XLV
Tancredi next, nor ‘mongst them all was one,
Rinald except, a prince of greater might,
With majesty his noble countenance shone,
High were his thoughts, his heart was bold in fight,
No shameful vice his worth had overgone,
His fault was love, by unadvised sight,
Bred in the dangers of adventurous arms,
And nursed with griefs, with sorrows, woes, and harms.
XLV
Next comes Tancredi — nor ‘mid all is seen,
Except Rinaldo, a more puissant knight,
More noble in appearance or in mien,
More chivalrous or fair; and if a slight
Shadow of error cloud his native worth,
The fault is Love’s, who wakened wild desires.
Love at first sight, that took ‘mid arms its birth,
And upon memory feeding strength acquires.
XLVI.
È fama che quel dì che glorioso
Fe’ la rotta de’ Persi il popol Franco:
Poichè Tancredi alfin vittorioso
364 I fuggitivi di seguir fu stanco;
Cercò di refrigerio, e di riposo
All’arse labbia, al travagliato fianco:
E trasse, ove invitollo al rezzo estivo,
368 Cinto di verdi seggj, un fonte vivo.
XLVI
Fame tells, that on that ever-blessed day,
When Christian swords with Persian blood were dyed,
The furious Prince Tancredi from that fray
His coward foes chased through forests wide,
Till tired with the fight, the heat, the way,
He sought some place to rest his wearied side,
And drew him near a silver stream that played
Among wild herbs under the greenwood shade.
XLVI
The story goes, that on that glorious day
The Franks had routed Persia in the fight,
Victorious Tancred, wearied from the fray,
At length desisted to pursue their flight,
Seeking for his parched lips and drooping flanks
Refreshment and repose; by chance then strayed
To where a fountain gemm’d with emerald banks,
Woo’d him to rest beneath the summer shade.
XLVII.
Quivi a lui d’improvviso una donzella,
Tutta, fuor che la fronte, armata apparse.
Era Pagana, e là venuta anch’ella
372 Per l’istessa cagion di ristorarse.
Egli mirolla, ed ammirò la bella
Sembianza, e d’essa si compiacque, e n’arse.
Oh maraviglia! Amor ch’appena è nato,
376 Già grande vola, e già trionfa armato.
XLVII
A Pagan damsel there unwares he met,
In shining steel, all save her visage fair,
Her hair unbound she made a wanton net,
To catch sweet breathing from the cooling air.
On her at gaze his longing looks he set,
Sight, wonder; wonder, love; love bred his care;
O love, o wonder; love new born, new bred,
Now groan, now armed, this champion captive led.
XLVII
When suddenly before him he beheld
All arm’d except the head, a beauteous maid:
Pagan she was, and by like cause impelled,
Had come herself to rest beneath the shade.
He saw, and burned: her lovely countenance
Bewitched him so that he fell deep in love.
Wondrous! that love scarce born should thus entrance
The heart of man, and so all powerful prove.
XLVIII.
Ella d’elmo coprissi, e se non era
Ch’altri quivi arrivar, ben l’assaliva.
Partì dal vinto suo la donna altera,
380 Ch’è per necessità sol fuggitiva;
Ma l’immagine sua bella e guerriera
Tale ei serbò nel cor, qual’essa è viva.
E sempre ha nel pensiero e l’atto e ‘l loco,
384 In che la vide, esca continua al foco.
XLVIII
Her helm the virgin donned, and but some wight
She feared might come to aid him as they fought,
Her courage earned to have assailed the knight;
Yet thence she fled, uncompanied, unsought,
And left her image in his heart ypight;
Her sweet idea wandered through his thought,
Her shape, her gesture, and her place in mind
He kept, and blew love’s fire with that wind.
XLVIII
She donned her casque, and but that others came,
Would have assailed her adversary; she
Then left her prize: nor was the haughty dame
A fugitive but from necessity.
But in his heart her flushed and beautiful face
A life-like image of itself enwove,
And present ever was the act — the place,
Imperishable fuel to his love.
XLIX.
E ben nel volto suo la gente accorta
Legger potria: questi arde, e fuor di spene;
Così vien sospiroso, e così porta
388 Basse le ciglia, e di mestizia piene.
Gli ottocento a cavallo, a cui fa scorta,
Lasciar le piagge di campagna amene;
Pompa maggior della Natura, e i colli
392 Che vagheggia il Tirren fertili e molli.
XLIX
Well might you read his sickness in his eyes,
Their banks were full, their tide was at the flow,
His help far off, his hurt within him lies,
His hopes unstrung, his cares were fit to mow;
Eight hundred horse (from Champain came) he guies,
Champain a land where wealth, ease, pleasure, grow,
Rich Nature’s pomp and pride, the Tirrhene main
There woos the hills, hills woo the valleys plain.
XLIX
And easy ’tis in his sad face to read,
‘This man’s in love and feeds a hopeless flame,’
As sighing deeply without taking heed,
Dejected, downcast, Prince Tancredi came.
Eight hundred cavalry escorted him,
And with him left Campania’s sunny plain,
(That pride of nature!) and the hills that limn
Their teeming bosoms in the blue Tyrrhene.
L.
Venian dietro ducento in Grecia nati,
Che son quasi di ferro in tutto scarchi:
Pendon spade ritorte all’un de’ lati:
396 Suonano al tergo lor faretre ed archi:
Asciutti hanno i cavalli al corso usati,
Alla fatica invitti, al cibo parchi:
Nell’assalir son pronti, e nel ritrarsi;
400 E combatton fuggendo erranti e sparsi.
L
Two hundred Greeks came next, in fight well tried,
Not surely armed in steel or iron strong,
But each a glaive had pendant by his side,
Their bows and quivers at their shoulders hung,
Their horses well inured to chase and ride,
In diet spare, untired with labor long;
Ready to charge, and to retire at will,
Though broken, scattered, fled, they skirmish still;
L
Behind them Greece two hundred men supplied,
In no defensive iron armour bound;
Each has a short sword pendent on one side,
And bows and quivers on their backs resound.
Hardened from work, their horses are like wire,
Proof ‘gainst fatigue, in diet spare and slight;
As ready to attack as to retire,
They in loose order spread, and flying, fight
LI.
Tazio regge la schiera; e sol fu questi
&
nbsp; Che, Greco, accompagnò l’arme Latine.
Oh vergogna, o misfatto! or non avesti
404 Tu Grecia quelle guerre a te vicine?
E pur quasi a spettacolo sedesti,
Lenta aspettando de’ grand’atti il fine.
Or se tu sei vil serva, è il tuo servaggio
408 (Non ti lagnar) giustizia, e non oltraggio.
LI
Tatine their guide, and except Tatine, none
Of all the Greeks went with the Christian host;
O sin, O shame, O Greece accurst alone!
Did not this fatal war affront thy coast?
Yet safest thou an idle looker-on,
And glad attendest which side won or lost:
Now if thou be a bondslave vile become,
No wrong is that, but God’s most righteous doom.
LI
Tatin commands the troop — the only Greek
That Latin arms accompanied was he.
Shame, shame, O Greece! burns not thy conscious cheek?
Was not the battle near enough to thee?
And yet a calm spectator thou couldst be,
And wait those mighty deeds’ result so long!
If thou’rt so vile a slave, thy slavery
Is justice (nay, complain not) and no wrong.
LII.
Squadra d’ordine estrema ecco vien poi,
Ma d’onor prima, e di valore e d’arte.
Son quì gli avventurieri invitti eroi,
412 Terror dell’Asia, e folgori di Marte.
Taccia Argo i Mini, e taccia Artù que’ suoi
Erranti, che di sogni empion le carte:
Ch’ogni antica memoria appo costoro
416 Perde: or qual duce fia degno di loro?
LII
In order last, but first in worth and fame,
Unfeared in fight, untired with hurt or wound,
The noble squadron of adventurers came,
Terrors to all that tread on Asian ground:
Cease Orpheus of thy Minois, Arthur shame
To boast of Lancelot, or thy table round:
For these whom antique times with laurel drest,
These far exceed them, thee, and all the rest.
LII
Lo last in order, but the first in fame,
In valour, skill, and honourable scars,
The hero squadron of Adventurers came,
Terror of Asia, thunderbolts of Mars.
Argo, no more thy Minyans vaunt; nor boast,
Arthur, of thy knight-errants of romance:
Your old achievements in their deeds are lost, —
But worthy who to lead such combatants?
LIII.
Dudon di Consa è il duce; e perchè duro
Fu il giudicar di sangue e di virtute,
Gli altri sopporsi a lui concordi furo,
420 Ch’avea più cose fatte, e più vedute.
Ei di virilità grave e maturo
Mostra in fresco vigor chiome canute.
Mostra, quasi d’onor vestigj degni,
424 Di non brutte ferite impressi segni.
LIII
Dudon of Consa was their guide and lord,
And for of worth and birth alike they been,
They chose him captain, by their free accord,
For he most acts had done, most battles seen;
Grave was the man in years, in looks, in word,
His locks were gray, yet was his courage green,
Of worth and might the noble badge he bore,
Old scars of grievous wounds received of yore.
LIII
Dudon of Consa is their chief; for since
Twas hard to judge their rank and worth between,
The others had submitted to that prince,
Who had much more achieved and more things seen;
Sedate, and past his manhood’s prime, he shows,
Tho’ grey, that in him still fresh sap abounds,
And scars imprinted on his brow disclose
The noble marks of no ignoble wounds.
LIV.
Eustazio è poi fra’ primi: e i proprj pregj
Illustre il fanno, e più il fratel Buglione.
Gernando v’è, nato di Re Norvegi,
428 Che scettri vanta, e titoli, e corone.
Ruggier di Balnavilla infra gli egregj,
La vecchia fama, ed Engerlan ripone.
E celebrati son fra’ più gagliardi
432 Un Gentonio, un Rambaldo e duo Gherardi.
LIV
After came Eustace, well esteemed man
For Godfrey’s sake his brother, and his own;
The King of Norway’s heir Gernando than,
Proud of his father’s title, sceptre, crown;
Roger of Balnavill, and Engerlan,
For hardy knights approved were and known;
Besides were numbered in that warlike train
Rambald, Gentonio, and the Gerrards twain.
LIV
Eustace is ‘mong the foremost: his own worth
Makes him renowned, his brother Godfrey more.
Gemando, too, Norwegian prince by birth,
Who vaunts his titles, coronets, and power.
Undying Fame gives Balnavilla place,
And Engerlan, amid the noblest there;
And ‘mong the bravest that the squadron grace,
Gentonio, Rambald, and two Gerards are.
LV.
Son fra lodati Ubaldo anco, e Rosmondo,
Del gran Ducato di Lincastro erede.
Non fia ch’Obizo il Tosco aggravi al fondo
436 Chi fa delle memorie avare prede:
Nè i tre fratei Lombardi al chiaro mondo
Involi, Achille, Sforza, e Palamede:
O ‘l forte Otton, che conquistò lo scudo,
440 In cui dall’angue esce il fanciullo ignudo.
LV
Ubaldo then, and puissant Rosimond,
Of Lancaster the heir, in rank succeed;
Let none forget Obizo of Tuscain land,
Well worthy praise for many a worthy deed;
Nor those three brethren, Lombards fierce and yond,
Achilles, Sforza, and stern Palamede;
Nor Otton’s shield he conquered in those stowres,
In which a snake a naked child devours.
LV
Ubaldo and Rosmondo are much praised,
Of Lancaster’s proud duchy the proud heir;
Nor shall Obizzo’s gallant name be razed
By envious time, that would no memories spare;
Nor the three Lombard brothers be concealed,
Achilles, Sforza, and bold Palamed;
Nor Otho, who by conquest gained the shield,
Where the child issues from the dragon’s head.
LVI.
Nè Guasco, nè Ridolfo addietro lasso:
Nè l’un nè l’altro Guido, ambo famosi.
Non Eberardo, e non Gernier trapasso
444 Sotto silenzio ingratamente ascosi.
Ove voi me, di numerar già lasso,
Gildippe, ed Odoardo amanti e sposi
Rapite? o nella guerra anco consorti,
448 Non sarete disgiunti, ancor che morti.
LVI
Guascher and Raiphe in valor like there was.
The one and other Guido, famous both,
Germer and Eberard to overpass,
In foul oblivion would my Muse be loth,
With his Gildippes dear, Edward alas,
A loving pair, to war among them go’th
In bond of virtuous love together tied,
Together served they, and together died.
LVI
Nor can! Guasco nor Rodolph pass by,
Nor one or other Guido — famous both;
And Guernier and Everard ungratefully
To leave in nameless silence I am loth.
Edward, Gildippe, whither force you me,
Tired with this record, O uxorious
pair?
In death you shall not disunited be,
That were united even in the war.
LVII.
Nelle scuole d’Amor che non s’apprende?
Ivi si fe’ costei guerriera ardita.
Va sempre affissa al caro fianco, e pende
452 Da un fato solo l’una e l’altra vita.
Colpo ch’ad un sol noccia unqua non scende,
Ma indiviso è il dolor d’ogni ferita.
E spesso è l’un ferito, e l’altro langue:
456 E versa l’alma quel, se questa il sangue.
LVII
In school of love are all things taught we see,
There learned this maid of arms the ireful guise,
Still by his side a faithful guard went she,
One true-love knot their lives together ties,
No would to one alone could dangerous be,
But each the smart of other’s anguish tries,
If one were hurt, the other felt the sore,
She lost her blood, he spent his life therefore.
LVII
What learn we not among the schools of Love?
There she was taught to be a soldier, whom
Nothing from her dear husband can remove,
And both their lives hang on one single doom;
Blow never falls that injures only one,
Or can the other from its pain exclude:
She prostrate falls when he is stricken down,
And he pours forth his soul if she her blood.
LVIII.
Ma il fanciullo Rinaldo e sovra questi,
E sovra quanti in mostra eran condutti,
Dolcemente feroce alzar vedresti
460 La regal fronte, e in lui mirar sol tutti.
L’età precorse, e la speranza: e presti
Pareano i fior, quando n’usciro i frutti.
Se ‘l miri fulminar nell’arme avvolto,
464 Marte lo stimi: Amor, se scopre il volto.
LVIII
But these and all, Rinaldo far exceeds,
Star of his sphere, the diamond of this ring,
The nest where courage with sweet mercy breeds:
A comet worthy each eye’s wondering,
His years are fewer than his noble deeds,
His fruit is ripe soon as his blossoms spring,
Armed, a Mars, might coyest Venus move,
And if disarmed, then God himself of Love.
LVIII
But beyond all that formed that brilliant show
Is young Rinaldo — none with him can vie;
Jerusalem Delivered Page 158