Jerusalem Delivered
Page 237
Their swords together clash with dreadful sound,
Their feet stand fast, and neither stir nor start,
They move their hands, steadfast their feet remain,
Nor blow nor loin they struck, or thrust in vain.
LV
Retire they don’t, or foil, or parry — no;
Nor plays dexterity the slightest part;
Not theirs the full, the feigned, the cautious blow;
Their rage — the darkness mocks the use of art;
Clash with discordant resonance their brands,
As steel meets steel; their feet their ground maintain:
Moveless are they, while ever move their hands,
And not a stroke or thrust descends in vain.
LVI.
L’onta irrita lo sdegno alla vendetta:
E la vendetta poi l’onta rinnova:
Onde sempre al ferir, sempre alla fretta
444 Stimol novo s’aggiunge, e cagion nova.
D’or in or più si mesce, e più ristretta
Si fa la pugna, e spada oprar non giova:
Dansi co’ pomi, e, infelloniti e crudi,
448 Cozzan con gli elmi insieme e con gli scudi.
LVI
Shame bred desire a sharp revenge to take,
And vengeance taken gave new cause of shame:
So that with haste and little heed they strake,
Fuel enough they had to feed the flame;
At last so close their battle fierce they make,
They could not wield their swords, so nigh they came,
They used the hilts, and each on other rushed,
And helm to helm, and shield to shield they crushed.
LVI
Offence resentment to revenge incites,
And vengeance taken the offence renews;
Whence aye fresh causes goad the furious knights,
And in each stroke fresh virulence infuse.
And as more close the cruel contest grows,
Finding how unavailing is the blade,
They used the pommel, and with desperate blows
To smash each other’s helm and shield essayed.
LVII.
Tre volte il Cavalier la donna stringe
Con le robuste braccia: ed altrettante
Da que’ nodi tenaci ella si scinge;
452 Nodi di fier nemico, e non d’amante.
Tornano al ferro: e l’uno e l’altro il tinge
Con molte piaghe, e stanco ed anelante
E questi e quegli alfin pur si ritira,
456 E dopo lungo faticar respira.
LVII
Thrice his strong arms he folds about her waist,
And thrice was forced to let the virgin go,
For she disdained to be so embraced,
No lover would have strained his mistress so:
They took their swords again, and each enchased
Deep wounds in the soft flesh of his strong foe,
Till weak and weary, faint, alive uneath,
They both retired at once, at once took breath.
LVII
Three times the cavalier the maiden grasps
In his strong arms, and thrice the maiden too,
From their tenacious knots, herself unclasps —
Knots not of lover, but of savage foe.
Once more they use their sabres, which they stain
In many a crimson wound; then, out of breath,
With one consent, both he and she refrain,
Overstrained, exhausted, from the work of death.
LVIII.
L’un l’altro guarda, e del suo corpo esangue
Sul pomo della spada appoggia il peso.
Già dell’ultima stella il raggio langue
460 Al primo albór ch’è in Oriente acceso.
Vede Tancredi in maggior copia il sangue
Del suo nemico, e sè non tanto offeso.
Ne gode, e superbisce. Oh nostra folle
464 Mente, ch’ogni aura di fortuna estolle!
LVIII
Each other long beheld, and leaning stood
Upon their swords, whose points in earth were pight,
When day-break, rising from the eastern flood,
Put forth the thousand eyes of blindfold night;
Tancred beheld his foe’s out-streaming blood,
And gaping wounds, and waxed proud with the sight,
Oh vanity of man’s unstable mind,
Puffed up with every blast of friendly wind!
LVIII
Each now returned his foe’s defiant gaze,
While leaning, breathless, on the falchion’s hilt;
Already the last star had paled its rays
Before the dawn, which Orient splendour gilt,
When Tancred, seeing that more profusely ran
His foeman’s life-blood than his own, repress
He could not his delight. Vain, puffed-up man!
Elated by each semblance of success.
LIX.
Misero, di che godi? oh quanto mesti
Fiano i trionfi, ed infelice il vanto!
Gli occhj tuoi pagheran (se in vita resti)
468 Di quel sangue ogni stilla un mar di pianto.
Così tacendo e rimirando, questi
Sanguinosi guerrier cessaro alquanto.
Ruppe il silenzio alfin Tancredi, e disse,
472 Perchè il suo nome a lui l’altro scoprisse:
LIX
Why joy’st thou, wretch? Oh, what shall be thy gain?
What trophy for this conquest is’t thou rears?
Thine eyes shall shed, in case thou be not slain,
For every drop of blood a sea of tears:
The bleeding warriors leaning thus remain,
Each one to speak one word long time forbears,
Tancred the silence broke at last, and said,
For he would know with whom this fight he made:
LIX
Fool! why this joy? Lost, lost in endless pain
Will be thy triumph, when the truth appears;
Thine eyes will pay (if life the shock sustain),
For every drop of blood, a sea of tears.
As, without speaking, each the other eyed,
The blood-stained knights obtained a brief repose;
Breaking at length the silence, Tancred cried
That his opponent should his name disclose.
LX.
Nostra sventura è ben che quì s’impieghi
Tanto valor, dove silenzio il copra.
Ma poichè sorte rea vien che ci neghi
476 E lode, e testimon degno dell’opra:
Pregoti (se fra l’arme han loco i preghi)
Che ‘l tuo nome e ‘l tuo stato a me tu scopra:
Acciocch’io sappia o vinto, o vincitore,
480 Chi la mia morte, o la vittoria onore.
LX
“Evil is our chance and hard our fortune is
Who here in silence, and in shade debate,
Where light of sun and witness all we miss
That should our prowess and our praise dilate:
If words in arms find place, yet grant me this,
Tell me thy name, thy country, and estate;
That I may know, this dangerous combat done,
Whom I have conquered, or who hath me won.”
LX
’Tis hard that we, unseen by mortal eyes,
Should so much valour uselessly display;
Since, then, invidious destiny denies
Praise, or a witness adequate, I pray
(If prayers can find acceptance from a foe),
Thee to reveal thy name and quality,
That, conqueror or conquered, I may know
Who will adorn my death or victory.’
LXI.
Risponde la feroce: indarno chiedi
Quel ch’ho per uso di non far palese.
Ma chiunque io mi sia, tu innanzi vedi
484 Un di que’ d
ue che la gran torre accese.
Arse di sdegno a quel parlar Tancredi,
E, in mal punto il dicesti, indi riprese:
Il tuo dir e ‘l tacer di par m’alletta,
488 Barbaro discortese, alla vendetta.
LXI
“What I nill tell, you ask,” quoth she, “in vain,
Nor moved by prayer, nor constrained by power,
But thus much know, I am one of those twain
Which late with kindled fire destroyed the tower.”
Tancred at her proud words swelled with disdain,
“That hast thou said,” quoth he, “in evil hour;
Thy vaunting speeches, and thy silence both,
Uncivil wretch, hath made my heart more wroth.”
LXI
Fiercely she answered: ‘You demand in vain
What it is not my habit to unfold;
But whosoe’er I be, one of the twain
That fired your mighty turret you behold.’
With wrath her speech inflamed the Christian knight,
Who shouted: ‘This in evil hour you tell;
Your silence, no less than your words, invite
Me to revenge, discourteous infidel.’
LXII.
Torna l’ira ne’ cori, e gli trasporta,
Benchè debili, in guerra. Oh fera pugna;
U’ l’arte in bando, u’ già la forza è morta:
492 Ove in vece d’entrambi il furor pugna!
Oh che sanguigna e spaziosa porta
Fa l’una e l’altra spada, ovunque giugna
Nell’arme e nelle carni! e se la vita
496 Non esce, sdegno tienla al petto unita.
LXII
Ire in their chafed breasts renewed the fray,
Fierce was the fight, though feeble were their might,
Their strength was gone, their cunning was away,
And fury in their stead maintained the fight,
Their swords both points and edges sharp embay
In purple blood, whereso they hit or light,
And if weak life yet in their bosoms lie,
They lived because they both disdained to die.
LXII
Rage to their hearts returned at this, and led
Once more to battle the exhausted knights.
Fierce fray! whence skill is banished, strength is dead,
And in their place alone brute fury fights.
Oh, what wide bloody gaps the falchion rived
In their soft flesh, thro’ steel and quilted vest;
And if frail life in either still survived,
Despite it was that bound it to the breast.
LXIII.
Qual l’alto Egeo, perchè Aquilone o Noto
Cessi, che tutto prima il volse e scosse,
Non s’accheta però; ma ‘l suono e ‘l moto
500 Ritien dell’onde anco agitate e grosse;
Tal, sebben manca in lor col sangue voto
Quel vigor che le braccia ai colpi mosse;
Serbano ancor l’impeto primo, e vanno
504 Da quel sospinti a giunger danno a danno.
LXIII
As Aegean seas when storms be calmed again
That rolled their tumbling waves with troublous blasts,
Do yet of tempests past some shows retain,
And here and there their swelling billows casts;
So, though their strength were gone and might were vain,
Of their first fierceness still the fury lasts,
Wherewith sustained, they to their tackling stood,
And heaped wound on wound, and blood on blood.
LXIII
As the Ægean, tho’ the storm be o’er,
That had convulsed it to its deepest caves,
Not tranquil yet, retains the roll and roar
In its still big and agitated waves;
Thus, tho’ with loss of blood that vigour waned,
Which put at first such life into each blow,
Yet still their former energy remained,
Impelled by which they madly fight; but, lo!
LXIV.
Ma ecco omai l’ora fatale è giunta
Che ‘l viver di Clorinda al suo fin deve.
Spinge egli il ferro nel bel sen di punta,
508 Che vi s’immerge, e ‘l sangue avido beve:
E la vesta, che d’or vago trapunta
Le mammelle stringea tenera e leve,
L’empie d’un caldo fiume: ella già sente
512 Morirsi, e ‘l piè le manca egro e languente.
LXIV
But now, alas, the fatal hour arrives
That her sweet life must leave that tender hold,
His sword into her bosom deep he drives,
And bathed in lukewarm blood his iron cold,
Between her breasts the cruel weapon rives
Her curious square, embossed with swelling gold,
Her knees grow weak, the pains of death she feels,
And like a falling cedar bends and reels.
LXIV
The hour, the fatal hour at length arrives,
To quit this life that bold Clorinda should:
Through her fair bosom the sword’s point he drives,
Which there infixed drinks greedily her blood.
A reeking torrent deluges her vest,
Which, stiff with tissue of embroidered gold,
Confined with yielding tenderness her breast;
She feels death near, nor can herself uphold.
LXV.
Segue egli la vittoria, e la trafitta
Vergine, minacciando, incalza e preme.
Ella, mentre cadea, la voce afflitta
516 Movendo, disse le parole estreme:
Parole ch’a lei novo un spirto ditta;
Spirto di fe, di carità, di speme:
Virtù ch’or Dio le infonde: e se rubella
520 In vita fu, la vuole in morte ancella.
LXV
The prince his hand upon her shield doth stretch,
And low on earth the wounded damsel layeth,
And while she fell, with weak and woful speech,
Her prayers last and last complaints she sayeth,
A spirit new did her those prayers teach,
Spirit of hope, of charity, and faith;
And though her life to Christ rebellious were,
Yet died she His child and handmaid dear.
LXV
He, threat’ning, follows up his victory,
Forcing and pressing the transfixèd maid,
Who, as she fell in mortal agony,
Her last words uttered, her last wish conveyed;
Words a new spirit prompted unto her,
Spirit of Hope, of Charity, of Faith,
By God Himself inspired, who, tho’ she were
In life a rebel, willed her true in death.
LXVI.
Amico hai vinto; io ti perdon: perdona
Tu ancora, al corpo no che nulla pave,
All’alma si: deh per lei prega, e dona
524 Battesmo a me, ch’ogni mia colpa lave.
In queste voci languide risuona
Un non so che di flebile e soave
Ch’al cor gli scende, ed ogni sdegno ammorza,
528 E gli occhj a lagrimar gli invoglia e sforza.
LXVI
“Friend, thou hast won, I pardon thee, nor save
This body, that all torments can endure,
But save my soul, baptism I dying crave,
Come wash away my sins with waters pure:”
His heart relenting nigh in sunder rave,
With woful speech of that sweet creature,
So that his rage, his wrath, and anger died,
And on his cheeks salt tears for ruth down slide.
LXVI
‘Friend, thou hast won, and, as I pardon thee,
Do thou too pardon, not this fearless clay,
But my dark soul. Ah, pray for it, and free,<
br />
By baptism, all my secret sins away.’
In that faint voice’s gentle tones there stole
Such soft unearthly music on his ear,
As quenched all rage, and, gliding to his soul,
Forced to his eyes a sympathetic tear.
LXVII.
Poco quindi lontan nel sen del monte
Scaturia, mormorando, un picciol rio.
Egli v’accorse, e l’elmo empiè nel fonte,
532 E tornò mesto al grande uficio e pio.
Tremar sentì la man, mentre la fronte,
Non conosciuta ancor, sciolse e scoprío.
La vide, la conobbe; e restò senza
536 E voce, e moto. Ahi vista, ahi conoscenza!
LXVII
With murmur loud down from the mountain’s side
A little runnel tumbled near the place,
Thither he ran and filled his helmet wide,
And quick returned to do that work of grace,
With trembling hands her beaver he untied,
Which done he saw, and seeing, knew her face,
And lost therewith his speech and moving quite,
Oh woful knowledge, ah unhappy sight!
LXVII
A short way off, a little murmuring rill
Burst from the mountain’s bosom; there the knight
Hastened, his helmet from its source to fill,
Then sad returned for the great pious rite.
He felt his hand shake, while he sought to bare
Her, as yet, unknown features to the light:
He saw, he knew her, and stood rooted there.
Ah, recognition! ah, heart-rending sight!
LXVIII.
Non morì già; chè sua virtute accolse
Tutta in quel punto, e in guardia al cor la mise:
E, premendo il suo affanno, a dar si volse
540 Vita con l’acqua a chi col ferro uccise.
Mentre egli il suon de’ sacri detti sciolse,
Colei di gioja trasmutossi, e rise:
E in atto di morir lieto e vivace
544 Dir parea: s’apre il Cielo: io vado in pace.
LXVIII
He died not, but all his strength unites,
And to his virtues gave his heart in guard,
Bridling his grief, with water he requites
The life that he bereft with iron hard,
And while the sacred words the knight recites,
The nymph to heaven with joy herself prepared;
And as her life decays her joys increase,