Jersusalem Delivered

by Torquato Tasso

  The hunter, in those desert woods that takes

  The lesser beasts whereon his feast he makes.

  The noble father and his hardy crew

  Fierce Solyman on every side invade,

  At once all six upon the Soldan flew,

  With lances sharp, and strong encounters made,

  His broken spear the eldest boy down threw,

  And boldly, over-boldly, drew his blade,

  Wherewith he strove, but strove therewith in vain,

  The Pagan's steed, unmarkéd, to have slain.

  But as a mountain or a cape of land

  Assailed with storms and seas on every side,

  Doth unremovéd, steadfast, still withstand

  Storm, thunder, lightning, tempest, wind and tide:

  The Soldan so withstood Latinus' band,

  And unremoved did all their justs abide,

  And of that hapless youth, who hurt his steed,

  Down to the chin he cleft in twain the head.

  Kind Aramante, who saw his brother slain,

  To hold him up stretched forth his friendly arm,

  Oh foolish kindness, and oh pity vain,

  To add our proper loss, to other's harm!

  The prince let fall his sword, and cut in twain

  About his brother twined, the child's weak arm,

  Down from their saddles both together slide,

  Together mourned they, and together died.

  That done, Sabino's lance with nimble force

  He cut in twain, and 'gainst the stripling bold

  He spurred his steed, that underneath his horse

  The hardy infant tumbled on the mould,

  Whose soul, out squeezéd from his bruiséd corpse,

  With ugly painfulness forsook her hold,

  And deeply mourned that of so sweet a cage

  She left the bliss, and joys of youthful age.

  But Picus yet and Lawrence were on live,

  Whom at one birth their mother fair brought out,

  A pair whose likeness made the parents strive

  Oft which was which, and joyéd in their doubt:

  But what their birth did undistinguished give,

  The Soldan's rage made known, for Picus stout

  Headless at one huge blow he laid in dust,

  And through the breast his gentle brother thrust.

  Their father, but no father now, alas!

  When all his noble sons at once were slain,

  In their five deaths so often murdered was,

  I know not how his life could him sustain,

  Except his heart were forged of steel or brass,

  Yet still he lived, pardie, he saw not plain

  Their dying looks, although their deaths he knows,

  It is some ease not to behold our woes.

  He wept not, for the night her curtain spread

  Between his cause of weeping and his eyes,

  But still he mourned and on sharp vengeance fed,

  And thinks he conquers, if revenged he dies;

  He thirsts the Soldan's heathenish blood to shed,

  And yet his own at less than naught doth prize,

  Nor can he tell whether he liefer would,

  Or die himself, or kill the Pagan bold.

  At last, "Is this right hand," quoth he, "so weak,

  That thou disdain'st against me to use thy might?

  Can it naught do? can this tongue nothing speak

  That may provoke thine ire, thy wrath and spite?"

  With that he struck, his anger great to wreak,

  A blow, that pierced the mail and metal bright,

  And in his flank set ope a floodgate wide,

  Whereat the blood out streaméd from his side.

  Provokéd with his cry, and with that blow,

  The Turk upon him gan his blade discharge,

  He cleft his breastplate, having first pierced through,

  Linéd with seven bulls' hides, his mighty targe,

  And sheathed his weapons in his guts below;

  Wretchéd Latinus at that issue large,

  And at his mouth, poured out his vital blood,

  And sprinkled with the same his murdered brood.

  On Apennine like as a sturdy tree,

  Against the winds that makes resistance stout,

  If with a storm it overturnéd be,

  Falls down and breaks the trees and plants about;

  So Latine fell, and with him felléd he

  And slew the nearest of the Pagans' rout,

  A worthy end, fit for a man of fame,

  That dying, slew; and conquered, overcame.

  Meanwhile the Soldan strove his rage interne

  To satisfy with blood of Christians spilled,

  The Arabians heartened by their captain stern,

  With murder every tent and cabin filled,

  Henry the English knight, and Olipherne,

  O fierce Draguto, by thy hands were killed!

  Gilbert and Philip were by Ariadene

  Both slain, both born upon the banks of Rhene.

  Albazar with his mace Ernesto slew,

  Under Algazel Engerlan down fell,

  But the huge murder of the meaner crew,

  Or manner of their deaths, what tongue can tell?

  Godfrey, when first the heathen trumpets blew,

  Awaked, which heard, no fear could make him dwell,

  But he and his were up and armed ere long,

  And marchéd forward with a squadron strong.

  He that well heard the rumor and the cry,

  And marked the tumult still grow more and more,

  The Arabian thieves he judgéd by and by

  Against his soldiers made this battle sore;

  For that they forayed all the countries nigh,

  And spoiled the fields, the duke knew well before,

  Yet thought he not they had the hardiment

  So to assail him in his arméd tent.

  All suddenly he heard, while on he went,

  How to the city-ward, "Arm, arm!" they cried,

  The noise uprearéd to the firmament,

  With dreadful howling filled the valleys wide:

  This was Clorinda, whom the king forth sent

  To battle, and Argantes by her side.

  The duke, this heard, to Guelpho turned, and prayed

  Him his lieutenant be, and to him said:

  "You hear this new alarm from yonder part,

  That from the town breaks out with so much rage,

  Us needeth much your valor and your art

  To calm their fury, and their heat to 'suage;

  Go thither then, and with you take some part

  Of these brave soldiers of mine equipage,

  While with the residue of my champions bold

  I drive these wolves again out of our fold."

  They parted, this agreed on them between,

  By divers paths, Lord Guelpho to the hill,

  And Godfrey hasted where the Arabians keen

  His men like silly sheep destroy and kill;

  But as he went his troops increaséd been,

  From every part the people flockéd still,

  That now grown strong enough, he 'proachéd nigh

  Where the fierce Turk caused many a Christian die.

  So from the top of Vesulus the cold,

  Down to the sandy valleys, tumbleth Po,

  Whose streams the further from the fountain rolled

  Still stronger wax, and with more puissance go;

  And hornéd like a bull his forehead bold

  He lifts, and o'er his broken banks doth flow,

  And with his horns to pierce the sea assays,

  To which he proffereth war, not tribute pays.

  The duke his men fast flying did espy,

  And thither ran, and thus, displeaséd, spake,

  "What fear is this? Oh, whither do you fly?

  See who they be that this pursuit do make,

&
nbsp; A heartless band, that dare no battle try,

  Who wounds before dare neither give nor take,

  Against them turn your stern eye's threatening sight,

  An angry look will put them all to flight."

  This said, he spurréd forth where Solyman

  Destroyed Christ's vineyard like a savage boar,

  Through streams of blood, through dust and dirt he ran,

  O'er heaps of bodies wallowing in their gore,

  The squadrons close his sword to ope began,

  He broke their ranks, behind, beside, before,

  And, where he goes, under his feet he treads

  The arméd Saracens, and barbéd steeds.

  This slaughter-house of angry Mars he passed,

  Where thousands dead, half-dead, and dying were.

  The hardy Soldan saw him come in haste,

  Yet neither stepped aside nor shrunk for fear,

  But busked him bold to fight, aloft he cast

  His blade, prepared to strike, and steppéd near,

  These noble princes twain, so Fortune wrought,

  From the world's end here met, and here they fought:

  With virtue, fury; strength with courage strove,

  For Asia's mighty empire, who can tell

  With how strange force their cruel blows they drove?

  How sore their combat was? how fierce, how fell?

  Great deeds they wrought, each other's harness clove;

  Yet still in darkness, more the ruth, they dwell.

  The night their acts her black veil covered under,

  Their acts whereat the sun, the world might wonder.

  The Christians by their guide's ensample hearted,

  Of their best arméd made a squadron strong,

  And to defend their chieftain forth they started:

  The Pagans also saved their knight from wrong,

  Fortune her favors twixt them evenly parted,

  Fierce was the encounter, bloody, doubtful, long;

  These won, those lost; these lost, those won again;

  The loss was equal, even the numbers slain.

  With equal rage, as when the southern wind,

  Meeteth in battle strong the northern blast,

  The sea and air to neither is resigned,

  But cloud gainst cloud, and wave against wave they cast:

  So from this skirmish neither part declined,

  But fought it out, and kept their footings fast,

  And off with furious shock together rush,

  And shield against shield, and helm against helm they crush.

  The battle eke to Sionward grew hot,

  The soldiers slain, the hardy knights were killed,

  Legions of sprites from Limbo's prisons got,

  The empty air, the hills and valleys filled,

  Hearting the Pagans that they shrinkéd not,

  Till where they stood their dearest blood they spilled;

  And with new rage Argantes they inspire,

  Whose heat no flames, whose burning need no fire.

  Where he came in he put to shameful flight

  The fearful watch, and o'er the trenches leaped,

  Even with the ground he made the rampire's height,

  And murdered bodies in the ditch unheaped,

  So that his greedy mates with labor light,

  Amid the tents, a bloody harvest reaped:

  Clorinda went the proud Circassian by,

  So from a piece two chainéd bullets fly.

  Now fled the Frenchmen, when in lucky hour

  Arrivéd Guelpho, and his helping band,

  He made them turn against this stormy shower,

  And with bold face their wicked foes withstand.

  Sternly they fought, that from their wounds downpour

  The streams of blood and run on either hand:

  The Lord of heaven meanwhile upon this fight,

  From his high throne bent down his gracious sight.

  From whence with grace and goodness compassed round,

  He ruleth, blesseth, keepeth all he wrought,

  Above the air, the fire, the sea and ground,

  Our sense, our wit, our reason and our thought,

  Where persons three, with power and glory crowned,

  Are all one God, who made all things of naught,

  Under whose feet, subjected to his grace,

  Sit nature, fortune, motion, time and place.

  This is the place, from whence like smoke and dust

  Of this frail world the wealth, the pomp and power,

  He tosseth, tumbleth, turneth as he lust,

  And guides our life, our death, our end and hour:

  No eye, however virtuous, pure and just,

  Can view the brightness of that glorious bower,

  On every side the blesséd spirits be,

  Equal in joys, though differing in degree.

  With harmony of their celestial song

  The palace echoed from the chambers pure,

  At last he Michael called, in harness strong

  Of never yielding diamonds arméd sure,

  "Behold," quoth he, "to do despite and wrong

  To that dear flock my mercy hath in cure,

  How Satan from hell's loathsome prison sends

  His ghosts, his sprites, his furies and his fiends.

  "Go bid them all depart, and leave the care

  Of war to soldiers, as doth best pertain:

  Bid them forbear to infect the earth and air;

  To darken heaven's fair light, bid them refrain;

  Bid them to Acheron's black flood repair,

  Fit house for them, the house of grief and pain:

  There let their king himself and them torment,

  So I command, go tell them mine intent."

  This said, the wingéd warrior low inclined

  At his Creator's feet with reverence due;

  Then spread his golden feathers to the wind,

  And swift as thought away the angel flew,

  He passed the light, and shining fire assigned

  The glorious seat of his selected crew,

  The mover first, and circle crystalline,

  The firmament, where fixéd stars all shine;

  Unlike in working then, in shape and show,

  At his left hand, Saturn he left and Jove,

  And those untruly errant called I trow,

  Since he errs not, who them doth guide and move:

  The fields he passéd then, whence hail and snow,

  Thunder and rain fall down from clouds above,

  Where heat and cold, dryness and moisture strive,

  Whose wars all creatures kill, and slain, revive.

  The horrid darkness, and the shadows dun

  Disperséd he with his eternal wings,

  The flames which from his heavenly eyes outrun

  Beguiled the earth and all her sable things;

  After a storm so spreadeth forth the sun

  His rays and binds the clouds in golden strings,

  Or in the stillness of a moonshine even

  A falling star so glideth down from Heaven.

  But when the infernal troop he 'proachéd near,

  That still the Pagans' ire and rage provoke,

  The angel on his wings himself did bear,

  And shook his lance, and thus at last he spoke:

  "Have you not learnéd yet to know and fear

  The Lord's just wrath, and thunder's dreadful stroke?

  Or in the torments of your endless ill,

  Are you still fierce, still proud, rebellious still?

  "The Lord hath sworn to break the iron bands

  The brazen gates of Sion's fort which close,

  Who is it that his sacred will withstands?

  Against his wrath who dares himself oppose?

  Go hence, you cursed, to your appointed lands,

  The realms of death, of torments, and of woes,

  And in the deeps of that in
fernal lake

  Your battles fight, and there your triumphs make.

  "There tyrannize upon the souls you find

  Condemned to woe, and double still their pains;

  Where some complain, where some their teeth do grind,

  Some howl, and weep, some clank their iron chains:"

  This said they fled, and those that stayed behind,

  With his sharp lance he driveth and constrains;

  They sighing left the lands, his silver sheep

  Where Hesperus doth lead, doth feed, and keep.

  And toward hell their lazy wings display,

  To wreak their malice on the damnéd ghosts;

  The birds that follow Titan's hottest ray,

  Pass not in so great flocks to warmer coasts,

  Nor leaves in so great numbers fall away

  When winter nips them with his new-come frosts;

  The earth delivered from so foul annoy,

  Recalled her beauty, and resumed her joy.

  But not for this in fierce Argantes' breast

  Lessened the rancor and decreased the ire,

  Although Alecto left him to infest

  With the hot brands of her infernal fire,

  Round his armed head his trenchant blade he blest,

  And those thick ranks that seeméd most entire

  He breaks; the strong, the high, the weak, the low,

  Were equalizéd by his murdering blow.

  Not far from him amid the blood and dust,

  Heads, arms, and legs, Clorinda strewéd wide;

  Her sword through Berengarius' breast she thrust,

  Quite through the heart, where life doth chiefly bide,

  And that fell blow she struck so sure and just,

  That at his back his life and blood forth glide;

  Even in the mouth she smote Albinus then,

  And cut in twain the visage of the man.

  Gernier's right hand she from his arm divided,

  Whereof but late she had received a wound;

  The hand his sword still held, although not guided,

  The fingers half alive stirred on the ground;

  So from a serpent slain the tail divided

  Moves in the grass, rolleth and tumbleth round,

  The championess so wounded left the knight,

  And gainst Achilles turned her weapon bright.

  Upon his neck light that unhappy blow,

  And cut the sinews and the throat in twain,

  The head fell down upon the earth below,

  And soiled with dust the visage on the plain;

  The headless trunk, a woful thing to know,

  Still in the saddle seated did remain;

  Until his steed, that felt the reins at large,

  With leaps and flings that burden did discharge.

  While thus this fair and fierce Bellona slew

  The western lords, and put their troops to flight,