XLIX.
‘But of a brighter sun the sweeter sight
I wretched lose, not knowing if I e’er
Shall back return where her diviner light
May dissipate the clouds of my despair.’
Then of Arganté thought, and conscious burned:
‘I have failed too much in duty, and my name
Most justly by my foeman will be spumed.
Oh, my great fault! oh, my eternal shame!’
L.
Così d’amor, d’onor cura mordace
Quinci e quindi al Guerrier l’animo rode.
Or mentre egli s’affligge, Argante audace
396 Le molli piume di calcar non gode;
Tanto è nel crudo petto odio di pace,
Cupidigia di sangue, amor di lode;
Che delle piaghe sue non sano ancora
400 Brama che ‘l sesto dì porti l’aurora.
L
While those high spirits of this champion good,
With love and honor’s care are thus oppressed,
While he torments himself, Argantes wood,
Waxed weary of his bed and of his rest,
Such hate of peace, and such desire of blood,
Such thirst of glory, boiled in his breast;
That though he scant could stir or stand upright,
Yet longed he for the appointed day to fight.
L.
While biting care of love and honour’s claim
Did thus Tancredi’s noble soul distress,
Impatient the Circassian knight became
The downy pillow of his couch to press.
Such hate of peace his cruel bosom steeled,
Such thirst for blood and such desire for praise,
That though his wounds were not entirely healed,
He burned to see the sixth mom’s welcome rays;
LI.
La notte che precede, il Pagan fero
Appena inchina per dormir la fronte:
E sorge poi che ‘l cielo anco è sì nero,
404 Che non dà luce in su la cima al monte.
Recami l’arme, grida al suo scudiero,
E quegli aveale apparecchiate e pronte:
Non le solite sue; ma dal Re sono
408 Dategli queste, e prezioso è il dono.
LI
The night which that expected day forewent,
Scantly the Pagan closed his eyes to sleep,
He told how night her sliding hours spent,
And rose ere springing day began to peep;
He called for armor, which incontinent
Was brought by him that used the same to keep,
That harness rich old Aladine him gave,
A worthy present for a champion brave.
LI.
And on the night preceding the attack
Scarce dosed his eyes to get a moment’s rest,
But rose, while all around him was still black,
Long ere the dawn had gilt the mountain’s crest,
‘Bring me my arms,’ he thundered to his squire,
Who had them ready for a sudden shift;
Not his accustomed ones — this suit entire
Was the king’s present — a most costly gift.
LII.
Senza molto mirarle egli le prende,
Nè dal gran peso è la persona onusta;
E la solita spada al fianco appende,
412 Ch’è di tempra finissima e vetusta.
Qual con le chiome sanguinose orrende
Splender cometa suol per l’aria adusta,
Che i regni muta, i feri morbi adduce,
416 E ai purpurei Tiranni infausta luce;
LII
He donned them on, not long their riches eyed,
Nor did he aught with so great weight incline,
His wonted sword upon his thigh he tied,
The blade was old and tough, of temper fine.
As when a comet far and wide descried,
In scorn of Phoebus midst bright heaven doth shine,
And tidings sad of death and mischief brings
To mighty lords, to monarchs, and to kings:
LII.
Around him them most heedlessly he flung,
Nor in the least appeared their weight to feel,
And at his side his wonted sabre hung,
Antique, and tempered of the finest steel.
Then as a comet, with ensanguined hair,
Which realms upsets and fierce diseases brings,
Sparkles at times in the parched sweltering air.
Light of ill omen to empurpled kings,
LIII.
Tal nell’arme ei fiammeggia, e bieche e torte
Volge le luci ebre di sangue e d’ira.
Spirano gli atti feri orror di morte,
420 E minacce di morte il volto spira.
Alma non è così sicura e forte
Che non paventi, ove un sol guardo gira.
Nuda ha la spada, e la solleva, e scuote
424 Gridando, e l’aria, e l’ombre invan percuote.
LIII
So shone the Pagan in bright armor clad,
And rolled his eyes great swollen with ire and blood,
His dreadful gestures threatened horror sad,
And ugly death upon his forehead stood;
Not one of all his squires the courage had
To approach their master in his angry mood,
Above his head he shook his naked blade,
And gainst the subtle air vain battle made.
LIII.
So flashed in arms the Turk; his scowling eyes
Grimly he rolled, all drunk with blood and ire;
Death and destruction his black looks premise,
His savage gestures dread of death inspire.
None could such strength or such reliance feel
As, without trembling, ev’n one glance sustain;
Shouting, he raised and shook the naked steel,
And struck the shades and yielding air in vain.
LIV.
Ben tosto, dice, il predator Cristiano,
Ch’audace è sì ch’a me vuole agguagliarsi,
Caderà vinto e sanguinoso al piano,
428 Bruttando nella polve i crini sparsi;
E vedrà vivo ancor da questa mano,
Ad onta del suo Dio, l’arme spogliarsi:
Nè, morendo, impetrar potrà co’ preghi
432 Che in pasto a’ cani le sue membra i’ neghi.
LIV
“The Christian thief,” quoth he, “that was so bold
To combat me in hard and single fight,
Shall wounded fall inglorious on the mould,
His locks with clods of blood and dust bedight,
And living shall with watery eyes behold
How from his back I tear his harness bright,
Nor shall his dying words me so entreat,
But that I’ll give his flesh to dogs for meat.”
LIV.
‘Soon shall the Christian plunderer,’ he cried,
‘That has with me the boldness to compare,
Fall on you plain, in crimson torrents dyed,
And in the dust begrime his flowing hair,
And living, see, spite of his God, this hand
Him of his arms despoil; and dying, hear
My stem refusal to his last demand,
That from the dogs I would his carcass spare.’
LV.
Non altramente il tauro, ove l’irriti
Geloso amor con stimoli pungenti,
Orribilmente mugge, e co’ muggiti
436 Gli spirti in se risveglia, e l’ire ardenti,
E ‘l corno aguzza ai tronchi; e par ch’inviti
Con vani colpi alla battaglia i venti:
Sparge col piè l’arena, e ‘l suo rivale
440 Da lunge sfida a guerra aspra e mortale.
LV
Like as a bull when, pricked with jealousy,
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sp; He spies the rival of his hot desire,
Through all the fields doth bellow, roar and cry,
And with his thundering voice augments his ire,
And threatening battle to the empty sky,
Tears with his horn each tree, plant, bush and brier,
And with his foot casts up the sand on height,
Defying his strong foe to deadly fight:
LV.
Ev’n as a bull, whom jealous lust incites
With pungent stimulant, doth fiercely roar,
And by his roars his spirit more excites,
And wakes his rage and burning passion more;
Whetting on trees his horns, he seems to invite
The wind to war with ineffective strokes;
Furious, he stamps, and to embittered fight
His bellowing rivals from afar provokes;
LVI.
Da sì fatto furor commosso, appella
L’araldo, e con parlar tronco gl’impone:
Vattene al campo, e la battaglia fella
444 Nunzia a colui ch’è di Gesù campione.
Quinci alcun non aspetta, e monta in sella
E fa condursi innanzi il suo prigione.
Esce fuor della terra, e per lo colle
448 In corso vien precipitoso e folle.
LVI
Such was the Pagan’s fury, such his cry.
A herald called he then, and thus he spake;
“Go to the camp, and in my name, defy
The man that combats for his Jesus’ sake;”
This said, upon his steed he mounted high,
And with him did his noble prisoner take,
The town he thus forsook, and on the green
He ran, as mad or frantic he had been.
LVI.
Moved by such fury, the Circassian knight
A herald called, whom curtly he addressed:
‘Speed to the camp, and unto mortal fight
The presence of Christ’s champion knight request.’
Waiting for none, he vaulted on his horse,
And made them lead the captive Frank ahead;
Then sallied from the town, nor checked his course,
But down the hill precipitantly sped.
LVII.
Dà fiato intanto al corno, e n’esce un suono
Che d’ogn’intorno orribile s’intende:
E in guisa pur di strepitoso tuono
452 Gli orecchj e ‘l cor degli ascoltanti offende.
Già i Principi Cristiani accolti sono
Nella tenda maggior dell’altre tende.
Quì fè l’araldo sue disfide, e incluse
456 Tancredi pria, nè però gli altri escluse.
LVII
A bugle small he winded loud and shrill,
That made resound the fields and valleys near,
Louder than thunder from Olympus hill
Seemed that dreadful blast to all that hear;
The Christian lords of prowess, strength and skill,
Within the imperial tent assembled were,
The herald there in boasting terms defied
Tancredi first, and all that durst beside.
LVII.
Meanwhile he blew his horn, whose brazen sound
Most dreadful discord through the mountains made,
And, like the peals of thunder rattling round,
All ears offended and all hearts dismayed.
Whence the Frank princes, through the camp dispersed,
Flew to the Imperial tent; the herald there
His challenge gave, and named Tancredi first,
Yet none excluded who the risk would dare.
LVIII.
Goffredo intorno gli occhj gravi e tardi
Volge con mente allor dubbia e sospesa:
Nè perchè molto pensi e molto guardi,
460 Atto gli s’offre alcuno a tanta impresa.
Vi manca il fior de’ suoi guerrier gagliardi:
Di Tancredi non s’è novella intesa;
E lunge è Boemondo, ed ito è in bando
464 L’invitto Eroe ch’uccise il fier Gernando.
LVIII
With sober chear Godfredo look’d about,
And viewed at leisure every lord and knight;
But yet for all his looks not one stepped out,
With courage bold, to undertake the fight:
Absent were all the Christian champions stout,
No news of Tancred since his secret flight;
Boemond far off, and banished from the crew
Was that strong prince who proud Gernando slew:
LVIII.
At that Prince Godfred, hanging in suspense,
Around him gazed with slow enquiring eyes;
Nor, though he thought and looked with diligence,
Appeared one fit for such an enterprise.
The flower was absent of his chivalry;
None of Tancredi any tidings knew;
Afar was Boemond, and self-exiled, he,
The unconquered hero, that Gernando slew.
LIX.
Ed oltre i dieci che fur tratti a sorte,
I migliori del campo e i più famosi
Seguir d’Armida le fallaci scorte,
468 Sotto il silenzio della notte ascosi.
Gli altri, di mano e d’animo men forte,
Taciti se ne stanno e vergognosi:
Nè v’è chi cerchi in sì gran rischio onore;
472 Chè vinta la vergogna è dal timore.
LIX
And eke those ten which chosen were by lot,
And all the worthies of the camp beside,
After Armida false were followed hot,
When night were come their secret flight to hide;
The rest their hands and hearts that trusted not,
Blushed for shame, yet silent still abide;
For none there was that sought to purchase fame
In so great peril, fear exiled shame.
LIX.
Besides the ten that had been drawn by lot,
Each stoutest, bravest, and most famous knight
Had ‘neath the guidance of Armida got,
Hid by the silence and the shades of night.
The rest, of hand less bold of heart more weak,
Fixed on the ground their eyes, abashed and dumb,
Nor thro’ such risk would one that honour seek;
Their very shame by terror was o’ercome.
LX.
Al silenzio, all’aspetto, ad ogni segno,
Di lor temenza il Capitan s’accorse;
E tutto pien di generoso sdegno,
476 Dal loco ove sedea repente sorse,
E disse: ah ben sarei di vita indegno,
Se la vita negassi or porre in forse,
Lasciando ch’un Pagan, così vilmente
480 Calpestasse l’onor di nostra gente.
LX
The angry duke their fear discovered plain,
By their pale looks and silence from each part,
And as he moved was with just disdain,
These words he said, and from his seat upstart:
“Unworthy life I judge that coward swain
To hazard it even now that wants the heart,
When this vile Pagan with his glorious boast
Dishonors and defies Christ’s sacred host.
LX.
The silence, look and attitude of those
Soon caused Prince Godfred to perceive their dread;
Whence, filled with zeal magnanimous, he rose
From where he sat all suddenly, and said:
‘Ah, most unworthy of this life were I
Now to withhold it; and how deep the shame
To let a Pagan with impunity
Thus trample on the honour of our name.
LXI.
Sieda in pace il mio campo, e, da sicura
Parte, miri ozioso il mio periglio.
Su su datemi l’arme: e l’armatura
; 484 Gli fu recata in un girar di ciglio.
Ma il buon Raimondo, che in età matura
Parimente maturo avea il consiglio,
E verdi ancor le forze a par di quanti
488 Erano quivi, allor si trasse avanti.
LXI
“But let my camp sit still in peace and rest,
And my life’s hazard at their ease behold.
Come bring me here my fairest arms and best;”
And they were brought sooner than could be told.
But gentle Raymond in his aged breast,
Who had mature advice, and counsel old,
Than whom in all the camp were none or few
Of greater might, before Godfredo drew,
LXI.
‘Let my camp sit at ease, and thence, secure
From every risk itself, my risks descry.
Bring me my arms — quick, quick! His armature
Was brought him in the twinkling of an eye;
But loyal Raymond, who, mature in years,
Mature was likewise in advice and lore,
Whose vigour matched the youngest cavalier’s,
Threw himself straight the pious chief before.
LXII.
E disse a lui rivolto: ah non sia vero
Che in un capo s’arrischi il campo tutto.
Duce sei tu, non semplice guerriero:
492 Pubblico fora, e non privato il lutto.
In te la fe s’appoggia, e ‘l santo impero.
Per te fia il regno di Babel distrutto:
Tu il senno sol, lo scettro solo adopra;
496 Altri ponga l’ardire, e ‘l ferro in opra.
LXII
And gravely said, “Ah, let it not betide,
On one man’s hand to venture all this host!
No private soldier thou, thou art our guide,
If thou miscarry, all our hope were lost,
By thee must Babel fall, and all her pride;
Of our true faith thou art the prop and post,
Rule with thy sceptre, conquer with thy word,
Let others combat make with spear and sword.
LXII.
‘No, no, my liege,’ he cried; ‘we can’t allow
That the whole camp be jeopardised in thee.
Not simple soldier, but the chief, art thou;
Public, not private, then the loss would be.
On thee our empire and our faith depend;
Destroyed by thee shall be proud Babel’s throne;
Let others boldly with the sword contend,
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