E sostien con la manca il teschio inciso,
476 Di sangue e di pallor, livido e sozzo.
Spira, e parla spirando il morto viso,
E ‘l parlar vien col sangue, e col singhiozzo:
Fuggi Argillan, non vedi omai la luce?
480 Fuggi le tende infami, e l’empio Duce.
LX
A murdered body huge beside him stood,
Of head and right hand both but lately spoiled,
His left hand bore the head, whose visage good,
Both pale and wan, with dust and gore defoiled,
Yet spake, though dead, with whose sad words the blood
Forth at his lips in huge abundance boiled,
“Fly, Argillan, from this false camp fly far,
Whose guide, a traitor; captains, murderers are.
LX.
A mighty bust’s incarnate form she feigned,
From which the right hand and the head were gone;
Her left a reeking severed skull sustained,
With blood bedabbled, and from pallor wan.
The lifeless features breathed, and breathing spoke,
And speaking, poured forth blood and many a sigh:
‘Fly your false leader’s tents and hateful yoke.
See you not yet the truth? Argillan, fly!
LXI.
Chi dal fero Goffredo, e dalla frode
Ch’uccise me, voi cari amici affida?
D’astio dentro il fellon tutto si rode,
484 E pensa sol come voi meco uccida.
Pur, se cotesta mano a nobil lode
Aspira, e in sua virtù tanto si fida,
Non fuggir nò: plachi il Tiranno esangue
488 Lo spirto mio col suo malvagio sangue.
LXI
“Godfrey hath murdered me by treason vile,
What favor then hope you my trusty friends?
His villain heart is full of fraud and guile,
To your destruction all his thoughts he bends,
Yet if thou thirst of praise for noble stile,
If in thy strength thou trust, thy strength that ends
All hard assays, fly not, first with his blood
Appease my ghost wandering by Lethe flood;
LXI.
‘Who will protect you, comrades, from the fraud
Of ruthless Godfred, who has murdered me?
By blackest envy is the villain gnawed,
Nor thinks he but how you may murdered be.
Still, if your hand aspired to noble praise,
If in it place such confidence you could,
Fly not! no, no, but let the wretch appease
My guileless shade with his malignant blood.
LXII.
Io sarò teco ombra, di ferro e d’ira
Ministra, e t’armerò la destra e ‘l seno.
Così gli parla; e nel parlar gli spira
492 Spirito novo di furor ripieno.
Si rompe il sonno: e sbigottito ei gira
Gli occhj gonfj di rabbia e di veleno:
Ed armato ch’egli è, con importuna
496 Fretta, i guerrier d’Italia insieme aduna.
LXII
“I will thy weapon whet, inflame thine ire,
Arm thy right hand, and strengthen every part.”
This said; even while she spake she did inspire
With fury, rage, and wrath his troubled heart:
The man awaked, and from his eyes like fire
The poisoned sparks of headstrong madness start,
And armed as he was, forth is he gone,
And gathered all the Italian bands in one.
LXII.
‘A shadow ministrant, with steel and ire
I’ll arm your hand, and animate your breast.’
Thus spoke, nor failed such language to inspire
New springs of fury. From his restless rest
Sudden he started, rolling all aghast
His eyes, with venom and blind rage infect;
Armed as he was, he rushed with breathless haste
The Italian knights together to collect.
LXIII.
Gli aduna là dove sospese stanno
L’arme del buon Rinaldo, e con superba
Voce, il furore e ‘l conceputo affanno
500 In tai detti divulga, e disacerba:
Dunque un popolo barbaro e tiranno
Che non prezza ragion, che fe non serba,
Che non fu mai di sangue e d’or satollo,
504 Ne terrà ‘l freno in bocca, e ‘l giogo al collo?
LXIII
He gathered them where lay the arms that late
Were good Rinaldo’s; then with semblance stout
And furious words his fore-conceived hate
In bitter speeches thus he vomits out;
“Is not this people barbarous and ingrate,
In whom truth finds no place, faith takes no rout?
Whose thirst unquenched is of blood and gold,
Whom no yoke boweth, bridle none can hold.
LXIII.
Them he assembled where suspended hung
Rinaldo’s well-known arms, and in the excess
Of his unbridled, domineering tongue,
Disgorged his fancied wrongs and bitterness:
‘What! shall a tyrant barbarous multitude,
That reason prize not, and no faith maintain —
Shall they, ne’er satisfied with gold and blood,
Our spirits bridle, and our necks enchain?
LXIV.
Ciò che sofferto abbiam d’aspro e d’indegno
Sette anni omai sotto sì iniqua soma,
È tal, ch’arder di scorno, arder di sdegno
508 Potrà da quì a mill’anni Italia e Roma.
Taccio, che fu dall’arme e dall’ingegno
Del buon Tancredi la Cilicia doma,
E ch’ora il Franco a tradigion la gode:
512 E i premj usurpa del valor la frode.
LXIV
“So much we suffered have these seven years long,
Under this servile and unworthy yoke,
That thorough Rome and Italy our wrong
A thousand years hereafter shall be spoke:
I count not how Cilicia’s kingdom strong,
Subdued was by Prince Tancredi’s stroke,
Nor how false Baldwin him that land bereaves
Of virtue’s harvest, fraud there reaped the sheaves:
LXIV.
‘The hardships and indignities that we,
Beneath their yoke, for seven long years have borne,
Sufficient were to fire all Italy
And Rome, for ages, with despite and scorn.
I pass in silence Tancred’s wrongs, and how
His head and hand Cilicia’s realm subdued,
Thro’ treason which the Frank enjoyeth now,
And fraud usurps the prize of fortitude.
LXV.
Taccio, ch’ove il bisogno e ‘l tempo chiede
Pronta man, pensier fermo, animo audace;
Alcuno ivi di noi primo si vede
516 Portar fra mille morti o ferro, o face.
Quando le palme poi, quando le prede
Si dispensan nell’ozio e nella pace,
Nostri non sono già, ma tutti loro
520 I trionfi, gli onor, le terre, l’oro.
LXV
“Nor speak I how each hour, at every need,
Quick, ready, resolute at all assays,
With fire and sword we hasted forth with speed,
And bore the brunt of all their fights and frays;
But when we had performed and done the deed,
At ease and leisure they divide the preys,
We reaped naught but travel for our toil,
Theirs was the praise, the realms, the gold, the spoil.
LXV.
‘I pass, when time and utmost need require
Unflinching nerve, firm purpose, ready hand,
How thro’ a tho
usand deaths we first aspire
To use the sword, and bear the blazing brand;
And when, peace made, apportioned are the shares
Of palms and pillage ‘mid the victor bands,
Not ours the prizes, but entirely theirs
The fame, the gold, the honours, and the lands.
LXVI.
Tempo forse già fu, che gravi e strane
Ne potevan parer sì fatte offese;
Quasi lievi or le passo: orrenda immane
524 Ferità leggierissime le ha rese.
Hanno ucciso Rinaldo, e con le umane
L’alte leggi divine han vilipese.
E non fulmina il Cielo? e non l’inghiotte
528 La terra entro la sua perpetua notte?
LXVI
“Yet all this season were we willing blind,
Offended unrevenged, wronged but unwroken,
Light griefs could not provoke our quiet mind,
But now, alas! the mortal blow is stroken,
Rinaldo have they slain, and law of kind,
Of arms, of nations, and of high heaven broken,
Why doth not heaven kill them with fire and thunder?
To swallow them why cleaves not earth asunder?
LXVI.
‘Time was, perhaps, when such iniquities
Had seemed most grave and monstrous in our sight.
I pass them now as nothing, since all these
Have through a heinous crime become most light.
They have slain Rinaldo, thus despising even
The laws of God, and scorning human right.
Where are thy bolts, insulted, outraged Heaven?
Earth, where the jaws of thy perpetual night?
LXVII.
Rinaldo han morto, il qual fu spada e scudo
Di nostra fede; ed ancor giace inulto?
Inulto giace: e sul terreno ignudo
532 Lacerato il lasciaro, ed insepulto.
Ricercate saper chi fosse il crudo?
A chi puote, o compagni, esser occulto?
Deh chi non sa quanto al valor Latino
536 Portin Goffredo invidia, e Baldovino?
LXVII
“They have Rinaldo slain, the sword and shield
Of Christ’s true faith, and unrevenged he lies;
Still unrevenged lieth in the field
His noble corpse to feed the crows and pies:
Who murdered him? who shall us certain yield?
Who sees not that, although he wanted eyes?
Who knows not how the Italian chivalry
Proud Godfrey and false Baldwin both envy
LXVII.
‘They have slain Rinaldo, our faith’s sword and shield,
And, unrevenged, shall we sit tamely by?
Yes, unrevenged he is, and on the field
They have let his maimed, unburied body lie.
Will ye that I his murderer declare?
But ah, from whom can be concealed his name?
For who can ignorant be what envy bear
Godfred and Baldwin to Italian fame?
LXVIII.
Ma chè cerco argomenti? Il Cielo io giuro,
Il Ciel che n’ode, e ch’ingannar non lice;
Ch’allor che si rischiara il mondo oscuro,
540 Spirito errante il vidi ed infelice.
Che spettacolo, oimè, crudele e duro!
Quai frode di Goffredo a noi predice!
Io ‘l vidi, e non fu sogno: e ovunque or miri,
544 Par che dinanzi agli occhj miei s’aggiri.
LXVIII
“What need we further proof? Heaven, heaven, I swear,
Will not consent herein we be beguiled,
This night I saw his murdered sprite appear,
Pale, sad and wan, with wounds and blood defiled,
A spectacle full both of grief and fear;
Godfrey, for murdering him, the ghost reviled.
I saw it was no dream, before mine eyes,
Howe’er I look, still, still methinks it flies.
LXVIII.
‘But why seek proofs? By yonder heaven I swear,
And Heaven who heareth will not let me lie,
At dawn of day I saw his ghost appear —
An errant, hapless shade, it flitted by.
Ah, cruel spectacle, and hard to bear!
What frauds of Godfred doth it not premise?
No dream it was — I saw him, and where’er
I turn my glance, still, still, he haunts mine eyes.
LXIX.
Or che faremo noi? dee quella mano,
Che di morte sì ingiusta è ancora immonda,
Reggerci sempre? o pur vorrem lontano
548 Girne da lei dove l’Eufrate inonda?
Dove a popolo imbelle in fertil piano
Tante ville e città nutre, e feconda:
Anzi a noi pur; nostre saranno, io spero,
552 Nè co’ Franchi comune avrem l’impero.
LXIX
“What shall we do? shall we be governed still
By this false hand, contaminate with blood?
Or else depart and travel forth, until
To Euphrates we come, that sacred flood,
Where dwells a people void of martial skill,
Whose cities rich, whose land is fat and good,
Where kingdoms great we may at ease provide,
Far from these Frenchmen’s malice, from their pride;
LXIX.
‘What shall we do, then? Serve the crimson hand
Still reeking with Rinaldo’s guiltless blood?
Or from hence travel to that distant land,
Thro’which the Euphrates rolls its golden flood,
And thro’ a fertile plain lush plenty pours
For the unwarlike race that lines its banks?
Nay, for ourselves; for it we may make ours,
Nor hold divided empire with the Franks.
LXX.
Andianne, e resti invendicato il sangue
(Se così parvi) illustre ed innocente.
Benchè se la virtù, che fredda langue,
556 Fosse ora in voi, quanto dovrebbe, ardente;
Questo, che divorò pestifero angue
Il pregio e ‘l fior della Latina gente,
Daria con la sua morte, e con lo scempio
560 Agli altri mostri memorando esempio.
LXX
“Then let us go, and no revengement take
For this brave knight, though it lie in our power:
No, no, that courage rather newly wake,
Which never sleeps in fear and dread one hour,
And this pestiferous serpent, poisoned snake,
Of all our knights that hath destroyed the flower,
First let us slay, and his deserved end
Example make to him that kills his friend.
LXX.
‘If such your will, away! Revenge withhold
For the youth’s innocent, illustrious blood;
Tho’, if that valour, which is now so cold,
Possessed the warmth and spirit that it should,
This pestilential and malignant snake.
Who thus the pride of Italy devours,
Would by his death a good example make
To every tyrant in this world of ours.
LXXI.
Io io vorrei, se ‘l vostro alto valore,
Quanto egli può, tanto voler osasse,
Ch’oggi per questa man nell’empio core,
564 Nido di tradigion, la pena entrasse.
Così parla agitato, e nel furore
E nell’impeto suo ciascuno ei trasse.
Arme arme freme il forsennato, e insieme
568 La gioventù superba arme arme freme.
LXXI
“I will, I will, if your courageous force,
Dareth so much as it can well perform,
Tear out his cursed heart without remorse,
The nest of treason false and guile e
norm.”
Thus spake the angry knight with headlong course;
The rest him followed with a furious storm,
“Arm, arm.” they cried, to arms the soldiers ran.
And as they run, “Arm, arm,” cried every man.
LXXI.
‘I — I would, if your ancient valour dared,
And had the will, as it still has the way,
That his false heart, that nest of treason, shared
Rinaldo’s fate, thro’ this my arm, to-day.’
Thus frenzied spoke, and with his wild alarms
And rage, infected all those standing by.
‘Arms, arms!’ he shouts, excitedly. ‘Arms, arms!’
The haughty youth to his appeal reply.
LXXII.
Rota Aletto fra lor la destra armata,
E col foco il velen ne’ petti mesce.
Lo sdegno, la follia, la scellerata
572 Sete del sangue ogn’or più infuria, e cresce;
E serpe quella peste, e si dilata,
E degli alberghi Italici fuor n’esce:
E passa fra gli Elvezj, e vi s’apprende,
576 E di là poscia anco agl’Inglesi tende.
LXXII
Mongst them Alecto strowed wasteful fire,
Envenoming the hearts of most and least,
Folly, disdain, madness, strife, rancor, ire,
Thirst to shed blood, in every breast increased,
This ill spread far, and till it set on fire
With rage the Italian lodgings, never ceased,
From thence unto the Switzers’ camp it went,
And last infected every English tent.
LXXII.
‘Mid them, with armed right hand, Alecto burst,
And in their breasts poured poison mixed with flame,
Whence, passion, frenzy, and the wolf-like thirst
For blood, more fierce and ravenous became.
Then creeping spreads that noisome pestilence,
Nor sated ‘mid the Italian quarters stands,
But, passing onwards, taints the Swiss, and thence
Its venom scatters ‘mid the British bands.
LXXIII.
Nè sol l’estrane genti avvien che muova
Il duro caso, e ‘l gran pubblico danno:
Ma le antiche cagioni all’ira nuova
580 Materia insieme, e nutrimento danno.
Ogni sopito sdegno or si rinnuova:
Chiamano il popol Franco empio e tiranno:
E in superbe minacce esce diffuso
584 L’odio, che non può starne omai più chiuso.
Jerusalem Delivered Page 211