Jerusalem Delivered

by Torquato Tasso

  Nor did the well-directed missile err,

  But struck Toulouse’s Count upon the face.

  But, in no way alarmed, the wary knight

  Swiftly drew back when he the danger saw,

  And pierced his hand, which was outstretched to smite

  With angrier menace than a tigers claw.

  XCVII.

  Then wheeled from right to left, and back again

  From left to right; and as he came and went

  Aye struck the false, disloyal Saracen,

  Nor ever failed in his malign intent.

  All that he had of vigour and of skill,

  All that could old despite and new-born ire,

  He mustered up to work his foeman ill:

  And with him Fate and Heaven itself conspire.

  XCVIII.

  Armed in himself, and in fine armour, he

  Resists the count’s attack, and nothing fears;

  Like a huge ship upon the boisterous sea,

  Sails, yards, helm gone, the Saracen appears.

  Which, built of solid oak, still stoutly braves

  The storm that rages all around, nor bares

  Her battered sides to the tempestuous waves,

  Nor altogether of herself despairs.

  XCIX.

  Arganté, such thy peril, when to aid

  Thy cause himself Beëlzebub disposed;

  He of thin air an unsubstantial shade,

  In form of man (strange prodigy!) composed;

  It feigned Clorinda’s noble face and air,

  Her silver surcoat and resplendent arms.

  He gave it speech, and, though no mind was there,

  Her well-known voice, her bearing, and her charms.

  C.

  The phantom went to Oradine, and cried

  (An archer he of wondrous skill and fame):

  ‘Oh, Oradine, who, where thou will’st, canst guide

  The flying shaft, and never miss thy aim,

  What loss ’twould be if such a worthy knight,

  Judaea’s bold defender, were to die,

  And in his spoils, triumphant from the fight,

  Unscathed return his mortal enemy!

  CI.

  ‘Now prove thy skill — thy fatal arrow dye

  In you Frank robber’s blood; thy gracious lord,

  Besides the lasting fame, thou ma,’st rely,

  Will pay thee back commensurate reward.’

  Thus spake the shade; nor did the archer doubt,

  Soon as he heard of guerdon for the blow,

  But from his quiver drew an arrow out,

  Affixed it to the cord, and bent the bow.

  CII.

  The tense cord twangs — resounding through the air

  With whizzing ring the feathered quarrel glides.

  And strikes Raimondo in the girdle, where

  The buckles clasp it, and the belt divides;

  The mail it pierces, but, in blood scarce dyed,

  His skin just grazes, then arrests its course,

  Since the celestial warrior denied

  Its further progress, and destroyed its force.

  CIII.

  From his cuirass the count the arrow drew,

  And when the blood, that followed, met his sight.

  He hurled reproaches on the Pagan, who

  Had broken the conditions of the fight.

  The captain, who ne’er took his anxious eye

  From his beloved Raimondo, now perceived

  The pact was broken by the enemy,

  And since he deemed the wound was dangerous, grieved,

  CIV.

  And woke with glowing words and angry frown

  His knights, to see Raimondo’s wrongs redressed.

  With one accord they drew their vizors down.

  Their bridles slacked, and lances placed in rest;

  And in an instant from both sides are seen

  Some squadrons spurring forward. From all eyes

  The field is hid; and to the blue serene

  Clouds of rare dust in solid circles rise.

  CV.

  At the first shock was heard the ringing sound

  Of shivered spear, of splintering helm and shield;

  Here lay a destrier prostrate on the ground,

  There, riderless, one galloped o’er the field;

  Here lay a warrior dead; still breathing, there

  Another sobbed and groaned, another sighed.

  Fierce was the fight; and as more close they were,

  More fierce the struggle grew on either side.

  CVI.

  Into the middle lithe Arganté sprung,

  And from a soldier snatched an iron mace,

  And, bursting through the serried masses, swung

  It round and round, and soon cleared ample space,

  But only Raymond sought; his steel and ire

  ‘Gainst him alone were turned with frantic hate;

  Like greedy wolf, his ravening desire

  Was on his blood his appetite to sate.

  CVII.

  But soon his path is so beset with foes,

  And so encumbered, that it checks his course;

  ‘Gainst him Ormanno, Balneville oppose,

  With Guido and the Gerards, all their force.

  Yet paused not he, nor slacked, nay, grew more hot

  The more he hindrance from those galliards found,

  As fire pent up within a narrow spot

  Bursts forth, and spreads still greater ruin round.

  CVIII.

  He wounded Guido, Prince Ormanno slew,

  And languid Roger stretched among the slain;

  But still the crowds increased, and round him drew

  A serried cirque of bristling arms and men:

  While through his valour was maintained the fray

  On equal terms between the rival foes,

  Godfred his brother called, and said: ‘Away!

  And on the Paynim with thy squadron close;

  CIX.

  ‘And ‘gainst their left, where seems most desperate

  The battle’s rage, lead on thy serried ranks.’

  Away he dashed, and was the shock so great

  With which he charged his adversary’s flanks,

  That Asia’s languid sons had not the force

  To stand the impetuous onslaught of the Frank:

  The line is broken, and beneath their horse

  The Pagan cavalry and standards sank.

  CX.

  From the same charge the right wing turned and fled,

  Nor was there any made the least defence,

  Except Arganté; with loose rein they sped

  Headlong, impelled by fear’s o’erwhelming sense.

  Alone he stood his ground, and showed bold front;

  Nor had Briareus with a hundred hands

  Equalled Arganté in the battle’s brunt,

  Though fifty shields he waved, and fifty brands.

  CXI.

  The charge of cavalry, the thrusts, the blows,

  And flying shafts, he valiantly sustained;

  Able for all he seemed, as now on those

  He boldly threw himself, now these restrained.

  Bruised were his limbs, his armour hacked and torn,

  Tho’ blood and sweat he poured, unconscious all;

  At last, by surging numbers overborne,

  He with the crowd was backward forced to fall.

  CXII.

  His back he turned to that great torrent’s might

  That swept him on, and forced him to withdraw,

  Tho’step or heart betrayed no signs of flight,

  If thro’ his hand’s bold deeds that heart you saw.

  Terror still shone from his defiant eyes,

  Which failed not their old menace to retain;

  And superhuman were his energies

  To check the flying masses, but in vain.

  CXIII.

  Not ev’n could t
hat Magnanimous obtain,

  That they retired in more collected bands;

  Since fear obeys no reason and no rein,

  Nor heedeth now entreaties or commands.

  But pious Buglion had no sooner viewed

  That Fortune turned to favour his intent,

  Than the smooth path of victory he pursued,

  And fresh assistance to the victors sent.

  CXIV.

  And were it not that it was not the day.

  By the Almighty’s changeless laws decreed,

  This was perhaps the very hour that they,

  Their blest toils o’er, Jerusalem had freed.

  But Satan’s satellites, who in that fight

  Beheld how their own tyranny declined

  (Permission gained), obscured with clouds the light,

  And, in a moment, loosed the raging wind.

  CXV.

  Before men’s eyes a veil of darkness fell,

  Shrouding the day and sun. Then seemed to blare

  The lurid heaven more horribly than hell;

  The lightning flashed with such terrific rays;

  Peals rattling thunder; rains in hail descend,

  That drowns the fallows, and the meadows fills;

  The whirlwind’s force cracks boughs, and seems to bend,

  Not oaks alone, but even rocks and hills.

  CXVI.

  As thus with force combined, storm, wind, and rain

  Full in the face abruptly struck the Franks,

  The sudden fury of the hurricane

  Checked, as it filled with panic fear, their ranks.

  Alone the smaller part collected were

  Under the standards, since they could not see;

  When hold Clorinda, of this fact aware,

  Spurred on to seize the opportunity,

  CXVII.

  And to her comrades cried, ‘For us contends

  Heaven, and Eternal Justice aid affords;

  Not in our faces its fierce wrath descends,

  Hence, unencumbered, we can use our swords.

  Angered alone ‘gainst them Heaven’s fury drives,

  Right in the teeth of our affrighted foes;

  Their arms it strikes, and them of light deprives:

  Then on, where Fate the path to victory shows.’

  CXVIII.

  Thus cheered the Pagans, and upon her back

  Alone receiving the outburst of Hell,

  Made ‘gainst the Franks a desperate attack,

  Scorning the blows that from them idly fell.

  At the same time Arganté, turning too,

  Sad havoc ‘mong the former victors made,

  As from the field they panic-stricken flew,

  And to the sword and storm their backs displayed.

  CXIX.

  The wrath immortal and the mortal sword

  To strike the affrighted fugitives combined;

  And streams of blood, mixed with the rain that poured,

  That scene of murderous strife encarnadined.

  Here, amid heaps of dying and of dead,

  Pyrrhus and brave Ridolpho breathless lie;

  The latter’s life-blood the Circassian shed,

  The former was Clorinda’s victory.

  CXX.

  Thus fled the Franks, and still in eager chase

  The Syrian troops and hellish fiends pursued;

  Alone Prince Godfred turned a fearless face

  ‘Gainst their fierce arms, and ‘gainst the menace rude

  That thunder, hail, and wind accumulate;

  Rebuking bitterly his knightly peers,

  Then checked his noble steed before the gate,

  Within which fled the routed cavaliers.

  CXXI.

  And twice his steed that gallant hero dashed

  ‘Gainst fierce Arganté, and his charge repelled;

  And twice with naked falchion thrust and slashed,

  Where still their ground the thickest squadrons held.

  At length, with all the others he retired

  Behind the entrenchments; then, the victory gained,

  The Turks withdrew; and, terrified and tired,

  Within the encampment the Frank troops remained;

  CXXII.

  Nor altogether could escape ev’n there

  The force and fury of that hurricane:

  Blown out are all the lights, and everywhere

  Rushes the wind and penetrates the rain;

  Smashed are the stakes, split canvass, shivered cords,

  Uprooted tents, which to the skies are hurled;

  With thunder, wind, and shrieks the rain accords,

  In horrid harmony that stuns the world.

  CANTO VIII

  I.

  THE wind to vent its violence had ceased,

  Hushed was the storm, no more the thunder rolled,

  When fair Aurora issued from the east,

  With brow of roses and with foot of gold;

  Yet ceased not from their hellish arts and aim

  Those fiends infernal who the tempest woke;

  Nay, one of them, Astagoras by name,

  Thus to his comrade, foul Alecto, spoke:

  II.

  ‘Alecto, see you cavalier arrive

  (Nor can his progress all our arts delay),

  Who from the ruthless hands has ‘scaped alive

  Of the supreme defender of our sway;

  Now he, relating to the Franks the fate

  Of his bold leader and his comrades’ fall,

  Important tidings will disseminate,

  Whence they, I fear, Rinaldo may recall.

  III.

  ‘Thou knowest how fatal that. We must oppose

  To great beginnings all our craft and force.

  Descend at once, then, ‘mid our hated foes,

  And to black import turn his fair discourse;

  Scatter thy brands, and with thy banc infect

  Swiss, Latins, British, all of most renown;

  Sow strife and discord, and such deeds effect

  That the whole camp may be turned upside down,

  IV.

  The task is worthy thee, who to thy lord

  Such vaunting promises hast made,’ Thus spake;

  Nor needed she (foul fiend) another word

  To induce her the emprise to undertake.

  Meanwhile the knight, whose coming they descried,

  Reached the encampment of the Franks, and said:

  ‘I crave your favour to let some one guide

  Me, noble warriors, to your sovran head.’

  V.

  Him crowds escorted to the captain’s tent,

  Eager the pilgrim’s embassy to hear.

  To kiss his honoured hand he lowly bent.

  The hand that makes proud Babel quake with fear,

  ‘Sire,’ he exclaimed, ‘the measure of whose fame

  Doth from the ocean to the planets reach,

  Would upon happier errand that I came;’

  Here deeply sighed, and thus resumed his speech:

  VI.

  ‘Sweno, the King of Denmark’s only son,

  The prop and glory of his falling years,

  Burned to be ranked with those that have girt on

  The sword ‘neath thee as Jesus’ cavaliers;

  Nor dread of danger, nor the fear of toil,

  Nor lust of rule, nor love of his old sire,

  Could his praiseworthy resolution foil,

  Or of his generous bosom quench the fire.

  VII.

  ‘He longed to learn the military art,

  And stern laborious warfare to endure

  ‘Neath thee, its master; and he felt in part

  Disgrace that his name should remain obscure,

  While upon all sides was Rinaldo’s heard,

  To whose green youth was golden glory given;

  But more than by all motives he was stirred,

  Not by mere earthly fame, but zeal for Heave
n.

  VIII.

  ‘At last, delay he could no longer brook,

  But a bold squadron of associates chose,

  And straight his way towards distant Thracia took,

  Where the empire’s seat, august Byzantium, rose;

  There the Greek king received him in his hall,

  There, too, arrived a herald in thy name,

  Who did the news of mighty Antioch’s fall,

  How won it was, and then how held, proclaim —

  IX.

  ‘Held ‘gainst the Persian, who besieged it then,

  And with such numbers the blockade maintained,

  It seemed as tho’ of all its arms and men

  That populous empire was entirely drained.

  Of thee he spoke, and many another knight,

  Until Rinaldo reaching, he delayed

  To tell the story of his daring flight,

  And of his glorious acts in the Crusade.

  X.

  ‘And added, that to storm these gates, the Franks

  In force already congregated were;

  And then invited him to join their ranks,

  And in at least their crowning victory share.

  These words so fired the youthful Sweno’s breast,

  That every hour appeared to him an age

  Till ‘gainst the Turks he placed his lance in rest,

  And in their blood had quenched his noble rage.

  XI.

  ‘It seemed he felt his indolence reproved

  By others’ glory, nor that thought could bear;

  Nor was by counsel or entreaty moved,

  Or that he would not list, or did not hear.

  No risk he feared, excepting not to find

  Himself in all thy risks and fame comprised;

  This was the gravest peril in his mind,

  Others he either saw not, or despised.

  XII.

  ‘And he himself precipitated fate,

  Fate which forced us, and led him willing on,

  So that he would not for his going wait,

  Ev’n for the rising of the morrow’s sun.

  To him the shorter seemed the better way:

  ’Twas that our lord and gallant leader chose;

  No pathless pass did his advance delay,

  Nor shunned he lands tho’ overrun by foes.

  XIII.

  ‘Now toilsome march we met, now want of food,

  Now open force, now ambuscades; but those,

  And every other hardship, we subdued.

  Now slain, now routed, were our various foes;

  Success had confidence engendered, nay,

  Had made us both vainglorious and supine.

  At length encamped we were, one fatal day,

  Upon the boundaries of Palestine.

  XIV.

  ‘There from the watchful scouts our leaders learned

  That clank of arms they could distinctly hear;

  Had indications seen, and flags discerned,