Jerusalem Delivered

by Torquato Tasso

  Then kneeling low with heavy looks downcast,

  His other sins confessed and all repented,

  And meekly pardon craved for first and last.

  The hermit with his zeal was well contented,

  And said, “On yonder hill next morn go pray

  That turns his forehead gainst the morning ray.

  X

  “That done, march to the wood, whence each one brings

  Such news of furies, goblins, fiends, and sprites,

  The giants, monsters, and all dreadful things

  Thou shalt subdue, which that dark grove unites:

  Let no strange voice that mourns or sweetly sings,

  Nor beauty, whose glad smile frail hearts delights,

  Within thy breast make ruth or pity rise,

  But their false looks and prayers false despise.”

  XI

  Thus he advised him, and the hardy knight

  Prepared him gladly to this enterprise,

  Thoughtful he passed the day, and sad the night;

  And ere the silver morn began to rise,

  His arms he took, and in a coat him dight

  Of color strange, cut in the warlike guise;

  And on his way sole, silent, forth he went

  Alone, and left his friends, and left his tent.

  XII

  It was the time when gainst the breaking day

  Rebellious night yet strove, and still repined,

  For in the east appeared the morning gray

  And yet some lamps in Jove’s high palace shined,

  When to Mount Olivet he took his way,

  And saw, as round about his eyes he twined,

  Night’s shadows hence, from thence the morning’s shine,

  This bright, that dark; that earthly, this divine.

  XIII

  Thus to himself he thought, how many bright

  And splendent lamps shine in heaven’s temple high,

  Day hath his golden sun, her moon the night,

  Her fixed and wandering stars the azure sky,

  So framed all by their Creator’s might

  That still they live and shine, and ne’er shall die

  Till, in a moment, with the last day’s brand

  They burn, and with them burn sea, air, and land.

  XIV

  Thus as he mused, to the top he went,

  And there kneeled down with reverence and fear,

  His eyes upon heaven’s eastern face he bent,

  His thoughts above all heavens uplifted were:

  “The sins and errors, which I now repent,

  Of mine unbridled youth, O Father dear,

  Remember not, but let thy mercy fall,

  And purge my faults and mine offences all.”

  XV

  Thus prayed he, with purple wings upflew

  In golden weed the morning’s lusty queen,

  Begilding with the radiant beams she threw

  His helm, his harness, and the mountain green;

  Upon his breast and forehead gently blew

  The air, that balm and nardus breathed unseen,

  And o’er his head let down from clearest skies

  A cloud of pure and precious clew there flies.

  XVI

  The heavenly dew was on his garments spread,

  To which compared, his clothes pale ashes seem,

  And sprinkled so, that all that paleness fled

  And thence, of purest white, bright rays outstream;

  So cheered are the flowers late withered

  With the sweet comfort of the morning beam,

  And so, returned to youth, a serpent old

  Adorns herself in new and native gold.

  XVII

  The lovely whiteness of his changed weed,

  The Prince perceived well, and long admired;

  Toward the forest marched he on with speed,

  Resolved, as such adventures great required;

  Thither he came whence shrinking back for dread

  Of that strange desert’s sight the first retired,

  But not to him fearful or loathsome made

  That forest was, but sweet with pleasant shade:

  XVIII

  Forward he passed, mid in the grove before

  He heard a sound that strange, sweet, pleasing was;

  There rolled a crystal brook with gentle roar,

  There sighed the winds as through the leaves they pass,

  There did the nightingale her wrongs deplore,

  There sung the swan, and singing died, alas!

  There lute, harp, cittern, human voice he heard,

  And all these sounds one sound right well declared.

  XIX

  A dreadful thunder-clap at last he heard,

  The aged trees and plants well-nigh that rent;

  Yet heard the nymphs and sirens afterward,

  Birds, winds, and waters, sing with sweet consent:

  Whereat amazed he stayed, and well prepared

  For his defence, heedful and slow forth went:

  Nor in his way his passage aught withstood,

  Except a quiet, still, transparent flood.

  XX

  On the green banks which that fair stream inbound,

  Flowers and odors sweetly smiled and smelled,

  Which reaching out his stretched arms around,

  All the large desert in his bosom held,

  And through the grove one channel passage found;

  That in the wood; in that, the forest dwelled:

  Trees clad the streams; streams green those trees aye made

  And so exchanged their moisture and their shade.

  XXI

  The knight some way sought out the flood to pass,

  And as he sought, a wondrous bridge appeared,

  A bridge of gold, a huge and weighty mass,

  On arches great of that rich metal reared;

  When through that golden way he entered was,

  Down fell the bridge, swelled the stream, and weared

  The work away, nor sign left where it stood,

  And of a river calm became a flood.

  XXII

  He turned, amazed to see it troubled so,

  Like sudden brooks increased with molten snow,

  The billows fierce that tossed to and fro,

  The whirlpools sucked down to their bosoms low;

  But on he went to search for wonders mo,

  Through the thick trees there high and broad which grow,

  And in that forest huge and desert wide,

  The more he sought, more wonders still he spied.

  XXIII

  Whereso he stepped, it seemed the joyful ground

  Renewed the verdure of her flowery weed,

  A fountain here, a wellspring there he found;

  Here bud the roses, there the lilies spread

  The aged wood o’er and about him round

  Flourished with blossoms new, new leaves, new seed,

  And on the boughs and branches of those treen,

  The bark was softened, and renewed the green.

  XXIV

  The manna on each leaf did pearled lie,

  The honey stilled from the tender rind;

  Again he heard that wondrous harmony,

  Of songs and sweet complaints of lovers kind,

  The human voices sung a triple high,

  To which respond the birds, the streams, the wind,

  But yet unseen those nymphs, those singers were,

  Unseen the lutes, harps, viols which they bear.

  XXV

  He looked, he listened, yet his thoughts denied

  To think that true which he both heard and see,

  A myrtle in an ample plain he spied,

  And thither by a beaten path went he:

  The myrtle spread her mighty branches wide,

  Higher than pine or palm or cypress tree:

  And far above all other plants was seen

  That
forest’s lady and that desert’s queen.

  XXVI

  Upon the trees his eyes Rinaldo bent,

  And there a marvel great and strange began;

  An aged oak beside him cleft and rent,

  And from his fertile hollow womb forth ran,

  Clad in rare weeds and strange habiliment,

  A nymph, for age able to go to man,

  An hundred plants beside, even in his sight,

  Childed an hundred nymphs, so great, so dight.

  XXVII

  Such as on stages play, such as we see

  The Dryads painted whom wild Satyrs love,

  Whose arms half-naked, locks untrussed be,

  With buskins laced on their legs above,

  And silken robes tucked short above their knee;

  Such seemed the sylvan daughters of this grove,

  Save that instead of shafts and boughs of tree,

  She bore a lute, a harp, or cittern she.

  XXVIII

  And wantonly they cast them in a ring,

  And sung and danced to move his weaker sense,

  Rinaldo round about environing,

  As centres are with their circumference;

  The tree they compassed eke, and gan to sing,

  That woods and streams admired their excellence;

  “Welcome, dear lord, welcome to this sweet grove,

  Welcome our lady’s hope, welcome her love.

  XXIX

  “Thou com’st to cure our princess, faint and sick

  For love, for love of thee, faint, sick, distressed;

  Late black, late dreadful was this forest thick,

  Fit dwelling for sad folk with grief oppressed,

  See with thy coming how the branches quick

  Revived are, and in new blosoms dressed:”

  This was their song, and after, from it went

  First a sweet sound, and then the myrtle rent.

  XXX

  If antique times admired Silenus old

  That oft appeared set on his lazy ass,

  How would they wonder if they had behold

  Such sights as from the myrtle high did pass?

  Thence came a lady fair with locks of gold,

  That like in shape, in face and beauty was

  To sweet Armide; Rinaldo thinks he spies

  Her gestures, smiles, and glances of her eyes.

  XXXI

  On him a sad and smiling look she cast,

  Which twenty passions strange at once bewrays:

  “And art thou come,” quoth she, “returned at last

  To her from whom but late thou ran’st thy ways?

  Com’st thou to comfort me for sorrows past?

  To ease my widow nights and careful days?

  Or comest thou to work me grief and harm?

  Why nilt thou speak? — why not thy face disarm?

  XXXII

  “Com’st thou a friend or foe? I did not frame

  That golden bridge to entertain my foe,

  Nor opened flowers and fountains as you came,

  To welcome him with joy that brings me woe:

  Put off thy helm, rejoice me with the flame

  Of thy bright eyes, whence first my fires did grow.

  Kiss me, embrace me, if you further venture,

  Love keeps the gate, the fort is eath to enter.”

  XXXIII

  Thus as she woos she rolls her rueful eyes

  With piteous look, and changeth oft her cheer,

  An hundred sighs from her false heart upflies,

  She sobs, she mourns, it is great ruth to hear;

  The hardest breast sweet pity mollifies,

  What stony heart resists a woman’s tear?

  But yet the knight, wise, wary, not unkind,

  Drew forth his sword and from her careless twined.

  XXXIV

  Toward the tree he marched, she thither start,

  Before him stepped, embraced the plant and cried,

  “Ah, never do me such a spiteful part,

  To cut my tree, this forest’s joy and pride,

  Put up thy sword, else pierce therewith the heart

  Of thy forsaken and despised Armide;

  For through this breast, and through this heart unkind

  To this fair tree thy sword shall passage find.”

  XXXV

  He lift his brand, nor cared though oft she prayed,

  And she her form to other shape did change;

  Such monsters huge when men in dreams are laid

  Oft in their idle fancies roam and range:

  Her body swelled, her face obscure was made,

  Vanished her garments, her face and vestures strange,

  A giantess before him high she stands,

  Like Briareus armed with an hundred hands.

  XXXVI

  With fifty swords, and fifty targets bright,

  She threatened death, she roared, cried and fought,

  Each other nymph in armor likewise dight,

  A Cyclops great became: he feared them naught,

  But on the myrtle smote with all his might,

  That groaned like living souls to death nigh brought,

  The sky seemed Pluto’s court, the air seemed hell,

  Therein such monsters roar, such spirits yell.

  XXXVII

  Lightened the heavens above, the earth below

  Roared loud, that thundered, and this shook;

  Blustered the tempests strong, the whirlwinds blow,

  The bitter storm drove hailstones in his look;

  But yet his arm grew neither weak nor slow,

  Nor of that fury heed or care he took,

  Till low to earth the wounded tree down bended;

  Then fled the spirits all, the charms all ended.

  XXXVIII

  The heavens grew clear, the air waxed calm and still,

  The wood returned to his wonted state,

  Of withcrafts free, quite void of spirits ill;

  Of horror full, but horror there innate;

  He further proved if aught withstood his will

  To cut those trees as did the charms of late,

  And finding naught to stop him, smiled, and said,

  “O shadows vain! O fools, of shades afraid!”

  XXXIX

  From thence home to the campward turned the knight,

  The hermit cried, upstarting from his seat,

  “Now of the wood the charms have lost their might,

  The sprites are conquered, ended is the feat,

  See where he comes!” In glistering white all dight

  Appeared the man, bold, stately, high and great,

  His eagle’s silver wings to shine begun

  With wondrous splendor gainst the golden sun.

  XL

  The camp received him with a joyful cry,

  A cry the dales and hills about that flied;

  Then Godfrey welcomed him with honors high,

  His glory quenched all spite, all envy killed:

  “To yonder dreadful grove,” quoth he, “went I,

  And from the fearful wood, as me you willed,

  Have driven the sprites away, thither let be

  Your people sent, the way is safe and free.”

  XLI

  Sent were the workmen thither, thence they brought

  Timber enough, by good advice select,

  And though by skilless builders framed and wrought

  Their engines rude and rams were late elect,

  Yet now the forts and towers from whence they fought

  Were framed by a cunning architect,

  William, of all the Genoese lord and guide,

  Which late ruled all the seas from side to side;

  XLII

  But forced to retire from him at last,

  The Pagan fleet the seas moist empire won,

  His men with all their stuff and store in haste

  Home to the camp with their commander run,


  In skill, in wit, in cunning him surpassed

  Yet never engineer beneath the sun,

  Of carpenters an hundred large he brought,

  That what their lord devised made and wrought.

  XLIII

  This man began with wondrous art to make,

  Not rams, not mighty brakes, not slings alone,

  Wherewith the firm and solid walls to shake,

  To cast a dart, or throw a shaft or stone;

  But framed of pines and firs, did undertake

  To build a fortress huge, to which was none

  Yet ever like, whereof he clothed the sides

  Against the balls of fire with raw bull’s hides.

  XLIV

  In mortices and sockets framed just,

  The beams, the studs and puncheons joined he fast;

  To beat the city’s wall, beneath forth brust

  A ram with horned front, about her waist

  A bridge the engine from her side out thrust,

  Which on the wall when need she cast;

  And from her top a turret small up stood,

  Strong, surely armed, and builded of like wood.

  XLV

  Set on an hundred wheels the rolling mass,

  On the smooth lands went nimbly up and down,

  Though full of arms and armed men it was,

  Yet with small pains it ran, as it had flown:

  Wondered the camp so quick to see it pass,

  They praised the workmen and their skill unknown,

  And on that day two towers they builded more,

  Like that which sweet Clorinda burned before.

  XLVI

  Yet wholly were not from the Saracines

  Their works concealed and their labors hid,

  Upon that wall which next the camp confines

  They placed spies, who marked all they did:

  They saw the ashes wild and squared pines,

  How to the tents, trailed from the grove, they slid:

  And engines huge they saw, yet could not tell

  How they were built, their forms they saw not well.

  XLVII

  Their engines eke they reared, and with great art

  Repaired each bulwark, turret, port and tower,

  And fortified the plain and easy part,

  To bide the storm of every warlike stoure,

  Till as they thought no sleight or force of Mart

  To undermine or scale the same had power;

  And false Ismeno gan new balls prepare

  Of wicked fire, wild, wondrous, strange and rare.

  XLVIII

  He mingled brimstone with bitumen fell

  Fetched from that lake where Sodom erst did sink,

  And from that flood which nine times compassed hell

  Some of the liquor hot he brought, I think,

  Wherewith the quenchless fire he tempered well,

  To make it smoke and flame and deadly stink:

  And for his wood cut down, the aged sire

  Would thus revengement take with flame and fire.