Jerusalem Delivered Part 14

VI Her plaints were interrupted with a sound, That seemed from thickest bushes to proceed, Some jolly shepherd sung a l.u.s.ty round, And to his voice he tuned his oaten reed; Thither she went, an old man there she found, At whose right hand his little flock did feed, Sat making baskets, his three sons among, That learned their father's art, and learned his song.

VII Beholding one in s.h.i.+ning Arms appear, The seely man and his were sore dismay'd; But sweet Erminia comforted their fear, Her vental up, her visage open laid; You happy folk, of heav'n beloved dear, Work on, quoth she, upon your harmless trade; These dreadful arms, I bear, no warfare bring To your sweet toil, nor those sweet tunes you sing.

VIII "But, father, since this land, these towns and towers Destroyed are with sword, with fire and spoil, How may it be unhurt that you and yours In safety thus apply your harmless toil?"

"My son," quoth he, "this poor estate of ours Is ever safe from storm of warlike broil; This wilderness doth us in safety keep, No thundering drum, no trumpet breaks our sleep.

IX "Haply just Heaven's defence and s.h.i.+eld of right Doth love the innocence of simple swains, The thunderbolts on highest mountains light, And seld or never strike the lower plains; So kings have cause to fear Bellona's might, Not they whose sweat and toil their dinner gains, Nor ever greedy soldier was enticed By poverty, neglected and despised.

X "O poverty, chief of the heavenly brood, Dearer to me than wealth or kingly crown: No wish for honor, thirst of others' good, Can move my heart, contented with mine own: We quench our thirst with water of this flood, Nor fear we poison should therein be thrown; These little flocks of sheep and tender goats Give milk for food, and wool to make us coats.

XI "We little wish, we need but little wealth, From cold and hunger us to clothe and feed; These are my sons, their care preserves from stealth Their father's flocks, nor servants more I need: Amid these groves I walk oft for my health, And to the fishes, birds, and beasts give heed, How they are fed, in forest, spring and lake, And their contentment for example take.

XII "Time was, for each one hath his doating time, These silver locks were golden tresses then, That country life I hated as a crime, And from the forest's sweet contentment ran, And there became the mighty caliph's man, and though I but a simple gardener were, Yet could I mark abuses, see and hear.

XIII "Enticed on with hope of future gain, I suffered long what did my soul displease; But when my youth was spent, my hope was vain.

I felt my native strength at last decrease; I gan my loss of l.u.s.ty years complain, And wished I had enjoyed the country's peace; I bade the court farewell, and with content My latter age here have I quiet spent."

XIV While thus he spake, Erminia hushed and still His wise discourses heard, with great attention, His speeches grave those idle fancies kill Which in her troubled soul bred such dissension; After much thought reformed was her will, Within those woods to dwell was her intention, Till Fortune should occasion new afford, To turn her home to her desired lord.

XV She said therefore, "O shepherd fortunate!

That troubles some didst whilom feel and prove, Yet livest now in this contented state, Let my mishap thy thoughts to pity move, To entertain me as a willing mate In shepherd's life which I admire and love; Within these pleasant groves perchance my heart, Of her discomforts, may unload some part.

XVI "If gold or wealth, of most esteemed dear, If jewels rich thou diddest hold in prize, Such store thereof, such plenty have I here, As to a greedy mind might well suffice:"

With that down trickled many a silver tear, Two crystal streams fell from her watery eyes; Part of her sad misfortunes then she told, And wept, and with her wept that shepherd old.

XVII With speeches kind, he gan the virgin dear Toward his cottage gently home to guide; His aged wife there made her homely cheer, Yet welcomed her, and placed her by her side.

The princess donned a poor pastoral's gear, A kerchief coa.r.s.e upon her head she tied; But yet her gestures and her looks, I guess, Were such as ill beseemed a shepherdess.

XVIII Not those rude garments could obscure and hide The heavenly beauty of her angel's face, Nor was her princely offspring d.a.m.nified Or aught disparaged by those labors base; Her little flocks to pasture would she guide, And milk her goats, and in their folds them place, Both cheese and b.u.t.ter could she make, and frame Herself to please the shepherd and his dame.

XIX But oft, when underneath the greenwood shade Her flocks lay hid from Phoebus' scorching rays, Unto her knight she songs and sonnets made, And them engraved in bark of beech and bays; She told how Cupid did her first invade, How conquered her, and ends with Tancred's praise: And when her pa.s.sion's writ she over read, Again she mourned, again salt tears she shed.

XX "You happy trees forever keep," quoth she, "This woful story in your tender rind, Another day under your shade maybe Will come to rest again some lover kind; Who if these trophies of my griefs he see, Shall feel dear pity pierce his gentle mind;"

With that she sighed and said, "Too late I prove There is no troth in fortune, trust in love.

XXI "Yet may it be, if gracious heavens attend The earnest suit of a distressed wight, At my entreat they will vouchsafe to send To these huge deserts that unthankful knight, That when to earth the man his eyes shall bend, And sees my grave, my tomb, and ashes light, My woful death his stubborn heart may move, With tears and sorrows to reward my love.

XXII "So, though my life hath most unhappy been, At least yet shall my spirit dead be blest, My ashes cold shall, buried on this green, Enjoy that good this body ne'er possessed."

Thus she complained to the senseless treen, Floods in her eyes, and fires were in her breast; But he for whom these streams of tears she shed, Wandered far off, alas, as chance him led.

XXIII He followed on the footsteps he had traced, Till in high woods and forests old he came, Where bushes, thorns and trees so thick were placed, And so obscure the shadows of the same, That soon he lost the tract wherein he paced; Yet went he on, which way he could not aim, But still attentive was his longing ear If noise of horse or noise of arms he hear.

XXIV If with the breathing of the gentle wind, An aspen leaf but shaked on the tree, If bird or beast stirred in the bushes blind, Thither he spurred, thither he rode to see: Out of the wood by Cynthia's favor kind, At last, with travel great and pains, got he, And following on a little path, he heard A rumbling sound, and hasted thitherward.

XXV It was a fountain from the living stone, That poured down clear streams in n.o.ble store, Whose conduit pipes, united all in one, Throughout a rocky channel ghastly roar; Here Tancred stayed, and called, yet answered none, Save babbling echo, from the crooked sh.o.r.e; And there the weary knight at last espies The springing daylight red and white arise.

XXVI He sighed sore, and guiltless heaven gan blame, That wished success to his desire denied, And sharp revenge protested for the same, If aught but good his mistress fair betide; Then wished he to return the way he came, Although he wist not by what path to ride, And time drew near when he again must fight With proud Argantes, that vain-glorious knight.

XXVII His stalwart steed the champion stout bestrode And p.r.i.c.ked fast to find the way he lost, But through a valley as he musing rode, He saw a man that seemed for haste a post, His horn was hung between his shoulders broad, As is the guise with us: Tancredi crossed His way, and gently prayed the man to say, To G.o.dfrey's camp how he should find the way.

XXVIII "Sir," in the Italian language answered he, "I ride where n.o.ble Boemond hath me sent:"

The prince thought this his uncle's man should be, And after him his course with speed he bent, A fortress stately built at last they see, Bout which a muddy stinking lake there went, There they arrived when t.i.tan went to rest His weary limbs in night's untroubled nest.

XXIX The courier gave the fort a warning blast; The drawbridge was let down by them within: "If thou a Christian be," quoth he, "thou mayest Till Phoebus s.h.i.+ne again, here take thine inn, The County of Cosenza, three days past, This castle from the Turks did n.o.bly win."

The prince beheld the piece, which site and art Impregnable had made on every part.

x.x.x He feared within a pile so fortified Some secret treason or enchantment lay, But had he known even there he should have died, Yet should his looks no sign of fear betray; For wheresoever will or chance him guide, His strong victorious hand still made him way: Yet for the combat he must shortly make, No new adventures list he undertake.

x.x.xI Before the castle, in a meadow plain Beside the bridge's end, he stayed and stood, Nor was entreated by the speeches vain Of his false guide, to pa.s.s beyond the flood.

Upon the bridge appeared a warlike swain, From top to toe all clad in armor good, Who brandis.h.i.+ng a broad and cutting sword, Thus threatened death with many an idle word.

x.x.xII "O thou, whom chance or will brings to the soil, Where fair Armida doth the sceptre guide, Thou canst not fly, of arms thyself despoil, And let thy hands with iron chains be tied; Enter and rest thee from thy weary toil.

Within this dungeon shalt thou safe abide, And never hope again to see the day, Or that thy hair for age shall turn to gray;

x.x.xIII "Except thou swear her valiant knights to aid Against those traitors of the Christian crew."

Tancred at this discourse a little stayed, His arms, his gesture, and his voice he knew: It was Rambaldo, who for that false maid Forsook his country and religion true, And of that fort defender chief became, And those vile customs stablished in the same.

x.x.xIV The warrior answered, blus.h.i.+ng red for shame, "Cursed apostate, and ungracious wight, I am that Tancred who defend the name Of Christ, and have been aye his faithful knight; His rebel foes can I subdue and tame, As thou shalt find before we end this fight; And thy false heart cleft with this vengeful sword, Shall feel the ire of thy forsaken Lord."

x.x.xV When that great name Rambaldo's ears did fill, He shook for fear and looked pale for dread, Yet proudly said, "Tancred, thy hap was ill To wander hither where thou art but dead, Where naught can help, thy courage, strength and skill; To G.o.dfrey will I send thy cursed head, That he may see, how for Armida's sake, Of him and of his Christ a scorn I make."

x.x.xVI This said, the day to sable night was turned, That scant one could another's arms descry, But soon an hundred lamps and torches burned, That cleared all the earth and all the sky; The castle seemed a stage with lights adorned, On which men play some pompous tragedy; Within a terrace sat on high the queen, And heard, and saw, and kept herself unseen.

x.x.xVII The n.o.ble baron whet his courage hot, And busked him boldly to the dreadful fight; Upon his horse long while he tarried not, Because on foot he saw the Pagan knight, Who underneath his trusty s.h.i.+eld was got, His sword was drawn, closed was his helmet bright, Gainst whom the prince marched on a stately pace, Wrath in his voice, rage in his eyes and face.

x.x.xVIII His foe, his furious charge not well abiding, Traversed his ground, and stated here and there, But he, though faint and weary both with riding, Yet followed fast and still oppressed him near, And on what side he felt Rambaldo sliding, On that his forces most employed were; Now at his helm, not at his hauberk bright, He thundered blows, now at his face and sight.

x.x.xIX Against those members battery chief he maketh, Wherein man's life keeps chiefest residence; At his proud threats the Gascoign warrior quaketh, And uncouth fear appalled every sense, To nimble s.h.i.+fts the knight himself betaketh, And skippeth here and there for his defence: Now with his rage, now with his trusty blade, Against his blows he good resistance made.

XL Yet no such quickness for defence he used, As did the prince to work him harm and scathe; His s.h.i.+eld was cleft in twain, his helmet bruised, And in his blood his other arms did bathe; On him he heaped blows, with thrusts confused, And more or less each stroke annoyed him hath; He feared, and in his troubled bosom strove Remorse of conscience, shame, disdain and love.

XLI At last so careless foul despair him made, He meant to prove his fortune ill or good, His s.h.i.+eld cast down, he took his helpless blade In both his hands, which yet had drawn no blood, And with such force upon the prince he laid, That neither plate nor mail the blow withstood, The wicked steel seized deep in his right side, And with his streaming blood his bases dyed:

XLII Another stroke he lent him on the brow, So great that loudly rung the sounding steel; Yet pierced he not the helmet with the blow, Although the owner twice or thrice did reel.

The prince, whose looks disdainful anger show, Now meant to use his puissance every deal, He shaked his head and crashed his teeth for ire, His lips breathed wrath, eyes sparkled s.h.i.+ning fire.

XLIII The Pagan wretch no longer could sustain The dreadful terror of his fierce aspect, Against the threatened blow he saw right plain No tempered armor could his life protect, He leapt aside, the stroke fell down in vain, Against a pillar near a bridge erect.

Thence flaming fire and thousand sparks outstart, And kill with fear the coward Pagan's heart.

XLIV Toward the bridge the fearful Paynim fled, And in swift flight, his hope of life reposed; Himself fast after Lord Tancredi sped, And now in equal pace almost they closed, When all the burning lamps extinguished The s.h.i.+ning fort his goodly splendor losed, And all those stars on heaven's blue face that shone With Cynthia's self, dispeared were and gone.

XLV Amid those witchcrafts and that ugly shade, No further could the prince pursue the chase, Nothing he saw, yet forward still he made, With doubtful steps, and ill a.s.sured pace; At last his foot upon a threshold trad, And ere he wist, he entered had the place; With ghastly noise the door-leaves shut behind, And closed him fast in prison dark and blind.

XLVI As in our seas in the Commachian Bay, A silly fish, with streams enclosed, striveth, To shun the fury and avoid the sway Wherewith the current in that whirlpool driveth, Yet seeketh all in vain, but finds no way Out of that watery prison, where she diveth: For with such force there be the tides in brought, There entereth all that will, thence issueth naught:

XLVII This prison so entrapped that valiant knight; Of which the gate was framed by subtle train, To close without the help of human wight, So sure none could undo the leaves again; Against the doors he bended all his might, But all his forces were employed in vain, At last a voice gan to him loudly call, "Yield thee," quoth it, "thou art Armida's thrall."

XLVIII "Within this dungeon buried shalt thou spend The res'due of thy woful days and years;"