Jersusalem Delivered

by Torquato Tasso

  Yet should his looks no sign of fear betray;

  For wheresoever will or chance him guide,

  His strong victorious hand still made him way:

  Yet for the combat he must shortly make,

  No new adventures list he undertake.

  Before the castle, in a meadow plain

  Beside the bridge's end, he stayed and stood,

  Nor was entreated by the speeches vain

  Of his false guide, to pass beyond the flood.

  Upon the bridge appeared a warlike swain,

  From top to toe all clad in armor good,

  Who brandishing a broad and cutting sword,

  Thus threatened death with many an idle word.

  "O thou, whom chance or will brings to the soil,

  Where fair Armida doth the sceptre guide,

  Thou canst not fly, of arms thyself despoil,

  And let thy hands with iron chains be tied;

  Enter and rest thee from thy weary toil.

  Within this dungeon shalt thou safe abide,

  And never hope again to see the day,

  Or that thy hair for age shall turn to gray;

  "Except thou swear her valiant knights to aid

  Against those traitors of the Christian crew."

  Tancred at this discourse a little stayed,

  His arms, his gesture, and his voice he knew:

  It was Rambaldo, who for that false maid

  Forsook his country and religion true,

  And of that fort defender chief became,

  And those vile customs established in the same.

  The warrior answered, blushing red for shame,

  "Curséd apostate, and ungracious wight,

  I am that Tancred who defend the name

  Of Christ, and have been aye his faithful knight;

  His rebel foes can I subdue and tame,

  As thou shalt find before we end this fight;

  And thy false heart cleft with this vengeful sword,

  Shall feel the ire of thy forsaken Lord."

  When that great name Rambaldo's ears did fill,

  He shook for fear and lookéd pale for dread,

  Yet proudly said, "Tancred, thy hap was ill

  To wander hither where thou art but dead,

  Where naught can help, thy courage, strength and skill;

  To Godfrey will I send thy curséd head,

  That he may see, how for Armida's sake,

  Of him and of his Christ a scorn I make."

  This said, the day to sable night was turned,

  That scant one could another's arms descry,

  But soon an hundred lamps and torches burned,

  That clearéd all the earth and all the sky;

  The castle seemed a stage with lights adorned,

  On which men play some pompous tragedy;

  Within a terrace sat on high the queen,

  And heard, and saw, and kept herself unseen.

  The noble baron whet his courage hot,

  And busked him boldly to the dreadful fight;

  Upon his horse long while he tarried not,

  Because on foot he saw the Pagan knight,

  Who underneath his trusty shield was got,

  His sword was drawn, closed was his helmet bright,

  Against whom the prince marched on a stately pace,

  Wrath in his voice, rage in his eyes and face.

  His foe, his furious charge not well abiding,

  Traversed his ground, and started here and there,

  But he, though faint and weary both with riding,

  Yet followed fast and still oppressed him near,

  And on what side he felt Rambaldo sliding,

  On that his forces most employéd were;

  Now at his helm, now at his hauberk bright,

  He thundered blows, now at his face and sight.

  Against those numbers battery chief he maketh,

  Wherein man's life keeps chiefest residence;

  At his proud threats the Gascoign warrior quaketh,

  And uncouth fear appalléd every sense,

  To nimble shifts the knight himself betaketh,

  And skippeth here and there for his defence:

  Now with his targe, now with his trusty blade,

  Against his blows he good resistance made.

  Yet no such quickness for defence he used,

  As did the prince to work him harm and scathe;

  His shield was cleft in twain, his helmet bruised,

  And in his blood his other arms did bathe;

  On him he heapéd blows, with thrusts confused,

  And more or less each stroke annoyed him hath;

  He feared, and in his troubled bosom strove

  Remorse of conscience, shame, disdain and love.

  At last so careless foul despair him made,

  He meant to prove his fortune ill or good,

  His shield cast down, he took his helpless blade

  In both his hands, which yet had drawn no blood,

  And with such force upon the prince he laid,

  That neither plate nor mail the blow withstood,

  The wicked steel seized deep in his right side,

  And with his streaming blood his bases dyed:

  Another stroke he lent him on the brow,

  So great that loudly rung the sounding steel;

  Yet pierced he not the helmet with the blow,

  Although the owner twice or thrice did reel.

  The prince, whose looks disdainful anger show,

  Now meant to use his puissance every deal,

  He shaked his head and crashed his teeth for ire,

  His lips breathed wrath, eyes sparkled shining fire.

  The Pagan wretch no longer could sustain

  The dreadful terror of his fierce aspéct,

  Against the threatened blow he saw right plain

  No tempered armor could his life protect,

  He leapt aside, the stroke fell down in vain,

  Against a pillar near a bridge erect.

  Thence flaming fire and thousand sparks outstart,

  And kill with fear the coward Pagan's heart.

  Toward the bridge the fearful Paynim fled,

  And in swift flight, his hope of life reposed;

  Himself fast after Lord Tancredi sped,

  And now in equal pace almost they closed,

  When all the burning lamps extinguishéd

  The shining fort his goodly splendor losed,

  And all those stars on heaven's blue face that shone

  With Cynthia's self, dispearéd were and gone.

  Amid those witchcrafts and that ugly shade,

  No further could the prince pursue the chase,

  Nothing he saw, yet forward still he made,

  With doubtful steps, and ill assuréd pace;

  At last his foot upon a threshold trad,

  And ere he wist, he entered had the place;

  With ghastly noise the door-leaves shut behind,

  And closed him fast in prison dark and blind.

  As in our seas in the Commachian Bay,

  A silly fish, with streams encloséd, striveth,

  To shun the fury and avoid the sway

  Wherewith the current in that whirlpool driveth,

  Yet seeketh all in vain, but finds no way

  Out of that watery prison, where she diveth:

  For with such force there be the tides in brought,

  There entereth all that will, thence issueth naught:

  This prison so entrapped that valiant knight;

  Of which the gate was framed by subtle train,

  To close without the help of human wight,

  So sure none could undo the leaves again;

  Against the doors he bended all his might,

  But all his forces were employed in vain,

  At last a voice gan to him loudly call,

  "Yield thee," quoth it, "thou art Armida's thrall."

  "Within this dun
geon buried shalt thou spend

  The res'due of thy woful days and years;"

  The champion list not more with words contend,

  But in his heart kept close his griefs and fears,

  He blaméd love, chance gan he reprehend,

  And gainst enchantment huge complaints he rears.

  "It were small loss," softly he thus begun,

  "To lose the brightness of the shining sun;

  "But I, alas, the golden beam forego

  Of my far brighter sun; nor can I say

  If these poor eyes shall e'er be blesséd so,

  As once again to view that shining ray:"

  Then thought he on his proud Circassian foe,

  And said, "Ah! how shall I perform that fray?

  He, and the world with him, will Tancred blame,

  This is my grief, my fault, mine endless shame."

  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, boiléd in his breast;

  That though he scant could stir or stand upright,

  Yet longed he for the appointed day to fight.

  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.

  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 Phœbus midst bright heaven doth shine,

  And tidings sad of death and mischief brings

  To mighty lords, to monarchs, and to kings:

  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 against the subtle air vain battle made.

  "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."

  Like as a bull when, pricked with jealousy,

  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:

  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.

  A bugle small he winded loud and shrill,

  That made resound the fields and valleys near,

  Louder than thunder from Olympus hill

  Seeméd 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.

  With sober cheer Godfredo looked 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:

  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,

  Blushéd for shame, yet silent still abide;

  For none there was that sought to purchase fame

  In so great peril, fear exiléd shame.

  The angry duke their fear discovered plain,

  By their pale looks and silence from each part,

  And as he movéd 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.

  "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 agéd breast,

  Who had mature advice, and counsel old,

  Than whom in all the camp were none or few

  Of greater might, before Godfredo drew,

  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.

  "Let me this Pagan's glorious pride assuage,

  These agéd arms can yet their weapons use,

  Let others shun Bellona's dreadful rage,

  These silver locks shall not Raymondo 'scuse:

  Oh that I were in prime of lusty age,

  Like you that this adventure brave refuse,

  And dare not once lift up your coward eyes,

  gainst him that you and Christ himself defies!

  "Or as I was when all the lords of fame

  And Germain princes great stood by to view,

  In Conrad's court, the second of that name,

  When Leopold in single fight I slew;

  A greater praise I reapéd by the same,

  So strong a foe in combat to subdue,

  Than he should do who all alone should chase

  Or kill a thousand of these Pagans base.

  "Within these arms, had I that strength again,

  This boasting Paynim had not livéd now,

  Yet in this breast doth courage still remain;

  For age or years these members shall not bow;

  And if I be in this encounter slain,

  Scotfree Argantes shall not scape, I vow;

  Give me mine arms, this battle shall with praise

  Augment mine honor,
got in younger days."

  The jolly baron old thus bravely spake,

  His words are spurs to virtue; every knight

  That seemed before to tremble and to quake,

  Now talkéd bold, example hath such might;

  Each one the battle fierce would undertake,

  Now strove they all who should begin the fight;

  Baldwin and Roger both, would combat fain,

  Stephen, Guelpho, Gernier and the Gerrards twain;

  And Pyrrhus, who with help of Boemond's sword

  Proud Antioch by cunning sleight opprest;

  The battle eke with many a lowly word,

  Ralph, Rosimond, and Eberard request,

  A Scottish, an Irish, and an English lord,

  Whose lands the seas divide far from the rest;

  And for the fight did likewise humbly sue,

  Edward and his Gildippes, lovers true.

  But Raymond more than all the rest doth sue

  Upon that Pagan fierce to wreak his ire,

  Now wants he naught of all his armors due

  Except his helm that shone like flaming fire.

  To whom Godfredo thus; "O mirror true

  Of antique worth! thy courage doth inspire

  New strength in us, of Mars in thee doth shine

  The art, the honor and the discipline.

  "If ten like thee of valor and of age,

  Among these legions I could haply find,

  I should the heat of Babel's pride assuage,

  And spread our faith from Thule to furthest Inde;

  But now I pray thee calm thy valiant rage,

  Reserve thyself till greater need us bind,

  And let the rest each one write down his name,

  And see whom Fortune chooseth to this game,—

  "Or rather see whom God's high judgment taketh,

  To whom is chance, and fate, and fortune slave."

  Raymond his earnest suit not yet forsaketh,

  His name writ with the residue would he have,

  Godfrey himself in his bright helmet shaketh

  The scrolls, with names of all the champions brave:

  They drew, and read the first whereon they hit,

  Wherein was "Raymond, Earl of Tholouse," writ.

  His name with joy and mighty shouts they bless;

  The rest allow his choice, and fortune praise,

  New vigor blushéd through those looks of his;

  It seemed he now resumed his youthful days,

  Like to a snake whose slough new changéd is,

  That shines like gold against the sunny rays:

  But Godfrey most approved his fortune high,

  And wished him honor, conquest, victory.

  Then from his side he took his noble brand,

  And giving it to Raymond, thus he spake:

  "This is the sword wherewith in Saxon land,

  The great Rubello battle used to make,

  From him I took it, fighting hand to hand,