And yet displeased with luck, with life, with love;
There from her steed she lighted, there laid down
Her bow and shafts, her arms that helpless prove.
“There lie with shame,” she says, “disgraced, o’erthrown,
Blunt are the weapons, blunt the arms I move,
Weak to revenge my harms, or harm my foe,
My shafts are blunt, ah, love, would thine were so!
CXXIII
Well pleased she was that to a spot so drear,
Blind fortune had her wandering footsteps led;
Here she dismounted from her destrier, here
Her bow and other arms deposited.
‘Unfortunate arms that crimson should,’ said she,
‘To issue forth uncrimsoned from the fight;
I lay you down, here henceforth buried be,
Since my deep wrongs unable to requite.
CXXIV.
Ah, ma non fia che fra tant’armi e tante
Una di sangue oggi si bagni almeno?
S’ogni altro petto a voi par di diamante,
988 Osarete piagar femminil seno;
In questo mio, che vi sta nudo avante,
I pregj vostri e le vittorie sieno.
Tenero ai colpi è questo mio; ben sallo
992 Amor, che mai non vi saetta in fallo.
CXXIV
Alas, among so many, could not one,
Not one draw blood, one wound or rend his skin?
All other breasts to you are marble stone,
Dare you then pierce a woman’s bosom thin?
See, see, my naked heart, on this alone
Employ your force this fort is eath to win,
And love will shoot you from his mighty bow,
Weak is the shot that dripile falls in snow.
CXXIV
‘Yet no, amid so many, it can’t be
But one at least be bathed in blood to-day;
If other breasts seem adamantine, ye
Venture to pierce a woman’s bosom may;
In this, mine own, which naked I expose,
Display your merits, and your victories gain;
Tender it is — how tender Cupid knows,
Who ‘gainst it ne’er discharged one shaft in vain.
CXXV.
Dimostratevi in me (ch’io vi perdono
La passata viltà) forti ed acute:
Misera Armida, in qual fortuna or sono,
996 Se sol posso da voi sperar salute!
Poich’ogni altro rimedio è in me non buono,
Se non sol di ferute alle ferute;
Sani piaga di stral piaga d’Amore:
1000 E sia la morte medicina al core.
CXXV
“I pardon will your fear and weakness past,
Be strong, mine arrows, cruel, sharp, gainst me,
Ah, wretch, how is thy chance and fortune cast,
If placed in these thy good and comfort be?
But since all hope is vain all help is waste,
Since hurts ease hurts, wounds must cure wounds in thee;
Then with thine arrow’s stroke cure stroke of love,
Death for thy heart must salve and surgeon prove.
CXXV
‘Your former cowardice I will forgive,
If against me ye prove but sharp and true;
But in what state does poor Armida live,
If her sole hope of safety lies in you?
Since unavailing other medicines prove,
Save only wound on wound and smart on smart,
Let wound of arrow cure the wound of Love,
And Death relieve the anguish of my heart.
CXXVI.
Felice me, se nel morir non reco
Questa mia peste ad infettar l’Inferno.
Restine Amor; venga sol sdegno or meco,
1004 E sia dell’ombra mia compagno eterno:
O ritorni con lui dal regno cieco
A colui che di me fè l’empio scherno:
E se gli mostri tal, che, in fere notti,
1008 Abbia riposi orribili e interrotti.
CXXVI
“And happy me if, being dead and slain,
I bear not with me this strange plague to hell:
Love, stay behind, come thou with me disdain,
And with my wronged soul forever dwell;
Or else with it turn to the world again
And vex that knight with dreams and visions fell,
And tell him, when twixt life and death I strove
My last wish, was revenge — last word, was love.”
CXXVI
‘ Blest if, in death, I carry not away
This plague to infect the regions of the dead;
Love, then, remain; alone, Wrath, with me stay,
Eternal partner of my sorrowing shade,
Or back return with it from lightless hell:
To him who made such mockery of me,
And in such guise that visions horrible
Companions of his restless slumbers be.’
CXXVII.
Quì tacque; e stabilito il suo pensiero,
Strale sceglieva il più pungente e forte;
Quando giunse, e mirolla il Cavaliero
1012 Tanto vicina alla sua estrema sorte,
Già compostasi in atto atroce e fero,
Già tinta in viso di pallor di morte.
Da tergo ei se le avventa, e ‘l braccio prende
1016 Che già la fera punta al petto stende.
CXXVII
And with that word half mad, half dead, she seems,
An arrow, poignant, strong and sharp she took,
When her dear knight found her in these extremes,
Now fit to die, and pass the Stygian brook,
Now prest to quench her own and beauty’s beams;
Now death sat on her eyes, death in her look,
When to her back he stepped, and stayed her arm
Stretched forth to do that service last, last harm.
CXXVII
Here ceased; and, ‘stablished in her purpose, she
The strongest and most piercing arrow chose,
When, lo! arrived the cavalier to see
How near her life approached a desperate close.
Desperate she looked, and as her face he scanned,
Saw there death’s ghastly pallor was expressed;
Whence, stealing up behind, he seized her hand,
Which held the barb directed to her breast.
CXXVIII.
Si volse Armida, e ‘l rimirò improvviso;
Chè nol sentì quando da prima ei venne.
Alzò le strida, e dall’amato viso
1020 Torse le luci disdegnosa, e svenne.
Ella cadea, quasi fior mezzo inciso,
Piegando il lento collo: ei la sostenne.
Le fè d’un braccio al bel fianco colonna:
1024 E intanto al sen le rallentò la gonna.
CXXVIII
She turns and, ere she knows, her lord she spies,
Whose coming was unwished, unthought, unknown,
She shrieks, and twines away her sdainful eyes
From his sweet face, she falls dead in a swoon,
Falls as a flower half cut, that bending lies:
He held her up, and lest she tumble down,
Under her tender side his arm he placed,
His hand her girdle loosed, her gown unlaced;
CXXVIII
Armida turned, and saw, to her surprise,
Him of whose coming she was not acquainted;
Loudly she screamed, and turned away her eyes
Disdainful from the well-loved face, and fainted.
Bending her pliant, delicate neck, she sank
Like a fair lily rudely snapt in two;
He made his arm a column for her flank,
And hastened her tight bodice to undo,
CXXIX.
E ‘l bel volto, e ‘l bel seno alla meschina
Quale a pioggia d’argento e mattutina
1028 Si rabbellisce scolorita rosa,
Tal’ ella, rivenendo, alzò la china
Faccia, del non suo pianto or lagrimosa.
Tre volte alzò le luci: e tre chinolle
1032 Dal caro oggetto, e rimirar nol volle.
CXXIX
And her fair face, fair bosom he bedews
With tears, tears of remorse, of ruth, of sorrow.
As the pale rose her color lost renews
With the fresh drops fallen from the silver morrow,
So she revives, and cheeks empurpled shows
Moist with their own tears and with tears they borrow;
Thrice looked she up, her eyes thrice closed she;
As who say, “Let me die, ere look on thee.”
CXXIX
And did with tears of tender ruth bedew
The face and bosom of the unhappy fair;
Then, as from rath and silver fall of dew
The faded rose resumes its blooming air,
So she, reviving, lifted towards the skies
Her features, bathed with tear-drops not her own;
Thrice she raised up, and thrice cast down her eyes
From that dear face, she dared not look upon;
CXXX.
E con man languidetta il forte braccio
Ch’era sostegno suo, schiva, respinse.
Tentò più volte, e non uscì d’impaccio:
1036 Chè via più stretta ei rilegolla e cinse.
Alfin raccolta entro quel caro laccio,
Che le fu caro forse, e se n’infinse,
Parlando incominciò di spander fiumi,
1040 Senza mai dirizzargli al volto i lumi.
CXXX
And his strong arm, with weak and feeble hand
She would have thrust away, loosed and untwined:
Oft strove she, but in vain, to break that band,
For he the hold he got not yet resigned,
Herself fast bound in those dear knots she fand,
Dear, though she feigned scorn, strove and repined:
At last she speaks, she weeps, complains and cries;
Yet durst not, did not, would not see his eyes.
CXXX
And with her fair frail hand disdainfully
The stalwart arm that bore her up repelled;
Oft, oft she tried, nor could escape, since he,
The more she struggled, the more tightly held.
At length caught firmly in that dear embrace —
For tho’ she feigned, perchance, it still was dear;
Without one look directing to his face,
Weeping, she thus addressed the cavalier:
CXXXI.
O sempre, e quando parti e quando torni
Egualmente crudele, or chi ti guida?
Gran maraviglia che ‘l morir distorni,
1044 E di vita cagion sia l’omicida.
Tu di salvarmi cerchi? a quali scorni,
A quali pene è riservata Armida?
Conosco l’arti del fellone ignote;
1048 Ma ben può nulla, chi morir non puote.
CXXXI
“Cruel at thy departure, at return
As cruel, say, what chance thee hither guideth,
Would’st thou prevent her death whose heart forlorn
For thee, for thee death’s strokes each hour divideth?
Com’st thou to save my life? alas, what scorn,
What torment for Armida poor abideth?
No, no, thy crafts and sleights I well descry,
But she can little do that cannot die.
CXXXI
‘Alike at parting or returning, how
Cruel thou art, and of all pity void;
Tis strange my death thou shouldst prohibit — thou
That hast the enchantment of my life destroyed.
Seek’st thou to save me? For what fresh disgrace,
For what new punishment reserved am I?
The traitor’s secret artifice I trace;
But naught, indeed, they can, that cannot die.
CXXXII.
Certo è scemo il tuo onor, se non s’addita
Incatenata al tuo trionfo innanti
Femmina or presa a forza, e pria tradita.
1052 Quest’è ‘l maggior de’ titoli, e de’ vanti.
Tempo fu ch’io ti chiesi e pace, e vita:
Dolce or saria con morte uscir di pianti;
Ma non la chiedo a te; chè non è cosa
1056 Ch’essendo dono tuo, non mi sia odiosa.
CXXXII
“Thy triumph is not great nor well arrayed
Unless in chains thou lead a captive dame:
A dame now ta’en by force, before betrayed,
This is thy greatest glory, greatest fame:
Time was that thee of love and life I prayed,
Let death now end my love, my life, my shame.
Yet let not thy false hand bereave this breath,
For if it were thy gift, hateful were death.
CXXXII
‘Thy honour, doubtless, would be incomplete
Couldst thou not show the world a captive maid,
Laden with chains, at thy triumphant feet,
By force now captured, as before betrayed.
How glorious this! Time was I craved, ah, me!
Both peace and life, but now with what delight
I would welcome death; yet ask it not of thee,
Since aught thy gift were hateful in my sight.
CXXXIII.
Per me stessa, crudel, spero sottrarmi
Alla tua feritade in alcun modo.
E se all’incatenata il tosco e l’armi
1060 Pur mancheranno, e i precipizj, e ‘l nodo:
Veggio sicure vie, che tu vietarmi
Il morir non potresti: e ‘l Ciel ne lodo.
Cessa omai da’ tuoi vezzi. Ah par ch’ei finga:
1064 Deh come le speranze egre lusinga!
CXXXIII
“Cruel, myself an hundred ways can find,
To rid me from thy malice, from thy hate,
If weapons sharp, if poisons of all kind,
If fire, if strangling fail, in that estate,
Yet ways enough I know to stop this wind:
A thousand entries hath the house of fate.
Ah, leave these flatteries, leave weak hope to move,
Cease, cease, my hope is dead, dead is my love.”
CXXXIII
‘No; thro’ myself to free myself, I hope,
By some means, cruel! from thy cruelty;
If dagger, poison, precipice, or rope
Thy victim fail, still, still sure ways I see;
And, Heaven be praised, ev’n thou canst not restrain
The power in me that have the will to die.
Cease, cease thy flatteries; see! he still would feign,
Still foster idle hopes, deceive and lie,’
CXXXIV.
Così doleasi; e con le flebil’onde
Ch’amor e sdegno da’ begli occhj stilla,
L’affettuoso pianto egli confonde,
1068 In cui pudíca la pietà sfavilla,
E con modi dolcissimi risponde:
Armida, il cor turbato omai tranquilla:
Non agli scherni, al regno io ti riservo,
1072 Nemico no; ma tuo campione e servo.
CXXXIV
Thus mourned she, and from her watery eyes
Disdain and love dropped down, rolled up in tears;
From his pure fountains ran two streams likewise,
Wherein chaste pity and mild ruth appears:
Thus with sweet words the queen he pacifies,
“Madam, appease your grief, your wrath, your fears,
For to be crowned, not scorned, your life I save;
Your foe nay, but your friend, your knight, your slave.
CXXXIV
Thus mournèd she, and with the mournful stream,
That love and rage expressed from her fair eyes,
Affectionate tears he mingled, in which gleam
Compassion chaste and tenderest sympathies;
And answered, speaking in the gentlest strain:
‘Armida, calm thyself; thy life I save,
Not for disgrace or insult, but to reign;
Not foeman — but thy champion and thy slave.
CXXXV.
Mira negli occhj miei, s’al dir non vuoi
Fede prestar, della mia fede il zelo.
Nel soglio, ove regnar gli avoli tuoi,
1076 Riporti giuro; ed oh piacesse al Cielo,
Ch’alla tua mente alcun de’ raggj suoi
Del paganesmo dissolvesse il velo:
Com’io farei che in Oriente alcuna
1080 Non t’agguagliasse di regal fortuna.
CXXXV
“But if you trust no speech, no oath, no word;
Yet in mine eyes, my zeal, my truth behold:
For to that throne, whereof thy sire was lord,
I will restore thee, crown thee with that gold,
And if high Heaven would so much grace afford
As from thy heart this cloud this veil unfold
Of Paganism, in all the east no dame
Should equalize thy fortune, state and fame.”
CXXXV
‘If thou dost faith from these my words withhold,
Look in mine eyes and read Truth’s language there;
Upon the throne where reigned thy sires of old
Thee to replace most solemnly I swear;
And, ah! may Heaven some rays of light send down,
Thee from the mist of Paganism to free,
As I will cause that in the Orient none
In princely state or splendour equal thee.’
CXXXVI.
Sì parla, e prega; e i preghi bagna e scalda
Or di lagrime rare or di sospiri.
Onde siccome suol nevosa falda
1084 Dov’arda il Sole o tepid’aura spiri;
Così l’ira, che in lei parea sì salda,
Solvesi, e restan sol gli altri desiri.
Ecco l’ancilla tua: d’essa a tuo senno
1088 Dispon (gli disse) e le fia legge il cenno.
CXXXVI
Thus plaineth he, thus prays, and his desire
Endears with sighs that fly and tears that fall;
That as against the warmth of Titan’s fire,
Snowdrifts consume on tops of mountains tall,
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