Jerusalem Delivered

by Torquato Tasso

  To beasts, and me, far worse than beasts, betrayed.

  LXXIX

  “But where you be, if still you be, I wend

  To gather up those relics dear at least,

  But if some beast hath from the hills descend,

  And on her tender bowels made his feast,

  Let that fell monster me in pieces rend,

  And deep entomb me in his hollow chest:

  For where she buried is, there shall I have

  A stately tomb, a rich and costly grave.”

  LXXX

  Thus mourned the knight, his squires him told at last,

  They had her there for whom those tears he shed;

  A beam of comfort his dim eyes outcast,

  Like lightning through thick clouds of darkness spread,

  The heavy burden of his limbs in haste,

  With mickle pain, he drew forth of his bed,

  And scant of strength to stand, to move or go,

  Thither he staggered, reeling to and fro.

  LXXXI

  When he came there, and in her breast espied

  His handiwork, that deep and cruel wound,

  And her sweet face with leaden paleness dyed,

  Where beauty late spread forth her beams around,

  He trembled so, that nere his squires beside

  To hold him up, he had sunk down to ground,

  And said, “O face in death still sweet and fair!

  Thou canst not sweeten yet my grief and care:

  LXXXII

  “O fair right hand, the pledge of faith and love?

  Given me but late, too late, in sign of peace,

  How haps it now thou canst not stir nor move?

  And you, dear limbs, now laid in rest and ease,

  Through which my cruel blade this flood-gate rove,

  Your pains have end, my torments never cease,

  O hands, O cruel eyes, accursed alike!

  You gave the wound, you gave them light to strike.

  LXXXIII

  “But thither now run forth my guilty blood,

  Whither my plaints, my sorrows cannot wend.”

  He said no more, but, as his passion wood

  Inforced him, he gan to tear and rend

  His hair, his face, his wounds, a purple flood

  Did from each side in rolling streams descend,

  He had been slain, but that his pain and woe

  Bereft his senses, and preserved him so.

  LXXXIV

  Cast on his bed his squires recalled his sprite

  To execute again her hateful charge,

  But tattling fame the sorrows of the knight

  And hard mischance had told this while at large:

  Godfrey and all his lords of worth and might,

  Ran thither, and the duty would discharge

  Of friendship true, and with sweet words the rage

  Of bitter grief and woe they would assuage.

  LXXXV

  But as a mortal wound the more doth smart

  The more it searched is, handled or sought;

  So their sweet words to his afflicted heart

  More grief, more anguish, pain and torment brought

  But reverend Peter that would set apart

  Care of his sheep, as a good shepherd ought,

  His vanity with grave advice reproved

  And told what mourning Christian knights behoved:

  LXXXVI

  “O Tancred, Tancred, how far different

  From thy beginnings good these follies be?

  What makes thee deaf? what hath thy eyesight blent?

  What mist, what cloud thus overshadeth thee?

  This is a warning good from heaven down sent,

  Yet His advice thou canst not hear nor see

  Who calleth and conducts thee to the way

  From which thou willing dost and witting stray:

  LXXXVII

  “To worthy actions and achievements fit

  For Christian knights He would thee home recall;

  But thou hast left that course and changed it,

  To make thyself a heathen damsel’s thrall;

  But see, thy grief and sorrow’s painful fit

  Is made the rod to scourge thy sins withal,

  Of thine own good thyself the means He makes,

  But thou His mercy, goodness, grace forsakes.

  LXXXVIII

  “Thou dost refuse of heaven the proffered

  And gainst it still rebel with sinful ire,

  Oh wretch! Oh whither doth thy rage thee chase?

  Refrain thy grief, bridle thy fond desire,

  At hell’s wide gate vain sorrow doth thee place,

  Sorrow, misfortune’s son, despair’s foul fire:

  Oh see thine evil, thy plaint and woe refrain,

  The guides to death, to hell, and endless pain.”

  LXXXIX

  This said, his will to die the patient

  Abandoned, that second death he feared,

  These words of comfort to his heart down went,

  And that dark night of sorrow somewhat cleared;

  Yet now and then his grief deep sighs forth sent,

  His voice shrill plaints and sad laments oft reared,

  Now to himself, now to his murdered love,

  He spoke, who heard perchance from heaven above.

  XC

  Till Phoebus’ rising from his evening fall

  To her, for her, he mourns, he calls, he cries;

  The nightingale so when her children small

  Some churl takes before their parents’ eyes,

  Alone, dismayed, quite bare of comforts all,

  Tires with complaints the seas, the shores, the skies,

  Till in sweet sleep against the morning bright

  She fall at last; so mourned, so slept the knight.

  XCI

  And clad in starry veil, amid his dream,

  For whose sweet sake he mourned, appeared the maid,

  Fairer than erst, yet with that heavenly beam.

  Not out of knowledge was her lovely shade,

  With looks of ruth her eyes celestial seem

  To pity his sad plight, and thus she said,

  “Behold how fair, how glad thy love appears,

  And for my sake, my dear, forbear these tears.

  XCII

  “Thine be the thanks, my soul thou madest flit

  At unawares out of her earthly nest,

  Thine be the thanks, thou hast advanced it

  In Abraham’s dear bosom long to rest,

  There still I love thee, there for Tancred fit

  A seat prepared is among the blest;

  There in eternal joy, eternal light,

  Thou shalt thy love enjoy, and she her knight;

  XCIII

  “Unless thyself, thyself heaven’s joys envy,

  And thy vain sorrow thee of bliss deprive,

  Live, know I love thee, that I nill deny,

  As angels, men: as saints may wights on live:”

  This said, of zeal and love forth of her eye

  An hundred glorious beams bright shining drive,

  Amid which rays herself she closed from sigh,

  And with new joy, new comfort left her knight.

  XCIV

  Thus comforted he waked, and men discreet

  In surgery to cure his wounds were sought,

  Meanwhile of his dear love the relics sweet,

  As best he could, to grave with pomp he brought:

  Her tomb was not of varied Spartan greet,

  Nor yet by cunning hand of Scopas wrought,

  But built of polished stone, and thereon laid

  The lively shape and portrait of the maid.

  XCV

  With sacred burning lamps in order long

  And mournful pomp the corpse was brought to ground

  Her arms upon a leafless pine were hung,

  The hearse, with cypress; arms, with laurel crowned:
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br />   Next day the prince, whose love and courage strong

  Drew forth his limbs, weak, feeble, and unsound,

  To visit went, with care and reverence meet,

  The buried ashes of his mistress sweet:

  XCVI

  Before her new-made tomb at last arrived,

  The woful prison of his living sprite,

  Pale, cold, sad, comfortless, of sense deprived,

  Upon the marble gray he fixed his sight,

  Two streams of tears were from his eyes derived:

  Thus with a sad “Alas!” began the knight,

  “O marble dear on my dear mistress placed!

  My flames within, without my tears thou hast.

  XCVII

  “Not of dead bones art thou the mournful grave,

  But of quick love the fortress and the hold,

  Still in my heart thy wonted brands I have

  More bitter far, alas! but not more cold;

  Receive these sighs, these kisses sweet receive,

  In liquid drops of melting tears enrolled,

  And give them to that body pure and chaste,

  Which in thy bosom cold entombed thou hast.

  XCVIII

  “For if her happy soul her eye doth bend

  On that sweet body which it lately dressed,

  My love, thy pity cannot her offend,

  Anger and wrath is not in angels blessed,

  She pardon will the trespass of her friend,

  That hope relieves me with these griefs oppressed,

  This hand she knows hath only sinned, not I,

  Who living loved her, and for love now die:

  XCIX

  “And loving will I die, oh happy day

  Whene’er it chanceth! but oh far more blessed

  If as about thy polished sides I stray,

  My bones within thy hollow grave might rest,

  Together should in heaven our spirits stay,

  Together should our bodies lie in chest;

  So happy death should join what life doth sever,

  O Death, O Life! sweet both, both blessed ever.”

  C

  Meanwhile the news in that besieged town

  Of this mishap was whispered here and there,

  Forthwith it spread, and for too true was known,

  Her woful loss was talked everywhere,

  Mingled with cries and plaints to heaven upthrown,

  As if the city’s self new taken were

  With conquering foes, or as if flame and fire,

  Nor house, nor church, nor street had left entire.

  CI

  But all men’s eyes were on Arsetes bent,

  His sighs were deep, his looks full of despair,

  Out of his woful eyes no tear there went,

  His heart was hardened with his too much care,

  His silver locks with dust he foul besprent,

  He knocked his breast, his face he rent and tare,

  And while the press flocked to the eunuch old,

  Thus to the people spake Argantes bold:

  CII

  “I would, when first I knew the hardy maid

  Excluded was among her Christian foes,

  Have followed her to give her timely aid,

  Or by her side this breath and life to lose,

  What did I not, or what left I unsaid

  To make the king the gates again unclose?

  But he denied, his power did aye restrain

  My will, my suit was waste, my speech was vain:

  CIII

  “Ah, had I gone, I would from danger free

  Have brought to Sion that sweet nymph again,

  Or in the bloody fight, where killed was she,

  In her defence there nobly have been slain:

  But what could I do more? the counsels be

  Of God and man gainst my designments plain,

  Dead is Clorinda fair, laid in cold grave,

  Let me revenge her whom I could not save.

  CIV

  “Jerusalem, hear what Argantes saith,

  Hear Heaven, and if he break his oath and word,

  Upon this head cast thunder in thy wrath:

  I will destroy and kill that Christian lord

  Who this fair dame by night thus murdered hath,

  Nor from my side I will ungird this sword

  Till Tancred’s heart it cleave, and shed his blood,

  And leave his corpse to wolves and crows for food.”

  CV

  This said, the people with a joyful shout

  Applaud his speeches and his words approve,

  And calmed their grief in hope the boaster stout

  Would kill the prince, who late had slain his love.

  O promise vain! it otherwise fell out:

  Men purpose, but high gods dispose above,

  For underneath his sword this boaster died

  Whom thus he scorned and threatened in his pride.

  THIRTEENTH BOOK

  THE ARGUMENT.

  The wicked sprites, whose ugly shapes affray

  And put to flight the men, whose labor would

  To their dark shades let in heaven’s golden ray:

  Thither goes Tancred hardy, faithful, bold,

  But foolish pity lets him not assay

  His strength and courage: heat the Christian power

  Annoys, whom to refresh God sends a shower.

  I

  But scant, dissolved into ashes cold,

  The smoking tower fell on the scorched grass,

  When new device found out the enchanter old

  By which the town besieged secured was,

  Of timber fit his foes deprive he would,

  Such terror bred that late consumed mass:

  So that the strength of Sion’s walls to shake,

  They should no turrets, rams, nor engines make.

  II

  From Godfrey’s camp a grove a little way

  Amid the valleys deep grows out of sight,

  Thick with old trees whose horrid arms display

  An ugly shade, like everlasting night;

  There when the sun spreads forth his clearest ray,

  Dim, thick, uncertain, gloomy seems the light;

  As when in evening, day and darkness strive

  Which should his foe from our horizon drive.

  III

  But when the sun his chair in seas doth steep,

  Night, horror, darkness thick the place invade,

  Which veil the mortal eyes with blindness deep

  And with sad terror make weak hearts afraid,

  Thither no groom drives forth his tender sheep

  To browse, or ease their faint in cooling shade,

  Nor traveller nor pilgrim there to enter,

  So awful seems that forest old, dare venture.

  IV

  United there the ghosts and goblins meet

  To frolic with their mates in silent night,

  With dragons’ wings some cleave the welkin fleet,

  Some nimbly run o’er hills and valleys light,

  A wicked troop, that with allurements sweet

  Draws sinful man from that is good and right,

  And there with hellish pomp their banquets brought

  They solemnize, thus the vain Parians thought.

  V

  No twist, no twig, no bough nor branch, therefore,

  The Saracens cut from that sacred spring;

  But yet the Christians spared ne’er the more

  The trees to earth with cutting steel to bring:

  Thither went Ismen old with tresses hoar,

  When night on all this earth spread forth her wing,

  And there in silence deaf and mirksome shade

  His characters and circles vain he made:

  VI

  He in the circle set one foot unshod,

  And whispered dreadful charms in ghastly wise,

  Three times, for witchcraft loveth numbers odd,
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  Toward the east he gaped, westward thrice,

  He struck the earth thrice with his charmed rod

  Wherewith dead bones he makes from grave to rise,

  And thrice the ground with naked foot he smote,

  And thus he cried loud, with thundering note:

  VII

  “Hear, hear, you spirits all that whilom fell,

  Cast down from heaven with dint of roaring thunder;

  Hear, you amid the empty air that dwell

  And storms and showers pour on these kingdoms under;

  Hear, all you devils that lie in deepest hell

  And rend with torments damned ghosts asunder,

  And of those lands of death, of pain and fear,

  Thou monarch great, great Dis, great Pluto, hear!

  VIII

  “Keep you this forest well, keep every tree,

  Numbered I give you them and truly told;

  As souls of men in bodies clothed be

  So every plant a sprite shall hide and hold,

  With trembling fear make all the Christians flee,

  When they presume to cut these cedars old:”

  This said, his charms he gan again repeat,

  Which none can say but they that use like feat.

  IX

  At those strange speeches, still night’s splendent fires

  Quenched their lights, and shrunk away for doubt,

  The feeble moon her silver beams retires,

  And wrapt her horns with folding clouds about,

  Ismen his sprites to come with speed requires,

  “Why come you not, you ever damned rout?

  Why tarry you so long? pardie you stay

  Till stronger charms and greater words I say.

  X

  “I have not yet forgot for want of use,

  What dreadful terms belong this sacred feat,

  My tongue, if still your stubborn hearts refuse,

  That so much dreaded name can well repeat,

  Which heard, great Dis cannot himself excuse,

  But hither run from his eternal seat,

  O great and fearful!” — More he would have said,

  But that he saw the sturdy sprites obeyed.

  XI

  Legions of devils by thousands thither come,

  Such as in sparsed air their biding make,

  And thousands also which by Heavenly doom

  Condemned lie in deep Avernus lake,

  But slow they came, displeased all and some

  Because those woods they should in keeping take,

  Yet they obeyed and took the charge in hand,

  And under every branch and leaf they stand.

  XII

  When thus his cursed work performed was,

  The wizard to his king declared the feat,

  “My lord, let fear, let doubt and sorrow pass,

  Henceforth in safety stands your regal seat,

  Your foe, as he supposed, no mean now has

  To build again his rams and engines great:”