Jerusalem Delivered
Page 280
And with his left the Pagan’s right arm bent,
With his right hand meanwhile the man’s right side
He cut, he wounded, mangled, tore and rent.
“To his victorious teacher,” Tancred cried,
“His conquered scholar hath this answer sent;”
Argantes chafed, struggled, turned and twined,
Yet could not so his captive arm unbind:
XVI
Athwart his left foot rapidly he passed,
And with his left hand seized Arganté’s right,
And with his right hand mortally, at last,
The right side wounded of the Pagan knight.
That’s the foiled fencer’s answer,’ he replied,
‘To his triumphant master in the fray.’
Arganté roaring, writhing, struggling, tried
To get — but failed — his captive arm away.
XVII.
Alfin lasciò la spada alla catena
Pendente, e sotto al buon Latin si spinse.
Fè l’istesso Tancredi, e con gran lena
132 L’un calcò l’altro, e l’un l’altro ricinse.
Nè con più forza dall’adusta arena
Sospese Alcide il gran gigante, e strinse,
Di quella onde facean tenaci nodi
136 Le nerborute braccia in varj modi.
XVII
His sword at last he let hang by the chain,
And griped his hardy foe in both his hands,
In his strong arms Tancred caught him again,
And thus each other held and wrapped in bands.
With greater might Alcides did not strain
The giant Antheus on the Lybian sands,
On holdfast knots their brawny arms they cast,
And whom he hateth most, each held embraced:
XVII
His sword, then, leaving pendent by its chain,
From underneath, the gallant Frank he grasped;
Who did the same; with all their might and main
In mortal struggle they each other clasped.
Alcides ne’er, upon the arid sands,
The mighty giant with more force upheaved,
Than that with which the rivals’ nervous hands
In various forms tenacious knots enweaved.
XVIII.
Tai fur gli avvolgimenti e tai le scosse,
Ch’ambi in un tempo il suol presser col fianco.
Argante, od arte o sua ventura fosse,
140 Sovra ha il braccio migliore, e sotto il manco.
Ma la man ch’è più atta alle percosse,
Sottogiace impedita al guerrier Franco,
Ond’ei, che ‘l suo svantaggio e ‘l rischio vede,
144 Si sviluppa dall’altro, e salta in piede.
XVIII
Such was their wrestling, such their shocks and throws
That down at once they tumbled both to ground,
Argantes, — were it hap or skill, who knows,
His better hand loose and in freedom found;
But the good Prince, his hand more fit for blows,
With his huge weight the Pagan underbound;
But he, his disadvantage great that knew,
Let go his hold, and on his feet up flew:
XVIII
So fiercely wrestled the twined combatants,
That both together fell upon the heath;
Arganté had, by management or chance,
His right hand uppermost, his left beneath.
But as Tancredi’s sword-arm crippled lay
Beneath the Turk’s superincumbent weight,
The risk and disadvantage seen, away
He freed himself, and sprung upon his feet.
XIX.
Sorge più tardi, e un gran fendente, in prima
Che sorto ei sia, vien sopra al Saracino.
Ma come all’Euro la frondosa cima
148 Piega, e in un tempo la solleva il pino,
Così lui sua virtute alza e sublima,
Quando ei ne gía per ricader più chino.
Or ricomincian quì colpi a vicenda.
152 La pugna ha manco d’arte, ed è più orrenda.
XIX
Far slower rose the unwieldy Saracine,
And caught a rap ere he was reared upright.
But as against the blustering winds a pine
Now bends his top, now lifts his head on height,
His courage so, when it ‘gan most decline,
The man reinforced, and advanced his might,
And with fierce change of blows renewed the fray,
Where rage for skill, horror for art, bore sway.
XIX
Not near so quick got up the Saracen,
Who ere he rose received a slashing blow;
But as its leafy head the pliant pine
Bends and upraises to the east wind, so
Arganté’s valour more sublimely rose,
When stricken down he again so nearly fell;
The desperate pair once more in combat close,
Which, void of art, became more horrible.
XX.
Esce a Tancredi in più d’un loco il sangue;
Ma ne versa il Pagan quasi torrenti.
Già nelle sceme forze il furor langue,
156 Siccome fiamma in deboli alimenti.
Tancredi che ‘l vedea col braccio esangue
Girar i colpi ad or ad or più lenti,
Dal magnanimo cor deposta l’ira,
160 Placido gli ragiona, e ‘l piè ritira.
XX
The purple drops from Tancred’s sides down railed,
But from the Pagan ran whole streams of blood,
Wherewith his force grew weak, his courage quailed
As fires die which fuel want or food.
Tancred that saw his feeble arm now failed
To strike his blows, that scant he stirred or stood,
Assuaged his anger, and his wrath allayed,
And stepping back, thus gently spoke and said:
XX
Blood ran from Tancred in more spots than one,
But from the Pagan poured almost a flood,
Who, like a fire ill-nourished, had begun
To feel his fury wane with loss of blood.
Tancredi, seeing what little strength possessed
His languid arm, as fainter grew each stroke,
Banished all wrath from his magnanimous breast,
Drew back some paces, and thus kindly spoke:
XXI.
Cedimi, uom forte; o riconoscer voglia
Me per tuo vincitore, o la Fortuna.
Nè ricerco da te trionfo, o spoglia:
164 Nè mi riserbo in te ragione alcuna.
Terribile il Pagan, più che mai soglia,
Tutte le furie sue desta e raguna.
Risponde: or dunque il meglio aver ti vante,
168 Ed osi di viltà tentare Argante?
XXI
“Yield, hardy knight, and chance of war or me
Confess to have subdued thee in this fight,
I will no trophy, triumph, spoil of thee,
Nor glory wish, nor seek a victor’s right
More terrible than erst;” herewith grew he
And all awaked his fury, rage and might,
And said, “Dar’st thou of vantage speak or think,
Or move Argantes once to yield or shrink?
XXI
‘Yield thee, undaunted man, and recognise,
From strength or chance, thy conqueror in me:
In thy defeat I seek no spoil, no prize,
No right of conquest I reserve o’er thee.’
At this the Turk, more terrible than e’er,
His gathered fury flashing from his face,
Exclaimed: ‘What! vaunt to have the best, and dare
Arganté tempt with offers of disgrace!
XXII.
Usa la sorte tua; chè nulla io temo:
Nè lascer
ò la tua follia impunita.
Come face rinforza anzi l’estremo
172 Le fiamme, e luminosa esce di vita;
Tal riempiendo ei d’ira il sangue scemo,
Rinvigorì la gagliardía smarrita:
E l’ore della morte omai vicine
176 Volle illustrar con generoso fine.
XXII
“Use, use thy vantage, thee and fortune both
I scorn, and punish will thy foolish pride:”
As a hot brand flames most ere it forth go’th,
And dying blazeth bright on every side;
So he, when blood was lost, with anger wroth,
Revived his courage when his puissance died,
And would his latest hour which now drew nigh,
Illustrate with his end, and nobly die.
XXII
‘Thy fortune use, since I from fear am free,
And yet will thy impertinence chastise.’
Like flickering torch that in extremity
Revives a moment, then all splendour dies,
So, heating with fresh ire his ebbing blood,
He did his sinking strength invigorate;
His parting hour, approaching fast, he would
With one last brilliant act commemorate.
XXIII.
La man sinistra alla compagna accosta,
E con ambe congiunte il ferro abbassa:
Cala un fendente: e benchè trovi opposta
180 La spada ostil, la sforza ed oltre passa:
Scende alla spalla, e giù di costa in costa
Molte ferite in un sol punto lassa.
Se non teme Tancredi, il petto audace
184 Non fè natura di timor capace.
XXIII
He joined his left hand to her sister strong,
And with them both let fall his weighty blade.
Tancred to ward his blow his sword up slung,
But that it smote aside, nor there it stayed,
But from his shoulder to his side along
It glanced, and many wounds at once it made:
Yet Tancred feared naught, for in his heart
Found coward dread no place, fear had no part.
XXIII
Joining his left hand with its fellow right,
He drave a blow with both conjoined in one;
Down fell his sword, and tho’ the Christian knight
Opposed his own, it forced it, and passed on;
Thro’ shoulder, ribs, that single stroke impressed
Full many wounds upon the cavalier.
If Tancred feared not, his audacious breast
Nature had made incapable of fear.
XXIV.
Quel doppia il colpo orribile, ed al vento
Le forze e l’ire inutilmente ha sparte:
Perchè Tancredi, alla percossa intento,
188 Se ne sottrasse, e si lanciò in disparte.
Tu, dal tuo peso tratto, in giù col mento
N’andasti, Argante, e non potesti aitarte:
Per te cadesti; avventuroso intanto,
192 Ch’altri non ha di tua caduta il vanto.
XXIV
His fearful blow he doubled, but he spent
His force in waste, and all his strength in vain;
For Tancred from the blow against him bent,
Leaped aside, the stroke fell on the plain.
With thine own weight o’erthrown to earth thou went,
Argantes stout, nor could’st thyself sustain,
Thyself thou threwest down, O happy man,
Upon whose fall none boast or triumph can!
XXIV
He then redoubled the terrific blow,
But to the winds its force was idly spent,
Since Tancred watching, ere it fell below,
Sprang on one side, and balked his dread intent:
While downwards dragged by thy unwieldy weight,
Thou didst, Arganté, on the greensward sprawl,
Thro’ thy own act laid low, thus fortunate
That there was none could vaunt him of thy fall.
XXV.
Il cader dilatò le piaghe aperte,
E ‘l sangue espresso dilagando scese.
Punta ei la manca in terra, e si converte,
196 Ritto sovra un ginocchio, alle difese:
Renditi, grida: e gli fa nuove offerte,
Senza nojarlo, il vincitor cortese.
Quegli di furto intanto il ferro caccia,
200 E sul tallone il fiede: indi il minaccia.
XXV
His gaping wounds the fall set open wide,
The streams of blood about him made a lake,
Helped with his left hand, on one knee he tried
To rear himself, and new defence to make:
The courteous prince stepped back, and “Yield thee!” cried,
No hurt he proffered him, no blow he strake.
Meanwhile by stealth the Pagan false him gave
A sudden wound, threatening with speeches brave:
XXV
His open wounds the fall dilated wide,
From them the blood in welling torrents poured;
He fixed his left hand on the ground, and tried,
Raised on one knee, to use once more his sword.
‘Yield thee,’ again the courteous conqueror cried,
Nor took advantage. To this fresh appeal
The treacherous Turk with stealthy stroke replied,
And struck his generous rival in the heel.
XXVI.
Infuriossi allor Tancredi, e disse:
Così abusi, fellon, la pietà mia?
Poi la spada gli fisse, e gli rifisse
204 Nella visiera, ove accertò la via.
Moriva Argante, e tal moría qual visse:
Minacciava morendo, e non languia.
Superbi, formidabili, e feroci
208 Gli ultimi moti fur, l’ultime voci.
XXVI
Herewith Tancredi furious grew, and said,
“Villain, dost thou my mercy so despise?”
Therewith he thrust and thrust again his blade,
And through his ventil pierced his dazzled eyes,
Argantes died, yet no complaint he made,
But as he furious lived he careless dies;
Bold, proud, disdainful, fierce and void of fear
His motions last, last looks, last speeches were.
XXVI
Who, bursting forth into a fury, said:
‘Villain, is it thus my mercy you abuse?’
And thro’ his vizor plunged and plunged his blade,
Than which more certain way he could not choose.
Thus died Arganté: as he lived, so died —
Dying, he threats, nor languishes in death;
Made up of hate, ferocity, and pride,
Were his last struggles and his parting breath.
XXVII.
Ripon Tancredi il ferro, e poi devoto
Ringrazia Dio del trionfal onore.
Ma lasciato di forze ha quasi vuoto
212 La sanguigna vittoria il vincitore.
Teme egli assai che del viaggio al moto
Durar non possa il suo fievol vigore.
Pur s’incammina, e così passo passo
216 Per le già corse vie move il piè lasso.
XXVII
Tancred put up his sword, and praises glad
Gave to his God that saved him in this fight;
But yet this bloody conquest feebled had
So much the conqueror’s force, strength and might,
That through the way he feared which homeward led
He had not strength enough to walk upright;
Yet as he could his steps from thence he bent,
And foot by foot a heavy pace forth-went;
XXVII
His sword Tancredi sheathed, and reverently
Gave thanks to Jesus for the honour gained;
But that ensanguined hard-fought victory
The victor’s lifeblood had so nearly drained,
He feared his failing forces would not bear
The motion of the journey: still he went,
And step by step, with faint and feeble air,
His wearied course by the old pathway bent.
XXVIII.
Trar molto il debil fianco oltra non puote,
E quanto più si sforza, più s’affanna.
Onde in terra s’asside, e pon le gote
220 Su la destra che par tremula canna.
Ciò che vedea, pargli veder che rote:
E di tenebre il dì già gli s’appanna.
Al fin isviene: e ‘l vincitor dal vinto
224 Non ben saria, nel rimirar, distinto.
XXVIII
His legs could bear him but a little stound,
And more he hastes, more tired, less was his speed,
On his right hand, at last, laid on the ground
He leaned, his hand weak like a shaking reed,
Dazzled his eyes, the world on wheels ran round,
Day wrapped her brightness up in sable weed;
At length he swooned, and the victor knight
Naught differed from his conquered foe in fight.
XXVIII
Drag on his frame he could no more, and weak
And weaker grew the more he persevered;
Whence down he sat upon the ground, his cheek
Propped by his arm, which trembling reed appeared.
All things before his swimming eyes whirled round,
Into dim shadows changed the waning light;
Nor could one well distinguish, when he swooned,
Which was the victor, which the vanquished knight.
XXIX.
Mentre quì segue la solinga guerra,
Che privata cagion fè così ardente,
L’ira de’ vincitor trascorre, ed erra
228 Per la Città sul popolo nocente.
Or chi giammai dell’espugnata terra
Potrebbe appien l’immagine dolente
Ritrarre in carte? od adeguar, parlando,
232 Lo spettacolo atroce e miserando?
XXIX
But while these lords their private fight pursue,
Made fierce and cruel through their secret hate,
The victor’s ire destroyed the faithless crew
From street to street, and chased from gate to gate.
But of the sacked town the image true
Who can describe, or paint the woful state,
Or with fit words this spectacle express