Jerusalem Delivered Read Online

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;

  LIX
  "How great, how strong, how armed this army is,
  And what their guide intends, I will declare,
  To me the secrets of that heart of his
  And hidden thoughts shall open lie and bare."
  Thus Vafrine spoke, nor longer stayed on this,
  But for a mantle changed the coat he ware,
  Naked was his neck, and bout his forehead bold,
  Of linen white full twenty yards he rolled.

  LX
  His weapons were a Syrian bow and quiver,
  His gestures barbarous, like the Turkish train,
  Wondered all they that heard his tongue deliver
  Of every land the language true and plain:
  In Tyre a born Phoenician, by the river
  Of Nile a knight bred in the Egyptian main,
  Both people would have thought him; forth he rides
  On a swift steed, o'er hills and dales that glides.

  LXI
  But ere the third day came the French forth sent
  Their pioneers to even the rougher ways,
  And ready made each warlike instrument,
  Nor aught their labor interrupts or stays;
  The nights in busy toll they likewise spent
  And with long evenings lengthened forth short days,
  Till naught was left the hosts that hinder might
  To use their utmost power and strength in fight.

  LXII
  That day, which of the assault the day forerun,
  The godly duke in prayer spent well-nigh,
  And all the rest, because they had misdone,
  The sacrament receive and mercy cry;
  Then oft the duke his engines great begun
  To show where least he would their strength apply;
  His foes rejoiced, deluded in that sort,
  To see them bent against their surest port:

  LXIII
  But after, aided by the friendly night,
  His greatest engine to that side he brought
  Where plainest seemed the wall, where with their might
  The flankers least could hurt them as they fought;
  And to the southern mountain's greatest height
  To raise his turret old Raymondo sought;
  And thou Camillo on that part hadst thine,
  Where from the north the walls did westward twine.

  LXIV
  But when amid the eastern heaven appeared
  The rising morning bright as shining glass,
  The troubled Pagans saw, and seeing feared,
  How the great tower stood not where late it was,
  And here and there tofore unseen was reared
  Of timber strong a huge and fearful mass,
  And numberless with beams, with ropes and strings,
  They view the iron rams, the barks and slings.

  LXV
  The Syrian people now were no whit slow,
  Their best defences to that side to bear,
  Where Godfrey did his greatest engine show,
  From thence where late in vain they placed were:
  But he who at his back right well did know
  The host of Egypt to be proaching near,
  To him called Guelpho, and the Roberts twain,
  And said, "On horseback look you still remain,

  LXVI
  "And have regard, while all our people strive
  To scale this wall, where weak it seems and thin,
  Lest unawares some sudden host arrive,
  And at our backs unlooked-for war begin."
  This said, three fierce assaults at once they give,
  The hardy soldiers all would die or win,
  And on three parts resistance makes the king,
  And rage gainst strength, despair gainst hope doth bring.

  LXVII
  Himself upon his limbs with feeble eild
  That shook, unwieldy with their proper weight,
  His armor laid and long unused shield,
  And marched gainst Raymond to the mountain's height;
  Great Solyman gainst Godfrey took the field;
  Fornenst Camillo stood Argantes straight
  Where Tancred strong he found, so fortune will
  That this good prince his wonted foe shall kill.

  LXVIII
  The archers shot their arrows sharp and keen,
  Dipped in the bitter juice of poison strong,
  The shady face of heaven was scantly seen,
  Hid with the clouds of shafts and quarries long;
  Yet weapons sharp with greater fury been
  Cast from the towers the Pagan troops among,
  For thence flew stones and clifts of marble rocks,
  Trees shod with iron, timber, logs and blocks.

  LXIX
  A thunderbolt seemed every stone, it brake
  His limbs and armors on whom so it light,
  That life and soul it did not only take
  But all his shape and face disfigured quite;
  The lances stayed not in the wounds they make,
  But through the gored body took their flight,
  From side to side, through flesh, through skin and rind
  They flew, and flying, left sad death behind.

  LXX
  But yet not all this force and fury drove
  The Pagan people to forsake the wall,
  But to revenge these deadly blows they strove,
  With darts that fly, with stones and trees that fall;
  For need so cowards oft courageous prove,
  For liberty they fight, for life and all,
  And oft with arrows, shafts, and stones that fly,
  Give bitter answer to a sharp reply.

  LXXI
  This while the fierce assailants never cease,
  But sternly still maintain a threefold charge,
  And gainst the clouds of shafts draw nigh at ease,
  Under a pentise made of many a targe,
  The armed towers close to the bulwarks press,
  And strive to grapple with the battled marge,
  And launch their bridges out, meanwhile below
  With iron fronts the rams the walls down throw.

  LXXII
  Yet still Rinaldo unresolved went,
  And far unworthy him this service thought,
  If mongst the common sort his pains he spent;
  Renown so got the prince esteemed naught:
  His angry looks on every side he bent,
  And where most harm, most danger was, he fought,
  And where the wall high, strong and surest was,
  That part would he assault, and that way pass.

  LXXIII
  And turning to the worthies him behind,
  All hardy knights, whom Dudon late did guide,
  "Oh shame," quoth he, "this wall no war doth find,
  When battered is elsewhere each part, each side;
  All pain is safety to a valiant mind,
  Each way is eath to him that dares abide,
  Come let us scale this wall, though strong and high,
  And with your shields keep off the darts that fly."

  LXXIV
  With him united all while thus he spake,
  Their targets hard above their heads they threw,
  Which joined in one an iron pentise make
  That from the dreadful storm preserved the crew.
  Defended thus their speedy course they take,
  And to the wall without resistance drew,
  For that strong penticle protected well
  The knights, from all that flew and all that fell.

  LXXV
  Against the fort Rinaldo gan uprear
  A ladder huge, an hundred steps of height,
  And in his arm the same did easily bear
  And move as winds do reeds or rushes light,
  Sometimes a tree, a rock, a dart or spear,
  Fell from above, yet forward clomb the knight,
  And upward fearless pierced, careless still,
  Though Mount Olympus fell, or Ossa hill:

  LXXVI
  A mount of ruins, and of shafts a wood
  Upon his shoulders and his shield he bore,
  One hand the ladder held whereon he stood,
  The other bare his targe his face before;
  His hardy troop, by his example good
  Provoked, with him the place assaulted sore,
  And ladders long against the wall they clap,
  Unlike in courage yet, unlike in hap:

  LXXVII
  One died, another fell; he forward went,
  And these he comforts, and he threateneth those,
  Now with his hand outstretched the battlement
  Well-nigh he reached, when all his armed foes
  Ran thither, and their force and fury bent
  To throw him headlong down, yet up he goes,
  A wondrous thing, one knight whole armed bands
  Alone, and hanging in the air, withstands:

  LXXVIII
  Withstands, and forceth his great strength so far,
  That like a palm whereon huge weight doth rest,
  His forces so resisted stronger are,
  His virtues higher rise the more oppressed,
  Till all that would his entrance bold debar,
  He backward drove, upleaped and possessed
  The wall, and safe and easy with his blade,
  To all that after came, the passage made.

  LXXIX
  There killing such as durst and did withstand,
  To noble Eustace that was like to fall
  He reached forth his friendly conquering hand,
  And next himself helped him to mount the wall.
  This while Godfredo and his people land
  Their lives to greater harms and dangers thrall,
  For there not man with man, nor knight with knight
  Contend, but engines there with engines fight.

  LXXX
  For in that place the Paynims reared a post,
  Which late had served some gallant ship for mast,
  And over it another beam they crossed,
  Pointed with iron sharp, to it made fast
  With ropes which as men would the dormant tossed,
  Now out, now in, now back, now forward cast.
  In his swift pulleys oft the men withdrew
  The tree, and oft the riding-balk forth threw:

  LXXXI
  The mighty beam redoubted oft his blows,
  And with such force the engine smote and hit,
  That her broad side the tower wide open throws,
  Her joints were broke, her rafters cleft and split;
  But yet gainst every hap whence mischief grows,
  Prepared the piece, gainst such extremes made fit,
  Launch forth two scythes, sharp, cutting, long and broad
  And cut the ropes whereon the engine rode:

  LXXXII
  As an old rock, which age or stormy wind
  Tears from some craggy hill or mountain steep,
  Doth break, doth bruise, and into dust doth grind
  Woods, houses, hamlets, herds, and folds of sheep,
  So fell the beam, and down with it all kind
  Of arms, of weapons, and of men did sweep,
  Wherewith the towers once or twice did shake,
  Trembled the walls, the hills and mountains quake.

  LXXXIII
  Victorious Godfrey boldly forward came,
  And had great hope even then the place to win;
  But lo, a fire, with stench, with smoke and flame
  Withstood his passage, stopped his entrance in:
  Such burning Aetna yet could never frame,
  When from her entrails hot her fires begin,
  Nor yet in summer on the Indian plain,
  Such vapors warm from scorching air down rain.

  LXXXIV
  There balls of wildfire, there fly burning spears,
  This flame was black, that blue, this red as blood;
  Stench well-nigh choked them, noise deafs their ears,
  Smoke blinds their eyes, fire kindleth on the wood;
  Nor those raw hides which for defence it wears
  Could save the tower, in such distress it stood;
  For now they wrinkle, now it sweats and fries,
  Now burns, unless some help come down from skies.

  LXXXV
  The hardy duke before his folk abides,
  Nor changed he color, countenance or place,
  But comforts those that from the scaldered hides
  With water strove the approaching flames to chase:
  In these extremes the prince and those he guides
  Half roasted stood before fierce Vulcan's face,
  When lo, a sudden and unlooked-for blast
  The flames against the kindlers backward cast:

  LXXXVI
  The winds drove back the fire, where heaped lie
  The Pagans' weapons, where their engines were,
  Which kindling quickly in that substance dry,
  Burnt all their store and all their warlike gear:
  O glorious captain! whom the Lord from high
  Defends, whom God preserves, and holds so dear;
  For thee heaven fights, to thee the winds, from far,
  Called with thy trumpet's blast, obedient are!

  LXXXVII
  But wicked Ismen to his harm that saw
  How the fierce blast drove back the fire and flame,
  By art would nature change, and thence withdraw
  Those noisome winds, else calm and still the same;
  'Twixt two false wizards without fear or awe
  Upon the walls in open sight he came,
  Black, grisly, loathsome, grim and ugly faced,
  Like Pluto old, betwixt two furies placed;

  LXXXVIII
  And now the wretch those dreadful words begun,
  Which trouble make deep hell and all her flock,
  Now trembled is the air, the golden sun
  His fearful beams in clouds did close and lock,
  When from the tower, which Ismen could not shun,
  Out fled a mighty stone, late half a rock,
  Which light so just upon the wizards three,
  That driven to dust their bones and bodies be.

  LXXXIX
  To less than naught their members old were torn,
  And shivered were their heads to pieces small,
  As small as are the bruised grains of corn
  When from the mill dissolved to meal they fall;
  Their damned souls, to deepest hell down borne
  Far from the joy and light celestial,
  The furies plunged in the infernal lake:
  O mankind, at their ends ensample take!

  XC
  This while the engine which the tempest cold
  Had saved from burning with his friendly blast,
  Approached had so near the battered hold
  That on the walls her bridge at ease she cast:
  But Solyman ran thither fierce and bold,
  To cut the plank whereon the Christians passed.
  And had performed his will, save that upreared
  High in the skies a turret new appeared;

  XCI
  Far in the air up clomb the fortress tall,
  Higher than house, than steeple, church or tower;
  The Pagans trembled to behold the wall
  And city subject to her shot and power;
  Yet kept the Turk his stand, though on him fall
  Of stones and darts a sharp and deadly shower,
  And still to cut the bridge he hopes and strives,
  And those that fear with cheerful speech revives.

  XCII
  The angel Michael, to all the rest
  Unseen, appeared before Godfredo's eyes,
  In pure and heavenly armor richly dressed,
  Brighter than Titan's rays in clearest skies;
  "Godfrey," quoth he, "this is the moment blest
  To free this town that long in bondage lies,
  See, see what legions in thine aid I bring,
  For Heaven assists thee, and Heaven's glorious King:

  XCIII
  "Lift up thine eyes, and in the air behold
  The sacred armies, how they mustered be,
  That cloud of flesh in which for times of old
  All mankind wrapped is, I take from thee,
  And from thy senses their thick mist unfold,
  That face to face thou mayest these spirits see,
  And for a little space right well sustain
  Their glorious light and view those angels plain.

  XCIV
  "Behold the souls of every lord and knight
  That late bore arms and died for Christ's dear sake,
  How on thy side against this town they fight,
  And of thy joy and conquest will partake:
  There where the dust and smoke blind all men's sight,
  Where stones and ruins such an heap do make,
  There Hugo fights, in thickest cloud imbarred,
  And undermines that bulwark's groundwork hard.

  XCV
  "See Dudon yonder, who with sword and fire
  Assails and helps to scale the northern port,
  That with bold courage doth thy folk inspire
  And rears their ladders gainst the assaulted fort:
  He that high on the mount in grave attire
  Is clad, and crowned stands in kingly sort,
  Is Bishop Ademare, a blessed spirit,
  Blest for his faith, crowned for his death and merit.

  XCVI
  "But higher lift thy happy eyes, and view
  Where all the sacred hosts of Heaven appear."
  He looked, and saw where winged armies flew,
  Innumerable, pure, divine and clear;
  A battle round of squadrons three they show
  And all by threes those squadrons ranged were,
  Which spreading wide in rings still wider go,
  Moved with a stone calm water circleth so.

  XCVII
  With that he winked, and vanished was and gone;
  That wondrous vision when he looked again,
  His worthies fighting viewed he one by one,
  And on each side saw signs of conquest plain,
  For with Rinaldo gainst his yielding lone,
  His knights were entered and the Pagans slain,
  This seen, the duke no longer stay could brook,
  But from the bearer bold his ensign took:

  XCVIII
  And on the bridge he stepped, but there was stayed
  By Solyman, who entrance all denied,
  That narrow tree to virtue great was made,
  The field as in few blows right soon was tried,
  "Here will I give my life for Sion's aid,
  Here will I end my days," the Soldan cried,
  "Behind me cut or break this bridge, that I
  May kill a thousand Christians first, then die."

  XCIX
  But thither fierce Rinaldo threatening went,
  And at his sight fled all the Soldan's train,
  "What shall I do? If here my life be spent,
  I spend and spill," quoth he, "my blood in vain!"
  With that his steps from Godfrey back he bent,
  And to him let the passage free remain,
  Who threatening followed as the Soldan fled,
  And on the walls the purple Cross dispread:

  C
  About his head he tossed, he turned, he cast,
  That glorious ensign, with a thousand twines,
  Thereon the wind breathes with his sweetest blast,
  Thereon with golden rays glad Phoebus shines,
  Earth laughs for joy, the streams forbear their haste,
  Floods clap their hands, on mountains dance the pines,
  And Sion's towers and sacred temples smile
  For their deliverance from that bondage vile.

  CI
  And now the armies reared the happy cry
  Of victory, glad, joyful, loud, and shrill.
  The hills resound, the echo showereth high,
  And Tancred bold, that fights and combats still
  With proud Argantes, brought his tower so nigh,
  That on the wall, against the boaster's will,
  In his despite, his bridge he also laid,
  And won the place, and there the cross displayed.

  CII
  But on the southern hill, where Raymond fought
  Against the townsmen and their aged king,
  His hardy Gascoigns gained small or naught;
  Their engine to the walls they could not bring,
  For thither all his strength the prince had brought,
  For life and safety sternly combating,
  And for the wall was feeblest on that coast,
  There were his soldiers best, and engines most.

  CIII
  Besides, the tower upon that quarter found
  Unsure, uneasy, and uneven the way,
  Nor art could help, but that the rougher ground
  The rolling mass did often stop and stay;
  But now of victory the joyful sound
  The king and Raymond heard amid their fray;
  And by the shout they and their soldiers know,
  The town was entered on the plain below.

  CIV
  Which heard, Raymondo thus bespake this crew,
  "The town is won, my friends, and doth it yet
  Resist? are we kept out still by these few?
  Shall we no share in this high conquest get?"
  But from that part the king at last withdrew,
  He strove in vain their entrance there to let,
  And to a stronger place his folk he brought,
  Where to sustain the assault awhile he thought.

  CV
  The conquerors at once now entered all,
  The walls were won, the gates were opened wide,
  Now bruised, broken down, destroyed fall
  The ports and towers that battery durst abide;
  Rageth the sword, death murdereth great and small,
  And proud 'twixt woe and horror sad doth ride.
  Here runs the blood, in ponds there stands the gore,
  And drowns the knights in whom it lived before.

NINETEENTH BOOK

  THE ARGUMENT.
  Tancred in single combat kills his foe,
  Argantes strong: the king and Soldan fly
  To David's tower, and save their persons so;
  Erminia well instructs Vafrine the spy,
  With him she rides away, and as they go
  Finds where her lord for dead on earth doth lie;
  First she laments, then cures him: Godfrey hears
  Ormondo's treason, and what marks he bears.

  I
  Now death or fear or care to save their lives
  From their forsaken walls the Pagans chase:
  Yet neither force nor fear nor wisdom drives
  The constant knight Argantes from his place;
  Alone against ten thousand foes he strives,
  Yet dreadless, doubtless, careless seemed his face,
  Nor death, nor danger, but disgrace he fears,
  And still unconquered, though o'erset, appears.

  II
  But mongst the rest upon his helmet gay
  With his broad sword Tancredi came and smote:
  The Pagan knew the prince by his array,
  By his strong blows, his armor and his coat;
  For once they fought, and when night stayed that fray,
  New time they chose to end their combat hot,
  But Tancred failed, wherefore the Pagan knight
  Cried, "Tancred, com'st thou thus, thus late to fight?

  III
  "Too late thou com'st, and not alone to war,
  But yet the fight I neither shun nor fear,
  Although from knighthood true thou errest far,
  Since like an engineer thou dost appear,
  That tower, that troop, thy shield and safety are,
  Strange kind of arms in single fight to bear;
  Yet shalt thou not escape, O conqueror strong
  Of ladies fair, sharp death, to avenge that wrong."

  IV
  Lord Tancred smiled, with disdain and scorn,
  And answerd thus, "To end our strife," quoth he,
  "Behold at last I come, and my return,
  Though late, perchance will be too soon for thee;
  For thou shalt wish, of hope and help forlorn,
  Some sea or mountain placed twixt thee and me,
  And well shalt know before we end this fray
  No fear of cowardice hath caused my stay.

  V
  "But come aside, thou by whose prowess dies
  The monsters, knights and giants in all lands,
  The killer of weak women thee defies."
  This said, he turned to his fighting bands,
  And bids them all retire. "Forbear," he cries,
  "To strike this knight, on him let none lay hands;
  For mine he is, more than a common foe,
  By challenge new and promise old also."

  VI
  "Descend," the fierce Circassian gan reply,
  "Alone, or all this troop for succor take
  To deserts waste, or place frequented high,
  For vantage none I will the fight forsake:"
  Thus given and taken was the bold defy,
  And through the press, agreed so, they brake,
  Their hatred made them one, and as they went,
  Each knight his foe did for despite defend:

  VII
  Great was his thirst of praise, great the desire
  That Tancred had the Pagan's blood to spill,
  Nor could that quench his wrath or calm his ire
  If other hand his foe should foil or kill.
  He saved him with his shield, and cried "Retire!"
  To all he met, "and do this knight none ill:"
  And thus defending gainst his friends his foe,
  Through thousand angry weapons safe they go.

  VII
  They left the city, and they left behind
  Godfredo's camp, and far beyond it passed,
  And came where into creeks and bosoms blind
  A winding hill his corners turned and cast,
  A valley small and shady dale they find
  Amid the mountains steep so laid and placed
  As if some theatre or closed place
  Had been for men to fight or beasts to chase.

  IX
  There stayed the champions both with rueful eyes,
  Argantes gan the fortress won to view;
  Tancred his foe withouten shield espies,
  And said, "Whereon doth thy sad heart devise?
  Think'st thou this hour must end thy life untrue?
  If this thou fear, and dost foresee thy fate,
  Thy fear is vain, thy foresight comes too late."

  X
  "I think," quoth he, "on this distressed town,
  The aged Queen of Judah's ancient land,
  Now lost, now sacked, spoiled and trodden down,
  Whose fall in vain I strived to withstand,
  A small revenge for Sion's fort o'erthrown,
  That head can be, cut off by my strong hand."
  This said, together with great heed they flew,
  For each his foe for bold and hardy knew.

  XI
  Tancred of body active was and light,
  Quick, nimble, ready both of hand and foot;
  But higher by the head, the Pagan knight
  Of limbs far greater was, of heart as stout:
  Tancred laid low and traversed in his fight,
  Now to his ward retired, now struck out,
  Oft with his sword his foe's fierce blows he broke,
  And rather chose to ward-than bear his stroke.

  XII
  But bold and bolt upright Argantes fought,
  Unlike in gesture, like in skill and art,
  His sword outstretched before him far he brought,
  Nor would his weapon touch, but pierce his heart,
  To catch his point Prince Tancred strove and sought,
  But at his breast or helm's unclosed part
  He threatened death, and would with stretched-out brand
  His entrance close, and fierce assaults withstand.

  XIII
  With a tall ship so doth a galley fight,
  When the still winds stir not the unstable main;
  Where this in nimbleness as that in might
  Excels; that stands, this goes and comes again,
  And shifts from prow to poop with turnings light;
  Meanwhile the other doth unmoved remain,
  And on her nimble foe approaching nigh,
  Her weighty engines tumbleth down from high.

  XIV
  The Christian sought to enter on his foe,
  Voiding his point, which at his breast was bent;
  Argantes at his face a thrust did throw,
  Which while the Prince awards and doth prevent,
  His ready hand the Pagan turned so,
  That all defence his quickness far o'erwent,
  And pierced his side, which done, he said and smiled,
  "The craftsman is in his own craft beguiled."

  XV
  Tancredi bit his lip for scorn and shame,
  Nor longer stood on points of fence and skill,
  But to revenge so fierce and fast he came
  As if his hand could not o'ertake his will,
  And at his visor aiming just, gan frame
  To his proud boast an answer sharp, but still
  Argantes broke the thrust; and at half-sword,
  Swift, hardy, bold, in stepped the Christian lord.

  XVI
  With his left foot fast forward gan he stride,
  And with his left the Pagan's right arm bent,
  With his right hand meanwhile the man's right side
  He cut, he wounded, mangled, tore and rent.
  "To his victorious teacher," Tancred cried,
  "His conquered scholar hath this answer sent;"
  Argantes chafed, struggled, turned and twined,
  Yet could not so his captive arm unbind:

  XVII
  His sword at last he let hang by the chain,
  And griped his hardy foe in both his hands,
  In his strong arms Tancred caught him again,
  And thus each other held and wrapped in bands.
  With greater might Alcides did not strain
  The giant Antheus on the Lybian sands,
  On holdfast knots their brawny arms they cast,
  And whom he hateth most, each held embraced:

  XVIII
  Such was their wrestling, such their shocks and throws
  That down at once they tumbled both to ground,
  Argantes, — were it hap or skill, who knows,
  His better hand loose and in freedom found;
  But the good Prince, his hand more fit for blows,
  With his huge weight the Pagan underbound;
  But he, his disadvantage great that knew,
  Let go his hold, and on his feet up flew:

  XIX
  Far slower rose the unwieldy Saracine,
  And caught a rap ere he was reared upright.
  But as against the blustering winds a pine
  Now bends his top, now lifts his head on height,
  His courage so, when it 'gan most decline,
  The man reinforced, and advanced his might,
  And with fierce change of blows renewed the fray,
  Where rage for skill, horror for art, bore sway.

  XX
  The purple drops from Tancred's sides down railed,
  But from the Pagan ran whole streams of blood,
  Wherewith his force grew weak, his courage quailed
  As fires die which fuel want or food.
  Tancred that saw his feeble arm now failed
  To strike his blows, that scant he stirred or stood,
  Assuaged his anger, and his wrath allayed,
  And stepping back, thus gently spoke and said:

  XXI
  "Yield, hardy knight, and chance of war or me
  Confess to have subdued thee in this fight,
  I will no trophy, triumph, spoil of thee,
  Nor glory wish, nor seek a victor's right
  More terrible than erst;" herewith grew he
  And all awaked his fury, rage and might,
  And said, "Dar'st thou of vantage speak or think,
  Or move Argantes once to yield or shrink?

  XXII
  "Use, use thy vantage, thee and fortune both
  I scorn, and punish will thy foolish pride:"
  As a hot brand flames most ere it forth go'th,
  And dying blazeth bright on every side;
  So he, when blood was lost, with anger wroth,
  Revived his courage when his puissance died,
  And would his latest hour which now drew nigh,
  Illustrate with his end, and nobly die.

  XXIII
  He joined his left hand to her sister strong,
  And with them both let fall his weighty blade.
  Tancred to ward his blow his sword up slung,
  But that it smote aside, nor there it stayed,
  But from his shoulder to his side along
  It glanced, and many wounds at once it made:
  Yet Tancred feared naught, for in his heart
  Found coward dread no place, fear had no part.

  XXIV
  His fearful blow he doubled, but he spent
  His force in waste, and all his strength in vain;
  For Tancred from the blow against him bent,
  Leaped aside, the stroke fell on the plain.
  With thine own weight o'erthrown to earth thou went,
  Argantes stout, nor could'st thyself sustain,
  Thyself thou threwest down, O happy man,
  Upon whose fall none boast or triumph can!

  XXV
  His gaping wounds the fall set open wide,
  The streams of blood about him made a lake,
  Helped with his left hand, on one knee he tried
  To rear himself, and new defence to make:
  The courteous prince stepped back, and "Yield thee!" cried,
  No hurt he proffered him, no blow he strake.
  Meanwhile by stealth the Pagan false him gave
  A sudden wound, threatening with speeches brave:

  XXVI
  Herewith Tancredi furious grew, and said,
  "Villain, dost thou my mercy so despise?"
  Therewith he thrust and thrust again his blade,
  And through his ventil pierced his dazzled eyes,
  Argantes died, yet no complaint he made,
  But as he furious lived he careless dies;
  Bold, proud, disdainful, fierce and void of fear
  His motions last, last looks, last speeches were.

  XXVII
  Tancred put up his sword, and praises glad
  Gave to his God that saved him in this fight;
  But yet this bloody conquest feebled had
  So much the conqueror's force, strength and might,
  That through the way he feared which homeward led
  He had not strength enough to walk upright;
  Yet as he could his steps from thence he bent,
  And foot by foot a heavy pace forth-went;

  XXVIII
  His legs could bear him but a little stound,
  And more he hastes, more tired, less was his speed,
  On his right hand, at last, laid on the ground
  He leaned, his hand weak like a shaking reed,
  Dazzled his eyes, the world on wheels ran round,
  Day wrapped her brightness up in sable weed;
  At length he swooned, and the victor knight
  Naught differed from his conquered foe in fight.

  XXIX
  But while these lords their private fight pursue,
  Made fierce and cruel through their secret hate,
  The victor's ire destroyed the faithless crew
  From street to street, and chased from gate to gate.
  But of the sacked town the image true
  Who can describe, or paint the woful state,
  Or with fit words this spectacle express
  Who can? or tell the city's great distress?

  XXX
  Blood, murder, death, each street, house, church defiled,
  There heaps of slain appear, there mountains high;
  There underneath the unburied hills up-piled
  Of bodies dead, the living buried lie;
  There the sad mother with her tender child
  Doth tear her tresses loose, complain and fly,
  And there the spoiler by her amber hair
  Draws to his lust the virgin chaste and fair.

  XXXI
  But through the way that to the west-hill yood
  Whereon the old and stately temple stands,
  All soiled with gore and wet with lukewarm blood
  Rinaldo ran, and chased the Pagan bands;
  Above their heads he heaved his curtlax good,
  Life in his grace, and death lay in his hands,
  Nor helm nor target strong his blows off bears,
  Best armed there seemed he no arms that wears;

  XXXII
  For gainst his armed foes he only bends
  His force, and scorns the naked folk to wound;
  Them whom no courage arms, no arms defends,
  He chased with his looks and dreadful sound:
  Oh, who can tell how far his force extends?
  How these he scorns, threats those, lays them on ground?
  How with unequal harm, with equal fear
  Fled all, all that well armed or naked were:

  XXXIII
  Fast fled the people weak, and with the same
  A squadron strong is to the temple gone
  Which, burned and builded oft, still keeps the name
  Of the first founder, wise King Solomon;
  That prince this stately house did whilom frame
  Of cedar trees, of gold and marble stone;
  Now not so rich, yet strong and sure it was,
  With turrets high, thick walls, and doors of brass.

  XXXIV
  The knight arrived where in warklike sort
  The men that ample church had fortified.
  And closed found each wicket, gate and port,
  And on the top defences ready spied,
  He left his frowning looks, and twice that fort
  From his high top down to the groundwork eyed,
  And entrance sought, and twice with his swift foot
  The mighty place he measured about.

  XXXV
  Like as a wolf about the closed fold
  Rangeth by night his hoped prey to get,
  Enraged with hunger and with malice old
  Which kind 'twixt him and harmless sheep hath set:
  So searched he high and low about that hold,
  Where he might enter without stop or let,
  In the great court he stayed, his foes above
  Attend the assault, and would their fortune prove.

  XXXVI
  There lay by chance a posted tree thereby,
  Kept for some needful use, whate'er it were,
  The armed galleys not so thick nor high
  Their tall and lofty masts at Genes uprear;
  This beam the knight against the gates made fly
  From his strong hands all weights which lift and bear,
  Like a light lance that tree he shook and tossed,
  And bruised the gate, the threshold and the post.

  XXXVII
  No marble stone, no metal strong outbore
  The wondrous might of that redoubled blow,
  The brazen hinges from the wall it tore,
  It broke the locks, and laid the doors down low,
  No iron ram, no engine could do more,
  Nor cannons great that thunderbolts forth throw,
  His people like a flowing stream inthrong,
  And after them entered the victor strong;

  XXXVIII
  The woful slaughter black and loathsome made
  That house, sometime the sacred house of God,
  O heavenly justice, if thou be delayed,
  On wretched sinners sharper falls thy rod!
  In them this place profaned which invade
  Thou kindled ire, and mercy all forbode,
  Until with their hearts' blood the Pagans vile
  This temple washed which they did late defile.

  XXXIX
  But Solyman this while himself fast sped
  Up to the fort which David's tower is named,
  And with him all the soldiers left he led,
  And gainst each entrance new defences framed:
  The tyrant Aladine eke thither fled,
  To whom the Soldan thus, far off, exclaimed,
  Thyself, within this fortress safe uplock:

  XL
  "For well this fortress shall thee and thy crown
  Defend, awhile here may we safe remain."
  "Alas!" quoth he, "alas, for this fair town,
  Which cruel war beats down even with the plain,
  My life is done, mine empire trodden down,
  I reigned, I lived, but now nor live nor reign;
  For now, alas! behold the fatal hour
  That ends our life, and ends our kingly power."

  XLI
  "Where is your virtue, where your wisdom grave,
  And courage stout?" the angry Soldan said,
  "Let chance our kingdoms take which erst she gave,
  Yet in our hearts our kingly worth is laid;
  But come, and in this fort your person save,
  Refresh your weary limbs and strength decayed:"
  Thus counselled he, and did to safety bring
  Within that fort the weak and aged king.

  XLII
  His iron mace in both his hands he hent,
  And on his thigh his trusty sword he tied,
  And to the entrance fierce and fearless went,
  And kept the strait, and all the French defied:
  The blows were mortal which he gave or lent,
  For whom he hit he slew, else by his side
  Laid low on earth, that all fled from the place
  Where they beheld that great and dreadful mace.

  XLIII
  But old Raymondo with his hardy crew
  By chance came thither, to his great mishap;
  To that defended path the old man flew,
  And scorned his blows and him that kept the gap,
  He struck his foe, his blow no blood forth drew,
  But on the front with that he caught a rap,
  Which in a swoon, low in the dust him laid,
  Wide open, trembling, with his arms displayed.

  XLIV
  The Pagans gathered heart at last, though fear
  Their courage weak had put to flight but late,
  So that the conquerors repulsed were,
  And beaten back, else slain before the Gate:
  The Soldan, mongst the dead beside him near
  That saw Lord Raymond lie in such estate,
  Cried to his men, "Within these bars," quoth he,
  "Come draw this knight, and let him captive be."

  XLV
  Forward they rushed to execute his word,
  But hard and dangerous that emprise they found,
  For none of Raymond's men forsook their lord,
  But to their guide's defence they flocked round,
  Thence fury fights, hence pity draws the sword,
  Nor strive they for vile cause or on light ground,
  The life and freedom of that champion brave,
  Those spoil, these would preserve, those kill, these save.

  XLVI
  But yet at last if they had longer fought
  The hardy Soldan would have won the field;
  For gainst his thundering mace availed naught
  Or helm of temper fine or sevenfold shield:
  But from each side great succor now was brought
  To his weak foes, now fit to faint and yield,
  And both at once to aid and help the same
  The sovereign Duke and young Rinaldo came.

  XLVII
  As when a shepherd, raging round about
  That sees a storm with wind, hail, thunder, rain,
  When gloomy clouds have day's bright eye put out,
  His tender flocks drives from the open plain
  To some thick grove or mountain's shady foot,
  Where Heaven's fierce wrath they may unhurt sustain,
  And with his hook, his whistle and his cries
  Drives forth his fleecy charge, and with them flies:

  XLVIII
  So fled the Soldan, when he gan descry
  This tempest come from angry war forthcast,
  The armor clashed and lightened gainst the sky,
  And from each side swords, weapons, fire outbrast:
  He sent his folk up to the fortress high,
  To shun the furious storm, himself stayed last,
  Yet to the danger he gave place at length,
  For wit, his courage; wisdom ruled his strength.

  XLIX
  But scant the knight was safe the gate within,
  Scant closed were the doors, when having broke
  The bars, Rinaldo doth assault begin
  Against the port, and on the wicket stroke
  His matchless might, his great desire to win,
  His oath and promise, doth his wrath provoke,
  For he had sworn, nor should his word be vain,
  To kill the man that had Prince Sweno slain.

  L
  And now his armed hand that castle great
  Would have assaulted, and had shortly won,
  Nor safe pardie the Soldan there a seat
  Had found his fatal foes' sharp wrath to shun,
  Had not Godfredo sounded the retreat;
  For now dark shades to shroud the earth begun,
  Within the town the duke would lodge that night,
  And with the morn renew the assault and fight.

  LI
  With cheerful look thus to his folk he said,
  "High God hath holpen well his children dear,
  This work is done, the rest this night delayed
  Doth little labor bring, less doubt, no fear,
  This tower, our foe's weak hope and latest aid,
  We conquer will, when sun shall next appear:
  Meanwhile with love and tender ruth go see
  And comfort those which hurt and wounded be;

  LII
  "Go cure their wounds which boldly ventured
  Their lives, and spilt their bloods to get this hold,
  That fitteth more this host for Christ forth led,
  Than thirst of vengeance, or desire of gold;
  Too much, ah, too much blood this day is shed!
  In some we too much haste to spoil behold,
  But I command no more you spoil and kill,
  And let a trumpet publish forth my will."

  LIII
  This said, he went where Raymond panting lay,
  Waked from the swoon wherein he late had been.
  Nor Solyman with countenance less gay
  Bespake his troops, and kept his grief unseen;
  "My friends, you are unconquered this day,
  In spite of fortune still our hope is green,
  For underneath great shows of harm and fear,
  Our dangers small, our losses little were:

  LIV
  "Burnt are your houses, and your people slain,
  Yet safe your town is, though your walls be gone,
  For in yourselves and in your sovereign
  Consists your city, not in lime and stone;
  Your king is safe, and safe is all his train
  In this strong fort defended from their fone,
  And on this empty conquest let them boast,
  Till with this town again, their lives be lost;

  LV
  "And on their heads the loss at last will light,
  For with good fortune proud and insolent,
  In spoil and murder spend they day and night,
  In riot, drinking, lust and ravishment,
  And may amid their preys with little fight
  At ease be overthrown, killed, slain and spent,
  If in this carelessness the Egyptian host
  Upon them fall, which now draws near this coast.

  LVI
  "Meanwhile the highest buildings of this town
  We may shake down with stones about their ears,
  And with our darts and spears from engines thrown,
  Command that hill Christ's sepulchre that bears:"
  Thus comforts he their hopes and hearts cast down,
  Awakes their valors, and exiles their fears.
  But while the things hapt thus, Vafrino goes
  Unknown, amid ten thousand armed foes.

  LVII
  The sun nigh set had brought to end the day,
  When Vafrine went the Pagan host to spy,
  He passed unknown a close and secret way;
  A traveller, false, cunning, crafty, sly,
  Past Ascalon he saw the morning gray
  Step o'er the threshold of the eastern sky,
  And ere bright Titan half his course had run,
  That camp, that mighty host to show begun.

  LVIII
  Tents infinite, and standards broad he spies,
  This red, that white, that blue, this purple was,
  And hears strange tongues, and stranger harmonies
  Of trumpets, clarions, and well-sounding brass:
  The elephant there brays, the camel cries.
  The horses neigh as to and fro they pass:
  Which seen and heard, he said within his thought,
  Hither all Asia is, all Afric, brought.

  LIX
  He viewed the camp awhile, her site and seat,
  What ditch, what trench it had, what rampire strong,
  Nor close, nor secret ways to work his feat
  He longer sought, nor hid him from the throng;
  But entered through the gates, broad, royal, great,
  And oft he asked, and answered oft among,
  In questions wise, in answers short and sly;
  Bold was his look, eyes quick, front lifted high:

  LX
  On every side he pried here and there,
  And marked each way, each passage and each tent:
  The knights he notes, their steeds, and arms they bear,
  Their names, their armor, and their government;
  And greater secrets hopes to learn, and hear,
  Their hidden purpose, and their close intent:
  So long he walked and wandered, till he spied
  The way to approach the great pavilions' side:

  LXI
  There as he looked he saw the canvas rent,
  Through which the voice found eath and open way
  From the close lodgings of the regal tent
  And inmost closet where the captain lay;
  So that if Emireno spake, forth went
  The sound to them that listen what they say,
  There Vafrine watched, and those that saw him thought
  To mend the breach that there he stood and wrought.

  LXII
  The captain great within bare-headed stood,
  His body armed and clad in purple weed,
  Two pages bore his shield and helmet good,
  He leaning on a bending lance gave heed
  To a big man whose looks were fierce and proud,
  With whom he parleyed of some haughty deed,
  Godfredo's name as Vafrine watched he heard,
  Which made him give more heed, take more regard:

  LXIII
  Thus spake the chieftain to that surly sir,
  "Art thou so sure that Godfrey shall be slain?"
  "I am," quoth he, "and swear ne'er to retire,
  Except he first be killed, to court again.
  I will prevent those that with me conspire:
  Nor other guerdon ask I for my pain
  But that I may hang up his harness brave
  At Gair, and under them these words engrave:

  LXIV
  "'These arms Ormondo took in noble fight
  From Godfrey proud, that spoiled all Asia's lands,
  And with them took his life, and here on high,
  In memory thereof, this trophy stands.' "
  The duke replied, "Ne'er shall that deed, bold knight,
  Pass unrewarded at our sovereign's hands,
  What thou demandest shall he gladly grant,
  Nor gold nor guerdon shalt thou wish or want.

  LXV
  "Those counterfeited armors then prepare,
  Because the day of fight approacheth fast."
  "They ready are," quoth he; then both forbare
  From further talk, these speeches were the last.
  Vafrine, these great things heard, with grief and care
  Remained astound, and in his thoughts oft cast
  What treason false this was, how feigned were
  Those arms, but yet that doubt he could not clear.

  LXVI
  From thence he parted, and broad waking lay
  All that long night, nor slumbered once nor slept:
  But when the camp by peep of springing day
  Their banner spread, and knights on horseback leapt,
  With them he marched forth in meet array,
  And where they pitched lodged, and with them kept,
  And then from tent to tent he stalked about,
  To hear and see, and learn this secret out;

  LXVII
  Searching about, on a rich throne he fand
  Armida set with dames and knights around,
  Sullen she sat, and sighed, it seemed she scanned
  Some weighty matters in her thoughts profounds,
  Her rosy cheek leaned on her lily hand,
  Her eyes, love's twinkling stars, she bent to ground,
  Weep she, or no, he knows not, yet appears
  Her humid eyes even great with child with tears.

  LXVIII
  He saw before her set Adrastus grim,
  That seemed scant to live, move, or respire,
  So was he fixed on his mistress trim,
  So gazed he, and fed his fond desire;
  But Tisiphern beheld now her now him,
  And quaked sometime for love, sometime for ire,
  And in his cheeks the color went and came,
  For there wrath's fire now burnt, now shone love's flame.

  LXIX
  Then from the garland fair of virgins bright,
  Mongst whom he lay enclosed, rose Altamore,
  His hot desire he hid and kept from sight,
  His looks were ruled by Cupid's crafty lore,
  His left eye viewed her hand, her face, his right
  Both watched her beauties hid and secret store,
  And entrance found where her thin veil bewrayed
  The milken-way between her breasts that laid.

  LXX
  Her eyes Armida lift from earth at last,
  And cleared again her front and visage sad,
  Midst clouds of woe her looks which overcast
  She lightened forth a smile, sweet, pleasant, glad;
  "My lord," quoth she, "your oath and promise passed,
  Hath freed my heart of all the griefs it had,
  That now in hope of sweet revenge it lives,
  Such joy, such ease, desired vengeance gives."

  LXXI
  "Cheer up thy looks," answered the Indian king,
  "And for sweet beauty's sake, appease thy woe,
  Cast at your feet ere you expect the thing,
  I will present the head of thy strong foe;
  Else shall this hand his person captive bring
  And cast in prison deep;" he boasted so.
  His rival heard him well, yet answered naught,
  But bit his lips, and grieved in secret thought.

  LXXII
  To Tisipherne the damsel turning right,
  "And what say you, my noble lord ?" quoth she.
  He taunting said, "I that am slow to fight
  Will follow far behind, the worth to see
  Of this your terrible and puissant knight,"
  In scornful words this bitter scoff gave he.
  "Good reason," quoth the king, "thou come behind,
  Nor e'er compare thee with the Prince of Ind."

  LXXIII
  Lord Tisiphernes shook his head, and said,
  "Oh, had my power free like my courage been,
  Or had I liberty to use this blade,
  Who slow, who weakest is, soon should be seen,
  Nor thou, nor thy great vaunts make me afraid,
  But cruel love I fear, and this fair queen."
  This said, to challenge him the king forth leapt,
  But up their mistress start, and twixt them stepped:

  LXXIV
  "Will you thus rob me of that gift," quoth she,
  "Which each hath vowed to give by word and oath?
  You are my champions, let that title be
  The bond of love and peace between you both;
  He that displeased is, is displeased with me,
  For which of you is grieved, and I not wroth?"
  Thus warned she them, their hearts, for ire nigh broke,
  In forced peace and rest thus bore love's yoke."

  LXXV
  All this heard Vafrine as he stood beside,
  And having learned the truth, he left the tent,
  That treason was against the Christian's guide
  Contrived, he wist, yet wist not how it went,
  By words and questions far off, he tried
  To find the truth; more difficult, more bent
  Was he to know it, and resolved to die,
  Or of that secret close the intent to spy.

  LXXVI
  Of sly intelligence he proved all ways,
  All crafts, all wiles, that in his thoughts abide,
  Yet all in vain the man by wit assays,
  To know that false compact and practice hid:
  But chance, what wisdom could not tell, bewrays,
  Fortune of all his doubt the knots undid,
  So that prepared for Godfrey's last mishap
  At ease he found the net, and spied the trap.

  LXXVII
  Thither he turned again where seated was,
  The angry lover, 'twixt her friends and lords,
  For in that troop much talk he thought would pass,
  Each great assembly store of news affords,
  He sided there a lusty lovely lass,
  And with some courtly terms the wench he boards,
  He feigns acquaintance, and as bold appears
  As he had known that virgin twenty years.

  LXXVIII
  He said, "Would some sweet lady grace me so,
  To chose me for her champion, friend and knight,
  Proud Godfrey's or Rinaldo's head, I trow,
  Should feel the sharpness of my curtlax bright;
  Ask me the head, fair mistress, of some foe,
  For to your beauty wooed is my might;"
  So he began, and meant in speeches wise
  Further to wade, but thus he broke the ice.

  LXXIX
  Therewith he smiled, and smiling gan to frame
  His looks so to their old and native grace,
  That towards him another virgin came,
  Heard him, beheld him, and with bashful face
  Said, "For thy mistress choose no other dame
  But me, on me thy love and service place,
  I take thee for my champion, and apart
  Would reason with thee, if my knight thou art."

  LXXX
  Withdrawn, she thus began, "Vafrine, pardie,
  I know thee well, and me thou knowest of old,"
  To his last trump this drove the subtle spy,
  But smiling towards her he turned him bold,
  "Ne'er that I wot I saw thee erst with eye,
  Yet for thy worth all eyes should thee behold,
  Thus much I know right well, for from the same
  Which erst you gave me different is my name.

  LXXXI
  "My mother bore me near Bisertus wall,
  Her name was Lesbine, mine is Almansore!"
  "I knew long since," quoth she, "what men thee call,
  And thine estate, dissemble it no more,
  From me thy friend hide not thyself at all,
  If I betray thee let me die therefore,
  I am Erminia, daughter to a prince,
  But Tancred's slave, thy fellow-servant since;

  LXXXII
  "Two happy months within that prison kind,
  Under thy guard rejoiced I to dwell,
  And thee a keeper meek and good did find,
  The same, the same I am; behold me well."
  The squire her lovely beauty called to mind,
  And marked her visage fair: "From thee expel
  All fear," she says, "for me live safe and sure,
  I will thy safety, not thy harm procure.

  LXXXIII
  "But yet I pray thee, when thou dost return,
  To my dear prison lead me home again;
  For in this hateful freedom even and morn
  I sigh for sorrow, mourn and weep for pain:
  But if to spy perchance thou here sojourn,
  Great hap thou hast to know these secrets plain,
  For I their treasons false, false trains can say,
  Which few beside can tell, none will betray."

  LXXXIV
  On her he gazed, and silent stood this while,
  Armida's sleights he knew, and trains unjust,
  Women have tongues of craft, and hearts of guile,
  They will, they will not, fools that on them trust,
  For in their speech is death, hell in their smile;
  At last he said, "If hence depart you lust,
  I will you guide; on this conclude we here,
  And further speech till fitter time forbear."

  LXXXV
  Forthwith, ere thence the camp remove, to ride
  They were resolved, their flight that season fits,
  Vafrine departs, she to the dames beside
  Returns, and there on thorns awhile she sits,
  Of her new knight she talks, till time and tide
  To scape unmarked she find, then forth she gets,
  Thither where Vafrine her unseen abode,
  There took she horse, and from the camp they rode.

  LXXXVI
  And now in deserts waste and wild arrived,
  Far from the camp, far from resort and sight,
  Vafrine began, "Gainst Godfrey's life contrived
  The false compacts and trains unfold aright:"
  Then she those treasons, from their spring derived,
  Repeats, and brings their hid deceits to light,
  "Eight knights," she says, "all courtiers brave, there are,
  But Ormond strong the rest surpasseth far:

  LXXXVII
  "These, whether hate or hope of gain them move,
  Conspired have, and framed their treason so,
  That day when Emiren by fight shall prove
  To win lost Asia from his Christian foe,
  These, with the cross scored on their arms above,
  And armed like Frenchmen will disguised go,
  Like Godfrey's guard that gold and white do wear,
  Such shall their habit be, and such their gear:

  LXXXVIII
  "Yet each will bear a token in his crest,
  That so their friends for Pagans may them know:
  But in close fight when all the soldiers best
  Shall mingled be, to give the fatal blow
  They will keep near, and pierce Godfredo's breast,
  While of his faithful guard they bear false show,
  And all their swords are dipped in poison strong,
  Because each wound shall bring sad death ere long.

  LXXXIX
  "And for their chieftain wist I knew your guise,
  What garments, ensigns, and what arms you carry,
  Those feigned arms he forced me to devise,
  So that from yours but small or naught they vary;
  But these unjust commands my thoughts despise,
  Within their camp therefore I list not tarry,
  My heart abhors I should this hand defile
  With spot of treason, or with act of guile.

  XC
  "This is the cause, but not the cause alone:"
  And there she ceased, and blushed, and on the main
  Cast down her eyes, these last words scant outgone,
  She would have stopped, nor durst pronounce them plain.
  The squire what she concealed would know, as one
  That from her breast her secret thoughts could strain,
  "Of little faith," quoth he, "why would'st thou hide
  Those causes true, from me thy squire and guide?"

  XCI
  With that she fetched a sigh, sad, sore and deep,
  And from her lips her words slow trembling came,
  "Fruitless," she said, "untimely, hard to keep,
  Vain modesty farewell, and farewell shame,
  Why hope you restless love to bring on sleep?
  Why strive you fires to quench, sweet Cupid's flame?
  No, no, such cares, and such respects beseem
  Great ladies, wandering maids them naught esteem.

  XCII
  "That night fatal to me and Antioch town,
  Then made a prey to her commanding foe,
  My loss was greater than was seen or known,
  There ended not, but thence began my woe:
  Light was the loss of friends, of realm or crown;
  But with my state I lost myself also,
  Ne'er to be found again, for then I lost
  My wit, my sense, my heart, my soul almost.

  XCIII
  "Through fire and sword, through blood and death, Vafrine,
  Which all my friends did burn, did kill, did chase,
  Thou know'st I ran to thy dear lord and mine,
  When first he entered had my father's place,
  And kneeling with salt ears in my swollen eyne;
  'Great prince,' quoth I, 'grant mercy, pity, grace,
  Save not my kingdom, not my life I said,
  But save mine honor, let me die a maid.'

  XCIV
  "He lift me by the trembling hand from ground,
  Nor stayed he till my humble speech was done;
  But said, 'A friend and keeper hast thou found,
  Fair virgin, nor to me in vain you run:'
  A sweetness strange from that sweet voice's sound
  Pierced my heart, my breast's weak fortress won,
  Which creeping through my bosom soft became
  A wound, a sickness, and a quenchless flame.

  XCV
  "He visits me, with speeches kind and grave
  He sought to ease my grief, and sorrows' smart.
  He said, 'I give thee liberty, receive
  All that is thine, and at thy will depart:'
  Alas, he robbed me when he thought he gave,
  Free was Erminia, but captived her heart,
  Mine was the body, his the soul and mind,
  He gave the cage but kept the bird behind.

  XCVI
  "But who can hide desire, or love suppress?
  Oft of his worth with thee in talk I strove,
  Thou, by my trembling fit that well could'st guess
  What fever held me, saidst, 'Thou art in love;'
  But I denied, for what can maids do less?
  And yet my sighs thy sayings true did prove,
  Instead of speech, my looks, my tears, mine eyes,
  Told in what flame, what fire thy mistress fries.

  XCVII
  "Unhappy silence, well I might have told
  My woes, and for my harms have sought relief,
  Since now my pains and plaints I utter bold,
  Where none that hears can help or ease my grief.
  From him I parted, and did close upfold
  My wounds within my bosom, death was chief
  Of all my hopes and helps, till love's sweet flame
  Plucked off the bridle of respect and shame,

  XCVIII
  "And caused me ride to seek my lord and knight,
  For he that made me sick could make me sound:
  But on an ambush I mischanced to light
  Of cruel men, in armour clothed round,
  Hardly I scaped their hand by mature flight.
  And fled to wilderness and desert ground,
  And there I lived in groves and forests wild,
  With gentle grooms and shepherds' daughters mild.

  XCIX
  "But when hot love which fear had late suppressed,
  Revived again, there nould I longer sit,
  But rode the way I came, nor e'er took rest,
  Till on like danger, like mishap I hit,
  A troop to forage and to spoil addressed,
  Encountered me, nor could I fly from it:
  Thus was I ta'en, and those that had me caught,
  Egyptians were, and me to Gaza brought,

  C
  "And for a present to their captain gave,
  Whom I entreated and besought so well,
  That he mine honor had great care to save,
  And since with fair Armida let me dwell.
  Thus taken oft, escaped oft I have,
  Ah, see what haps I passed, what dangers fell,
  So often captive, free so oft again,
  Still my first bands I keep, still my first chain.

  CI
  "And he that did this chain so surely bind
  About my heart, which none can loose but he,
  Let him not say, 'Go, wandering damsel, find
  Some other home, thou shalt not bide with me,'
  But let him welcome me with speeches kind,
  And in my wonted prison set me free:"
  Thus spake the princess, thus she and her guide
  Talked day and night, and on their journey ride.

  CII
  Through the highways Vafrino would not pass,
  A path more secret, safe and short, he knew,
  And now close by the city's wall he was,
  When sun was set, night in the east upflew,
  With drops of blood besmeared he found the grass,
  And saw where lay a warrior murdered new,
  That all be-bled the ground, his face to skies
  He turns, and seems to threat, though dead he lies:

  CIII
  His harness and his habit both betrayed
  He was a Pagan; forward went the squire,
  And saw whereas another champion laid
  Dead on the land, all soiled with blood and mire,
  "This was some Christian knight," Vafrino said:
  And marking well his arms and rich attire,
  He loosed his helm, and saw his visage plain,
  And cried, "Alas, here lies Tancredi slain!"

  CIV
  The woful virgin tarried, and gave heed
  To the fierce looks of that proud Saracine,
  Till that high cry, full of sad fear and dread,
  Pierced through her heart with sorrow, grief and pine,
  At Tancred's name thither she ran with speed,
  Like one half mad, or drunk with too much wine,
  And when she saw his face, pale, bloodless, dead,
  She lighted, nay, she stumbled from her steed:

  CV
  Her springs of tears she 1ooseth forth, and cries,
  "Hither why bring'st thou me, ah, Fortune blind?
  Where dead, for whom I lived, my comfort lies,
  Where war for peace, travail for rest I find;
  Tancred, I have thee, see thee, yet thine eyes
  Looked not upon thy love and handmaid kind,
  Undo their doors, their lids fast closed sever,
  Alas, I find thee for to lose thee ever.

  CVI
  "I never thought that to mine eyes, my dear,
  Thou couldst have grievous or unpleasant been;
  But now would blind or rather dead I were,
  That thy sad plight might be unknown, unseen!
  Alas! where is thy mirth and smiling cheer?
  Where are thine eyes' clear beams and sparkles sheen?
  Of thy fair cheek where is the purple red,
  And forehead's whiteness? are all gone, all dead?

  CVII
  "Though gone, though dead, I love thee still, behold;
  Death wounds, but kills not love; yet if thou live,
  Sweet soul, still in his breast, my follies bold
  Ah, pardon love's desires, and stealths forgive;
  Grant me from his pale mouth some kisses cold,
  Since death doth love of just reward deprive;
  And of thy spoils sad death afford me this,
  Let me his mouth, pale, cold and bloodless, kiss;

  CVIII
  "O gentle mouth! with speeches kind and sweet
  Thou didst relieve my grief, my woe and pain,
  Ere my weak soul from this frail body fleet,
  Ah, comfort me with one dear kiss or twain!
  Perchance if we alive had happed to meet,
  They had been given which now are stolen, O vain,
  O feeble life, betwixt his lips out fly,
  Oh, let me kiss thee first, then let me die!

  CIX
  "Receive my yielding spirit, and with thine
  Guide it to heaven, where all true love hath place:"
  This said, she sighed, and tore her tresses fine,
  And from her eyes two streams poured on his face,
  The man revived, with those showers divine
  Awaked, and opened his lips a space;
  His lips were open; but fast shut his eyes,
  And with her sighs, one sigh from him upflies.

  CX
  The dame perceived that Tancred breathed and sighed,
  Which calmed her grief somedeal and eased her fears:
  "Unclose thine eyes," she says, "my lord and knight,
  See my last services, my plaints and tears,
  See her that dies to see thy woful plight,
  That of thy pain her part and portion bears;
  Once look on me, small is the gift I crave,
  The last which thou canst give, or I can have."

  CXI
  Tancred looked up, and closed his eyes again,
  Heavy and dim, and she renewed her woe.
  Quoth Vafrine, "Cure him first, and then complain,
  Medicine is life's chief friend; plaint her most foe:"
  They plucked his armor off, and she each vein,
  Each joint, and sinew felt, and handled so,
  And searched so well each thrust, each cut and wound,
  That hope of life her love and skill soon found.

  CXII
  From weariness and loss of blood she spied
  His greatest pains and anguish most proceed,
  Naught but her veil amid those deserts wide
  She had to bind his wounds, in so great need,
  But love could other bands, though strange, provide,
  And pity wept for joy to see that deed,
  For with her amber locks cut off, each wound
  She tied: O happy man, so cured so bound!

  CXIII
  For why her veil was short and thin, those deep
  And cruel hurts to fasten, roll and blind,
  Nor salve nor simple had she, yet to keep
  Her knight on live, strong charms of wondrous kind
  She said, and from him drove that deadly sleep,
  That now his eyes he lifted, turned and twined,
  And saw his squire, and saw that courteous dame
  In habit strange, and wondered whence she came.

  CXIV
  He said, "O Vafrine, tell me, whence com'st thou?
  And who this gentle surgeon is, disclose;"
  She smiled, she sighed, she looked she wist not how,
  She wept, rejoiced, she blushed as red as rose.
  "You shall know all," she says, "your surgeon now
  Commands you silence, rest and soft repose,
  You shall be sound, prepare my guerdon meet,"
  His head then laid she in her bosom sweet.

  CXV
  Vafrine devised this while how he might bear
  His master home, ere night obscured the land,
  When lo, a troop of soldiers did appear,
  Whom he descried to be Tancredi's band,
  With him when he and Argant met they were;
  But when they went to combat hand for hand,
  He bade them stay behind, and they obeyed,
  But came to seek him now, so long he stayed.

  CXVI
  Besides them, many followed that enquest,
  But these alone found out the rightest way,
  Upon their friendly arms the men addressed
  A seat whereon he sat, he leaned, he lay:
  Quoth Tancred, "Shall the strong Circassian rest
  In this broad field, for wolves and crows a prey?
  Ah no, defraud not you that champion brave
  Of his just praise, of his due tomb and grave:

  CXVII
  "With his dead bones no longer war have I,
  Boldly he died and nobly was he slain,
  Then let us not that honor him deny
  Which after death alonely doth remain:"
  The Pagan dead they lifted up on high,
  And after Tancred bore him through the plain.
  Close by the virgin chaste did Vafrine ride,
  As he that was her squire, her guard, her guide.

  CXVIII
  "Not home," quoth Tancred, "to my wonted tent,
  But bear me to this royal town, I pray,
  That if cut short by human accident
  I die, there I may see my latest day,
  The place where Christ upon his cross was rent
  To heaven perchance may easier make the way,
  And ere I yield to Death's and Fortune's rage,
  Performed shall be my vow and pilgrimage."

  CXIX
  Thus to the city was Tancredi borne,
  And fell on sleep, laid on a bed of down.
  Vafrino where the damsel might sojourn
  A chamber got, close, secret, near his own;
  That done he came the mighty duke beforn,
  And entrance found, for till his news were known,
  Naught was concluded mongst those knights and lords,
  Their counsel hung on his report and words.

  CXX
  Where weak and weary wounded Raymond laid,
  Godfrey was set upon his couch's side,
  And round about the man a ring was made
  Of lords and knights that filled the chamber wide;
  There while the squire his late discovery said,
  To break his talk, none answered, none replied,
  "My lord," he said, "at your command I went
  And viewed their camp, each cabin, booth and tent;

  CXXI
  "But of that mighty host the number true
  Expect not that I can or should descry,
  All covered with their armies might you view
  The fields, the plains, the dales and mountains high,
  I saw what way soe'er they went and drew,
  They spoiled the land, drunk floods and fountains dry,
  For not whole Jordan could have given them drink,
  Nor all the grain in Syria, bread, I think.

  CXXII
  "But yet amongst them many bands are found
  Both horse and foot, of little force and might,
  That keep no order, know no trumpet's sound,
  That draw no sword, but far off shoot and fight,
  But yet the Persian army doth abound
  With many a footman strong and hardy knight,
  So doth the King's own troop which all is framed
  Of soldiers old, the Immortal Squadron named.

  CXXIII
  "Immortal called is that band of right,
  For of that number never wanteth one,
  But in his empty place some other knight
  Steps in, when any man is dead or gone:
  This army's leader Emireno hight,
  Like whom in wit and strength are few or none,
  Who hath in charge in plain and pitched field,
  To fight with you, to make you fly or yield.

  CXXIV
  "And well I know their army and their host
  Within a day or two will here arrive:
  But thee Rinaldo it behoveth most
  To keep thy noble head, for which they strive,
  For all the chief in arms or courage boast
  They will the same to Queen Armida give,
  And for the same she gives herself in price,
  Such hire will many hands to work entice.

  CXXV
  "The chief of these that have thy murder sworn,
  Is Altamore, the king of Samarcand!
  Adrastus then, whose realm lies near the morn,
  A hardy giant, bold, and strong of hand,
  This king upon an elephant is borne,
  For under him no horse can stir or stand;
  The third is Tisipherne, as brave a lord
  As ever put on helm or girt on sword."

  CXXVI
  This said, from young Rinaldo's angry eyes,
  Flew sparks of wrath, flames in his visage shined,
  He longed to be amid those enemies,
  Nor rest nor reason in his heart could find.
  But to the Duke Vafrine his talk applies,
  "The greatest news, my lord, are yet behind,
  For all their thoughts, their crafts and counsels tend
  By treason false to bring thy life to end."

  CXXVII
  Then all from point to point he gan expose
  The false compact, how it was made and wrought,
  The arms and ensigns feigned, poison close,
  Ormondo's vaunt, what praise, what thank he sought,
  And what reward, and satisfied all those
  That would demand, inquire, or ask of aught.
  Silence was made awhile, when Godfrey thus, —
  "Raymondo, say, what counsel givest thou us?"

  CXXVIII
  "Not as we purposed late, next morn," quoth he,
  "Let us not scale, but round besiege this tower,
  That those within may have no issue free
  To sally out, and hurt us with their power,
  Our camp well rested and refreshed see,
  Provided well gainst this last storm and shower,
  And then in pitched field, fight, if you will;
  If not, delay and keep this fortress still.

  CXXIX
  "But lest you be endangered, hurt, or slain,
  Of all your cares take care yourself to save,
  By you this camp doth live, doth win, doth reign,
  Who else can rule or guide these squadrons brave?
  And for the traitors shall be noted plain,
  Command your guard to change the arms they have,
  So shall their guile be known, in their own net
  So shall they fall, caught in the snare they set."

  CXXX
  "As it hath ever," thus the Duke begun,
  "Thy counsel shows thy wisdom and thy love,
  And what you left in doubt shall thus be done,
  We will their force in pitched battle prove;
  Closed in this wall and trench, the fight to shun,
  Doth ill this camp beseem, and worse behove,
  But we their strength and manhood will assay,
  And try, in open field and open day.

  CXXXI
  "The fame of our great conquests to sustain,
  Or bide our looks and threats, they are not able,
  And when this army is subdued and slain
  Then is our empire settled, firm and stable,
  The tower shall yield, or but resist in vain,
  For fear her anchor is, despair her cable."
  Thus he concludes, and rolling down the west
  Fast set the stars, and called them all to rest.

TWENTIETH BOOK

  THE ARGUMENT.
  The Pagan host arrives, and cruel fight
  Makes with the Christians and their faithful power;
  The Soldan longs in field to prove his might,
  With the old king quits the besieged tower;
  Yet both are slain, and in eternal night
  A famous hand gives each his fatal hour;
  Rinald appeased Armida; first the field
  The Christians win, then praise to God they yield.

  I
  The sun called up the world from idle sleep,
  And of the day ten hours were gone and past
  When the bold troop that had the tower to keep
  Espied a sudden mist, that overcast
  The earth with mirksome clouds and darkness deep,
  And saw it was the Egyptian camp at last
  Which raised the dust, for hills and valleys broad
  That host did overspread and overload.

  II
  Therewith a merry shout and joyful cry
  The Pagans reared from their besieged hold;
  The cranes from Thrace with such a rumor fly,
  His hoary frost and snow when Hyems old
  Pours down, and fast to warmer regions hie,
  From the sharp winds, fierce storms and tempests cold;
  And quick, and ready this new hope and aid,
  Their hands to shoot, their tongues to threaten made.

  III
  From whence their ire, their wrath and hardy threat
  Proceeds, the French well knew, and plain espied,
  For from the walls and ports the army great
  They saw; her strength, her number, pomp, and pride,
  Swelled their breasts with valor's noble heat;
  Battle and fight they wished, "Arm, arm!" they cried;
  The youth to give the sign of fight all prayed
  Their Duke, and were displeased because delayed

  IV
  Till morning next, for he refused to fight;
  Their haste and heat he bridled, but not brake,
  Nor yet with sudden fray or skirmish light
  Of these new foes would he vain trial make.
  "After so many wars," he says, "good right
  It is, that one day's rest at least you take,"
  For thus in his vain foes he cherish would
  The hope which in their strength they have and hold.

  V
  To see Aurora's gentle beam appear,
  The soldiers armed, prest and ready lay,
  The skies were never half so fair and clear
  As in the breaking of that blessed day,
  The merry morning smiled, and seemed to wear
  Upon her silver crown sun's golden ray,
  And without cloud heaven his redoubled light
  Bent down to see this field, this fray, this fight.

  VI
  When first he saw the daybreak show and shine,
  Godfrey his host in good array brought out,
  And to besiege the tyrant Aladine
  Raymond he left, and all the faithful rout
  That from the towns was come of Palestine
  To serve and succor their deliverer stout,
  And with them left a hardy troop beside
  Of Gascoigns strong, in arms well proved, oft tried.

  VII
  Such was Godfredo's countenance, such his cheer,
  That from his eye sure conquest flames and streams,
  Heaven's gracious favors in his looks appear,
  And great and goodly more than erst he seems;
  His face and forehead full of noblesse were,
  And on his cheek smiled youth's purple beams,
  And in his gait, his grace, his acts, his eyes,
  Somewhat, far more than mortal, lives and lies.

  VIII
  He had not marched far ere he espied
  Of his proud foes the mighty host draw nigh;
  A hill at first he took and fortified
  At his left hand which stood his army by,
  Broad in the front behind more strait uptied
  His army ready stood the fight to try,
  And to the middle ward well armed he brings
  His footmen strong, his horsemen served for wings.

  IX
  To the left wing, spread underneath the bent
  Of the steep hill that saved their flank and side,
  The Roberts twain, two leaders good, he sent;
  His brother had the middle ward to guide;
  To the right wing himself in person went
  Down, where the plain was dangerous, broad and wide,
  And where his foes with their great numbers would
  Perchance environ round his squadrons bold.
  X
  There all his Lorrainers and men of might,
  All his best armed he placed, and chosen bands,
  And with those horse some footmen armed light,
  That archers were, used to that service, stands;
  The adventurers then, in battle and in fight
  Well tried, a squadron famous through all lands,
  On the right hand he set, somedeal aside,
  Rinaldo was their leader, lord and guide.

  XI
  To whom the Duke, "In thee our hope is laid
  Of victory, thou must the conquest gain,
  Behind this mighty wing, so far displayed,
  Thou with thy noble squadron close remain;
  And when the Pagans would our backs invade,
  Assail them then, and make their onset vain;
  For if I guess aright, they have in mind
  To compass us, and charge our troops behind."

  XII
  Then through his host, that took so large a scope,
  He rode, and viewed them all, both horse and foot;
  His face was bare, his helm unclosed and ope,
  Lightened his eyes, his looks bright fire shot out;
  He cheers the fearful, comforts them that hope,
  And to the bold recounts his boasting stout,
  And to the valiant his adventures hard,
  These bids he look for praise, those for reward.

  XIII
  At last he stayed where of his squadrons bold
  And noblest troops assembled was best part;
  There from a rising bank his will he told,
  And all that heard his speech thereat took heart:
  And as the mountain snow from mountains cold
  Runs down in streams with eloquence and art,
  So from his lips his words and speeches fell,
  Shrill, speedy, pleasant, sweet, and placed well.

  XIV
  "My hardy host, you conquerors of the East,
  You scourge wherewith Christ whips his heathen fone,
  Of victory behold the latest feast,
  See the last day for which you wished alone;
  Not without cause the Saracens most and least
  Our gracious Lord hath gathered here in one,
  For all your foes and his assembled are,
  That one day's fight may end seven years of war.

  XV
  "This fight shall bring us many victories,
  The danger none, the labor will be small,
  Let not the number of your enemies
  Dismay your hearts, grant fear no place at all;
  For strife and discord through their army flies,
  Their bands ill ranked themselves entangle shall,
  And few of them to strike or fight shall come,
  For some want strength, some heart, some elbow-room.

  XVI
  "This host, with whom you must encounter now,
  Are men half naked, without strength or skill,
  From idleness, or following the plough,
  Late pressed forth to war against their will,
  Their swords are blunt, shields thin, soon pierced through,
  Their banners shake, their bearers shrink, for ill
  Their leaders heard, obeyed, or followed be,
  Their loss, their flight, their death I will foresee.

  XVII
  "Their captain clad in purple, armed in gold,
  That seems so fierce, so hardy, stout and strong,
  The Moors or weak Arabians vanquish could,
  Yet can he not resist your valors long.
  What can he do, though wise, though sage, though bold,
  In that confusion, trouble, thrust and throng?
  Ill known he is, and worse he knows his host,
  Strange lords ill feared are, ill obeyed of most.

  XVIII
  "But I am captain of this chosen crew,
  With whom I oft have conquered, triumphed oft,
  Your lands and lineages long since I knew,
  Each knight obeys my rule, mild, easy, soft,
  I know each sword, each dart, each shaft I view,
  Although the quarrel fly in skies aloft,
  Whether the same of Ireland be, or France,
  And from what bow it comes, what hand perchance.

  XIX
  "I ask an easy and a usual thing,
  As you have oft, this day, so win the field,
  Let zeal and honor be your virtue's sting,
  Your lives, my fame, Christ's faith defend and shield,
  To earth these Pagans slain and wounded bring,
  Tread on their necks, make them all die or yield, —
  What need I more exhort you? from your eyes
  I see how victory, how conquest flies."

  XX
  Upon the captain, when his speech was done,
  It seemed a lamp and golden light down came,
  As from night's azure mantle oft doth run
  Or fall, a sliding star, or shining flame;
  But from the bosom of the burning sun
  Proceeded this, and garland-wise the same
  Godfredo's noble head encompassed round,
  And, as some thought, foreshowed he should be crowned.

  XXI
  Perchance, if man's proud thought or saucy tongue
  Have leave to judge or guess at heavenly things,
  This was the angel which had kept him long,
  That now came down, and hid him with his wings.
  While thus the Duke bespeaks his armies strong,
  And every troop and band in order brings.
  Lord Emiren his host disposed well,
  And with bold words whet on their courage fell;

  XXII
  The man brought forth his army great with speed,
  In order good, his foes at hand he spied,
  Like the new moon his host two horns did spreed,
  In midst the foot, the horse were on each side,
  The right wing kept he for himself to lead,
  Great Altamore received the left to guide,
  The middle ward led Muleasses proud,
  And in that battle fair Armida stood.

  XXIII
  On the right quarter stood the Indian grim,
  With Tisipherne and all the king's own band;
  But when the left wing spread her squadrons trim
  O'er the large plain, did Altamoro stand,
  With African and Persian kings with him,
  And two that came from Meroe's hot sand,
  And all his crossbows and his slings he placed,
  Where room best served to shoot, to throw, to cast.

  XXIV
  Thus Emiren his host put in array,
  And rode from band to band, from rank to rank,
  His truchmen now, and now himself, doth say,
  What spoil his folk shall gain, what praise, what thank.
  To him that feared, "Look up, ours is the day,"
  He says, "Vile fear to bold hearts never sank,
  How dareth one against an hundred fight?
  Our cry, our shade, will put them all to flight."

  XXV
  But to the bold, "Go, hardy knight," he says,
  "His prey out of this lion's paws go tear:"
  To some before his thoughts the shape he lays,
  And makes therein the image true appear,
  How his sad country him entreats and prays,
  His house, his loving wife, and children dear:
  "Suppose," quoth he, "thy country doth beseech
  And pray thee thus, suppose this is her speech.

  XXVI
  "Defend my laws, uphold my temples brave,
  My blood from washing of my streets withhold,
  From ravishing my virgins keep, and save
  Thine ancestors' dead bones and ashes cold!
  To thee thy fathers dear and parents grave
  Show their uncovered heads, white, hoary, old,
  To thee thy wife — her breasts with tears o'erspread —
  Thy sons, their cradles, shows, thy marriage bed."

  XXVII
  To all the rest, "You for her honor's sake
  Whom Asia makes her champions, by your might
  Upon these thieves, weak, feeble, few, must take
  A sharp revenge, yet just, deserved and right."
  Thus many words in several tongues he spake,
  And all his sundry nations to sharp fight
  Encouraged, but now the dukes had done
  Their speeches all, the hosts together run.

  XXVIII
  It was a great, a strange and wondrous sight,
  When front to front those noble armies met,
  How every troop, how in each troop each knight
  Stood prest to move, to fight, and praise to get,
  Loose in the wind waved their ensigns light,
  Trembled the plumes that on their crests were set;
  Their arms, impresses, colors, gold and stone,
  Against the sunbeams smiled, flamed, sparkled, shone.

  XXIX
  Of dry topped oaks they seemed two forests thick,
  So did each host with spears and pikes abound,
  Bent were their bows, in rests their lances stick,
  Their hands shook swords, their slings held cobbles round:
  Each steed to run was ready, prest and quick,
  At his commander's spur, his hand, his sound,
  He chafes, he stamps, careers, and turns about,
  He foams, snorts, neighs, and fire and smoke breathes out.

  XXX
  Horror itself in that fair fight seemed fair,
  And pleasure flew amid sad dread and fear;
  The trumpets shrill, that thundered in the air,
  Were music mild and sweet to every ear:
  The faithful camp, though less, yet seemed more rare
  In that strange noise, more warlike, shrill and clear,
  In notes more sweet, the Pagan trumpets jar,
  These sung, their armors shined, these glistered far.

  XXXI
  The Christian trumpets give the deadly call,
  The Pagans answer, and the fight accept;
  The godly Frenchmen on their knees down fall
  To pray, and kissed the earth, and then up leapt
  To fight, the land between was vanished all,
  In combat close each host to other stepped;
  For now the wings had skirmish hot begun,
  And with their battles forth the footmen run.

  XXXII
  But who was first of all the Christian train,
  That gave the onset first, first won renown?
  Gildippes thou wert she, for by thee slain
  The King of Orms, Hircano, tumbled down,
  The man's breastbone thou clov'st and rent in twain,
  So Heaven with honor would thee bless and crown,
  Pierced through he fell, and falling hard withal
  His foe praised for her strength and for his fall.

  XXXIII
  Her lance thus broke, the hardy dame forth drew
  With her strong hand a fine and trenchant blade,
  And gainst the Persians fierce and bold she flew,
  And in their troop wide streets and lanes she made,
  Even in the girdling-stead divided new
  In pieces twain, Zopire on earth she laid;
  And then Alarco's head she swept off clean,
  Which like a football tumbled on the green.

  XXXIV
  A blow felled Artaxerxes, with a thrust
  Was Argeus slain, the first lay in a trance,
  Ismael's left hand cut off fell in the dust,
  For on his wrist her sword fell down by chance:
  The hand let go the bridle where it lust,
  The blow upon the courser's ears did glance,
  Who felt the reins at large. and with the stroke
  Half mad, the ranks disordered, troubled, broke.

  XXXV
  All these, and many mo, by time forgot,
  She slew and wounded, when against her came
  The angry Persians all, cast on a knot,
  For on her person would they purchase fame:
  But her dear spouse and husband wanted not
  In so great need, to aid the noble dame;
  Thus joined, the haps of war unhurt they prove,
  Their strength was double, double was their love.

  XXXVI
  The noble lovers use well might you see,
  A wondrous guise, till then unseen, unheard,
  To save themselves forgot both he and she,
  Each other's life did keep, defend, and guard;
  The strokes that gainst her lord discharged be,
  The dame had care to bear, to break, to ward,
  His shield kept off the blows bent on his dear,
  Which, if need be, his naked head should bear.

  XXXVII
  So each saved other, each for other's wrong
  Would vengeance take, but not revenge their own:
  The valiant Soldan Artabano strong
  Of Boecan Isle, by her was overthrown,
  And by his hand, the bodies dead among,
  Alvante, that durst his mistress wound, fell down,
  And she between the eyes hit Arimont,
  Who hurt her lord, and cleft in twain his front.

  XXXVIII
  But Altamore who had that wing to lead
  Far greater slaughter on the Christians made;
  For where he turned his sword, or twined his steed,
  He slew, or man and beast on earth down laid,
  Happy was he that was at first struck dead,
  That fell not down on live, for whom his blade
  Had speared, the same cast in the dusty street
  His horse tore with his teeth, bruised with his feet.

  XXXIX
  By this brave Persian's valor, killed and slain
  Were strong Brunello and Ardonia great;
  The first his head and helm had cleft in twain,
  The last in stranger-wise he did intreat,
  For through his heart he pierced, and his seat,
  Where laughter hath his fountain and his seat,
  So that, a dreadful thing, believed uneath,
  He laughed for pain, and laughed himself to death.

  XL
  Nor these alone with that accursed knife,
  Of this sweet light and breath deprived lie;
  But with that cruel weapon lost their life
  Gentonio, Guascar, Rosimond, and Guy;
  Who knows how many in that fatal strife
  He slew? what knights his courser fierce made die?
  The names and countries of the people slain
  Who tells? their wounds and deaths who can explain?

  XLI
  With this fierce king encounter durst not one.
  Not one durst combat him in equal field,
  Gildippes undertook that task alone;
  No doubt could make her shrink, no danger yield,
  By Thermodont was never Amazone,
  Who managed steeled axe, or carried shield,
  That seemed so bold as she, so strong, so light,
  When forth she run to meet that dreadful knight.

  XLII
  She hit him, where with gold and rich anmail,
  His diadem did on his helmet flame,
  She broke and cleft the crown, and caused him veil
  His proud and lofty top, his crest down came,
  Strong seemed her arm that could so well assail:
  The Pagan shook for spite and blushed for shame,
  Forward he rushed, and would at once requite
  Shame with disgrace, and with revenge despite.

  XLIII
  Right on the front he gave that lady kind
  A blow so huge, so strong, so great, so sore,
  That out of sense and feeling, down she twined:
  But her dear knight his love from ground upbore,
  Were it their fortune, or his noble mind,
  He stayed his hand and strook the dame no more:
  A lion so stalks by, and with proud eyes
  Beholds, but scorns to hurt a man that lies.

  XLIV
  This while Ormondo false, whose cruel hand
  Was armed and prest to give the trait'rous blow,
  With all his fellows mongst Godfredo's band
  Entered unseen, disguised that few them know:
  The thievish wolves, when night o'ershades the land,
  That seem like faithful dogs in shape and show,
  So to the closed folds in secret creep,
  And entrance seek; to kill some harmless sheep.

  XLV
  He proached nigh, and to Godfredo's side
  The bloody Pagan now was placed near:
  But when his colors gold and white he spied,
  And saw the other signs that forged were,
  "See, see, this traitor false!" the captain cried,
  "That like a Frenchman would in show appear,
  Behold how near his mates and he are crept!"
  This said, upon the villain forth he leapt;

  LXVI
  Deadly he wounded him, and that false knight
  Nor strikes nor wards nor striveth to be gone;
  But, as Medusa's head were in his sight,
  Stood like a man new turned to marble stone,
  All lances broke, unsheathed all weapons bright,
  All quivers emptied were on them alone,
  In parts so many were the traitors cleft,
  That those dead men had no dead bodies left.

  LXVII
  When Godfrey was with Pagan blood bespread,
  He entered then the fight and that was past
  Where the bold Persian fought and combated,
  Where the close ranks he opened, cleft and brast;
  Before the knight the troops and squadrons fled,
  As Afric dust before the southern blast;
  The Duke recalled them, in array them placed,
  Stayed those that fled, and him assailed that chased.

  LXVIII
  The champions strong there fought a battle stout,
  Troy never saw the like by Xanthus old:
  A conflict sharp there was meanwhile on foot
  Twixt Baldwin good and Muleasses bold:
  The horsemen also near the mountains rout,
  And in both wings, a furious skirmish hold,
  And where the barbarous duke in person stood,
  Twixt Tisiphernes and Adrastus proud;

  XLIX
  With Emiren Robert the Norman strove,
  Long time they fought, yet neither lost nor won;
  The other Robert's helm the Indian clove,
  And broke his arms, their fight would soon be done:
  From place to place did Tisiphernes rove,
  And found no match, against him none dust run,
  But where the press was thickest thither flew
  The knight, and at each stroke felled, hurt, or slew.
  L
  Thus fought they long, yet neither shrink nor yield,
  In equal balance hung their hope and fear:
  All full of broken lances lay the field,
  All full of arms that cloven and shattered were;
  Of swords, some to the body nail the shield,
  Some cut men's throats, and some their bellies tear;
  Of bodies, some upright, some grovelling lay,
  And for themselves eat graves out of the clay.

  LI
  Beside his lord slain lay the noble steed,
  There friend with friend lay killed like lovers true,
  There foe with foe, the live under the dead,
  The victor under him whom late he slew:
  A hoarse unperfect sound did eachwhere spread,
  Whence neither silence, nor plain outcries flew:
  There fury roars, ire threats, and woe complains,
  One weeps, another cries, he sighs for pains.

  LII
  The arms that late so fair and glorious seem,
  Now soiled and slubbered, sad and sullen grow,
  The steel his brightness lost, the gold his beam;
  The colors had no pride nor beauty's show;
  The plumes and feathers on their crests that stream,
  Are strowed wide upon the earth below:
  The hosts both clad in blood, in dust and mire,
  Had changed their cheer, their pride, their rich attire.

  LIII
  But now the Moors, Arabians, Ethiops black,
  Of the left wing that held the utmost marge,
  Spread forth their troops, and purposed at the back
  And side their heedless foes to assail and charge:
  Slingers and archers were not slow nor slack
  To shoot and cast, when with his battle large
  Rinaldo came, whose fury, haste and ire,
  Seemed earthquake, thunder, tempest, storm and fire.

  LIV
  The first he met was Asimire, his throne
  That set in Meroe's hot sunburnt land,
  He cut his neck in twain, flesh, skin and bone,
  The sable head down tumbled on the sand;
  But when by death of this black prince alone
  The taste of blood and conquest once he fand,
  Whole squadrons then, whole troops to earth he brought,
  Things wondrous, strange, incredible he wrought.

  LV
  He gave more deaths than strokes, and yet his blows
  Upon his feeble foes fell oft and thick,
  To move three tongues as a fierce serpent shows,
  Which rolls the one she hath swift, speedy, quick,
  So thinks each Pagan; each Arabian trows
  He wields three swords, all in one hilt that stick;
  His readiness their eyes so blinded hath,
  Their dread that wonder bred, fear gave it faith.

  LVI
  The Afric tyrants and the negro kings
  Fell down on heaps, drowned each in other's blood,
  Upon their people ran the knights he brings,
  Pricked forward by their guide's example good,
  Killed were the Pagans, broke their bows and slings:
  Some died, some fell; some yielded, none withstood:
  A massacre was this, no fight; these put
  Their foes to death, those hold their throats to cut.

  LVII
  Small while they stood, with heart and hardy face,
  On their bold breasts deep wounds and hurts to bear,
  But fled away, and troubled in the chase
  Their ranks disordered be with too much fear:
  Rinaldo followed them from place to place,
  Till quite discomfit and dispersed they were.
  That done, he stays, and all his knights recalls,
  And scorns to strike his foe that flies or falls.

  LVIII
  Like as the wind stopped by some wood or hill,
  Grows strong and fierce, tears boughs and trees in twain,
  But with mild blasts, more temperate, gentle, still,
  Blows through the ample field or spacious plain;
  Against the rocks as sea-waves murmur shrill,
  But silent pass amid the open main:
  Rinaldo so, when none his force withstood,
  Assuaged his fury, calmed his angry mood;

  LIX
  He scorned upon their fearful backs that fled
  To wreak his ire and spend his force in vain,
  But gainst the footmen strong his troops he led,
  Whose side the Moors had open left and plain,
  The Africans that should have succored
  That battle, all were run away or slain,
  Upon their flank with force and courage stout
  His men at arms assailed the bands on foot:

  LX
  He brake their pikes, and brake their close array,
  Entered their battle, felled them down around,
  So wind or tempest with impetuous sway
  The ears of ripened corn strikes flat to ground:
  With blood, arms, bodies dead, the hardened clay
  Plastered the earth, no grass nor green was found;
  The horsemen running through and through their bands,
  Kill, murder, slay, few scape, not one withstands.

  LXI
  Rinaldo came where his forlorn Armide
  Sate on her golden chariot mounted high,
  A noble guard she had on every side
  Of lords, of lovers, and much chivalry:
  She knew the man when first his arms she spied,
  Love, hate, wrath, sweet desire strove in her eye,
  He changed somedeal his look and countenance bold,
  She changed from frost to fire, from heat to cold.

  LXII
  The prince passed by the chariot of his dear
  Like one that did his thoughts elsewhere bestow,
  Yet suffered not her knights and lovers near
  Their rival so to scape withouten blow,
  One drew his sword, another couched his spear,
  Herself an arrow sharp set in her bow,
  Disdain her ire new sharped and kindled hath,
  But love appeased her, love assuaged her wrath.

  LXIII
  Love bridled fury, and revived of new
  His fire, not dead, though buried in displeasure,
  Three times her angry hand the bow updrew,
  And thrice again let slack the string at leisure;
  But wrath prevailed at last, the reed outflew,
  For love finds mean, but hatred knows no measure,
  Outflew the shaft, but with the shaft, this charm,
  This wish she sent: Heaven grant it do no harm:

  LXIV
  She bids the reed return the way it went,
  And pierce her heart which so unkind could prove,
  Such force had love, though lost and vainly spent,
  What strength hath happy, kind and mutual love?
  But she that gentle thought did straight repent,
  Wrath, fury, kindness, in her bosom strove,
  She would, she would not, that it missed or hit,
  Her eyes, her heart, her wishes followed it.

  LXV
  But yet in vain the quarrel lighted not,
  For on his hauberk hard the knight it hit,
  Too hard for woman's shaft or woman's shot,
  Instead of piercing, there it broke and split;
  He turned away, she burnt with fury hot,
  And thought he scorned her power, and in that fit
  Shot oft and oft, her shafts no entrance found,
  And while she shot, love gave her wound on wound.

  LXVI
  "And is he then unpierceable," quoth she,
  "That neither force nor foe he needs regard?
  His limbs, perchance, armed with that hardness be,
  Which makes his heart so cruel and so hard,
  No shot that flies from eye or hand I see
  Hurts him, such rigor doth his person guard,
  Armed, or disarmed; his foe or mistress kind
  Despised alike, like hate, like scorn I find.

  LXVII
  "But what new form is left, device or art,
  By which, to which exchanged, I might find grace?
  For in my knights, and all that take my part,
  I see no help; no hope, no trust I place;
  To his great prowess, might, and valiant heart,
  All strength is weak, all courage vile and base."
  This said she, for she saw how through the field
  Her champions fly, faint, tremble, fall and yield.

  LXVIII
  Nor left alone can she her person save,
  But to be slain or taken stands in fear,
  Though with a bow a javelin long she have,
  Yet weak was Phebe's bow, blunt Pallas' spear.
  But, as the swan, that sees the eagle brave
  Threatening her flesh and silver plumes to tear,
  Falls down, to hide her mongst the shady brooks:
  Such were her fearful motions, such her looks.

  LXIX
  But Altamore, this while that strove and sought
  From shameful flight his Persian host to stay,
  That was discomfit and destroyed to nought,
  Whilst he alone maintained the fight and fray,
  Seeing distressed the goddess of his thought,
  To aid her ran, nay flew, and laid away
  All care both of his honor and his host:
  If she were safe, let all the world be lost.

  LXX
  To the ill-guarded chariot swift he flew,
  His weapon made him way with bloody war:
  Meanwhile Lord Godfrey and Rinaldo slew
  His feeble bands, his people murdered are,
  He saw their loss, but aided not his crew,
  A better lover than a leader far,
  He set Armida safe, then turned again
  With tardy succor, for his folk were slain.

  LXXI
  And on that side the woful prince beheld
  The battle lost, no help nor hope remained;
  But on the other wing the Christians yield,
  And fly, such vantage there the Egyptians gained,
  One of the Roberts was nigh slain in field;
  The other by the Indian strong constrained
  To yield himself his captive and his slave;
  Thus equal loss and equal foil they have.

  LXXII
  Godfredo took the time and season fit
  To bring again his squadrons in array,
  And either camp well ordered, ranged and knit,
  Renewed the furious battle, fight and fray,
  New streams of blood were shed, new swords them hit;
  New combats fought, new spoils were borne away,
  And unresolved and doubtful, on each side,
  Did praise and conquest, Mars and Fortune ride.

  LXXIII
  Between the armies twain while thus the fight
  Waxed sharp, hot, cruel, though renewed but late,
  The Soldan clomb up to the tower's height,
  And saw far off their strife and fell debate,
  As from some stage or theatre the knight
  Saw played the tragedy of human state,
  Saw death, blood, murder, woe and horror strange,
  And the great acts of fortune, chance, and change.

  LXXIV
  At first astonished and amazed he stood
  Then burnt with wrath, and self-consuming ire,
  Swelled his bosom like a raging flood,
  To be amid that battle; such desire,
  Such haste he had; he donned his helmet good,
  His other arms he had before entire,
  "Up, up!" he cried, "no more, no more, within
  This fortress stay, come follow, die or win."

  LXXV
  Whether the same were Providence divine
  That made him leave the fortress he possessed,
  For that the empire proud of Palestine
  This day should fall, to rise again more blessed;
  Or that he breaking felt the fatal line
  Of life, and would meet death with constant breast,
  Furious and fierce he did the gates unbar,
  And sudden rage brought forth, and sudden war.

  LXXVI
  Nor stayed he till the folk on whom he cried
  Assemble might, but out alone he flies,
  A thousand foes the man alone defied,
  And ran among a thousand enemies:
  But with his fury called from every side,
  The rest run out, and Aladine forth hies,
  The cowards had no fear, the wise no care,
  This was not hope, nor courage, but despair.

  LXXVII
  The dreadful Turk with sudden blows down cast
  The first he met, nor gave them time to plain
  Or pray, in murdering them he made such haste
  That dead they fell ere one could see them slain;
  From mouth to mouth, from eye to eye forth passed
  The fear and terror, that the faithful train
  Of Syrian folk, not used to dangerous fight,
  Were broken, scattered, and nigh put to flight.

  LXXVIII
  But with less terror, and disorder less,
  The Gascoigns kept array, and kept their ground,
  Though most the loss and peril them oppress,
  Unwares assailed they were, unready found.
  No ravening tooth or talon hard I guess
  Of beast or eager hawk, doth slay and wound
  So many sheep or fowls, weak, feeble, small,
  As his sharp sword killed knights and soldiers tall.

  LXXIX
  It seemed his thirst and hunger 'suage he would
  With their slain bodies, and their blood poured out,
  With him his troops and Aladino old
  Slew their besiegers, killed the Gascoign rout:
  But Raymond ran to meet the Soldan bold,
  Nor to encounter him had fear or doubt,
  Though his right hand by proof too well he know,
  Which laid him late for dead at one huge blow.

  LXXX
  They met, and Raymond fell amid the field,
  This blow again upon his forehead light,
  It was the fault and weakness of his eild,
  Age is not fit to bear strokes of such might,
  Each one lift up his sword, advanced his shield,
  Those would destroy, and these defend the knight.
  On went the Soldan, for the man he thought
  Was slain, or easily might be captive brought.

  LXXXI
  Among the rest he ran, he raged, he smote,
  And in small space, small time, great wonders wrought
  And as his rage him led and fury hot,
  To kill and murder, matter new he sought:
  As from his supper poor with hungry throat
  A peasant hastes, to a rich feast ybrought;
  So from this skirmish to the battle great
  He ran, and quenched with blood his fury's heat.

  LXXXII
  Where battered was the wall he sallied out,
  And to the field in haste and heat he goes,
  With him went rage and fury, fear and doubt
  Remained behind, among his scattered foes:
  To win the conquest strove his squadron stout,
  Which he unperfect left; yet loth to lose
  The day, the Christians fight, resist and die,
  And ready were to yield, retire and fly.

  LXXXIII
  The Gascoign bands retired, but kept array,
  The Syrian people ran away outright,
  The fight was near the place where Tancred lay,
  His house was full of noise and great affright,
  He rose and 1ooked forth to see the fray,
  Though every limb were weak, faint, void of might;
  He saw the country lie, his men o'erthrown,
  Some beaten back, some killed, some felled down.

  LXXXIV
  Courage in noble hearts that ne'er is spent,
  Yet fainted not, though faint were every limb,
  But reinforced each member cleft and rent,
  And want of blood and strength supplied in him;
  In his left hand his heavy shield he hent,
  Nor seemed the weight too great, his curtlax trim
  His right hand drew, nor for more arms he stood
  Or stayed, he needs no more whose heart is good:

  LXXXV
  But coming forth, cried, "Whither will you run,
  And leave your leader to his foes in prey?
  What! shall these heathen of his armor won,
  In their vile temples hang up trophies gay?
  Go home to Gascoign then, and tell his son
  That where his father died, you ran away:"
  This said, against a thousand armed foes,
  He did his breast weak, naked, sick, oppose.

  LXXXVI
  And with his heavy, strong and mighty targe,
  That with seven hard bulls' hides was surely lined,
  And strengthened with a cover thick and large
  Of stiff and well-attempered steel behind,
  He shielded Raymond from the furious charge,
  From swords, from darts, from weapons of each kind,
  And all his foes drove back with his sharp blade,
  That sure and safe he lay, as in a shade.

  LXXXVII
  Thus saved, thus shielded, Raymond 'gan respire,
  He rose and reared himself in little space,
  And in his bosom burned the double fire
  Of vengeance; wrath his heart; shame filled his face;
  He looked around to spy, such was his ire,
  The man whose stroke had laid him in that place,
  Whom when he sees not, for disdain he quakes,
  And on his people sharp revengement takes.

  LXXXVIII
  The Gascoigns turn again, their lord in haste
  To venge their loss his hand recorded brings,
  The troop that durst so much now stood aghast,
  For where sad fear grew late, now boldness springs,
  Now followed they that fled, fled they that chased;
  So in one hour altereth the state of things,
  Raymond requites his loss, shame, hurt and all,
  And with an hundred deaths revenged one fall.

  LXXXIX
  Whilst Raymond wreaked thus his just disdain
  On the proud-heads of captains, lords and peers,
  He spies great Sion's king amid the train,
  And to him leaps, and high his sword he rears,
  And on his forehead strikes, and strikes again,
  Till helm and head he breaks, he cleaves, he tears;
  Down fell the king, the guiltless land he bit,
  That now keeps him, because he kept not it.

  XC
  Their guides, one murdered thus, the other gone,
  The troops divided were, in diverse thought,
  Despair made some run headlong gainst their fone,
  To seek sharp death that comes uncalled, unsought;
  And some, that laid their hope on flight alone,
  Fled to their fort again; yet chance so wrought,
  That with the flyers in the victors pass,
  And so the fortress won and conquered was.

  XCI
  The hold was won, slain were the men that fled,
  In courts, halls, chambers high; above, below,
  Old Raymond fast up to the leads him sped,
  And there, of victory true sign and show,
  His glorious standard to the wind he spread,
  That so both armies his success might know.
  But Solyman saw not the town was lost,
  For far from thence he was. and near the host;

  XCII
  Into the field he came, the lukewarm blood
  Did smoke and flow through all the purple field,
  There of sad death the court and palace stood,
  There did he triumphs lead, and trophies build;
  An armed steed fast by the Soldan yood,
  That had no guide, nor lord the reins to wield,
  The tyrant took the bridle, and bestrode
  The courser's empty back, and forth he rode.

  XCIII
  Great, yet but short and sudden was the aid
  That to the Pagans, faint and weak, he brought,
  A thunderbolt he was, you would have said,
  Great, yet that comes and goes as swift as thought
  And of his coming swift and flight unstayed
  Eternal signs in hardest rocks hath wrought,
  For by his hand a hundred knights were slain,
  But time forgot hath all their names but twain;

  XCIV
  Gildippes fair, and Edward thy dear lord,
  Your noble death, sad end, and woful fate,
  If so much power our vulgar tongue afford,
  To all strange wits, strange ears let me dilate,
  That ages all your love and sweet accord,
  Your virtue, prowess, worth may imitate,
  And some kind servant of true love that hears,
  May grace your death, my verses, with some tears.

  XCV
  The noble lady thither boldly flew,
  Where first the Soldan fought, and him defied,
  Two mighty blows she gave the Turk untrue,
  One cleft his shield, the other pierced his side;
  The prince the damsel by her habit knew,
  "See, see this mankind strumpet, see," he cried,
  "This shameless whore, for thee fit weapons were
  Thy neeld and spindle, not a sword and spear."

  XCVI
  This said, full of disdain, rage and despite,
  A strong, a fierce, a deadly stroke he gave,
  And pierced her armor, pierced her bosom white,
  Worthy no blows, but blows of love to have:
  Her dying hand let go the bridle quite,
  She faints, she falls, 'twixt life and death she strave,
  Her lord to help her came, but came too late,
  Yet was not that his fault, it was his fate.

  XCVII
  What should he do? to diverse parts him call
  Just ire and pity kind, one bids him go
  And succor his dear lady, like to fall,
  The other calls for vengeance on his foe;
  Love biddeth both, love says he must do all,
  And with his ire joins grief, with pity woe.
  What did he then? with his left hand the knight
  Would hold her up, revenge her with his right.

  XCVIII
  But to resist against a knight so bold
  Too weak his will and power divided were;
  So that he could not his fair love uphold,
  Nor kill the cruel man that slew his dear.
  His arm that did his mistress kind enfold,
  The Turk cut off, pale grew his looks and cheer,
  He let her fall, himself fell by her side,
  And, for he could not save her, with her died.

  XCIX
  As the high elm, whom his dear vine hath twined
  Fast in her hundred arms and holds embraced,
  Bears down to earth his spouse and darling kind
  If storm or cruel steel the tree down cast,
  And her full grapes to naught doth bruise and grind,
  Spoils his own leaves, faints, withers, dies at last,
  And seems to mourn and die, not for his own,
  But for her death, with him that lies o'erthrown:

  C
  So fell he mourning, mourning for the dame
  Whom life and death had made forever his;
  They would have spoke, but not one word could frame,
  Deep sobs their speech, sweet sighs their language is,
  Each gazed on other's eyes, and while the same
  Is lawful, join their hands, embrace and kiss:
  And thus sharp death their knot of life untied,
  Together fainted they, together died.

  CI
  But now swift fame her nimble wings dispread,
  And told eachwhere their chance, their fate, their fall,
  Rinaldo heard the case, by one that fled
  From the fierce Turk and brought him news of all.
  Disdain, good-will, woe, wrath the champion led
  To take revenge; shame, grief, for vengeance call;
  But as he went, Adrastus with his blade
  Forestalled the way, and show of combat made.

  CII
  The giant cried, "By sundry signs I note
  That whom I wish, I search, thou, thou art he,
  I marked each worthy's shield, his helm, his coat,
  And all this day have called and cried for thee,
  To my sweet saint I have thy head devote,
  Thou must my sacrifice, my offering be,
  Come let us here our strength and courage try,
  Thou art Armida's foe, her champion I."

  CIII
  Thus he defied him, on his front before,
  And on his throat he struck him, yet the blow
  His helmet neither bruised, cleft nor tore,
  But in his saddle made him bend and bow;
  Rinaldo hit him on the flank so sore,
  That neither art nor herb could help him now;
  Down fell the giant strong, one blow such power,
  Such puissance had; so falls a thundered tower.

  CIV
  With horror, fear, amazedness and dread,
  Cold were the hearts of all that saw the fray,
  And Solyman, that viewed that noble deed,
  Trembled, his paleness did his fear bewray;
  For in that stroke he did his end areed,
  He wist not what to think, to do, to say,
  A thing in him unused, rare and strange,
  But so doth heaven men's hearts turn, alter, change.

  CV
  As when the sick or frantic men oft dream
  In their unquiet sleep and slumber short,
  And think they run some speedy course, and seem
  To move their legs and feet in hasty sort,
  Yet feel their limbs far slower than the stream
  Of their vain thoughts that bears them in this sport,
  And oft would speak, would cry, would call or shout,
  Yet neither sound, nor voice, nor word send out:

  CVI
  So run to fight the angry Soldan would,
  And did enforce his strength, his might, his ire,
  Yet felt not in himself his courage old,
  His wonted force, his rage and hot desire,
  His eyes, that sparkled wrath and fury bold,
  Grew dim and feeble, fear had quenched that fire,
  And in his heart an hundred passions fought,
  Yet none on fear or base retire he thought.

  CVII
  While unresolved he stood, the victor knight
  Arrived, and seemed in quickness, haste and speed,
  In boldness, greatness, goodliness and might,
  Above all princes born of human seed:
  The Turk small while resists, not death nor fight
  Made him forget his state or race, through dreed,
  He fled no strokes, he fetched no groan nor sigh,
  Bold were his motions last, proud, stately, high.

  CVIII
  Now when the Soldan, in these battles past
  That Antheus-like oft fell oft rose again,
  Evermore fierce, more fell, fell down at last
  To lie forever, when this prince was slain,
  Fortune, that seld is stable, firm or fast,
  No longer durst resist the Christian train,
  But ranged herself in row with Godfrey's knights,
  With them she serves, she runs, she rides, she fights.

  CIX
  The Pagan troops, the king's own squadron fled,
  Of all the east, the strength, the pride, the flower,
  Late called Immortal, now discomfited,
  It lost that title proud, and lost all power;
  To him that with the royal standard fled,
  Thus Emireno said, with speeches sour,
  "Art not thou he to whom to bear I gave
  My king's great banner, and his standard brave?

  CX
  "This ensign, Rimedon, I gave not thee
  To be the witness of thy fear and flight,
  Coward, dost thou thy lord and captain see
  In battle strong, and runn'st thyself from fight?
  What seek'st thou? safety? come, return with me,
  The way to death is path to virtue right,
  Here let him fight that would escape; for this
  The way to honor, way to safety is."

  CXI
  The man returned and swelled with scorn and shame,
  The duke with speeches grave exhorts the rest;
  He threats, he strikes sometime, till back they came,
  And rage gainst force, despair gainst death addressed.
  Thus of his broken armies gan he frame
  A battle now, some hope dwelt in his breast,
  But Tisiphernes bold revived him most,
  Who fought and seemed to win, when all was lost;

  CXII
  Wonders that day wrought noble Tisipherne,
  The hardy Normans all he overthrew;
  The Flemings fled before the champion stern,
  Gernier, Rogero, Gerard bold he slew;
  His glorious deeds to praise and fame etern
  His life's short date prolonged, enlarged and drew,
  And then, as he that set sweet life at nought,
  The greatest peril, danger, most he sought.

  CXIII
  He spied Rinaldo, and although his field
  Of azure purple now and sanguine shows,
  And though the silver bird amid his shield
  Were armed gules; yet he the champion knows.
  And says, "Here greatest peril is, heavens yield
  Strength to my courage, fortune to my blows,
  That fair Armida her revenge may see,
  Help, Macon, for his arms I vow to thee."

  CXIV
  Thus prayed he, but all his vows were vain,
  Mahound was deaf, or slept in heavens above,
  And as a lion strikes him with his train,
  His native wrath to quicken and to move,
  So he awaked his fury and disdain,
  And sharped his courage on the whetstone love;
  Himself he saved behind his mighty targe,
  And forward spurred his steed and gave the charge.

  CXV
  The Christian saw the hardy warrior come,
  And leaped forth to undertake the fight,
  The people round about gave place and room,
  And wondered on that fierce and cruel sight,
  Some praised their strength, their skill and courage some,
  Such and so desperate blows struck either knight,
  That all that saw forgot both ire and strife,
  Their wounds, their hurts, forgot both death and life.

  CXVI
  One struck, the other did both strike and wound,
  His arms were surer, and his strength was more;
  From Tisipheme the blood streamed down around;
  His shield was deft, his helm was rent and tore.
  The dame, that saw his blood besmear the ground,
  His armor broke, limbs weak, wounds deep and sore,
  And all her guard dead, fled, and overthrown,
  Thought, now her field lay waste, her hedge lay down:

  CXVII
  Environed with so brave a troop but late,
  Now stood she in her chariot all alone,
  She feared bondage, and her life did hate,
  All hope of conquest and revenge was gone,
  Half mad and half amazed from where she sate,
  She leaped down, and fled from friends' and fone,
  On a swift horse she mounts, and forth she rides
  Alone, save for disdain and love, her guides.

  CXVIII
  In days of old, Queen Cleopatra so
  Alone fled from the fight and cruel fray,
  Against Augustus great his happy foe,
  Leaving her lord to loss and sure decay.
  And as that lord for love let honor go,
  Followed her flying sails and lost the day:
  So Tisipherne the fair and fearful dame
  Would follow, but his foe forbids the same.

  CXIX
  But when the Pagan's joy and comfort fled,
  It seemed the sun was set, the day was night,
  Gainst the brave prince with whom he combated
  He turned, and on the forehead struck the knight:
  When thunders forged are in Typhoius' bed,
  Not Brontes' hammer falls so swift, so right;
  The furious stroke fell on Rinaldo's crest,
  And made him bend his head down to his breast.

  CXX
  The champion in his stirrups high upstart,
  And cleft his hauberk hard and tender side,
  And sheathed his weapon in the Pagan's heart,
  The castle where man's life and soul do bide;
  The cruel sword his breast and hinder part
  With double wound unclosed, and opened wide;
  And two large doors made for his life and breath,
  Which passed, and cured hot love with frozen death.

  CXXI
  This done, Rinaldo stayed and looked around,
  Where he should harm his foes, or help his friends;
  Nor of the Pagans saw he squadron sound:
  Each standard falls, ensign to earth descends;
  His fury quiet then and calm he found,
  There all his wrath, his rage, and rancor ends,
  He called to mind how, far from help or aid,
  Armida fled, alone, amazed, afraid:

  CXXII
  Well saw he when she fled, and with that sight
  The prince had pity, courtesy and care;
  He promised her to be her friend and knight
  When erst he left her in the island bare:
  The way she fled he ran and rode aright,
  Her palfrey's feet signs in the grass outware:
  But she this while found out an ugly shade,
  Fit place for death, where naught could life persuade.

  CXXIII
  Well pleased was she with those shadows brown,
  And yet displeased with luck, with life, with love;
  There from her steed she lighted, there laid down
  Her bow and shafts, her arms that helpless prove.
  "There lie with shame," she says, "disgraced, o'erthrown,
  Blunt are the weapons, blunt the arms I move,
  Weak to revenge my harms, or harm my foe,
  My shafts are blunt, ah, love, would thine were so!

  CXXIV
  Alas, among so many, could not one,
  Not one draw blood, one wound or rend his skin?
  All other breasts to you are marble stone,
  Dare you then pierce a woman's bosom thin?
  See, see, my naked heart, on this alone
  Employ your force this fort is eath to win,
  And love will shoot you from his mighty bow,
  Weak is the shot that dripile falls in snow.

  CXXV
  "I pardon will your fear and weakness past,
  Be strong, mine arrows, cruel, sharp, gainst me,
  Ah, wretch, how is thy chance and fortune cast,
  If placed in these thy good and comfort be?
  But since all hope is vain all help is waste,
  Since hurts ease hurts, wounds must cure wounds in thee;
  Then with thine arrow's stroke cure stroke of love,
  Death for thy heart must salve and surgeon prove.

  CXXVI
  "And happy me if, being dead and slain,
  I bear not with me this strange plague to hell:
  Love, stay behind, come thou with me disdain,
  And with my wronged soul forever dwell;
  Or else with it turn to the world again
  And vex that knight with dreams and visions fell,
  And tell him, when twixt life and death I strove
  My last wish, was revenge — last word, was love."

  CXXVII
  And with that word half mad, half dead, she seems,
  An arrow, poignant, strong and sharp she took,
  When her dear knight found her in these extremes,
  Now fit to die, and pass the Stygian brook,
  Now prest to quench her own and beauty's beams;
  Now death sat on her eyes, death in her look,
  When to her back he stepped, and stayed her arm
  Stretched forth to do that service last, last harm.

  CXXVIII
  She turns and, ere she knows, her lord she spies,
  Whose coming was unwished, unthought, unknown,
  She shrieks, and twines away her sdainful eyes
  From his sweet face, she falls dead in a swoon,
  Falls as a flower half cut, that bending lies:
  He held her up, and lest she tumble down,
  Under her tender side his arm he placed,
  His hand her girdle loosed, her gown unlaced;

  CXXIX
  And her fair face, fair bosom he bedews
  With tears, tears of remorse, of ruth, of sorrow.
  As the pale rose her color lost renews
  With the fresh drops fallen from the silver morrow,
  So she revives, and cheeks empurpled shows
  Moist with their own tears and with tears they borrow;
  Thrice looked she up, her eyes thrice closed she;
  As who say, "Let me die, ere look on thee."

  CXXX
  And his strong arm, with weak and feeble hand
  She would have thrust away, loosed and untwined:
  Oft strove she, but in vain, to break that band,
  For he the hold he got not yet resigned,
  Herself fast bound in those dear knots she fand,
  Dear, though she feigned scorn, strove and repined:
  At last she speaks, she weeps, complains and cries;
  Yet durst not, did not, would not see his eyes.

  CXXXI
  "Cruel at thy departure, at return
  As cruel, say, what chance thee hither guideth,
  Would'st thou prevent her death whose heart forlorn
  For thee, for thee death's strokes each hour divideth?
  Com'st thou to save my life? alas, what scorn,
  What torment for Armida poor abideth?
  No, no, thy crafts and sleights I well descry,
  But she can little do that cannot die.

  CXXXII
  "Thy triumph is not great nor well arrayed
  Unless in chains thou lead a captive dame:
  A dame now ta'en by force, before betrayed,
  This is thy greatest glory, greatest fame:
  Time was that thee of love and life I prayed,
  Let death now end my love. my life, my shame.
  Yet let not thy false hand bereave this breath,
  For if it were thy gift, hateful were death.

  CXXXIII
  "Cruel, myself an hundred ways can find,
  To rid me from thy malice, from thy hate,
  If weapons sharp, if poisons of all kind,
  If fire, if strangling fail, in that estate,
  Yet ways enough I know to stop this wind:
  A thousand entries hath the house of fate.
  Ah, leave these flatteries, leave weak hope to move,
  Cease, cease, my hope is dead, dead is my love."

  CXXXIV
  Thus mourned she, and from her watery eyes
  Disdain and love dropped down, rolled up in tears;
  From his pure fountains ran two streams likewise,
  Wherein chaste pity and mild ruth appears:
  Thus with sweet words the queen he pacifies,
  "Madam, appease your grief, your wrath, your fears,
  For to be crowned, not scorned, your life I save;
  Your foe nay, but your friend, your knight, your slave.

  CXXXV
  "But if you trust no speech. no oath, no word;
  Yet in mine eyes, my zeal, my truth behold:
  For to that throne, whereof thy sire was lord,
  I will restore thee, crown thee with that gold,
  And if high Heaven would so much grace afford
  As from thy heart this cloud this veil unfold
  Of Paganism, in all the east no dame
  Should equalize thy fortune, state and fame."

  CXXXVI
  Thus plaineth he, thus prays, and his desire
  Endears with sighs that fly and tears that fall;
  That as against the warmth of Titan's fire,
  Snowdrifts consume on tops of mountains tall,
  So melts her wrath; but love remains entire.
  "Behold," she says, "your handmaid and your thrall:
  My life, my crown, my wealth use at your pleasure;"
  Thus death her life became, loss proved her tensure.

  CXXXVII
  This while the captain of the Egyptian host, —
  That saw his royal standard laid on ground,
  Saw Rimedon, that ensign's prop and post,
  By Godfrey's noble hand killed with one wound,
  And all his folk discomfit, slain and lost,
  No coward was in this last battle found,
  But rode about and sought, nor sought in vain,
  Some famous hand of which he might be slain;

  CXXXVIII
  Against Lord Godfrey boldly out he flew,
  For nobler foe he wished not, could not spy,
  Of desperate courage showed he tokens true,
  Where'er he joined, or stayed, or passed by,
  And cried to the Duke as near he drew,
  "Behold of thy strong hand I come to die,
  Yet trust to overthrow thee with my fall,
  My castle's ruins shall break down thy wall."

  CXXXIX
  This said, forth spurred they both, both high advance
  Their swords aloft, both struck at once, both hit,
  His left arm wounded had the knight of France,
  His shield was pierced, his vantbrace cleft and split,
  The Pagan backward fell, half in a trance,
  On his left ear his foe so hugely smit,
  And as he sought to rise, Godfredo's sword
  Pierced him through, so died that army's lord.

  CXL
  Of his great host, when Emiren was dead,
  Fled the small remnant that alive remained;
  Godfrey espied as he turned his steed,
  Great Altamore on foot, with blood all stained,
  With half a sword, half helm upon his head,
  Gainst whom a hundred fought, yet not one gained.
  "Cease, cease this strife," he cried: "and thou, brave knight,
  Yield, I am Godfrey, yield thee to my might!"

  CXLI
  He that till then his proud and haughty heart
  To act of humbleness did never bend,
  When that great name he heard, from the north part
  Of our wide world renowned to Aethiop's end,
  Answered, "I yield to thee, thou worthy art,
  I am thy prisoner, fortune is thy friend:
  On Altamoro great thy conquest bold
  Of glory shall be rich, and rich of gold:

  CXLII
  "My loving queen, my wife and lady kind
  Shall ransom me with jewels, gold and treasure."
  "God shield," quoth Godfrey, "that my noble mind
  Should praise and virtue so by profit measure,
  All that thou hast from Persia and from Inde
  Enjoy it still, therein I take no pleasure;
  I set no rent on life, no price on blood,
  I fight, and sell not war for gold or good."

  CXLIII
  This said, he gave him to his knights to keep
  And after those that fled his course he bent;
  They to their rampiers fled and trenches deep,
  Yet could not so death's cruel stroke prevent:
  The camp was won, and all in blood doth steep
  The blood in rivers streamed from tent to tent,
  It soiled, defiled, defaced all the prey,
  Shields, helmets, armors, plumes and feathers gay.

  CXLIV
  Thus conquered Godfrey, and as yet the sun
  Dived not in silver waves his golden wain,
  But daylight served him to the fortress won
  With his victorious host to turn again,
  His bloody coat he put not off, but run
  To the high temple with his noble train,
  And there hung up his arms, and there he bows
  His knees, there prayed, and there performed his vows.

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