LVII

“Armida hunted him through wood and plain,

Till on Orontes’ flowery banks he stayed,

There, where the stream did part and meet again

And in the midst a gentle island made,

A pillar fair was pight beside the main,

Near which a little frigate floating laid,

The marble white the prince did long behold,

And this inscription read, there writ in gold:

LVIII

“‘Whoso thou art whom will or chance doth bring

With happy steps to flood Orontes’ sides,

Know that the world hath not so strange a thing,

Twixt east and west, as this small island hides,

Then pass and see, without more tarrying.’

The hasty youth to pass the stream provides,

And for the cogs was narrow, small and strait,

Alone he rowed, and bade his squires there wait;

LIX

“Landed he stalks about, yet naught he sees

But verdant groves, sweet shades, and mossy rocks

With caves and fountains, flowers, herbs and trees,

So that the words he read he takes for mocks:

But that green isle was sweet at all degrees,

Wherewith enticed down sits he and unlocks

His closed helm, and bares his visage fair,

To take sweet breath from cool and gentle air.

LX

“A rumbling sound amid the waters deep

Meanwhile he heard, and thither turned his sight,

And tumbling in the troubled stream took keep

How the strong waves together rush and fight,

Whence first he saw, with golden tresses, peep

The rising visage of a virgin bright,

And then her neck, her breasts, and all, as low

As he for shame could see, or she could show.

LXI

“So in the twilight does sometimes appear

A nymph, a goddess, or a fairy queen,

And though no siren but a sprite this were

Yet by her beauty seemed it she had been

One of those sisters false which haunted near

The Tyrrhene shores and kept those waters sheen,

Like theirs her face, her voice was, and her sound,

And thus she sung, and pleased both skies and ground:

LXII

“‘Ye happy youths, who April fresh and May

Attire in flowering green of lusty age,

For glory vain, or virtue’s idle ray,

Do not your tender limbs to toil engage;

In calm streams, fishes; birds, in sunshine play,

Who followeth pleasure he is only sage,

So nature saith, yet gainst her sacred will

Why still rebel you, and why strive you still?

LXIII

“‘O fools who youth possess, yet scorn the same,

A precious, but a short-abiding treasure,

Virtue itself is but an idle name,

Prized by the world ’bove reason all and measure,

And honor, glory, praise, renown and fame,

That men’s proud harts bewitch with tickling pleasure,

An echo is, a shade, a dream, a flower,

With each wind blasted, spoiled with every shower.

LXIV

“‘But let your happy souls in joy possess

The ivory castles of your bodies fair,

Your passed harms salve with forgetfulness,

Haste not your coming evils with thought and care,

Regard no blazing star with burning tress,

Nor storm, nor threatening sky, nor thundering air,

This wisdom is, good life, and worldly bliss,

Kind teacheth us, nature commands us this.’

LXV

“Thus sung the spirit false, and stealing sleep,

To which her tunes enticed his heavy eyes,

By step and step did on his senses creep,

Still every limb therein unmoved lies,

Not thunders loud could from this slumber deep,

Of quiet death true image, make him rise:

Then from her ambush forth Armida start,

Swearing revenge, and threatening torments smart.

LXVI

“But when she looked on his face awhile,

And saw how sweet he breathed, how still he lay,

How his fair eyes though closed seemed to smile,

At first she stayed, astound with great dismay,

Then sat her down, so love can art beguile,

And as she sat and looked, fled fast away

Her wrath, that on his forehead gazed the maid,

As in his spring Narcissus tooting laid;

LXVII

“And with a veil she wiped now and then

From his fair cheeks the globes of silver sweat,

And cool air gathered with a trembling fan,

To mitigate the rage of melting heat,

Thus, who would think it, his hot eye-glance can

Of that cold frost dissolve the hardness great

Which late congealed the heart of that fair dame,

Who late a foe, a lover now became.

LXVIII

“Of woodbines, lilies, and of roses sweet,

Which proudly flowered through that wanton plain,

All platted fast, well knit, and joined meet,

She framed a soft but surely holding chain,

Wherewith she bound his neck his hands and feet;

Thus bound, thus taken, did the prince remain,

And in a coach which two old dragons drew,

She laid the sleeping knight, and thence she flew:

LXIX

“Nor turned she to Damascus’ kingdoms large,

Nor to the fort built in Asphalte’s lake,

But jealous of her dear and precious charge,

And of her love ashamed, the way did take,

To the wide ocean whither skiff or barge

From us doth seld or never voyage make,

And there to frolic with her love awhile,

She chose a waste, a sole and desert isle.

LXX

“An isle that with her fellows bears the name

Of Fortunate, for temperate air and mould,

There in a mountain high alight the dame,

A hill obscured with shades of forests old,

Upon whose sides the witch by art did frame

Continual snow, sharp frost and winter cold,

But on the top, fresh, pleasant, sweet and green,

Beside a lake a palace built this queen.

LXXI

“There in perpetual sweet and flowering spring,

She lives at ease, and joys her lord at will;

The hardy youth from this strange prison bring

Your valors must, directed by my skill,

And overcome each monster and each thing,

That guards the palace or that keeps the hill,

Nor shall you want a guide, or engines fit,

To bring you to the mount, or conquer it.

LXXII

“Beside the stream, yparted shall you find

A dame, in visage young, but old in years,

Her curled locks about her front are twined,

A party-colored robe of silk she wears:

This shall conduct you swift as air or wind,

Or that flit bird that Jove’s hot weapon bears,

A faithful pilot, cunning, trusty, sure,

As Tiphys was, or skilful Palinure.

LXXIII

“At the hill’s foot, whereon the witch doth dwell,

The serpents hiss, and cast their poison vilde,

The ugly boars do rear their bristles fell,

There gape the bears, and roar the lions wild;

But yet a rod I have can easily quell

Their rage and wrath, and make them meek and mild.

Yet on the top and height of all the hill,

The greatest danger lies, and greatest ill:

LXXIV

“There welleth out a fair, clear, bubbling spring,

Whose waters pure the thirsty guests entice,

But in those liquors cold the secret sting

Of strange and deadly poison closed lies,

One sup thereof the drinker’s heart doth bring

To sudden joy, whence laughter vain doth rise,

Nor that strange merriment once stops or stays,

Till, with his laughter’s end, he end his days:

LXXV

“Then from those deadly, wicked streams refrain

Your thirsty lips, despise the dainty cheer

You find exposed upon the grassy plain,

Nor those false damsels once vouchsafe to hear,

That in melodious tunes their voices strain,

Whose faces lovely, smiling, sweet, appear;

But you their looks, their voice, their songs despise,

And enter fair Armida’s paradise.

LXXVI

“The house is builded like a maze within,

With turning stairs, false doors and winding ways,

The shape whereof plotted in vellum thin

I will you give, that all those sleights bewrays,

In midst a garden lies, where many a gin

And net to catch frail hearts, false Cupid lays;

There in the verdure of the arbors green,

With your brave champion lies the wanton queen.

LXXVII

“But when she haply riseth from the knight,

And hath withdrawn her presence from the place,

Then take a shield I have of diamonds bright,

And hold the same before the young man’s face,

That he may glass therein his garments light,

And wanton soft attire, and view his case,

That with the sight shame and disdain may move

His heart to leave that base and servile love.

LXXVIII

“Now resteth naught that needful is to tell,

But that you go secure, safe, sure and bold,

Unseen the palace may you enter well,

And pass the dangers all I have foretold,

For neither art, nor charm, nor magic spell,

Can stop your passage or your steps withhold,

Nor shall Armida, so you guarded be,

Your coming aught foreknow or once foresee:

LXXIX

“And eke as safe from that enchanted fort

You shall return and scape unhurt away;

But now the time doth us to rest exhort,

And you must rise by peep of springing day.”

This said, he led them through a narrow port,

Into a lodging fair wherein they lay,

There glad and full of thoughts he left his guests,

And in his wonted bed the old man rests.

FIFTEENTH BOOK

THE ARGUMENT.

The well instructed knights forsake their host,

And come where their strange bark in harbor lay,

And setting sail behold on Egypt’s coast

The monarch’s ships and armies in array:

Their wind and pilot good, the seas in post

They pass, and of long journeys make short way:

The far-sought isle they find; Armida’s charms

They scorn, they shun her sleights, despise her arms.

I

The rosy-fingered morn with gladsome ray

Rose to her task from old Tithonus’ lap

When their grave host came where the warriors lay,

And with him brought the shield, the rod, the map.

“Arise,” quoth he, “ere lately broken day,

In his bright arms the round world fold or wrap,

All what I promised, here I have them brought,

Enough to bring Armida’s charms to naught.”

II

They started up, and every tender limb

In sturdy steel and stubborn plate they dight,

Before the old man stalked, they followed him

Through gloomy shades of sad and sable night,

Through vaults obscure again and entries dim,

The way they came their steps remeasured right;

But at the flood arrived, “Farewell,” quoth he,

“Good luck your aid, your guide good fortune be.”

III

The flood received them in his bottom low

And lilt them up above his billows thin;

The waters so east up a branch or bough,

By violence first plunged and dived therein:

But when upon the shore the waves them throw,

The knights for their fair guide to look begin,

And gazing round a little bark they spied,

Wherein a damsel sate the stern to guide.

IV

Upon her front her locks were curled new,

Her eyes were courteous, full of peace and love;

In look a saint, an angel bright in show,

So in her visage grace and virtue strove;

Her robe seemed sometimes red and sometimes blue,

And changed still as she did stir or move;

That look how oft man’s eye beheld the same

So oft the colors changed, went and came.

V

The feathers so, that tender, soft, and plain,

About the dove’s smooth neck close couched been,

Do in one color never long remain,

But change their hue gainst glimpse of Phoebus’ sheen;

And now of rubies bright a vermeil chain,

Now make a carknet rich of emeralds green;

Now mingle both, now alter, turn and change

To thousand colors, rich, pure, fair, and strange.

VI

“Enter this boat, you happy men,” she says,

“Wherein through raging waves secure I ride,

To which all tempest, storm, and wind obeys,

All burdens light, benign is stream and tide:

My lord, that rules your journeys and your ways,

Hath sent me here, your servant and your guide.”

This said, her shallop drove she gainst the sand,

And anchor cast amid the steadfast land.

VII

They entered in, her anchors she upwound,

And launched forth to sea her pinnace flit,

Spread to the wind her sails she broad unbound,

And at the helm sat down to govern it,

Swelled the flood that all his banks he drowned

To bear the greatest ship of burthen fit;

Yet was her fatigue little, swift and light,

That at his lowest ebb bear it he might.

VIII

Swifter than thought the friendly wind forth bore

The sliding boat upon the rolling wave,

With curded foam and froth the billows hoar

About the cable murmur roar and rave;

At last they came where all his watery store

The flood in one deep channel did engrave,

And forth to greedy seas his streams he sent,

And so his waves, his name, himself he spent.

IX

The wondrous boat scant touched the troubled main

But all the sea still, hushed and quiet was,

Vanished the clouds, ceased the wind and rain,

The tempests threatened overblow and pass,

A gentle breathing air made even and plain

The azure face of heaven’s smooth looking-glass,

And heaven itself smiled from the skies above

With a calm clearness on the earth his love.

X

By Ascalon they sailed, and forth drived,

Toward the west their speedy course they frame,

In sight of Gaza till the bark arrived,

A little port when first it took that name;

But since, by others’ loss so well it thrived

A city great and rich that it became,

And there the shores and borders of the land

They found as full of armed men as sand.

XI

The passengers to landward turned their sight,

And there saw pitched many a stately tent,

Soldier and footman, captain, lord and knight,

Between the shore and city, came and went:

Huge elephants, strong camels, coursers light,

With horned hoofs the sandy ways outrent,

And in the haven many a ship and boat,

With mighty anchors fastened, swim and float;

XII

Some spread their sails, some with strong oars sweep

The waters smooth, and brush the buxom wave,

Their breasts in sunder cleave the yielding deep,

The broken seas for anger foam and rave,

When thus their guide began, “Sir knights, take keep

How all these shores are spread with squadrons brave

And troops of hardy knights, yet on these sands

The monarch scant hath gathered half his bands.

XIII

“Of Egypt only these the forces are,

And aid from other lands they here attend,

For twixt the noon-day sun and morning star,

All realms at his command do bow and bend;

So that I trust we shall return from far,

And bring our journey long to wished end,

Before this king or his lieutenant shall

These armies bring to Zion’s conquered wall.”

XIV

While thus she said, as soaring eagles fly

Mongst other birds securely through the air,

And mounting up behold with wakeful eye,

The radiant beams of old Hyperion’s hair,

Her gondola so passed swiftly by

Twixt ship and ship, withouten fear or care

Who should her follow, trouble, stop or stay,

And forth to sea made lucky speed and way.

XV

Themselves fornenst old Raffia’s town they fand,

A town that first to sailors doth appear

As they from Syria pass to Egypt land:

The sterile coasts of barren Rhinocere

They passed, and seas where Casius hill doth stand

That with his trees o’erspreads the waters near,

Against whose roots breaketh the brackish wave

Where Jove his temple, Pompey hath his grave:

XVI

Then Damiata next, where they behold

How to the sea his tribute Nilus pays

By his seven mouths renowned in stories old,

And by an hundred more ignoble ways:

They pass the town built by the Grecian bold,

Of him called Alexandria till our days,

And Pharaoh’s tower and isle removed of yore

Far from the land, now joined to the shore:

XVII

Both Crete and Rhodes they left by north unseen,

And sailed along the coasts of Afric lands,

Whose sea towns fair, but realms more inward been

All full of monsters and of desert sands:

With her five cities then they left Cyrene,

Where that old temple of false Hammon stands:

Next Ptolemais, and that sacred wood

Whence spring the silent streams of Lethe flood.

XVIII

The greater Syrte, that sailors often cast

In peril great of death and loss extreme,

They compassed round about, and safely passed,

The Cape Judeca and flood Magra’s stream;

Then Tripoli, gainst which is Malta placed,

That low and hid, to lurk in seas doth seem:

The little Syrte then, and Alzerhes isle,

Where dwelt the folk that Lotos ate erewhile.

XIX

Next Tunis on the crooked shore they spied,

Whose bay a rock on either side defends,

Tunis all towns in beauty, wealth and pride

Above, as far as Libya’s bounds extends;

Gainst which, from fair Sicilia’s fertile side,

His rugged front great Lilybaeum bends.

The dame there pointed out where sometime stood

Rome’s stately rival whilom, Carthage proud;

XX

Great Carthage low in ashes cold doth lie,

Her ruins poor the herbs in height scant pass,

So cities fall, so perish kingdoms high,

Their pride and pomp lies hid in sand and grass:

Then why should mortal man repine to die,

Whose life, is air; breath, wind; and body, glass?

From thence the seas next Bisert’s walls they cleft,

And far Sardinia on their right hand left.

XXI

Numidia’s mighty plains they coasted then,

Where wandering shepherds used their flocks to feed,

Then Bugia and Argier, the infamous den

Of pirates false, Oran they left with speed,

All Tingitan they swiftly overren,

Where elephants and angry lions breed,

Where now the realms of Fez and Maroc be,

Gainst which Granada’s shores and coasts they see.

XXII

Now are they there, where first the sea brake in

By great Alcides’ help, as stories feign,

True may it be that where those floods begin

It whilom was a firm and solid main

Before the sea there through did passage win

And parted Afric from the land of Spain,

Abila hence, thence Calpe great upsprings,

Such power hath time to change the face of things.

XXIII

Four times the sun had spread his morning ray

Since first the dame launched forth her wondrous barge

And never yet took port in creek or bay,

But fairly forward bore the knights her charge;

Now through the strait her jolly ship made way,

And boldly sailed upon the ocean large;

But if the sea in midst of earth was great,

Oh what was this, wherein earth hath her seat?

XXIV

Now deep engulphed in the mighty flood

They saw not Gades, nor the mountains near,

Fled was the land, and towns on land that stood,

Heaven covered sea, sea seemed the heavens to bear.

“At last, fair lady,” quoth Ubaldo good,

“That in this endless main dost guide us here,

If ever man before here sailed tell,

Or other lands here be wherein men dwell.”

XXV

“Great Hercules,” quoth she, “when he had quailed

The monsters fierce in Afric and in Spain,

And all along your coasts and countries sailed,

Yet durst he not assay the ocean main,

Within his pillars would he have impaled

The overdaring wit of mankind vain,

Till Lord Ulysses did those bounders pass,

To see and know he so desirous was.

XXVI

“He passed those pillars, and in open wave

Of the broad sea first his bold sails untwined,

But yet the greedy ocean was his grave,

Naught helped him his skill gainst tide and wind;

With him all witness of his voyage brave

Lies buried there, no truth thereof we find,

And they whom storm hath forced that way since,

Are drowned all, or unreturned from thence:

XXVII

“So that this mighty sea is yet unsought,

Where thousand isles and kingdoms lie unknown,

Not void of men as some have vainly thought,

But peopled well, and wonned like your own;

The land is fertile ground, but scant well wrought,

Air wholesome, temperate sun, grass proudly grown.”

“But,” quoth Ubaldo, “dame, I pray thee teach

Of that hid world, what be the laws and speech?”

XXVIII

“As diverse be their nations,” answered she,

“Their tongues, their rites, their laws so different are;

Some pray to beasts, some to a stone or tree,

Some to the earth, the sun, or morning star;

Their meats unwholesome, vile, and hateful be,

Some eat man’s flesh, and captives ta’en in war,

And all from Calpe’s mountain west that dwell,

In faith profane, in life are rude and fell.”

XXIX

“But will our gracious God,” the knight replied,

“That with his blood all sinful men hath bought,

His truth forever and his gospel hide

From all those lands, as yet unknown, unsought?”

“Oh no,” quoth she, “his name both far and wide

Shall there be known, all learning thither brought,

Nor shall these long and tedious ways forever

Your world and theirs, their lands, your kingdoms sever.

XXX

“The time shall come that sailors shall disdain

To talk or argue of Alcides’ streat,

And lands and seas that nameless yet remain,

Shall well be known, their boundaries, site and seat,

The ships encompass shall the solid main,

As far as seas outstretch their waters great,

And measure all the world, and with the sun

About this earth, this globe, this compass, run.

XXXI

“A knight of Genes shall have the hardiment

Upon this wondrous voyage first to wend,

Nor winds nor waves, that ships in sunder rent,

Nor seas unused, strange clime, or pool unkenned,

Nor other peril nor astonishment

That makes frail hearts of men to bow and bend,

Within Abilas’ strait shall keep and hold

The noble spirit of this sailor bold.

XXXII

“Thy ship, Columbus, shall her canvas wing

Spread o’er that world that yet concealed lies,

That scant swift fame her looks shall after bring,

Though thousand plumes she have, and thousand eyes;

Let her of Bacchus and Alcides sing,

Of thee to future age let this suffice,

That of thine acts she some forewarning give,

Which shall in verse and noble story live.”

XXXIII

Thus talking, swift twixt south and west they run,

And sliced out twixt froth and foam their way;

At once they saw before, the setting sun;

Behind, the rising beam of springing day;

And when the morn her drops and dews begun

To scatter broad upon the flowering lay,

Far off a hill and mountain high they spied,

Whose top the clouds environ, clothe and hide;

XXXIV

And drawing near, the hill at ease they view,

When all the clouds were molten, fallen and fled,

Whose top pyramid-wise did pointed show,

High, narrow, sharp, the sides yet more outspread,

Thence now and then fire, flame and smoke outflew,

As from that hill, whereunder lies in bed

Enceladus, whence with imperious sway

Bright fire breaks out by night, black smoke by day.

XXXV

About the hill lay other islands small,

Where other rocks, crags, cliffs, and mountains stood,

The Isles Fortunate these elder time did call,

To which high Heaven they reigned so kind and good,

And of his blessings rich so liberal,

That without tillage earth gives corn for food,

And grapes that swell with sweet and precious wine

There without pruning yields the fertile vine.

XXXVI

The olive fat there ever buds and flowers,

The honey-drops from hollow oaks distil,

The falling brook her silver streams downpours

With gentle murmur from their native hill,

The western blast tempereth with dews and showers

The sunny rays, lest heat the blossoms kill,

The fields Elysian, as fond heathen sain,

Were there, where souls of men in bliss remain.

XXXVII

To these their pilot steered, “And now,” quoth she,

“Your voyage long to end is brought well-near,

The happy Isles of Fortune now you see,

Of which great fame, and little truth, you hear,

Sweet, wholesome, pleasant, fertile, fat they be,

Yet not so rich as fame reports they were.”

This said, toward an island fresh she bore,

The first of ten, that lies next Afric’s shore;

XXXVIII

When Charles thus, “If, worthy governess,

To our good speed such tarriance be no let,

Upon this isle that Heaven so fair doth bless,

To view the place, on land awhile us set,

To know the folk and what God they confess,

And all whereby man’s heart may knowledge get,

That I may tell the wonders therein seen

Another day, and say, there have I been.”

XXXIX

She answered him, “Well fits this high desire

Thy noble heart, yet cannot I consent;

For Heaven’s decree, firm, stable, and entire,

Thy wish repugns, and gainst thy will is bent,

Nor yet the time hath Titan’s gliding fire

Met forth, prefixed for this discoverment,

Nor is it lawful of the ocean main

That you the secrets know, or known explain.

XL

“To you withouten needle, map or card

It’s given to pass these seas, and there arrive

Where in strong prison lies your knight imbarred,

And of her prey you must the witch deprive:

If further to aspire you be prepared,

In vain gainst fate and Heaven’s decree you strive.”

While thus she said, the first seen isle gave place,

And high and rough the second showed his face.

XLI

They saw how eastward stretched in order long,

The happy islands sweetly flowering lay;

And how the seas betwixt those isles enthrong,

And how they shouldered land from land away:

In seven of them the people rude among

The shady trees their sheds had built of clay,

The rest lay waste, unless wild beasts unseen,

Or wanton nymphs, roamed on the mountains green.

XLII

A secret place they found in one of those,

Where the cleft shore sea in his bosom takes,

And ’twixt his stretched arms doth fold and close

An ample bay, a rock the haven makes,

Which to the main doth his broad back oppose,

Whereon the roaring billow cleaves and breaks,

And here and there two crags like turrets high,

Point forth a port to all that sail thereby:

XLIII

The quiet seas below lie safe and still,

The green wood like a garland grows aloft,

Sweet caves within, cool shades and waters shrill,

Where lie the nymphs on moss and ivy soft;

No anchor there needs hold her frigate still,

Nor cable twisted sure, though breaking oft:

Into this desert, silent, quiet, glad,

Entered the dame, and there her haven made.

XLIV

“The palace proudly built,” quoth she, “behold,

That sits on top of yonder mountain’s height,

Of Christ’s true faith there lies the champion bold

In idleness, love, fancy, folly light;

When Phoebus shall his rising beams unfold,

Prepare you gainst the hill to mount upright,

Nor let this stay in your bold hearts breed care,

For, save that one, all hours unlucky are;

XLV

“But yet this evening, if you make good speed,

To that hill’s foot with daylight might you pass.”

Thus said the dame their guide, and they agreed,

And took their leave and leaped forth on the grass;

They found the way that to the hill doth lead,

And softly went that neither tired was,

But at the mountain’s foot they both arrived,

Before the sun his team in waters dived.

XLVI

They saw how from the crags and clefts below

His proud and stately pleasant top grew out,

And how his sides were clad with frost and snow,

The height was green with herbs and flowerets sout,

Like hairy locks the trees about him grow,

The rocks of ice keep watch and ward about,

The tender roses and the lilies new,

Thus art can nature change, and kind subdue.

XLVII

Within a thick, a dark and shady plot,

At the hill’s foot that night the warriors dwell,

But when the sun his rays bright, shining, hot,

Dispread of golden light the eternal well,

“Up, up,” they cried, and fiercely up they got,

And climbed boldly gainst the mountain fell;

But forth there crept, from whence I cannot say,

An ugly serpent which forestalled their way.

XLVIII

Armed with golden scales his head and crest

He lifted high, his neck swelled great with ire,

Flamed his eyes, and hiding with his breast

All the broad path, he poison breathed and fire,

Now reached he forth in folds and forward pressed,

Now would he back in rolls and heaps retire,

Thus he presents himself to guard the place,

The knights pressed forward with assured pace:

XLIX

Charles drew forth his brand to strike the snake;

Ubaldo cried, “Stay, my companion dear,

Will you with sword or weapon battle make

Against this monster that affronts us here?”

This said, he gan his charmed rod to shake,

So that the serpent durst not hiss for fear,

But fled, and dead for dread fell on the grass,

And so the passage plain, eath, open was.

L

A little higher on the way they met

A lion fierce that hugely roared and cried,

His crest he reared high, and open set

Of his broad-gaping jaws the furnace wide,

His stern his back oft smote, his rage to whet,

But when the sacred staff he once espied

A trembling fear through his bold heart was spread,

His native wrath was gone, and swift he fled.

LI

The hardy couple on their way forth wend,

And met a host that on them roar and gape,

Of savage beasts, tofore unseen, unkend,

Differing in voice, in semblance, and in shape;

All monsters which hot Afric doth forthsend,

Twixt Nilus, Atlas, and the southern cape,

Were all there met, and all wild beasts besides

Hyrcania breeds, or Hyrcane forest hides.

LII

But yet that fierce, that strange and savage host

Could not in presence of those worthies stand,

But fled away, their heart and courage lost,

When Lord Ubaldo shook his charming wand.

No other let their passage stopped or crossed;

Till on the mountain’s top themselves they land,

Save that the ice, the frost, and drifted snow,

Oft made them feeble, weary, faint and slow.

LIII

But having passed all that frozen ground,

And overgone that winter sharp and keen,

A warm, mild, pleasant, gentle sky they found,

That overspread a large and ample green,

The winds breathed spikenard, myrrh, and balm around,

The blasts were firm, unchanged, stable been,

Not as elsewhere the winds now rise now fall,

And Phoebus there aye shines, sets not at all.

LIV

Not as elsewhere now sunshine bright now showers,

Now heat now cold, there interchanged were,

But everlasting spring mild heaven down pours,—

In which nor rain, nor storm, nor clouds appear,—

Nursing to fields, their grass; to grass, his flowers;

To flowers their smell; to trees, the leaves they bear:

There by a lake a stately palace stands,

That overlooks all mountains, seas and lands:

LV

The passage hard against the mountain steep

These travellers had faint and weary made,

That through those grassy plains they scantly creep;

They walked, they rested oft, they went, they stayed,

When from the rocks, that seemed for joy to weep,

Before their feet a dropping crystal played

Enticing them to drink, and on the flowers

The plenteous spring a thousand streams down pours,

LVI

All which, united in the springing grass,

Ate forth a channel through the tender green

And underneath eternal shade did pass,

With murmur shrill, cold, pure, and scantly seen;

Yet so transparent, that perceived was

The bottom rich, and sands that golden been,

And on the brims the silken grass aloft

Proffered them seats, sweet, easy, fresh and soft.

LVII

“See here the stream of laughter, see the spring,”

Quoth they, “of danger and of deadly pain,

Here fond desire must by fair governing

Be ruled, our lust bridled with wisdom’s rein,

Our ears be stopped while these Sirens sing,

Their notes enticing man to pleasure vain.”

Thus passed they forward where the stream did make

An ample pond, a large and spacious lake.

LVIII

There on a table was all dainty food

That sea, that earth, or liquid air could give,

And in the crystal of the laughing flood

They saw two naked virgins bathe and dive,

That sometimes toying, sometimes wrestling stood,

Sometimes for speed and skill in swimming strive,

Now underneath they dived, now rose above,

And ticing baits laid forth of lust and love.

LIX

These naked wantons, tender, fair and white,

Moved so far the warriors’ stubborn hearts,

That on their shapes they gazed with delight;

The nymphs applied their sweet alluring arts,

And one of them above the waters quite,

Lift up her head, her breasts and higher parts,

And all that might weak eyes subdue and take,

Her lower beauties veiled the gentle lake.

LX

As when the morning star, escaped and fled

From greedy waves, with dewy beams up flies,

Or as the Queen of Love, new born and bred

Of the Ocean’s fruitful froth, did first arise:

So vented she her golden locks forth shed

Round pearls and crystal moist therein which lies:

But when her eyes upon the knights she cast,

She start, and feigned her of their sight aghast.

LXI

And her fair locks, that in a knot were tied

High on her crown, she ’gan at large unfold;

Which falling long and thick and spreading wide,

The ivory soft and white mantled in gold:

Thus her fair skin the dame would clothe and hide,

And that which hid it no less fair was hold;

Thus clad in waves and locks, her eyes divine,

From them ashamed did she turn and twine.

LXII

Withal she smiled and she blushed withal,

Her blush, her smilings, smiles her blushing graced:

Over her face her amber tresses fall,

Whereunder Love himself in ambush placed:

At last she warbled forth a treble small,

And with sweet looks her sweet songs interlaced;

“Oh happy men I that have the grace,” quoth she,

“This bliss, this heaven, this paradise to see.

LXIII

“This is the place wherein you may assuage

Your sorrows past, here is that joy and bliss

That flourished in the antique golden age,

Here needs no law, here none doth aught amiss:

Put off those arms and fear not Mars his rage,

Your sword, your shield, your helmet needless is;

Then consecrate them here to endless rest,

You shall love’s champions be, and soldiers blest.

LXIV

“The fields for combat here are beds of down,

Or heaped lilies under shady brakes;

But come and see our queen with golden crown,

That all her servants blest and happy makes,

She will admit you gently for her own,

Numbered with those that of her joy partakes:

But first within this lake your dust and sweat

Wash off, and at that table sit and eat.”

LXV

While thus she sung, her sister lured them nigh

With many a gesture kind and loving show,

To music’s sound as dames in court apply

Their cunning feet, and dance now swift now slow:

But still the knights unmoved passed by,

These vain delights for wicked charms they know,

Nor could their heavenly voice or angel’s look,

Surprise their hearts, if eye or ear they took.

LXVI

For if that sweetness once but touched their hearts,

And proffered there to kindle Cupid’s fire,

Straight armed Reason to his charge up starts,

And quencheth Lust, and killeth fond Desire;

Thus scorned were the dames, their wiles and arts

And to the palace gates the knights retire,

While in their stream the damsels dived sad,

Ashamed, disgraced, for that repulse they had.

SIXTEENTH BOOK

THE ARGUMENT.

The searchers pass through all the palace bright

Where in sweet prison lies Rinaldo pent,

And do so much, that full of rage and spite,

With them he goes sad, shamed, discontent:

With plaints and prayers to retain her knight

Armida strives; he hears, but thence he went,

And she forlorn her palace great and fair

Destroys for grief, and flies thence through the air.

I

The palace great is builded rich and round,

And in the centre of the inmost hold

There lies a garden sweet, on fertile ground,

Fairer than that where grew the trees of gold:

The cunning sprites had buildings reared around

With doors and entries false a thousandfold,

A labyrinth they made that fortress brave,

Like Daedal’s prison, or Porsenna’s grave.

II

The knights passed through the castle’s largest gate,

Though round about an hundred ports there shine,

The door-leaves framed of carved silver-plate,

Upon their golden hinges turn and twine.

They stayed to view this work of wit and state.

The workmanship excelled the substance fine,

For all the shapes in that rich metal wrought,

Save speech, of living bodies wanted naught.

III

Alcides there sat telling tales, and spun

Among the feeble troops of damsels mild,

He that the fiery gates of hell had won

And heaven upheld; false Love stood by and smiled:

Armed with his club fair Iole forth run,

His club with blood of monsters foul defiled,

And on her back his lion’s skin had she,

Too rough a bark for such a tender tree.

IV

Beyond was made a sea, whose azure flood

The hoary froth crushed from the surges blue,

Wherein two navies great well ranged stood

Of warlike ships, fire from their arms outflew,

The waters burned about their vessels good,

Such flames the gold therein enchased threw,

Caesar his Romans hence, the Asian kings

Thence Antony and Indian princes brings.

V

The Cyclades seemed to swim amid the main,

And hill gainst hill, and mount gainst mountain smote,

With such great fury met those armies twain;

Here burnt a ship, there sunk a bark or boat,

Here darts and wild-fire flew, there drowned or slain

Of princes dead the bodies fleet and float;

Here Caesar wins, and yonder conquered been

The Eastern ships, there fled the Egyptian queen:

VI

Antonius eke himself to flight betook,

The empire lost to which he would aspire,

Yet fled not he nor fight for fear forsook,

But followed her, drawn on by fond desire:

Well might you see within his troubled look,

Strive and contend, love, courage, shame and ire;

Oft looked he back, oft gazed he on the fight,

But oftener on his mistress and her flight.

VII

Then in the secret creeks of fruitful Nile,

Cast in her lap, he would sad death await,

And in the pleasure of her lovely smile

Sweeten the bitter stroke of cursed fate:

All this did art with curious hand compile

In the rich metal of that princely gate.

The knights these stories viewed first and last,

Which seen, they forward pressed, and in they passed:

VIII

As through his channel crooked Meander glides

With turns and twines, and rolls now to, now fro,

Whose streams run forth there to the salt sea sides

Here back return and to their springward go:

Such crooked paths, such ways this palace hides;

Yet all the maze their map described so,

That through the labyrinth they got in fine,

As Theseus did by Ariadne’s line.

IX

When they had passed all those troubled ways,

The garden sweet spread forth her green to show,

The moving crystal from the fountains plays,

Fair trees, high plants, strange herbs and flowerets new,

Sunshiny hills, dales hid from Phoebus’ rays,

Groves, arbors, mossy caves, at once they view,

And that which beauty moat, most wonder brought,

Nowhere appeared the art which all this wrought.

X

So with the rude the polished mingled was

That natural seemed all and every part,

Nature would craft in counterfeiting pass,

And imitate her imitator art:

Mild was the air, the skies were clear as glass,

The trees no whirlwind felt, nor tempest smart,

But ere the fruit drop off, the blossom comes,

This springs, that falls, that ripeneth and this blooms.

XI

The leaves upon the self-same bough did hide

Beside the young the old and ripened fig,

Here fruit was green, there ripe with vermeil side,

The apples new and old grew on one twig,

The fruitful vine her arms spread high and wide

That bended underneath their clusters big,

The grapes were tender here, hard, young and sour,

There purple ripe, and nectar sweet forth pour.

XII

The joyous birds, hid under greenwood shade,

Sung merry notes on every branch and bough,

The wind that in the leaves and waters played

With murmur sweet, now sung, and whistled now;

Ceased the birds, the wind loud answer made,

And while they sung, it rumbled soft and low;

Thus were it hap or cunning, chance or art,

The wind in this strange music bore his part.

XIII

With party-colored plumes’ and purple bill,

A wondrous bird among the rest there flew,

That in plain speech sung love-lays loud and shrill,

Her leden was like human language true;

So much she talked, and with such wit and skill,

That strange it seemed how much good she knew,

Her feathered fellows all stood hush to hear,

Dumb was the wind, the waters silent were.

XIV

“The gently budding rose,” quoth she, “behold,

That first scant peeping forth with virgin beams,

Half ope, half shut, her beauties doth upfold

In their dear leaves, and less seen, fairer seems,

And after spreads them forth more broad and bold,

Then languisheth and dies in last extremes,

Nor seems the same, that decked bed and bower

Of many a lady late, and paramour;

XV

“So, in the passing of a day, doth pass

The bud and blossom of the life of man,

Nor e’er doth flourish more, but like the grass

Cut down, becometh withered, pale and wan:

Oh gather then the rose while time thou hast

Short is the day, done when it scant began,

Gather the rose of love, while yet thou mayest,

Loving, be loved; embracing, be embraced.”

XVI

He ceased, and as approving all he spoke,

The choir of birds their heavenly tunes renew,

The turtles sighed, and sighs with kisses broke,

The fowls to shades unseen by pairs withdrew;

It seemed the laurel chaste, and stubborn oak,

And all the gentle trees on earth that grew,

It seemed the land, the sea, and heaven above,

All breathed out fancy sweet, and sighed out love.

XVII

Through all this music rare, and strong consent

Of strange allurements, sweet bove mean and measure,

Severe, firm, constant, still the knights forthwent,

Hardening their hearts gainst false enticing pleasure,

Twixt leaf and leaf their sight before they sent,

And after crept themselves at ease and leisure,

Till they beheld the queen, set with their knight

Besides the lake, shaded with boughs from sight:

XVIII

Her breasts were naked, for the day was hot,

Her locks unbound waved in the wanton wind;

Some deal she sweat, tired with the game you wot,

Her sweat-drops bright, white, round, like pearls of Ind;

Her humid eyes a fiery smile forthshot

That like sunbeams in silver fountains shined,

O’er him her looks she hung, and her soft breast

The pillow was, where he and love took rest.

XIX

His hungry eyes upon her face he fed,

And feeding them so, pined himself away;

And she, declining often down her head,

His lips, his cheeks, his eyes kissed, as he lay,

Wherewith he sighed, as if his soul had fled

From his frail breast to hers, and there would stay

With her beloved sprite: the armed pair

These follies all beheld and this hot fare.

XX

Down by the lovers’ side there pendent was

A crystal mirror, bright, pure, smooth, and neat,

He rose, and to his mistress held the glass,

A noble page, graced with that service great;

She, with glad looks, he with inflamed, alas,

Beauty and love beheld, both in one seat;

Yet them in sundry objects each espies,

She, in the glass, he saw them in her eyes:

XXI

Her, to command; to serve, it pleased the knight;

He proud of bondage; of her empire, she;

“My dear,” he said, “that blessest with thy sight

Even blessed angels, turn thine eyes to me,

For painted in my heart and portrayed right

Thy worth, thy beauties and perfections be,

Of which the form; the shape and fashion best,

Not in this glass is seen, but in my breast.

XXII

“And if thou me disdain, yet be content

At least so to behold thy lovely hue,

That while thereon thy looks are fixed and bent

Thy happy eyes themselves may see and view;

So rare a shape no crystal can present,

No glass contain that heaven of beauties true;

Oh let the skies thy worthy mirror be!

And in dear stars try shape and image see.”

XXIII

And with that word she smiled, and ne’ertheless

Her love-toys still she used, and pleasures bold!

Her hair, that done, she twisted up in tress,

And looser locks in silken laces rolled,

Her curles garlandwise she did up-dress,

Wherein, like rich enamel laid on gold,

The twisted flowers smiled, and her white breast

The lilies there that spring with roses dressed.

XXIV

The jolly peacock spreads not half so fair

The eyed feathers of his pompous train;

Nor golden Iris so bends in the air

Her twenty-colored bow, through clouds of rain;

Yet all her ornaments, strange, rich and rare,

Her girdle did in price and beauty stain,

Nor that, with scorn, which Tuscan Guilla lost,

Igor Venus Ceston, could match this for cost.

XXV

Of mild denays, of tender scorns, of sweet

Repulses, war, peace, hope, despair, joy, fear,

Of smiles, jests, mirth, woe, grief, and sad regreet,

Sighs, sorrows, tears, embracements, kisses dear,

That mixed first by weight and measure meet,

Then at an easy fire attempered were,

This wondrous girdle did Armida frame,

And, when she would be loved, wore the same.

XXVI

But when her wooing fit was brought to end,

She congee took, kissed him, and went her way;

For once she used every day to wend

Bout her affairs, her spells and charms to say:

The youth remained, yet had no power to bend

One step from thence, but used there to stray

Mongst the sweet birds, through every walk and grove

Alone, save for an hermit false called Love.

XXVII

And when the silence deep and friendly shade

Recalled the lovers to their wonted sport,

In a fair room for pleasure built, they laid,

And longest nights with joys made sweet and short.

Now while the queen her household things surveyed,

And left her lord her garden and disport,

The twain that hidden in the bushes were

Before the prince in glistering arms appear:

XXVIII

As the fierce steed for age withdrawn from war

Wherein the glorious beast had always wone,

That in vile rest from fight sequestered far,

Feeds with the mares at large, his service done,

If arms he see, or hear the trumpet’s jar,

He neigheth loud and thither fast doth run,

And wiseth on his back the armed knight,

Longing for jousts, for tournament and fight:

XXIX

So fared Rinaldo when the glorious light

Of their bright harness glistered in his eyes,

His noble sprite awaked at that sight

His blood began to warm, his heart to rise,

Though, drunk with ease, devoid of wonted might

On sleep till then his weakened virtue lies.

Ubaldo forward stepped, and to him hield

Of diamonds clear that pure and precious shield.

XXX

Upon the targe his looks amazed he bent,

And therein all his wanton habit spied,

His civet, balm, and perfumes redolent,

How from his locks they smoked and mantle wide,

His sword that many a Pagan stout had shent,

Bewrapped with flowers, hung idly by his side,

So nicely decked that it seemed the knight

Wore it for fashion’s sake but not for fight.

XXXI

As when, from sleep and idle dreams abraid,

A man awaked calls home his wits again;

So in beholding his attire he played,

But yet to view himself could not sustain,

His looks he downward cast and naught he said,

Grieved, shamed, sad, he would have died fain,

And oft he wished the earth or ocean wide

Would swallow him, and so his errors hide.

XXXII

Ubaldo took the time, and thus begun,

“All Europe now and Asia be in war,

And all that Christ adore and fame have won,

In battle strong, in Syria fighting are;

But thee alone, Bertoldo’s noble son,

This little corner keeps, exiled far

From all the world, buried in sloth and shame,

A carpet champion for a wanton dame.

XXXIII

“What letharge hath in drowsiness up-penned

Thy courage thus? what sloth doth thee infect?

Up, up, our camp and Godfrey for thee send,

Thee fortune, praise and victory expect,

Come, fatal champion, bring to happy end

This enterprise begun, all that sect

Which oft thou shaken hast to earth full low

With thy sharp brand strike down, kill, overthrow.”

XXXIV

This said, the noble infant stood a space

Confused, speechless, senseless, ill-ashamed;

But when that shame to just disdain gave place,

To fierce disdain, from courage sprung untamed,

Another redness blushed through his face,

Whence worthy anger shone, displeasure flamed,

His nice attire in scorn he rent and tore,

For of his bondage vile that witness bore;

XXXV

That done, he hasted from the charmed fort,

And through the maze passed with his searchers twain.

Armida of her mount and chiefest port

Wondered to find the furious keeper slain,

Awhile she feared, but she knew in short,

That her dear lord was fled, then saw she plain,

Ah, woful sight! how from her gates the man

In haste, in fear, in wrath, in anger ran.

XXXVI

“Whither, O cruel! leavest thou me alone?”

She would have cried, her grief her speeches stayed,

So that her woful words are backward gone,

And in her heart a bitter echo made;

Poor soul, of greater skill than she was one

Whose knowledge from her thus her joy conveyed,

This wist she well, yet had desire to prove

If art could keep, if charms recall her love.

XXXVII

All what the witches of Thessalia land,

With lips unpure yet ever said or spake,

Words that could make heaven’s rolling circles stand,

And draw the damned ghosts from Limbo lake,

All well she knew, but yet no time she fand

To use her knowledge or her charms to make,

But left her arts, and forth she ran to prove

If single beauty were best charm for love.

XXXVIII

She ran, nor of her honor took regard,

Oh where be all her vaunts and triumphs now?

Love’s empire great of late she made or marred,

To her his subjects humbly bend and bow,

And with her pride mixed was a scorn so hard,

That to be loved she loved, yet whilst they woo

Her lovers all she hates; that pleased her will

To conquer men, and conquered so, to kill.

XXXIX

But now herself disdained, abandoned,

Ran after him; that from her fled in scorn,

And her despised beauty labored

With humble plaints and prayers to adorn:

She ran and hasted after him that fled,

Through frost and snow, through brier, bush and thorn,

And sent her cries on message her before,

That reached not him till he had reached the shore.

XL

“Oh thou that leav’st but half behind,” quoth she,

“Of my poor heart, and half with thee dost carry,

Oh take this part, or render that to me,

Else kill them both at once, ah tarry, tarry:

Hear my last words, no parting kiss of thee

I crave, for some more fit with thee to marry

Keep them, unkind; what fear’st thou if thou stay?

Thou may’st deny, as well as run away.”

XLI

At this Rinaldo stopped, stood still, and stayed,

She came, sad, breathless, weary, faint and weak,

So woe-begone was never nymph or maid

And yet her beauty’s pride grief could not break,

On him she looked, she gazed, but naught she said,

She would not, could not, or she durst not speak,

At her he looked not, glanced not, if he did,

Those glances shamefaced were, close, secret, hid.

XLII

As cunning singers, ere they strain on high,

In loud melodious tunes, their gentle voice,

Prepare the hearers’ ears to harmony

With feignings sweet, low notes and warbles choice:

So she, not having yet forgot pardie

Her wonted shifts and sleights in Cupid’s toys,

A sequence first of sighs and sobs forthcast,

To breed compassion dear, then spake at last:

XLIII

“Suppose not, cruel, that I come to vow

Or pray, as ladies do their loves and lords;

Such were we late, if thou disdain it now,

Or scorn to grant such grace as love affords,

At least yet as an enemy listen thou:

Sworn foes sometimes will talk and chaffer words,

For what I ask thee, may’st thou grant right well,

And lessen naught thy wrath and anger fell.

XLIV

“If me thou hate, and in that hate delight,

I come not to appease thee, hate me still,

It’s like for like; I bore great hate and spite

Gainst Christians all, chiefly I wish thee ill:

I was a Pagan born, and all my might

Against Godfredo bent, mine art and skill:

I followed thee, took thee, and bore thee far,

To this strange isle, and kept thee safe from war.

XLV

“And more, which more thy hate may justly move,

More to thy loss, more to thy shame and grief,

I thee inchanted, and allured to love,

Wicked deceit, craft worthy sharp reprief;

Mine honor gave I thee all gifts above,

And of my beauties made thee lord and chief,

And to my suitors old what I denayed,

That gave I thee, my lover new, unprayed.

XLVI

“But reckon that among, my faults, and let

Those many wrongs provoke thee so to wrath,

That hence thou run, and that at naught thou set

This pleasant house, so many joys which hath;

Go, travel, pass the seas, fight, conquest get,

Destroy our faith, what shall I say, our faith?

Ah no! no longer ours; before thy shrine

Alone I pray, thou cruel saint of mine;

XLVII

“All only let me go with thee, unkind,

A small request although I were thy foe,

The spoiler seldom leaves the prey behind,

Who triumphs lets his captives with him go;

Among thy prisoners poor Armida bind,

And let the camp increase thy praises so,

That thy beguiler so thou couldst beguile,

And point at me, thy thrall and bondslave vile.

XLVIII

“Despised bondslave, since my lord doth hate

These locks, why keep I them or hold them dear?

Come cut them off, that to my servile state

My habit answer may, and all my gear:

I follow thee in spite of death and fate,

Through battles fierce where dangers most appear,

Courage I have, and strength enough perchance,

To lead thy courser spare, and bear thy lance:

XLIX

“I will or bear, or be myself, thy shield,

And to defend thy life, will lose mine own:

This breast, this bosom soft shall be thy bield

Gainst storms of arrows, darts and weapons thrown;

Thy foes, pardie, encountering thee in field,

Will spare to strike thee, mine affection known,

Lest me they wound, nor will sharp vengeance take

On thee, for this despised beauty’s sake.

L

“O wretch! dare I still vaunt, or help invoke

From this poor beauty, scorned and disdained?”

She said no more, her tears her speeches broke,

Which from her eyes like streams from springs down rained:

She would have caught him by the hand or cloak,

But he stepped backward, and himself restrained,

Conquered his will, his heart ruth softened not,

There plaints no issue, love no entrance got.

LI

Love entered not to kindle in his breast,

Which Reason late had quenched, his wonted flame;

Yet entered Pity in the place at least,

Love’s sister, but a chaste and sober dame,

And stirred him so, that hardly he suppressed

The springing tears that to his eyes up came;

But yet even there his plaints repressed were,

And, as he could, he looked, and feigned cheer.

LII

“Madam,” quoth he, “for your distress I grieve,

And would amend it, if I might or could.

From your wise heart that fond affection drive:

I cannot hate nor scorn you though I would,

I seek no vengeance, wrongs I all forgive,

Nor you my servant nor my foe I hold,

Truth is, you erred, and your estate forgot,

Too great your hate was, and your love too hot.

LIII

“But those are common faults, and faults of kind,

Excused by nature, by your sex and years;

I erred likewise, if I pardon find

None can condemn you, that our trespass hears;

Your dear remembrance will I keep in mind,

In joys, in woes, in comforts, hopes and fears,

Call me your soldier and your knight, as far

As Christian faith permits, and Asia’s war.

LIV

“Ah, let our faults and follies here take end,

And let our errors past you satisfy,

And in this angle of the world ypend,

Let both the fame and shame thereof now die,

From all the earth where I am known and kenned,

I wish this fact should still concealed lie:

Nor yet in following me, poor knight, disgrace

Your worth, your beauty, and your princely race.

LV

“Stay here in peace, I go, nor wend you may

With me, my guide your fellowship denies,

Stay here or hence depart some better way,

And calm your thoughts, you are both sage and wise.”

While thus he spoke, her passions found no stay,

But here and there she turned and rolled her eyes,

And staring on his face awhile, at last

Thus in foul terms, her bitter wrath forth brast:

LVI

“Of Sophia fair thou never wert the child,

Nor of the Azzain race ysprung thou art,

The mad sea-waves thee hare, some tigress wild

On Caucasus’ cold crags nursed thee apart;

Ah, cruel man l in whom no token mild

Appears, of pity, ruth, or tender heart,

Could not my griefs, my woes, my plaints, and all

One sigh strain from thy breast, one tear make fall?

LVII

“What shall I say, or how renew my speech?

He scorns me, leaves me, bids me call him mine:

The victor hath his foe within his reach;

Yet pardons her, that merits death and pine;

Hear how he counsels me; how he can preach,

Like chaste Xenocrates, gainst love divine;

O heavens, O gods! why do these men of shame,

Thus spoil your temples and blaspheme your name?

LVIII

“Go cruel, go, go with such peace, such rest,

Such joy, such comfort, as thou leavest me here:

My angry soul discharged from this weak breast,

Shall haunt thee ever, and attend thee near,

And fury-like in snakes and firebrands dressed,

Shall aye torment thee, whom it late held dear:

And if thou ’scape the seas, the rocks, and sands

And come to fight among the Pagan bands,

LIX

“There lying wounded, mongst the hurt and slain,

Of these my wrongs thou shalt the vengeance bear,

And oft Armida shalt thou call in vain,

At thy last gasp; this hope I soon to hear:”

Here fainted she, with sorrow, grief and pain,

Her latest words scant well expressed were,

But in a swoon on earth outstretched she lies,

Stiff were her frozen limbs, closed were her eyes.

LX

Thou closed thine eyes, Armida, heaven envied

Ease to thy grief, or comfort to thy woe;

Ah, open then again, see tears down slide

From his kind eyes, whom thou esteem’st thy foe,

If thou hadst heard, his sighs had mollified

Thine anger, hard he sighed and mourned so;

And as he could with sad and rueful look

His leave of thee and last farewell he took.

LXI

What should he do? leave on the naked sand

This woful lady half alive, half dead?

Kindness forbade, pity did that withstand;

But hard constraint, alas! did thence him lead;

Away he went, the west wind blew from land

Mongst the rich tresses of their pilot’s head,

And with that golden sail the waves she cleft,

To land he looked, till land unseen he left.

LXII

Waked from her trance, foresaken, speechless, sad,

Armida wildly stared and gazed about,

“And is he gone,” quoth she, “nor pity had

To leave me thus twixt life and death in doubt?

Could he not stay? could not the traitor-lad

From this last trance help or recall me out?

And do I love him still, and on this sand

Still unrevenged, still mourn, still weeping stand?

LXIII

“Fie no! complaints farewell! with arms and art

I will pursue to death this spiteful knight,

Not earth’s low centre, nor sea’s deepest part,

Not heaven, nor hell, can shield him from my might,

I will o’ertake him, take him, cleave his heart,

Such vengeance fits a wronged lover’s spite,

In cruelty that cruel knight surpass

I will, but what avail vain words, alas?

LXIV

“O fool! thou shouldest have been cruel than,

For then this cruel well deserved thine ire,

When thou in prison hadst entrapped the man,

Now dead with cold, too late thou askest fire;

But though my wit, my cunning nothing can,

Some other means shall work my heart’s desire,

To thee, my beauty, thine be all these wrongs,

Vengeance to thee, to thee revenge belongs.

LXV

“Thou shalt be his reward, with murdering brand

That dare this traitor of his head deprive,

O you my lovers, on this rock doth stand

The castle of her love for whom you strive,

I, the sole heir of all Damascus land,

For this revenge myself and kingdom give,

If by this price my will I cannot gain,

Nature gives beauty; fortune, wealth in vain.

LXVI

“But thee, vain gift, vain beauty, thee I scorn,

I hate the kingdom which I have to give,

I hate myself, and rue that I was born,

Only in hope of sweet revenge I live.”

Thus raging with fell ire she gan return

From that bare shore in haste, and homeward drive,

And as true witness of her frantic ire,

Her locks waved loose, face shone, eyes sparkled fire.

LXVII

When she came home, she called with outcries shrill,

A thousand devils in Limbo deep that won,

Black clouds the skies with horrid darkness fill,

And pale for dread became the eclipsed sun,

The whirlwind blustered big on every hill,

And hell to roar under her feet begun,

You might have heard how through the palace wide,

Some spirits howled, some barked, some hissed, some cried.

LXVIII

A shadow, blacker than the mirkest night,

Environed all the place with darkness sad,

Wherein a firebrand gave a dreadful light,

Kindled in hell by Tisiphone the mad;

Vanished the shade, the sun appeared in sight,

Pale were his beams, the air was nothing glad,

And all the palace vanished was and gone,

Nor of so great a work was left one stone.

LXIX

As oft the clouds frame shapes of castles great

Amid the air, that little time do last,

But are dissolved by wind or Titan’s heat,

Or like vain dreams soon made, and sooner past:

The palace vanished so, nor in his seat

Left aught but rocks and crags, by kind there placed;

She in her coach which two old serpents drew,

Sate down, and as she used, away she flew.

LXX

She broke the clouds, and cleft the yielding sky,

And bout her gathered tempest, storm and wind,

The lands that view the south pole flew she by,

And left those unknown countries far behind,

The Straits of Hercules she passed, which lie

Twixt Spain and Afric, nor her flight inclined

To north or south, but still did forward ride

O’er seas and streams, till Syria’s coasts she spied.

LXXI

Now she went forward to Damascus fair,

But of her country dear she fled the sight,

And guided to Asphaltes’ lake her chair,

Where stood her castle, there she ends her flight,

And from her damsels far, she made repair

To a deep vault, far from resort and light,

Where in sad thoughts a thousand doubts she cast,

Till grief and shame to wrath gave place at last.

LXXII

“I will not hence,” quoth she, “till Egypt’s lord

In aid of Zion’s king his host shall move;

Then will I use all helps that charms afford,

And change my shape or sex if so behove:

Well can I handle bow, or lance, or sword,

The worthies all will aid me, for my love:

I seek revenge, and to obtain the same,

Farewell, regard of honor; farewell, shame.

LXXIII

“Nor let mine uncle and protector me

Reprove for this, he most deserves the blame,

My heart and sex, that weak and tender be,

He bent to deeds that maidens ill became;

His niece a wandering damsel first made he,

He spurred my youth, and I cast off my shame,

His be the fault, if aught gainst mine estate

I did for love, or shall commit for hate.”

LXXIV

This said, her knights, her ladies, pages, squires

She all assembleth, and for journey fit

In such fair arms and vestures them attires

As showed her wealth, and well declared her wit;

And forward marched, full of strange desires,

Nor rested she by day or night one whit,

Till she came there, where all the eastern bands,

Their kings and princes, lay on Gaza’s sands.

SEVENTEENTH BOOK

THE ARGUMENT.

Egypt’s great host in battle-ray forth brought,

The Caliph sends with Godfrey’s power to fight;

Armida, who Rinaldo’s ruin sought,

To them adjoins herself and Syria’s might.

To satisfy her cruel will and thought,

She gives herself to him that kills her knight:

He takes his fatal arms, and in his shield

His ancestors and their great deeds beheld.

I

Gaza the city on the frontier stands

Of Juda’s realm, as men to Egypt ride,

Built near the sea, beside it of dry sands

Huge wildernesses lie and deserts wide

Which the strong winds lift from the parched lands

And toss like roaring waves in roughest tide,

That from those storms poor passengers almost

No refuge find, but there are drowned and lost.

II

Within this town, won from the Turks of yore

Strong garrison the king of Egypt placed,

And for it nearer was, and fitted more

That high emprise to which his thoughts he cast,

He left great Memphis, and to Gaza bore

His regal throne, and there, from countries vast

Of his huge empire all the puissant host

Assembled he, and mustered on the coast.

III

Come say, my Muse, what manner times these were,

And in those times how stood the state of things,

What power this monarch had, what arms they bear,

What nations subject, and what friends he brings;

From all lands the southern ocean near,

Or morning star, came princes, dukes and kings,

And only thou of half the world well-nigh

The armies, lords, and captains canst descry.

IV

When Egypt from the Greekish emperor

Rebelled first, and Christ’s true faith denied,

Of Mahomet’s descent a warrior

There set his throne and ruled that kingdom wide,

Caliph he hight, and Caliphs since that hour

Are his successors named all beside:

So Nilus old his kings long time had seen

That Ptolemies and Pharaohs called had been.

V

Established was that kingdom in short while,

And grew so great, that over Asia’s lands

And Lybia’s realms it stretched many a mile,

From Syria’s coasts as far as Cirene sands,

And southward passed gainst the course of Nile,

Through the hot clime where burnt Syene stands,

Hence bounded in with sandy deserts waste,

And thence with Euphrates’ rich flood embraced.

VI

Maremma, myrrh and spices that doth bring,

And all the rich red sea it comprehends,

And to those lands, toward the morning spring

That lie beyond that gulf, it far extends;

Great is that empire, greater by the king

That rules it now, whose worth the land amends,

And makes more famous, lord thereof by blood,

By wisdom, valor, and all virtues good.

VII

With Turks and Persians war he oft did wage,

And oft he won, and sometimes lost the field,

Nor could his adverse fortune aught assuage

His valor’s heat or make his proud heart yield,

But when he grew unfit for war through age,

He sheathed his sword and laid aside his shield:

But yet his warlike mind he laid not down,

Nor his great thirst of rule, praise and renown,

VIII

But by his knights still cruel wars maintained.

So wise his words, so quick his wit appears,

That of the kingdom large o’er which he reigned,

The charge seemed not too weighty for his years;

His greatness Afric’s lesser kings constrained

To tremble at his name, all Ind him fears,

And other realms that would his friendship hold;

Some armed soldiers sent, some gifts, some gold.

IX

This mighty prince assembled had the flower

Of all his realms, against the Frenchmen stout,

To break their rising empire and their power,

Nor of sure conquest had he fear or doubt:

To him Armida came, even at the hour

When in the plains, old Gaza’s walls without,

The lords and leaders all their armies bring

In battle-ray, mustered before their king.

X

He on his throne was set, to which on height

Who clomb an hundred ivory stairs first told,

Under a pentise wrought of silver bright,

And trod on carpets made of silk and gold;

His robes were such as best beseemen might

A king, so great, so grave, so rich, so old,

And twined of sixty ells of lawn and more

A turban strange adorned his tresses hoar.

XI

His right hand did his precious sceptre wield,

His beard was gray, his looks severe and grave,

And from his eyes, not yet made dim with eild,

Sparkled his former worth and vigor brave,

His gestures all the majesty upheild

And state, as his old age and empire crave,

So Phidias carved, Apelles so, pardie,

Erst painted Jove, Jove thundering down from sky.

XII

On either side him stood a noble lord,

Whereof the first held in his upright hand

Of severe justice the unpartial sword;

The other bare the seal, and causes scanned,

Keeping his folk in peace and good accord,

And termed was lord chancellor of the land;

But marshal was the first, and used to lead

His armies forth to war, oft with good speed.

XIII

Of bold Circassians with their halberts long,

About his throne his guards stood in a ring,

All richly armed in gilden corslets strong,

And by their sides their crooked swords down hing:

Thus set, thus seated, his grave lords among,

His hosts and armies great beheld the king,

And every band as by his throne it went,

Their ensigns low inclined, and arms down bent:

XIV

Their squadrons first the men of Egypt show,

In four troops, and each his several guide,

Of the high country two, two of the low

Which Nile had won out of the salt seaside,

His fertile slime first stopped the waters’ flow,

Then hardened to firm land the plough to bide,

So Egypt still increased, within far placed

That part is now where ships erst anchor cast.

XV

The foremost band the people were that dwelled

In Alexandria’s rich and fertile plain,

Along the western shore, whence Nile expelled

The greedy billows of the swelling main;

Araspes was their guide, who more excelled

In wit and craft than strength or warlike pain,

To place an ambush close, or to devise

A treason false, was none so sly, so wise.

XVI

The people next that gainst the morning rays

Along the coasts of Asia have their seat,

Arontes led them, whom no warlike praise

Ennobled, but high birth and titles great,

His helm ne’er made him sweat in toilsome frays,

Nor was his sleep e’er broke with trumpet’s threat,

But from soft ease to try the toil of fight

His fond ambition brought this carpet knight.

XVII

The third seemed not a troop or squadron small,

But an huge host; nor seemed it so much grain

In Egypt grew as to sustain them all;

Yet from one town thereof came all that train,

A town in people to huge shires equal,

That did a thousand streets and more contain,

Great Caire it hight, whose commons from each side

Came swarming out to war, Campson their guide.

XVIII

Next under Gazel marched they that plough

The fertile lands above that town which lie

Up to the place where Nilus tumbling low

Falls from his second cataract from high;

The Egyptians weaponed were with sword and bow,

No weight of helm or hauberk list they try,

And richly armed, in their strong foes no dreed

Of death but great desire of spoil they breed.

XIX

The naked folk of Barca these succeed,

Unarmed half, Alarcon led that band,

That long in deserts lived, in extreme need,

On spoils and preys purchased by strength of hand.

To battle strong unfit, their king did lead

His army next brought from Zumara land.

Then he of Tripoli, for sudden fight

And skirmish short, both ready, bold, and light.

XX

Two captains next brought forth their bands to show

Whom Stony sent and Happy Araby,

Which never felt the cold of frost and snow,

Or force of burning heat, unless fame lie,

Where incense pure and all sweet odors grow,

Where the sole phoenix doth revive, not die,

And midst the perfumes rich and flowerets brave

Both birth and burial, cradle hath and grave.

XXI

Their clothes not rich, their garments were not gay,

But weapons like the Egyptian troops they had,

The Arabians next that have no certain stay,

No house, no home, no mansion good or bad,

But ever, as the Scythian hordes stray,

From place to place their wandering cities gad:

These have both voice and stature feminine,

Hair long and black, black face, and fiery eyne.

XXII

Long Indian canes, with iron armed, they bear,

And as upon their nimble steeds they ride,

Like a swift storm their speedy troops appear,

If winds so fast bring storms from heavens wide:

By Syphax led the first Arabians were;

Aldine the second squadron had no guide,

And Abiazar proud, brought to the fight

The third, a thief, a murderer, not a knight.

XXIII

The islanders came then their prince before

Whose lands Arabia’s gulf enclosed about,

Wherein they fish and gather oysters store,

Whose shells great pearls rich and round pour out;

The Red Sea sent with them from his left shore,

Of negroes grim a black and ugly rout;

These Agricalt and those Osmida brought,

A man that set law, faith and truth at naught.

XXIV

The Ethiops next which Meroe doth breed,

That sweet and gentle isle of Meroe,

Twixt Nile and Astrabore that far doth spread,

Where two religions are, and kingdoms three,

These Assimiro and Canario led,

Both kings, both Pagans, and both subjects be

To the great Caliph, but the third king kept

Christ’s sacred faith, nor to these wars outstepped.

XXV

After two kings, both subjects also, ride,

And of two bands of archers had the charge,

The first Soldan of Ormus placed in the wide

Huge Persian Bay, a town rich, fair, and large:

The last of Boecan, which at every tide

The sea cuts off from Persia’s southern marge,

And makes an isle; but when it ebbs again,

The passage there is sandy, dry and plain.

XXVI

Nor thee, great Altamore, in her chaste bed

Thy loving queen kept with her dear embrace,

She tore her locks, she smote her breast, and shed

Salt tears to make thee stay in that sweet place,

“Seem the rough seas more calm, cruel,” she said,

“Than the mild looks of thy kind spouse’s face?

Or is thy shield, with blood and dust defiled,

A dearer armful than thy tender child?”

XXVII

This was the mighty king of Samarcand,

A captain wise, well skilled in feats of war,

In courage fierce, matchless for strength of hand,

Great was his praise, his force was noised far;

His worth right well the Frenchmen understand,

By whom his virtues feared and loved are:

His men were armed with helms and hauberks strong,

And by their sides broad swords and maces hong.

XXVIII

Then from the mansions bright of fresh Aurore

Adrastus came, the glorious king of Ind,

A snake’s green skin spotted with black he wore,

That was made rich by art and hard by kind,

An elephant this furious giant bore,

He fierce as fire, his mounture swift as wind;

Much people brought he from his kingdoms wide,

Twixt Indus, Ganges, and the salt seaside.

XXIX

The king’s own troop come next, a chosen crew,

Of all the camp the strength, the crown, the flower,

Wherein each soldier had with honors due

Rewarded been, for service ere that hour;

Their arms were strong for need, and fair for show,

Upon fierce steeds well mounted rode this power,

And heaven itself with the clear splendor shone

Of their bright armor, purple, gold and stone.

XXX

Mongst these Alarco fierce, and Odemare

The muster master was, and Hidraort,

And Rimedon, whose rashness took no care

To shun death’s bitter stroke, in field or fort,

Tigranes, Rapold stem, the men that fare

By sea, that robbed in each creek and port,

Ormond, and Marlabust the Arabian named,

Because that land rebellious he reclaimed.

XXXI

There Pirga, Arimon, Orindo are,

Brimarte the scaler, and with him Suifant

The breaker of wild horses brought from far;

Then the great wresteler strong Aridamant,

And Tisapherne, the thunderbolt of war,

Whom none surpassed, whom none to match durst vaunt

At tilt, at tourney, or in combat brave,

With spear or lance, with sword, with mace or glaive.

XXXII

A false Armenian did this squadron guide,

That in his youth from Christ’s true faith and light

To the blind lore of Paganism did slide,

That Clement late, now Emireno, hight;

Yet to his king he faithful was, and tried

True in all causes, his in wrong and right:

A cunning leader and a soldier bold,

For strength and courage, young; for wisdom, old.

XXXIII

When all these regiments were passed and gone,

Appeared Armide, and came her troop to show;

Set in a chariot bright with precious stone,

Her gown tucked up, and in her hand a bow;

In her sweet face her new displeasures shone,

Mixed with the native beauties there which grow,

And quickened so her looks that in sharp wise

It seems she threats and yet her threats entice.

XXXIV

Her chariot like Aurora’s glorious wain,

With carbuncles and jacinths glistered round:

Her coachman guided with the golden rein

Four unicorns, by couples yoked and bound;

Of squires and lovely ladies hundreds twain,

Whose rattling quivers at their backs resound,

On milk-white steeds, wait on the chariot bright,

Their steeds to manage, ready; swift, to flight.

XXXV

Followed her troop led forth by Aradin,

Which Hidraort from Syria’s kingdom sent,

As when the new-born phoenix doth begin

To fly to Ethiop-ward, at the fair bent

Of her rich wings strange plumes and feathers thin

Her crowns and chains with native gold besprent,

The world amazed stands; and with her fly

An host of wondering birds, that sing and cry:

XXXVI

So passed Armida, looked on, gazed on, so,

A wondrous dame in habit, gesture, face;

There lived no wight to love so great a foe

But wished and longed those beauties to embrace,

Scant seen, with anger sullen, sad for woe,

She conquered all the lords and knights in place,

What would she do, her sorrows passed, think you,

When her fair eyes, her looks and smiles shall woo?

XXXVII

She passed, the king commanded Emiren

Of his rich throne to mount the lofty stage,

To whom his host, his army, and his men,

He would commit, now in his graver age.

With stately grace the man approached then;

His looks his coming honor did presage:

The guard asunder cleft and passage made,

He to the throne up went, and there he stayed.

XXXVIII

To earth he cast his eyes, and bent his knee:

To whom the king thus gan his will explain,

“To thee this sceptre, Emiren, to thee

These armies I commit, my place sustain

Mongst them, go set the king of Judah free,

And let the Frenchmen feel my just disdain,

Go meet them, conquer them, leave none alive;

Or those that scape from battle, bring captive.”

XXXIX

Thus spake the tyrant, and the sceptre laid

With all his sovereign power upon the knight:

“I take this sceptre at your hand,” he said,

“And with your happy fortune go to fight,

And trust, my lord, in your great virtue’s aid

To venge all Asia’s harms, her wrongs to right,

Nor e’er but victor will I see your face;

Our overthrow shall bring death, not disgrace.

XL

“Heavens grant if evil, yet no mishap I dread,

Or harm they threaten against this camp of thine,

That all that mischief fall upon my head,

Theirs be the conquest, and the danger mine;

And let them safe bring home their captain dead,

Buried in pomp of triumph’s glorious shine.”

He ceased, and then a murmur loud up went,

With noise of joy and sound of instrument.

XLI

Amid the noise and shout uprose the king,

Environed with many a noble peer

That to his royal tent the monarch bring,

And there he feasted them and made them cheer,

To him and him he talked, and carved each thing,

The greatest honored, meanest graced were;

And while this mirth, this joy and feast doth last,

Armida found fit time her nets to cast:

XLII

But when the feast was done, she, that espied

All eyes on her fair visage fixed and bent,

And by new notes and certain signs described,

How love’s empoisoned fire their entrails brent,

Arose, and where the king sate in his pride,

With stately pace and humble gestures, went;

And as she could in looks in voice she strove

Fierce, stern, bold, angry, and severe to prove.

XLIII

“Great Emperor, behold me here,” she said.

“For thee, my country, and my faith to fight,

A dame, a virgin, but a royal maid;

And worthy seems this war a princess hight,

For by the sword the sceptre is upstayed,

This hand can use them both with skill and might,

This hand of mine can strike, and at each blow

Thy foes and ours kill, wound, and overthrow.

XLIV

“Nor yet suppose this is the foremost day

Wherein to war I bent my noble thought,

But for the surety of thy realms, and stay

Of our religion true, ere this I wrought:

Yourself best know if this be true I say,

Or if my former deeds rejoiced you aught,

When Godfrey’s hardy knights and princes strong

I captive took, and held in bondage long.

XLV

“I took them, bound them, and so sent them bound

To thee, a noble gift, with whom they had

Condemned low in dungeon under ground

Forever dwelt, in woe and torment sad:

So might thine host an easy way have found

To end this doubtful war, with conquest glad,

Had not Rinaldo fierce my knights all slain,

And set those lords, his friends, at large again.

XLVI

“Rinaldo is well known,” and there a long

And true rehearsal made she of his deeds,

“This is the knight that since hath done me wrong,

Wrong yet untold, that sharp revengement needs:

Displeasure therefore, mixed with reason strong,

This thirst of war in me, this courage breeds;

Nor how he injured me time serves to tell,

Let this suffice, I seek revengement fell,

XLVII

“And will procure it, for all shafts that fly

Light not in vain; some work the shooter’s will,

And Jove’s right hand with thunders cast from sky

Takes open vengeance oft for secret ill:

But if some champion dare this knight defy

To mortal battle, and by fight him kill,

And with his hateful head will me present,

That gift my soul shall please, my heart content:

XLVIII

“So please, that for reward enjoy he shall,

The greatest gift I can or may afford,

Myself, my beauty, wealth, and kingdoms all,

To marry him, and take him for my lord,

This promise will I keep whate’er befall,

And thereto bind myself by oath and word:

Now he that deems this purchase worth his pain,

Let him step forth and speak, I none disdain.”

XLIX

While thus the princess said, his hungry eyne

Adrastus fed on her sweet beauty’s light,

“The gods forbid,” quoth he, “one shaft of thine

Should be discharged gainst that discourteous knight,

His heart unworthy is, shootress divine,

Of thine artillery to feel the might;

To wreak thine ire behold me prest and fit,

I will his head cut off, and bring thee it.

L

“I will his heart with this sharp sword divide,

And to the vultures cast his carcass out.”

Thus threatened he, but Tisapherne envied

To hear his glorious vaunt and boasting stout,

And said, “But who art thou, that so great pride

Thou showest before the king, me, and this rout?

Pardie here are some such, whose worth exceeds

Thy vaunting much yet boast not of their deeds.”

LI

The Indian fierce replied, “I am the man

Whose acts his words and boasts have aye surpassed;

But if elsewhere the words thou now began

Had uttered been, that speech had been thy last.”

Thus quarrelled they; the monarch stayed them than,

And ’twixt the angry knights his sceptre cast:

Then to Armida said, “Fair Queen, I see

Thy heart is stout, thy thoughts courageous be;

LII

“Thou worthy art that their disdain and ire

At thy commands these knights should both appease,

That gainst thy foe their courage hot as fire

Thou may’st employ, both when and where you please,

There all their power and force, and what desire

They have to serve thee, may they show at ease.”

The monarch held his peace when this was said,

And they new proffer of their service made.

LIII

Nor they alone, but all that famous were

In feats of arms boast that he shall be dead,

All offer her their aid, all say and swear,

To take revenge on his condemned head:

So many arms moved she against her dear,

And swore her darling under foot to tread,

But he, since first the enchanted isle he left,

Safe in his barge the roaring waves still cleft.

LIV

By the same way returned the well-taught boat

By which it came, and made like haste, like speed;

The friendly wind, upon her sail that smote,

So turned as to return her ship had need:

The youth sometimes the Pole or Bear did note,

Or wandering stars which dearest nights forthspread:

Sometimes the floods, the hills, or mountains steep,

Whose woody fronts o’ershade the silent deep.

LV

Now of the camp the man the state inquires,

Now asks the customs strange of sundry lands;

And sailed, till clad in beams and bright attires

The fourth day’s sun on the eastern threshold stands:

But when the western seas had quenched those fires,

Their frigate struck against the shore and sands;

Then spoke their guide, “The land of Palestine

This is, here must your journey end and mine.”

LVI

The knights she set upon the shore all three,

And vanished thence in twinkling of an eye,

Uprose the night in whose deep blackness be

All colors hid of things in earth or sky,

Nor could they house, or hold, or harbor see,

Or in that desert sign of dwelling spy,

Nor track of man or horse, or aught that might

Inform them of some path or passage right.

LVII

When they had mused what way they travel should,

From the west shore their steps at last they twined,

And lo, far off at last their eyes behold

Something, they wist not what, that clearly shined

With rays of silver and with beams of gold

Which the dark folds of night’s black mantle lined.

Forward they went and marched against the light,

To see and find the thing that shone so bright.

LVIII

High on a tree they saw an armor new,

That glistered bright gainst Cynthia’s silver ray,

Therein, like stars in skies, the diamonds show

Fret in the gilden helm and hauberk gay,

The mighty shield all scored full they view

Of pictures fair, ranged in meet array;

To keep them sate an aged man beside,

Who to salute them rose, when them he spied.

LIX

The twain who first were sent in this pursuit

Of their wise friend well knew the aged face:

But when the wizard sage their first salute

Received and quitted had with kind embrace,

To the young prince, that silent stood and mute,

He turned his speech, “In this unused place

For you alone I wait, my lord,” quoth he,

“My chiefest care your state and welfare be.

LX

“For, though you wot it not, I am your friend,

And for your profit work, as these can tell,

I taught them how Armida’s charms to end,

And bring you thither from love’s hateful cell,

Now to my words, though sharp perchance, attend,

Nor be aggrieved although they seem too fell,

But keep them well in mind, till in the truth

A wise and holier man instruct thy youth.

LXI

“Not underneath sweet shades and fountains shrill,

Among the nymphs, the fairies, leaves and flowers;

But on the steep, the rough and craggy hill

Of virtue stands this bliss, this good of ours:

By toil and travel, not by sitting still

In pleasure’s lap, we come to honor’s bowers;

Why will you thus in sloth’s deep valley lie?

The royal eagles on high mountains fly.

LXII

“Nature lifts up thy forehead to the skies,

And fills thy heart with high and noble thought,

That thou to heavenward aye shouldst lift thine eyes,

And purchase fame by deeds well done and wrought;

She gives thee ire, by which not courage flies

To conquests, not through brawls and battles fought

For civil jars, nor that thereby you might

Your wicked malice wreak and cursed spite.

LXIII

“But that your strength spurred forth with noble wrath,

With greater fury might Christ’s foes assault,

And that your bridle should with lesser scath

Each secret vice, and kill each inward fault;

For so his godly anger ruled hath

Each righteous man beneath heaven’s starry vault,

And at his will makes it now hot, now cold,

Now lets it run, now doth it fettered hold.”

LXIV

Thus parleyed he; Rinaldo, hushed and still,

Great wisdom heard in those few words compiled,

He marked his speech, a purple blush did fill

His guilty checks, down went his eyesight mild.

The hermit by his bashful looks his will

Well understood, and said, “Look up, my child,

And painted in this precious shield behold

The glorious deeds of thy forefathers old.

LXV

“Thine elders’ glory herein see and know,

In virtue’s path how they trod all their days,

Whom thou art far behind, a runner slow

In this true course of honor, fame and praise:

Up, up, thyself incite by the fair show

Of knightly worth which this bright shield bewrays,

That be thy spur to praise!” At last the knight

Looked up, and on those portraits bent his sight.

LXVI

The cunning workman had in little space

Infinite shapes of men there well expressed,

For there described was the worthy race

And pedigree of all of the house of Est:

Come from a Roman spring o’er all the place

Flowed pure streams of crystals east and west,

With laurel crowned stood the princes old,

Their wars the hermit and their battles told.

LXVII

He showed them Caius first, when first in prey

To people strange the falling empire went,

First Prince of Est, that did the sceptre sway

O’er such as chose him lord by tree consent;

His weaker neighbors to his rule obey,

Need made them stoop, constraint doth force content;

After, when Lord Honorius called the train

Of savage Goths into his land again,

LXVIII

And when all Italy did burn and flame

With bloody war, by this fierce people mad,

When Rome a captive and a slave became,

And to be quite destroyed was most afraid,

Aurelius, to his everlasting fame,

Preserved in peace the folk that him obeyed:

Next whom was Forest, who the rage withstood

Of the bold Huns, and of their tyrant proud.

LXIX

Known by his look was Attila the fell,

Whose dragon eyes shone bright with anger’s spark,

Worse faced than a dog, who viewed him well

Supposed they saw him grin and heard him bark;

But when in single fight he lost the bell,

How through his troops he fled there might you mark,

And how Lord Forest after fortified

Aquilea’s town, and how for it he died.

LXX

For there was wrought the fatal end and fine,

Both of himself and of the town he kept:

But his great son renowned Acarine,

Into his father’s place and honor stepped:

To cruel fate, not to the Huns, Altine

Gave place, and when time served again forth leapt,

And in the vale of Po built for his seat

Of many a village a small city great;

LXXI

Against the swelling flood he banked it strong,

And thence uprose the fair and noble town

Where they of Est should by succession long

Command, and rule in bliss and high renown:

Gainst Odoacer then he fought, but wrong

Oft spoileth right, fortune treads courage down,

For there he died for his dear country’s sake,

And of his father’s praise did so partake.

LXXII

With him died Alforisio, Azzo was

With his dear brother into exile sent,

But homeward they in arms again repass—

The Herule king oppressed—from banishment.

His front through pierced with a dart, alas,

Next them, of Est the Epaminondas went,

That smiling seemed to cruel death to yield,

When Totila was fled, and safe his shield.

LXXIII

Of Boniface I speak; Valerian,

His son, in praise and power succeeded him,

Who durst sustain, in years though scant a man,

Of the proud Goths an hundred squadrons trim:

Then he that gainst the Sclaves much honor wan,

Ernesto, threatening stood with visage grim;

Before him Aldoard, the Lombard stout

Who from Monselce boldly erst shut out.

LXXIV

There Henry was and Berengare the bold

That served great Charles in his conquest high,

Who in each battle give the onset would,

A hardy soldier and a captain sly;

After, Prince Lewis did he well uphold

Against his nephew, King of Italy,

He won the field and took that king on live:

Next him stood Otho with his children five.

LXXV

Of Almeric the image next they view,

Lord Marquis of Ferrara first create,

Founder of many churches, that upthrew

His eyes, like one that used to contemplate;

Gainst him the second Azzo stood in rew,

With Berengarius that did long debate,

Till after often change of fortune stroke,

He won, and on all Italy laid the yoke.

LXXVI

Albert his son the Germans warred among,

And there his praise and fame was spread so wide,

That having foiled the Danes in battle strong,

His daughter young became great Otho’s bride.

Behind him Hugo stood with warfare long,

That broke the horn of all the Romans’ pride,

Who of all Italy the marquis hight,

And Tuscan whole possessed as his right.

LXXVII

After Tebaldo, puissant Boniface

And Beatrice his dear possessed the stage;

Nor was there left heir male of that great race,

To enjoy the sceptre, state and heritage;

The Princess Maud alone supplied the place,

Supplied the want in number, sex and age;

For far above each sceptre, throne and crown,

The noble dame advanced her veil and gown.

LXXVIII

With manlike vigor shone her noble look,

And more than manlike wrath her face o’erspread,

There the fell Normans, Guichard there forsook

The field, till then who never feared nor fled;

Henry the Fourth she beat, and from him took

His standard, and in Church it offered;

Which done, the Pope back to the Vatican

She brought, and placed in Peter’s chair again.

LXXIX

As he that honored her and held her dear,

Azzo the Fifth stood by her lovely side;

But the fourth Azzo’s offspring far and near

Spread forth, and through Germania fructified;

Sprung from the branch did Guelpho bold appear,

Guelpho his son by Cunigond his bride,

And in Bavaria’s field transplanted new

The Roman graft flourished, increased and grew.

LXXX

A branch of Est there in the Guelfian tree

Engrafted was, which of itself was old,

Whereon you might the Guelfoes fairer see,

Renew their sceptres and their crowns of gold,

Of which Heaven’s good aspects so bended be

That high and broad it spread and flourished bold,

Till underneath his glorious branches laid

Half Germany, and all under his shade.

LXXXI

This regal plant from his Italian rout

Sprung up as high, and blossomed fair above,

Fornenst Lord Guelpho, Bertold issued out,

With the sixth Azzo whom all virtues love;

This was the pedigree of worthies stout,

Who seemed in that bright shield to live and move.

Rinaldo waked up and cheered his face,

To see these worthies of his house and race.

LXXXII

To do like acts his courage wished and sought,

And with that wish transported him so far

That all those deeds which filled aye his thought,

Towns won, forts taken, armies killed in war,

As if they were things done indeed and wrought,

Before his eyes he thinks they present are,

He hastily arms him, and with hope and haste,

Sure conquest met, prevented and embraced.

LXXXIII

But Charles, who had told the death and fall

Of the young prince of Danes, his late dear lord,

Gave him the fatal weapon, and withal,

“Young knight,” quoth he, “take with good luck this sword,

Your just, strong, valiant hand in battle shall

Employ it long, for Christ’s true faith and word,

And of his former lord revenge the wrongs,

Who loved you so, that deed to you belongs.”

LXXXIV

He answered, “God for his mercy’s sake,

Grant that this hand which holds this weapon good

For thy dear master may sharp vengeance take,

May cleave the Pagan’s heart, and shed his blood.”

To this but short reply did Charles make,

And thanked him much, nor more on terms they stood:

For lo, the wizard sage that was their guide

On their dark journey hastes them forth to ride.

LXXXV

“High time it is,” quoth he, “for you to wend

Where Godfrey you awaits, and many a knight,

There may we well arrive ere night doth end,

And through this darkness can I guide you right.”

This said, up to his coach they all ascend,

On his swift wheels forth rolled the chariot light,

He gave his coursers fleet the rod and rein,

And galloped forth and eastward drove amain;

LXXXVI

While silent so through night’s dark shade they fly,

The hermit thus bespake the young man stout:

“Of thy great house, thy race, thine offspring high,

Here hast thou seen the branch, the bole, the root,

And as these worthies born to chivalry

And deeds of arms it hath tofore brought out,

So is it, so it shall be fertile still,

Nor time shall end, nor age that seed shall kill.

LXXXVII

“Would God, as drawn from the forgetful lap

Of antique time, I have thine elders shown;

That so I could the catalogue unwrap

Of thy great nephews yet unborn, unknown,

That ere this light they view, their fate and hap

I might foretell, and how their chance is thrown,

That like thine elders so thou mightst behold

Thy children, many, famous, stout and bold.

LXXXVIII

“But not by art or skill, of things future

Can the plain truth revealed be and told,

Although some knowledge doubtful, dark, obscure

We have of coming haps in clouds uprolled;

Nor all which in this cause I know for sure

Dare I foretell: for of that father old,

The hermit Peter, learned I much, and he

Withouten veil heaven’s secrets great doth see.

LXXXIX

“But this, to him revealed by grace divine,

By him to me declared, to thee I say,

Was never race Greek, barbarous, or Latine,

Great in times past, or famous at this day,

Richer in hardy knights than this of thine;

Such blessings Heaven shall on thy children lay

That they in fame shall pass, in praise o’ercome,

The worthies old of Sparta, Carthage, Rome.

XC

“But mongst the rest I chose Alphonsus bold,

In virtue first, second in place and name,

He shall be born when this frail world grows old,

Corrupted, poor, and bare of men of fame,

Better than he none shall, none can, or could,

The sword or sceptre use or guide the same,

To rule in peace or to command in fight,

Thine offspring’s glory and thy house’s light.

XCI

“His younger age foretokens true shall yield

Of future valor, puissance, force and might,

From him no rock the savage beast shall shield;

At tilt or tourney match him shall no knight:

After, he conquer shall in pitched field

Great armies and win spoils in single fight,

And on his locks, rewards for knightly praise,

Shall garlands wear of grass, of oak, of bays.

XCII

“His graver age, as well that eild it fits,

Shall happy peace preserve and quiet blest,

And from his neighbors strong mongst whom he sits

Shall keep his cities safe in wealth and rest,

Shall nourish arts and cherish pregnant wits,

Make triumphs great, and feast his subjects best,

Reward the good, the evil with pains torment,

Shall dangers all foresee, and seen, prevent.

XCIII

“But if it hap against those wicked bands

That sea and earth invest with blood and war,

And in these wretched times to noble lands

Give laws of peace false and unjust that are,

That he be sent, to drive their guilty hands

From Christ’s pure altars and high temples far,

Oh, what revenge, what vengeance shall he bring

On that false sect, and their accursed king!

XCIV

“Too late the Moors, too late the Turkish king,

Gainst him should arm their troops and legions bold

For he beyond great Euphrates should bring,

Beyond the frozen tops of Taurus cold,

Beyond the land where is perpetual spring,

The cross, the eagle white, the lily of gold,

And by baptizing of the Ethiops brown

Of aged Nile reveal the springs unknown.”

XCV

Thus said the hermit, and his prophecy

The prince accepted with content and pleasure,

The secret thought of his posterity

Of his concealed joys heaped up the measure.

Meanwhile the morning bright was mounted high,

And changed Heaven’s silver wealth to golden treasure,

And high above the Christian tents they view

How the broad ensigns trembled, waved and blew,

XCVI

When thus again their leader sage begun,

“See how bright Phoebus clears the darksome skies,

See how with gentle beams the friendly sun

The tents, the towns, the hills and dales descries,

Through my well guiding is your voyage done,

From danger safe in travel off which lies,

Hence without fear of harm or doubt of foe

March to the camp, I may no nearer go.”

XCVII

Thus took he leave, and made a quick return,

And forward went the champions three on foot,

And marching right against the rising morn

A ready passage to the camp found out,

Meanwhile had speedy fame the tidings borne

That to the tents approached these barons stout,

And starting from his throne and kingly seat

To entertain them, rose Godfredo great.

EIGHTEENTH BOOK

THE ARGUMENT.

The charms and spirits false therein which lie

Rinaldo chaseth from the forest old;

The host of Egypt comes; Vafrin the spy

Entereth their camp, stout, crafty, wise and bold;

Sharp is the fight about the bulwarks high

And ports of Zion, to assault the hold:

Godfrey hath aid from Heaven, by force the town

Is won, the Pagans slain, walls beaten down.

I

Arrived where Godfrey to embrace him stood,

“My sovereign lord,” Rinaldo meekly said,

“To venge my wrongs against Gernando proud

My honor’s care provoked my wrath unstayed;

But that I you displeased, my chieftain good,

My thoughts yet grieve, my heart is still dismayed,

And here I come, prest all exploits to try

To make me gracious in your gracious eye.”

II

To him that kneeled, folding his friendly arms

About his neck, the duke this answer gave:

“Let pass such speeches sad, of passed harms.

Remembrance is the life of grief; his grave,

Forgetfulness; and for amends, in arms

Your wonted valor use and courage brave;

For you alone to happy end must bring

The strong enchantments of the charmed spring.

III

“That aged wood whence heretofore we got,

To build our scaling engines, timber fit,

Is now the fearful seat, but how none wot,

Where ugly fiends and damned spirits sit;

To cut one twist thereof adventureth not

The boldest knight we have, nor without it

This wall can battered be: where others doubt

There venture thou, and show thy courage stout.”

IV

Thus said he, and the knight in speeches few

Proffered his service to attempt the thing,

To hard assays his courage willing flew,

To him praise was no spur, words were no sting;

Of his dear friends then he embraced the crew

To welcome him which came; for in a ring

About him Guelpho, Tancred and the rest

Stood, of the camp the greatest, chief and best.

V

When with the prince these lords had iterate

Their welcomes oft, and oft their dear embrace,

Toward the rest of lesser worth and state,

He turned, and them received with gentle grace;

The merry soldiers bout him shout and prate,

With cries as joyful and as cheerful face

As if in triumph’s chariot bright as sun,

He had returned Afric or Asia won.

VI

Thus marched to his tent the champion good,

And there sat down with all his friends around;

Now of the war he asked, now of the wood,

And answered each demand they list propound;

But when they left him to his ease, up stood

The hermit, and, fit time to speak once found,

“My lord,” he said, “your travels wondrous are,

Far have you strayed, erred, wandered far.

VII

“Much are you bound to God above, who brought

You safe from false Armida’s charmed hold,

And thee a straying sheep whom once he bought

Hath now again reduced to his fold,

And gainst his heathen foes these men of naught

Hath chosen thee in place next Godfrey bold;

Yet mayest thou not, polluted thus with sin,

In his high service war or fight begin.

VIII

“The world, the flesh, with their infection vile

Pollute the thoughts impure, thy spirit stain;

Not Po, not Ganges, not seven-mouthed Nile,

Not the wide seas, can wash thee clean again,

Only to purge all faults which thee defile

His blood hath power who for thy sins was slain:

His help therefore invoke, to him bewray

Thy secret faults, mourn, weep, complain and pray.”

IX

This said, the knight first with the witch unchaste

His idle loves and follies vain lamented;

Then kneeling low with heavy looks downcast,

His other sins confessed and all repented,

And meekly pardon craved for first and last.

The hermit with his zeal was well contented,

And said, “On yonder hill next morn go pray

That turns his forehead gainst the morning ray.

X

“That done, march to the wood, whence each one brings

Such news of furies, goblins, fiends, and sprites,

The giants, monsters, and all dreadful things

Thou shalt subdue, which that dark grove unites:

Let no strange voice that mourns or sweetly sings,

Nor beauty, whose glad smile frail hearts delights,

Within thy breast make ruth or pity rise,

But their false looks and prayers false despise.”

XI

Thus he advised him, and the hardy knight

Prepared him gladly to this enterprise,

Thoughtful he passed the day, and sad the night;

And ere the silver morn began to rise,

His arms he took, and in a coat him dight

Of color strange, cut in the warlike guise;

And on his way sole, silent, forth he went

Alone, and left his friends, and left his tent.

XII

It was the time when gainst the breaking day

Rebellious night yet strove, and still repined,

For in the east appeared the morning gray

And yet some lamps in Jove’s high palace shined,

When to Mount Olivet he took his way,

And saw, as round about his eyes he twined,

Night’s shadows hence, from thence the morning’s shine,

This bright, that dark; that earthly, this divine.

XIII

Thus to himself he thought, how many bright

And splendent lamps shine in heaven’s temple high,

Day hath his golden sun, her moon the night,

Her fixed and wandering stars the azure sky,

So framed all by their Creator’s might

That still they live and shine, and ne’er shall die

Till, in a moment, with the last day’s brand

They burn, and with them burn sea, air, and land.

XIV

Thus as he mused, to the top he went,

And there kneeled down with reverence and fear,

His eyes upon heaven’s eastern face he bent,

His thoughts above all heavens uplifted were:

“The sins and errors, which I now repent,

Of mine unbridled youth, O Father dear,

Remember not, but let thy mercy fall,

And purge my faults and mine offences all.”

XV

Thus prayed he, with purple wings upflew

In golden weed the morning’s lusty queen,

Begilding with the radiant beams she threw

His helm, his harness, and the mountain green;

Upon his breast and forehead gently blew

The air, that balm and nardus breathed unseen,

And o’er his head let down from clearest skies

A cloud of pure and precious clew there flies.

XVI

The heavenly dew was on his garments spread,

To which compared, his clothes pale ashes seem,

And sprinkled so, that all that paleness fled

And thence, of purest white, bright rays outstream;

So cheered are the flowers late withered

With the sweet comfort of the morning beam,

And so, returned to youth, a serpent old

Adorns herself in new and native gold.

XVII

The lovely whiteness of his changed weed,

The Prince perceived well, and long admired;

Toward the forest marched he on with speed,

Resolved, as such adventures great required;

Thither he came whence shrinking back for dread

Of that strange desert’s sight the first retired,

But not to him fearful or loathsome made

That forest was, but sweet with pleasant shade:

XVIII

Forward he passed, mid in the grove before

He heard a sound that strange, sweet, pleasing was;

There rolled a crystal brook with gentle roar,

There sighed the winds as through the leaves they pass,

There did the nightingale her wrongs deplore,

There sung the swan, and singing died, alas!

There lute, harp, cittern, human voice he heard,

And all these sounds one sound right well declared.

XIX

A dreadful thunder-clap at last he heard,

The aged trees and plants well-nigh that rent;

Yet heard the nymphs and sirens afterward,

Birds, winds, and waters, sing with sweet consent:

Whereat amazed he stayed, and well prepared

For his defence, heedful and slow forth went:

Nor in his way his passage aught withstood,

Except a quiet, still, transparent flood.

XX

On the green banks which that fair stream inbound,

Flowers and odors sweetly smiled and smelled,

Which reaching out his stretched arms around,

All the large desert in his bosom held,

And through the grove one channel passage found;

That in the wood; in that, the forest dwelled:

Trees clad the streams; streams green those trees aye made

And so exchanged their moisture and their shade.

XXI

The knight some way sought out the flood to pass,

And as he sought, a wondrous bridge appeared,

A bridge of gold, a huge and weighty mass,

On arches great of that rich metal reared;

When through that golden way he entered was,

Down fell the bridge, swelled the stream, and weared

The work away, nor sign left where it stood,

And of a river calm became a flood.

XXII

He turned, amazed to see it troubled so,

Like sudden brooks increased with molten snow,

The billows fierce that tossed to and fro,

The whirlpools sucked down to their bosoms low;

But on he went to search for wonders mo,

Through the thick trees there high and broad which grow,

And in that forest huge and desert wide,

The more he sought, more wonders still he spied.

XXIII

Whereso he stepped, it seemed the joyful ground

Renewed the verdure of her flowery weed,

A fountain here, a wellspring there he found;

Here bud the roses, there the lilies spread

The aged wood o’er and about him round

Flourished with blossoms new, new leaves, new seed,

And on the boughs and branches of those treen,

The bark was softened, and renewed the green.

XXIV

The manna on each leaf did pearled lie,

The honey stilled from the tender rind;

Again he heard that wondrous harmony,

Of songs and sweet complaints of lovers kind,

The human voices sung a triple high,

To which respond the birds, the streams, the wind,

But yet unseen those nymphs, those singers were,

Unseen the lutes, harps, viols which they bear.

XXV

He looked, he listened, yet his thoughts denied

To think that true which he both heard and see,

A myrtle in an ample plain he spied,

And thither by a beaten path went he:

The myrtle spread her mighty branches wide,

Higher than pine or palm or cypress tree:

And far above all other plants was seen

That forest’s lady and that desert’s queen.

XXVI

Upon the trees his eyes Rinaldo bent,

And there a marvel great and strange began;

An aged oak beside him cleft and rent,

And from his fertile hollow womb forth ran,

Clad in rare weeds and strange habiliment,

A nymph, for age able to go to man,

An hundred plants beside, even in his sight,

Childed an hundred nymphs, so great, so dight.

XXVII

Such as on stages play, such as we see

The Dryads painted whom wild Satyrs love,

Whose arms half-naked, locks untrussed be,

With buskins laced on their legs above,

And silken robes tucked short above their knee;

Such seemed the sylvan daughters of this grove,

Save that instead of shafts and boughs of tree,

She bore a lute, a harp, or cittern she.

XXVIII

And wantonly they cast them in a ring,

And sung and danced to move his weaker sense,

Rinaldo round about environing,

As centres are with their circumference;

The tree they compassed eke, and gan to sing,

That woods and streams admired their excellence;

“Welcome, dear lord, welcome to this sweet grove,

Welcome our lady’s hope, welcome her love.

XXIX

“Thou com’st to cure our princess, faint and sick

For love, for love of thee, faint, sick, distressed;

Late black, late dreadful was this forest thick,

Fit dwelling for sad folk with grief oppressed,

See with thy coming how the branches quick

Revived are, and in new blosoms dressed:”

This was their song, and after, from it went

First a sweet sound, and then the myrtle rent.

XXX

If antique times admired Silenus old

That oft appeared set on his lazy ass,

How would they wonder if they had behold

Such sights as from the myrtle high did pass?

Thence came a lady fair with locks of gold,

That like in shape, in face and beauty was

To sweet Armide; Rinaldo thinks he spies

Her gestures, smiles, and glances of her eyes.

XXXI

On him a sad and smiling look she cast,

Which twenty passions strange at once bewrays:

“And art thou come,” quoth she, “returned at last

To her from whom but late thou ran’st thy ways?

Com’st thou to comfort me for sorrows past?

To ease my widow nights and careful days?

Or comest thou to work me grief and harm?

Why nilt thou speak?—why not thy face disarm?

XXXII

“Com’st thou a friend or foe? I did not frame

That golden bridge to entertain my foe,

Nor opened flowers and fountains as you came,

To welcome him with joy that brings me woe:

Put off thy helm, rejoice me with the flame

Of thy bright eyes, whence first my fires did grow.

Kiss me, embrace me, if you further venture,

Love keeps the gate, the fort is eath to enter.”

XXXIII

Thus as she woos she rolls her rueful eyes

With piteous look, and changeth oft her cheer,

An hundred sighs from her false heart upflies,

She sobs, she mourns, it is great ruth to hear;

The hardest breast sweet pity mollifies,

What stony heart resists a woman’s tear?

But yet the knight, wise, wary, not unkind,

Drew forth his sword and from her careless twined.

XXXIV

Toward the tree he marched, she thither start,

Before him stepped, embraced the plant and cried,

“Ah, never do me such a spiteful part,

To cut my tree, this forest’s joy and pride,

Put up thy sword, else pierce therewith the heart

Of thy forsaken and despised Armide;

For through this breast, and through this heart unkind

To this fair tree thy sword shall passage find.”

XXXV

He lift his brand, nor cared though oft she prayed,

And she her form to other shape did change;

Such monsters huge when men in dreams are laid

Oft in their idle fancies roam and range:

Her body swelled, her face obscure was made,

Vanished her garments, her face and vestures strange,

A giantess before him high she stands,

Like Briareus armed with an hundred hands.

XXXVI

With fifty swords, and fifty targets bright,

She threatened death, she roared, cried and fought,

Each other nymph in armor likewise dight,

A Cyclops great became: he feared them naught,

But on the myrtle smote with all his might,

That groaned like living souls to death nigh brought,

The sky seemed Pluto’s court, the air seemed hell,

Therein such monsters roar, such spirits yell.

XXXVII

Lightened the heavens above, the earth below

Roared loud, that thundered, and this shook;

Blustered the tempests strong, the whirlwinds blow,

The bitter storm drove hailstones in his look;

But yet his arm grew neither weak nor slow,

Nor of that fury heed or care he took,

Till low to earth the wounded tree down bended;

Then fled the spirits all, the charms all ended.

XXXVIII

The heavens grew clear, the air waxed calm and still,

The wood returned to his wonted state,

Of withcrafts free, quite void of spirits ill;

Of horror full, but horror there innate;

He further proved if aught withstood his will

To cut those trees as did the charms of late,

And finding naught to stop him, smiled, and said,

“O shadows vain! O fools, of shades afraid!”

XXXIX

From thence home to the campward turned the knight,

The hermit cried, upstarting from his seat,

“Now of the wood the charms have lost their might,

The sprites are conquered, ended is the feat,

See where he comes!” In glistering white all dight

Appeared the man, bold, stately, high and great,

His eagle’s silver wings to shine begun

With wondrous splendor gainst the golden sun.

XL

The camp received him with a joyful cry,

A cry the dales and hills about that flied;

Then Godfrey welcomed him with honors high,

His glory quenched all spite, all envy killed:

“To yonder dreadful grove,” quoth he, “went I,

And from the fearful wood, as me you willed,

Have driven the sprites away, thither let be

Your people sent, the way is safe and free.”

XLI

Sent were the workmen thither, thence they brought

Timber enough, by good advice select,

And though by skilless builders framed and wrought

Their engines rude and rams were late elect,

Yet now the forts and towers from whence they fought

Were framed by a cunning architect,

William, of all the Genoese lord and guide,

Which late ruled all the seas from side to side;

XLII

But forced to retire from him at last,

The Pagan fleet the seas moist empire won,

His men with all their stuff and store in haste

Home to the camp with their commander run,

In skill, in wit, in cunning him surpassed

Yet never engineer beneath the sun,

Of carpenters an hundred large he brought,

That what their lord devised made and wrought.

XLIII

This man began with wondrous art to make,

Not rams, not mighty brakes, not slings alone,

Wherewith the firm and solid walls to shake,

To cast a dart, or throw a shaft or stone;

But framed of pines and firs, did undertake

To build a fortress huge, to which was none

Yet ever like, whereof he clothed the sides

Against the balls of fire with raw bull’s hides.

XLIV

In mortices and sockets framed just,

The beams, the studs and puncheons joined he fast;

To beat the city’s wall, beneath forth brust

A ram with horned front, about her waist

A bridge the engine from her side out thrust,

Which on the wall when need she cast;

And from her top a turret small up stood,

Strong, surely armed, and builded of like wood.

XLV

Set on an hundred wheels the rolling mass,

On the smooth lands went nimbly up and down,

Though full of arms and armed men it was,

Yet with small pains it ran, as it had flown:

Wondered the camp so quick to see it pass,

They praised the workmen and their skill unknown,

And on that day two towers they builded more,

Like that which sweet Clorinda burned before.

XLVI

Yet wholly were not from the Saracines

Their works concealed and their labors hid,

Upon that wall which next the camp confines

They placed spies, who marked all they did:

They saw the ashes wild and squared pines,

How to the tents, trailed from the grove, they slid:

And engines huge they saw, yet could not tell

How they were built, their forms they saw not well.

XLVII

Their engines eke they reared, and with great art

Repaired each bulwark, turret, port and tower,

And fortified the plain and easy part,

To bide the storm of every warlike stoure,

Till as they thought no sleight or force of Mart

To undermine or scale the same had power;

And false Ismeno gan new balls prepare

Of wicked fire, wild, wondrous, strange and rare.

XLVIII

He mingled brimstone with bitumen fell

Fetched from that lake where Sodom erst did sink,

And from that flood which nine times compassed hell

Some of the liquor hot he brought, I think,

Wherewith the quenchless fire he tempered well,

To make it smoke and flame and deadly stink:

And for his wood cut down, the aged sire

Would thus revengement take with flame and fire.

XLIX

While thus the camp, and thus the town were bent,

These to assault, these to defend the wall,

A speedy dove through the clear welkin went,

Straight o’er the tents, seen by the soldiers all;

With nimble fans the yielding air she rent,

Nor seemed it that she would alight or fall,

Till she arrived near that besieged town,

Then from the clouds at last she stooped down:

L

But lo, from whence I nolt, a falcon came,

Armed with crooked bill and talons long,

And twixt the camp and city crossed her game,

That durst nor bide her foe’s encounter strong;

But right upon the royal tent down came,

And there, the lords and princes great among,

When the sharp hawk nigh touched her tender head

In Godfrey’s lap she fell, with fear half dead:

LI

The duke received her, saved her, and spied,

As he beheld the bird, a wondrous thing,

About her neck a letter close was tied,

By a small thread, and thrust under her wing,

He loosed forth the writ and spread it wide,

And read the intent thereof, “To Judah’s king,”

Thus said the schedule, “honors high increase,

The Egyptian chieftain wisheth health and peace:

LII

“Fear not, renowned prince, resist, endure

Till the third day, or till the fourth at most,

I come, and your deliverance will procure,

And kill your coward foes and all their host.”

This secret in that brief was closed up sure,

Writ in strange language, to the winged post

Given to transport; for in their warlike need

The east such message used, oft with good speed.

LIII

The duke let go the captive dove at large,

And she that had his counsel close betrayed,

Traitress to her great Lord, touched not the marge

Of Salem’s town, but fled far thence afraid.

The duke before all those which had or charge

Or office high, the letter read, and said:

“See how the goodness of the Lord foreshows

The secret purpose of our crafty foes.

LIV

“No longer then let us protract the time,

But scale the bulwark of this fortress high,

Through sweat and labor gainst those rocks sublime

Let us ascend, which to the southward lie;

Hard will it be that way in arms to climb,

But yet the place and passage both know I,

And that high wall by site strong on that part,

Is least defenced by arms, by work and art.

LV

“Thou, Raymond, on this side with all thy might

Assault the wall, and by those crags ascend,

My squadrons with mine engines huge shall fight

And gainst the northern gate my puissance bend,

That so our foes, beguiled with the sight,

Our greatest force and power shall there attend,

While my great tower from thence shall nimbly slide,

And batter down some worse defended side;

LVI

“Camillo, thou not far from me shalt rear

Another tower, close to the walls ybrought.”

This spoken, Raymond old, that sate him near,

And while he talked great things tossed in his thought,

Said, “To Godfredo’s counsel, given us here,

Naught can be added, from it taken naught:

Yet this I further wish, that some were sent

To spy their camp, their secret and intent,

LVII

“That may their number and their squadrons brave

Describe, and through their tents disguised mask.”

Quoth Tancred, “Lo, a subtle squire I have,

A person fit to undertake this task,

A man quick, ready, bold, sly to deceive,

To answer, wise, and well advised to ask;

Well languaged, and that with time and place,

Can change his look, his voice, his gait, his grace.”

LVIII

Sent for, he came, and when his lord him told

What Godfrey’s pleasure was and what his own,

He smiled and said forthwith he gladly would.

“I go,” quoth he, “careless what chance be thrown,

And where encamped be these Pagans bold,

Will walk in every tent a spy unknown,

Their camp even at noon-day I enter shall,

And number all their horse and footmen all;