that was not great and grand.
CVIII
But when the soldan, who in battles past
Oft fell, and, like Antæus, rose anew
More fierce than ever, pressed the ground at last
To rise no more, around the rumour flew:
And Fortune, light and fickle tho’ she be,
No longer durst the victory leave in doubt,
But stayed her wheel, and ‘neath their leaders she
Joined the Frank forces, and on their side fought.
CIX
The imperial guard now joined the rest in flight;
Formed of the pith and marrow of the East,
Once styled immortal ’twas, but now, in spite
Of that haught title, to exist it ceased.
The captain seeing its standard-bearer fly,
Stopped and addressed him in this galling strain:
‘Art thou not he whom, among thousands, I
Selected my lord’s standard to sustain?
CX
‘That proud device I trusted not to thee
To bear it backward, recreant Rimedon!
What! would’st thou, coward, thy commander see
Beset by foes, and leave him all alone;
What wouldèst? Safety? Then return with me,
Since where thou goest leads to certain death:
Let those here combat who preserved would be;
The path of honour is the safest path.’
CXI
Back he returned with burning shame suffused.
Then the chief menaced, struck, and even more
Harsh reprimand against the others used,
Nay, made them face the steel they shunned before;
Thus of his broken wing, the better part
Once more he rallied, and some hope still found;
But Tisaphernes gave him greatest heart,
Who yet had ceded not one inch of ground.
CXII
Marvels wrought Tisaphernes on that day;
There, were the Normans routed by him — here,
Thrown the bold Flemings into disarray,
And slain Ruggiero, Gerard, and Garnier;
But when he had towards deathless honour’s goal
Lengthened by glorious deeds his short-spanned life,
Careless to live, he, with undaunted soul,
Sought the most deadly peril of the strife.
CXIII
He saw Rinaldo, and tho’ crimson red
Had grown his colours of cerulean blue,
And tho’ his silver eagles’ claws and head
Ensanguined were, the cognisance he knew.
‘Behold the greatest, deadliest risk,’ cried he;
‘Ah, Heaven, I pray thee, aid my valour now,
So that Armida his destruction see;
Victor, his arms to Mahomet I vow.’
CXIV
Thus prayed, but were his prayers of no avail,
Unheard by his deaf idol, Mahomet.
Then, as a lion lashes with his tail
His sides, his innate savageness to whet,
So he his anger roused, which, sharpened then
Upon love’s whetstone, into fury flashed.
He gathered all his vigour, and amain,
Crouched ‘neath his shield, against Rinaldo dashed.
CXV
When, seeing assailant with uplifted blade,
Against him galloped the Italian knight
At once a space was in the middle made,
And there all rushed to view the appalling sight.
Such and so different were the Italian’s blows
And those the Saracenic hero smote,
That, lost in wonder, all, both friends and foes,
Their own resentments and mishaps forgot.
CXVI
One only struck, one struck and wounded, who
More solid arms and greater strength possessed.
With blood the Persian did the field imbrue;
Gone was his shield, and rent in twain his crest.
The increasing weakness of her champion knight,
His riven mail, the lovely witch beheld,
And saw the others stricken with such fright,
That knot but feeble them together held.
CXVII
Erst guarded by so many cavaliers,
Now on her car forlorn, deserted, she
Existence hates, the yoke of bondage fears,
Despairs of vengeance and of victory,
And springing down, ‘twixt frenzy and affright,
Vaults on her palfrey, and with rapid stride
Gallops away; while hang upon her flight
Anger and love, two sleuth-hounds, at her side.
CXVIII
Thus Cleopatra, in the days of yore,
Fled all alone from the ensanguined fight
Leaving to face the fortunate emperor,
Imperilled by the sea, her faithful knight,
Who, rendered faithless to himself by love,
After the solitary sails soon sped.
To follow her thus, Tisaphernes strove,
But this t
he Italian paladin forbade.
CXIX
Soon as the Pagan’s idol disappeared,
It seemed the sun had set and daylight fled:
And ‘gainst him who so unjustly interfered,
He desperate turned and struck upon the head.
To forge Jove’s writhen thunderbolts, less light
Bronte’s huge hammer falls, than on his crest
Down fell the falchion of the Persian knight,
Whose stroke his forehead doubled to his breast.
CXX
But soon erect, and upright as before,
Rinaldo whirled his sword, and with it clave
His solid hauberk; right to the heart’s core,
Where life resides, the vengeful point he drave,
And so far past it, that a double wound
From breast to back the Saracen displayed,
Whose flying soul for its departure found
More than one broad and ample passage made.
CXXI
Then paused Rinaldo to examine where
He could assault or succour give, but found
The Pagans broke and flying in despair,
And all their standards prostrate on the ground;
Whence chilled his heat of martial fury grew,
And he desisted further blood to shed;
And calm becoming, her remembered, who
Had from the field forlorn, forsaken fled.
CXXII
Compassion urged him (for he saw her flight)
To show her every courtesy and care,
Remembering he had sworn to be her knight
At his departure; whence he galloped where
Upon the grass her palfrey’s hoofs betrayed
The course she had taken in her lonely ride.
Meanwhile she reached a spot whose gloomy shade
Bespoke its aptitude for suicide.
CXXIII
Well pleased she was that to a spot so drear,
Blind fortune had her wandering footsteps led;
Here she dismounted from her destrier, here
Her bow and other arms deposited.
‘Unfortunate arms that crimson should,’ said she,
‘To issue forth uncrimsoned from the fight;
I lay you down, here henceforth buried be,
Since my deep wrongs unable to requite.
CXXIV
‘Yet no, amid so many, it can’t be
But one at least be bathed in blood to-day;
If other breasts seem adamantine, ye
Venture to pierce a woman’s bosom may;
In this, mine own, which naked I expose,
Display your merits, and your victories gain;
Tender it is — how tender Cupid knows,
Who ‘gainst it ne’er discharged one shaft in vain.
CXXV
‘Your former cowardice I will forgive,
If against me ye prove but sharp and true;
But in what state does poor Armida live,
If her sole hope of safety lies in you?
Since unavailing other medicines prove,
Save only wound on wound and smart on smart,
Let wound of arrow cure the wound of Love,
And Death relieve the anguish of my heart.
CXXVI
‘ Blest if, in death, I carry not away
This plague to infect the regions of the dead;
Love, then, remain; alone, Wrath, with me stay,
Eternal partner of my sorrowing shade,
Or back return with it from lightless hell:
To him who made such mockery of me,
And in such guise that visions horrible
Companions of his restless slumbers be.’
CXXVII
Here ceased; and, ‘stablished in her purpose, she
The strongest and most piercing arrow chose,
When, lo! arrived the cavalier to see
How near her life approached a desperate close.
Desperate she looked, and as her face he scanned,
Saw there death’s ghastly pallor was expressed;
Whence, stealing up behind, he seized her hand,
Which held the barb directed to her breast.
CXXVIII
Armida turned, and saw, to her surprise,
Him of whose coming she was not acquainted;
Loudly she screamed, and turned away her eyes
Disdainful from the well-loved face, and fainted.
Bending her pliant, delicate neck, she sank
Like a fair lily rudely snapt in two;
He made his arm a column for her flank,
And hastened her tight bodice to undo,
CXXIX
And did with tears of tender ruth bedew
The face and bosom of the unhappy fair;
Then, as from rath and silver fall of dew
The faded rose resumes its blooming air,
So she, reviving, lifted towards the skies
Her features, bathed with tear-drops not her own;
Thrice she raised up, and thrice cast down her eyes
From that dear face, she dared not look upon;
CXXX
And with her fair frail hand disdainfully
The stalwart arm that bore her up repelled;
Oft, oft she tried, nor could escape, since he,
The more she struggled, the more tightly held.
At length caught firmly in that dear embrace —
For tho’ she feigned, perchance, it still was dear;
Without one look directing to his face,
Weeping, she thus addressed the cavalier:
CXXXI
‘Alike at parting or returning, how
Cruel thou art, and of all pity void;
Tis strange my death thou shouldst prohibit — thou
That hast the enchantment of my life destroyed.
Seek’st thou to save me? For what fresh disgrace,
For what new punishment reserved am I?
The traitor’s secret artifice I trace;
But naught, indeed, they can, that cannot die.
CXXXII
‘Thy honour, doubtless, would be incomplete
Couldst thou not show the world a captive maid,
Laden with chains, at thy triumphant feet,
By force now captured, as before betrayed.
How glorious this! Time was I craved, ah, me!
Both peace and life, but now with what delight
I would welcome death; yet ask it not of thee,
Since aught thy gift were hateful in my sight.
CXXXIII
‘No; thro’ myself to free myself, I hope,
By some means, cruel! from thy cruelty;
If dagger, poison, precipice, or rope
Thy victim fail, still, still sure ways I see;
And, Heaven be praised, ev’n thou canst not restrain
The power in me that have the will to die.
Cease, cease thy flatteries; see! he still would feign,
Still foster idle hopes, deceive and lie,’
CXXXIV
Thus mournèd she, and with the mournful stream,
That love and rage expressed from her fair eyes,
Affectionate tears he mingled, in which gleam
Compassion chaste and tenderest sympathies;
And answered, speaking in the gentlest strain:
‘Armida, calm thyself; thy life I save,
Not for disgrace or insult, but to reign;
Not foeman — but thy champion and thy slave.
CXXXV
‘If thou dost faith from these my words withhold,
Look in mine eyes and read Truth’s language there;
Upon the throne where reigned thy sires of old
Thee to replace most solemnly I swear;
And, ah! may Heaven some rays of light send down,
Thee from the mist of Paganism to free,
As I will cause that in the Orien
t none
In princely state or splendour equal thee.’
CXXXVI
Thus speaks, and prays, and bathes, and heats his prayers,
Now with rare tears, and now with melting sighs;
Whence as a snow-drift before tepid airs,
Or from the fervour of midsummer skies,
Her wrath which seemed so fast, dissolved away,
And other passions in its place arose.
‘Behold thy slave, thy fiat I obey:
Ev’n as thou wilt,’ she said, ‘of me dispose.’
CXXXVII
Meanwhile the Egyptian captain, who beheld
His sovereign’s standard prostrate on the ground,
At the same time that Rimedon was felled
By peerless Godfred’s arm, and saw around
All his vast host discomfited or slain,
Craven would not in the last act appear;
And went in search of (nor sought long in vain),
Illustrious death from famous cavalier.
CXXXVIII
Forward he ‘gainst the elder Bouillon rode,
For he was worthiest foe beyond compare,
And, both in passing and arriving, showed
Such reckless courage, that it seemed despair;
And at some distance shouted out: ‘To die
I come, and seek it at thy hands; alone
In my last desperate efforts I will try
That my destruction shall involve thine own.’
CXXXIX
This said, they each against the other dashed
At the same moment with uplifted lance;
Cleft was the solid shield, disarmed and gashed
The left arm of the paladin of France;
Who, in return, the venturous Infidel
On his left cheek by such a blow reversed,
That he fell backwards, stunned upon his selle,
And, trying to rise, was through the belly pierced.
CXL
Prince Emireno dead, there now remained,
But few survivors of the bloody fray;
Godfred pursued the vanquished, but refrained,
Seeing at his feet Prince Altamoro lay,
With broken helm and sword, while round him were
Masses of fierce vindictive soldiery.
Loudly he shouted to his troops: ‘Forbear!’
And, ‘Baron, yield thee; I am Godfred.’ He
CXLI
Who to no act of degradation e’er
Had bowed his lofty and magnanimous soul,
Hearing that name, which rang with sound so clear
Throughout the world, from Libya to the pole,
Replied: ‘Sir knight, I yield to thy demand,
For thou art worthy, but thy victory ‘
(Here placed his sword in gallant Godfred’s hand)
‘Not poor in glory or in gold shall be.
CXLII
For me the riches of my realm, for me
My consort’s gems a ransom shall provide.’
‘Heaven gave me not such nature as to be
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