Jersusalem Delivered

by Torquato Tasso

  Through thousand angry weapons safe they go.

  They left the city, and they left behind

  Godfredo's camp, and far beyond it passed,

  And came where into creeks and bosoms blind

  A winding hill his corners turned and cast,

  A valley small and shady dale they find

  Amid the mountains steep so laid and placed

  As if some theatre or closéd place

  Had been for men to fight or beasts to chase.

  There stayed the champions both with rueful eyes,

  Argantes gan the fortress won to view;

  Tancred his foe withouten shield espies,

  And far away his target therefore threw,

  And said, "Whereon doth thy sad heart devise?

  Think'st thou this hour must end thy life untrue?

  If this thou fear, and dost foresee thy fate,

  Thy fear is vain, thy foresight comes too late."

  "I think," quoth he, "on this distresséd town,

  The aged Queen of Judah's ancient land,

  Now lost, now sacked, spoiléd and trodden down,

  Whose fall in vain I strivéd to withstand,

  A small revenge for Sion's fort o'erthrown,

  That head can be, cut off by my strong hand."

  This said, together with great heed they flew,

  For each his foe for bold and hardy knew.

  Tancred of body active was and light,

  Quick, nimble, ready both of hand and foot;

  But higher by the head, the Pagan knight

  Of limbs far greater was, of heart as stout:

  Tancred laid low and traversed in his fight,

  Now to his ward retiréd, now struck out,

  Oft with his sword his foe's fierce blows he broke,

  And rather chose to ward than bear his stroke.

  But bold and bolt upright Argantes fought,

  Unlike in gesture, like in skill and art,

  His sword outstretched before him far he brought,

  Nor would his weapon touch, but pierce his heart,

  To catch his point Prince Tancred strove and sought,

  But at his breast or helm's uncloséd part

  He threatened death, and would with stretched-out brand

  His entrance close, and fierce assaults withstand.

  With a tall ship so doth a galley fight,

  When the still winds stir not the unstable main;

  Where this in nimbleness as that in might

  Excels; that stands, this goes and comes again,

  And shifts from prow to poop with turnings light;

  Meanwhile the other doth unmoved remain,

  And on her nimble foe approaching nigh,

  Her weighty engines tumbleth down from high.

  The Christian sought to enter on his foe,

  Voiding his point, which at his breast was bent;

  Argantes at his face a thrust did throw,

  Which while the Prince awards and doth prevent,

  His ready hand the Pagan turnéd so,

  That all defence his quickness far o'erwent,

  And pierced his side, which done, he said and smiled,

  "The craftsman is in his own craft beguiled."

  Tancredi bit his lip for scorn and shame,

  Nor longer stood on points of fence and skill,

  But to revenge so fierce and fast he came

  As if his hand could not o'ertake his will,

  And at his visor aiming just, gan frame

  To his proud boast an answer sharp, but still

  Argantes broke the thrust; and at half-sword,

  Swift, hardy, bold, in stepped the Christian lord.

  With his left foot fast forward gan he stride,

  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 chaféd, struggled, turned and twined,

  Yet could not so his captive arm unbind:

  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:

  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:

  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 reinforcéd, and advanced his might,

  And with fierce change of blows renewed the fray,

  Where rage for skill, horror for art, bore sway.

  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:

  "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?

  "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.

  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 fearéd naught, for in his heart

  Found coward dread no place, fear had no part.

  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,

  Leapéd 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!

  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 rea
r 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:

  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.

  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;

  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 swoonéd, and the victor knight

  Naught differed from his conquered foe in fight.

  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 sackéd town the image true

  Who can describe, or paint the woful state,

  Or with fit words this spectacle express

  Who can? or tell the city's great distress?

  Blood, murder, death, each street, house, church defiled,

  There heaps of slain appear, there mountains high;

  There underneath the unburied hills up-piled

  Of bodies dead, the living buried lie;

  There the sad mother with her tender child

  Doth tear her tresses loose, complain and fly,

  And there the spoiler by her amber hair

  Draws to his lust the virgin chaste and fair.

  But through the way that to the west-hill yood

  Whereon the old and stately temple stands,

  All soiled with gore and wet with lukewarm blood

  Rinaldo ran, and chased the Pagan bands;

  Above their heads he heaved his curtlax good,

  Life in his grace, and death lay in his hands,

  Nor helm nor target strong his blows off bears,

  Best armed there seemed he no arms that wears;

  For gainst his arméd foes he only bends

  His force, and scorns the naked folk to wound;

  Them whom no courage arms, no arms defends,

  He chaséd with his looks and dreadful sound:

  Oh, who can tell how far his force extends?

  How these he scorns, threats those, lays them on ground?

  How with unequal harm, with equal fear

  Fled all, all that well armed or naked were:

  Fast fled the people weak, and with the same

  A squadron strong is to the temple gone

  Which, burned and builded oft, still keeps the name

  Of the first founder, wise King Solomon;

  That prince this stately house did whilom frame

  Of cedar trees, of gold and marble stone;

  Now not so rich, yet strong and sure it was,

  With turrets high, thick walls, and doors of brass.

  The knight arrivéd where in warklike sort

  The men that ample church had fortified.

  And closéd found each wicket, gate and port,

  And on the top defences ready spied,

  He left his frowning looks, and twice that fort

  From his high top down to the groundwork eyed,

  And entrance sought, and twice with his swift foot

  The mighty place he measuréd about.

  Like as a wolf about the closéd fold

  Rangeth by night his hopéd prey to get,

  Enraged with hunger and with malice old

  Which kind 'twixt him and harmless sheep hath set:

  So searched he high and low about that hold,

  Where he might enter without stop or let,

  In the great court he stayed, his foes above

  Attend the assault, and would their fortune prove.

  There lay by chance a posted tree thereby,

  Kept for some needful use, whatever it were,

  The arméd galleys not so thick nor high

  Their tall and lofty masts at Genes uprear;

  This beam the knight against the gates made fly

  From his strong hands all weights which lift and bear,

  Like a light lance that tree he shook and tossed,

  And bruised the gate, the threshold and the post.

  No marble stone, no metal strong outbore

  The wondrous might of that redoubled blow,

  The brazen hinges from the wall it tore,

  It broke the locks, and laid the doors down low,

  No iron ram, no engine could do more,

  Nor cannons great that thunderbolts forth throw,

  His people like a flowing stream inthrong,

  And after them entered the victor strong;

  The woful slaughter black and loathsome made

  That house, sometime the sacred house of God,

  O heavenly justice, if thou be delayed,

  On wretched sinners sharper falls thy rod!

  In them this place profanéd which invade

  Thou kindled ire, and mercy all forbode,

  Until with their hearts' blood the Pagans vile

  This temple washed which they did late defile.

  But Solyman this while himself fast sped

  Up to the fort which David's tower is named,

  And with him all the soldiers left he led,

  And gainst each entrance new defences framed:

  The tyrant Aladine eke thither fled,

  To whom the Soldan thus, far off, exclaimed,

  "Come, come, renownéd king, up to this rock,

  Thyself, within this fortress safe uplock:

  "For well this fortress shall thee and thy crown

  Defend, awhile here may we safe remain."

  "Alas!" quoth he, "alas, for this fair town,

  Which cruel war beats down even with the plain,

  My life is done, mine empire trodden down,

  I reigned, I lived, but now nor live nor reign;

  For now, alas! behold the fatal hour

  That ends our life, and ends our kingly power."

  "Where is your virtue, where your wisdom grave,

  And courage stout?" the angry Soldan said,

  "Let chance our kingdoms take which erst she gave,

  Yet in our hearts our kingly worth is laid;

  But come, and in this fort your person save,

  Refresh your weary limbs and strength decayed:"

  Thus counselled he, and did to safety bring

  Within that fort the weak and agéd king.

  His iron mace in both his hands he hent,

  And on his thigh his trusty sword he tied,

  And to the entrance fierce and fearless went,

  And kept the strait, and all the French defied:

  The blows were mortal which he gave or lent,

  For whom he hit he slew, else by his side

  Laid low on earth, that all fled from the place

  Where they
beheld that great and dreadful mace.

  But old Raymondo with his hardy crew

  By chance came thither, to his great mishap;

  To that defended path the old man flew,

  And scorned his blows and him that kept the gap,

  He struck his foe, his blow no blood forth drew,

  But on the front with that he caught a rap,

  Which in a swoon, low in the dust him laid,

  Wide open, trembling, with his arms displayed.

  The Pagans gathered heart at last, though fear

  Their courage weak had put to flight but late,

  So that the conquerors repulséd were,

  And beaten back, else slain before the Gate.

  The Soldan, mongst the dead beside him near

  That saw Lord Raymond lie in such estate,

  Cried to his men, "Within these bars," quoth he,

  "Come draw this knight, and let him captive be."

  Forward they rushed to execute his word,

  But hard and dangerous that emprise they found,

  For none of Raymond's men forsook their lord,

  But to their guide's defence they flockéd round,

  Thence fury fights, hence pity draws the sword,

  Nor strive they for vile cause or on light ground,

  The life and freedom of that champion brave,

  Those spoil, these would preserve, those kill, these save.

  But yet at last if they had longer fought

  The hardy Soldan would have won the field;

  For against his thundering mace availéd naught

  Or helm of temper fine or sevenfold shield:

  But from each side great succor now was brought

  To his weak foes, now fit to faint and yield,

  And both at once to aid and help the same

  The sovereign Duke and young Rinaldo came.

  As when a shepherd, raging round about

  That sees a storm with wind, hail, thunder, rain,

  When gloomy clouds have day's bright eye put out,

  His tender flocks drives from the open plain

  To some thick grove or mountain's shady foot,

  Where Heaven's fierce wrath they may unhurt sustain,

  And with his hook, his whistle and his cries

  Drives forth his fleecy charge, and with them flies:

  So fled the Soldan, when he gan descry

  This tempest come from angry war forthcast,

  The armor clashed and lightened gainst the sky,

  And from each side swords, weapons, fire outbrast:

  He sent his folk up to the fortress high,

  To shun the furious storm, himself stayed last,

  Yet to the danger he gave place at length,

  For wit, his courage; wisdom ruled his strength.

  But scant the knight was safe the gate within,

  Scant closéd were the doors, when having broke

  The bars, Rinaldo doth assault begin