Jerusalem Delivered

by Torquato Tasso

Passes entire, nor parts it nor divides,

  So through the barrier robe thought makes its way,

  And to forbidden places boldly glides.

  There spatiates freely, there the truth surveys

  Of each rare marvel separately; and thence

  The lovely picture to desire displays,

  And with fresh fuel its fierce flame foments.

  XXXIII.

  Admired and courted, through the love-smit files

  Armida passes, and perceives her power,

  But shows it not, though in her heart she smiles,

  Designing thence rich spoil in victory’s hour.

  Meanwhile, perplexed somewhat, she sought a guide,

  To lead her to the captain of the host,

  When youthful Eustace darted to her side,

  Brother of him who held that sovran post.

  XXXIV.

  He to the splendour of her beauty flew,

  Attracted as gay butterfly to light,

  And turned more closely those fair eyes to view,

  That drooped with decent shame before his sight;

  Whence he inhaled and caught their fervid flame,

  As tinder does when near a glowing fire,

  And to her said, since he now bold became

  From heat of youth and from intense desire:

  XXXV.

  ‘Lady! — if such a name be not misplaced,

  Since thou resemblest nothing upon earth,

  Nor is there one of Adam’s daughters graced

  With such appearance of celestial birth —

  Say what thou seek’st from us: whence com’st, and how?

  What brings thee here? Ah, tell me, I entreat,

  Who, what thou art, that I in homage bow,

  Or, if it need, fall prostrate at thy feet!’

  XXXVI.

  She answered him: ‘Thy praises soar too high;

  To such a height my merit hath not flown.

  A thing thou seest too truly mortal: I,

  To joy long dead, exist for grief alone.

  Into this camp by harsh misfortune thrust,

  An outcast maid, a stranger, I resort

  For help to pious Godfred, whom I trust:

  Such is of this great goodness the report.

  XXXVII.

  ‘Thither find means my errant steps to guide,

  If, as it seems, thou good and courteous art.’

  “Tis right that to one brother,’ he replied,

  ‘Another leads thee, ay, and takes thy part.

  Relief, fair maid, thou seekest not in vain,

  Since that, at my request, he will afford;

  Thou canst, as best it pleaseth thee, obtain

  The assistance of his sceptre or my sword.’

  XXXVIII.

  He ceased, and led the blushing damsel where,

  Apart, Prince Godfred with his dukes conferred.

  To him she bowed with meek respectful air,

  Yet uttered not, from bashfulness, a word;

  But her the courteous paladin consoled,

  And so removed her diffidence and fears,

  That she at length her artful story told,

  In tones whose melody entranced all ears.

  XXXIX.

  ‘Unconquered prince,’ she said, ‘whose glorious name

  Flies, pranked with ornaments so passing bright,

  That kings and provinces esteem it fame

  Defeat to suffer at thy hands in fight,

  Known is thy valour everywhere, and so

  Approved and valued is thy worth that we,

  Thy very foes, our blind reliance show

  By aid imploring, in our straits, from thee.

  XL.

  ‘Thus I, though born in faith so opposite,

  Which thou wouldst humble by exhaustive wars,

  Hope to regain through thee, magnanimous knight,

  The throne and sceptre of my ancestors;

  If others seek assistance from their own,

  Themselves to rescue from the stranger’s yoke,

  I, since my kin have no compassion shown,

  ‘Gainst my own blood thy hostile steel invoke.

  XLI.

  ‘On thee I call and hope; alone canst thou

  Replace me on that height whence I was thrown;

  Nor shouldst thou be less prompt to raise the low,

  Than from their seats to cast the mighty down;

  Nor prize the vaunt of tender pity’s trait

  Less than the brilliant triumphs thou hast won;

  And if, from many, realms thou hast ta’en away,

  Win equal fame by now restoring one.

  XLII.

  ‘But if our faith, so different, moveth thee

  To slight, it may be, this my honest prayer,

  Let my faith in thy pity plead for me;

  Nor right it seems, it disappointed were.

  That God is witness, who is Jove to all,

  A cause more just ne’er pleaded for thy aid

  But to know fully what did me befall,

  Hear how I was by others’ fraud betrayed:

  XLIII.

  ‘Daughter I am of Arbilan, who reigned

  O’er proud Damascus; though less well-born, he

  Fair Cariclea for his wife obtained,

  Who made him heir of that great monarchy;

  But dying she as if forestalled my birth,

  Since at the moment that defunct she lay,

  I, helpless infant, from her womb came forth;

  And thus her fatal was my natal day.

  XLIV.

  ‘But scarce five summers had elapsed entire

  From the sad day she burst earth’s mortal ties,

  Than, yielding to our common fate, my sire

  Was called, perhaps to meet her in the skies,

  Leaving the charge of me and of the state

  To his dear brother, whom he loved so well:

  Assured fidelity would animate

  His breast, if pity did in mortal dwell.

  XLV.

  ‘Whence he assumed my guardianship, and feigned

  For my well-being such concern that he

  The vaunt of boundless piety obtained,

  Of love paternal and fidelity;

  Or that black thoughts, beneath outside most fair, —

  To hide within his bosom he begun; —

  Or that his love was really sincere, —

  Since he would make me consort of his son.

  XLVI.

  ‘I grew, and grew his son; but never he

  Or style of knight or noble arts acquired;

  Dead to all sense of fame or chivalry,

  His grovelling nature ne’er aloft aspired. —

  His form deform was than his mind more fair,

  His pride unbounded as his avarice; —

  His acts so coarse, and such his habits were,

  That he could match himself alone in vice.

  XLVII.

  ‘Now my good guardian destined I should wed

  This worthy youth, on him my goods bestow,

  Him making consort of my throne and bed:

  He many times distinctly told me so. —

  To accomplish this long-cherished scheme, now tact,

  Now subtle wit, now eloquence he used,

  But promise never could from me extract;

  Nay, sullen, I grew silent, or refused.

  XLVIII.

  ‘One day he left with such sinister face,

  As did his thoughts transparently avow;

  My future ill’s sad story I could trace

  Distinctly written in his lowering brow.

  Thenceforth disturbed was my nocturnal rest

  By ghosts and many a strange ominous dream:

  A fatal horror on my soul impressed,

  Did of impending woes the presage seem.

  XLIX.

  ‘With pallid visage and in mournful mien,

  Oft stood before me my de
ad mother’s shade.

  Ah me! how different from what I had seen

  On breathing canvass previously portrayed.

  “Fly, my child, fly,” she cried, in her despair,

  “A cruel death hangs o’er thy guileless soul;

  The treacherous tyrant I can see prepare

  For thee alone the dagger and the bowl.”

  L.

  ‘But what, alas, availed it, that my heart

  Gave strong presentiments of perils near,

  If, without any, counsel to impart,

  My youth was made irresolute by fear?

  Myself to exile, and in nakedness

  Fly from the country that my childhood nursed,

  Such misery was, that I esteemed it less

  To close mine eyes where I had oped them first.

  LI.

  ‘I dreaded death — ah, woe is me! — and yet

  (Who would believe the fact?) I dared not fly;

  I even feared to show my fear, lest it

  Might thus accelerate the time to die.

  In one continuous martyrdom I passed

  A troubled and most miserable life,

  Like one expecting that each hour’s his last,

  And o’er his neck beholds the impending knife.

  LII.

  ‘In this condition — was it friendly fate

  Or doom that destined me to end more dire? —

  One of the royal officers of state,

  Brought up from childhood by the king my sire,

  Disclosed to me the fatal hour was near,

  Fixed by the king to take my life away;

  And that he had promised to administer

  To me the poison on that very day.

  LIII.

  ‘Adding, it only was by instant flight

  I could prolong my wretched life, and prayed

  That, as elsewhere I had no hope of it,

  I would accept his own devoted aid.

  The generous offer of this loyal knight

  Gave me such courage, that with him I planned,

  Beneath the cover of protecting night,

  To fly my uncle and my native land.

  LIV.

  ‘The night closed in beyond her wont obscure,

  And shrouded us beneath her friendly shades,

  When from my palace home I passed secure,

  My sole companions being two waiting maids.

  But back to my paternal roof did I,

  With streaming eyes, oft turn in my despair;

  Nor could their gaze at parting satisfy —

  Still, still they looked, and fondly lingered there.

  LV.

  ‘Mine eyes and thoughts both followed the same track,

  And ‘gainst their will my feet went on before;

  Like ship a sudden tempest takes aback,

  And drives reluctant from the sheltering shore.

  All night we travelled, and the following day,

  By pathless mountains and untrodden plains;

  At length took shelter in a fort, which lay

  Upon the confines of my fair domains.

  LVI.

  ‘It was the castle of Arontè, since

  Arontè ’twas that me from danger led;

  But when the double-faced perfidious prince

  Found I had ‘scaped the mortal snares he spread,

  Inflamed with rage, upon us both he turned

  The very guilt his hate and envy bred,

  And made us guilty of the crime he burned

  To wreak himself upon my guiltless head.

  LVII.

  ‘He said, by bribes I had Arontè won

  To mingle deadly poison in his bowl;

  That, when he passed away, I might have none

  My will to bridle, or my youth control;

  For that I, following my depraved desires,

  Would to my arms a thousand lovers take.

  Ah! on my head may fall Heaven’s blasting fires,

  Ere, sacred Chastity, thy laws I break!

  LVIII.

  ‘That greedy hunger for my wealth, and thirst

  For innocent blood the monster overcame,

  Was bad enough, but that is not the worst:

  He wished to sully my immaculate name.

  The wretch, who feared the rising of the youth,

  So wove and glossed his lies, that in suspense

  The city, still uncertain of the truth,

  Might not stand up or arm in my defence.

  LIX.

  ‘Nor though he sits upon my throne, nor though

  The base usurper wears my royal crown,

  Doth he place limit to my sufferings, so

  His innate cruelty incites him on.

  He’ll burn Arontè’s castle, unless he

  Himself, with all in it surrendereth;

  And not with war alone my friends and me

  The monster threatens, but with pains and death.

  LX.

  ‘This, as it were, his spotless front to free

  From the disfigurement of my disgrace;

  And to its dignity, debased by me,

  Restore the honour of his throne and race.

  But fear’s the cause, he dreading I should seize

  My rightful sceptre; since my death alone,

  Too well the profligate usurper sees,

  Would on firm basis fix his tottering throne.

  LXI.

  ‘And that will be the end of his desire,

  On which so bent the tyrant’s mind appears,

  And quenched by my life’s blood will be his ire,

  Which unextinguishable were by tears,

  If thou prevent him not: thee I in treat,

  Lorn, orphan, innocent — and may this flood

  Of bitter tears with which I bathe thy feet,

  Prevent the effusion of my guiltless blood.

  LXII.

  ‘By these thy feet that trample the profane,

  By this thy hand in cause of right arrayed,

  By thy proud triumphs, by each sacred fane

  Which thou hast aided, and still seek’st to aid:

  Grant, for alone thou art able, my request;

  In pity save my life and throne, Sir knight —

  Still I for pity ask not, if thy breast

  Remains unmoved by reason and by right.

  LXIII.

  ‘Thee whom Heaven destines and permits by fate

  To will what’s just, and what thou will’st to do,

  Preserve my life, and take thyself the state,

  Which if recovered, will become thy due.

  For my safe conduct, sire, I only sue

  From out thy numerous paladins but ten;

  They will, the elders friends, the people true,

  Suffice to place me in my home again.

  LXIV.

  ‘Nay one, the warder of the secret gate,

  Has pledged his word, in justice to my right,

  To unbar it; so that we may penetrate

  To the king’s quarters in the dusk of night.

  Alone he bade me gain thy aid: howe’er

  Small, it would more assure him than if came

  Whole hosts to his assistance from elsewhere,

  So high he ranks thy flag, thy very name.’

  LXV.

  This said, she ceased, awaiting his reply;

  Her manner prayed, her very silence spoke.

  In doubt to grant her suit or to deny,

  Contending feelings Godfred’s bosom shook:

  He feared barbarian wile, and deemed that those

  Faithless to God, no faith for man possessed.

  On the other hand, within him pity rose,

  That never slumbers in magnanimous breast.

  LXVI.

  Nor was it only upon pity’s plea

  The captain-wished assistance she obtained:

  The advantage swayed him, since ’twould useful be

  That whosoever in Dam
ascus reigned,

  On him dependent, should their cause uphold,

  And smooth the groundwork for their great emprise;

  One that could furnish weapons, troops and gold,

  To match the Egyptian host and its allies.

  LXVII.

  While thus perplexed, his eyes to earth he bent,

  And turned and twisted every thought. The maid

  Upon his face hung painfully intent,

  Scanning the changes there; but since delayed

  The important answer was beyond belief,

  She feared refusal, and despairing sighed;

  At length her prayer refused the pious chief,

  But still in courteous, kindly words replied:

  LXVIII.

  ‘Did Jesu’s service not demand our swords,

  By Him selected for this great crusade,

  They were unsheathed for thee; not pitying words,

  But valiant deeds, had given thee knightly aid.

  But till His people of their bonds are rid,

  Till from its thrall Jerusalem we free,

  Not right it were my forces to divide

  And so retard the course of victory.

  LXIX.

  ‘But this I vow (my word I proffer thee

  As knightly pledge, on which securely rest):

  If from their galling yoke we ever free

  Those walls to Heaven so precious and so blessed,

  Thee to restore, for gentle pity’s sake,

  To that lost realm where first thy footsteps trod.

  But pity now would me less pious make,

  If first I rendered not His due to God.’

  LXX.

  As thus he spake, the maiden drooped her head,

  And moveless stood, her eyes upon the ground;

  Then raised them up, suffused with tears, and said

  With pleading gesture and lament profound:

  ‘Ah wretched, wretched, to whom else did Heaven

  A life so hard, so immutable allot,

  That others change their bent, their nature even,

  Ere changed is my perverse, unhappy lot?

  LXXI.

  ‘In vain I grieve, and hopeless vainly spend

  Prayers to which dead are human breasts; ah me!

  How can I hope the tyrant’s will to bend

  By these my sorrows, that are lost on thee?

  Still not of harshness do I thee accuse

  Because denying me this trifling aid,

  ’Tis Heaven I charge, whence all my ill accrues,

  ’Tis Heaven has thee inexorable made.

  LXXII.

  ‘Thou from all such malevolence art free,

  But ’tis my destiny that aid denies,

  Cruel, relentless, fatal destiny;

  Ah, take this life, now hateful in mine eyes.

  To have deprived me in their prime of life

  Of my dear parents was a minor ill,

  If thou didst not, as victim to the knife,

  Robbed of my realm and captive see me still.

  LXXIII.