Jerusalem Delivered

by Torquato Tasso

  As up he clomb, Alcasto’s helmet struck,

  And to the bottom dashed him headlong down.

  XXXVI

  Not mortal was the blow, but still the fall

  Stunned him; he lay a voiceless, moveless weight.

  Then cried the gibing victor from the wall:

  ‘Fallen is the first, who next will share his fate?

  Why not come forth, ye sneaking, skulking braves,

  And open battle, like Arganté, dare?

  No aid ye’ll find in your outlandish caves,

  But in them die, like wild beast in his lair.’

  XXXVII

  Not for his challenge ceased the Franks, concealed

  Beneath their concave covering, but remained

  Compact and close, each ‘neath his upraised shield,

  Which firm the bolts and ponderous weights sustained.

  Now ‘gainst the walls the battering rams are led,

  Vast engines of colossal woodwork reared,

  With a ram’s solid iron-plated head,

  Whose butt alike by gate and wall is feared.

  XXXVIII

  Meanwhile a rock, suspended from the walls

  By hands of hundreds to protect the town,

  Upon the tortoise fell, and as it falls

  It seemed as tho’ a mountain had fallen down,

  The shields’ inwoven union crashing through;

  It many a helmet smashed and many a head,

  Strewing with arms the ground beneath, which grew,

  From bones, and brains, and blood, a ghastly red.

  XXXIX

  No longer now beneath the sheltering roof

  Of their machines the attacking Franks remain,

  But from the latent risks to open proof,

  Dauntless, rush forth, and their own strength maintain.

  These ladders fix and scale the lofty wall;

  These batter its foundations; lo, its flanks

  Already totter — nay, begin to fall —

  Before the desperate onslaught of the Franks.

  XL

  And fallen they had beneath the horrid blows

  Which the great battering ram directed there,

  Did not the Turks their violence oppose

  With all the known appliances of war;

  Gabions of wool they interpose where’er

  The mighty beam inclines its murderous course,

  Which on themselves the rude concussion bear:

  Thus the soft substance breaks the engine’s force.

  XLI

  While bravely thus the Christians fought, and taxed

  Their every effort to possess the town,

  Seven times Clorinda bent, seven times relaxed

  Her fatal bow, and shot seven arrows down;

  And oft, as thither the swift quarrels scud,

  So oft the barb and feathered wings are stained,

  Not in plebeian, but in noblest blood:

  Ignoble mark that haughty fair disdained.

  XLII

  The first she wounded was a cavalier,

  The younger heir of England’s king. His head

  But scarcely did above the mantelet peer,

  Than against him the deadly quarrel sped;

  Nor could steel gauntlet — with such force it flew —

  Prevent it riving his right hand in twain;

  Whence from the fight, disabled, he withdrew,

  Fuming, but more from passion than from pain.

  XLIII

  The Count of Amboise on the trench’s bank,

  And on the ladder bold Clotharius died;

  From breast to back transfixed the former sank,

  The last her arrow pierced from side to side:

  The Flemish chiefs left arm, while in the act

  Of swinging the huge ram, her shaft restrained;

  He paused, and strove the arrow to extract,

  But in his flesh the iron barb remained.

  XLIV

  Incautious Ademar, who, far remote,

  Watched the fierce combat with solicitous look,

  The mortal reed upon his temple smote;

  When, as he placed his hand where he was struck,

  Through it, behold, another arrow tore,

  And nailed it to his face; upon the hill

  Sank the bold priest, and bathed with sacred gore

  The arms directed by a woman’s skill.

  XLV

  Then near the battlements, on Palamede,

  While, scorning every peril, he ascends

  Up the steep ladder, the seventh fatal reed

  Falls, and its point in his right eye descends,

  And, passing thro’ its nerves and concave ball,

  At the nape issues in most bloody guise;

  Headlong he tumbles from the assaulted wall,

  And at its foot, without a struggle, dies.

  XLVI

  Thus shot Clorinda. Meanwhile Godfred sought

  Another plan to attack the Saracens,

  Having against the nearest portal brought

  The most colossal of his huge machines;

  This was a tower of wood, whose giant height

  To the wall’s level rose, and, with a strong

  Body of men being freighted for the fight,

  Was slowly dragged on rolling wheels along.

  XLVII

  The moving mass approached the battle’s brunt,

  Launching forth bolts and javelins at the foes,

  And as in action ship with ship is wont,

  So with the adverse walls it tried to close;

  But, on their guard, the Pagan cavaliers

  Shoved off its frowning front and sides immense;

  Battering with stones, and thrusting back with spears,

  Now its huge wheels, and now its battlements!

  XLVIII

  Such flights of shafts and stones were hurled, that black

  The face of heaven, from these, from those, became;

  Midway, two clouds of missiles met, and back

  Rebounded some of them to whence they came:

  As stripped of leaves are trees by wintry rains,

  Congealed to hail; as fruit, still unripe, falls

  Before its time upon the whitened plains,

  So fell the Pagans from the embattled walls.

  XLIX

  But since on them the greatest losses light,

  As shielded less by helmet or cuirass,

  Part of those still surviving take to flight,

  Cowed by the thunder of that mighty mass;

  But stayed Nicæa’s former lord, with him

  There likewise stayed some few, the army’s flower;

  And fierce Arganté, snatching up a beam,

  Rushed to resist and counterpoise the tower.

  L

  Thrusting it back, he kept it at the length

  Of the long fir with powerful arm; and there

  Down came Clorinda to display her strength,

  And the grave perils of her comrade share.

  The Christians meanwhile cut the ropes that bound

  The pendent wool with long sharp sickles, whence

  This their protection falling to the ground,

  The ramparts left disarmed of all defence.

  LI

  Thus tower above, and fiercer far below,

  The battering ram continued its dead thunder;

  Whence, from within, the streets began to show

  Thro’ the breached walls, thus rudely rent asunder.

  Godfred now left his station in the field,

  More close the crumbling ramparts to explore,

  Completely covered by the larger shield

  Which he so seldom in the battle bore.

  LII

  And looking round attentively, descried

  Down to the breach Prince Solyman descend,

  And where the gaping ruins yawned most wide

  To plant himself, the passage to defend;
/>
  Clorinda guarded all the upper part,

  And with her stayed the fierce Circassian knight:

  Thus looking, Godfred felt his throbbing heart

  Bum with magnanimous ardour for the fight

  LIII

  Whence turning round to good Sigier, he said

  (He for him bore another shield and bow):

  ‘Give me the other, faithful squire, instead

  Of this, that less encumbered I may go;

  For I will over you dismantled stone

  Try to be first the doubtful pass to free;

  High time it is that to the world were shown

  Some noble token of our gallantry.’

  LIV

  His shield exchanged, he had scarcely spoke, when flew

  A whizzing shaft and struck the cavalier,

  Piercing his leg, and passing onwards thro’

  The nervous part where pain is most severe.

  The honour Fame, Clorinda, gives to thee,

  That ’twas thy hand the deadly cord that drew;

  And if that day or death or slavery

  Thy Pagan comrades ‘scaped, to thee ’tis due.

  LV

  But that brave chief, as tho’ he did not feel

  The anguish of his wound, would not arrest

  His onward movement, but with matchless zeal

  The ruins mounted, and cheered on the rest.

  Still finding that his leg can ill sustain

  His body’s weight, that he can only halt,

  And that all motion but increased the pain,

  At length is forced to abandon the assault.

  LVI

  And gallant Guelpho beckoning with his hand,

  Addressed him thus: ‘Constrained I am to go;

  To thee I delegate the chief command;

  Do thou my duty, in my absence, do;

  But a short time I shall be absent; I

  Go, and return.’ This said, he left the field,

  Mounted a nimble courser that stood nigh,

  Yet could not reach the intrenchments unconcealed.

  LVII

  Godfreys departure seemed to turn the tide;

  The Franks give way and their success departs,

  While strength increases on the adverse side,

  And new-born hopes refresh the Pagans’ hearts;

  His grace no more the God of War affords,

  To nerve the faithful; their first ardour fails;

  No longer blood attracts their sluggish swords;

  The very clarion’s notes seem dying wails.

  LVIII

  And on the battlements swift reappear

  The fugitives, thence chased by wild alarms;

  And seeing a woman show no sign of fear,

  True love of country all the women arms;

  You see them run and place themselves on guard,

  With hair dishevelled and with tucked-up gown;

  Hurl javelins, and all dangers disregard,

  Ev’n death itself, for their belovèd town.

  LIX

  But what increased the Franks’ alarm, and nerved

  With courage the defenders of the walls

  (And quickly by both hosts it was observed),

  Is that Prince Guelpho, stricken, downward falls;

  Amid a thousand him his Fate o’ertook,

  Guiding a rock its path aerial thro’;

  At the same time, and by a similar stroke,

  Raymond was caught and hurled down headlong too.

  LX

  Bold Eustace, too, upon the trench’s bank

  Was also struck; nor at that moment, so

  Disastrous to the fortune of the Frank,

  ‘Gainst them directed was a single blow —

  And there were many — that did not divide

  Body from soul, or cause at least some wound.

  Flushed with success, Arganté in his pride

  More fierce became, and thus the foe lampooned:

  LXI

  ‘This is not Antioch; this is not the night

  Of Christian frauds confederate; you see

  Warriors awake, the sun’s unclouded light,

  And other modes and forms of strategy.

  What, then! so little are your spirits fired

  By love of praise and booty, that your ranks

  Cease from the encounter, and so soon are tired?

  Women ye are, nor name deserve of Franks!’

  LXII

  As thus he spoke, the infuriate cavalier

  Worked himself up to such a pitch of rage,

  That the ample city’s boundaries appear

  For his great daring insufficient stage;

  With mighty strides he therefore rushes where

  The open breach gave access to the walls,

  Blocks up the passage, and, with taunting air,

  To Solymano, who stood near him, calls:

  LXIII

  ‘Behold the place and moment to decide

  Our valour, Solyman, ‘mid yonder host

  Why cease? what fearest? There, the walls outside,

  Let him the laurel seek that craves it most’

  Thus spoke: and both, without an instant’s pause,

  Rushed vying to the open field, inspired

  One by blind fury, one by honour’s laws,

  And the fierce challenge of his rival, fired.

  LXIV

  Sudden and unexpectedly the twain

  Flashed on the foe, by emulation buoyed;

  Then were such heaps of Christian soldiers slain,

  Such shields and helmets scattered and destroyed,

  Such ladders broken, and such rams cut down,

  That to a mountain they appeared to swell,

  Forming upon the ruins of the town

  Another wall, in place of that which fell.

  LXV

  And those who thought to mount the breach, and gain

  The glorious premium of a mural crown,

  No more aspire an entrance to obtain;

  Nay, seem ev’n ill prepared to hold their own,

  And to this new and fierce attack give way,

  The engines leaving to their powerful foes,

  But little fit for further service, they

  So battered were by their infuriate blows.

  LXVI

  Transported by their impetus, the pair

  On, ever on, in wider circuits scour;

  Call to the citizens for fire, and bear

  Two blazing pines against the dreaded tower.

  So rush the Furies, from hell’s fiery porch,

  To upset the world; so each gaunt sister shakes,

  In Pluto’s service, her far flaring torch,

  And throws aloft her wreaths of hornèd snakes.

  LXVII

  But the unconquered Tancred, who, elsewhere,

  Cheered on his Latins ‘gainst the Saracens,

  Of the bold deed no sooner was aware,

  And saw the double flame, the two great pines,

  Than, cutting short his words, he quickly moved

  To check the havoc which the Pagans spread;

  And so significantly his prowess proved,

  That the late victors, vanquished, turned and fled.

  LXVIII

  Thus with the turn of varying Fortune, turned

  The varying chances of the doubtful fray.

  Meanwhile, tho’ inly for the fight he burned,

  In his great tent, the wounded captain lay:

  Baldwin was there, and good Sigier, nor lacked

  Of sorrowing friends a sympathising train;

  But, as he strove from out his leg to extract

  The iron barb, he broke the brittle cane.

  LXIX

  Then, the most short and expeditious way

  To effect a cure, he bade the leeches take,

  That to the bottom they should open lay

  The wound, and wide and deep incisions make:

 
‘Send, send me back,’ he cried, ‘that I may share,

  Ere day is o’er, the glories of the strife.’

  He ceased, and, leaning on a massy spear,

  His leg stretched out to the physician’s knife.

  LXX

  To aid him came hoar Erotimus, who

  Was born beside the Po; the healing power

  Of every noble water he well knew,

  And latent virtue of each herb and flower.

  Dear to the Muses, still the sage preferred

  The minor glory of his voiceless art;

  He, who to snatch from death frail man but cared,

  To names could immortality impart

  LXXI

  The chief, whose rigid look showed no alarm,

  Supported stands, and frets, unmoved to tears,

  While, with his tunic tucked up o’er his arm,

  And robe succinct, the leech still perseveres,

  Now with skilled hand, now with strong herbs, to start

  The imbedded steel; then tries and tries again;

  With nipping pincers, to extract the dart,

  But can’t succeed — his labour is in vain.

  LXXII

  In no way Fortune aids him: she would seem

  Her smiles, from his endeavours, to withdraw.

  Meanwhile becomes his anguish so extreme,

  That in it they almost his death foresaw;

  But touched, his guardian angel, in that hour,

  Culled upon Ida’s sides fresh dittany,

  A crested plant that bears a purple flower,

  In whose young leaves a thousand virtues lie.

  LXXIII

  Well mother Nature to the mountain goats

  Teaches the hidden virtue it contains,

  When, stricken thro’ their soft and shaggy coats,

  Deep in their sides the feathered shaft remains.

  This, tho’ in regions far remote it grew,

  Plucked in a moment his good angel hath,

  And, unperceived, its healing juices threw

  In the prepared and medicated bath.

  LXXIV

  And holy lymph in Lydia’s fountain found,

  And panacea in the water poured,

  Which the sage sprinkling on the captain’s wound,

  The arrow issued of its own accord.

  Staunched is the blood, the deadly pains depart

  From out his leg, his strength returns, he stands:

  Then Erotimus cried: ‘No master art

  Hath thee restored, nor these poor mortal hands!

  LXXV

  ‘A greater power thee saves: At God’s command

  Came here an angel, made for thee a leech;

  I see the signs of his celestial hand.

  Arm! arm! Why pause? Arm, arm, and mount the breach.’

  Greedy for fight, the pious cavalier

  Round his healed leg his crimson cuishes clasped,

  Brandished aloft his formidable spear,

  Laced up his helm, and shield abandoned grasped;