Jerusalem Delivered

by Torquato Tasso

  No glass contain that heaven of beauties true;

  Oh let the skies thy worthy mirror be!

  And in dear stars try shape and image see.”

  XXIII

  And with that word she smiled, and ne’ertheless

  Her love-toys still she used, and pleasures bold!

  Her hair, that done, she twisted up in tress,

  And looser locks in silken laces rolled,

  Her curles garlandwise she did up-dress,

  Wherein, like rich enamel laid on gold,

  The twisted flowers smiled, and her white breast

  The lilies there that spring with roses dressed.

  XXIV

  The jolly peacock spreads not half so fair

  The eyed feathers of his pompous train;

  Nor golden Iris so bends in the air

  Her twenty-colored bow, through clouds of rain;

  Yet all her ornaments, strange, rich and rare,

  Her girdle did in price and beauty stain,

  Nor that, with scorn, which Tuscan Guilla lost,

  Igor Venus Ceston, could match this for cost.

  XXV

  Of mild denays, of tender scorns, of sweet

  Repulses, war, peace, hope, despair, joy, fear,

  Of smiles, jests, mirth, woe, grief, and sad regreet,

  Sighs, sorrows, tears, embracements, kisses dear,

  That mixed first by weight and measure meet,

  Then at an easy fire attempered were,

  This wondrous girdle did Armida frame,

  And, when she would be loved, wore the same.

  XXVI

  But when her wooing fit was brought to end,

  She congee took, kissed him, and went her way;

  For once she used every day to wend

  Bout her affairs, her spells and charms to say:

  The youth remained, yet had no power to bend

  One step from thence, but used there to stray

  Mongst the sweet birds, through every walk and grove

  Alone, save for an hermit false called Love.

  XXVII

  And when the silence deep and friendly shade

  Recalled the lovers to their wonted sport,

  In a fair room for pleasure built, they laid,

  And longest nights with joys made sweet and short.

  Now while the queen her household things surveyed,

  And left her lord her garden and disport,

  The twain that hidden in the bushes were

  Before the prince in glistering arms appear:

  XXVIII

  As the fierce steed for age withdrawn from war

  Wherein the glorious beast had always wone,

  That in vile rest from fight sequestered far,

  Feeds with the mares at large, his service done,

  If arms he see, or hear the trumpet’s jar,

  He neigheth loud and thither fast doth run,

  And wiseth on his back the armed knight,

  Longing for jousts, for tournament and fight:

  XXIX

  So fared Rinaldo when the glorious light

  Of their bright harness glistered in his eyes,

  His noble sprite awaked at that sight

  His blood began to warm, his heart to rise,

  Though, drunk with ease, devoid of wonted might

  On sleep till then his weakened virtue lies.

  Ubaldo forward stepped, and to him hield

  Of diamonds clear that pure and precious shield.

  XXX

  Upon the targe his looks amazed he bent,

  And therein all his wanton habit spied,

  His civet, balm, and perfumes redolent,

  How from his locks they smoked and mantle wide,

  His sword that many a Pagan stout had shent,

  Bewrapped with flowers, hung idly by his side,

  So nicely decked that it seemed the knight

  Wore it for fashion’s sake but not for fight.

  XXXI

  As when, from sleep and idle dreams abraid,

  A man awaked calls home his wits again;

  So in beholding his attire he played,

  But yet to view himself could not sustain,

  His looks he downward cast and naught he said,

  Grieved, shamed, sad, he would have died fain,

  And oft he wished the earth or ocean wide

  Would swallow him, and so his errors hide.

  XXXII

  Ubaldo took the time, and thus begun,

  “All Europe now and Asia be in war,

  And all that Christ adore and fame have won,

  In battle strong, in Syria fighting are;

  But thee alone, Bertoldo’s noble son,

  This little corner keeps, exiled far

  From all the world, buried in sloth and shame,

  A carpet champion for a wanton dame.

  XXXIII

  “What letharge hath in drowsiness up-penned

  Thy courage thus? what sloth doth thee infect?

  Up, up, our camp and Godfrey for thee send,

  Thee fortune, praise and victory expect,

  Come, fatal champion, bring to happy end

  This enterprise begun, all that sect

  Which oft thou shaken hast to earth full low

  With thy sharp brand strike down, kill, overthrow.”

  XXXIV

  This said, the noble infant stood a space

  Confused, speechless, senseless, ill-ashamed;

  But when that shame to just disdain gave place,

  To fierce disdain, from courage sprung untamed,

  Another redness blushed through his face,

  Whence worthy anger shone, displeasure flamed,

  His nice attire in scorn he rent and tore,

  For of his bondage vile that witness bore;

  XXXV

  That done, he hasted from the charmed fort,

  And through the maze passed with his searchers twain.

  Armida of her mount and chiefest port

  Wondered to find the furious keeper slain,

  Awhile she feared, but she knew in short,

  That her dear lord was fled, then saw she plain,

  Ah, woful sight! how from her gates the man

  In haste, in fear, in wrath, in anger ran.

  XXXVI

  “Whither, O cruel! leavest thou me alone?”

  She would have cried, her grief her speeches stayed,

  So that her woful words are backward gone,

  And in her heart a bitter echo made;

  Poor soul, of greater skill than she was one

  Whose knowledge from her thus her joy conveyed,

  This wist she well, yet had desire to prove

  If art could keep, if charms recall her love.

  XXXVII

  All what the witches of Thessalia land,

  With lips unpure yet ever said or spake,

  Words that could make heaven’s rolling circles stand,

  And draw the damned ghosts from Limbo lake,

  All well she knew, but yet no time she fand

  To use her knowledge or her charms to make,

  But left her arts, and forth she ran to prove

  If single beauty were best charm for love.

  XXXVIII

  She ran, nor of her honor took regard,

  Oh where be all her vaunts and triumphs now?

  Love’s empire great of late she made or marred,

  To her his subjects humbly bend and bow,

  And with her pride mixed was a scorn so hard,

  That to be loved she loved, yet whilst they woo

  Her lovers all she hates; that pleased her will

  To conquer men, and conquered so, to kill.

  XXXIX

  But now herself disdained, abandoned,

  Ran after him; that from her fled in scorn,

  And her despised beauty labored

  With humble plaints and prayers to adorn:

  She ran and ha
sted after him that fled,

  Through frost and snow, through brier, bush and thorn,

  And sent her cries on message her before,

  That reached not him till he had reached the shore.

  XL

  “Oh thou that leav’st but half behind,” quoth she,

  “Of my poor heart, and half with thee dost carry,

  Oh take this part, or render that to me,

  Else kill them both at once, ah tarry, tarry:

  Hear my last words, no parting kiss of thee

  I crave, for some more fit with thee to marry

  Keep them, unkind; what fear’st thou if thou stay?

  Thou may’st deny, as well as run away.”

  XLI

  At this Rinaldo stopped, stood still, and stayed,

  She came, sad, breathless, weary, faint and weak,

  So woe-begone was never nymph or maid

  And yet her beauty’s pride grief could not break,

  On him she looked, she gazed, but naught she said,

  She would not, could not, or she durst not speak,

  At her he looked not, glanced not, if he did,

  Those glances shamefaced were, close, secret, hid.

  XLII

  As cunning singers, ere they strain on high,

  In loud melodious tunes, their gentle voice,

  Prepare the hearers’ ears to harmony

  With feignings sweet, low notes and warbles choice:

  So she, not having yet forgot pardie

  Her wonted shifts and sleights in Cupid’s toys,

  A sequence first of sighs and sobs forthcast,

  To breed compassion dear, then spake at last:

  XLIII

  “Suppose not, cruel, that I come to vow

  Or pray, as ladies do their loves and lords;

  Such were we late, if thou disdain it now,

  Or scorn to grant such grace as love affords,

  At least yet as an enemy listen thou:

  Sworn foes sometimes will talk and chaffer words,

  For what I ask thee, may’st thou grant right well,

  And lessen naught thy wrath and anger fell.

  XLIV

  “If me thou hate, and in that hate delight,

  I come not to appease thee, hate me still,

  It’s like for like; I bore great hate and spite

  Gainst Christians all, chiefly I wish thee ill:

  I was a Pagan born, and all my might

  Against Godfredo bent, mine art and skill:

  I followed thee, took thee, and bore thee far,

  To this strange isle, and kept thee safe from war.

  XLV

  “And more, which more thy hate may justly move,

  More to thy loss, more to thy shame and grief,

  I thee inchanted, and allured to love,

  Wicked deceit, craft worthy sharp reprief;

  Mine honor gave I thee all gifts above,

  And of my beauties made thee lord and chief,

  And to my suitors old what I denayed,

  That gave I thee, my lover new, unprayed.

  XLVI

  “But reckon that among, my faults, and let

  Those many wrongs provoke thee so to wrath,

  That hence thou run, and that at naught thou set

  This pleasant house, so many joys which hath;

  Go, travel, pass the seas, fight, conquest get,

  Destroy our faith, what shall I say, our faith?

  Ah no! no longer ours; before thy shrine

  Alone I pray, thou cruel saint of mine;

  XLVII

  “All only let me go with thee, unkind,

  A small request although I were thy foe,

  The spoiler seldom leaves the prey behind,

  Who triumphs lets his captives with him go;

  Among thy prisoners poor Armida bind,

  And let the camp increase thy praises so,

  That thy beguiler so thou couldst beguile,

  And point at me, thy thrall and bondslave vile.

  XLVIII

  “Despised bondslave, since my lord doth hate

  These locks, why keep I them or hold them dear?

  Come cut them off, that to my servile state

  My habit answer may, and all my gear:

  I follow thee in spite of death and fate,

  Through battles fierce where dangers most appear,

  Courage I have, and strength enough perchance,

  To lead thy courser spare, and bear thy lance:

  XLIX

  “I will or bear, or be myself, thy shield,

  And to defend thy life, will lose mine own:

  This breast, this bosom soft shall be thy bield

  Gainst storms of arrows, darts and weapons thrown;

  Thy foes, pardie, encountering thee in field,

  Will spare to strike thee, mine affection known,

  Lest me they wound, nor will sharp vengeance take

  On thee, for this despised beauty’s sake.

  L

  “O wretch! dare I still vaunt, or help invoke

  From this poor beauty, scorned and disdained?”

  She said no more, her tears her speeches broke,

  Which from her eyes like streams from springs down rained:

  She would have caught him by the hand or cloak,

  But he stepped backward, and himself restrained,

  Conquered his will, his heart ruth softened not,

  There plaints no issue, love no entrance got.

  LI

  Love entered not to kindle in his breast,

  Which Reason late had quenched, his wonted flame;

  Yet entered Pity in the place at least,

  Love’s sister, but a chaste and sober dame,

  And stirred him so, that hardly he suppressed

  The springing tears that to his eyes up came;

  But yet even there his plaints repressed were,

  And, as he could, he looked, and feigned cheer.

  LII

  “Madam,” quoth he, “for your distress I grieve,

  And would amend it, if I might or could.

  From your wise heart that fond affection drive:

  I cannot hate nor scorn you though I would,

  I seek no vengeance, wrongs I all forgive,

  Nor you my servant nor my foe I hold,

  Truth is, you erred, and your estate forgot,

  Too great your hate was, and your love too hot.

  LIII

  “But those are common faults, and faults of kind,

  Excused by nature, by your sex and years;

  I erred likewise, if I pardon find

  None can condemn you, that our trespass hears;

  Your dear remembrance will I keep in mind,

  In joys, in woes, in comforts, hopes and fears,

  Call me your soldier and your knight, as far

  As Christian faith permits, and Asia’s war.

  LIV

  “Ah, let our faults and follies here take end,

  And let our errors past you satisfy,

  And in this angle of the world ypend,

  Let both the fame and shame thereof now die,

  From all the earth where I am known and kenned,

  I wish this fact should still concealed lie:

  Nor yet in following me, poor knight, disgrace

  Your worth, your beauty, and your princely race.

  LV

  “Stay here in peace, I go, nor wend you may

  With me, my guide your fellowship denies,

  Stay here or hence depart some better way,

  And calm your thoughts, you are both sage and wise.”

  While thus he spoke, her passions found no stay,

  But here and there she turned and rolled her eyes,

  And staring on his face awhile, at last

  Thus in foul terms, her bitter wrath forth brast:

  LVI

  “Of Sophia fair thou never wert the child,

 
Nor of the Azzain race ysprung thou art,

  The mad sea-waves thee hare, some tigress wild

  On Caucasus’ cold crags nursed thee apart;

  Ah, cruel man l in whom no token mild

  Appears, of pity, ruth, or tender heart,

  Could not my griefs, my woes, my plaints, and all

  One sigh strain from thy breast, one tear make fall?

  LVII

  “What shall I say, or how renew my speech?

  He scorns me, leaves me, bids me call him mine:

  The victor hath his foe within his reach;

  Yet pardons her, that merits death and pine;

  Hear how he counsels me; how he can preach,

  Like chaste Xenocrates, gainst love divine;

  O heavens, O gods! why do these men of shame,

  Thus spoil your temples and blaspheme your name?

  LVIII

  “Go cruel, go, go with such peace, such rest,

  Such joy, such comfort, as thou leavest me here:

  My angry soul discharged from this weak breast,

  Shall haunt thee ever, and attend thee near,

  And fury-like in snakes and firebrands dressed,

  Shall aye torment thee, whom it late held dear:

  And if thou ‘scape the seas, the rocks, and sands

  And come to fight among the Pagan bands,

  LIX

  “There lying wounded, mongst the hurt and slain,

  Of these my wrongs thou shalt the vengeance bear,

  And oft Armida shalt thou call in vain,

  At thy last gasp; this hope I soon to hear:”

  Here fainted she, with sorrow, grief and pain,

  Her latest words scant well expressed were,

  But in a swoon on earth outstretched she lies,

  Stiff were her frozen limbs, closed were her eyes.

  LX

  Thou closed thine eyes, Armida, heaven envied

  Ease to thy grief, or comfort to thy woe;

  Ah, open then again, see tears down slide

  From his kind eyes, whom thou esteem’st thy foe,

  If thou hadst heard, his sighs had mollified

  Thine anger, hard he sighed and mourned so;

  And as he could with sad and rueful look

  His leave of thee and last farewell he took.

  LXI

  What should he do? leave on the naked sand

  This woful lady half alive, half dead?

  Kindness forbade, pity did that withstand;

  But hard constraint, alas! did thence him lead;

  Away he went, the west wind blew from land

  Mongst the rich tresses of their pilot’s head,

  And with that golden sail the waves she cleft,

  To land he looked, till land unseen he left.

  LXII

  Waked from her trance, foresaken, speechless, sad,

  Armida wildly stared and gazed about,

  “And is he gone,” quoth she, “nor pity had

  To leave me thus twixt life and death in doubt?