Book XI

While thus the Captain of the Christian nations,
Whose constant thoughts on the assault were bent,
Prepared, to shake to their most deep foundations
The city walls, each warlike instrument —
Forth came the Hermit from his morning tent;
And, taking him aside with solemn air,
In these grave words arrested his intent:
“Arms of this world, O Chief, dost thou prepare?
Know, ’tis celestial aid that first should claim thy care!

“Begin from Heaven; invoke with holy hymn,
With public prayer and reverential deed,
The armed host of Saints and Seraphim,
By whose bless’d aid success may be decreed;
In sacred garments let the Priests precede,
And tuneful psalms with suppliant voices raise;
While thou and thy illustrious Nobles lead
The multitude along, that, as they gaze,
Shall catch from you the flame of piety and praise.”

Severely spake the army’s ghostly guide,
And virtuous Godfrey own’d the words were wise;
“Servant approved of Jesus!” he replied,
“Well pleased I follow thy inspired advice;
Thus then, while I to these solemnities
My captains, lords, and chevaliers invite,
Seek thou the ministers of sacrifice,
William and Ademar; with them unite, —
The sacred pomp prepare, and ceremonial rite.”

The Seer, the bishops, and the monks next morn,
With all the canons of inferior class,
Meet in a valley far from camp withdrawn,
Where, round an altar on the hallow’d grass,
The Priests were wont to solemnize high mass;
White robes they wear; the Pastors of the flocks
Have on their sacerdotal albs, which pass
In front divided o’er their golden frocks,
Clasp’d with aigraffes of pearl; starr’d mitres crown their locks.

Peter alone, before, spread to the wind
The sacred sign which Seraphim revere;
The choir with slow and solemn steps behind
In two long ranks, apart, their voices rear
In heavenly hymns and anthems, that insphere
The spirit of sweet praise and humble prayer,
Sung in alternate chorus; last appear
William and Ademar, — the reverend pair
Bring up their arriere bands in order passing fair.

Great Bouillon next, without companion, pass’d,
As kings and princes use; by two and two
The Captains follow’d in his steps; and last,
The total host in distribution due,
Arm’d for defence: thus marshall’d, they march’d through
The portal-gates; all tumult far was flown;
Nor brazen horn ferocious clamors blew,
Nor war-cry shrill’d; to heaven arose alone
Piety’s suppliant voice in music’s melting tone.

Thee, Father! thee they sing, coequal Son!
And thee, bless’d Spirit! in whom both combine;
All-pitying, saving, all-consoling One!
Thee, Virgin-Mother of the man divine!
And ye, who o’er the bright- wing’d hosts that shine
Around, in triple orbs vicegerence have,
Princedoms! your succor they invoke; and thine,
Baptist beloved! that in the less pure wave,
Pure Mary’s sacred Son immaculate didst lave.

Thee too they hail, the strong, the stable rock
Whereon the Church is built; whose gentle pleas
Win now thy new successor to unlock
The gracious gates of pardon and of peace;
And the twelve heralds who o’er lands and seas
Advent’ring, publish’d with their latest breath
Their Lord’s triumphant apotheosis;
And those who, seized, tormented for the Faith,
Proved with their blood its power, and seal’d its truth with death.

To saints whose writings point the path to truth
And bliss, no less soft supplications swell;
To Christ’s dear handmaid, who in bloom of youth
The nobler part of life selected well;
To the chaste virgins that in cave or cell
With solemn nuptials were espoused to God;
And those, who, braving kings and nations fell,
The lictor’s axe, the praetor’s torturing rod,
Strait Virtue’s thorny path magnanimously trod.

Thus worshipping, thus chanting in their zeal,
Circling the long, long plain, the people came
With easy pace to Olivet, a hill
Fruitful in olives, whence it takes its name;
A hill long signalized by sacred fame
Through the wide world; like a majestic queen.
East of the town it soars, as if to claim
Th’ ascendant, parted only by the green
Vale of Jehoshaphat, which fills the space between.

Thither the tuneful army tends, and fills
The heaven with melody; the vales ring round,
And answ’ring Echo from her haunted hills,
From secret caves, and hollow glens profound,
A thousand times repeats the charming sound;
You would have thought a choir of Dryads near,
Sang from the groves and grottoes underground;
So variously, and aye so sweet and clear,
Jesu, Maria’s name rewarbled back they hear.

On the town walls the curious Pagans stand,
Silent as summer night; in much amaze
At rites so strange, unwonted pomps so grand,
Their solemn march, and humble hymns of praise;
Long on the sacred spectacle they gaze;
But when the novelty of show is o’er,
A scornful yell the wicked miscreants raise,
That with loud blasphemies the mountains hoar,
Woods, torrents, towers, the rocks, and winding valleys roar.

But not for this their pure, melodious song
The Christians cease; the clamors of their foes
Unmoved they slight, as they would slight a throng
Of chatt’ring swallows or loquacious crows;
Nor can the arrows which their strong cross-bows
Loose, at such distance, from the dancing string,
Their orderly array to discompose,
Strike them with fear, or mar the notes they sing;
Full to their purposed close the hymns commenced they bring.

Next, for communion, on the mountain’s height,
The sacramental altar beautified
With sculptured images they raise, and light
The golden lamps that stand on either side;
Then other vestments more divinely dyed,
With gold ingrain’d, the pontiff William wears;
And, after silent thought, to God their guide
Lowly he bends, and asks, in fervent prayers,
Peace for sins past, and grace against impending snares.

While humbly round, the near spectators bend,
The more remote attend with steadfast eyes
His speaking lips; when now there was an end
Of the pure rites and mystic sacrifice,
The Bishop turn’d, and lifting tow’rd the skies
His sacerdotal hands, the armies bless’d;
Then cried to them “Depart!” the companies,
With silent pomp slow wheeling to the west,
By the same path return’d which they before had press’d.

Th’ intrenchments enter’d, people, duke, and prince,
Fill’d with sweet peace to their pavilions went;
While thousands, proud their homage to.evince,
Escorted Godfrey as with one consent
E’en to the threshold of his curtain’d tent,
Parting with fond farewells: but he recall’d
The captains, and, as midnoon now was spent,
To a plain feast the party seneschall’d,
And in the second seat the Count Toulouse install’d.

When they with drinks and viands had appeased
Nature’s keen appetites, the General rose,
And thus his knights address’d: “When next the east
Shows morning, all things for th’ assault dispose;
’Twill be a day of bloodshed and of blows,
Havoc, and sweat, and toil, as this is one
Of preparation, quiet, and repose;
Go then, prepare yourselves and troops; that done,
Rest all, — the dial’s shade has yet some hours to run.

This said, they take their leave; the heralds then
By blast of trumpet give commands, that all
Stand ready under arms when first they ken
The breaking day, to storm the Northern wall:
Brisk was the tending of the steeds in stall,
Hammering of armor, trimming of the crest,
And deep the hum of wassail, till the call
To vespers, and still Night, the friend of rest,
Giving new truce to toil, all eyes in slumber bless’d.

Dubious and dusk, the Lady of the dawn
Not yet had ris’n to walk her rosy round;
The shepherd sought not yet his custom’d lawn;
Nor shining share turn’d up the fallow ground;
Still in their nests the blithe birds slumber’d sound;
Not yet the lark upsoar’d on flick’ring wing,
Nor forest echo’d to the horn or hound;
When first the matin trump was heard to sing,
“To arms!” — “to arms!” the skies, and misty valleys ring —

Ten thousand tongues take up the welcome words,
“To arms!” and still “to arms!” is all their cry;
Godfrey awakes, but not this morning girds
The wonted cuishes on his martial thigh;
His greaves and iron mail are hung on high,
And on his back is borne a suppler suit,
Of lighter make and less validity, —
Arms, only worn by such as fight on foot;
When in good Raymond comes, to pay the morn’s salute.

The Count, perceiving him arm’d thus, soon guess’d
His purpose, and exclaim’d; “How’s this, my lord?
Where is your solid breastplate? where the rest
Of your steel armors, hard and strong to ward
Strokes, that may else prove fatal? what! abroad
But half array’d, in a juppon so weak!
This negligence we never can applaud;
It would appear, our Chief was bent to seek
Mean glory’s course; of such these habits seem to speak.

“What! look you for the private palm of those
That mount the breach? to others leave the task,
And some less serviceable souls expose
To risks adapted to the meed they ask;
Resume, my lord, your customary casque,
Vant-brace, and hauberk; know your proper post;
For ours, if not for your protection, mask
Your face; for Heaven’s sake, go not thus exposed!
You are the soul, the strength, the life-blood of the host.”

“When,” said the Chief, “pope Urban girt this blade
On me in Clermont, and the holy Seer
Bade me perform in this divine crusade
The duties of a gallant chevalier,
I made a secret vow to God, that here
I would not act on this eventful day,
Come when it might, as Captain or as Peer;
But thus assume the arms and plain array
Which simple soldiers use, and combat e’en as they.

“When, therefore, these my armies marshall’d stand
In war-bravade against the town, — when I
Have fully seen to all points that demand
The Chief’s consid’rate head and judging eye,
Reason it is, nor thou the need deny,
That, faithful to my vow, I strive to reap
A soldier’s laurels, to the walls draw nigh,
And, sword in hand, upon the ramparts leap;
Heaven will my ventured life in safe protection keep”

He ceased; and the Frank knights with loud acclaim
Th’ example took; his brothers, and the rest
Of the confed’rate barons did the same,
And in light mail their limbs as footmen dress’d:
Meantime the Pagans to the quarter press’d
That fronts Arctóphylax, the icy Bear,
And thence wheels round towards the golden west:
For more accessible the site, and there
Less stubborn show the walls, impregnable elsewhere.

Elsewhere, the crag-built town would scorn the war
Of hosting millions; thither not alone
Does the fierce tyrant the strong burghers draw,
The hireling aids, and satraps of his throne,
But them o’er whom advancing Age has strown
Its chill snows — bearded sires and boys he calls
To dangers and fatigues till now unknown;
These hie and serve the warriors on the walls
With stones, bitumen, lime, oil, darts and brimstone balls.

With bristling arms and many a fix’d machine,
Lined are the walls that overlook the plain;
Breast-high above them is the Soldan seen,
Like a grim Giant; while, with fell disdain
Forever working in his fretful brain,
Elsewhere, far-off discern’d, Argantes rears
His bulk enormous; and, betwixt the twain,
High on the topmost tower, Clorinda fierce,
Known by her silver arms, conspicuously appears.

Her costly quiver, with sharp arrows stored,
Hangs at her hack, — the bow is in her hands,
Bent, — the shaft dances on the chord, the chord
Is ready drawn, and oft her eye demands
The instant coming of the Christian bands:
Burning to twang the string against the crowd,
With lips apart the lady archer stands
As Dian stood, when from the radiant cloud
She loosed her vengeful darts at Niobe the proud.

Below, on foot, the aged Monarch hies
From gate to gate, upon the walls surveys
His first arrangements with observant eyes,
And cheers his troops with speeches full of praise;
Here he recruits their ranks, and there displays
Store of fresh arms and engines, and with care
Provides for all; but, in the public ways,
Throngs of sad matrons to the mosques repair,
And to their Prophet false bend low in senseless prayer.

“O Mahmoud! with thy strong and righteous hand
In twain the spear of this Frank spoiler break!
Check, and confound, and stretch him on the sand
Beneath our walls, for thine own glory’s sake,
Which he so much has outraged!” thus they spake;
But their words reach’d not him, who, pierced with pains
Eternal, tosses on the fiery lake: —
While for defence each nerve the City strains,
Musters the Christian Chief his army on the plains.

And first from camp his infantry he guides,
With wondrous providence and art disposed,
And ’gainst the walls to ruin doom’d, divides
Transversely into two the massy host:
In centre the wheel’d engines take their post, —
Structures of unimaginable powers, —
Scorpions and strong ballista; whence are toss’d,
Like lightning and like thunder on the towers,
Lances, and quarried rocks, and sleet of arrowy showers.

His heavier-arm’d he places in the rear
For surer guard, his light-horse in the wings;
Then gives the word, and instant in the ear
Of either host the signal-trumpet rings:
Tremendous is the cast of stones from slings,
Javelins from engines, quarrels from cross-bows,
And mortal arrows from resounding strings;
Some fall, some flee; and thinn’d and broken shows,
On the defended wall, the phalanx late so close.

Then with all speed the eager Franks impel
Their progress; part into a tortoise form,
Shield lock’d with shield, beneath its iron shell
Secure; while part slink from the sounding storm
Of stones and raining darts, in cubiform
Battalia underneath the vines; they gain,
Thus screen’d, the counterscarp, and ceaseless swarm,
Fervent as summer-emmets, nor in vain,
The hollow depth to fill, and equal with the plain.

The circling moat was not of marshy sward,
(This the dry soil forbade,) nor soft with mud;
So that they fill’d it soon, though large and broad,
With turf, stones, timber, and fascines of wood:
Daring Adrastus was the first that stood
From forth the shell of shields; he raised sublime
A scaling-ladder, and, despite the flood
Pour’d from above, of boiling pitch and lime,
Dauntless his crest advanced, and stood resolved to climb.

The fiery Switzer in his rash neglect
Of life, on high with wonder they survey,
Mark to a thousand arrows, and uncheck’d
By all that would his course audacious stay;
Half had he finish’d his aerial way,
When sudden, by the strong Circassian thrown,
A huge round rock with quick tempestuous sway,
As from a mortar shot, upon his crown
Alit, and rudely beat th’ heroic soldier down.

Not mortal is the stroke; but still the fall
Stuns him, and mute and motionless he lies;
Loud shouted then the victor on the wall, —
“Fallen is the first! who next the venture tries?
Why not assail us in the open skies?
Come from your caves; skulk not like foxes there, —
I skulk not; nothing shall your strange device
Save you, but like the badger and the bear
Die in your dens ye shall; by Mahomet I swear!”

Not for his taunt the Franks their toil refrain;
But, close in curtain of their sheds conceal’d,
Safe the barb’d darts and heavy weights sustain,
Man link’d with man, and shield compact with shield;
While to the basis of the walls are wheel’d
Batt’ries, of beams immeasurable, with plates
Of
’d iron thrice with fire anneal’d,
Fronted like rams; at whose assailing threats
Tremble the lofty walls, and shake the echoing gates.

Meanwhile a hundred hands upon the walls
Have heaved, and hung in terrible libration
O’er the blind tortoise a huge crag; as falls
The loosed lavange from its aerial station,
Down, down it roll’d, — in thund’ring dislocation
Crush’d the dense shell of shields, crush’d helm and head,
And left the batter’d ground, in agitation
From the o’erwhelming mountain, overspread
With blood, with brains, with bones, and arms of sanguine red.

No longer now beneath the shelt’ring roof
Of their machines the Franks themselves confine,
But from the latent risks to open proof
Of danger rush, and give their light to shine;
Some raise scalados, nor to mount decline,
Though in the face of peril and mishap;
Others the deep foundations undermine;
Then rock the walls, and many a glorious gap
Starts in the shrinking base and buttresses they sap.

And fall’n they had, so fast its boist’rous blows
Thereon the huge bombarding ram repeats,
But from the battlements the Turks oppose
The wonted artifice that most defeats
Its horned might; where’er the vast beam beats,
Packs of soft wool elastic they suspend;
With which, whenas the butting engine meets,
The substance yields, the pliant swathes distend,
Break the rude shock, and safe th’ endanger’d wall defend.

While in this valiant mode the daring bands
Round the climb’d walls in clusters fight and bleed,
Seven times Clorinda bends, seven times her hands
Twang the tough bow, and loose the eager reed;
As many shafts as from the ivory speed,
So many stain their points and gray-goose wings,
Not in plebeian blood — so mean a deed
Her spirit had disdain’d, — but that which springs
In the more noble veins of heroes, chiefs, and kings.

The first brave knight that by her arrow bled,
Was the young heir of Britain’s happy land;
Scarce from the tortoise had he raised his head, —
The shaft came down, and pierced his better hand;
His glove of steel avail’d not to withstand
The deadly weapon, — from the wounded vein
Gush’d the bright blood, and purpled all the sand:
Disabled thus for fight, he left the plain,
And, groaning, gnash’d his teeth, but more from rage than pain.

The good Count Amboise on the fosse’s bank,
And in the high scalade Clotharius died;
The former pierced from breast to back, the Frank
More dreadfully transfix’d from side to side;
Again she shot; and as the Flemings’ guide
Swung the huge ram, her arrow cut the wind,
And pierced his arm: to draw the dart he tried;
But ill the shaft obey’d his ardent mind,
The shaft indeed he drew, but left the head behind.

As too rash Ademar, the grave and good,
Watch’d the assault far-off, the fatal cane,
Charged with hot wrath, came whizzing where he stood,
And grazed his brow; impatient of the pain,
He clapp’d his hand upon the wounded vein,
When lo, a second nail’d it to his head,
And quivering fix’d in his bewilder’d brain!
He ’falls — his holy blood by woman shed,
Floats o’er his priestly robes, and dyes the sable red.

As Palamed, the young, the bold, and brisk,
Climb’d the tall steps, and on the steep tower’s height
Just placed his foot, disdaining every risk,
To his right eye the seventh shaft took its flight;
Pass’d its orb’d cell, and through the nerves of sight
Issued, vermilion, at the nape; he fell,
Blind with the shadows of fast-hasting night,
And sigh’d out life beneath the citadel
Which he had hoped to win, and had assailed so well.

Thus shot the maid! the Duke meanwhile oppressed
In fresh assaults, beside the Northern gate,
Th’ embattled guard; and to the walls address’d
The most colossal of his engines great, —
A tower of cedar, built sublime to mate
The topmost walls, stupendous to behold!
Pond’rous with ported arms, and fraught with fate,
With half a squadron in its spacious hold —
On thund’rous wheels it moved, and near the turrets roll’d.

Onward it came; far shooting, as it drove,
Lightnings of arrows at its facing foes;
And, as ships use with ships in sea-fights, strove
By instant grappling with the walls to close:
But this the Pagans at all points oppose;
Now pushing back the fabric, batt’ring now
Its front and timber’d sides with clubs, with crows,
And Moorish maces; with the rocks they throw,
Creak the huge beams above, the heaving wheels below.

Such was from this part, such from that the flight
Of stones and darts, that Titan seem’d to shroud
His face, blue heaven show’d brown as summer-night;
And cloud, rebounding, clash’d in air with cloud,
Like two thwart tides: as leaves from forests bow’d
By showers congeal’d in winter’s icy hall
To hail, — as apples shook by whirlwinds loud
In unripe greenness from the stalk, — so fall
In heaps the Moslem foe from the dismantled wall.

For ’twas on them the shot most havoc made,
As less defenced and shelter’d from its power;
Of the forlorn survivors, numbers fled,
In utter terror of the fulmined shower,
And thunder of the strong stupendous tower;
But still the Soldan stay’d, and round him drew
A few bold spirits unalarm’d, the flower
Of Syrian bravery; Argantes too,
Arm’d with a pond’rous beam, against the fabric flew.

Back with vast force, the length of all the pine,
He push’d, and kept it distant; to his side
Came from her tower the Lady palatine,
With them in glory and in risk allied;
Meanwhile the Christians with long scythes divide
From the wall’s headlong perpendicular,
The ropes to which the pendent bales were tied;
Which, down descending, leave the ramparts bare
To all the rude affronts and thunderstrokes of war:

And thus the tower above and ram below
Play with such fury now, that they begin,
Crush’d, cleft and undermined, to yawn, and show
The houses, mosques, and peopled streets within:
Thither the army swarms with lively din,
By Godfrey led beneath the battled marge;
Who, fully bent the tott’ring wall to win,
Moves under compass of that ampler targe,
Which never loads his arm, but on some desp’rate charge.

Thence he perceives Prince Solyman descend
Down to the gaping beach, and, sword in hand,
Th’ attempted pass at all risks to defend,
With fix’d resolve, imperatively grand,
Amidst the ruins take his haughty stand;
Leaving on guard, with providence discreet,
Clorinda and Argantes, to command
The walls; he sees, and feels his bosom beat
With gen’rous scorn of life, and glory’s fervent heat:

And to the good Sigier, who bore behind
His bow and buckler, he directs his speech;
“Give me, my friend, that lighter shield refined,
Whose temper, axe nor sabre can impeach;
Quick! to yon ruin’d rocks I mean to reach;
And of these multitudes the first to be
That pass victorious through the guarded breach;
High time it is, that of my chivalry
Some such transcendent proof the host at length should!

Scarce, changing shields, had he said this, than swift
A barbed arrow on sonorous wing,
Shot from the summit of the mural clift,
Transfix’d his leg, where keenest was the sting,
The nervous region whence its sinews spring:
’Twas thou, Clorinda, if report say true,
Sent the fell shaft, and ’tis thy praise we sing;
From thrall, from death, if then thy Pagan crew
Escaped, to thee alone the laurel-leaves are due.

But the brave Chief, as though he did not feel
The deadly anguish of the hurt he bore,
Ceased not his course, but climb’d with daring zeal
The breach, and down fresh rocky fragments tore,
Cheering his party on; but stiff and sore
The wound soon wax’d; and the encumb’ring foot
His active labors can sustain no more;
Through all the limb keen shiv’ring horrors shoot;
Forced, he at length gives o’er, and quits the wish’d pursuit.

Beck’ning Guelph therefore to his side, he said;
“Withdraw I must; sustain, my friend, I pray,
The Captain’s place and person in my stead,
Supply mine absence in this sharp assay;
Short, at the worst, will be the time I stay,
I do but go and come, — my hurt bites keen,
Though but a bruise;” this said, without delay,
On a light steed he leap’d, and o’er the green
Rode to the Camp, but not, as he supposed, unseen.

With him good fortune from his host departs
In favor of the foe, whose hopes rise high;
Strength and fresh spirits lift their dancing hearts,
Knit the slack arm, and fire the languid eye;
But with the Franks all strength and ardor die;
Weak grow their onsets; they maintain their ground;
But short of blood their darted weapons fly;
The sword still strikes, but strikes without a wound;
And e’en th’ appealing trumps more languishingly sound.

And now again the crowded ramparts show
Those who in panic late were scatter’d thence;
The very women, with the genuine glow
Of patriot rage and martial confidence
Caught from Clorinda, rush to their defence;
With robes succinct, and loose locks they appear,
Ranged all along the spacious ramparts, whence
They toss the dart, nor show the slightest fear
T’ expose their beauteous breasts for fortresses so dear.

But that which most dismay’d the Franks, and most
Revived the guardians of the sacred town,
Was, that a rock, in sight of either host,
Came from afar, and struck Lord Guelpho down;
Amidst a thousand as he climb’d, the stone
Fell where the sinews of the knee were knit,
And ground its shiv’ring armor to the bone;
At the same moment, a like mass alit
On Raymond’s morion’d brows, and him too backward smit.

Eustace is next hurt sore, as from the bank
Of the broad fosse he purposes to spring;
Nor in this hour so adverse to the Frank,
Was there one weapon sent upon the wing,
From horn or hand, from catapult or sling,
That did not, to their cost, or tear apart
Spirit from flesh, or bruise, or keenly sting;
In this success, wild wax’d Argantes’ heart,
And thus he roar’d, in sounds that made both armies start:

“This is not Antioch, nor is this the night
Friendly to Christian guile; look up! survey
The.shining sun, troops wakeful, and the fight;
Of a far different nature and array:
Is then your ancient love of praise and prey
Quite gone? extinct each spark of former fire?
That ye with such admired address give way,
And, spent so soon, from the assault retire,
O foemen! — nay, not men, but maids in men’s attire!’

By such-like taunts the haughty Chevalier
To such excess of rage His temper wrought,
That the large city seem’d too small a sphere
For his hot spirit and capacious thought:
Up, with a shout, his strong beech-spear he caught,
Down leaping from the ramparts, made more wide
The ruin of the breach; and, as he brought
His bulk beneath it, seeing at his side
The dauntless Soldan, thus magnanimously cried:

“Lo, Solyman, the place! and lo, the time,
That may at length decide our proud dispute!
What wait you for? what fear? now first let him
Leap forth, who most the laurel and the fruit
Of sovereignty desires!” with this salute,
Out at once rush’d they through the broken wall,
Their daring deeds to their demands to suit;
That, headstrong rage provoked, and native gall,
This, rival honor much, and much the rival’s call.

Sudden and unforeseen upon the Franks,
In desp’rate rivalship, with shouts they flew;
And from amidst their dissipated ranks
So many soldiers pierced, so many slew,
And bucklers split, and helmets cleft in two,
And ladders broke, and swinging rams cut down,
That it might seem a second rampart grew,
On failure of the first, hill-high, to crown
The ruin’d heap, and fend afresh th’ endanger’d town.

The crowds that late were ardent to ascend
The walls, to danger urged by the desire
Of mural crowns, now scarce themselves defend,
Much less to climb the rifted breach aspire,
But from the fierce assault, dismay’d, retire;
Their rams, their vines, their catapults they quit;
Which, left a prey to the revenging ire
Of the two Pagans, batter’d, crush’d, and split,
Are for all future use soon render’d quite unfit.

Like rapt Demoniacs loose, the dreadful pair
Wide and more wide the field of battle scour;
Call to the citizens for fire, and bear
Two blazing pines against the cedarn tower:
Forth from the gates of their Tartarean bower,
So cursed Megara with Alecto breaks,
To set the world in uproar, with the power
Of Dis possess’d; so each fell Sister shakes
Abroad her sparkling brand and bacchanalian snakes.

But Tancred, who elsewhere, yet unrepell’d,
Cheer’d on his troops forth issuing from the vines,
Soon as that bold achievement he beheld,
The double brandish’d flames, the burning pines, —
Broke short his speech, and to the Saracines
Rush’d, to chastise their rage and stay their wrack;
And of his prowess gave such pregnant signs,
That they who late as conqu’rors press’d th’ attack,
Forbore the chase, and fled themselves affrighted back.

Fled the grim Soldan, fled the Mamaluke;
With humbler crests the way they came they went;
Thus changed the war! meanwhile, the wounded Duke
Had reach’d with pain the threshold of his tent;
And now ’twixt Baldwin and Sigier stood bent
On instant succor; crowds on crowds succeed,
Who fill the air with sighing and lament;
He, while endeavoring from the flesh with speed
To draw at once the steel, broke short the rooted reed.

Thus baffled, careless of the coming smart,
He bade them take at once the shortest way
For cure, to largely lance the wounded part,
And bare to sight the barbed weapon lay:
“Send me but back to war, ere closing day
Invalidate our arms, or cool our zeal!”
He said: and straight, forbidding all delay,
Propp’d on his lance, to the physician’s steel
Stretch’d out the afflicted limb, firm resting on his heel.

Gray Erotimus, born beside the Po,
Came to his aid; a sage, who knew the use
And secret virtues of all springs that flow —
Of all green herbs the hills and woods produce;
He too was smiled on by the partial Muse,
But valued sweet Castalia’s warbling wave
Less than the mute fall of Poeonian dews;
His science wounded men from death could save,
And cancell’d names in verse immortally engrave.

Supported stands the Chief, serene; he grieves
But to behold his friends lamenting round;
The ready leech tuck’d up his long loose sleeves,
And with a belt his flowing tunic bound;
With sov’reign herbs attractive, he the wound
Sooth’d, with kind hand soliciting the dart,
Which yet stirr’d not; when this the Ancient found,
With nipping pincers he perform’d his part;
Still the vex’d steel adhered, and mock’d his nicest art.

No way seems Fortune willing to assist
His purpose or his skill; and Godfrey shows
Signs of sharp agony, — a deathlike mist
Swims o’er his sight, and from his members flows
A dead cold sweat: but piteous of his throes,
His guardian Angel from Mount Ida flies
With gather’d dittany; an herb that blows
With purple flowers, delightful to the eyes,
In whose young downy leaves divinest virtue lies.

The secret powers of this celestial plant,
Maternal Nature to the mountain goat
Suggests, when, wounded in its heathy haunt,
The shaft adheres within its shaggy coat;
This now, though from a region so remote,
The winged Angel in a moment bears;
And, so that none the heavenly succor note,
In the warm bath which next the sage prepares,
Distils the sprightly juice, nor other med’cines spares.

Dews from the Lydian well, ambrosial oils,
And odorous panacee therein he flings:
The Sage with this the thrilling wound embroils,
And, thus fomented, the barb’d steel outsprings
With voluntary impulse, — pain’s sharp stings
Cease, the blood stanches, the cleft parts combine,
And a fresh vigor each lax tendon strings:
“Lo!” cried the leech, “this is no cure of mine;
This is not art’s effect, but done by hands divine.

“Some Angel, shooting from the stars unspied,
Has been thy surgeon; of his heavenly hand
I see the tokens; arm then, arm!” he cried,
“Why linger? back, the battle to command!”
His leg the Chieftain with a purple band
Wrapp’d round, and, ardent for the war, in haste
Seized his ash-spear immeasurably grand,
Again upon his arm his buckler braced,
And on his cheerful brows the glist’ning helmet laced.

And from his tent toward the shaken town,
Turn’d with a thousand knights, and left the camp;
Clouds of raised dust the sapphire skies embrown,
In heaven’s bright temple fades th’ immortal lamp;
Trembles the firm earth underneath their stamp;
And, far-off as the foes his coming spy,
Chill flows their blood; their zeal faint horrors damp,
And through their bones fear’s shiv’ring lightnings fly; —
Loudshouted Godfrey thrice, loud thunder’d thrice th’ sky.

Well knew his men the tones, which in them breath
Zeal for the strife, and sorrow for their fault;
Their faintness, fears, they to the winds bequeath,
And rush, renew’d, like lions to th’ assault:
Press’d home, the two ferocious Pagans vault
Into the mural breach; thence quick protend
Their poignant spears, their moony shields exalt,
And stubbornly the rifted pass defend
From Tancred’s knights, that thick as buzzing bees.

Hither came Godfrey, gloriously emboss’d
In arms, wrath flashing from His looks severe;
And the next moment at Argantes toss’d
The Jove-like lightnings of his awful spear;
Never from town or tower did engineer
From the strong scorpion rock or javelin cast
With more consummate force or swift career, —
The knotty beam e’en thunder’d as it pass’d;
Up raised the knight his shield, to meet it naught aghast.

The poignant ash his shield in sunder clove,
Nor could his coat of mail its flight restrain;
Through shield, belt, corselet, mining it drove,
And in pure vermeil did its point ingrain;
But the fierce knight, impregnable to pain,
From his pierced veins and shatter’d brigantine
Pluck’d the fix’d steel; and, hurling it amain
At Godfrey, cried; “To thee I re-consign
The gift; look thou thereto; it is no toy of mine I”

Back on its mission of revenge, the spear
Through the known path careering flew, but now
Struck not the mark at which ’twas aim’d; the Peer,
Its flight foreseeing, bent his plumed head low,
And fairly shunn’d the meditated blow:
Yet void it fell not! deep the weapon lies
In Sigier’s throat; he dies, but not in wo;
Since in the stead of his loved lord he dies,
Glad from its cherish’d shrine the faithful spirit flies.

At the same instant, with a pointed rock,
The powerful Soldan smote the Norman lord;
Who stagg’ring, reeling, dizzied with the shock,
E’en like a whirling top from the child’s cord,
Spun round, and senseless sank upon the sward:
Godfrey no longer could his wrath command;
But, brandishing his unsheath’d blade abroad,
Clamber’d high up the ruin’d heap, where stand
The two colossal knights, and braved them, hand to hand.

Then glorious deeds he did, and would have done,
For sharp and deadly were the strokes he gave;
But, curtain’d in red clouds the slumberous sun
Went down, and from her dark Cimmerian cave
Night came, pacific, o’er the world to wave
Her arbitrary sceptre, and allay
The rage of wretched mortals; Bouillon brave
Thus ceased from fight, and through the shadows gray
Led back his hosts to camp: so pass’d that bloody day.

But, ere the pious Chief forsook the field,
He saw the wounded borne in spacious car
Safe to the tents, nor to the foe would yield
In prey an atom of his works of war;
The tower that did with most of havoc mar
The marble walls, and scared with most affright,
Remain’d entire, though seam’d with many a scar;
The dreadful storm and thunders of the fight,
Though they had bruised its frame, had left the timbers tight.

Scaped the dire perils of the strife, it leaves
For a safe spot the scene of enterprise;
But, as a vessel crowding sail, that cleaves
The roaring sea and its vex’d waves defies,
Just as its wish’d-for port the Captain spies
Clear through his optic tube, in sudden squall,
Strikes on hid rocks, — or as a steed, that plies
With sure-foot speed his journey safe through all
The rugged lanes, drops down, in sight of his sweet stall; —

So the tower struck, so stumbled! on the side
Which had sustain’d th’ artillery of the foe,
Two wheels broke down whereon the piece should slide,
Already crazed by some tempestuous blow;
That the huge engine stay’d its motion slow,
And overhead hung ruinous in air;
But they with beams support it from below,
Till the prompt architects with skilful care
Uprear th’ enormous bulk, its breaches to repair.

Thus Godfrey bade, that the stupendous mass
Might be refitted, ere the morning smile;
Then with His soldiers occupied each pass,
And station’d guards around the spacious pile;
But with the shrill sound of the saw and file,
Commingling rumors of the Chief’s designs
Are by the townsmen clearly heard; the while
A thousand lights around the structure shine,
Whereby the work they watch, the latent scheme divine.