‘Thou canst not sweeten more my bitter lot!
LXXXII.
O bella destra, che ‘l soave pegno
D’amicizia e di pace a me porgesti;
Quali or, lasso, vi trovo? e qual ne vegno?
652 E voi leggiadre membra, or non son questi
Del mio ferino e scellerato sdegno
Vestigj miserabili e funesti?
O, di par con la man, luci spietate!
656 Essa le piaghe fè, voi le mirate.
LXXXII
“O fair right hand, the pledge of faith and love?
Given me but late, too late, in sign of peace,
How haps it now thou canst not stir nor move?
And you, dear limbs, now laid in rest and ease,
Through which my cruel blade this flood-gate rove,
Your pains have end, my torments never cease,
O hands, O cruel eyes, accursed alike!
You gave the wound, you gave them light to strike.
LXXXII
‘Ah, lovely hand, that didst outstretch to me
The tender pledge of friendship and of peace,
How do I come, and how, alas! find thee?
And you, chaste, delicate members, are not these
The hateful and intolerable sign
Of my ferocious rage and cruelty?
Ye stony eyes match well these hands of mine —
They gave the wounds that ye still live to see.
LXXXIII.
Asciutte le mirate: or corra, dove
Nega d’andare il pianto, il sangue mio.
Quì tronca le parole; e come il move
660 Suo disperato di morir desio,
Squarcia le fasce e le ferite; e piove
Dalle sue piaghe esacerbate un rio.
E s’uccidea; ma quella doglia acerba,
664 Col trarlo di se stesso, in vita il serba.
LXXXIII
“But thither now run forth my guilty blood,
Whither my plaints, my sorrows cannot wend.”
He said no more, but, as his passion wood
Inforced him, he gan to tear and rend
His hair, his face, his wounds, a purple flood
Did from each side in rolling streams descend,
He had been slain, but that his pain and woe
Bereft his senses, and preserved him so.
LXXXIII
‘Tearless ye see them too; then stream, my blood!
Stream, since my frozen tears refuse to flow.’
Sudden he ceased, grown desperate, nor could
Resist the wish to end by death his woe.
He tore his bandages away; red rain
In streams poured from each irritated wound,
And died he had, if from the poignant pain
That made him swoon, new life he had not found.
LXXXIV.
Posto è sul letto, e l’anima fugace
Fu richiamata agli odiosi uficj.
Ma la garrula fama omai non tace
668 L’aspre sue angoscie e i suoi casi infelici.
Vi tragge il pio Goffredo, e la verace
Turba v’accorre de’ più degni amici.
Ma nè grave ammonir, nè parlar dolce
672 L’ostinato dell’alma affanno molce.
LXXXIV
Cast on his bed his squires recalled his sprite
To execute again her hateful charge,
But tattling fame the sorrows of the knight
And hard mischance had told this while at large:
Godfrey and all his lords of worth and might,
Ran thither, and the duty would discharge
Of friendship true, and with sweet words the rage
Of bitter grief and woe they would assuage.
LXXXIV
Placed on the couch again, his fluttering soul
Back to its odious offices returns;
But his sad fortune and excessive dole
Each from the tongue of busy rumour learns;
Thither at once the pious chief repairs,
And thither throngs each true and anxious friend;
But no grave counsels, no persuasive prayers,
Could his soul’s settled stubborn sorrow bend.
LXXXV.
Qual’in membro gentil piaga mortale
Tocca s’inaspra, e in lei cresce il dolore;
Tal da i dolci conforti, in sì gran male,
676 Più inacerbisce medicato il core.
Ma il venerabil Piero, a cui ne cale
Come d’agnella inferma a buon pastore,
Con parole gravissime ripiglia
680 Il vaneggiar suo lungo, e lui consiglia.
LXXXV
But as a mortal wound the more doth smart
The more it searched is, handled or sought;
So their sweet words to his afflicted heart
More grief, more anguish, pain and torment brought
But reverend Peter that would set apart
Care of his sheep, as a good shepherd ought,
His vanity with grave advice reproved
And told what mourning Christian knights behoved:
LXXXV
As mortal wound that in a delicate limb
Angers if touched, and feels still greater smart,
So the sweet comforts that surrounded him
Increased still more the anguish of his heart;
But venerable Peter, like good herds
That tend their sickly lambs with kindly care,
Rebuked his frenzy with stem, solemn words,
And tried to check, by counsel, his despair.
LXXXVI.
O Tancredi, Tancredi, o da te stesso
Troppo diverso e da i princípj tuoi;
Chi sì t’assorda? e qual nuvol sì spesso
684 Di cecità fa che veder non puoi?
Questa sciagura tua del Cielo è un messo:
Non vedi lui? non odi i detti suoi?
Che ti sgrida, e richiama alla smarrita
688 Strada che pria segnasti, e te l’addita?
LXXXVI
“O Tancred, Tancred, how far different
From thy beginnings good these follies be?
What makes thee deaf? what hath thy eyesight blent?
What mist, what cloud thus overshadeth thee?
This is a warning good from heaven down sent,
Yet His advice thou canst not hear nor see
Who calleth and conducts thee to the way
From which thou willing dost and witting stray:
LXXXVI
‘O Tancred, Tancred! how thyself unlike;
How changed the early promptings of thy mind.
What stops thine ear? What clouds of darkness strike
Thine eyes, and render thee so lost, so blind?
This thy misfortune is the work of God;
Dost Him not see, His gracious words not hear,
Who the lost path, by thee once haply trod,
Points out, and chides thy fatuous career?
LXXXVII.
Agli atti del primiero uficio degno
Di cavalier di Cristo ei ti rappella:
Che lasciasti per farti (ahi cambio indegno!)
692 Drudo d’una fanciulla a Dio rubella.
Seconda avversità, pietoso sdegno
Con leve sferza di là su flagella
Tua folle colpa, e fa di tua salute
696 Te medesmo ministro; e tu’l rifiute?
LXXXVII
“To worthy actions and achievements fit
For Christian knights He would thee home recall;
But thou hast left that course and changed it,
To make thyself a heathen damsel’s thrall;
But see, thy grief and sorrow’s painful fit
Is made the rod to scourge thy sins withal,
Of thine own good thyself the means He makes,
But thou His mercy, goodness, grace forsakes.
LXXXVII
‘He now recall
s thee to that dignity
Of cavalier of Christ in this Crusade,
Which thou hast left, (unworthy change!) to be
Th’ inglorious lover of a Pagan maid.
Ah, blest misfortune! thy compassionate God
Gives thee thyself the means of grace to choose,
And thy mad faults corrects with gentle rod.
His gracious offer wilt thou then refuse?
LXXXVIII.
Rifiuti dunque, ahi sconoscente, il dono
Del Ciel salubre, e ‘ncontra lui t’adiri?
Misero, dove corri in abbandono
700 A’ tuoi sfrenati e rapidi martírj
Sei giunto, e pendi già cadente e prono
Sul precipizio eterno: e tu nol miri?
Miralo, prego, e te raccogli, e frena
704 Quel dolor ch’a morir doppio ti mena.
LXXXVIII
“Thou dost refuse of heaven the proffered
And gainst it still rebel with sinful ire,
Oh wretch! Oh whither doth thy rage thee chase?
Refrain thy grief, bridle thy fond desire,
At hell’s wide gate vain sorrow doth thee place,
Sorrow, misfortune’s son, despair’s foul fire:
Oh see thine evil, thy plaint and woe refrain,
The guides to death, to hell, and endless pain.”
LXXXVIII
‘Refuse, ungrateful, Heaven’s salubrious gift,
And against God thy puny wrath display?
Ah, wretched Tancred! why thus plunge adrift,
And to such unchecked hopelessness give way?
On dread eternity’s tremendous brink,
Thou hang’st at mercy of His slightest breath —
See’st thou it not? Ah, see, I pray, and think,
And curb that grief which leads to double death.’
LXXXIX.
Tace: e in colui dell’un morir la tema
Potè dell’altro intepidir la voglia.
Nel cor dà loco a que’ conforti, e scema
708 L’impeto interno dell’intensa doglia;
Ma non così, che ad or ad or non gema,
E che la lingua a lamentar non scioglia,
Ora seco parlando, or con la sciolta
712 Anima, che dal Ciel forse l’ascolta.
LXXXIX
This said, his will to die the patient
Abandoned, that second death he feared,
These words of comfort to his heart down went,
And that dark night of sorrow somewhat cleared;
Yet now and then his grief deep sighs forth sent,
His voice shrill plaints and sad laments oft reared,
Now to himself, now to his murdered love,
He spoke, who heard perchance from heaven above.
LXXXIX
He ceased. That second death raised up such fear
As for the first allayed the wish; whence he
To those blest words of comfort lent an ear,
And somewhat calmed his griefs intensity;
But still at times he wept beyond control,
And, unrestrained, bewailed his hapless doom;
Himself addressing now, now her freed soul,
Which perhaps listened from its heavenly home.
XC.
Lei nel partir, lei nel tornar del Sole
Chiama con voce stanca, e prega, e plora;
Come usignuol cui ‘l villan duro invole
716 Dal nido i figlj non pennuti ancora;
Che in miserabil canto, afflitte e sole
Piange le notti, e n’empie i boschi, e l’ora.
Alfin col novo dì rinchiude alquanto
720 I lumi: e ‘l sonno in lor serpe fra ‘l pianto.
XC
Till Phoebus’ rising from his evening fall
To her, for her, he mourns, he calls, he cries;
The nightingale so when her children small
Some churl takes before their parents’ eyes,
Alone, dismayed, quite bare of comforts all,
Tires with complaints the seas, the shores, the skies,
Till in sweet sleep against the morning bright
She fall at last; so mourned, so slept the knight.
XC
To her at rise, to her at sunset hour,
He prays, he weeps, he calls with faltering tongue:
Like nightingale, from whose deserted bower
Hard-hearted churl has filched her unfledged young,
Mourning the sad lone nights, her piteous cries
Thro’ the still air and silent forest peal.
At length, as day breaks, he half shuts his eyes,
O’er which, still weeping, ruthful slumbers steal.
XCI.
Ed ecco, in sogno, di stellata veste
Cinta gli appar la sospirata amica
Bella assai più; ma lo splendor celeste
724 L’orna, e non toglie la notizia antica.
E, con dolce atto di pietà, le meste
Luci par che gli asciughi, e così dica:
Mira come son bella e come lieta,
728 Fedel mio caro, e in me tuo duolo acqueta.
XCI
And clad in starry veil, amid his dream,
For whose sweet sake he mourned, appeared the maid,
Fairer than erst, yet with that heavenly beam.
Not out of knowledge was her lovely shade,
With looks of ruth her eyes celestial seem
To pity his sad plight, and thus she said,
“Behold how fair, how glad thy love appears,
And for my sake, my dear, forbear these tears.
XCI
When dreaming, lo! in vesture star-inwrought,
Appeared the form of his lamented love;
But much more beautiful than erst, she brought
With her old look a splendour from above;
She seemed, with tenderest sympathy, to dry
His streaming eyes; she seemed to whisper,’See
How lovely, how beatified am I;
Calm, then, thy grief, dear faithful friend, for me,
XCII.
Tale i’ son, tua mercè: tu me da i vivi
Del mortal mondo, per error, togliesti:
Tu in grembo a Dio fra gl’immortali e divi,
732 Per pietà, di salir degna mi festi.
Quivi io beata amando godo, e quivi
Spero che per te loco anco s’appresti;
Ove al gran Sole e nell’eterno die
736 Vagheggerai le sue bellezze e mie.
XCII
“Thine be the thanks, my soul thou madest flit
At unawares out of her earthly nest,
Thine be the thanks, thou hast advanced it
In Abraham’s dear bosom long to rest,
There still I love thee, there for Tancred fit
A seat prepared is among the blest;
There in eternal joy, eternal light,
Thou shalt thy love enjoy, and she her knight;
XCII
‘Since thou hast made me such. Twas thy mistake
That took me from the living in thy sphere;
Twas thy devotion did me worthy make
To reach my God, and sit with angels here;
And, ‘mid these realms of heavenly bliss, I’ll pray
That here a place He will to thee assign,
Where, in the sunshine of eternal day,
Thou mayst enjoy their loveliness and mine.
XCIII.
Se tu medesmo non t’invídi il Cielo,
E non travii col vaneggiar de’ sensi,
Vivi, e sappi ch’io t’amo, e non te ‘l celo,
740 Quanto più creatura amar conviensi.
Così dicendo, fiammeggiò di zelo
Per gli occhj, fuor del mortal uso, accensi:
Poi nel profondo de’ suoi rai si chiuse
744 E sparve, e novo in lui conforto infuse.
XCIII
“Unless thyself, thysel
f heaven’s joys envy,
And thy vain sorrow thee of bliss deprive,
Live, know I love thee, that I nill deny,
As angels, men: as saints may wights on live:”
This said, of zeal and love forth of her eye
An hundred glorious beams bright shining drive,
Amid which rays herself she closed from sigh,
And with new joy, new comfort left her knight.
XCIII
‘If, then, thou grudgest not thyself such bliss,
Nor art by sensual madness led astray,
Live; for I love thee (and acknowledge this),
As far as love a child of earth I may,’
Thus speaking, rapture sparkled in her gaze,
And did a more than mortal light impart;
Then, shrouded in the halo of her rays,
She left, fresh cheer infusing in his heart.
XCIV.
Consolato ei si desta, e si rimette
De’ medicanti alla discreta aita.
E intanto seppellir fa le dilette
748 Membra ch’informò già la nobil vita.
E se non fu di ricche pietre elette
La tomba, e da man Dedala scolpita;
Fu scelto almeno il sasso e chi gli diede
752 Figura, quanto il tempo ivi concede.
XCIV
Thus comforted he waked, and men discreet
In surgery to cure his wounds were sought,
Meanwhile of his dear love the relics sweet,
As best he could, to grave with pomp he brought:
Her tomb was not of varied Spartan greet,
Nor yet by cunning hand of Scopas wrought,
But built of polished stone, and thereon laid
The lively shape and portrait of the maid.
XCIV
Consoled, he woke, and to the prudent care
Of skilled physicians his worn frame resigned,
Then orders gave to its last home to bear
That form which erst such noble life enshrined;
And if her tomb was not with marble decked,
Or by the chisel of skilled sculptor chased,
Chosen at least was stone and architect,
As far as time permitted to his haste.
XCV.
Quivi da faci, in lungo ordine accese,
Con nobil pompa accompagnar la feo.
E le sue arme, a un nudo pin sospese,
756 Vi spiegò sovra in forma di trofeo.
Ma come prima alzar le membra offese
Jerusalem Delivered Page 239
