Jerusalem Delivered

by Torquato Tasso

  Who to fate yielded up, not to the Hun,

  Altinum, and to safer quarters fled;

  Then of a thousand houses formed one town,

  Erst villas thro’ the Po’s broad valley spread

  LXXI

  Which he with bulwarks fortified, to meet

  The rushing river’s overflowing rage:

  Whence a fair city rose, the destined seat

  Of Este’s princes in a future age.

  He routs the Alani; but, unfortunate,

  By Odoacer is at length cut down,

  And dies for Italy. O noble fate!

  That made him consort of his sire’s renown.

  LXXII

  With him falls Alphorisio. Azzo here

  Is with his brother in sad exile shown;

  But, with fresh arms, behold him reappear,

  Soon as the Erulean tyrant is o’erthrown.

  Lo! transfixed by an arrow in the eye,

  Este’s Epaminondas follows near;

  With what delight the patriot seems to die,

  Fierce Totila slain, and saved his buckler dear!

  LXXIII

  I speak of Boniface; whose little son,

  Valerian, in his father’s footsteps trod;

  Nor had a hundred squadrons of the Hun,

  So stout his heart and hand, his charge withstood.

  Ernesto near, with features stem and hard,

  The wild Sclavonians gallantly repelled;

  Before him stands intrepid Aldoard,

  Who ‘gainst the Lombard king Monselce held.

  LXXIV

  Henry is here, and Berenger; and where

  The royal standard of great Carlo flies,

  It seems he is found to strike first blow, and dare,

  As chief or soldier, the most dread emprise;

  Then under Lewis serves, who bade him war

  Against his nephew, the Italian king;

  Whom he defeated, and made prisoner.

  Here Otho is, round whom five children cling.

  LXXV

  Then Almeric comes; already Marquis he

  Of the fair city that commands the Po;

  Founder of churches, in deep reverie

  He stands contemplating the heavens. But, lo!

  Azzo the second is in contrast viewed,

  Waging ‘gainst Berenger embittered war;

  Whom, after varying fortunes, he subdued,

  And so became Italia’s emperor.

  LXXVI

  His son Alberto then, in Germany, gains

  Such wide extended fame, that as he fought

  And beat in war and tournaments the Danes,

  Him, for his son-in-law, great Otho bought.

  Impetuous Hugo stands behind, who tamed

  The horns of Roman arrogance, and who

  Shall Marquis of fair Italy be named,

  And all the Tuscan provinces subdue.

  LXXVII

  Tebaldo here, and Bonifacio there,

  Is sculptured near his darling Beatrice.

  To sire so great, to heritage so fair,

  A male successor envious fate denies.

  But well Matilda the defect made good

  Of numbers and of sex; the simple gown

  She proved how woman, wise and valorous, could

  Raise far above the mail-clad monarch’s crown.

  LXXVIII

  Her noble face breathes masculine strength; her glance

  Appears to flash with more than manly might:

  The Normans here are routed; the advance

  Of Guiscard, yet unconquered, turned to flight;

  Henry the Fourth is by her arm o’erthrown,

  By her the temple with his flag is graced;

  And in the Vatican, on Peter’s throne,

  By her the Sovereign Pontiff is replaced.

  LXXIX

  Azzo the fifth her follows, or his place

  Keeps at her side from reverence and love;

  But the fourth Azzo’s fair and fruitful race

  In wider and more prosperous branches throve.

  Since Guelph, his son, by Cunigond his queen,

  To what he deemed Germania’s summons yields,

  And the good Roman stock is haply seen

  By him transplanted to Bavarian fields.

  LXXX

  Ingrafted thence, from Este’s branches grew

  The Guelphic tree, already waxing old,

  Whose Guelphic offshoots you may see renew,

  More bright than e’er, its diadems of gold;

  And by the heavenly light’s benignant grace,

  No hindrance meeting with, become so tall,

  That, level with the sky, it filled the space

  Of half Germania, and o’ershadowed all.

  LXXXI

  Nor less luxuriance seemed the royal tree

  In its Italian branches to diffuse;

  Bertoldo here confronting Guelph you see;

  Here the sixth Azzo the old stock renews.

  This ends the list of his heroic sires,

  That life-like on the breathing ore are wrought;

  Aroused, Rinaldo from his native fires

  A thousand sparks of kindred honour caught:

  LXXXII

  And his proud spirit, burning to renew

  His sires’ renown, to such a pitch doth rise,

  That, as if present, palpable, and true,

  That seems to float before his ravished eyes,

  Which Fancy’s coinage stamped upon the brain:

  The city captured — thousands slaughtered — he

  Impatient arms, and, in reliant vein,

  Usurps anticipated victory.

  LXXXIII

  Then Charles, who had of Denmark’s royal lord

  Already told him the sad tragedy,

  Placed in his noble hand the destined sword.

  ‘Take it,’ he cried, ‘and may it prosperous be;

  But only use it for the Christian faith;

  With it, be no less strong than just and true;

  But first avenge its former master’s death,

  Who loved thee so: this much from thee is due.

  LXXXIV

  ‘Ah, would to Heaven!’ replied the noble knight,

  ‘That this my hand, which takes his falchion, may

  The murder of its former lord requite,

  And with it, its indebtedness repay.’

  Charles turning round to him, with look all cheered,

  Into few words unmeasured thanks compressed;

  Meanwhile the noble hermit interfered,

  And to their midnight march the warriors pressed.

  LXXXV

  ‘Time ’tis,’ he said, ‘ to go where you await

  The captain and the camp in fond suspense;

  Come, for I can your course facilitate

  Thro’ the thick darkness to the Christian tents,’

  Thus spoke, then mounts his chariot, and admits

  The noble knights therein without delay;

  And slacking in his coursed mouths the bits,

  Lashes them on, and eastward bends his way.

  LXXXVI

  Through the black air they fly, abstracted, mute,

  When to the youth the old man turned and said:

  ‘Thou hast seen the branches and the ancient root

  Of thy haught lineage from its fountain head;

  Still, tho’ of heroes from Time’s earliest page,

  The glad prolific mother it has been,

  Its former virtues shall not fail from age,

  But shoot forth blossoms, fresh and ever green.

  LXXXVII

  ‘And would that, as from Time’s mysterious tomb

  I have drawn forth thy unknown ancestry,

  I could produce, from out the Future’s womb,

  The glorious roll of thy posterity,

  And to the world proclaim their virtues, ere

  Their eyelids dawn upon creation’s light;r />
  For thou wouldst see a list of heroes there,

  Not less in number, nor in deeds less bright.

  LXXXVIII

  ‘But for the future powerless is my art

  To scan the truth, which far too hidden lies,

  Except where dimly, as thro’ clouds, a part

  Floats like a flickering torch before mine eyes.

  To thee if things as certain I detail,

  In that believe not I am over bold;

  My knowledge comes from one who, without veil,

  At times doth Heaven’s most secret ways behold.

  LXXXIX

  ‘And that which light divine revealed to him,

  He told myself, and I predict to thee;

  For ne’er in this, or in the good old time,

  Was Goth or Greek or Latin progeny

  Rich in such heroes, as propitious Heaven

  Has destined thy descendants to become:

  Their brilliant names were never equalled even

  By those of Sparta, Carthage, or of Rome.

  XC

  ‘But, ‘mid the rest, Alphonso I select,

  In title second, but the first in worth;

  Of men illustrious a complete defect

  And rank corruption will precede his birth.

  He will be such that paladin was ne’er

  Fitter the sword to weld, or sceptre grace,

  Or weight of arms or diadem to bear —

  The highest, chiefest glory of thy race!

  XCI

  ‘Boy, he will indicate his chivalry

  In various cruel images of war;

  Dread of the woods and of wild beasts he’ll be,

  And in the lists prove always conqueror.

  Then back from real warfare he will bear

  Victorious palms on his triumphal yoke,

  And oft his country will adorn his hair

  With wreaths of grass, of laurel, and of oak,

  XCII

  ‘In age mature no less will be his praise

  To ‘stablish peace and order, and maintain

  His cities calm and tranquil ‘mid the frays

  Of powerful neighbours that around him reign;

  To foster genius, to encourage art,

  Dole with just hand reward and punishment;

  To noble games magnificence impart,

  And by keen foresight coming ills prevent.

  XCIII

  ‘And, oh! if e’er against that impious race,

  That will infest each land and every sea,

  And in those wretched times give laws of peace

  To other nations more enlightened, he

  March forth, bold champion, full revenge to seek

  For shrine destroyed and violated fane,

  What heavy retribution would he wreak

  On the great tyrant and his sect profane!

  XCIV

  ‘ To oppose his power the Moor and Turk might dare,

  With myriad armèd legions, but in vain,

  Since far beyond the Euphrates he would bear,

  Beyond the heights of Taurus’ snowy chain,

  Beyond the regions of the torrid zone,

  The Cross, white eagle, and gold fleur-de-lys;

  And, to baptize the swarthy fronts, the unknown

  Mysterious sources of the Nile would see.’

  XCV

  Thus the old sage the youthful knight addressed,

  Who treasured up his words with heartfelt glee,

  Feeling a secret transport in his breast

  At the bare thought of such posterity.

  Meanwhile Aurora, Phoebus’ herald, rose,

  And did the sky with Orient sheen adorn;

  And now the tents, though distant still, disclose

  Their streamers, fluttering in the breath of morn.

  XCVI

  The sage, ere leaving them, began anew:

  ‘You see the sun, which brightly shines in front,

  And with its friendly beams unfolds to you

  The tents, the plain, the city, and the mount

  Secure from all impediment and harm,

  By unknown tracks I have brought you safely here:

  Now ye can guide yourselves, nor need my arm;

  Approach is not permitted me more near.’

  XCVII

  Thus he took leave of them, and went away,

  Leaving the cavaliers foot soldiers; whence

  They, in direction of the rising day,

  Pursued the path that led them to the tents.

  Meanwhile fame bore, and in all quarters spread

  The expected coming of the three, and on

  Before them to the pious Godfred sped,

  Who rose to do them honour from his throne.

  CANTO XVIII.

  I

  ARRIVING where the pious chief had gone

  To greet his coming,’ Sire,’ Rinaldo said,

  ‘’Twas jealous care of honour led me on,

  To wreak such retribution on the dead;

  If I have offended thee, that fact offends

  Me to the quick with penitence and pain;

  Whence at thy call I come, to make amends,

  Far as I can thy favour to regain.’

  II

  Low as he humbly bowed, Prince Godfred cast

  His arms around his neck, and thus replied:

  ‘Well speak no more of byegones, and the past

  In the dark grave of mute oblivion hide;

  And for amends, alone thou needest do

  Deeds as of yore; and for the general good,

  And to the utter ruin of the foe,

  Destroy the monsters of the enchanted wood.

  III

  ‘That ancient wood, whence formerly we drew

  Materials to repair our tools and arms,

  Has now (I know not to what causes due)

  Become the haunt of formidable charms;

  To fell its timber not the bravest dare,

  And ‘twere a hopeless task to breach the town

  Without such implements. Now thither, where

  The others dread, go, prove thy old renown.’

  IV

  Briefly, when he had ceased, the cavalier

  Offered his humble services to lend,

  But from his resolute manner it was clear,

  How much his actions would his words transcend;

  Then turning round, his comrades’ hands he prest

  Within his own most cordially, for there

  Tancredi, with Prince Guelpho, and the rest

  Of the camp’s paladins, assembled were.

  V

  But when he had to those of high degree

  His warm, sincere acknowledgments conveyed,

  ‘With humble and familiar courtesy’

  The youth received all those of lower grade;

  Not denser crowds flocked there, nor did each mouth

  Thunder forth louder cheers, than if in war

  He had conquered all the Orient and the south,

  And back returned on his triumphal car.

  VI

  Escorted thus, he to his tent retired,

  And ‘mid a group of his dear comrades stood,

  And much replied to them, and much enquired,

  Now of the war, now of the enchanted wood;

  But when they, leaving, gave the occasion, thus

  Spoke the saint hermit: ‘Many a wondrous scene

  And strange adventures, pilgrim marvellous,

  Thou hast in the course of thy long wanderings seen.

  VII

  ‘Think what to earth’s Almighty King thou ow’st,

  Who brought thee safely from the enchanted hold,

  And the strayed lamb, that was so nearly lost,

  Led back again, and sheltered in his fold;

  And by Prince Godfred’s voice selected thee

  As second agent of His sovran will:

  But ‘twere not right in His high ministry
r />   Thy hand to arm, profaned, polluted still.

  VIII

  ‘So soiled art thou from earth’s impurity,

  And from uncleanness of the flesh, not e’en

  The Nile, the Ganges, or the soundless sea,

  Sufficient were to make thee pure and clean:

  God’s grace alone can cleanse and purify

  Man’s unclean state, and wash his sins away;

  Turn then to Him, to Him for grace apply,

  Thy secret sins confess, and weep and pray.’

  IX

  At this, he first within himself laments,

  How he in love and anger had transgressed,

  Then sadly, and with deepest penitence,

  Low at his feet his juvenile sins confessed;

  When, absolution given, Heaven’s servant said:

  ‘Depart thou must at early dawn and pray,

  There on the summit of you mount, whose head

  Fronts the fresh splendour of the breaking day.

  X

  ‘Then to the dread enchanted forest go,

  Which in such numbers phantoms false infest;

  Monsters and giants thou’lt o’ercome, I know,

  If no new madness thy advance arrest;

  Ah, let no voice, how sweet it weep or sing,

  Let not seductive smile or eloquent eyes,

  Round thy young heart their fascinations fling,

  But their false faces and false prayers despise.’

  XI

  As the sage counselled, so prepared the knight,

  Eager and hopeful for the high emprise,

  And the day passed in thought, in thought the night;

  But long before Aurora lit the skies,

  He put his gorgeous glittering armour on,

  And a new surcoat of strange colours took,

  And then on foot, in silence and alone,

  His dear companions and his tent forsook.

  XII

  It was that moment when the unyielding night

  Still strove for empire with the crescent morn,

  Flushed was the Orient with the dawn’s first light,

  And still some stars did heaven’s expanse adorn;

  When to Mount Olivet he ‘gan repair,

  With eyes raised up, contemplating around

  The nightly here, the matin beauty there,

  With incorruptible heavenly splendour crowned.

  XIII

  And inly thought: ‘Oh, what surpassing light

  In you celestial temple we behold;

  The day possesses his great car, the night

  Her moon of silver and her stars of gold:

  Yet grovelling man nor that nor these doth prize,

  But all his thoughts on that dim gleam bestows,

  Which flash of smile and lightning of the eyes

  In the scant limits of frail face disclose.’

  XIV

  Thus musing, he to the hill’s summit went,

  And there, low bending and with reverence, raised

  His thoughts sublime beyond the firmament,