Jerusalem Delivered

by Torquato Tasso

LXXVI

  And from the entrenchments, flanked by thousands, rode,

  Whom towards the battered town once more he led;

  The heavens above became a dusty cloud,

  The earth beneath all trembled from their tread.

  But when afar the adverse forces viewed

  His near approach, a shudder cold as ice —

  Ran thro’ their bones, and froze their very blood;

  Then Godfred raised his voice, and shouted thrice.

  LXXVII

  Those haughty tones his loyal people knew,

  And, roused by his exciting battle-cry,

  Resume their forward movement, and anew

  To dash aloft and scale the ramparts try.

  But the fierce couple had not failed to reach

  The rifted ruins; there had made a stand,

  Defending, stubbornly, the open breach

  ‘Gainst bold Tancredi and his gallant band.

  LXXVIII

  Here, scorning danger, and with lowering front,

  Came sheathed in steel the Paladin of France,”

  And, seeing Arganté in the battle’s brunt,

  Against him hurled his iron-headed lance.

  With him no mural engine could compare,

  To launch the spear, or massy stone propel;

  The knotty timber thundered thro’ the air,

  And on Arganté’s upraised buckler fell

  LXXIX

  The buckler opened to the piercing ash,

  Not ev’n his coat of mail resist it could;

  It tore thro’ all his armour with a crash,

  Nor paused till dyed in Saracenic blood.

  But the Circassian from his flesh plucked out

  The steel-bound lance, regardless of the pain,

  And hurled it back to Godfred, with a shout,

  ‘Take back your arms; I give them you again.’

  LXXX

  By the known path flew and flew back the spear,

  Bearer of mischief first, of vengeance now;

  But haply missed the Christian cavalier,

  Who, stooping down, escaped the intended blow,

  Which pierced Sigiero, his devoted squire,

  Deep in the throat; he deeming it no grief

  To leave Heaven’s light, and the Sun’s golden fire,

  And die in place of his belovèd chief.

  LXXXI

  At the same moment mighty Solyman

  With a huge stone struck down the Norman knight,

  Who, writhing from intolerable pain,

  Spun like a top while falling: the sad sight

  Magnanimous Godfred could no longer bear

  Unmoved, unruffled, but, with sword in hand,

  Rushed to close quarters, and with dauntless air

  High o’er the smoking ruins took his stand.

  LXXXII

  Then dire had been the strife where none would yield,

  And he had surely done most wondrous things,

  Had not advancing night the world concealed

  Beneath the gloomy horror of her wings,

  And her pacific shadows interposed

  ‘Mid wretched mortals’ rage. Thus from the fray

  Prince Godfred ceased, and then retired; thus closed

  The deadly struggles of that bloody day.

  LXXXIII

  But ere the pious Bouillon left the field,

  He made them bring the sick and wounded back,

  Nor to the enemy would his engines yield,

  But safe preserved them from a fresh attack;

  Safe, too, returned with them the monster tower,

  Especial terror of the Pagan foes,

  Tho’ it was likewise damaged by the shower

  Of arrowy sleet and rock’s repeated blows.

  LXXXIV

  ‘Scaped from the many perils that prevail,

  A place of safety it now sought to gain;

  But, as a gallant ship, which in full sail

  The billows scorns, and sweeps the boisterous main,

  Staves in her side when near the wished-for shore,

  On hidden rocks or treacherous quicksands cast;

  Or as a steed, all dangerous passes o’er,

  Stumbles when near sweet home, and falls at last;

  LXXXV

  So tripped the tower; for on that side which lay

  Exposed the most to the rock’s dire assault,

  Two wheels so injured were, that, giving way,

  The nodding ruin was obliged to halt:

  But the attendant escort, with all those

  That rolled it thither, propped it up until

  The smiths, who hastened to assist them, close

  Its wounds with practised and ingenious skill.

  LXXXVI

  Thus Godfred ordered, who desired to see

  The work completed ere a day should pass,

  And all the approaches occupying, he

  The guards disposed around the lofty mass.

  But in the city they could plainly hear

  The hum of voices and the hammers fall,

  Could see the lights of thousand torches there;

  From which they knew — at least suspected all.

  CANTO XII.

  I

  TWAS night; nor yet had the exhausted hosts

  Refreshment taken in the arms of sleep;

  But here the Franks, alert upon their posts,

  A sharp look-out around the workmen keep;

  There, the defences nodding to their fall,

  The busy Pagans hasten to repair,

  And to make good the breaches in the wall:

  The sick and maimed employ their common care.

  II

  Their wounds at length being bandaged, and complete

  Part of the work commanded for the night,

  They leave the rest, since now to slumber sweet

  A deeper shade and greater calm invite.

  Yet could not thus the warrior maid appease

  Her soul, athirst for honour and for praise;

  She work solicits when the others cease,

  And, joined by Arganté, to herself thus says:

  III

  ‘Arganté and King Solyman to-day

  Great marvels truly have performed; alone,

  They have thro’ countless masses made their way,

  And the Franks’ mighty engines overthrown;

  The highest merit I can vaunt is, I

  Made distant warfare, sheltered in a tower —

  Successful archer, that I can’t deny.

  Can woman, then, do this, and nothing more?

  IV

  “Twere better far, in mount or forest glade,

  Against wild beasts to launch my darts and spears,

  Than, where a manly valour is displayed,

  To show myself a girl ‘mid cavaliers.

  Why not again the dress of woman wear,

  If worthy, or in cloister pass my days?’

  Thus communes with herself; at length the fair,

  Great things resolving, to Arganté says:

  V

  ‘Long time it is that fierce and strange desires,

  Undaunted chief, my troubled spirit fill;

  Nor can I tell if God the thought inspires,

  Or man creates an idol of his will:

  Outside the entrenchments of the accursed Giaour

  Behold you watch-fires; there, with fearless breast,

  With fire and sword, I’ll go and burn the tower.

  Could I but this, to Heaven I leave the rest

  VI

  ‘But should it happen that the Fates above

  To my return oppose their fixed decree,

  Of one who has been a father in his love,

  And of my maids, I leave the charge to thee;

  Find means to send back to far Egypt’s land

  That poor old man, and each disconsolate dame.

  For God’s sake do this: at thy generous hand
r />   His age, their sex, may well compassion claim.’

  VII

  Amazed, Arganté felt his throbbing breast

  Beat faster from the stimulus of fame.

  ‘What! wilt thou go, and leave me with the rest

  Of the vile crowd, to my undying shame?

  Shall I enjoy, beyond the reach of harms,

  To watch the flames and curling smoke?’ he saith.

  ‘No, ho, Clorinda; if allied in arms,

  I’ll share thy risks, thy glory, and thy death.

  VIII

  ‘I have a heart, too, that despises death,

  And deems that life is well exchanged for fame.’

  ‘To it, just title,’ the fair warrior saith,

  ‘By thy magnanimous sortie thou canst claim.

  I am but woman, and my death were nought,

  Nor loss would bring; but should Arganté fall

  (Nay, Heaven forbid the inauspicious thought!),

  Who would remain to guard the invested wall?’

  IX

  ‘Fallacious pleas,’ the cavalier replied,

  ‘Against my fixed resolve you idly use;

  I’ll follow, if you will consent to guide,

  But will precede, fair dame, if you refuse.’

  This point being settled, to the king they went,

  Who them received while seated at divan;

  When thus Clorinda: ‘Gracious sire, consent

  To view with favourable eyes our plan.

  X

  ‘Arganté, here, has vowed to burn the great

  And lofty tower, nor vain will be his boast;

  I will with him, O king; we only wait

  Till into sleep fatigue allures you host.’

  At that the king raised up his hands on high.

  While o’er his wrinkled cheeks sweet tears ran down:

  ‘Praised be thy name, O Thou that turn’st thine eye

  Upon thy servants, and preserv’st my crown.

  XI

  ‘Fall it will not, nor does my heart despair,

  While such brave souls unite in its defence;

  But how can I, you justly honoured pair,

  Your merits praise enough, or recompense?

  Let Fame proclaim your praises, and record

  Your deathless actions in immortal strains;

  The deed in part shall be its own reward,

  And part, no trifling share of our domains.’

  XII

  Thus spoke the hoary-headed king, and strained

  Now her, now him, most fondly to his breast;

  But Solymano, who was there, nor feigned

  The noble jealousy his heart possessed,

  Exclaimed: ‘This sword shall match thine own, or show

  Not far behind; it is not worn in vain.’

  ‘Ah,’ cried Clorinda, ‘are we all to go?

  Who, if thou com’st with us, will then remain?’

  XIII

  With haught denial, and with look of pride,

  Him to refuse, Arganté had prepared;

  But him the king forestalled, and first replied

  To Solymano, with benign regard:

  ‘Ever the same art thou, magnanimous knight,

  And aye consistent in thy bold career;

  Thou ne’er art wearied in the hour of fight,

  Or daunted by appearances of fear.

  XIV

  ‘And well I know, that going, thou hadst gained

  Fresh laurels; but, unfitting it appears

  That all went forth, and none of you remained,

  Who are my staunchest, noblest cavaliers.

  Nor would I let these go, for we should spare

  Such precious blood, if to our native land

  The deed itself of less importance were,

  Or could be trusted to another hand.

  XV

  ‘But since, around the tower, a numerous crew,

  In its defence, keep guard on every side,

  So that we could not take it with a few,

  And many could not at this hour provide, —

  Let this bold couple, which now volunteers,

  And in like perils has so oft been thrown,

  Go in God’s name, and may success be theirs!

  Since worth a thousand are these two alone.

  XVI

  ‘Thee, as befits thy royal rank, I pray,

  Within the gates with the others to retire;

  And when (as I have firm conviction) they

  Return in safety, having waked the fire,

  Do thou repulse the foe, if in pursuit

  They approach the walls, and save them, and protect.

  Thus spoke one king; the other, altho’ mute,

  Betrayed his secret chagrin at being checked.

  XVII

  ‘May it please you wait,’ then sage Ismeno said,

  ‘To sally forth until a later hour,

  When I a fiery compound shall have made

  That will adhere to, and consume the tower.

  It then may hap perchance that part of those

  Who guard it, and surround, may slumbering be.

  This settled, each to his pavilion goes,

  To attend the fitting opportunity.

  XVIII

  Clorinda now took off her snowy plume,

  Nor blazoned arms or silver surcoat bore,

  But a sad suit, prophetic of her doom,

  Rusty and black as darkest midnight, wore;

  Deeming, concealed in such disguise, she could

  Pass with more ease among the hostile spears.

  Near her the eunuch, old Arsete, stood,

  Who nursed her childhood from her tenderest years;

  XIX

  And dragging after her his aged frame,

  And her steps following, wheresoe’er she stirred,

  Had marked the change of armour, and became

  ‘Ware of the grievous perils she incurred.

  He showed his hair, gray in her service made

  His former cares as arguments he used;

  He wept distracted, and, heart-broken, prayed

  That she the emprise would leave; but she refused.

  XX

  At length he said: ‘Since thus more obstinate

  Becomes your wayward spirit in its ill,

  Nor doth my tears or age commiserate,

  My warm entreaties or compassionate will,

  I will more plainly speak, and thou shalt hear

  Of thy condition things before unknown;

  Then to thy plan or my advice adhere.’

  Intent she looked, as he continued on:

  XXI

  ‘With prosperous sway o’er Ethiopia reigned,

  And still perhaps reigns there, Prince Senapus, who

  The holy laws of Mary’s Son maintained,

  And them maintained his swarthy people too.

  There, as a Pagan slave, did I preside

  O’er maidens, whom to manage was my duty,

  Being made attendant on the royal bride;

  Brown she was, yes — but brown destroys not beauty.

  XXII

  ‘Her spouse adored her, but suspicion’s frost

  Equalled the intensity of love’s ardent fire,

  And many a pang that frantic passion cost

  His tortured breast, and did such force acquire,

  That he concealed her from all mortal eyes;

  Nay, grudged ev’n those that peer from heaven’s bright zone.

  She ne’er rebelled, but, humble, chaste, and wise,

  Made her lord’s fancies and delights her own.

  XXIII

  ‘With figures that a piteous story told,

  Her chamber walls illuminated were:

  Near where a dragon lay, her locks all gold,

  Her cheeks all roses, stood a maid most fair;

  A knight had struck the dragon with his spear,

  And at his feet the blood-bathed monster laid;
/>   Here oft she knelt, and mourned with many a tear

  Her secret errors, and to Jesus prayed.

  XXIV

  ‘Pregnant, meanwhile, a little girl she bore,

  Thyself — and thou as driven snow wert fair;

  Alarmed she was, and marvelled greatly o’er

  Thy colour strange, as of some monster rare.

  At length she planned thy birth should be concealed,

  Knowing the king’s unbounded jealousies,

  Since the fair colour thy fair face revealed

  Had proved her faith’s unfairness in his eyes.

  XXV

  ‘And in thy stead, born a short time before,

  A Moorish infant to the king was shown;

  But since the place where she was hid, the tower,

  Was occupied by maids and me alone,

  To me, who loved her well and was her slave,

  Thee unbaptized she gave with her own hand;

  Nor thee in baptism’s waters could she lave,

  As such was not the custom of the land.

  XXVI

  ‘Thee, weeping, she committed to my care,

  And charged to nurture in some distant place;

  But how describe her anguish, her despair,

  Or how redoubled was each last embrace?

  Tears drowned her kisses, sobs and deep-drawn sighs

  Choked her laments; at length about to part,

  With face upturned to heaven, “O God,” she cries,

  “Who know’st all secrets, and canst read my heart,

  XXVII

  ‘If that immaculate is, and undefiled

  My nuptial bed, and these frail limbs of mine,

  Not for myself I pray, who am reviled

  By sins unnumbered in thy sight divine;

  But spare, ah spare, this innocent, to whom

  A churl her mother of her breast must be;

  From other sources may her fortune come,

  Nor me resemble but in chastity.

  XXVIII

  ‘And thou, blest warrior, that didst snatch the maid

  From the fierce dragon’s sacrilegious hold,

  If on thy altar I have tapers laid,

  Or odorous incense offered up, or gold,

  Do thou for her with such efficience pray,

  That, faithful, she aye turn to thee for aid.”

  Emotion choked her breath, she swooned away,

  And pallid death was in her face portrayed.

  XXIX

  ‘My tears flowed freely, as receiving thee

  I bore thee off ‘mid leaves and flowers concealed,

  In a small basket, but so dextrously,

  That not to mortal was the fact revealed:

  Unknown I went, when passing through a wood

  Black from forbidding shade, to my surprise

  I saw a tigress coming where I stood,

  Wild threats and fury gleaming in her eyes.

  XXX

  ‘I sprang upon a tree, so smit with dread,