Chapter IX: Part 9

LVIII Each other long beheld, and leaning stood Upon their swords, whose points in earth were pight, When day-break, rising from the eastern flood, Put forth the thousand eyes of blindfold night; Tancred beheld his foe’s out-streaming blood, And gaping wounds, and waxed proud with the sight, Oh vanity of man’s unstable mind, Puffed up with every blast of friendly wind!

LIX Why joy’st thou, wretch? Oh, what shall be thy gain? What trophy for this conquest is’t thou rears? Thine eyes shall shed, in case thou be not slain, For every drop of blood a sea of tears: The bleeding warriors leaning thus remain, Each one to speak one word long time forbears, Tancred the silence broke at last, and said, For he would know with whom this fight he made:

LX “Evil is our chance and hard our fortune is Who here in silence, and in shade debate, Where light of sun and witness all we miss That should our prowess and our praise dilate: If words in arms find place, yet grant me this, Tell me thy name, thy country, and estate; That I may know, this dangerous combat done, Whom I have conquered, or who hath me won.”

LXI “What I nill tell, you ask,” quoth she, “in vain, Nor moved by prayer, nor constrained by power, But thus much know, I am one of those twain Which late with kindled fire destroyed the tower.” Tancred at her proud words swelled with disdain, “That hast thou said,” quoth he, “in evil hour; Thy vaunting speeches, and thy silence both, Uncivil wretch, hath made my heart more wroth.”

LXII Ire in their chafed breasts renewed the fray, Fierce was the fight, though feeble were their might, Their strength was gone, their cunning was away, And fury in their stead maintained the fight, Their swords both points and edges sharp embay In purple blood, whereso they hit or light, And if weak life yet in their bosoms lie, They lived because they both disdained to die.

LXIII As Aegean seas when storms be calmed again That rolled their tumbling waves with troublous blasts, Do yet of tempests past some shows retain, And here and there their swelling billows casts; So, though their strength were gone and might were vain, Of their first fierceness still the fury lasts, Wherewith sustained, they to their tackling stood, And heaped wound on wound, and blood on blood.

LXIV But now, alas, the fatal hour arrives That her sweet life must leave that tender hold, His sword into her bosom deep he drives, And bathed in lukewarm blood his iron cold, Between her breasts the cruel weapon rives Her curious square, embossed with swelling gold, Her knees grow weak, the pains of death she feels, And like a falling cedar bends and reels.

LXV The prince his hand upon her shield doth stretch, And low on earth the wounded damsel layeth, And while she fell, with weak and woful speech, Her prayers last and last complaints she sayeth, A spirit new did her those prayers teach, Spirit of hope, of charity, and faith; And though her life to Christ rebellious were, Yet died she His child and handmaid dear.

LXVI “Friend, thou hast won, I pardon thee, nor save This body, that all torments can endure, But save my soul, baptism I dying crave, Come wash away my sins with waters pure:” His heart relenting nigh in sunder rave, With woful speech of that sweet creature, So that his rage, his wrath, and anger died, And on his cheeks salt tears for ruth down slide.

LXVII With murmur loud down from the mountain’s side A little runnel tumbled near the place, Thither he ran and filled his helmet wide, And quick returned to do that work of grace, With trembling hands her beaver he untied, Which done he saw, and seeing, knew her face, And lost therewith his speech and moving quite, Oh woful knowledge, ah unhappy sight!

LXVIII He died not, but all his strength unites, And to his virtues gave his heart in guard, Bridling his grief, with water he requites The life that he bereft with iron hard, And while the sacred words the knight recites, The nymph to heaven with joy herself prepared; And as her life decays her joys increase, She smiled and said, “Farewell, I die in peace.”

LXIX As violets blue mongst lilies pure men throw, So paleness midst her native white begun; Her looks to heaven she cast, their eyes I trow Downward for pity bent both heaven and sun, Her naked hand she gave the knight, in show Of love and peace, her speech, alas, was done, And thus the virgin fell on endless sleep,— Love, Beauty, Virtue, for your darling weep!

LXX But when he saw her gentle soul was went, His manly courage to relent began, Grief, sorrow, anguish, sadness, discontent, Free empire got and lordship on the man, His life within his heart they close up pent, Death through his senses and his visage ran: Like his dead lady, dead seemed Tancred good, In paleness, stillness, wounds and streams of blood.

LXXI And his weak sprite, to be unbodied From fleshly prison free that ceaseless strived, Had followed her fair soul but lately fled Had not a Christian squadron there arrived, To seek fresh water thither haply led, And found the princess dead, and him deprived Of signs of life; yet did the knight remain On live, nigh dead, for her himself had slain.

LXXII Their guide far off the prince knew by his shield, And thither hasted full of grief and fear, Her dead, him seeming so, he there beheld, And for that strange mishap shed many a tear; He would not leave the corpses fair in field For food to wolves, though she a Pagan were, But in their arms the soldiers both uphent, And both lamenting brought to Tancred’s tent.

LXXIII With those dear burdens to their camp they pass, Yet would not that dead seeming knight awake, At last he deeply groaned, which token was His feeble soul had not her flight yet take: The other lay a still and heavy mass, Her spirit had that earthen cage forsake; Thus were they brought, and thus they placed were In sundry rooms, yet both adjoining near.

LXXIV All skill and art his careful servants used To life again their dying lord to bring, At last his eyes unclosed, with tears suffused, He felt their hands and heard their whispering, But how he thither came long time he mused, His mind astonished was with everything; He gazed about, his squires in fine he knew, Then weak and woful thus his plaints out threw:

LXXV “What, live I yet? and do I breathe and see Of this accursed day the hateful light? This spiteful ray which still upbraideth me With that accursed deed I did this night, Ah, coward hand, afraid why should’st thou be; Thou instrument of death, shame and despite, Why should’st thou fear, with sharp and trenchant knife, To cut the thread of this blood-guilty life?

LXXVI “Pierce through this bosom, and my cruel heart In pieces cleave, break every string and vein; But thou to slaughters vile which used art, Think’st it were pity so to ease my pain: Of luckless love therefore in torments’ smart A sad example must I still remain, A woful monster of unhappy love, Who still must live, lest death his comfort prove:

LXXVII “Still must I live in anguish, grief, and care; Furies my guilty conscience that torment, The ugly shades, dark night, and troubled air In grisly forms her slaughter still present, Madness and death about my bed repair, Hell gapeth wide to swallow up this tent; Swift from myself I run, myself I fear, Yet still my hell within myself I bear.

LXXVIII “But where, alas, where be those relics sweet, Wherein dwelt late all love, all joy, all good? My fury left them cast in open street, Some beast hath torn her flesh and licked her blood, Ah noble prey! for savage beast unmeet, Ah sweet! too sweet, and far too precious food, Ah, seely nymph! whom night and darksome shade To beasts, and me, far worse than beasts, betrayed.

LXXIX “But where you be, if still you be, I wend To gather up those relics dear at least, But if some beast hath from the hills descend, And on her tender bowels made his feast, Let that fell monster me in pieces rend, And deep entomb me in his hollow chest: For where she buried is, there shall I have A stately tomb, a rich and costly grave.”

LXXX Thus mourned the knight, his squires him told at last, They had her there for whom those tears he shed; A beam of comfort his dim eyes outcast, Like lightning through thick clouds of darkness spread, The heavy burden of his limbs in haste, With mickle pain, he drew forth of his bed, And scant of strength to stand, to move or go, Thither he staggered, reeling to and fro.

LXXXI When he came there, and in her breast espied His handiwork, that deep and cruel wound, And her sweet face with leaden paleness dyed, Where beauty late spread forth her beams around, He trembled so, that nere his squires beside To hold him up, he had sunk down to ground, And said, “O face in death still sweet and fair! Thou canst not sweeten yet my grief and care:

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.

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.

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.

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:

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:

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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;

XCIII “Unless thyself, thyself 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.

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.

XCV With sacred burning lamps in order long And mournful pomp the corpse was brought to ground Her arms upon a leafless pine were hung, The hearse, with cypress; arms, with laurel crowned: Next day the prince, whose love and courage strong Drew forth his limbs, weak, feeble, and unsound, To visit went, with care and reverence meet, The buried ashes of his mistress sweet:

XCVI Before her new-made tomb at last arrived, The woful prison of his living sprite, Pale, cold, sad, comfortless, of sense deprived, Upon the marble gray he fixed his sight, Two streams of tears were from his eyes derived: Thus with a sad “Alas!” began the knight, “O marble dear on my dear mistress placed! My flames within, without my tears thou hast.

XCVII “Not of dead bones art thou the mournful grave, But of quick love the fortress and the hold, Still in my heart thy wonted brands I have More bitter far, alas! but not more cold; Receive these sighs, these kisses sweet receive, In liquid drops of melting tears enrolled, And give them to that body pure and chaste, Which in thy bosom cold entombed thou hast.

XCVIII “For if her happy soul her eye doth bend On that sweet body which it lately dressed, My love, thy pity cannot her offend, Anger and wrath is not in angels blessed, She pardon will the trespass of her friend, That hope relieves me with these griefs oppressed, This hand she knows hath only sinned, not I, Who living loved her, and for love now die:

XCIX “And loving will I die, oh happy day Whene’er it chanceth! but oh far more blessed If as about thy polished sides I stray, My bones within thy hollow grave might rest, Together should in heaven our spirits stay, Together should our bodies lie in chest; So happy death should join what life doth sever, O Death, O Life! sweet both, both blessed ever.”

C Meanwhile the news in that besieged town Of this mishap was whispered here and there, Forthwith it spread, and for too true was known, Her woful loss was talked everywhere, Mingled with cries and plaints to heaven upthrown, As if the city’s self new taken were With conquering foes, or as if flame and fire, Nor house, nor church, nor street had left entire.

CI But all men’s eyes were on Arsetes bent, His sighs were deep, his looks full of despair, Out of his woful eyes no tear there went, His heart was hardened with his too much care, His silver locks with dust he foul besprent, He knocked his breast, his face he rent and tare, And while the press flocked to the eunuch old, Thus to the people spake Argantes bold:

CII “I would, when first I knew the hardy maid Excluded was among her Christian foes, Have followed her to give her timely aid, Or by her side this breath and life to lose, What did I not, or what left I unsaid To make the king the gates again unclose? But he denied, his power did aye restrain My will, my suit was waste, my speech was vain:

CIII “Ah, had I gone, I would from danger free Have brought to Sion that sweet nymph again, Or in the bloody fight, where killed was she, In her defence there nobly have been slain: But what could I do more? the counsels be Of God and man gainst my designments plain, Dead is Clorinda fair, laid in cold grave, Let me revenge her whom I could not save.

CIV “Jerusalem, hear what Argantes saith, Hear Heaven, and if he break his oath and word, Upon this head cast thunder in thy wrath: I will destroy and kill that Christian lord Who this fair dame by night thus murdered hath, Nor from my side I will ungird this sword Till Tancred’s heart it cleave, and shed his blood, And leave his corpse to wolves and crows for food.”

CV This said, the people with a joyful shout Applaud his speeches and his words approve, And calmed their grief in hope the boaster stout Would kill the prince, who late had slain his love. O promise vain! it otherwise fell out: Men purpose, but high gods dispose above, For underneath his sword this boaster died Whom thus he scorned and threatened in his pride.

THIRTEENTH BOOK

THE ARGUMENT. Ismeno sets to guard the forest old The wicked sprites, whose ugly shapes affray And put to flight the men, whose labor would To their dark shades let in heaven’s golden ray: Thither goes Tancred hardy, faithful, bold, But foolish pity lets him not assay His strength and courage: heat the Christian power Annoys, whom to refresh God sends a shower.

I But scant, dissolved into ashes cold, The smoking tower fell on the scorched grass, When new device found out the enchanter old By which the town besieged secured was, Of timber fit his foes deprive he would, Such terror bred that late consumed mass: So that the strength of Sion’s walls to shake, They should no turrets, rams, nor engines make.

II From Godfrey’s camp a grove a little way Amid the valleys deep grows out of sight, Thick with old trees whose horrid arms display An ugly shade, like everlasting night; There when the sun spreads forth his clearest ray, Dim, thick, uncertain, gloomy seems the light; As when in evening, day and darkness strive Which should his foe from our horizon drive.

III But when the sun his chair in seas doth steep, Night, horror, darkness thick the place invade, Which veil the mortal eyes with blindness deep And with sad terror make weak hearts afraid, Thither no groom drives forth his tender sheep To browse, or ease their faint in cooling shade, Nor traveller nor pilgrim there to enter, So awful seems that forest old, dare venture.

IV United there the ghosts and goblins meet To frolic with their mates in silent night, With dragons’ wings some cleave the welkin fleet, Some nimbly run o’er hills and valleys light, A wicked troop, that with allurements sweet Draws sinful man from that is good and right, And there with hellish pomp their banquets brought They solemnize, thus the vain Parians thought.

V No twist, no twig, no bough nor branch, therefore, The Saracens cut from that sacred spring; But yet the Christians spared ne’er the more The trees to earth with cutting steel to bring: Thither went Ismen old with tresses hoar, When night on all this earth spread forth her wing, And there in silence deaf and mirksome shade His characters and circles vain he made:

VI He in the circle set one foot unshod, And whispered dreadful charms in ghastly wise, Three times, for witchcraft loveth numbers odd, Toward the east he gaped, westward thrice, He struck the earth thrice with his charmed rod Wherewith dead bones he makes from grave to rise, And thrice the ground with naked foot he smote, And thus he cried loud, with thundering note:

VII “Hear, hear, you spirits all that whilom fell, Cast down from heaven with dint of roaring thunder; Hear, you amid the empty air that dwell And storms and showers pour on these kingdoms under; Hear, all you devils that lie in deepest hell And rend with torments damned ghosts asunder, And of those lands of death, of pain and fear, Thou monarch great, great Dis, great Pluto, hear!

VIII “Keep you this forest well, keep every tree, Numbered I give you them and truly told; As souls of men in bodies clothed be So every plant a sprite shall hide and hold, With trembling fear make all the Christians flee, When they presume to cut these cedars old:” This said, his charms he gan again repeat, Which none can say but they that use like feat.

IX At those strange speeches, still night’s splendent fires Quenched their lights, and shrunk away for doubt, The feeble moon her silver beams retires, And wrapt her horns with folding clouds about, Ismen his sprites to come with speed requires, “Why come you not, you ever damned rout? Why tarry you so long? pardie you stay Till stronger charms and greater words I say.

X “I have not yet forgot for want of use, What dreadful terms belong this sacred feat, My tongue, if still your stubborn hearts refuse, That so much dreaded name can well repeat, Which heard, great Dis cannot himself excuse, But hither run from his eternal seat, O great and fearful!”—More he would have said, But that he saw the sturdy sprites obeyed.

XI Legions of devils by thousands thither come, Such as in sparsed air their biding make, And thousands also which by Heavenly doom Condemned lie in deep Avernus lake, But slow they came, displeased all and some Because those woods they should in keeping take, Yet they obeyed and took the charge in hand, And under every branch and leaf they stand.

XII When thus his cursed work performed was, The wizard to his king declared the feat, “My lord, let fear, let doubt and sorrow pass, Henceforth in safety stands your regal seat, Your foe, as he supposed, no mean now has To build again his rams and engines great:” And then he told at large from part to part, All what he late performed by wondrous art.

XIII “Besides this help, another hap,” quoth he, “Will shortly chance that brings not profit small. Within few days Mars and the Sun I see Their fiery beams unite in Leo shall; And then extreme the scorching heat will be, Which neither rain can quench nor dews that fall, So placed are the planets high and low, That heat, fire, burning all the heavens foreshow:

XIV “So great with us will be the warmth therefore, As with the Garamants or those of Inde; Yet nill it grieve us in this town so sore, We have sweet shade and waters cold by kind: Our foes abroad will be tormented more, What shield can they or what refreshing find? Heaven will them vanquish first, then Egypt’s crew Destroy them quite, weak, weary, faint and few:

XV “Thou shalt sit still and conquer; prove no more The doubtful hazard of uncertain fight. But if Argantes bold, that hates so sore All cause of quiet peace, though just and right, Provoke thee forth to battle, as before, Find means to calm the rage of that fierce knight, For shortly Heaven will send thee ease and peace, And war and trouble mongst thy foes increase.”

XVI The king assured by these speeches fair, Held Godfrey’s power, his might and strength in scorn, And now the walls he gan in part repair, Which late the ram had bruised with iron horn, With wise foresight and well advised care He fortified each breach and bulwark torn, And all his folk, men, women, children small, With endless toil again repaired the wall.

XVII But Godfrey nould this while bring forth his power To give assault against that fort in vain, Till he had builded new his dreadful tower, And reared high his down-fallen rams again: His workmen therefore he despatched that hour To hew the trees out of the forest main, They went, and scant the wood appeared in sight When wonders new their fearful hearts affright:

XVIII As silly children dare not bend their eye Where they are told strange bugbears haunt the place, Or as new monsters, while in bed they lie, Their fearful thoughts present before their face; So feared they, and fled, yet wist not why, Nor what pursued them in that fearful chase. Except their fear perchance while thus they fled, New chimeras, sphinxes, or like monsters bred:

XIX Swift to the camp they turned back dismayed, With words confused uncertain tales they told, That all which heard them scorned what they said And those reports for lies and fables hold. A chosen crew in shining arms arrayed Duke Godfrey thither sent of soldiers bold, To guard the men and their faint arms provoke To cut the dreadful trees with hardy stroke:

XX These drawing near the wood where close ypent The wicked sprites in sylvan pinfolds were, Their eyes upon those shades no sooner bent But frozen dread pierced through their entrails dear; Yet on they stalked still, and on they went, Under bold semblance hiding coward fear, And so far wandered forth with trembling pace, Till they approached nigh that enchanted place:

XXI When from the grove a fearful sound outbreaks, As if some earthquake hill and mountain tore, Wherein the southern wind a rumbling makes, Or like sea waves against the scraggy shore; There lions grumble, there hiss scaly snakes, There howl the wolves, the rugged bears there roar, There trumpets shrill are heard and thunders fell, And all these sounds one sound expressed well.

XXII Upon their faces pale well might you note A thousand signs of heart-amating fear, Their reason gone, by no device they wot How to press nigh, or stay still where they were, Against that sudden dread their breasts which smote, Their courage weak no shield of proof could bear, At last they fled, and one than all more bold, Excused their flight, and thus the wonders told:

XXIII “My lord, not one of us there is, I grant, That dares cut down one branch in yonder spring, I think there dwells a sprite in every plant, There keeps his court great Dis infernal king, He hath a heart of hardened adamant That without trembling dares attempt the thing, And sense he wanteth who so hardy is To hear the forest thunder, roar and hiss.”

XXIV This said, Alcasto to his words gave heed, Alcasto leader of the Switzers grim, A man both void of wit and void of dreed, Who feared not loss of life nor loss of limb. No savage beasts in deserts wild that feed Nor ugly monster could dishearten him, Nor whirlwind, thunder, earthquake, storm, or aught That in this world is strange or fearful thought.

XXV He shook his head, and smiling thus gan say, “The hardiness have I that wood to fell, And those proud trees low in the dust to lay Wherein such grisly fiends and monsters dwell; No roaring ghost my courage can dismay, No shriek of birds, beast’s roar, or dragon’s yell; But through and through that forest will I wend, Although to deepest hell the paths descend.”

XXVI Thus boasted he, and leave to go desired, And forward went with joyful cheer and will, He viewed the wood and those thick shades admired, He heard the wondrous noise and rumbling shrill; Yet not one foot the audacious man retired, He scorned the peril, pressing forward still, Till on the forest’s outmost marge he stepped, A flaming fire from entrance there him kept.

XXVII The fire increased, and built a stately wall Of burning coals, quick sparks, and embers hot, And with bright flames the wood environed all, That there no tree nor twist Alcasto got; The higher stretched the flames seemed bulwarks tall, Castles and turrets full of fiery shot, With slings and engines strong of every sort;— What mortal wight durst scale so strange a fort?

XXVIII Oh what strange monsters on the battlement In loathsome forms stood to defend the place? Their frowning looks upon the knight they bent, And threatened death with shot, with sword and mace: At last he fled, and though but slow he went, As lions do whom jolly hunters chase; Yet fled the man and with sad fear withdrew, Though fear till then he never felt nor knew.

XXIX That he had fled long time he never wist, But when far run he had discoverd it, Himself for wonder with his hand he blist, A bitter sorrow by the heart him bit, Amazed, ashamed, disgraced, sad, silent, trist, Alone he would all day in darkness sit, Nor durst he look on man of worth or fame, His pride late great, now greater made his shame.

XXX Godfredo called him, but he found delays And causes why he should his cabin keep, At length perforce he comes, but naught he says, Or talks like those that babble in their sleep. His shamefacedness to Godfrey plain bewrays His flight, so does his sighs and sadness deep: Whereat amazed, “What chance is this?” quoth he. “These witchcrafts strange or nature’s wonders be.

XXXI “But if his courage any champion move To try the hazard of this dreadful spring, I give him leave the adventure great to prove, Some news he may report us of the thing:” This said, his lords attempt the charmed grove, Yet nothing back but fear and flight they bring, For them inforced with trembling to retire, The sight, the sound, the monsters and the fire.

XXXII This happed when woful Tancred left his bed To lay in marble cold his mistress dear, The lively color from his cheek was fled, His limbs were weak his helm or targe to bear; Nathless when need to high attempts him led, No labor would he shun, no danger fear, His valor, boldness, heart and courage brave, To his faint body strength and vigor gave.

XXXIII To this exploit forth went the venturous knight, Fearless, yet heedful; silent, well advised, The terrors of that forest’s dreadful sight, Storms, earthquakes, thunders, cries, he all despised: He feared nothing, yet a motion light, That quickly vanished, in his heart arised When lo, between him and the charmed wood, A fiery city high as heaven up stood.

XXXIV The knight stepped back and took a sudden pause, And to himself, “What help these arms?” quoth he, “If in this fire, or monster’s gaping jaws I headlong cast myself, what boots it me? For common profit, or my country’s cause, To hazard life before me none should be: But this exploit of no such weight I hold, For it to lose a prince or champion bold.

XXXV But if I fly, what will the Pagans say? If I retire, who shall cut down this spring? Godfredo will attempt it every day. What if some other knight perform the thing? These flames uprisen to forestall my way Perchance more terror far than danger bring. But hap what shall;” this said, he forward stepped, And through the fire, oh wondrous boldness, leapt!

XXXVI He bolted through, but neither warmth nor heat! He felt, nor sign of fire or scorching flame; Yet wist he not in his dismayed conceit, If that were fire or no through which he came; For at first touch vanished those monsters great, And in their stead the clouds black night did frame And hideous storms and showers of hail and rain; Yet storms and tempests vanished straight again.

XXXVII Amazed but not afraid the champion good Stood still, but when the tempest passed he spied, He entered boldly that forbidden wood, And of the forest all the secrets eyed, In all his walk no sprite or phantasm stood That stopped his way or passage free denied, Save that the growing trees so thick were set, That oft his sight, and passage oft they let.

XXXVIII At length a fair and spacious green he spied, Like calmest waters, plain, like velvet, soft, Wherein a cypress clad in summer’s pride, Pyramid-wise, lift up his tops aloft; In whose smooth bark upon the evenest side, Strange characters he found, and viewed them oft, Like those which priests of Egypt erst instead Of letters used, which none but they could read.

XXXIX Mongst them he picked out these words at last, Writ in the Syriac tongue, which well he could, “Oh hardy knight, who through these woods hast passed: Where Death his palace and his court doth hold! Oh trouble not these souls in quiet placed, Oh be not cruel as thy heart is bold, Pardon these ghosts deprived of heavenly light, With spirits dead why should men living fight?”

XL This found he graven in the tender rind, And while he mused on this uncouth writ, Him thought he heard the softly whistling wind His blasts amid the leaves and branches knit And frame a sound like speech of human kind, But full of sorrow grief and woe was it, Whereby his gentle thoughts all filled were With pity, sadness, grief, compassion, fear.

XLI He drew his sword at last, and gave the tree A mighty blow, that made a gaping wound, Out of the rift red streams he trickling see That all bebled the verdant plain around, His hair start up, yet once again stroke he, He nould give over till the end he found Of this adventure, when with plaint and moan, As from some hollow grave, he heard one groan.

XLII “Enough, enough!” the voice lamenting said, “Tancred, thou hast me hurt, thou didst me drive Out of the body of a noble maid Who with me lived, whom late I kept on live, And now within this woful cypress laid, My tender rind thy weapon sharp doth rive, Cruel, is’t not enough thy foes to kill, But in their graves wilt thou torment them still?

XLIII “I was Clorinda, now imprisoned here, Yet not alone within this plant I dwell, For every Pagan lord and Christian peer, Before the city’s walls last day that fell, In bodies new or graves I wot not clear, But here they are confined by magic’s spell, So that each tree hath life, and sense each bough, A murderer if thou cut one twist art thou.”

XLIV As the sick man that in his sleep doth see Some ugly dragon, or some chimera new, Though he suspect, or half persuaded be, It is an idle dream, no monster true, Yet still he fears, he quakes, and strives to flee, So fearful is that wondrous form to view; So feared the knight, yet he both knew and thought All were illusions false by witchcraft wrought:

XLV But cold and trembling waxed his frozen heart, Such strange effects, such passions it torment, Out of his feeble hand his weapon start, Himself out of his wits nigh, after went: Wounded he saw, he thought, for pain and smart, His lady weep, complain, mourn, and lament, Nor could he suffer her dear blood to see, Or hear her sighs that deep far fetched be.

XLVI Thus his fierce heart which death had scorned oft, Whom no strange shape or monster could dismay, With feigned shows of tender love made soft, A spirit false did with vain plaints betray; A whirling wind his sword heaved up aloft, And through the forest bare it quite away. O’ercome retired the prince, and as he came, His sword he found, and repossessed the same,

XLVII Yet nould return, he had no mind to try His courage further in those forests green; But when to Godfrey’s tent he proached nigh, His spirits waked, his thoughts composed been, “My Lord.” quoth he, “a witness true am I Of wonders strange, believe it scant though seen, What of the fire, the shades, the dreadful sound You heard, all true by proof myself have found;

XLVIII “A burning fire, so are those deserts charmed, Built like a battled wall to heaven was reared; Whereon with darts and dreadful weapons armed, Of monsters foul mis-shaped whole bands appeared; But through them all I passed, unhurt, unharmed, No flame or threatened blow I felt or feared, Then rain and night I found, but straight again To day, the night, to sunshine turned the rain.

XLIX “What would you more? each tree through all that wood Hath sense, hath life, hath speech, like human kind, I heard their words as in that grove I stood, That mournful voice still, still I bear in mind: And, as they were of flesh, the purple blood At every blow streams from the wounded rind; No, no, not I, nor any else, I trow, Hath power to cut one leaf, one branch, one bough.” L While thus he said, the Christian’s noble guide Felt uncouth strife in his contentious thought, He thought, what if himself in perzon tried Those witchcrafts strange, and bring those charms to naught, For such he deemed them, or elsewhere provide For timber easier got though further sought, But from his study he at last abraid, Called by the hermit old that to him said:

LI “Leave off thy hardy thought, another’s hands Of these her plants the wood dispoilen shall, Now, now the fatal ship of conquest lands, Her sails are struck, her silver anchors fall, Our champion broken hath his worthless bands, And looseth from the soil which held him thrall, The time draws nigh when our proud foes in field Shall slaughtered lie, and Sion’s fort shall yield.”

LII This said, his visage shone with beams divine, And more than mortal was his voice’s sound, Godfredo’s thought to other acts incline, His working brain was never idle found. But in the Crab now did bright Titan shine, And scorched with scalding beams the parched ground, And made unfit for toil or warlike feat His soldiers, weak with labor, faint with sweat:

LIII The planets mild their lamps benign quenched out, And cruel stars in heaven did signorize, Whose influence cast fiery flames about And hot impressions through the earth and skies, The growing heat still gathered deeper rout, The noisome warmth through lands and kingdoms flies, A harmful night a hurtful day succeeds, And worse than both next morn her light outspreads.

LIV When Phoebus rose he left his golden weed, And donned a gite in deepest purple dyed, His sanguine beams about his forehead spread, A sad presage of ill that should betide, With vermeil drops at even his tresses bleed, Foreshows of future heat, from the ocean wide When next he rose, and thus increased still Their present harms with dread of future ill,

LV While thus he bent gainst earth his scorching rays, He burnt the flowers, burnt his Clytie dear, The leaves grew wan upon the withered sprays, The grass and growing herbs all parched were, Earth cleft in rifts, in floods their streams decays, The barren clouds with lightning bright appear, And mankind feared lest Climenes’ child again Had driven awry his sire’s ill-guided wain.

LVI As from a furnace flew the smoke to skies, Such smoke as that when damned Sodom brent, Within his caves sweet Zephyr silent lies, Still was the air, the rack nor came nor went, But o’er the lands with lukewarm breathing flies The southern wind, from sunburnt Afric sent, Which thick and warm his interrupted blasts Upon their bosoms, throats, and faces casts.

LVII Nor yet more comfort brought the gloomy night, In her thick shades was burning heat uprolled, Her sable mantle was embroidered bright With blazing stars and gliding fires for gold, Nor to refresh, sad earth, thy thirsty sprite, The niggard moon let fall her May dews cold, And dried up the vital moisture was, In trees, in plants, in herbs, in flowers, in grass.

LVIII Sleep to his quiet dales exiled fled From these unquiet nights, and oft in vain The soldiers restless sought the god in bed, But most for thirst they mourned and most complain; For Juda’s tyrant had strong poison shed, Poison that breeds more woe and deadly pain, Than Acheron or Stygian waters bring, In every fountain, cistern, well and spring:

LIX And little Siloe that his store bestows Of purest crystal on the Christian bands, The pebbles naked in his channel shows And scantly glides above the scorched sands, Nor Po in May when o’er his banks he flows, Nor Ganges, waterer of the Indian lands, Nor seven-mouthed Nile that yields all Egypt drink, To quench their thirst the men sufficient think.

LX He that the gliding rivers erst had seen Adown their verdant channels gently rolled, Or falling streams which to the valleys green Distilled from tops of Alpine mountains cold, Those he desired in vain, new torments been, Augmented thus with wish of comforts old, Those waters cool he drank in vain conceit, Which more increased his thirst, increased his heat.

LXI The sturdy bodies of the warriors strong, Whom neither marching far, nor tedious way, Nor weighty arms which on their shoulders hung, Could weary make, nor death itself dismay; Now weak and feeble cast their limbs along, Unwieldly burdens, on the burned clay, And in each vein a smouldering fire there dwelt, Which dried their flesh and solid bones did melt.

LXII Languished the steed late fierce, and proffered grass, His fodder erst, despised and from him cast, Each step he stumbled, and which lofty was And high advanced before now fell his crest, His conquests gotten all forgotten pass, Nor with desire of glory swelled his breast, The spoils won from his foe, his late rewards, He now neglects, despiseth, naught regards.

LXIII Languished the faithful dog, and wonted care Of his dear lord and cabin both forgot, Panting he laid, and gathered fresher air To cool the burning in his entrails hot: But breathing, which wise nature did prepare To suage the stomach’s heat, now booted not, For little ease, alas, small help, they win That breathe forth air and scalding fire suck in.

LXIV Thus languished the earth, in this estate Lay woful thousands of the Christians stout, The faithful people grew nigh desperate Of hoped conquest, shameful death they doubt, Of their distress they talk and oft debate, These sad complaints were heard the camp throughout: “What hope hath Godfrey? shall we still here lie Till all his soldiers, all our armies die?

LXV “Alas, with what device, what strength, thinks he To scale these walls, or this strong fort to get? Whence hath he engines new? doth he not see, How wrathful Heaven gainst us his sword doth whet? These tokens shown true signs and witness be Our angry God our proud attempts doth let, And scorching sun so hot his beams outspreads, That not more cooling Inde nor Aethiop needs.

LXVI “Or thinks he it an eath or little thing That us despised, neglected, and disdained, Like abjects vile, to death he thus should bring, That so his empire may be still maintained? Is it so great a bliss to be a king, When he that wears the crown with blood is stained And buys his sceptre with his people’s lives? See whither glory vain, fond mankind drives.

LXVII “See, see the man, called holy, just, and good, That courteous, meek, and humble would be thought, Yet never cared in what distress we stood If his vain honor were diminished naught, When dried up from us his spring and flood His water must from Jordan streams be brought, And how he sits at feasts and banquets sweet And mingleth waters fresh with wines of Crete.”

LXVIII The French thus murmured, but the Greekish knight Tatine, that of this war was weary grown: “Why die we here,” quoth he, “slain without fight, Killed, not subdued, murdered, not overthrown? Upon the Frenchmen let the penance light Of Godfrey’s folly, let me save mine own,” And as he said, without farewell, the knight And all his comet stole away by night.

LXIX His bad example many a troop prepares To imitate, when his escape they know, Clotharius his band, and Ademare’s, And all whose guides in dust were buried low, Discharged of duty’s chains and bondage snares, Free from their oath, to none they service owe, But now concluded all on secret flight, And shrunk away by thousands every night.

LXX Godfredo this both heard, and saw, and knew, Yet nould with death them chastise though he mought, But with that faith wherewith he could renew The steadfast hills and seas dry up to naught He prayed the Lord upon his flock to rue, To ope the springs of grace and ease this drought, Out of his looks shone zeal, devotion, faith, His hands and eyes to heaven he heaves, and saith:

LXXI “Father and Lord, if in the deserts waste Thou hadst compassion on thy children dear, The craggy rock when Moses cleft and brast, And drew forth flowing streams of waters clear, Like mercy, Lord, like grace on us down cast; And though our merits less than theirs appear, Thy grace supply that want, for though they be Thy first-born son, thy children yet are we.”

LXXII These prayers just, from humble hearts forth sent, Were nothing slow to climb the starry sky, But swift as winged bird themselves present Before the Father of the heavens high: The Lord accepted them, and gently bent Upon the faithful host His gracious eye, And in what pain and what distress it laid, He saw, and grieved to see, and thus He said:

LXXIII “Mine armies dear till now have suffered woe, Distress and danger, hell’s infernal power Their enemy hath been, the world their foe, But happy be their actions from this hour: What they begin to blessed end shall go, I will refresh them with a gentle shower; Rinaldo shall return, the Egyptian crew They shall encounter, conquer, and subdue.”

LXXIV At these high words great heaven began to shake, The fixed stars, the planets wandering still, Trembled the air, the earth and ocean quake, Spring, fountain, river, forest, dale and hill; From north to east, a lightning flash outbrake, And coming drops presaged with thunders shrill: With joyful shouts the soldiers on the plain, These tokens bless of long-desired rain.

LXXV A sudden cloud, as when Helias prayed, Not from dry earth exhaled by Phoebus’ beams, Arose, moist heaven his windows open laid, Whence clouds by heaps out rush, and watery streams, The world o’erspread was with a gloomy shade, That like a dark mirksome even it seems; The crashing rain from molten skies down fell, And o’er their banks the brooks and fountains swell.

LXXVI In summer season, when the cloudy sky Upon the parched ground doth rain down send, As duck and mallard in the furrows dry With merry noise the promised showers attend, And spreading broad their wings displayed lie To keep the drops that on their plumes descend, And where the streams swell to a gathered lake, Therein they dive, and sweet refreshing take:

LXXVII So they the streaming showers with shouts and cries Salute, which heaven shed on the thirsty lands, The falling liquor from the dropping skies He catcheth in his lap, he barehead stands, And his bright helm to drink therein unties, In the fresh streams he dives his sweaty hands, Their faces some, and some their temples wet, And some to keep the drops large vessels set.

LXXVIII Nor man alone to ease his burning sore, Herein doth dive and wash, and hereof drinks, But earth itself weak, feeble, faint before, Whose solid limbs were cleft with rifts and chinks, Received the falling showers and gathered store Of liquor sweet, that through her veins down sinks, And moisture new infused largely was In trees, in plants, in herbs, in flowers, in grass.

LXXIX Earth, like the patient was, whose lively blood Hath overcome at last some sickness strong, Whose feeble limbs had been the bait and food Whereon this strange disease depastured long, But now restored, in health and welfare stood, As sound as erst, as fresh, as fair, as young; So that forgetting all his grief and pain, His pleasant robes and crowns he takes again.

LXXX Ceased the rain, the sun began to shine, With fruitful, sweet, benign, and gentle ray, Full of strong power and vigor masculine, As be his beams in April or in May. O happy zeal! who trusts in help divine The world’s afflictions thus can drive away, Can storms appease, and times and seasons change, And conquer fortune, fate, and destiny strange.

FOURTEENTH BOOK

THE ARGUMENT. The Lord to Godfrey in a dream doth show His will; Rinaldo must return at last; They have their asking who for pardon sue: Two knights to find the prince are sent in haste, But Peter, who by vision all foreknew, Sendeth the searchers to a wizard, placed Deep in a vault, who first at large declares Armida’s trains, then how to shun those snares.

I Now from the fresh, the soft and tender bed Of her still mother, gentle night out flew, The fleeting balm on hills and dales she shed, With honey drops of pure and precious dew, And on the verdure of green forests spread The virgin primrose and the violet blue, And sweet-breathed Zephyr on his spreading wings, Sleep, ease, repose, rest, peace and quiet brings.

II The thoughts and troubles of broad-waking day, They softly dipped in mild Oblivion’s lake; But he whose Godhead heaven and earth doth sway, In his eternal light did watch and wake, And bent on Godfrey down the gracious ray Of his bright eye, still ope for Godfrey’s sake, To whom a silent dream the Lord down sent. Which told his will, his pleasure and intent.

III Far in the east, the golden gate beside Whence Phoebus comes, a crystal port there is, And ere the sun his broad doors open wide The beam of springing day uncloseth this, Hence comes the dreams, by which heaven’s sacred guide Reveals to man those high degrees of his, Hence toward Godfrey ere he left his bed A vision strange his golden plumes bespread.

IV Such semblances, such shapes, such portraits fair, Did never yet in dream or sleep appear, For all the forms in sea, in earth or air, The signs in heaven, the stars in every sphere All that was wondrous, uncouth, strange and rare, All in that vision well presented were. His dream had placed him in a crystal wide, Beset with golden fires, top, bottom, side,

V There while he wondereth on the circles vast, The stars, their motions, course and harmony, A knight, with shining rays and fire embraced, Presents himself unwares before his eye, Who with a voice that far for sweetness passed All human speech, thus said, approaching nigh: “What, Godfrey, knowest thou not thy Hugo here? Come and embrace thy friend and fellow dear!”

VI He answered him, “Thy glorious shining light Which in thine eyes his glistering beams doth place, Estranged hath from my foreknowledge quite Thy countenance, thy favor, and thy face:” This said, three times he stretched his hands outright And would in friendly arms the knight embrace, And thrice the spirit fled, that thrice he twined Naught in his folded arms but air and wind.

VII Lord Hugo smiled, “Not as you think,” quoth he, “I clothed am in flesh and earthly mould, My spirit pure, and naked soul, you see, A citizen of this celestial hold: This place is heaven, and here a room for thee Prepared is among Christ’s champions bold:” “Ah when,” quoth he, “these mortal bonds unknit, Shall I in peace, in ease and rest there sit?”