Book III

The odorous air, morn’s messenger, now spread
Its wings to herald, in serenest skies,
Aurora issuing forth, her radiant head
Adorn’d with roses pluck’d in Paradise;
When in full panoply the hosts arise,
And loud and spreading murmurs upward fly,
Ere yet the trumpet sings; its melodies
They miss not long, the trumpet’s tuneful cry
Gives the command to march, shrill sounding to the sky.

The skilful Captain, with a gentle rein
Guides their desires, and animates their force;
And though ’twould seem more easy to restrain
Charybdis in its mad volubil course,
Or bridle Boreas in, when gruffly hoarse
He tempests Apenninus and the gray
Ship-shaking Ocean to its deepest source, —
He ranks them, urges, rules them on the way;
Swiftly they march, yet still with swiftness under sway.

Wing’d is each heart, and winged every heel;
They fly, yet notice not how fast they fly;
But by the time the dewless meads reveal
The fervent sun’s ascension in the sky,
Lo, tower’d Jerusalem salutes the eye!
A thousand pointing fingers tell the tale;
“Jerusalem!” a thousand voices cry,
“All hail, Jerusalem!” hill, down, and dale,
Catch the glad sounds, and shout, “Jerusalem, all hail!”

Thus, when a crew of fearless voyagers,
Seeking new lands, spread their audacious sails
In the hoar Arctic, under unknown stars,
Sport of the faithless waves and treach’rous gales;
If, as their little bark the billow scales,
One views the long-wish’d headland from the mast,
With merry shouts the far-off coast he hails,
Each points it out to each, until at last
They close in present joy the troubles of the past.”

To the pure pleasure which that first far view
In their reviving spirits sweetly shed,
Succeeds a deep contrition, feelings new, —
Grief touch’d with awe, affection mix’d with dread;
Scarce dare they now upraise the abject head,
Or turn to Zion their desiring eyes,
The chosen city! where Messias bled,
Defrauded Death of his long tyrannies,
New clothed his limbs with life, and reassumed the skies:

Low accents, plaintive whispers, groans profound,
Sighs of a people that in gladness grieves,
And melancholy murmurs float around,
Till the sad air a thrilling sound receives,
Like that which sobs amidst the dying leaves,
When with autumnal winds the forest waves;
Or dash of an insurgent sea that heaves
On lonely rocks, or lock’d in winding caves,
Hoarse through their hollow aisles in wild low cadence raves.

Each, at his Chief’s example, lays aside
His scarf and feather’d casque, with every gay
And glitt’ring ornament of knightly pride,
And barefoot treads the consecrated way.
Their thoughts, too, suited to their changed array,
Warm tears devout their eyes in showers diffuse, —
Tears, that the haughtiest temper might allay;
And yet, as though to weep they did refuse,
Thus to themselves their hearts of hardness they accuse.

“Here, Lord, where currents from thy wounded side

’d the besprinkled ground with sanguine red,
Should not these two quick springs at least, their tide
In bitter memory of thy passion shed!
And melt’st thou not, my icy heart, where bled
Thy dear Redeemer? still must pity sleep?
My flinty bosom, why so cold and dead?
Break, and with tears the hallow’d region steep.
If that thou weep’st not now, forever shouldst thou weep!”

Meanwhile the Guard that from a lofty tower
In the far city cast abroad his view,
Mark’d the dust rise, and like a thunder-shower
Printed in air, turn dark th’ ethereal blue:
The gloomy cloud seem’d pregnant as it flew
With fire, — anon, bright metals flash’d between
Its shaken wreaths, and as it nearer drew,
Dim through the storm were apparitions seen —
Spearmen, and issuing steeds, and chiefs of godlike mien.

He saw, and raised his terrible alarm;
“O rise, all citizens below, arise;
Mount to the walls; haste! arm! this instant arm!
Lo, what a dust upon the whirlwind flies,
And lo, the lightning of their arms!” he cries, —
“The foeman is at hand!” then, yet more loud,
He calls, “Shall the swift foe the town surprise?
Quick, seize your weapons; mark the dusty cloud
That hither rolls! it wraps all heaven within its shroud!”

The simple infant and the aged sire,
Matrons and trembling maids, to whom belong
Nor strength, nor skill to make defence, retire,
A pale, disconsolate, and suppliant throng,
In sad procession to the mosques: the strong
In spirit as in limbs, obey the call;
Seizing their arms in haste, they speed along,
Part flock to guard the gates, part man the wall;
The king to all parts flies, sees, cares, provides for all.

His orders given, for every need prepared,
He from the thick’ning tumult has withdrawn,
And scales a tower that ’twixt two portals rear’d,
O’erlooks the plain, and holds the hills in scorn.
His steps Erminia, lovely as the mom,
At call attends; with all respect received,
His royal Court her winning charms adorn,
Since Antioch by the Christians was achieved,
And o’er her kingly sire the orphan-princess grieved.

Meantime Clorinda hastes against the Franks,
First of her band, with many a gallant knight,
While in a secret porch Argantes ranks
His troops, prepared for rescue or for fight.
Her words, intrepid as her mien, excite
Fire in all hearts, as thus the heroine spoke:
“Well it becomes us, arm’d in Asia’s right,
To found the loosening of her hated yoke
On the auspicious base of some determined stroke!”

Lo, Fortune, as she speaks, th’ occasion yields!
A band of Franks sent onward to forecast
The army’s wants, from foraging the fields,
Near them, with flocks and herds returning, pass’d;
She towards them, and to her rush’d as fast
Their Chief, when he beheld her silver crest; —
Guardo his name, a man of puissance vast,
But weak with her the laurel to contest; —
Onward abrupt they drove, their lances laid in rest.

Breathless to earth the hapless Frank was strook
By the fierce shock, in either army’s sight;
From his mischance the shouting Pagans took
Their joyous augury of the future fight:
Onward she flew upon the rest, the might
Of numbers flashing in her single blade;
Fast in their serried ranks she pour’d the light;
Her warriors follow’d through the gap she made,
Where her assault had been, where yet her falchion play’d.

Soon from the spoiler they the spoil obtain;
The Franks give way, yet to their standard, keep,
Till slow the summit of a hill they gain,
And stand assisted by the rising steep:
When as a tempest, which the whirlwinds sweep
Abroad, breaks loose, and in aerial dance
Warm from its skirts the vivid lightnings leap,
Tancred at Godfrey’s beck made swift advance
With his Italian troop, and couch’d his quivering lance.

The king beheld him from his tower, and deem’d
Him of all men the choicest cavalier,
So young, so resolute, so brave he seem’d,
And bore with such a grace his beamy spear;
Whence he bespake the fair Erminia near,
Whose palpitating heart in secret thrilled
As at the sight of something deeply dear;
“Well shouldst thou know, in many a fighting field
Mark’d out, each Christian knight, howe’er in arms conceal’d.”

“Who then is this, that in fierce grace outstrips
All other knights?” In room of a reply,
The quick breath fluttered round her lovely lips,
The big tear trembled in her full blue eye:
These she reclaim’d, yet not so carelessly
As to escape regard, — a conscious red
Tinged her averted cheek, the sudden sigh,
Choked to a groan, spoke plain of.feeling fled,
And o’er her tearful eyes a radiant circlet spread.

In these delusive words her answer ran,
Veiling her love beneath the mask of hate;
“Too well I know th’ inexorable man,
And should, amidst a thousand! but of late,
His savage soul I saw him satiate
With slaughter, — saw him flesh his angry steel
Upon the best of our Assyrian state:
Cruel are all his strokes! the wounds they deal,
No magic charm can stanch, no breathing balsam heal!

“He is Prince Tancred; oh that he, some day,
Might be my slave! I would not wish him dead;
Glad that he lives, so might I thus repay
In sweet revenge my wrongs upon his head!
That would indeed he some small joy,” she said,
And the king fail’d not, as she wish’d, to wrest
The meaning of her words, ascribed, instead
Of love, to hate: she ceased, but from her breast
Stole forth a mournful sigh that would not be repress’d.

Meanwhile Clorinda rushes to assail
The Prince, and level lays her spear renown’d;
Both lances strike, and on the barr’d ventayle
In shivers fly, and she remains discrown’d;
For, burst its silver rivets, to the ground
Her helmet leap’d, (incomparable blow!)
And by the rudeness of the shock unbound,
Her sex to all the field emblazoning so,
Loose to the charmed winds her golden tresses flow —

Then blazed her eyes, then flash’d her angry glance,
Sweet e’en in wrath; in laughter then what grace
Would not be theirs! — but why that thoughtful trance I?
And, Tancred, why that scrutinizing gaze?
Know’st not thine idol? lo, the same dear face,
Whence sprang the flame that on thy heart has prey’d.’
The sculptured image in its shrine retrace,
And in thy foe behold the noble maid,
Who to the sylvan spring for cool refreshment stray’d.

He, who her painted shield and silver crest
Mark’d not at first, stood spell-bound at the sight;
She, guarding as she could her head, still press’d
Th’ assault, and struck, but he forbore the fight,
And to the rest transferring his despite,
Plied fast his whirling sword; yet not the less
Ceased she to follow and upbraid his flight,
With taunt and menace heightening his distress;
And, “Turn, false knight!” she cried, loud shouting through the press.

Struck, he not once returns the stroke, nor seeks
So much to ward the meditated blow,
As in those eyes and on those charming cheeks
To gaze, whence Passion’s fond emotions flow:
“Void,” to himself he says, “too cruel foe,
Void fall the strokes which that beloved arm
Distributes in its wrath! no fatal throe
Is that thy cimeter creates; the harm
Is in thy angry looks, that wound me while they charm!”

Resolved at length not unconfess’d to fall,
Though hopeless quite her pity to obtain,
That she might know she struck her willing thrall,
Defenceless, suppliant, crouching to her chain;
“O thou,” said he, “that followest o’er the plain
Me as thine only foe, of all this wide
Presented people! yet thy wrath restrain;
The press let us forsake, so may aside
Thy force with mine be proved, my skill with thine be tried.

“Then shalt thou measure in the face of day
Thy strength with mine, nor own my valor less.”
Pleased she assents, and boldly leads the way,
Unhelm’d, — he follows in his mute distress.
Already stood th’ impatient Warrioress
Prepared, already had she struck, when he
Exclaim’d; “Hold! hold! ere we ourselves address
To the stern fight, ’tis fit we should agree
Upon the terms of strife; fix first what these shall be!”

Her arm she stay’d; strong love and wild despair
A reckless courage to his mind impart;
“These be the terms,” said he, “since you forswear
All peace with me, pluck out my panting heart,
Mine own no more! I willingly shall part
With life, if farther life thy pride offend;
Long have I pined with love’s tormenting smart;
’Tis fit the fond and feverish strife should end;
Take then the worthless life which I will ne’er defend.

“Behold! my arms are offer’d, — I present
My breast without defence, — spare not to smite!
Or shall I speed the task? I am content
To strip my cuirass off, and thus invite
Thy cruel steel!” — in harsher self-despite,
The mournful youth would have proclaim’d his woes,
But suddenly, in craft or panic fright,
The Pagans yield to their pursuing foes,
And his brave troops rush by, and numbers interpose.

Like driven deer before th’ Italian band
They yield, they fly in swiftness unconfined;
One base pursuer saw Clorinda stand,
Her rich locks spread like sunbeams on the wind,
And raised his arm in passing, from behind,
To stab secure the undefended maid;
But Tancred, conscious of the blow design’d,
Shriek’d out, “Beware!” to warn th’ unconscious maid,
And with his own good sword bore off the hostile blade.

Still the stroke fell, and near the graceful head
Her snowy neck received the point, which drew
Some rosy drops, that crimson’d, as they shed,
Her yellow curls with their bespangling dew;
E’en thus gold beams with the blush-rose’s hue,
When round it rubies sparkle from the hand
Of some rare artist; trembling at the view,
His wrath the Prince no longer may command,
But on the caitiff falls, and shakes his threatening brand.

The villain flies, and full of rage the knight
Pursues, — as arrows swift, they scour the plains:
Perplex’d she stands, and keeps them both in sight
To a great distance, nor to follow deigns,
But quickly her retreating band regains; —
Sometimes she fronts in hostile attitude
Th’ arrested Franks, now flies, and now disdains
To fly, — fights, flies again, as suits her mood,
Nor can she well be term’d pursuer or pursued.

So in the Circus the fierce bull turns back
To gore the baying mastiffs that pursue;
They pause — but still as he resumes his track,
Their ruffian clamors savagely renew.
She, as she fled, above her shoulders threw
Her guardian buckler, like an orbed sun;
So at their sports gymnastic may we view
The fugitive Morescos shielded run,
Dext’rous the darted balls on nimble feet to shun,s.

While these give chase, and those assaulted fly.
To the town-walls they now approaching drew,
When on the sudden, with a frightful cry,
Back on the Christians came the Pagan crew;
First wheeling far aloof, and then anew
Returning nigh, with circumventing skill
They on the wings and rear tempestuous flew;
While undisguised Argantes down the hill
Moved to assail the front, and shouted wild and shrill.

Before his troops the fierce Avenger pass’d,
All eager first to pounce upon the prey;
Over and over, at one charge he cast
The horse and rider that first cross’d his way;
And ere to shivers flew his lance, there lay
Whole heaps of such in his encumber’d track;
Then from its scabbard leaps his sword, and aye
Whom it but fully reaches to attack,
It either kills, or wounds, or beats affrighted back.

In rivalry of him Clorinda slew
Ardelio brave, of years now most mature,
But though by age untamed, and fenced by two
Bold sons, he was not from her sword secure:
For a sharp wound which he could ill endure,
First from the sire removed Ins eldest pride,
Unblest Alcander; and his trust, the sure
Young Polypheme, assistant at his side.
For -his own menaced life but barely could provide.

But Tancred, finding that he vainly chased
The ruffian, who a swifter steed displayed,
Look’d back and saw how far intemperate -haste
Hurried the valor of his bold brigade;
Hemm’d in he saw it, to the sword betray’d,
And spurring back, to the corrected rein,
His gallant steed, came quickly to their aid;
Nor he alone, but that adventurous train,
Who every risk of war unshrinkingly sustain.

Dudon’s choice phalanx to the rescue throng,
The flower of heroes, dragons of the fight;
And noblest, bravest, foremost rush’d along,
The gay and versatile Rinaldo, light
As the wild wind; Erminia knew the knight
By his bold port and azure-tinted shield,
Where the bird argent spreads its plumes for flight,
And to the king, who watch’d him through the field,
Exclaim’d, “Lo there the youth to whom all knights must yield!

“But few or none in tournament can vie
With him, though yet but into boyhood grown;
Could Europe six such paragons supply,
Salem were not, and Syria were o’erthrown;
The South her strong supremacy would own,
Kingdoms that lie beneath the morning star
Stoop to her rule, and in the burning zone,
Vainly perhaps would Nilus seek afar,
Amid his secret springs a refuge from the war!

“Rinaldo is his name; his angry sword
More threats your walls than the most huge machine:
But turn to where I point; yon noble lord,
Glitt’ring in armature of gold and green,
Is gallant Dudon, to whose call convene
The band to which I see your eyes advert,
Advent’rers chivalrous, — a warrior keen,
Who high-bom, active, and in arms expert,
Greatly transcends in years, nor yields in true desert.

“That towering figure, sheath’d in brown, has birth
From Norway’s king, Gernando is his name:
No prouder creature breathes, throughout the earth;
A single foible sullying all his fame.
But lo, urged on forever by one aim,
Where Edward and his dear Gildippe move!
Their mantles, arms, and ornaments the same,
Argent! in bridal harmony they rove,
Famed both for deeds of arms, and loyalty of love.

While thus Erminia communes with the king,
Below, yet deeper carnage dyes the fields;
There Tancred and Rinaldo break the ring,
Dense with conflicting men and serried shields;
Then pour th’ Adventurers in, and bravely wields
Each knight the weapon of his sharp disdain;
Argantes’ self, the proud Argantes yields;
Beat by Rinaldo backward on the plain
In sudden shock, he scarce his footing can regain: —

Nor e’er had he renew’d the stern debate,
But the same instant fell Rinaldo’s steed,
And from the pressure of its cumbrous weight
The noble youth not easily was freed.
Meanwhile, diffused in flight, with headlong.
On to the barbican the Pagans hied;
Argantes and Clorinda sole impede —
Mounds to its wrath — th’ irruptions of the tide
That on them bursts behind with such insulting pride.

Last they retire, and the pursuing force
Of battle hold in check, and so restrain,
That those who flee before, screen’d in their course,
With less of ruin gored the city gain.
Still Dudon, flush’d with conquest, gave the rein
To his curvetting horse, that with a bound
Bore down the fierce Tigranes; not in vain
The sharp sword struck; he headless fell to ground.
And, savage e’en in death, superb defiance frown’d.

Naught his fine hauberk Algazel avails,
Naught his strong helmet Corbano defends;
Them through the nape and back he so assails,
That through the face and breast the steel protends:
With fell Almanzor next two valiant friends,
Mahmoud and Amurath, his trenchant brand
From pleasant life to Lethe quickly sends;
The valor flashing from his armed hand,
Not e’en Circassia’s Duke could unannoy’d withstand.

He frets within himself, with rage he burns,
Oft stops, wheels round, yet still the field forsakes;
At last so sudden on his foe he turns,
And with a spring like the uncoiling snake’s,
At Dudon’s side so fierce a thrust he makes,
That deep within, it bathes the griding blade,
And from the Chief all power of motion takes;
He falls; and his shut eyes, with pain o’erweigh’d,
An adamantine sleep and quietude invade.

Thrice he unclosed them, and the sun’s sweet light
Sought to enjoy; thrice on his arm arose,
And thrice fell back; then dark the veil of night
Involved his eyes, which, tired, forever close.
His limbs relax; from all his members flows
A dead, cold sweat; the pulses cease their play,
And sensibly an icy stiffness grows:
Upon the knight now dead, no idle stay
The fierce Argantes makes, but instant hies his way.

Yet turning, as he speeds, his cruel eye
On his antagonists, he cries aloud:
“This falchion, streaming with so bright a dye,
Is that which yesterday your Prince bestow’d!
Quick! be its quittance to his ear avow’d;
Tell him what havoc it has done to-day;
Glad will he be to find a gift so proud,
Brought to its trial, stand the sharp assay;
How I must prize it, think, — how I have used it, say!

“Tell him, that soon he may expect to see
In his own bowels proof of it more sure;
That if he hastes not to the battle, we
Will drag him from his tented coverture!”
The irritated Franks but ill endure
The brutal message and insulting call;
All press’d to charge him; but he pass’d secure
Beneath the favor of the guarded wall,
And reach’d the rest that fled, unhurt, unharm’d of all.

Then from the battlements of either tower,
A storm of stones obscured the sleety air,
And arrows, an immitigable shower,
Innumerable archers fulmine there
From the tough bow; the Christians pause, — they dare
No further press, but shrinking from the storm,
Perforce the relics of the Pagans spare;
’Twas then Rinaldo show’d his martial form,
Freed from his fallen horse, as Jovo’s red lightnings warm.

He came, on the barbaric homicide
Slain Dudon’s debt with usury to repay,
And to his pausing troops sublimely cried,
“What wait you for! what means this base delay?
Slain is the gallant lord, your Chieftain, — say,
What is it stays you? what is it appals?
Forward this instant, and the town essay!
What! when so great a cause for vengeance calls,
Shall we be held in check by these weak mould’ring walls?

“No! though with adamant each charmed tower
Were flank’d, or triply fenced with stubborn steel,
Safe in its pale th’ assassin should not cower,
But the full measure of your vengeance feel;
On! on!” and seconding the high appeal
By instant action, to the walls, before
All else he rushes; in his ardent zeal
Scorning with guarded head the shower and roar
Of stones, and shafts, and darts, that from the engines pour.

He shakes his sable plumes, he lifts his face,
So full of fierce resolve, that it enchains
The energies of all who guard the place, —
An icy fear runs thrilling through their veins.
While thus the seized advantage he maintains,
And those to menace seeks, and these to sheer,
In rushes one who his desire restrains;
Godfrey has sent to them the good Sigier,
Of his discreet commands th’ executor severe:

Who in his reverenced name commands them back,
And chides a step so rash and so absurd:
“This is no time,” he cries, “for the attack;
Godfrey recalls you from the risk incurr’d.
Back! back!” Rinaldo, who the rest had spurr’d
To the near danger, thus compell’d to yield,
Slowly receded, utt’ring not a word,
But inly chafed, and outwardly reveal’d
More than one pregnant sign of anger, ill conceal’d.

Unharass’d of the foe, by due degrees,
The Franks bore off, and full of sorrow paid
The last sad rites and solemn offices
Due to the person of the noble dead;
Borne in their pious arms, his friends convey’d
The sacred weight along, — while on the height
Of fair Mount Olivet, the Duke survey’d
The city’s strength, appliances, and site;
Rampire, and battled crag, and fastness shaped for fight.

On two bold hills Jerusalem is seen,
Of size unequal, face to face opposed;
A wide and pleasant valley lies between,
Dividing hill from hill; three sides, the coast
Lies craggy, difficult, and high, disposed
In steep acclivities; the fourth is cast
In gentlest undulations, and enclosed
By walls of height insuperable and vast,
That seem to brave the sky, and face the Arctic blast.

Cisterns for rain, canals, and living fountains
Make glad the thirsting city; but around,
Barren, and bare, and naked are the mountains,
And scarce one solitary flower is found
To blossom near: no sylvans, sun-embrown’d,
Shut out the fervid noon; no valley shines
With lapse of lakes, nor falling waters sound;
One forest yet the blue horizon lines,
Black with the baleful shades of cypresses and pines.

Here, tow’rd the regions of the orient day,
The stately Jordan leads its happy wave;
There, where the solemn sunset fades away,
A sandy shore Levantine billows lave;
North, with Samaria Bethel stands, which gave
Fires to the Golden Calf, of hell beguiled;
And last, where Auster from his southern cave
Let loose the showery winds and tempests wild,
Bethlehem, whose matron lap received the Heaven-bons Child.

Now as the Chief the city’s walls espied —
Its strength, its site — and in his wisdom weigh’d
Where best he could encamp, and on which side
The hostile towers might safest be essay’d,
To Aladine divine Erminia said,
Her eager finger pointing to the place:
“That Godfrey is, in purple robes array’d!
Observe, with what a military grace
He moves! august his port, and dignified his pace!

“He of a truth was born for empire: yes!
So well he knows to govern and command;
Great as a general, as a knight no less,
Sceptre and sword were fashion’d to his hand!
I know not one of all that countless band,
More warlike, or more wise; Raymond the sage,
Perhaps in counsel by his side might stand,
Rinaldo, Tancred equal warfare wage,
These from their sprightlier youth, and Raymond from his age.”

“Him,” the king answer’d, “I remember well:
I saw him at the splendid Court of France,
When envoy there from Egypt, and could tell
How gallantly in joust he bore his lance;
And though his years, which then did scarce advance
Beyond gay boyhood, had begun to grave
No manly lines on his smooth cheek, his glance,
Bold deeds, reflective mind, and semblance brave,
Of loftiest hopes e’en then a certain presage gave.

“Too sure, alas!” and here his troubled eyes
He cast to earth, till gath’ring voice, he said:
“But who is he that as an equal vies
With him, in mantle of resplendent red?
How like in form and visage! e’en his tread
Betrays a strange similitude, though less
I deem his stature:” “That,” rejoin’d the maid,
“Is Baldwin, like in aspect and address,
But brother most in soul and princely nobleness.”

“Now mark the man near Godfrey, in the guise
Of an adviser; he deserves all praise!
That is Earl Raymond, prudent, close, and wise,
Of rev’rend tresses white with length of days;
Such politic manoeuvres none displays —
Latin or Frank — in battle to o’erwhelm,
Or to deceive: but he that blinds our gaze,
The sunshine playing on his gilded helm,
Is William, the young hope of Britain’s distant realm.

“With him is Guelph, in rich estates, high blood,
And thirst for honor equal with the best;
I know him well by his firm attitude,
By his broad shoulders and dilated chest:
But my chief foe, for whom in eager quest
I have so long look’d round, I nowhere see,
Fell Bohemond, th’ assassin! he oppress’d
My subjects, slew my she, and left to me
No joy but that of tears, no friends but Heaven and thee!’

Thus commune they; while, having well survey’d
The City, Bouillon join’d his hosted train,
And as he judged that battery and scalade
On all sides else would be essay’d in vain, —
Against the Northern Gate, on the near plain
Fixing his standard, he encamps; and thence
His
’d troops extending, till they gain
The Corner Tower, the whole vast field presents
One long continuous scene of equipage and tents.

By this extensive circuit the third part
Of the devoted City was embraced;
And though it baffled all his power and art,
(Such was its range) the whole to circumvest,
Yet what he could to obviate and arrest
All partial aids that to the town might flow,
His active genius compass’d; he possess’d
The heights around, the valley-paths below,
And each strong pass that gave admittance to and fro:

And fortified his Camp, and fenced it well
With bristling palisade and yawning fosse,
Strong to oppose the sallying Infidel,
And all eruptions of a foreign force.
That task accomplish’d, he would see the corse
Of his slain friend; he reach’d the fatal tent,
Where, grieving at th’ irreparable loss,
The soldiers o’er their lifeless Chieftain bent,
And one wild sob ran round of anguish and lament.

His bosom friends the high bier had adorn’d
With ceremonial pomp, a solemn show;
And when the Chief appear’d amidst them, mourn’d
In louder accents, with a tenderer wo;
But pious Godfrey gave no tear to flow,
Not all serene, nor clouded was his look;
Dumb for awhile, his fix’d eyes seem’d to grow
To the loved form they contemplate: — he broke
Silence at length, and thus in calm dejection spoke.

“Tears are not now thy due! from the world’s toil,
Gone to assume in heaven the brighter birth;
A winged Angel, from thy mortal coil
Escaped, thy glory lingers yet round earth!
Christ’s hallow’d warrior living thou went’st forth,
Christ’s champion didst thou die; and now, blest Shade,
The crown and palm of righteousness and worth
Thou wear’st, with joys unspeakable repaid,
Feeding thine eyes on things to fancy unportray’d!

“Yes! thou liv’st happy; and if yet we keep
Vigils of grief, and echo groan for groan,
’Tis not for thee, but for ourselves we weep,
Whose noblest pillar lies in thee o’erthrown;
But though pale Death (a title we disown)
Of earthly aid has stripp’d and
’d vain
Our arms, bright legions stand before the throne,
And raised thyself to that selected train,
Still may thy suit for us celestial aids obtain.

“And as we saw thee, while a mortal, shield
With mortal arms our cause, let us descry
Thy conqu’ring hand for our advantage wield
Heaven’s fatal arms, a spirit of the sky!
Hear now the vows we offer up; be nigh,
And in the hour of ultimate distress
Send down immortal succors from on high;
So will we raise to thee for wrought success,
Hymns of triumphal praise, and in our temples bless!”

He ceased: the last bright beams of day were spent,
And eve ascending in the starless air,
Imposed a sweet oblivion on lament,
Rest to each toil, a truce to every care;
But Godfrey still watch’d, anxious to prepare
The mighty engines, without which he knew
The toil of war would be a brave despair;
Then how to frame their shape, and whence to hew
Materials for the work, perplex’d his mind anew.

But when the morn look’d forth on Jordan’s flood,
The funeral pageant he lamenting led;
An odoriferous ark of cypress wood,
Near a green hill, became Lord Dudon’s bed;
The hill adjoin’d the Camp, and overhead
A lofty palm its verdant foliage flung;
Last, white-robed Priests their anthem o’er the dead,
Slow-moving, hymn’d, and many a tuneful tongue
Sweet at the solemn close his requiescat sung:

And here and there the tree’s proud branches bore
Ensigns and arms, the banner and the bow, —
Spoils, which in fight more fortunate he tore
Or from the Syrian or the Persian foe;
In midst, his own pierced cuirass they bestow,
His hollow helmet, his inverted spear —
And grave this legend on the trunk below:
“Dudon, a champion of the Cross revere;
Pass this tomb with awe — brave Dudon slumbers here.”

The Duke, when thus his piety had paid
The fun’ral rites, and shed his duteous tears,
Sent all his skill’d mechanics to invade
The forest, guarded by a thousand spears;
Veil’d by low hills it stood, the growth of years, —
A Syrian shepherd pointed out the vale,
And thither brought the Camp-artificers
To fabricate the engines doom’d to scale
The City’s sacred towers, and turn her people pale.

Each cheers on each, and to the gen’ral call
Unwonted ravage rends the woods around;
Hew’d by the iron’s piercing edge, down fall,
And with their leafy honors heap the ground,
Pines, savage ashes, beeches, palms renown’d,
Funereal cypresses, the fir-tree high,
Maple, and holm with greens eternal crown’d,
And wedded elm to which the vines apply
Their virgin arms, and curl and shoot into the sky.

Some fell the yews, some fell the warrior-oaks,
Whose trunks have budded to a thousand springs,
And braved immoveable the thousand shocks
Of Boreas rushing on his wintry wings;
And here the alder nods, the cedar swings
On creaking wheels; some bark the trees, some square;
With shouts and clang of arms the valley rings, —
Sick with the sound, the Nymphs their haunts forswear,
The stork her nest forsakes, the lioness her lair.