Jerusalem Delivered Read online

  In all the thousands of so great a rout:

  See where the tomb of Mary’s Son doth stand,

  March thither, warriors hold, what makes you doubt?

  Why run you not, there for your sins to weep

  Or to what greater need these forces keep?”

  LXXV

  Thus scorned by that heathen Saracine

  Were all the soldiers of Christ’s sacred name:

  Raymond, while others at his words repine,

  Burst forth in rage, he could not bear this shame:

  For fire of courage brighter far doth shine

  If challenges and threats augment the same;

  So that, upon his steed he mounted light,

  Which Aquilino for his swiftness hight.

  LXXVI

  This jennet was by Tagus bred; for oft

  The breeder of these beasts to war assigned,

  When first on trees burgeon the blossoms soft

  Pricked forward with the sting of fertile kind,

  Against the air casts up her head aloft

  And gathereth seed so from the fruitful wind

  And thus conceiving of the gentle blast,

  A wonder strange and rare, she foals at last.

  LXXVII

  And had you seen the beast, you would have said

  The light and subtile wind his father was;

  For if his course upon the sands he made

  No sign was left what way the beast did pass;

  Or if he menaged were, or if he played,

  He scantly bended down the tender grass:

  Thus mounted rode the Earl, and as he went,

  Thus prayed, to Heaven his zealous looks upbent.

  LXXVIII

  “O Lord, that diddest save, keep and defend

  Thy servant David from Goliath’s rage,

  And broughtest that huge giant to his end,

  Slain by a faithful child of tender age;

  Like grace, O Lord, like mercy now extend!

  Let me this vile blasphemous pride assuage,

  That all the world may to thy glory know,

  Old men and babes thy foes can overthrow!”

  LXXIX

  Thus prayed the County, and his prayers dear

  Strengthened with zeal, with godliness and faith,

  Before the throne of that great Lord appear,

  In whose sweet grace is life, death in his wrath,

  Among his armies bright and legions clear,

  The Lord an angel good selected hath,

  To whom the charge was given to guard the knight,

  And keep him safe from that fierce Pagan’s might.

  LXXX

  The angel good, appointed for the guard

  Of noble Raymond from his tender eild,

  That kept him then, and kept him afterward,

  When spear and sword he able was to wield,

  Now when his great Creator’s will he heard,

  That in this fight he should him chiefly shield,

  Up to a tower set on a rock he flies,

  Where all the heavenly arms and weapons lies:

  LXXXI

  There stands the lance wherewith great Michael slew

  The aged dragon in a bloody fight,

  There are the dreadful thunders forged new,

  With storms and plagues that on poor sinners light;

  The massy trident mayest thou pendant view

  There on a golden pin hung up on height,

  Wherewith sometimes he smites this solid land,

  And throws down towns and towers thereon which stand.

  LXXXII

  Among the blessed weapons there which stands

  Upon a diamond shield his looks he bended,

  So great that it might cover all the lands,

  Twixt Caucasus and Atlas hills extended;

  With it the lord’s dear flocks and faithful bands,

  The holy kings and cities are defended,

  The sacred angel took this target sheen,

  And by the Christian champion stood unseen.

  LXXXIII

  But now the walls and turrets round about,

  Both young and old with many thousands fill;

  The king Clorinda sent and her brave rout,

  To keep the field, she stayed upon the hill:

  Godfrey likewise some Christian bands sent out

  Which armed, and ranked in good array stood still,

  And to their champions empty let remain

  Twixt either troop a large and spacious plain.

  LXXXIV

  Argantes looked for Tancredi bold,

  But saw an uncouth foe at last appear,

  Raymond rode on, and what he asked him, told,

  Better by chance, “Tancred is now elsewhere,

  Yet glory not of that, myself behold

  Am come prepared, and bid thee battle here,

  And in his place, or for myself to fight,

  Lo, here I am, who scorn thy heathenish might.”

  LXXXV

  The Pagan cast a scornful smile and said,

  “But where is Tancred, is he still in bed?

  His looks late seemed to make high heaven afraid;

  But now for dread he is or dead or fled;

  But whe’er earth’s centre or the deep sea made

  His lurking hole, it should not save his head.”

  “Thou liest,” he says, “to say so brave a knight

  Is fled from thee, who thee exceeds in might.”

  LXXXVI

  The angry Pagan said, “I have not spilt

  My labor then, if thou his place supply,

  Go take the field, and let’s see how thou wilt

  Maintain thy foolish words and that brave lie;”

  Thus parleyed they to meet in equal tilt,

  Each took his aim at other’s helm on high,

  Even in the fight his foe good Raymond hit,

  But shaked him not, he did so firmly sit.

  LXXXVII

  The fierce Circassian missed of his blow,

  A thing which seld befell the man before,

  The angel, by unseen, his force did know,

  And far awry the poignant weapon bore,

  He burst his lance against the sand below,

  And bit his lips for rage, and cursed and swore,

  Against his foe returned he swift as wind,

  Half mad in arms a second match to find.

  LXXXVIII

  Like to a ram that butts with horned head,

  So spurred he forth his horse with desperate race:

  Raymond at his right hand let slide his steed,

  And as he passed struck at the Pagan’s face;

  He turned again, the earl was nothing dread,

  Yet stept aside, and to his rage gave place,

  And on his helm with all his strength gan smite,

  Which was so hard his courtlax could not bite.

  LXXXIX

  The Saracen employed his art and force

  To grip his foe within his mighty arms,

  But he avoided nimbly with his horse,

  He was no prentice in those fierce alarms,

  About him made he many a winding course,

  No strength, nor sleight the subtle warrior harms,

  His nimble steed obeyed his ready hand,

  And where he stept no print left in the sand.

  XC

  As when a captain doth besiege some hold,

  Set in a marsh or high up on a hill,

  And trieth ways and wiles a thousandfold,

  To bring the piece subjected to his will;

  So fared the County with the Pagan bold;

  And when he did his head and breast none ill,

  His weaker parts he wisely gan assail,

  And entrance searched oft ‘twixt mail and mail.

  XCI

  At last he hit him on a place or twain,

  That on his arms the red blood trickled down,

 
And yet himself untouched did remain,

  No nail was broke, no plume cut from his crown;

  Argantes raging spent his strength in vain,

  Waste were his strokes, his thrusts were idle thrown,

  Yet pressed he on, and doubled still his blows,

  And where he hits he neither cares nor knows.

  XCII

  Among a thousand blows the Saracine

  At last struck one, when Raymond was so near,

  That not the swiftness of his Aquiline

  Could his dear lord from that huge danger bear:

  But lo, at hand unseen was help divine,

  Which saves when worldly comforts none appear,

  The angel on his targe received that stroke,

  And on that shield Argantes’ sword was broke.

  XCIII

  The sword was broke, therein no wonder lies

  If earthly tempered metal could not hold

  Against that target forged above the skies,

  Down fell the blade in pieces on the mould;

  The proud Circassian scant believed his eyes,

  Though naught were left him but the hilts of gold,

  And full of thoughts amazed awhile he stood,

  Wondering the Christian’s armor was so good.

  XCIV

  The brittle web of that rich sword he thought,

  Was broke through hardness of the County’s shield;

  And so thought Raymond, who discovered naught

  What succor Heaven did for his safety yield:

  But when he saw the man gainst whom he fought

  Unweaponed, still stood he in the field;

  His noble heart esteemed the glory light,

  At such advantage if he slew the knight.

  XCV

  “Go fetch,” he would have said, “another blade,”

  When in his heart a better thought arose,

  How for Christ’s glory he was champion made,

  How Godfrey had him to this combat chose,

  The army’s honor on his shoulder laid

  To hazards new he list not that expose;

  While thus his thoughts debated on the case,

  The hilts Argantes hurled at his face.

  XCVI

  And forward spurred his mounture fierce withal,

  Within his arms longing his foe to strain,

  Upon whose helm the heavy blow did fall,

  And bent well-nigh the metal to his brain:

  But he, whose courage was heroical,

  Leapt by, and makes the Pagan’s onset vain,

  And wounds his hand, which he outstretched saw,

  Fiercer than eagles’ talon, lions’ paw.

  XCVII

  Now here, now there, on every side he rode,

  With nimble speed, and spurred now out, now in,

  And as he went and came still laid on load

  Where Lord Argantes’ arms were weak and thin;

  All that huge force which in his arms abode,

  His wrath, his ire, his great desire to win,

  Against his foe together all he bent,

  And heaven and fortune furthered his intent.

  XCVIII

  But he, whose courage for no peril fails,

  Well armed, and better hearted, scorns his power.

  Like a tall ship when spent are all her sails,

  Which still resists the rage of storm and shower,

  Whose mighty ribs fast bound with bands and nails,

  Withstand fierce Neptune’s wrath, for many an hour,

  And yields not up her bruised keel to winds,

  In whose stern blast no ruth nor grace she finds:

  XCIX

  Argantes such thy present danger was,

  When Satan stirred to aid thee at thy need,

  In human shape he forged an airy mass,

  And made the shade a body seem indeed;

  Well might the spirit for Clorinda pass,

  Like her it was, in armor and in weed,

  In stature, beauty, countenance and face,

  In looks, in speech, in gesture, and in pace.

  C

  And for the spirit should seem the same indeed,

  From where she was whose show and shape it had,

  Toward the wall it rode with feigned speed,

  Where stood the people all dismayed and sad,

  To see their knight of help have so great need,

  And yet the law of arms all help forbad.

  There in a turret sat a soldier stout

  To watch, and at a loop-hole peeped out;

  CI

  The spirit spake to him, called Oradine,

  The noblest archer then that handled bow,

  “O Oradine,” quoth she, “who straight as line

  Can’st shoot, and hit each mark set high or low,

  If yonder knight, alas! be slain in fine,

  As likest is, great ruth it were you know,

  And greater shame, if his victorious foe

  Should with his spoils triumphant homeward go.

  CII

  “Now prove thy skill, thine arrow’s sharp head dip

  In yonder thievish Frenchman’s guilty blood,

  I promise thee thy sovereign shall not slip

  To give thee large rewards for such a good;”

  Thus said the spirit; the man did laugh and skip

  For hope of future gain, nor longer stood,

  But from his quiver huge a shaft he hent,

  And set it in his mighty bow new bent,

  CIII

  Twanged the string, out flew the quarrel long,

  And through the subtle air did singing pass,

  It hit the knight the buckles rich among,

  Wherewith his precious girdle fastened was,

  It bruised them and pierced his hauberk strong,

  Some little blood down trickled on the grass;

  Light was the wound; the angel by unseen,

  The sharp head blunted of the weapon keen.

  CIV

  Raymond drew forth the shaft, as much behoved,

  And with the steel, his blood out streaming came,

  With bitter words his foe he then reproved,

  For breaking faith, to his eternal shame.

  Godfrey, whose careful eyes from his beloved

  Were never turned, saw and marked the same,

  And when he viewed the wounded County bleed,

  He sighed, and feared, more perchance than need;

  CV

  And with his words, and with his threatening eyes,

  He stirred his captains to revenge that wrong;

  Forthwith the spurred courser forward hies,

  Within their rests put were their lances long,

  From either side a squadron brave out flies,

  And boldly made a fierce encounter strong,

  The raised dust to overspread begun

  Their shining arms, and far more shining sun.

  CVI

  Of breaking spears, of ringing helm and shield,

  A dreadful rumor roared on every side,

  There lay a horse, another through the field

  Ran masterless, dismounted was his guide;

  Here one lay dead, there did another yield,

  Some sighed, some sobbed, some prayed, and some cried;

  Fierce was the fight, and longer still it lasted,

  Fiercer and fewer, still themselves they wasted.

  CVII

  Argantes nimbly leapt amid the throng,

  And from a soldier wrung an iron mace,

  And breaking through the ranks and ranges long,

  Therewith he passage made himself and place,

  Raymond he sought, the thickest press among.

  To take revenge for late received disgrace,

  A greedy wolf he seemed, and would assuage

  With Raymond’s blood his hunger and his rage.

  CVIII

  The way he found not easy as he would,
<
br />   But fierce encounters put him oft to pain,

  He met Ormanno and Rogero bold,

  Of Balnavile, Guy, and the Gerrards twain;

  Yet nothing might his rage and haste withhold,

  These worthies strove to stop him, but in vain,

  With these strong lets increased still his ire,

  Like rivers stopped, or closely smouldered fire.

  CIX

  He slew Ormanno, and wounded Guy, and laid

  Rogero low, among the people slain,

  On every side new troops the man invade,

  Yet all their blows were waste, their onsets vain,

  But while Argantes thus his prizes played,

  And seemed alone this skirmish to sustain,

  The duke his brother called and thus he spake,

  “Go with thy troop, fight for thy Saviour’s sake;

  CX

  “There enter in where hottest is the fight,

  Thy force against the left wing strongly bend.”

  This said, so brave an onset gave the knight,

  That many a Paynim bold there made his end:

  The Turks too weak seemed to sustain his might,

  And could not from his power their lives defend,

  Their ensigns rent, and broke was their array,

  And men and horse on heaps together lay.

  CXI

  O’erthrown likewise away the right wing ran,

  Nor was there one again that turned his face,

  Save bold Argantes, else fled every man,

  Fear drove them thence on heaps, with headlong chase:

  He stayed alone, and battle new began,

  Five hundred men, weaponed with sword and mace,

  So great resistance never could have made,

  As did Argantes with his single blade:

  CXII

  The strokes of swords and thrusts of many a spear,

  The shock of many a joust he long sustained,

  He seemed of strength enough this charge to bear,

  And time to strike, now here, now there, he gained

  His armors broke, his members bruised were,

  He sweat and bled, yet courage still he feigned;

  But now his foes upon him pressed so fast,

  That with their weight they bore him back at last.

  CXIII

  His back against this storm at length he turned,

  Whose headlong fury bore him backward still,

  Not like to one that fled, but one that mourned

  Because he did his foes no greater ill,

  His threatening eyes like flaming torches burned,

  His courage thirsted yet more blood to spill,

  And every way and every mean he sought,

  To stay his flying mates, but all for naught.

  CXIV

  This good he did, while thus he played his part,

  His bands and troops at ease, and safe, retired;

  Yet coward dread lacks order, fear wants art,

  Deaf to attend, commanded or desired.