Jersusalem Delivered

by Torquato Tasso

  And threat'neth death to those, fire, sword and slaughter,

  Who held captivéd Israel's fairest daughter.

  The fear of ill exceeds the evil we fear,

  For so our present harms still most annoy us,

  Each mind is prest and open every ear

  To hear new tidings though they no way joy us,

  This secret rumor whispered everywhere

  About the town, these Christians will destroy us,

  The agéd king his coming evil that knew,

  Did curséd thoughts in his false heart renew.

  This agéd prince yclepéd Aladine,

  Ruléd in care, new sovereign of this state,

  A tyrant erst, but now his fell engíne

  His graver age did somewhat mitigate,

  He heard the western lords would undermine

  His city's wall, and lay his towers prostrate,

  To former fear he adds a new-come doubt,

  Treason he fears within, and force without.

  For nations twain inhabit there and dwell

  Of sundry faith together in that town,

  The lesser part on Christ believéd well,

  On Termagant the more and on Mahown,

  But when this king had made this conquest fell,

  And brought that region subject to his crown,

  Of burdens all he set the Paynims large,

  And on poor Christians laid the double charge.

  His native wrath revived with this new thought,

  With age and years that weakened was of yore,

  Such madness in his cruel bosom wrought,

  That now than ever blood he thirsteth more?

  So stings a snake that to the fire is brought,

  Which harmless lay benumbed with cold before,

  A lion so his rage renewéd hath,

  Though tame before, if he be moved to wrath.

  "I see," quoth he, "some expectation vain,

  In these false Christians, and some new content,

  Our common loss they trust will be their gain,

  They laugh, we weep; they joy while we lament;

  And more, perchance, by treason or by train,

  To murder us they secretly consent,

  Or otherwise to work us harm and woe,

  To ope the gates, and so let in our foe.

  "But lest they should effect their curséd will,

  Let us destroy this serpent on his nest;

  Both young and old, let us this people kill,

  The tender infants at their mothers' breast,

  Their houses burn, their holy temples fill

  With bodies slain of those that loved them best,

  And on that tomb they hold so much in price,

  Let's offer up their priests in sacrifice."

  Thus thought the tyrant in his traitorous mind,

  But durst not follow what he had decreed,

  Yet if the innocents some mercy find,

  From cowardice, not truth, did that proceed.

  His noble foes durst not his craven kind

  Exasperate by such a bloody deed.

  For if he need, what grace could then be got,

  If thus of peace he broke or loosed the knot?

  His villain heart his curséd rage restrained,

  To other thoughts he bent his fierce desire,

  The suburbs first flat with the earth he plained,

  And burnt their buildings with devouring fire,

  Loth was the wretch the Frenchman should have gained

  Or help or ease, by finding aught entire,

  Cedron, Bethsaida, and each watering else

  Empoisoned he, both fountains, springs, and wells.

  So wary wise this child of darkness was;

  The city's self he strongly fortifies,

  Three sides by site it well defencéd has,

  That's only weak that to the northward lies;

  With mighty bars of long enduring brass,

  The steel-bound doors and iron gates he ties,

  And, lastly, legions arméd well provides

  Of subjects born, and hiréd aid besides.

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  Second Book

  THE ARGUMENT

  Ismeno conjures, but his charms are vain:

  Aladine will kill the Christians in his ire:

  Sophronia and Olindo would be slain

  To save the rest, the King grants their desire;

  Clorinda hears their fact and fortunes plain,

  Their pardon gets and keeps them from the fire:

  Argantes, when Aletes' speeches are

  Despised, defies the Duke to mortal war.

  WHILE thus the tyrant bends his thoughts to arms,

  Ismeno gan tofore his sight appear,

  Ismen dead bones laid in cold graves that warms

  And makes them speak, smell, taste, touch, see, and hear;

  Ismen with terror of his mighty charms,

  That makes great Dis in deepest Hell to fear,

  That binds and looses souls condemned to woe,

  And sends the devils on errands to and fro.

  A Christian once, Macon he now adores,

  Nor could he quite his wonted faith forsake,

  But in his wicked arts both oft implores

  Help from the Lord, and aid from Pluto black;

  He, from deep caves by Acheron's dark shores,

  Where circles vain and spells he used to make,

  To advise his king in these extremes is come,

  Achitophel so counselled Absalom.

  "My liege," he says, "the camp fast hither moves,

  The axe is laid unto this cedar's root,

  But let us work as valiant men behoves,

  For boldest hearts good fortune helpeth out;

  Your princely care your kingly wisdom proves,

  Well have you labored, well foreseen about;

  If each perform his charge and duty so,

  Nought but his grave here conquer shall your foe.

  "From surest castle of my secret cell

  I come, partaker of your good and ill,

  What counsel sage, or magic's sacred spell

  May profit us, all that perform I will:

  The sprites impure from bliss that whilom fell

  Shall to your service bow, constrained by skill;

  But how we must begin this enterprise,

  I will your Highness thus in brief advise.

  "Within the Christian's church from light of skies,

  An hidden altar stands, far out of sight,

  On which the image consecrated lies

  Of Christ's dear mother, called a virgin bright,

  An hundred lamps aye burn before her eyes,

  She in a slender veil of tinsel dight,

  On every side great plenty doth behold

  Of offerings brought, myrrh, frankincense and gold.

  "This idol would I have removed away

  From thence, and by your princely hand transport,

  In Macon's sacred temple safe it lay,

  Which then I will enchant in wondrous sort,

  That while the image in that church doth stay,

  No strength of arms shall win this noble fort,

  Or shake this puissant wall, such passing might

  Have spells and charms, if they be said aright."

  Adviséd thus, the king impatient

  Flew in his fury to the house of God,

  The image took, with words unreverent

  Abused the prelates, who that deed forbode,

  Swift with his prey, away the tyrant went,

  Of God's sharp justice naught he feared the rod,

  But in his chapel vile the image laid,

  On which the enchanter charms and witchcraft said.

  When Phœbus next unclosed his wakeful eye,

  Up rose the sexton of that place profane,

  And missed the image, where it used to lie,

  Each where he sought in grief
, in fear, in vain;

  Then to the king his loss he gan descry,

  Who sore enragéd killed him for his pain;

  And straight conceived in his malicious wit,

  Some Christian bade this great offence commit.

  But whether this were act of mortal hand,

  Or else the Prince of Heaven's eternal pleasure,

  That of his mercy would this wretch withstand,

  Nor let so vile a chest hold such a treasure,

  As yet conjecture hath not fully scanned;

  By godliness let us this action measure,

  And truth of purest faith will fitly prove

  That this rare grace came down from Heaven above.

  With busy search the tyrant gan to invade

  Each house, each hold, each temple and each tent

  To them the fault or faulty one bewrayed

  Or hid, he promised gifts or punishment,

  His idle charms the false enchanter said,

  But in this maze still wandered and miswent,

  For Heaven decreed to conceal the same,

  To make the miscreant more to feel his shame.

  But when the angry king discovered not

  What guilty hand this sacrilege had wrought,

  His ireful courage boiled in vengeance hot

  Against the Christians, whom he faulters thought;

  All ruth, compassion, mercy he forgot,

  A staff to beat that dog he long had sought,

  "Let them all die," quoth he, "kill great and small,

  So shall the offender perish sure withal.

  "To spill the wine with poison mixed who spares?

  Slay then the righteous with the faulty one,

  Destroy this field that yieldeth naught but tares,

  With thorns this vineyard all is over-gone,

  Among these wretches is not one, that cares

  For us, our laws, or our religion;

  Up, up, dear subjects, fire and weapon take,

  Burn, murder, kill these traitors for my sake."

  This Herod thus would Bethlem's infants kill,

  The Christians soon this direful news receave,

  The trump of death sounds in their hearing shrill,

  Their weapon, faith; their fortress, was the grave;

  They had no courage, time; device, or will,

  To fight, to fly, excuse, or pardon crave,

  But stood prepared to die, yet help they find,

  Whence least they hope, such knots can Heaven unbind.

  Among them dwelt, her parents' joy and pleasure,

  A maid, whose fruit was ripe, not over-yeared,

  Her beauty was her not esteeméd treasure;

  The field of love with plough of virtue eared,

  Her labor goodness; godliness her leisure;

  Her house the heaven by this full moon aye cleared,

  For there, from lovers' eyes withdrawn, alone

  With virgin beams this spotless Cynthia shone.

  But what availed her resolution chaste,

  Whose soberest looks were whetstones to desire?

  Nor love consents that beauty's field lie waste,

  Her visage set Olindo's heart on fire,

  O subtle love, a thousand wiles thou hast,

  By humble suit, by service, or by hire,

  To win a maiden's hold, a thing soon done,

  For nature framed all women to be won.

  Sophronia she, Olindo hight the youth,

  Both of one town, both in one faith were taught,

  She fair, he full of bashfulness and truth,

  Loved much, hoped little, and desiréd naught,

  He durst not speak by suit to purchase ruth,

  She saw not, marked not, wist not what he sought,

  Thus loved, thus served he long, but not regarded,

  Unseen, unmarked, unpitied, unrewarded.

  To her came message of the murderment,

  Wherein her guiltless friends should hopeless starve,

  She that was noble, wise, as fair and gent,

  Cast how she might their harmless lives preserve,

  Zeal was the spring whence flowed her hardiment,

  From maiden shame yet was she loth to swerve:

  Yet had her courage ta'en so sure a hold,

  That boldness, shamefaced; shame had made her bold.

  And forth she went, a shop for merchandise

  Full of rich stuff, but none for sale exposed,

  A veil obscured the sunshine of her eyes,

  The rose within herself her sweetness closed,

  Each ornament about her seemly lies,

  By curious chance, or careless art, composed;

  For what the most neglects, most curious prove,

  So Beauty's helped by Nature, Heaven, and Love.

  Admired of all, on went this noble maid,

  Until the presence of the king she gained,

  Nor for he swelled with ire was she afraid,

  But his fierce wrath with fearless grace sustained,

  "I come," quoth she, "but be thine anger stayed,

  And causeless rage 'gainst faultless souls restrained—

  I come to show thee, and to bring thee both,

  The wight whose fact hath made thy heart so wroth."

  Her modest boldness, and that lightning ray

  Which her sweet beauty streaméd on his face,

  Had struck the prince with wonder and dismay,

  Changéd his cheer, and cleared his moody grace,

  That had her eyes disposed their looks to play,

  The king had snaréd been in love's strong lace;

  But wayward beauty doth not fancy move,

  A frown forbids, a smile engendereth love.

  It was amazement, wonder and delight,

  Although not love, that moved his cruel sense;

  "Tell on," quoth he, "unfold the chance aright,

  Thy people's lives I grant for recompense."

  Then she, "Behold the faulter here in sight,

  This hand committed that supposed offence,

  I took the image, mine that fault, that fact,

  Mine be the glory of that virtuous act."

  This spotless lamb thus offered up her blood,

  To save the rest of Christ's selected fold,

  O noble lie! was ever truth so good?

  Blest be the lips that such a leasing told:

  Thoughtful awhile remained the tyrant wood,

  His native wrath he gan a space withhold,

  And said, "That thou discover soon I will,

  What aid? what counsel had'st thou in that ill?"

  "My lofty thoughts," she answered him, "envíed

  Another's hand should work my high desire,

  The thirst of glory can no partner bide,

  With mine own self I did alone conspire."

  "On thee alone," the tyrant then replied,

  "Shall fall the vengeance of my wrath and ire."

  "'Tis just and right," quoth she, "I yield consent,

  Mine be the honor, mine the punishment."

  The wretch of new enragéd at the same,

  Asked where she hid the image so conveyed:

  "Not hid," quoth she, "but quite consumed with flame,

  The idol is of that eternal maid,

  For so at least I have preserved the same,

  With hands profane from being eft betrayed.

  My Lord, the thing thus stolen demand no more,

  Here see the thief that scorneth death therefor.

  "And yet no theft was this, yours was the sin,

  I brought again what you unjustly took."

  This heard, the tyrant did for rage begin

  To whet his teeth, and bend his frowning look,

  No pity, youth; fairness, no grace could win;

  Joy, comfort, hope, the virgin all forsook;

  Wrath killed remorse, vengeance stopped mercy's breath

  Love's thrall to hate, and beauty's slave
to death.

  Ta'en was the damsel, and without remorse,

  The king condemned her guiltless to the fire,

  Her veil and mantle plucked they off by force,

  And bound her tender arms in twisted wire:

  Dumb was the silver dove, while from her corse

  These hungry kites plucked off her rich attire,

  And for some deal perplexéd was her sprite,

  Her damask late, now changed to purest white.

  The news of this mishap spread far and near,

  The people ran, both young and old, to gaze;

  Olindo also ran, and gan to fear

  His lady was some partner in this case;

  But when he found her bound, stript from her gear,

  And vile tormentors ready saw in place,

  He broke the throng, and into presence brast;

  And thus bespake the king in rage and haste:

  "Not so, not so this girl shall bear away

  From me the honor of so noble feat,

  She durst not, did not, could not so convey

  The massy substance of that idol great,

  What sleight had she the wardens to betray?

  What strength to heave the goddess from her seat?

  No, no, my Lord, she sails but with my wind."

  Ah, thus he loved, yet was his love unkind!

  He added further: "Where the shining glass,

  Lets in the light amid your temple's side,

  By broken by-ways did I inward pass,

  And in that window made a postern wide,

  Nor shall therefore this ill-adviséd lass

  Usurp the glory should this fact betide,

  Mine be these bonds, mine be these flames so pure,

  O glorious death, more glorious sepulture!"

  Sophronia raised her modest looks from ground,

  And on her lover bent her eyesight mild,

  "Tell me, what fury? what conceit unsound

  Presenteth here to death so sweet a child?

  Is not in me sufficient courage found,

  To bear the anger of this tyrant wild?

  Or hath fond love thy heart so over-gone?

  Wouldst thou not live, nor let me die alone?"

  Thus spake the nymph, yet spake but to the wind,

  She could not alter his well-settled thought;

  O miracle! O strife of wondrous kind!

  Where love and virtue such contention wrought,

  Where death the victor had for meed assigned;

  Their own neglect, each other's safety sought;

  But thus the king was more provoked to ire,

  Their strife for bellows served to anger's fire.

  He thinks, such thoughts self-guiltiness finds out,

  They scorned his power, and therefore scorned the pain,

  "Nay, nay," quoth he, "let be your strife and doubt,

  You both shall win, and fit reward obtain."