Jerusalem Delivered

by Torquato Tasso

  In one grand sortie to lead forth thy spears;

  Arrange at least that this thy quarrel be

  Defined and settled by two cavaliers.

  And that the Christian captain may receive

  More willingly our challenge, to that knight

  Let us the choice of ground and weapons leave,

  Let him the terms determine of the fight.

  VIII.

  ‘Then did two hands alone ‘gainst me appear,

  And but one soul, however bold and strong,

  By no mischance whatever need’st thou fear,

  That at my hands thy cause would suffer wrong.

  In place of fickle Fate and Destiny,

  Trust for thy triumphs to this hand alone:

  Take it in pledge of certain victory;

  In it confide, and saved’s thy life and throne.’

  IX.

  ‘Intrepid youth,’ replied the king, ‘although

  In me the marks of hoary age you trace,

  To draw the sword this arm is not so slow,

  Nor is this soul so slothful and so base

  That I prefer to rot ignobly here

  To dying nobly on the open field,

  Had I a doubt or e’en the slightest fear

  Of the distress and want thou hast revealed.

  X.

  ‘May God avert such infamy! But now

  I’ll tell thee what from others I conceal:

  Nicæan Solyman, who burneth how

  To avenge his losses, has, with noble zeal,

  Contrived from Afric’s deserts to unite

  The scattered ranks of many a nomad horde,

  And trusts, the foe attacking in the night,

  Supplies of food, and succour to afford.

  XI.

  ‘Soon it may be he come; and if meanwhile

  Our, castles round are captured and o’erthrown,

  Let us not care, if from the foe I still

  Preserve my royal sceptre and my throne;

  But for God’s sake that fervent spirit prune,

  Which in thy bosom burneth to excess,

  And wait, O prince, a season opportune

  To increase thy glory and my wrongs redress.’

  XII.

  This nettled sorely the bold cavalier,

  Who was the soldant rival, and as such

  Was most profoundly mortified to hear

  That on his aid the king relied so much.

  ‘Peace, sire, and war on thy sole will depend,’

  Arganté said; ‘that’s thy affair alone.

  Wait then; the mighty Solyman attend,

  And let him save thy realm who lost his own.

  XIII.

  ‘Let him, celestial messenger, descend,

  And to the Pagans liberty afford;

  I, for my part, upon myself depend,

  And trust for freedom solely from my sword.

  Grant then that I, while others shun the fight

  In slothful ease, to you arena go,

  Not as thy champion, but as simple knight,

  And singly there do battle with the foe.

  XIV.

  ‘Although for worthier object,’ answered he,

  ‘Thou shouldst reserve thy wrath and sword, still I

  Refuse thee not, if such thy pleasure be,

  The foe to single combat to defy.’

  He ceased. Arganté not a moment lost,

  But to a herald: ‘To the camp repair,

  And to their chief, in hearing of the host,

  This my not unimportant challenge bear:

  XV.

  ‘Say that a knight who holds it in disdain

  To crouch ‘mid ramparts, and in trenches lie,

  Will in the open field with arms maintain,

  Should any dare the facts he states deny,

  That ’tis not zeal for faith the Frank inspires,

  Or honest end they seek in this campaign,

  But only ambitious, covetous desires,

  The thirst of rapine and the lust to reign.

  XVI.

  ‘And that he is not only against one

  Or two of yonder camp in arms arrayed,

  But proudly dares a third, fourth, fifth, come on,

  Be they of gentle or plebeian grade.

  Let him accord safe conduct if he will,

  And let the vanquished with the victor rest.’

  Arganté thus his orders gave. Meanwhile,

  The herald in his purple tabard dressed.

  XVII.

  Soon as he did the royal presence reach

  Of pious Godfred and his barons bold,

  He asked: ‘Do ye grant liberty of speech

  To me, a herald?’ ‘Ay, at once unfold,’

  Replied the chief, ‘without the slightest fear

  Thy proposition, whatsoe’er it be.’

  Rejoined the herald, ‘It will then appear

  If sweet or bitter prove my embassy.’

  XVIII.

  He gave them then the challenge, and assumed

  A tone so haught, and used such lofty words,

  That at his language the fierce barons fumed,

  And clapped their angry hands upon their swords.

  The pious Godfred, without waiting, said,

  ‘Your champion undertakes a hard emprise:

  ‘I fain would think he may repent, nor need

  A fifth his bold presumption to chastise;

  XIX.

  ‘But let him bide the proof; I grant your knight

  Safe conduct here — an open field and fair;

  With him shall one of our Crusaders fight,

  Nor vantage take — this solemnly I swear.’

  He ceased. The king at arms returned again

  By the same pathway he had trod before;

  Nor did the swiftness of his steps restrain

  Till he the answer to Arganté bore.

  XX.

  ‘Arm, arm, my lord,’ he cried, ‘nor use delay,

  Thy challenge is accepted; not alone

  The sovran knights are burning for the fray,

  But even those less noble and less known.

  I saw, while there, a thousand lowering brows;

  Grasping the sword I saw a thousand hands;

  A field secure the Christian chief allows.’

  This said, his arms the fiery Turk demands.

  XXI.

  And girt them round him, in his haste to tread

  (Intolerant of sloth) the listed plain.

  To bold Clorinda then the monarch said,

  ‘Unjust it were he go while you remain,

  Take then a thousand spears to escort the knight,

  And guard his safety ‘gainst unfair assault,

  But let him go alone, in equal fight;

  You at some distance off your party halt.’

  XXII.

  This said, he ceased; and they, when armed, bore

  Down from the rampired city to the plain,

  And fierce Arganté galloped on before,

  Sheathed in his wonted panoply of chain.

  ‘Twixt Pagan wall and Christian palisade,

  A level spot there was of ample size;

  Ample and smooth, it seemed on purpose made

  As tilting ground for knights to exercise.

  XXIII.

  There singly he descended; there, in sight

  Of the assembled Franks, his station took,

  Proud of his frame, his courage, and his might,

  With threatening, insolent, imperious look.

  In Phlegra thus Enceladus appeared;

  Thus in the vale the giant Philistine:

  ‘But still not many thee, Arganté, feared,

  As yet they had not felt that arm of thine.

  XXIV.

  Though pious Godfred had not yet selected

  The one he deemed among so many best;

  All eyes towards Prince Tancredi were directed,

  And upon him wi
th deep affection rest.

  All in esteeming him the best concurred,

  Their every look a common choice implied.

  Approval then in words more plain was heard,

  Which with a nod the captain ratified.

  XXV.

  To him already had the rest given way,

  Nor longer did the pious chief defer;

  But said, ‘Tancredi, thou hast my leave: away,

  And curb the fury of you blusterer.’

  Appointed champion for the encounter, pride

  Upon his flushed exultant features glowed.

  ‘Bring me my helm and destrier,’ he cried,

  And flanked by thousands from the entrenchments rode.

  XXVI.

  He had not reached the broad arena where

  Arganté waited, when in warlike guise,

  And in appearance no less strange than fair,

  Clorinda loomed before his startled eyes.

  Her surcoat looked a thousand times more white

  Than sparkling snowdrift in some alpine glade;

  She wore her vizor up, and from the height

  The full proportion of her form displayed.

  XXVII.

  Nor saw Tancredi where Arganté still

  Raised his portentous forehead to the skies,

  But moved his destrier slowly towards the hill,

  Fixing on her his rapt enamoured eyes,

  Then rooted stood, as if transformed to stone.

  Outside, all ice, but lava at the core,

  Sight he possessed not, save for her alone,

  Nor seemed to think of the encounter more.

  XXVIII.

  Arganté, who beheld no cavalier

  Give sign of preparation for the fight,

  Shouted: ‘Desire of conflict led me here:

  Who jousts with me or dares contend in might?

  Tancredi still was gazing on the maid

  Like one entranced, nor seemed his words to hear,

  When forward Otho spurred his fiery steed,

  And was the first the vacant lists to clear.

  XXIX.

  One of those Franks he was whose proudest aim

  Was to do battle with the Pagan knight;

  But to Tancredi had resigned his claim,

  And followed him on horseback to the fight.

  Now, seeing his feelings all absorbed elsewhere,

  And that the combat he appeared to shun,

  The impetuous stripling could no more forbear,

  But seized the occasion, and dashed boldly on.

  XXX.

  Not half so swift the tiger or fierce pard

  Scours through the forest, as Prince Otho pressed

  To strike the Saracen, who, on his guard,

  Had to receive him placed his lance in rest.

  This roused Tancredi, who till now supine,

  Engrossed — abstracted, woke as from a trance,

  Exclaiming loudly: ‘Stay, the combat’s mine!’

  But all too far was Otho in advance.

  XXXI.

  Whence halted he, live coals appeared his face,

  And his proud heart with ire and shame to burst,

  Deeming it vile defection and disgrace

  That in the encounter he was not the first.

  Meanwhile, the youth had struck in mid career

  Arganté’s helm, when spurring to the charge.

  He, with a counter-stroke of his sharp spear,

  Clove through his hauberk, having pierced his targe.

  XXXII.

  The Christian fell. Tremendous was the shock

  That sent him flying from the saddle bow.

  But the huge Pagan, like some firm-set rock,

  Fell not, nor even reeled beneath the blow,

  Deriding him despitefully who lay

  Prone at his feet: ‘Yield, slave, and let it be

  Sufficient for thy future fame to say

  That you did once, rash boy, contend with me.’

  XXXIII.

  ‘No,’ replied Otho, ‘let what will befall,

  Never yield up my arms or trust will I;

  Let others make excuses for my fall,

  I will avenge it, or I here will die.’

  At this with ire Arganté grew inflamed,

  The sister Furies sparkled in his eyes;

  ‘Learn then by proof my valour,’ he exclaimed,

  ‘Since thus my courteous offer you despise.’

  XXXIV.

  Arganté spurred his destrier as he spoke,

  Forgetting laws of chivalry. Aside

  Prince Otho sprang, evading him, and struck

  The brawny Turk, when passing, in the side.

  So heavy, so impetuous was the stroke,

  That the steel issued bathed in crimson gore:

  But to what good, if it fresh fury woke,

  And left the victor puissant as before?

  XXXV.

  His steed Arganté curbed, and turned him back;

  But with such lightning speed, that ere his foe

  Could guard himself against the fresh attack,

  He by the great collision was laid low.

  Trembled his limbs, faint, short his breath became,

  His features paled, his languid eyes swam round;

  Tremendous was the shock, with which his frame,

  Faint and exhausted, struck the unyielding ground.

  XXXVI.

  Enfeloned in his ire, Arganté made

  His destrier trample on his breast: ‘’Tis meet

  That thus the insolent are served,’ he said,

  ‘Like him who now lies prostrate at my feet,’

  But generous Tancred could refrain no more,

  And shocked at that unmerciful assault.

  Resolved his valour, as it shone before,

  Should shine and make atonement for his fault.

  XXXVII.

  ‘Forward he dashed, exclaiming: ‘Soul abject,

  That in your victories ev’n are infamous,

  What title to renown do you expect

  From act so bloody and so barbarous?

  Your nature best with Arab ruffians suits,

  And other savages of like degree;

  Go, daylight shun, and with your fellow brutes

  In wastes and wilds indulge your cruelty.’

  XXXVIII.

  The Pagan, little to endurance used,

  Bit both his lips, consumed with rage and gall,

  And tried to speak, but only sounds confused

  Escaped, like cry of some wild animal; —

  And as from cloud, in which it was immured,

  Thunder bursts forth and passes, so expressed

  Was the gruff growl of each half muttered word

  That rumbled forth from his infuriate breast.

  XXXIX.

  But when rude menace and insulting speech

  Their pride had whetted and their anger steeled,

  With like rapidity and vigour, each

  Ground taking for a charge, his charger wheeled.

  But here, O muse, refresh my voice; inspire

  Me with like force to theirs, that through thy charms

  My song may not unworthily aspire,

  But nobly echo back the clash of arms.

  XL.

  In rest each warrior placed his knotty spear,

  Its point directing upwards. Ne’er did spring

  Of couchant tiger, nor the bound of deer,

  Nor swoop of eagle on its swiftest wing,

  Equal the speed with which Tancredi here,

  And there Arganté, dashed to the assault;

  Their lances shivered when in mid career,

  Whence sparks and splinters flew to heaven’s blue vault.

  XLI.

  Shook the firm earth, the distant hills resounded,

  From the loud thunder of their crashing blows,

  Whose force and desperate impetus rebounded

  Lightly fr
om off their haught, unblenching brows;

  So charged their steeds, cheered by their rider’s tongue,

  That falling down they could not rise up; whence

  The accomplished soldiers from their saddles sprung,

  Unsheathed their swords, and stood upon defence.

  XLII.

  To the other’s look each warily moves his eye,

  To blow his hand, to change of foot his feet.

  Positions new, new guards, new feints they try;

  Wheel back, press forward, and at times retreat.

  Here feign a stroke and strike not, but elsewhere

  Down falls the sword on some unmenaced part;

  Now leave some point unguarded, as a snare

  To lure the foe, art trying to baffle art

  XLIII.

  Protected ill by scimetar or targe,

  Tancredi showed the Saracen his flank.

  In rushed the Pagan, leaving in his charge,

  His own left side uncovered; the quick Frank

  Not only parried by a dexterous blow

  The ruthless weapon, but retorted hard;

  Nor, this accomplished, to retire was slow,

  But backwards sprung and placed himself on guard.

  XLIV.

  But when the fierce Circassian knight beheld

  His own wet blood his glittering armour stain,

  Struck with unwonted horror he outyelled,

  By shame distracted and half mad from pain;

  Nor his infuriate impulse could restrain,

  But with raised voice and sword, turned round to hit

  The Christian knight, and wounded was again

  Just where the arm is to the shoulder knit.

  XLV.

  As in some alpine wood a savage bear,

  Who feels an arrow rankling in her side,

  Infuriate, springs upon the hunter’s spear,

  At perils and at death unterrified;

  Such the impetuous Saracen became

  As wound on wound and shame on shame augments;

  While hopes for vengeance so his soul inflame,

  He scorns all dangers and forgets defence.

  XLVI.

  To reckless courage joining force immense,

  And to untiring vigour rage unslaked,

  His sword he brandished with such violence

  That the heavens lightened and the mountains quaked.

  Nor had himself Tancredi time to shield

  Or scarcely breathe — much less to strike a blow,

  Or shelter find that might protection yield

  ‘Gainst the hot haste and fury of his foe.

  XLVII.

  Collected in himself he waits in vain

  Till the fierce tempest of his strokes subsides,

  He parries now, now swiftly o’er the plain

  In skilful circles to avoid him glides;

  But since unceasing is the Pagan lord,

  At length his passions carry him away;

  Lashed into fury, he too whirls his sword