Book I

I sing the pious arms and Chief, who freed
The Sepulchre of Christ from thrall profane:
Much did he toil in thought, and much in deed;
Much in the glorious enterprise sustain;
And Hell in vain opposed him; and in vain
Afric and Asia to the rescue pour’d
Their mingled tribes; — Heaven recompensed his pain,
And from all fruitless sallies of the sword,
True to the Red-Cross flag his wandering friends restored.

O thou, the Muse, that not with fading palms
Circlest thy brows on Pindus, but among
The Angels warbling their celestial psalms,
Hast for thy coronal a golden throng
Of everlasting stars! make thou my song
Lucid and pure; breathe thou the flame divine
Into my bosom; and forgive the wrong,
If with grave truth light fiction I combine,
And sometimes grace my page with other flowers than thine!

The world, thou know’st, on tiptoe ever flies
Where warbling most Parnassus’ fountain winds,
And that Truth, robed in song’s benign disguise,
Has won the coyest, sooth’d the sternest minds:
So the fond mother her sick infant blinds,
Sprinkling the edges of the cup she gives
With sweets; delighted with the balm it finds
Round the smooth brim, the medicine it receives,
Drinks the delusive draught, and, thus deluded, lives.

And thou, Alphonso, who from fortune’s shocks
And from her agitated sea, didst save,
And pilot into port from circling rocks
My wandering bark, nigh swallow’d by the wave!
Accept with gracious smile — ’tis all I crave —
These my vow’d tablets, in thy temple hung,
For the fresh life which then thy goodness gave;
Some day, perchance, may my prophetic tongue
Venture of thee to sing what now must rest unsung.

Well would it be, (if in harmonious peace
The Christian Powers should e’er again unite,
With steed and ship their ravish’d spoils to seize,
And for his theft the savage Turk requite,)
That they to thee should yield, in wisdom’s right,
The rule by land, or, if it have more charms,
Of the high seas; meanwhile, let it delight
To hear our verse ring with divine alarms;
Rival of Godfrey, hear, and hearing, grasp thine arms!

Six summers now were pass’d, since in the East
Their high Crusade the Christians had begun;
And Nice by storm, and Antioch had they seized
By secret guile, and gallantly, when won,
Held in defiance of the myriads dun,
Press’d to its conquest by the Persian king;
Tortosa sack’d, when now the sullen sun
Enter’d Aquarius, to breme winter’s wing
The quarter’d hosts give place, and wait the coming spring.

And now at length those storms were overblown
That had the trumpet hush’d, and spring was nigh,
When, from his unimaginable throne,
Fix’d in the Empyrean — the pure sky,
Above the highest of the stars more high
Than they from Lucifer’s abysmal hall,
Th’ Eternal Father downward cast his eye.
And in an instant, at a glance, mark’d all
That pass’d, in light or shade, on earth’s terraqueous; ball.

All things on earth he views; at length his eyes
Upon the Christian Powers in Syria rest,
And with that clear inspection which descries
The most conceal’d affections of the breast,
He notices how Godfrey burns to wrest
From hand profane the consecrated town,
And, heaven affecting, in what slight request
He holds the meaner joys of earth — renown,
Treasure, and purple power, and glory’s meteor crown.

Baldwin he sees ambitiously aspire
The height of human grandeur to attain,
And Tancred, victim to a fruitless fire,
Life’s choicest blessings gloomily disdain,
While Bohemond in Antioch builds his reign,
And introducing arts and settling laws,
The poise of his new kingdom to sustain,
By power of solemn rite and custom, draws
His Turks t’ adore aright the one Supernal Cause:—

And so absorb’d herein, he seems to lose
All recollection of their first designs;
An ardent soul, impatient of repose,
The warrior’s virtue, in Rinaldo shines, —
Which nor to lust of gold nor power inclines,
But to that quenchless thirst of fame which leads
To generous acts, and for distinction pines;
On Guelpho’s lips he hangs intent, and feeds
On themes of antique worth, and high romantic deeds.

Of these and other hearts the inmost folds
And motions as th’ Omniscient Mind surveys,
Of the angelic splendors him who holds
In the first glorious rank the second place,
Gabriel he calls, the herald of his grace
And faithful messenger, who oft repairs
On blessed errands to the human race,
And, sweetly solacing the virtuous, bears
Back to his mercy-seat the incense of their prayers.

To him the Almighty Sire: “To Godfrey go,
And ask what languor has his mind possess’d, —
The war still unrenew’d, unmoved the foe,
And Salem’s grievous wrongs yet unredress’d.
A council let him call; from slothful rest
Rouse the lethargic, and the cold excite;
Him with the sovereign rule I here invest,
As shall the chieftains upon earth, — each knight
His comrade now no more, but agent in the fight!”

He said, and Gabriel plumed himself to go
Swift on the errand of his Lord; he roll’d
The air around his viewless essence, so
That mortal eye the vision might behold;
The aspect human, human was the mould
Assumed, but mix’d with majesty divine;
He wreaths the sunbeams in his locks of gold,
And moves a seraph, whose fair looks define
The age when youth just seems with boyhood to combine.

White wings sustain him, edged with golden dyes,
Unwearied, swift, and pliant in their play;
With these he cuts the winds, and clouds, and skies.
And high o’er land and ocean sails away:
Down to Earth’s loftier peaks, in this array,
His course the Messenger of Heaven consign’d;
And first on sweet Mount Lebanon to stay,
He, hovering for an instant, seem’d inclined,
And shook his sparkling plumes, self-balanced on the wind:

Then downward, where Tortosa’s towers arise,
Urged his precipitate and circling flight;
The sun was rising in the eastern skies,
Part seen, part curtain’d by the waves from sight;
And Godfrey, mindful of the wonted rite,
His matin prayer was offering to the ear
Of the Most High, in lowliness contrite;
When, like the shining sun, but far more clear,
He from the Orient saw the wing’d Archangel steer: —

“Godfrey,” he said, “the suited time that calls
Beleaguer’d hosts to arms, at length survey;
Why, while Oppression sits in Salem’s halls,
And Fortune beckons, this supine delay?
Call now the Princes of your arm’d array
To solemn council, and if sloth dissuade,
Spur thou them on the city to assay;
Thee God elects to guide their blest crusade,
And, chosen of all, by all thy voice shall be obey’d:

“His messenger I am, and thus reveal
To thee his sacred will; of victory rare
What hopes should hence be thine; and O, what zeal
For the brave hosts committed to thy care!”
He spoke; he ceased; and, vanishing in air,
To the serenest and the loftiest part
Of heaven flew back; long dazzled by the glare
Of the bright vision, and amazed at heart,
Godfrey with upraised eyes remain’d, and lips apart.

But when, recovering spirit, he discern’d
Who sent, who came, and what was the command,
If late he glow’d, he now with ardor burn’d
To end the war committed to his hand:
Not that ambition’s breath his bosom fann’d
Into vain-glorious pride, from so entire
A preference o’er the rest, but as a brand
Or living coal in a refulgent fire,
In his Lord’s will more warm becomes his own desire.

Then from their various posts his valiant friends,
Not far dispersed, to council he invites;
Message on message, scroll on scroll he sends,
And strong entreaty to advice unites;
Whatso might most from indolent delights
Rouse the reluctant, whatso most might reach,
And quicken generous natures, he indites;
Meets all men’s moods, and with such charms of speech,
That while he all compels, he wins and pleases each.

All, except Bohemond, attend; in train
The busy people flock behind; part wait
Without, encamp’d upon the ample plain,
The rest Tortosa holds from gate to gate:
Baron, and prince, and helmed potentate
The Consistory crown, a solemn throng,
When, with an air august, in ducal state
Godfrey arose; majestically strong
His graceful periods flow, and charm the soul along.

“Warriors of God, by God himself elected,
Of his true Faith the breaches to restore!
Ye, whom his arm has guided, and protected
From storms by sea and ambuscades on shore!
So that in these few years that have flown o’er,
It has been ours strong monarchies to tame,
Realm after realm, rebellious now no more,
And through the shaken nations spread the fame
Of his triumphant Cross and consecrated name I —

“We left not (do I err?) our native land,
Connubial pledges and domestic sweets,
Trusting our fortunes to a faithless strand,
Where battle rages and wild ocean beats,
But to acquire, with its barbaric seats,
A crowd’s huzza; if upon this we built,
How poor th’ ambition! sense with scorn repeats
The prize, and all the blood our swords have spilt,
Has to our deathless souls been sown in deepest guilt!

“But far more glorious were our aims, — we vow’d
The noble walls of Sion to obtain,
And work redemption for the Faithful, bow’d
Beneath subjection’s ignominious chain;
Founding in Palestine a purer reign
Where Piety may rest, and Peace recline
In full security, and none restrain
The freeborn pilgrim, passing o’er the brine,
From offering holy vows at meek Messiah’s shrine.

“Thus then till now we have risk’d much, toil’d more,
Reap’d little good, but for our main intent
None whatsoever, if we here give o’er,
Or turn to other marks the bow we bent:
What will it serve us from the Occident
T’ have drawn this splendid force, and to have strown
These fires abroad o’er Asia, if th’ event
Of our so mighty movement be alone —
Not glorious kingdoms raised, but ruin’d and o’erthrown!

“He who would here raise empires, must not seek
On worldly policies the base to found,
Where of a fellow-faith his friends are weak
And few, amidst the countless Pagans round,
The land that people, — here, where he no ground
Can have on Grecian succor to presume,
And all too distant from his trumpet’s sound
Lies the far West; he builds, but the Simoom
Sweeps round, and instant turns his palace to a tomb.

“Turks, Persians, Antioch, (an illustrious prize,
In fame and fact magnificent,) attest
Not our past skill, but the assisting skies;
Victory a wonder was: now, if we wrest
These purposed blessings to an end unblest,
Wronging the Giver who so far has crown’d
The hopes we cherish’d, — Chiefs! I tremble, lest
We vanish to a fable and a sound, —
The brilliant byword pass’d through the wide nations round.

“May there be none among us, O my friends,
So to misuse such gifts! your interests see;
With these sublime commencements let the ends,
The filament and woof throughout agree.
Now that the passes of the land are free,
Now that the vernal season clears the plain,
Apt for the enterprise, why rush not we
The crown of all our conquests to attain?
What should prevent the deed? what here our arms detain?

“Princes! I vow to you, (and what I vow,
Present and future times alike shall hear;
The very Angels, while I speak it, how
On their bright thrones, and lend a list’ning ear,)
The period is arrived that we should rear
Our flag aloft; less fortunate will flow
The tide, the longer we delay; things clear
Will set in night, and if our course be slow,
Egypt — assured I speak — will aid the Syrian foe!

He ceased: a hollow hum ensued, — but then,
The primal author of the high crusade,
Peter the Seer, who midst the noblest men
Sat private in the council, rose and said:
“What Godfrey stirs us to, I well have weigh’d,
And second; room for reasoning there is none;
He the true path self-evident has made,
And through the whole clear argument has run;
’Tis yours the plan t’ approve, — one word, and I have done.

“When I the scorns and discords recollect,
As if on purpose by you borne and given,
Your froward judgments, and proceedings check’d
Just at the moment when they might have thriven,
To a high source, O Princes, am I driven;
I trace the ills, in all their forms and kinds,
To your void powers! our government is even
As a vague pendulum, which each one finds
Struck by as many hands as there are various minds.

“Where one alone commands not, upon whom
The cast of parts and offices depend,
The dues of honor and decrees of doom,
There still the helm to some wrong point will tend;
Your separate rights, then, amicably blend
In some one prince, of influence to restrain
The rest, — to one alone dominion lend,
And leave him free, as wisdom will ordain,
A king’s prescriptive power and semblance to sustain.”

Here ceased the Sage: what thoughts, celestial Fire!
What hearts, blest Spirit! to thy sweet appeal
Are proof? the Hermit’s words didst thou inspire,
And on all hearts imprint them with thy seal.
Ingrafted, e’en innate desires, thy zeal —
The love of honor, liberty and sway,
Check’d in subservience to the public weal;
So that the noblest were the first to say,
“Our Chief let Godfrey be; him swear we to obey!”

The rest consent: they marshal on his side,
The power to counsel and command; to give
The vanquish’d laws, and here or there to guide
The war, with uncontroll’d prerogative;
While they, but late his peers, are to receive
His issued mandates with submissive minds,
And aid in ministry executive:
This done, the rumor flies abroad, and finds
Speed in the tongues of men, and spreads on all the winds.

He to the soldiers shows himself, and they
Are well content he should the truncheon bear;
The warlike greetings and huzzas they pay,
Calmly he takes, and with a gracious air:
Then, having answer’d courteously and fair
To the frank vows of discipline that stamp
Their love and loyalty, he bids repair
Each to His banner, the collected Camp,
And pass review, when Day next lights its shining lamp.

Slow in calm glory from its orient bower
And with unwonted sheen, the Star of day
Rose on the morrow, when from tent and tower,
Issuing in polish’d arms and ranged array,
The squadrons rear their standards and display
Their force, wide wheeling round the vast champaign;
Sole in the centre, whence he might survey
Both horse and foot, the Chief observed the chain
Of the whole movement pass, in long revolving train.

Sibyl divine, that in thy guardian cell
Treasurest all story! foe to Night and Time!
Aid me with all thine intellect, to tell
What troops and heroes come from every clime;
Their ancient deeds light up and sound sublime,
Now dark and silent grown with years; O bring
From thy rich stores to grace my naked rhyme,
Somewhat with which each list’ning age may ring,
And none have power t’ efface — smile on me while I sing!

First to the field the gallant Franks advance,
From where, wide sweeping, four bold rivers spread
Beauty and fruitage o’er the Isle of France, —
Flower of her force, and once by Hugo led,
Their good king’s brother; but his vital thread
Cut short, the flag in whose field-azure flame
The Golden Lilies, they beneath the dread
Clotharius follow, whom a kingly name
Marks, to perfect his worth and more enhance his fame.

A thousand these, completely fenced in mail,
Pace the green turf; a like choice troop succeeds,
In courage, discipline, and massive scale
Of armor like the first, — on generous steeds
Borne to the battle from their Norman meads,
Ten gallant hundreds; and the total ten
A native prince, the bold Duke Robert leads,
From Rollo sprung: two pastor-chieftains then,
William and Ademar, bring up their marshall’d men.

These held of late authority divine,
The hallow’d priests of piety and pray’r,
Who fearless now in horrid conflict shine,
And press beneath the helm their long black hair:
That from the city and dominions fair
Of ancient Orange to the fierce alarms
Leads full five hundred; this beneath his care,
From whence high Puy the traveller’s notice charms,
An equal number brings, not less renown’d in arms.

Next in the muster Baldwin shows, conjoin’d
With his own Lorrainers, his brother’s band,
Which Godfrey to his conduct late resign’d,
When made a captain, captains to command;
Sagacious counsel and a powerful hand
The Count of Chartres grace, who with him leads
Four hundred knights, the bravest of the land;
And thrice that number, arm’d, on prancing steeds,
Baldwin himself conducts: — a noble name succeeds;

One whose desert his fortune overweighs,
Though equal with the proudest, Guelpho came;
Who from His she by sure deduction lays
To Esté’s princely house ancestral claim,
But, German by inheritance and name,
Is in the Guelphic stem ingraft; his sway
Is o’er Carinthia, where barbaric fame
The Sueves and Rhetians reap’d in ancient day,
Where the rough Danube cleaves, the mild Rhino wins its way.

To that maternal heritage his blade
A great and glorious acquisition joins-;
And thence a race he brings, who undismay’d
Will march ’gainst Death t’ achieve his bold designs;
A race, that when the wintry sun declines,
In warm abodes the sullen hours revive
With gay carousals and the flow of wines;
Five thousand left their homes, — a third survive
Sole from the Persian spear, in battle still to strive.

Next comes the fair-hair’d race whose lands incline
Betwixt the Frank and German to the main,
Bathed by the swelling Meuse and fruitful Rhine, —
A pastoral people, rich in herds and grain;
Th’ industrious Islanders augment their train,
Whose rampired banks, though fenced with all the powers
Of Art, th’ insulting Ocean scarce sustain, —
The wild voracious Ocean, which devours
Not fleets alone, but realms with all their towns and tow’rs.

Two thousand these the hopes of honor bring
Beneath a second Robert; somewhat more,
William, the young son of the English king,
Conducts in arms from Britain’s chalky shore;
Long bows the English at their shoulders bore,
With those whom Ireland, nearer to the pole,
Sends from wild woods resounding to the roar
Of wintry winds, — the limit of the whole
Well-peopled earth, round which its last drear oceans roll.

Then Tancred follows to the war, than whom
Save young Rinaldo, is no nobler knight,
More mild in manners, fair in manly bloom,
Or more sublimely daring in the fight!
If any shade of error makes less bright
His rich endowments and heroic charms,
It is the foil of Love, which at first sight
Born of surprise, amid the shock of arms,
Grows with increase of tears and sorrow’s fond alarms.

In noon of that auspicious day which wrought
The Persian’s overthrow, faint with the chase
Of fugitives, ’tis rumor’d that he sought
For his o’erwearied limbs and glowing face,
Repose and cool refreshment; with slow pace
He reach’d at length, with green seats compass’d round,
And summer woods, which shaded all the place,
A living spring, that with melodious sound
Flow’d from a hollow rock, in many a fall profound.

To the same warbling of fresh waters drew,
Arm’d, but unhelm’d and unforeseen, a maid;
She was a Pagan, and came thither too,
To quench her thirst beneath the pleasant shade;
Her beautiful fair aspect, thus display’d,
He sees; admires; and, touch’d to transport, glows
With passion rushing to its fountain head,
The heart; ’tis strange how quick the feeling grows;
Scarce born, its power in him no cool calm medium knows.

She reassum’d her helm, and threatening stood
To strike the chief, but others drawing nigh,
Within the mazes of the leafy wood,
Compell’d by numbers, not by fear to fly,
The haughty Lady rush’d; but still her high
And warlike image with a faith so true
He fosters in his heart, it ne’er can die;
The act, the scene where first she charm’d his view.
Forever haunt his thoughts, and fan the fire anew.

And in his aspect legibly is traced
The hopeless flame that frets his life away;
He comes with sighings, and his eyes, abased,
A melancholy languishment betray:
Eight hundred horse have left beneath his sway
Campania’s paradise, a pomp of scene
The noblest sure that Nature in her play
Of power e’er shaped — plains, woods, and hills between,
Woo’d by the Tyrrhene sea, mild, fertile, smooth and green.

Two hundred follow, from Greek heroes sprung,
Who nearly void of all defence are found;
Sole at their side short crooked swords are hung,
And bows and quivers at their backs resound:
Lean coursers have they, in the race renown’d,
Proof to fatigue, of diet spare and slight;
Mounted on these, they seem to wing the ground;
Nimble alike in onset and in flight, —
Wide and dispersed they act, and e’en while flying, fight.

Tatine commands the troop, the only Greek
Who join’d the Latin arms; oh Greece, let shame
Forever sit upon thy passive cheek!
The wars are near thee now, yet, meanly tame,
Thou sitt’st a calm spectator of the game,
Thy shield scarce lifted, and thy sword in rust;
If now (complain not) destitute of fame,
Thou art a vassal humbled to the dust,
Thy doom no outrage is, but retribution just.

Lo now, the last in order of command,
But first for honor, skill, and glorious scars,
The Adventurers come, a brave, unconquer’d band,
The dread of Asia, thunderbolts of Mars!
Cease, Argo, thy renown’d Adventurers,
Thy errant Peers, prince Arthur, cease to cite,
Filling our books with fable! fame instars
All antique story with a beam less bright
Than theirs; — now what fit chief may lead them to the fight?

Dudon of Consa! for, as hard it was
Their birth and bravery to decide between,
All had agreed to rank beneath his laws,
As one who most had both achieved and seen.
In the last stage of mellowing manhood, keen
Shines his gray eye, and with his silver hairs
He shows a strength still juvenile and green;
While, as in noble proof of what he dares,
He many a seam and scar in front imprinted bears.

There Eustace ranks, whom much his brother’s worth,
Much native merit for applause marks down;
There vaunts Gernando his illustrious birth,
His titles, stars, and hoped Norwegian crown.
Roger, of Barneville surnamed, Renown
And ancient Story with the noblest class;
Gentorio, Engerlan, Rambaldo, own
As fair a fame; distinguish’d from the mass,
Brave above many brave the two young Gerards pass.

Nor Ubald, nor Rosmondo, the rich heir
Of English Lancaster, nor must the pride
Of Tuscan bravery, Obitzo, e’er
Sink unredeem’d to Lethe’s greedy tide;
Nor to the Lombard brothers, side by side,
Achilles, Sforza, Palamed the mild,
Nor to strong Otho be the verse denied, —
Otho, who conquer’d from the Paynim vilde
That shield whereon the snake devours a naked child.’

Nor yet shall Guasco nor Ridolpho grieve,
Nor the two Guidos, whom the famed admire,
Nor Everard, nor Gernier will I leave
In mute inglorious silence to expire;
My hand falls weary on the numb’ring wire;
Where force ye me, as though your love I slighted,
Edward and sweet Gildippe? all my lyre
Is yours, — oh twins, in battle firmly plighted,
You, e’en when dead, in song shall not be disunited!

What learn we not within the school of love -?
There she became a heroine of a bride;
Nor toil, nor deepest danger can remove
The fair fond lady from her husband’s side;
To the same fortune are their lives allied;
The blow falls not that hurts but one, — their pains
Are mutual as their joys; for if the tide
Of her dear blood bedews the hostile plains,
What she in person bears, in spirit he sustains.

But these, and all, the boy Rinaldo far,
Oh far excels! supremacy is thrown
Upon his forehead like a shining star,
And every eye is fix’d on him alone;
Hope, and his years he far outstrips; scarce blown
Appear his blossoms, than the fruit’s reveal’d;
So sweetly fierce, that when his face is shown
You deem him Love, but Mars, when helm’d and steel’d,
He mounts his fiery barb, and fulmines through the field.

Him fair Sophia to Bertoldo bore,
Where the clear Adige’s swift waters wind,
The lovely to the potent; and before
He well was wean’d, the infant she consign’d
To queen Matilda, who, sincerely kind,
Foster’d, and taught him, as in years he grew,
All princely arts; her care his docile mind
Requited well, and thus his calm hours flew,
Till in the radiant East the martial trumpet blew.

Then, ere his youth could three short lustres boast,
Alone he fled by unknown tracks, — he pass’d
Th’ Egaean billows, the Ionian coast,
And reach’d in climes remote the camp at last;
A flight well fit some young enthusiast
In after days should follow, who would win
The like renown; three years their fruits had cast,
Since with the warring armies he had been,
Yet still the tender down scarce feather’d o’er his chin.

The horsemen now have pass’d, and Godfrey views
The foot advance with Raymond at their head,
Duke of Narbonne, who ruled in fair Toulouse,
And his well-disciplined four thousand led,
Between the Ocean and the Garonne bred,
And misty Pyrenees; a people free,
Firm in fatigue, incapable of dread,
At all points arm’d; and led they could not be
By one of greater skill or hardihood than he.

But Stephen of Amboise leads from Blois and Tours
Troops full five thousand, register’d aright,
A nerveless race unable to endure
Fatigue, though wholly sheath’d in armor bright;
The land luxurious, delicate, and light,
With a rich soil and a delicious air,
Produces like inhabitants; in fight,
The first assaults impetuously they dare,
But quickly tire with strife, and languish through the war.

Third comes Alcasto, cradled on the crag,
Threat’ning and stern as Capaneus of old
Before the Theban town; beneath his flag,
From each Helvetian tower and Alpine hold,
Six thousand fierce plebeians are enroll’d;
Sharp’ning the ploughshare to the sword they rise;
And he who turn’d the furrow, watch’d the fold,
Now fearlessly the war’s grim ridges eyes,
And with the mightiest match’d, the strength of kings.

The lofty banner next is seen dispread,
Which bears Saint Peter’s keys and mitred crown,
Seven thousand foot, by good Camillus led,
In massive armor sheath’d, beneath it frown:
Glad that Heav’n calls him to the sacred town
In so divine a cause, he marches on,
There to renew his sires’ antique renown,
Or prove at least, that if in aught outshone
By Latin worth, ’twill be in discipline alone.

But now the whole gay pageant had pass’d by
In regular review; when Godfrey sent,
And to the noblest chiefs assembled nigh,
In brief discourse imparted his intent:
“My pleasure is, when next the firmament
Yields its first light, that you the hosts array,
And ere the foe anticipates th’ event,
Or vaward scouts our quick descent betray,
March to the hallow’d town, as swiftly as we may.

“Thus, then, prepare you for the march required,
And for the strife, and for the victory near!”
This daring speech from one so wise, inspired
In each, fresh courage, confidence, and cheer.
All ready stand for the sublime career,
And, unindulgent of the night’s repose,
Wait with impatience till the mom appear;
In Godfrey’s breast, albeit, from foresight rose
Fears which his cautious mind to no one would disclose.

For he by certain tidings understood
That Egypt’s king was now upon his way
To Gaza’s towers, a fortress strong and good,
Which seaward on the Syrian frontiers lay;
Nor could he think a prince so swift to prey
On whatsoe’er his enterprising mind
Was fix’d to win, would trifle time away;
In him expecting a sharp foe to find,
He to his envoy’s zeal this secret charge consign’d.

“In a light brigandine compact and fleet,
Go thou to Greece; where the Propontic sea
Washes the seven-hill’d City, thou wilt meet,
(As I have word from one who ne’er to me
Errs in advice,) of regal dignity,
A dauntless youth whose fix’d intentions are
Forthwith to bear us martial company;
Prince of the Danes, he marches to the war
A. numerous host from realms beneath the Arctic Star.

“But since perchance the faithless Byzantine
Will practise on him each accustom’d art
To turn him back, or on some new design
Alien from ours, persuade the youth to start, —
Counsel him earnestly, my friend, apart,
To shun th’ advice of that insidious king;
Both for his good and ours dispose his heart
With all convenient speed his aids to bring;
Say, that all stay were now an ignominious thing.

“Come not thyself with him; but in the train,
And at the court of the Greek prince abide,
Those ofttimes-talk’d-of succors to obtain,
By treaty promised, due, but still denied.”
To speak, instruct, and to his care confide
Letter of credence and of greeting fair,
Short time sufficed; the herald then applied
His busiest thoughts to expedite th’ affair,
And Godfrey sought his tent, and gave a truce to care.

When now the Orient open’d to the Sun
Its shining gates, the mingled voice profound
Of trumpet, tambour, horn, and cymbalon,
Cheer’d to the march the stirring troops around;
Not half so grateful is the thunder’s sound
In the hot dog-days to the world forlorn,
Presaging freshness to the thirsty ground,
As to these warlike tribes the music drawn
From marshal tubes that treat of battles to be born.

Straightway, spurr’d on by strong desire, they dress’d
Their limbs in wonted armor; straight, in sheen
Of perfect panoply, the soldiers press’d
Beneath their several regencies convene;
Ranged, the hosts join; and to the winds serene
Straight the borne banners all at once are given;
And in th’ imperial gonfalon is seen
The Cross, triumphantly outspread, and driven
Abroad in waving folds voluminous to heaven.

Meanwhile the Sun in the celestial fields
Perpetually advancing, rose in height,
And struck from pointed helms and bossy shields,
Clear, trembling lustres that torment the sight;
The broad air burns with glory, like a bright
And boundless conflagration; neighings shrill,
From fierce steeds ramping in their wild delight,
Mix with the sound of smitten steel, and fill
The deafen’d country round, hill answering loud to hill.

The prudent Chief, to guard from ambuscade
His marching army, sent a troop before,
Of light-arm’d horse, with orders to invade
The hollow woods, and each strange place explore;
And first the pioneers advancing, bore
Their instruments, whereby the rugged way
Gives easy access; rivers are bridged o’er,
Dells fill’d, mounts levell’d; shaggy woods display
Their tracks, and each close pass admits the lively day.

There are no moated towers, no massy woods.
No levies gather’d by their Pagan foes,
Nor bursting streams, nor Alpine solitudes,
To countervail their course, or interpose
Cause of delay: thus in his grandeur flows
The King of Floods, when proudly he disdains
His limitary shores, — the torrent grows,
Swells o’er its ruin’d banks, and to the plains
Roaring sweeps down, nor aught its headlong wrath restrains.

The king of Tripoli alone might hope
In his munition’d fortress, with success,
Powerful in forces, arms, and coin, to cope
With the Frank army, or their march distress;
But fearful to oppose them or repress,
Their jealous doubts he studies to appease
With entertainments and with gifts, nor less
To Godfrey’s keep submits the kingdom’s keys,
And from his hand accepts the articles of peace.

There from Mount Seir, which rises on the east
Of the nigh city, crowds on crowds descend
Of the true Faith, — prince, worshipper, and priest;
Virgins, and youths, and matron-age attend;
Beneath refreshments for the host they bend,
Inly rejoiced; and using, side by side,
Familiar talk, their wonder knows no end,
The pilgrims’ arms admiring; — they with pride
Furnish, at Godfrey’s wish, a sure and friendly guide.

Ever in- sight of the blue sea his host
By unobstructed ways direct he leads,
Well knowing that along th’ adjacent coast
The friendly navy in its course proceeds;
Whence whatsoe’er so large an army needs
May be supplied, since each Greek island reaps
Corn but for him, since but for him Crete feeds
The thousand flocks that range her tangled steeps,
And Scio’s rocky isle her wine celestial weeps.

The bordering ocean groans beneath the prores
Of the swift vessels and their wealthy freight,
So that no longer the Levantine shores
To the false Turk give access as of late;
Beside the argosies of noblest rate
Arm’d by Saint Mark and by Saint George, which there
Cruise from rich Venice and the Genoese state,
Others from fruitful Sicily repair,
And England, Belgium, France, alike equip their share.

And these, which now in firmest bonds combined
With the sublime crusade confederate stand,
From various shores are fraught with every kind
Of stores that Godfrey may at need demand;
Who, finding free the passes of the land,
And that the frontiers of the realm present
No force, his onward progress to withstand
Or question, thither makes his swift descent,
Where Christ the pangs of death and darkness underwent.

Yet not so swift, but that light Fame, the post
Of falsehood as of truth, flies far before,
And paints the fortunate, triumphant host,
United, moving, indolent no more;
What and how strong the squadrons, o’er and o’er
Recounts, with all whose deeds of valor grace
The herald’s scrolls, from each romantic shore;
Narrates their vaunts, and with determined face,
The high usurping powers from Salem threats to chase.

And look’d-for evil is a greater ill
Than the wing’d mischief when it comes; each ear
Hangs on each whisper in suspense, and still
The face shows sadness, and the eye its tear.
A melancholy hum, confused and drear,
On wing within, on wing without the gates,
The fields and doleful city fills with fear;
But the old king, in these momentous straits,
Close in his dubious heart ferocious schemes debates.

This prince, named Aladine, by recent crime
Raised to the throne, perpetual cares pursued;
He had been cruel once, but mellowing time
His native fierceness somewhat had subdued.
He, having now but too well understood
That the Franks seek in battle to enclose
The town, much muses in his restless mood!
On former terror new suspicion grows;
Much he his subjects fears, and much he fears his foes.

For in his city a mix’d people lived,
Of adverse Faiths: the weaker few retain’d
The laws of Christ, — in Mahomet believed
The stronger many, and his rule maintain’d;
But when the king the crown of Sion gain’d,
And sought to stablish there his Court in state,
He on his loving Mussulmans ordain’d
Taxes and levies of a lighter rate,
But on the hapless Franks imposed a tenfold weight.

This thought now fretting into gall, awoke
Within him all that cruelty which Time
Had lull’d asleep, and giantlike he broke
From slumber, thirsting but the more for crime.
So the snake slumbers out the winter rime;
So fiercely wakes when summer warms the plain;
So the tamed lion from his burning clime
Torn, if provoked, assumes his fire again,
Rolls the red eye in rage, and shakes the bristling mane.

“I see,” said he, “in this perfidious brood
Undoubted signs of new -conceived delight;
The public evil is their private good,
Our common sorrows but their smiles excite:
And now, e’en now perchance, in fraudful spite,
Each busy traitor with himself debates
How he may kill me, or at least by night
To my stern foe and his consorted mates,
May with most sure address unbar the guarded gates.

“But no! the fangs of the assaulted snake
Have one preventative — I’ll wreak my will;
Destroy them all; a sharp example make;
Safe in the mothers’ arms the infants kill,
Their temples fire, and to the lowest sill
Burn their abodes; these sacrificial cares
I owe to those whose blood th’ invaders spill;
And first on yon scorn’d Sepulchre of theirs,
Shall the cowl’d priests be slain, midst all their vows and pray’rs.”

Thus he soliloquized; his acting hand
With his dire scheme, ’tis true, but ill concurs;
But if he issues not the fierce command,
Baseness it is, not pity, that deters;
For while one fear to barbarous fury spurs
His earnest will, a stronger still in show
Keeps it in check, and moves his just demurs;
He dreads the means of treaty to forego,
Or raise too high the rage of the victorious foe.

Yet, though thus temper’d was his wolfish wrath,
Elsewhere he gives his violence the rein;
The rustic’s home he levels, and with scath
Of fire lays waste the cultivated plain;
He leaves no valley green with rising grain,
Where the Frank host may pleasantly repose,
Or reap subsistence; then with busy brain
In every fountain noxious drugs he throws,
And the polluted stream with secret poison flows: —

Crafty in cruelty! meantime no means
To reinforce the city he neglects,
Strong on three sides; but northward intervenes
A rampart less secure, — he there erects
Walls on the first alarm, and its defects
Repairs with battlements that brave the skies,
And scorn subjection; lastly, he collects
His subject troops and subsidized allies,
And from his lofty towers the coming storm defies.