Book II

While the vex’d Tyrant thus prepared to arm,
Alone to him one day Ismeno drew;
Ismeno, who from the closed tomb can charm
The dead, and make them feel and breathe anew;
Ismene, who oft, as tales devoutly true
Affirm, by whisper’d rhyme and murmur’d spell
Unbinds the demons of the deep to do
Deeds without name, or chains them in his cell,
And makes e’en Pluto pale upon the throne of hell.

A Christian once, he now adores Mahound,
Yet former rites not wholly can forego,
But oft to foulest use will he confound
The laws of both, though well he neither know;
And now from caves where fern and nightshade grow,
Far from the vulgar, where in glooms immersed,
He his black arts is wont to practise, slow
Glides he to front the storm about to burst, —
To an accursed king a counsellor more accursed.

“Oh king! the dreaded armies come,” he cries,
“Unlingering, conquering; yet be not dismay’d;
Let us but worthy of ourselves arise,
Both heaven and earth will give the valiant aid;
Well as the sceptre canst thou wield the blade,
And quick to furnish, skilful to foresee,
The duties of a king hast thou display’d
To admiration; if all act like thee,
For thy advancing foes this land a tomb shall be.

“For me, I come my succor to impart,
Thy friend alike in peril and in pain;
The utmost efforts of my magic art,
And the deep counsels of my aged brain,
Are at thy service; yea, I will constrain
The Angel hosts from blessedness that fell,
Part of th’ impending labor to sustain;
But where I purpose to commence the spell,
And by what simple means, give audience while I tell.

“Low in the Christian temple, under earth,
Stands in a secret grotto the rich shrine
Of her who gave their buried ’God to birth,
The Virgin Mother and the Saint divine;
Before the veil that screens her Image shine
Undying lamps, that to the mummery lend
Bright pomp; and round, with many a senseless sign.
The sapient devotees their gifts suspend,
There in long vigils kneel, in dumb devotions bend.

“Now this their image I would have convey’d,
With thine own hand from their invaded fane,
To the chief Mosque, and on it shall be laid
Spells of such pow’r, that long as we retain
The new Palladium in our keep, a train
Of mighty spirits shall protect thy states;
While steel attacks and fire assaults in vain,
Unrent the wall, impregnable the gates,
We shall the war roll back, and disappoint the fates!s!

He said: the king approved; and in all haste
Sped to the Christian sanctuary, and tore
Down from its shrine the Image of the Chaste,
And with irreverence to the temple bore,
Where oft his impious Mussulmans adore,
High Heav’n incensing; there in dreadful style
His spells the black Magician mumbles o’er
The holy image in th’ unholy pile, —
Hymns which insult the skies, and praises which revile.

But when in heav’n the morning light appealed,
The startled guardian of the mosque profane
Saw not the image where it had been rear’d
The previous night, and sought for it in vain
Through every part of the extensive fane;
Straight to the king the tidings he convey’d,
Who fancying now in his mistrustful brain
That the illustrious prize had been betray’d
Back to some Christian Priest, unbounded rage display’d.

Whether it were that Christian hands by guile
Did bear off secretly the ravish’d prize,
Or that Heav’n, angry that a place so vile
Should shroud her form who walks the glorious skies,
Put forth its power from these indignities
Its Goddess-queen to save, is vainly sought
In erring fame; but piety supplies
The heav’nly lustre that irradiates thought,
Nor doubts that Heav’n itself the glorious wonder wrought.

In every temple, hermitage, and hall,
A long and eager search the monarch made,
And tortures or rewards decreed to all
Who screen’d the guilty, or the guilt betray’d;
Nor ceased the Sorcerer to employ in aid
Of the inquiry all his arts, but still
Without success; for whether Heav’n convey’d
The prize away, or power of human will,
Heav’n close the secret kept, and shamed his vaunted skill.

But when the king found all expedients vain
To trace th’ offender, then, beyond disguise,
Flamed forth his hatred to the Christians; then,
Fed by wild jealousies and sharp surmise,
Immoderate fury sparkled in his eyes;
Follow what may, he will revenge the deed,
And wreak his rage: “Our wrath shall not,” he cries,
“Fall void, but root up all th’ accursed seed;
Thus in the general doom the guilty yet shall bleed!

“So that he ’scapes not; let the guiltless die.
But wherefore thus of guiltlessness debate?
Each guilty is, nor ’mongst them all know I
One, well-affected to the faith and state;
And what if some be unparticipate
In this new crime, new punishment shall pay
For old misdeeds; why longer do ye wait,
My faithful Mussulmans? up! up! away!
Hence with the torch and sword — seize, fire, lay waste and slay!”

Thus to the crowd he spake: the mandate flew,
And in the bosoms of the Faithful shed
Astonishment and stupor; stupor threw
On every face the paleness of the dead;
None dared, none sought to make defence, none fled,
None used entreaty, none excuse; but there
They stood, like marble monuments of dread,
Irresolute, — but Heaven conceived their prayer,
And whence they least had hope, brought hope to their despair.

Of generous thoughts and principles sublime,
Among them in the city lived a maid,
The flower of virgins, in her ripest prime,
Supremely beautiful! but that she made
Never her care, or beauty only weigh’d
In worth with virtue; and her worth acquired
A deeper charm from blooming in the shade;
Lovers she shunn’d, nor loved to be admired,
But from their praises turn’d, and lived a life retired.

Yet could not this coy secrecy prevent
Th’ admiring gaze and warm desires of one
Tutor’d by Love, nor yet would Love consent
To hide such lustrous beauty from the sun;
Love! that through every change delight’st to run,
The Proteus of the heart! who now dost blind,
Now roll the Argus eyes that naught can shun!
Thou through a thousand guards unseen dost wind,
And to the chastest maids familiar access find.

Sophronia hers, Olindo was his name;
Born in one town, by one pure faith illumed;
Modest — as she was beautiful, his flame
Fear’d much, hoped little, and in naught presumed;
He could not, or he durst not speak, but doom’d
To voiceless thought his passion; him she slighted,
Saw not, or would not see; thus he consumed
Beneath the vivid fire her beauty lighted;
Either not seen, ill known, or, known, but ill requited.

And thus it was, when like an omen drear
That summon’d all her kindred to the grave,
The cruel mandate reach’d Sophronia’s ear,
Who, brave as bashful, yet discreet as brave,
Mused how her people she from death might save;
Courage inspired, but virginal alarm
Repress’d the thought, till maiden shyness gave
Place to resolve, or join’d to share the harm;
Boldness awoke her shame, shame made her boldness charm.

Alone amidst the crowd the maid proceeds,
Nor seeks to hide her beauty, nor display;
Downcast her eyes, close veil’d in simple weeds,
With coy and graceful steps she wins her way:
So negligently neat, one scarce can say
If she her charms disdains, or would improve, —
If chance or taste disposes her array;
Neglects like hers, if artifices, prove
Arts of the friendly Heavens, of Nature, and of Love.

All, as she pass’d unheeding all, admire
The noble maid; before the king she stood;
Not for his angry frown did she retire,
But his indignant aspect coolly view’d:
“To give,” — she said, “but calm thy wrathful mood,
And check the tide of slaughter in its spring, —
To give account of that thou hast pursued
So long in vain, seek I thy face, O king!
The urged offence I own, the doom’d offender bring!”

The modest warmth, the unexpected light
Of high and holy beauty, for a space
O’erpower’d him, — conquer’d of his fell despite,
He stood, and of all fierceness lost the trace.
Were his a spirit, or were hers a face
Of less severity, the sweet surprise
Had melted him to love; hut stubborn grace
Subdues not stubborn pride; Love’s potent ties
Are flatt’ring fond regards, kind looks, and smiling eyes.

If ’twere not Love that touch’d his flinty soul,
Desire it was, ’twas wonder, ’twas delight:
“Safe be thy race!” he said, “reveal the whole,
And not a sword shall on thy people light.”
Then she: “The guilty is before thy sight, —
The pious robbery was my deed; these hands
Bore the bless’d Image from its cell by night;
The criminal thou seek’st before thee stands, —
Justice from none but me her penalty demands.”

Thus she prepares a public death to meet,
A people’s ransom at a tyrant’s shrine:
O glorious falsehood! beautiful deceit!
Can Truth’s own light thy loveliness outshine?
To her bold speech misdoubting Aladine
With unaccustom’d temper calm replied:
“If so it were, who plann’d the rash design,
Advised thee to it, or became thy guide?
Say, with thyself who else his ill-timed zeal allied?”

“Of this my glory not the slightest part
Would I,” said she, “with one confederate share;
I needed no adviser; my full heart
Alone sufficed to counsel, guide, and dare.”
“If so,” he cried, “then none but thou must bear
The weight of my resentment, and atone
For the misdeed.” “Since it has been my care,”
She said, “the glory to enjoy alone,
’Tis just none share the pain; it should be all mine own.

To this the tyrant, now incensed, return’d,
“Where rests the Image?” and his face became
Dark with resentment: she replied, “I burn’d
The holy image in the holy flame,
And deem’d it glory; thus at least no shame
Can e’er again profane it — it is free
From further violation; dost thou claim
The spoil or spoiler? this behold in me;
But that, while time rolls round, thou never more shalt.

“Albeit no spoiler I; it was no wrong
To repossess what was by force obtain’d:”
At this the tyrant loosed his threatening tongue,
Long-stifled passion raging unrestrain’d:
No longer hope that pardon may be gain’d,
Beautiful face, high spirit, bashful heart!
Vainly would Love, since mercy is disdain’d,
And Anger flings his most envenom’d dart,
In aid of you his else protecting shield impart!

Doom’d in tormenting fire to die, they lay
Hands on the maid; her arms with rough cords twining,
Rudely her mantle chaste they tear away,
And the white veil that o’er her droop’d declining:
This she endured in silence unrepining,
Yet her firm breast some virgin tremors shook;
And her warm cheek, Aurora’s late outshining,
Waned into whiteness, and a color took,
Like that of the pale rose, or lily of the brook.

The crowd collect; the sentence is divulged;
With them Olindo comes, by pity sway’d;
It might be that the youth the thought indulged,
What if his own Sophronia were the maid:
There stand the busy officers array’d
For the last act, here swift the flames arise;
But when the pinion’d beauty stands display’d
To the full gaze of his inquiring eyes, —
Tis she! he bursts through all, the crowd before him.

Aloud he cries; “To her, O not to her
The crime belongs, though phrensy may misplead!
She plann’d not, dared not, could not, king, incur
Sole and unskill’d the guilt of such a died!
How lull the guards, or by what process speed
The sacred Image from its vaulted cell?
The theft was mine! and ’tis my right to bleed!”
Alas for him! how wildly and how well
He loved th’ unloving maid, let this avowal tell.

“I mark’d where your high Mosque receives the air
And light of heaven; I climb’d the dizzy steep;
I reach’d a narrow opening; enter’d there,
And stole the Saint, while all were hush’d in sleep:
Mine was the crime, and shall another reap
The pain and glory? grant not her desire!
The chains are mine; for me the guards may heap
Around the ready stake the penal fire;
For me the flames ascend; ’tis mine, that funeral pyre!”

Sophronia raised to him her face, — her eye
Was fill’d with pity and a starting tear;
She spoke — the soul of sad humanity
Was in her voice, “What phrensy brings thee here,
Unhappy innocent! is death so dear,
Or am I so ill able to sustain
A mortal’s wrath, that thou must needs appear?
I have a heart, too, that can death disdain,
Nor ask for life’s last hour companionship in pain.”

Thus she appeals to him; but scorning life,
His settled soul refuses to retreat:
O glorious scene, where in sublimest strife
High-minded Virtue and Affection meet!
Where death’s the prize of conquest, and defeat
Seals its own safety, yet remains unblest!
But indignation at their fond deceit,
And rage, the more inflames the tyrant’s breast,
The more this constant pair the palm of guilt contest.

He deems his power despised, and that in scorn
Of him they spurn the punishment assign’d:
“Let,” he exclaim’d, “the fitting palm adorn
The brows of both! both pleas acceptance find!”
Beckoning he bids the prompt tormentors bind
Their galling chains around the youth — ’tis done;
Both to one stake are, back to back, consign’d,
Like sunflowers twisted from their worshipp’d sun,
Compell’d the last fond looks of sympathy to shun.

Around them now the unctuous pyre was piled,
And the fann’d flame was rising in the wind,
When, full of mournful thoughts, in accents wild,
The lover to his mate in death repined:
“Is this the bond then which I hoped should bind
Our lives in blissful marriage? this the fire
Of bridal faith, commingling mind with mind,
Which, I believed, should in our hearts inspire
Like warmth of sacred zeal and delicate desire?

“Far other flames Love promised to impart,
Than those our envious planets here prepare;
Too, ah too long they kept our hands apart,
But harshly now they join them in despair!
Yet does it sooth, since by a mode so rare
Condemn’d to die, thy torments to partake,
Forbid by fate thy sweetnesses to share;
If tears I shed, ’tis but for thy dear sake,
Not mine, — with thee beside, I bless the burning stake!

“And oh! this doom would be indeed most bless’d,
My sharpest sufferings blandishments divine,
Might I but be permitted, breast to breast,
On thy sweet lips my spirit to resign;
If thou too, panting toward one common shrine,
Wouldst the next happy instant parting spend
Thy latest sighs in sympathy on mine!”
Sorrowing he spake; she when his plaints had end,
Bid thus his fond discourse most sweetly reprehend.

“Far other aspirations, other plaints
Than these, dear friend, the solemn hour should claim,
Think what reward God offers to his saints;
Let meek repentance raise a loftier aim;
These torturing fires, if suffer’d in his name,
Will, bland as zephyrs, waft us to the blest;
Regard the sun, how beautiful his flame!
How fine a sky invites him to the west!
These seem to sooth our pangs, and summon us to rest.

The Pagans lifting up their voices wept;
In stifled sorrow wept the Faithful too;
E’en the stern king was touch’d, — a softness crept
O’er his fierce heart, ennobling, pure, and new;
He felt, he scorn’d it, struggled to subdue,
And lest his wavering firmness should relent,
His eyes averted, and his steps withdrew:
Sophronia’s spirit only was unbent;
She yet lamented not, for whom all else lament.

In midst of their distress, a knight behold,
(So would it seem) of princely port! whose vest,
And arms of curious fashion, grain’d with gold,
Bespeak some foreign and distinguish’d guest;
The silver tigress on the helm impress’d,
Which for a badge is borne, attracts all eyes, —
A noted cognizance, th’ accustom’d crest
Used by Clorinda, whence conjectures rise,
Herself the stranger is — nor false is their surmise.

All feminine attractions, aims, and parts,
She from her childhood cared not to assume;
Her haughty hand disdain’d all servile arts,
The needle, distaff, and Arachne’s loom;
Yet, though she left the gay and gilded room
For the free camp, kept spotless as the light
Her virgin fame, and proud of glory’s plume,
With pride her aspect arm’d; she took delight
Stern to appear, and stern, she charm’d the gazer’s sight.

While yet a girl, she with her little hand
Lash’d and reined in the rapid steed she raced,
Toss’d the huge javelin, wrestled on the sand,
And by gymnastic toils her sinews braced;
Then through the devious wood and mountain-waste
Track’d the struck lion to his enter’d den,
Or in fierce wars a nobler quarry chased;
And thus in fighting field and forest glen,
A man to savage beasts, a savage seem’d to men.

From Persia now she comes, with all her skill
The Christians to resist, though oft has she
Strew’d with their blood the field, till scarce a rill
Remain’d, that ran not purple to the sea.
Here now arrived, the dreadful pageantry
Of death presents itself, — the crowd — the pyre —
And the bound pair; solicitous to see,
And know what crime condemns them to the fire,
Forward she spurs her steed, and hastens to inquire.

The throng falls back, and she awhile remains,
The fetter’d pair more closely to survey;
One she sees silent, one she sees complains,
The stronger spirit nerves the weaker prey:
She sees him mourn like one whom the sad sway
Of powerful pity doth to tears chastise,
Not grief, or grief not for himself; but aye
Mute kneels the maid, her blue beseeching eyes
So fix’d on heaven, she seems in heaven ere yet she dies.

Clorinda melts, and with them both condoles;
Some tears she sheds, but greater tenderness
Feels for her grief who most her grief controls, —
The silence moves her much, the weeping less;
No longer now does she delay to press
For information; turning towards one
Of reverend years, she said with eagerness,
“Who are they? speak! and O, what crime has won
This death? in Mercy’s name, declare the deed they’ve done!”

Thus she entreats; a brief reply he gives,
But such as well explains the whole event:
Amazed she hears it, and as soon conceives
That they are both sincerely innocent;
Her heart is for them, she is wholly bent
T’ avert their fate, if either arms can aid,
Or earnest prayers secure the king’s consent;
The fire she nears, commands it to be stay’d,
That now approach’d them fast, and to th’ attendants said:

“Let none of you presume to prosecute
Your barbarous office, till the king I see;
My word I pledge, that at Clorinda’s suit,
Your fault he will forgive, if fault it be:”
Moved by her speech and queenlike dignity,
The guards obey, and she departs in quest
Of the stern monarch, urgent of her plea:
Midway they met; the monarch she. address’d;
And in this skilful mode her gen’rous purpose press’d.

“I am Clorinda; thou wilt know perchance
The name, from vague remembrance or renown;
And here I come to save with sword and lance
Our common Faith, and thine endanger’d crown;
Impose the labor, lay th’ adventure down,
Sublime I fear it not, nor low despise;
In open’d field or in the straiten’d town,
Prepared I stand for every enterprise,
Where’er the danger calls, where’er the labor lies!”

“What region so remote,” replied the king,
“From the sun’s track or Asia’s golden zone,
To which, heroic maid, on wonder’s wing
Thy fame has not arrived, thy glory flown?
Now that with mine thou deign’st to join thine own
Unconquer’d sword, I shake away all sense
Of fear, and hope for my assaulted throne;
No — I could have no surer confidence,
If e’en united hosts were arm’d in my defence!

“Now then the mighty Godfrey comes too late
To my desire; exploits are thy demand,
But only worthy thy sublime estate
I hold the daring, difficult, and grand;
The rule of all our warriors to thy hand
Do I concede; thy standard be their guide
In battle, and a law thy least command!” —
She nor assumed his praises, nor denied,
But bow’d her grateful thanks, and courteously replied:

“’T would be assuredly a thing most rare,
If the reward the service should precede;
But of thy bounty confident, I dare
For future toils solicit, as my meed,
Yon lovers’ pardon; since the charge indeed
Rests on no evidence, ’twas hard to press
The point at all, but this I waive, nor plead
On those sure signs which, urged, thou must confess
Their hands quite free from crime, or own their guilt far less.

“Yet will I say, though here the common mind
Condemns the Christians of the theft, for me,
Sufficient reasons in mine own I find
To doubt, dispute, disparage the decree;
To set their idols in our sanctuary
Was an irreverence to our laws, howe’er
Urged by the sorcerer; should the Prophet see
E’en idols of our own established there?
Much less then those of men whose lips his faith for!

“The Christian statue ravish’d from your sight,
To Allah, therefore, rather I impute,
In sign that he will let no foreign rite
Of superstition his pure place pollute:
Spells and enchantments may Ismeno suit,
Leave him to use such weapons at his will;
But shall we warriors by a wand dispute?
Now no! our talisman, our hope, our skill,
Lie in our swords alone, and they shall serve us still!”

She ceased; and he, though mercy could with pain
Subdue a heart so full of rage and pride,
Relents, her reasons move, her prayers constrain, —
Such intercessor must not be denied;
Thus, though reluctant, he at length complied:
“The plea for the fair pleader I receive;
I can refuse thee nothing; this,” he cried,
“May justice be or mercy, — let them live;
Guiltless — I set them free, or guilty I forgive!”

Restored to life and liberty, how blest,
How truly blest was young Olindo’s fate!
For sweet Sophronia’s blushes might attest,
That Love at length has touch’d her delicate
And generous bosom; from the stake in state
They to the altar pass; severely tried,
In doom and love already made his mate,
She now objects not to become his bride,
And grateful live with him who would for her have died.

But as the tyrant deem’d it insecure
That such rare virtues should so near combine,
Their pleasant home he forced them to abjure,
And banish’d both the bounds of Palestine;
Nor wholly yet renouncing his design
Against the rest, he follows up the blow;
Some does he exile, some does he confine;
O with what sorrow, yea, with what deep wo,
Their babes, their ancient sires, and dwellings they forego;

For those alone his jealousy exiled,
Of vigorous manhood and sagacious wit; —
The softer sex, the grandsire, and the child,
For daring deeds and fearful aims unfit,
As pledges he retains; the many quit
Their homes as wanderers, many brave his hate,
And, brooding in rebellion, but submit
To his scorn’d power his fall t’ accelerate; —
These join the Christian host now entering Emmaus gate:

Emmaus, a city at so short a space
From regal Salem, that a youth in June,
Walking for pleasure at a careless pace,
From dewy morn, may reach the town by noon;
So near, what joys the soldiers’ hearts attune!
O with what deep desire they burn, to tread
The glorious City they shall see so soon!
But the sun hastens to his seagreen bed,
And Godfrey gives command the evening tents to spread.

They were already pitch’d, and twilight gloom
Was gath’ring fast round eve’s declining light,
When lo! two Barons in a strange costume,
And pomp of foreign bearing, came in sight;
Their state seem’d fashion’d to a peaceful plight,
And every desultory movement told
A friendly purpose; tendant on each knight
Rode many a page and armor -bearer bold;
From Egypt’s king they come, high argument to hold.

The one, Alethes, of vile lineage sprung,
Who in obscurest shade his course began,
Rose, by smooth flatt’ries and a fluent tongue,
To the first honors of the grave Divan;
A supple, crafty, various-witted man, —
Prompt at deceit, perfidious in his phrase,
He with a smile of sweetness could trepan;
And wove his webs in such ingenious ways,
That each calumnious charge had all the air of praise.

Argantes the Circassian, his compeer,
Came to the Court a stranger, but endow’d
With valor equal to the loftiest sphere,
Was soon a Satrap of the realm avow’d;
Impatient, fierce, implacable and proud,
In arms unwearied and unmatch’d, he trod:
A scorner of all faiths, with vaunts aloud
He braved the world; his argument his nod,
He made his will his law and his good sword his God.

They ask’d an audience, and on equal feet
Enter’d the tent of Godfrey: him they found
In simple vesture on a simple seat,
Calmly conversing with his chieftains round;
But genuine worth, though negligent, is crown’d
With a sufficient ornament, array’d
In its own excellence; no mark profound
Of his respect the frank Argantes paid,
But with unstudied ease just bow’d his haughty head.

But on his heart Alethes laid his hand,
And bow’d his head to earth, and every sign
Of honor show’d, that glory could demand,
Or the smooth flattery of the East combine.
He spake, and from his lips than golden wine
More sweet, the floods of eloquence distill’d;
And as the Franks the speech of Palestine
Now comprehended, and at need could build,
’Twas thus his rich-toned voice the mute assembly fill’d.

“O Thou, th’ alone deserving to preside
O’er these illustrious heroes, who have known
Through thy wise counsels, hitherto, the pride
Of conquest — laurels won, and states o’erthrown!
Thy name, which brooks not in the narrow zone
Of brave Alcides’ bounds to be confined,
E’en to the land of Egypt has been blown; —
Through all our realms does Fame her clarion wind
Sounding thy glorious deeds from Nile to utmost Ind.

“Nor midst so many Princes is there one
Whose deepest wonder these do not excite;
But mine indeed receives them, not alone
With admiration, but supreme delight;
He joys to show them in each shifting light,
And loves in thee what with the rest but cause
Envy and fear; admiring thus thy might,
And to thy valor yielding meet applause,
With thee he seeks to join, in love if not in laws.

“Urged then by this benign desire, he sends,
The branch of peace to ask and to bestow,
And since not Faith can mediate to our ends,
Let mutual Virtue wreath the sacred bough:
But since the rumor meets his ear, that thou
Art arm’d to drive from Salem his ally,
His princely mind he wills that we avow,
Ere the full tempest overcasts the sky,-
So may succeeding ills thy borders come not nigh.

“He begs thy generous spirit to forbear,
And rest content with what thy sword has won;
Nor vex Judea, but all regions spare
That lie beneath the favor of his sun:
He, on his part, no sacrifice will shun
To fix thy infant power upon a rock;
Whence, should the Turks and Persians seek to o’errun
The land once more, united you shall mock
Their overweening hopes, and smile away the shock.

“Thy mighty deeds in this brief period wrought,
Years of oblivion shall corrode in vain!
Armies and cities conquer’d, perils sought,
Fatigues surmounted, unknown wilds made plain!
So that the nations far and near remain
Dumb with amazement, stupid with dismay;
Yet other empires thou perhaps might’st gain,
But Glory is thy bankrupt, nor would they,
Void of renown, the toil of victory repay.

“Now is thy noon of honor, but the night
Succeeds to noon; and wise it surely were
To shun the dubious accidents of fight, —
If conqueror, conquest proves a fruitless care;
But — once beguiled in fate’s malignant snare,
Empire, past spoils, and victories, all are cross’d!
He is the fool of fortune who should dare
To stake a sure against a doubtful cost,
Where slight the gain must prove, but great th’ advantage lost!

“Yet the advice of some one whom it grieves
That others long should keep what they acquire,
The having gather’d victory’s laurel leaves
In every contest, and th’ innate desire
Which glows, and always lights its fiercest fire
In greatest hearts, to see thy harness’d car
Drawn by dependent kings, — these will inspire
Thy mind, perchance, to banish peace afar,
With a more eager zeal than others angry war.

“Such will exhort thee to pursue the path
Which Fate expands to thy dilating eye,
And not to sheath the famous sword whose wrath
Calls down obsequious conquest from the sky,
Till Mahomet’s tall fanes in ruin lie,
And Asia has become one wilderness
Resounding only to the dragon’s cry:
Things sweet to hear, deceits in brilliant dress,
But full of dangerous ills, and pregnant with distress.

“But if thine eye no keen resentment veils,
If it strikes not the light of reason blind,
With fear, not hope, must thou regard the scales
Of war, and tremble as the beam’s inclined;
For Fortune’s favor is a varying wind,
Wafting now ill, now good, — now joy, now wo!
She least rewards us when she seems most kind;
Oft serpents lurk where freshest roses blow,
And for the loftiest flight a gulf yawns deep below.

“Say, if Cassano’s son with his allies,
Persian and Turk, the struggle should renew;
If to thy cost all Egypt should arise,
In gold, arms, wisdom, mighty to subdue;
Whence, as more near the gathering tempest drew,
Wouldst thou thine armaments command, or where
Escape the peril? wouldst thou seek, anew,
From the Greek prince professions yet more fair,
And, of his aid assured, the frightful contest dare?

“Who knows not to what end the Grecian swears!
Yet from a single treason gather all, —
From thousands, rather, for a thousand snares
Has he disposed, thy warriors to enthrall;
Think of his avarice, his mistrust recall.’
Will he who own’d your mission, yet withstood,
Now risk his life at your beseeching call?
He who forbade the route by all pursued,
Yield to a tottering cause his own luxurious blood?

“But, it may be, that all thy hopes repose
On these brave hearts that gird thee as a zone;
Perhaps thou think’st to crush united foes
Lightly as one by one they were o’erthrown;
Although thy squadrons, as thyself must own,
Are much reduced by hardships and by fight;
Though fresh antagonists surround thy tin-one;
And, numerous as our locusts to the sight,
With Turk and Persian both th’ Egyptians may unite.

“But granting Heaven’s almightiness decree
That War’s devouring minister, the sword,
Which fatal proves to others, harm not thee,
Famine will bow thee still! when, unrestored,
Life’s rosy currents from the heart are pour’d,
Where wilt thou turn? what refuge will remain?
Quails in the desert will thy God afford?
Wave thy bright sword, thy javelin shake! — ’tis vain!
Victory will nothing be but mockery of thy pain.

“The prudent people, politic in need,
Have fired their cultured fields, despoil’d their bowers,
And ere thy coming stored the golden seed
In stubborn walls and high protecting towers;
Thou, whose hot zeal spurr’d on the lazy hours
To speed thee here, how wilt thou banquet these,
Thy horse and foot? Thou wilt reply, ‘My Powers
Are safe, my rich Armada sweeps the seas:’
Does then your life depend upon the shifting breeze?

“Perhaps thy Genius rules the winds to be
Stormy or calm, as it may suit thy will!
Though proof to prayers and wailings, the deaf sea,
Like a lull’d child, will hear thy voice, and still
Its stormy waves! but have we then no skill
With the brave Turks and Persians to combine,
Man the joint navy, to the breezes shrill
Spread out its sails, and rushing through the brine,
Boldly confront those vast leviathans of thine?

“A double victory must thou win, to gain
In this emprise the merit of success;
One battle lost makes all thine efforts vain,
Makes glory shame, and luxury nakedness;
For if our winged fleets thy fleet oppress
At sea, the distant host with hunger dies,
And if the host in battle we distress,
Thy naval spoils are vain indemnities, —
Thy watery empire gain’d, an unsubstantial prize!

“Now, in this aspect of affairs, if thou
The peace and friendship of our king decline,
Let truth but license have, she will avow,
Thy other virtues far thy sense outshine;
But ah, may Heaven, if such be thy design,
From the enthralling charm thy mind release!
That so at length afflicted Palestine —
That Asia so may from her sorrows cease,
And thou thy victor’s fruits enjoy in perfect peace!

“And you, who in deep troubles, perils dark
And fancied glory, are with him combined!
Let not kind Fortune tempt you to embark
In other wars; but dread the woes behind!
The pilot who, from the capricious wind,
O’er seas where quicksands lurk and breakers roar,
Has steer’d his vessel to the port assign’d,
Should gather in his canvass, heave ashore,
Nor trust the traitor winds and cruel Ocean more i”

Alethes ceased. and the brave Lords return’d
A murmur like the sound of fire, that told
How angrily his overtures they spurn’d;
Fierce were their gestures, and their action bold;
Godfrey his eyes thrice round the circle roll’d;
Thrice the knights’ faces scann’d with conscious pride;
Then, as in act his purpose to unfold,
The fluent Copt significantly eyed,
And with determined tone thus placidly replied:

“Bravely, Ambassador, hast thou set forth,
Now mild, now stern, the terms on which you treat:
If thy king love me, and applaud our worth,
The love is grateful, as the praise is sweet;
The after portion of thy speech, replete
With threats of war from Heathendom combined,
And like denunciations, I will meet,
And in the native frankness of my mind
Answer in simple words, sincere, if less refined.

“Know, then, that we have borne all this distress
By land and sea, — war, want, reverses — all!
To the sole end that we might gain access
To sacred Salem’s venerable wall;
That we might free the Faithful from their thrall,
And win from God his blessing and reward:
From this no threats our spirit can appal,
For this no terms will be esteem’d too hard —
Life, honors, kingdoms lost, or dignity debarr’d.

“For not the lusts of power or gold affect
The hearts of those who rank beneath the Cross;
Heaven’s gracious Father chasten and correct
The deadly sins, if such our souls engross!
Nor let th’ insidious plague, the pleasing gloss
Of honey’d guilt infect us, or delude!
But may his holy fires purge off our dross,
Through stony hearts infuse a milder mood,
Bind the rebellious will, and teach us to be good!

This has impell’d us, guided, guides us now
Through every peril, obstacle, and snare;
This makes the vales aspire, the mountains bow,
Tempers the summer-heat, the winter air;
This makes the loud seas still, the rivers bare,
Chains the wild tempest in its secret cave,
Sends the four seasons mild, the blue skies fair,
Beats down high bulwarks and unnerves the brave;
Scatters our foes in flight, or dooms to the dark grave!

“Hence zeal and hope, hence strength, hence safety springs
Not from our own force, wasted, worn and frail,
Not from the rich Armada’s outspread wings;
Not from the succors that from Greece may sail!
Power, hosts, and fleets, were else of small avail:
But since high Heaven our banner thus befriends,
We little reck what other aids may fail;
Who knows both how it strikes, and how defends,
Will ask none other shield when peril swift descends.

“But should our sins, or secret judgment doom
Us, of his aid deprived, to pass away,
Which of us would not yearn to have his tomb,
Where once the limbs of the Celestial lay?
Yes, we shall die, nor envy them the play
Of being who survive! yes, we shall fall,
But fall not unrevenged, in meek array:
Asia shall smile not at our funeral;
We shall not grieve to die, but furnish grief for all.

“As others fear and shun the battle-field,
Think not the happy arts of peace we fly;
That union with thy king no joy would yield,
Or that we should not rate his friendship high;
But Palestine does not subjected lie
To him; thou know’st it; whence then all this care
On its account? would he to us deny
Conquest of others’ states? let him forbear;
And rule in peace his own, rich, flourishing and fair!”

Thus answer’d Godfrey, and his calm reply
Stung to the quick Argantes’ heart of pride;
He did not veil it, but approaching nigh,
With quivering lips in proud assumption cried:
“Who wills not peace the battle can abide!
Ne’er was there penury of risk or wo
To those whose rashness dared to be defied;
Too well a warlike spirit wilt thou show,
If the fair gifts we bring thou carest to forego!”

He took his mantle by the skirt; he curved
As to an urn the implicated fold,
And holding it on high, his language nerved
With angrier eye and malice uncontrolled:
“Ho, thou contemner of strong Fate, behold!
I bring thee in this urn both war and peace;
Make now thy choice, and quickly be it told —
War, peace or war; whichever most may please —
What more thou wouldst demand, thine own right hand must seize!”

At his fierce gesture and disdainful voice,
Inflamed, from all their seats the Barons sprung;
They waited not to hear their Leader’s choice,
“War! war!” they cried, with simultaneous tongue;
He far abroad the fatal mantle flung,
And shook it in their teeth: “Then evermore
Take mortal war!” he cried: so wildly rung
The words, it seem’d the adamantine door
Which awful Janus keeps, flew open to the roar:

It seem’d that from the shaking of the fold
Gigantic Discord and mad Fury flew;
That in his frightful eyes they might behold
Megara and Alecto rise to view;
So stood, perchance, the Giant, when he drew
To Shinaar’s plain his nations, to defy
The God of Heaven, and as the huge Tower grew
Upward from earth, perchance with such an eye
He watch’d it pass the clouds, and threat the starry sky.

Then Godfrey spake: “Our answer ye have heard;
Back to your monarch, and our choice relate:
Here let him haste, or, on a Prince’s word,
Nile shall behold us at Alcairo’s gate.”
Then in mild accents ending high debate,
He honors them with gifts of noble price;
A splendid helmet, temper’d to rebate
The keenest falchion, and of rare device,
He to Alethes gave, a spoil from conquer’d Nice.

Argantes has a sword of princely cost,
Whose hilt and pommel, gay with jewels flame,
Set in bright gold so curiously emboss’d,
That the rare workmanship might almost shame
The rich material; he its temper’d frame
Shrewdly examined, the keen edge assay’d,
Found the fine steel th’ adornments well became,
And said to Godfrey, as he sheath’d the blade;
Soon shalt thou see the use that of thy gift is made!”

No more he deign’d, but took his leave: “And now,
My brave Alethes, let us both begone;
I to Jerusalem, to Egypt thou, —
Thou when morn’s roses o’er the skies are strown,
With our attendant pages, I alone
By the nocturnal stars. You need not us,
Nor our advices to instruct the throne;
Bear thou the answer, — I’ll no longer thus
Stand trifling here, since arms the subject must discuss.”

Thus parts the foe who came ambassador:
Whether his well or ill-timed haste offend
The law of realms and usages of war
He thinks not, cares not, so he gains his end;
Nor waits to hear the answer which his friend
Has on his lips, but through the twilight-shade
His steps to high Jerusalem ascend,
Impatient of delay; and those who stay’d,
Did with no less disdain the slow-paced hours upbraid.

’Tis eve; ’tis Night; a holy quiet broods
O’er the mute world — winds, waters are at peace;
The beasts lie couch’d amid unstirring woods,
The fishes slumber in the sounds and seas;
No twitt’ring bird sings farewell from the trees,
Hush’d is the dragon’s cry, the lion’s roar;
Beneath her glooms a glad oblivion frees
The heart from care, its weary labors o’er,
Carrying divine repose and sweetness to its core.

But not the midnight hush, nor starlight balm,
Nor sweet oblivion of all things in sleep,
Can to the Chief or army bring the calm
Of blest repose, such eager watch they keep,
In their desire to see the morning peep,
And give that long-sought City to their sight,
Where they the fruits of battle hope to reap;
Oft looking out to mark if yet the light,
Breaking the dappled East, clears up the shades of night.