Jerusalem Delivered

by Torquato Tasso

  In which Armida sat in warlike pride;

  A noble guard of vassal barons were

  And lovers guarding her on every side.

  Him by a thousand well-known signs she knew,

  And trembled ‘twixt resentment and desire;

  Rinaldo’s features changed a little, too:

  But she first ice became, and then all fire.

  LXII

  Like one engaged on something else, the knight

  Avoids her car, and passes; but the mass

  Of her sworn champions would not, without fight,

  Allow their rival cavalier to pass.

  Some couched the spear, others unsheathed the brand

  Herself an arrow fixed upon the bow;

  Resentment hardened and impelled her hand.

  But Love appeased her and restrained the blow.

  LXIII

  Love rose ‘gainst ire, and showed, beyond all doubt,

  What living fire, tho’ hid, her heart contained;

  Three times her hand to shoot him she stretched out;

  Three times withdrew it downwards, and refrained.

  Anger at last prevailed; the bow she bent,

  And made the feathers of the quarrel fly.

  The arrow flew; but with the arrow went

  A prayer that it might pass him idly by.

  LXIV

  She would have rather that the piercing dart

  Back had returned and pierced her breast: if thus

  Such power has Love, tho’ losing, o’er the heart,

  How irresistible — victorious!

  But she began her lenience to revoke,

  As in her wayward breast fresh furies rise;

  Thus now she dreaded, now desired the stroke

  Might tell, and followed it with eager eyes.

  LXV

  But not in vain directed was the stroke,

  Which struck the cavalier’s cuirass, and there,

  Instead of piercing it, the quarrel broke:

  His arms too hard for blow of woman were.

  He turned away; she, burning ‘neath the slight

  Of his supposed affront, another dart

  Shot, then a thousand, nor impinged the knight:

  But while she arrowed, Cupid pierced her heart.

  LXVI

  ‘What — is he so invulnerable,’ she said,

  ‘That’ hostile force he cares not for, nor feels?

  Or is it that his limbs are habited

  In the adamant that his hard bosom steels?

  On him no power has mortal hand or eye;

  Such stern unyielding rigour he doth show.

  Armed and unarmed, defeated still am I,

  Despised alike as lover and as foe.

  LXVII

  ‘What new devices yet remain to try?

  What other form can I now take on me?

  Alas! I cannot on my knights rely,

  Since thro’ my blinding tears I seem to see,

  Nay, plainly see, that, paragoned with his,

  Their arms are useless, and their efforts vain.’

  For now she saw that of her votaries

  Some were struck down, and some already slain.

  LXVIII

  Alone she felt not able for defence,

  And seemed already prisoner and a slave;

  To her no assurance (she had bow and lance)

  The arms of Cynthia or Minerva gave;

  And as a timorous cygnet, o’er whom towers

  Fierce taloned eagle with exultant air,

  Down to the ground with folded pinion cowers;

  Resembling such her timid movements were.

  LXIX

  But Altamore, who to this moment had

  Rallied his Persian followers when thrown

  Into confusion, and who would have fled,

  But were prevented by his means alone,

  Now, seeing his idol brought to such a strait,

  Ran not, but flew there, by her charms enslaved;

  Troops, honour, all he abandoned to their fate:

  Let the world perish, so his love be saved.

  LXX

  Escorting then her ill-protected car,

  A path he opened with his sword for it;

  But at that moment his battalions were

  By Godfred and Rinaldo put to flight

  Their desperate plight the wretched prince discerned

  And better lover than commander made;

  When, having saved Armida, he returned,

  With, to his beaten troops, untimely aid.

  LXXI

  Since upon that side from their fierce attack

  The Turks were routed irretrievably;

  But, on the other, the Franks turned their back,

  The field abandoning to the enemy.

  Maimed in the face and in the bosom struck,

  One Robert scarce effected a retreat;

  The other prisoner Prince Adrastus took:

  Thus equally was balanced the defeat

  LXXII

  Then Godfred seized the opportunity,

  Re-formed his line, and, without waiting, dashed

  Back to the fight in that emergency;

  Thus the two wings entire together clashed.

  Each was adorned with glorious spoils, each dyed

  With the bright crimson of his foeman’s blood;

  Victory and honour shone on either side,

  ‘Twixt whom, still doubtful, Mars and Fortune stood.

  LXXIII

  While in such manner raged the bloody fight

  Between the Christian and the Pagan host,

  Up to a terrace on the turret’s height

  The soldan went, and from that distant post

  Beheld, as on a stage or lists beneath,

  The tragic drama of the human state,

  The assault, the foul unsightliness of death,

  And the great game of accident and fate.

  LXXIV

  Somewhat surprised and stupefied he stood,

  When that dread sight first shocked upon his eyes;

  But, as he gazed upon that field of blood,

  He burned to share the perils of the emprise;

  Nor curbed his impulse, but without delay

  Braced on his helmet, else armed cap-à-pie,

  ‘Up, up!’ he cried; ‘no shrinking — for to-day

  Our doom is sealed — or death or victory.’

  LXXV

  Or that, perhaps, ’twas Providence divine,

  That did him with such furious spirit fire,

  That, to its very ashes, Palestine

  Might on that day, that fatal day, expire;

  Or that an impulse to confront his fate

  Constrained him, since he felt it was not far;

  Downwards he rushed, unlocked the steel-barred gate,

  And bore impetuous, unexpected war;

  LXXVI

  Nor waited till his comrades had complied

  With his fierce call, but sallied forth alone;

  Alone, a thousand foemen he defied,

  Alone, through thousands he pushed boldly on;

  But, as if by his spirit rapt, the rest,

  Ev’n Aladino, caught his martial air;

  The vile, the timid, no more fears exprest;

  ’Twas less the work of hope than of despair.

  LXXVII

  Beneath his dreadful rapid strokes fell thick

  Those the fierce Turk first met; he was so skilled

  In dealing death around him, and so quick,

  That him you saw not killing, but them killed.

  From tongue to tongue, from front to rear, there ran

  A sudden panic as the tidings spread,

  So that the Syrian Christians, to a man,

  Thrown into dire disorder, almost fled.

  LXXVIII

  But with less terror and less disarray,

  Their ground the Gascons held, and order kept,

  Altho’, as n
earest to the danger, they

  The foremost were o’er whom the tempest swept.

  No fang, no claw of beast or bird of prey

  Was e’er so crimsoned with the blood outpoured

  From lamb or dove, as in that bloody fray

  Among the Franks was Solymano’s sword.

  LXXIX

  Athirst and hungry, it appeared almost

  To feed upon their limbs and drink their blood.

  With him the king, with him the vassal host,

  Their sabres in the assailant’s gore imbrued;

  But Raymond rushed where Solymano broke

  His squadron’s ranks; disdaining he to fly,

  Tho’ well he recognised that arm whose stroke

  Had caused him erst such mortal agony.

  LXXX

  Again his foe he fronted, again fell,

  Re-stricken where he stricken was before;

  ’Twas age excessive now began to tell,

  For which excessive were the blows he bore.

  For him at once a hundred falchions gleamed,

  Him hundred shields defended; but away

  The fiery soldan strode, or that he deemed

  Him dead outright, or a too easy prey,

  LXXXI

  And hewed and hacked and massacred the rest,

  And in small compass mighty wonders wrought;

  And as fresh fury urged his savage breast,

  Material elsewhere for fresh carnage sought

  As, pinched with hunger, one leaves frugal fare

  For a rich banquet of abundant food,

  So rushed he to more ample battle, where

  To sate his maddened appetite for blood.

  LXXXII

  And down descended thro’ the shattered wall

  To the great battle with intolerant haste,

  His troops their rage retain, his foemen all

  The fears that had them from his fury chased.

  The Turks would fain the imperfect victory close,

  And, by success emboldened, madly fight;

  The Franks resist; but their resistance shows

  Less symptoms of resistance than of flight.

  LXXXIII

  Still showing front, the Gascon troops give way,

  But, scattered o’er the field, the Syrians fled,

  Not far from where the gallant Tancred lay,

  Who heard their cries within, and from his bed

  His maimed and still enfeebled body raised,

  Mounted the roof, and saw in full retreat

  Some of the Franks, and, as around he gazed,

  The count struck down, and some in route complete.

  LXXXIV

  But valour, which the valorous never fails

  Nor droops, altho’ the exhausted body should,

  The wounded warrior’s languid members mails,

  As if in place of spirit and of blood.

  His ponderous shield, as ‘twere a burden light,

  He on his weak and bloodless left arm bore;

  Snatched up a naked sabre in his right

  (Tis all the brave require), nor waited more,

  LXXXV

  But rushed down, shouting: ‘Whither do ye fly,

  Your leader leaving to you hordes a prey?

  What! let the temples of the enemy

  The trophied armour of your lord display?

  Gascons, go back to Gascony, and tell

  The son, you fled from where his father died.’

  His unarmed breast, while making this appeal,

  Defence to armed, all-powerful hosts supplied.

  LXXXVI

  And ‘neath his heavy buckler, which was made

  Of seven well-seasoned and unyielding hides,

  Upon whose back there was a covering laid

  Of the most finely-tempered steel besides,

  From sword, from shaft, from every weapon kept

  Raimondo covered, while his trenchant blade

  The space around him so completely swept

  That the count lay secure, as if in shade;

  LXXXVII

  Who, sheltered ‘neath such faithful shelter, came

  To himself, and, breathing, rose refreshed once more,

  Feeling within a double fire inflame

  His cheeks with shame, with rage his inmost core;

  And on all sides his flashing eyeballs turned

  In quest of him that struck with such despite;

  And seeing him not, with bitter vengeance burned

  The outrage on his followers to requite.

  LXXXVIII

  Back then returned the Gascon cavaliers,

  And, bent on vengeance, with their chief unite;

  The Pagan’s courage is now changed to fears,

  And boldness enters where before was fright.

  The attackers yield; who yielded, now attack.

  Thus in a moment all things changed became:

  Such Raymond’s vengeance, whose bold arm paid back,

  By death of hundreds, his one single shame.

  LXXXIX

  While Raymond thus his wounded pride to sate

  Upon the most illustrious Pagans tried,

  He saw the usurper of the noble state

  Fight in the van, and galloped to his side,

  And struck him, and restruck him ‘twixt the eyes

  On the same spot, nor from his strokes refrained;

  Whence fell the king, who, venting horrid sighs,

  Expiring, bit the ground o’er which he reigned.

  XC

  One chief being absent and the other slain,

  Diverse emotions the survivors feel;

  Some, like infuriate animals, amain

  Rush in despair upon the hostile steel;

  Others, affrighted, deem it best to flee

  Where erst they met with a secure retreat;

  But, mingling with the flying enemy,

  The victors enter and their work complete.

  XCI

  The keep is won. Upon the sill and stairs

  The fugitive Pagans fall with heavy loss;

  And Raymond, mounting to its summit, bears

  Aloft the glorious ensign of the Cross,

  And in the presence of both camps unrolled

  The haughty symbol of their victory.

  It fiery Solyman did not behold,

  Since absent at the greater fight was he.

  XCII

  He reached the field, which reeking was and red,

  And every moment, from fresh slaughter, streamed,

  So that now like the city of the Dead,

  Where Death his trophies shows and stalks, it seemed.

  There he a destrier saw, with dangling rein,

  Fly, riderless, in terror from the ranks,

  Whom, caught, he mounted, and across the plain,

  To reach the battle, pressed its heaving flanks.

  XCII

  Great but brief succour. Solymano brought

  To the disheartened Saracens — you’d say,

  Lightening he was that, with destruction fraught.

  Flashed unexpectedly, and passed away;

  but marks eterne, in many a blasted stone.

  Leaves of its transient momentary flight.

  Hundreds he slew: but of one pair alone

  Will I, to snatch from Time their memory, write.

  XCIV

  Edward and fair Gildippe! your hard fate

  And honourable actions I would link

  With and ‘mid noblest spirits consecrate,

  If such be granted to my Tuscan ink;

  So that your names as miracles appear

  Of Love and Virtue stamped upon all time,

  And lovers honour with a pitying tear

  Your noble deaths and my unworthy rhyme

  XCV

  The heroic woman turned her steed to oppose

  The Turk, who spread such havoc o’er the field,

  And caught him full with two gr
eat slashing blows;

  One struck his flank, one clave in twain his shield.

  He who the heroine by her armour knew,

  ‘Behold the strumpet and her minion!’ cried;

  ‘Better defence the needle were for you.

  Than lover’s arm or broadsword by your side.’

  XCVI

  He ceased, and, with more rage than e’er possessed,

  A fierce and desperate blow against her drove,

  Which, her arms riving, dared impinge her breast —

  Butt worthy only of the shafts of love.

  She, dropping suddenly the bridle rein,

  Appeared to droop — to perish; her sad fate

  Her Edward saw, and spurring on amain,

  Not tardy was, but most unfortunate.

  XCVII

  What in that dire dilemma should he do?

  As rage and pity urge him different ways;

  That, to revenge himself on him who slew,

  This, his dear falling treasure to upraise;

  But Love, impartial, showed him how he might

  Neither compassion nor revenge neglect:

  To vent his anger he employed his right,

  And his left arm Gildippe to protect.

  XCVIII

  But power and will divided thus in twain,

  Powerless against the stalwart Pagan proved,

  Since her he could not in the selle sustain,

  Nor slay the homicide of his beloved;

  Nay, it so happened that the soldan lopped

  His left arm off, which had Gildippe stayed,

  Disabled whence his precious charge he dropped,

  And on her own, his limbs at full length laid.

  XCIX

  Like elm, to whom die married vine’s frail form

  Clings for support, and twines enamoured round,

  If felled by axe or rooted up by storm,

  Drags with himself his consort to the ground,

  Stripping the leaves, and crushing ‘neath his weight

  The grapes and green apparel of his bride;

  He seems to grieve far more than for his fate,

  For her who falls unmurmuring at his side.

  C

  Thus Edward fell, for her alone he grieved,

  Whom heaven had made his partner unto death;

  They tried to speak, but could not, they but heaved

  Sighs indistinct, as failed their waning breath;

  Each gazed on each, each pressed the other, loth

  To part, while ebbing life within them lay,

  When in a moment darkness shrouded both,

  And their pure souls together passed away.

  CI

  Fame then unloosed her tongues, and spread for flight

  Her airy pinions, and their fate affirmed;

  Nor from Fame only heard Rinaldo it,

  Its truth a special messenger confirmed:

  Within him grief, benevolence, and wrath,

  Combined with duty, for deep vengeance cried,

  When the fierce king, Adrastus, crossed his path,