Jerusalem Delivered

by Torquato Tasso

  From which they judged a numerous force was near.

  Nor voice or colour, countenance or thought,

  Changed our bold leader when he heard the tale;

  Many there were tho’, when the news was brought,

  Whose cheeks from lily-livered fear grew pale,

  XV.

  ‘But Sweno cried, “How near we now possess

  The victor’s laurel or the martyr’s crown!

  The first I hope for most, nor covet less

  That which has greater worth and like renown.

  This field, O brothers! where we are standing now

  A shrine of deathless memory will be,

  To which posterity will point, and show

  The tokens of our death or victory.”

  XVI.

  ‘This said, at once the sentries he disposed,

  Their various duties upon each assessed;

  He willed that none without being armed reposed,

  Nor of his armour would himself divest;

  Twas now that hour most friendly to repose

  And solemn silence, when a barbarous yell,

  So deafening, thro’ the startled welkin rose,

  That to high heaven it reached and down to hell.

  XVII.

  ‘“To arms! to arms!” a thousand voices cried,

  And Sweno, armed, before them all dashed on:

  The fire of battle his flushed features dyed,

  And in his eyes with light congenial shone,

  Attacked we were — encircling us there stood

  A serried circle of the Infidel;

  Around us swords and lances formed a wood,

  Above us showers of hissing arrows fell.

  XVIII.

  ‘In the unequal combat (for our foes

  At least had twenty soldiers to our one)

  Many were wounded by the random blows

  Struck under covert of the dusk; but none

  Distinguish could among the blinding shades,

  How many fell upon that fatal field,

  Since both our losses and heroic deeds

  Were by the nights Cimmerian shroud concealed.

  XIX.

  ‘Still his bold brow so proudly Sweno raised,’

  That amid all ‘twere easy him to tell;

  Ev’n in the dark his prowess all amazed,

  His valiant deeds appeared incredible.

  A mound of dead — a stream of running gore

  Round him a rampire and a moat had made;

  Where’er he turned, the youthful hero bore

  Fright in his eyes — destruction in his blade.

  XX.

  ‘Thus battled we until the morrow’s dawn

  Had o’er the heavens her roseate mantle spread;

  But when the nightly horrors were withdrawn,

  That had concealed the horrors of the dead,

  The wished-for light our hearts with terror thrilled

  When was revealed that most appalling sight

  With corpses was the entire encampment filled,

  And scarcely any had survived the night

  XXI.

  ‘Two thousand once, and not a hundred now!

  When Sweno had that frightful carnage seen,

  ‘Twere hard to say, by his unruffled brow,

  If his heart felt the horror of the scene.

  He showed it not — nay, loudly shouting, said:

  “With those our gallant comrades let us vie,

  Who, spuming the dark regions of the dead,

  Have traced in blood a pathway to the sky.”

  XXII.

  ‘His looks the impress of his spirit wore,

  Happy, I ween, at his approaching death;

  Against the barbarous ruin he still bore

  A heart intrepid, filled with firmest faith;

  No temper had been able to sustain,

  Tho’ of the finest steel or diamond,

  The blows with which he deluges the plain:

  His body now became one single wound.

  XXIII.

  ‘Undying valour, not poor life, sustained

  That fierce unyielding corpse; still blow for blow

  He gave, nor yet his deathless arm refrained;

  The more they strike, the more he struck — when, lo!

  ‘Gainst him advanced a most infuriate knight,

  That all in size and savage look surpassed,

  Who, after obstinate and lengthened fight,

  Aided by hosts, prostrated him at last.

  XXIV.

  ‘The youth unconquered fell — ah, bitter fate!

  Nor was there one that could avenge his fall;

  Ah, my lord’s relics — ah, inanimate

  Blood shed so nobly, upon you I call,

  That I was not then covetous of life,

  Or shunned the brunt of battle, and had I

  Fallen by God’s will in that disastrous strife,

  I had not ill deserved with him to die.

  XXV.

  ‘Among the dead alone I fell alive;

  Nor did they deem me such that left me: so

  Benumbed was every sense, in vain I strive

  To recollect what then befell the foe;

  But when recovered from that death-like trance,

  Mine eyes, erst sealed in gloom, regained their sight,

  Midnight it seemed, and my enfeebled glance

  Descried the flicker of a little light.

  XXVI.

  ‘Still not sufficient virtue I possessed

  Things clearly to discern, but saw as those

  Half sleeping, half awake, in fitful rest,

  Who now their eyelids open and now close;

  And now my cruel wounds began to tease,

  And with still greater anguish torture me;

  Racked by the nipping frost and midnight breeze,

  The earth my couch, the stars my canopy.

  XXVII.

  ‘Meanwhile that light drew nearer and more near,

  Until it came and rested at my side,

  And silent whisperings murmured in my ear.

  Though able scarce to raise my head, I spied

  Two figures clothed in flowing robes; they stood

  With torches in their hands, and whispered: “Place

  Thy trust in Him who ne’er forgets the good,

  But ever prayer anticipates by grace.”

  XXVIII.

  ‘Thus having spoke the reverend strangers, one

  His hand stretched over me, as if to bless,

  And breathed in low and reverential tone

  Words little heard, and comprehended less.

  “Rise,” he then added. I, alert and sound,

  Rose, nor the anguish of my wounds perceived;

  Nay — gracious miracle — my limbs I found

  New strength and new-born virtue had received.

  XXIX.

  ‘Stupid, I stared; nor could my soul receive

  As truth the miracle it felt was true;

  Whence one— “What, faithless mortal, not believe!

  What doubts distract, what thoughts unsettle you?

  This is substantial flesh you see in us;

  Servants we are of Jesus, who have fled

  The world, so sweet-tongued, yet so treacherous,

  And hermit lives in this lone desert led.

  XXX.

  ‘“The Almighty Lord, who everywhere doth reign,

  For thy salvation did myself elect;

  He by ignoble means does not disdain

  Ends both sublime and wondrous to effect;

  Nor wills that body should neglected be,

  In which once dwelt a soul so worthy — even

  That form which, clothed in immortality,

  Must with the soul again unite in heaven.

  XXXI.

  ‘“I mean Prince Sweno’s corpse; for which shall be

  A tomb erected worthy his high fame,

  Where aye the fing
er of posterity

  With pride will point to his undying name.

  But to the stars lift up your sight; behold

  That sun like one which sparkles in the skies;

  It will conduct you, with its rays of gold,

  To where the corpse of your brave leader lies.”

  XXXII.

  ‘From that sublime irradiation — nay,

  From that nocturnal sun a beam descended,

  And straight to where his glorious body lay,

  It like a pencil’s golden line extended,

  And o’er it shed such floods of dazzling light,

  That brightly shone and sparkled every wound.

  At once I recognised the lifeless knight,

  Amid the frightful carnage spread around.

  XXXIII.

  ‘Not prone to earth he grovelling lay, but, even

  As starwards ever tended his desires,

  He kept his face fixed steadily on heaven,

  Like one who thereunto, enrapt, aspires;

  His threatening right hand, round the hilt comprest,

  Ready to strike, a naked falchion bore;

  The left was humbly laid upon his breast,

  And seemed God’s grace and pardon to implore.

  XXXIV.

  ‘While with my tears I bathed each gaping wound,

  Yet could not thus my soul-felt grief subdue,

  The holy sage his closed right hand unbound,

  And from its grasp his blood-stained sabre drew.

  “This,” he exclaimed, “which has to-day outpoured

  Such streams of blood, with which it is crimsoned yet,

  Is perfect, as you know; nor is there sword

  That better merits such an epithet.

  XXXV.

  ‘“Whence if it now through cruel death departs

  From its first lord, by Heaven’s supreme command

  It shall not rest inactive in these parts,

  But pass along from hand to valiant hand,

  Which then shall use it with like force and skill,

  But longer and more fortunately too;

  And on the Paynim that did Sweno kill

  Shall wreak dire vengeance, as its rightful due.

  XXXVI.

  ‘“By Solyman was gallant Sweno slain,

  By Sweno’s sword must Solymano fall;

  Receive it, then, and hasten to the plain,

  Where the Frank host besieges Salem’s wall;

  Nor needest thou, tho’ in a foreign land,

  Fresh interruption to thy journey fear,

  Since will be smoothed all dangers by the hand

  Of Him who now directs thy footsteps there.

  XXXVII.

  ‘“There ’tis His will thy voice should testify —

  That voice which He so wondrously preserved —

  The valorous spirit and deep piety

  Which thou hast in thy well-loved lord observed;

  That his example should the world inspire

  To bear the purple Cross, and animate

  All noble spirits with the like desire,

  His deeds throughout all time to emulate.

  XXXVIII.

  ‘“It but remains to know his name, my son,

  Who of the sword is the predestined heir;

  That is the youth Rinaldo, with whom none

  In point of valour can the least compare.

  Give it to him, and say, to him alone

  Both heaven and earth for retribution look.”

  While thus intent I hung upon each tone,

  Another wonder my attention took.

  XXXIX.

  ‘For there, where Sweno’s noble corse reposed,

  All of a sudden I beheld a tomb,

  That, rising up, his lifeless form enclosed;

  Nor can I tell how raised there, or by whom:

  The name and worth of the departed knight

  A few brief words recorded. All amazed,

  I knew not how to leave that wondrous sight,

  As on the letters, on the stone I gazed.

  XL.

  ‘“Here, near his faithful friends,” resumed the sage,

  “lnshrined the body of thy lord shall lie,

  While their souls gain a glorious heritage

  Of love and joy eternal in the sky;

  But having with thy tears thy duty done,

  Now to repose the shades of eve invite;

  Be thou my guest, then, till to-morrow’s sun

  With its new beams thy matin journey light.”

  XLI.

  ‘He ceased, and led me up and down among

  Wild ways that I with difficulty passed,

  Till at a hollow cave, that beetling hung

  From savage rocks, we stayed our steps at last.

  This his abode; here he, ‘mid wolves and bears,

  Dwells with his friend secure, since less defence

  The steel-clad soldier in his armour wears,

  Than man unarmed, in holy innocence.

  XLII.

  ‘Here to my limbs hard bed and hermit fare

  Refreshment gave, and much desired repose;

  But when the matin beams rekindled were,

  And the dawn prankt in gold and purple rose,

  The wakeful hermits failed not to perceive

  The light that summoned them to morning prayer,

  And rose; and with them I — then took my leave,

  And bent my Course, as they directed, here.’

  XLIII.

  Here ceased the Dane, and thus the pious chief:

  ‘Sad news thou bringest to the camp, sir knight,

  Nor fails thy narrative, so fraught with grief,

  In us congenial sorrow to excite,

  Since from us friends so ready with the sword

  An hour has snatched, absorbed a little clay.

  Like heaven’s own lightning, thy illustrious lord

  Flashed for a moment, and then passed away.

  XLIV.

  ‘But then, far happier was his bloody doom,

  Than that of those who gold and realms bequeath,

  Nor can the Capitol record to whom

  Was given more worthily its laurel wreath:

  They in the lucent temple of the sky

  With victory’s deathless coronets are crowned,

  There show the tokens of their gallantry,

  And point contented to each glorious wound.

  XLV.

  ‘But thou, that for the toils and perils new

  Of the world’s warfare still remainest here,

  Shouldst in their glorious triumphs triumph too,

  And of its gloom thy clouded aspect clear;

  And since Bertholdo’s son thou seekest, know

  That from the camp are turned his flying feet,

  Nor in direction doubtful shouldst thou go,

  Till we have learned sure news of his retreat.’

  XLVI.

  This their discourse awakened and renewed

  Love of Rinaldo, and with friendly ruth

  Many exclaimed,’ Alas! ‘mid Pagans rude,

  Imperilled, wanders the adventurous youth;’

  Nor is there one but in his favour pleads,

  Recounting his great exploits to the Dane,

  And the long web of his heroic deeds,

  To his surprise, they unravel and explain.

  XLVII.

  Now while all hearts with tender pity yearned,

  At bare remembrance of Bertholdo’s son,

  Lo! to the encampment many of those returned

  Who to the fields a foraging had gone,

  Bringing in great abundance with them, beeves

  And fleecy cattle carried off by force,

  With but a scant supply of golden sheaves

  And straw to assuage the hunger of the horse.

  XLVIII.

  Back, too, they signs of dire misfortune brought,

  That seemed to all appearances
most true,

  The snowy cloak in which Rinaldo fought,

  All torn and bloody, and his arms pierced through.

  Soon (for who could such circumstances hide?)

  A vague uncertain rumour ‘mong them spread,

  And sorrowing thousands pressed from every side,

  To see the armour of the mighty dead.

  XLIX.

  They saw and recognised the ponderous mass

  Of his huge hauberk and its blaze of light,

  Marked the haught eagle on his bright cuirass,

  Proving her brood in the sun, ere trust their flight;

  Those stainless arms they used to see of old

  Foremost, or all unaided, in the fight,

  Not without deep compassion they behold

  Lie in such bloody and disordered plight.

  L.

  While the camp whispered, and his friends, appalled,

  Rinaldo’s death on various causes lay,

  The pious Godfred Aliprando called,

  Leader of those that had brought back the prey,

  One of curt, truthful speech and liberal mind;

  To whom the captain: ‘The whole truth reveal;

  Say where and how you did this armour find,

  Nor from me aught, or good or ill, conceal.

  LI.

  ‘From here so distant, captain,’ he replies,

  ‘As in two days a messenger could ride,

  Towards Gaza’s confines, a small plateau lies,

  Shut in by hills, and of the high-road wide;

  Through it, its source above, a river steals,

  Softly and slowly, where intricate shade

  Of tangled trees and matted brake conceals

  A spot most suitable for ambuscade.

  LII.

  ‘There we had gone in search of flocks that might

  Chance to depasture on its herbous shore,

  When on the bank we spied a lifeless knight,

  And found the grass encamadined with gore;

  The arms, though fouled, at the first glance we knew,

  And the haught crest, at which aghast all shrunk;

  To see the features I then nearer drew,

  But found the head was severed from the trunk.

  LIII.

  ‘The right hand, too, was gone, and many a wound

  From back to breast transfixed the mighty dead.

  Near lay an empty helmet on the ground,

  On which the eagle its white wings outspread;

  When as I sought for information, lo!

  A solitary peasant loomed in sight,

  Who when he saw us turned his back to go,

  And darted off in most precipitous flight.

  LIV.

  ‘Pursued and captured, he at length replied

  To our repeated questions, and revealed

  That on the previous day large bands he spied

  From the woods sally, where he lay concealed,

  One of whom by its golden locks upheld

  A severed head with clotted blood besmeared,