Book IX

But Hell’s great Plague, who saw her rule dissolved,
The heats allay’d, the passions lull’d to peace,
Immutable of mood, and still resolved
To war on fate and the divine decrees,
Departs, — and where she passes, the green trees
Fade, the sick sun turns pale, the living springs
Stagnate, and cankers blight the flowery leas;
Charged with fresh furies, pond’ring fiercer things,
Headlong she shoots abroad, and claps her sounding wings.

She, knowing well how by the busy arts
Of her foul consorts, to the Camp were lost
Rinaldo, Tancred, and the rest whose parts
In war, were fear’d and celebrated most,
Exclaim’d; “What wait we for, since clear the coast E!
Now let our Solyman, when midnight lowers,
Unlook’d-for come, and slay the sleeping host;
From a discordant camp, exhausted powers,
Surely (or much I hope) the vict’ry will be ours!”

This said, to the Arabian bands she flew,
“Where, made their captain, Solyman remain’d;
Than whom no fiercer man the sabre drew
In Christ’s defiance, or his laws disdain’d;
Not if the Titans were from hell unchain’d, —
Not if the earth were now to renovate
Her big-boned Giants; o’er the Turks he reigned.
And held his court in princely Nice of late,
In all the pomp and pride of oriental state.

He ruled the lands from Sangar’s silver springs
To crook’d Meander and the Grecian shore,
Where the famed Phrygian and Bithynian kings,
The Mysians and the Lydians lived of yore,
With all who hear the stormy Euxine roar:
But when against the Turks, in Asian sky,
The pilgrim armies first their ensigns bore,
Conquer’d his realms, his Paynim chivalry,
Twice fought in tented field, were twice compell’d to flee?

When fortune oft he had in vain essay’d,
Forced to abandon the loved kingdoms lost,
He to the Court of Egypt pass’d, in aid
Of its brave King, who proved a noble host;
Glad that a warrior so renown’d, the boast
Of Asiatic story, should combine
With him in plans which all his soul engross’d, —
To drive the Christian powers from Palestine,
And to their pilgrims still deny the sacred shrine.

But, ere he openly denounced on them
Decided war, to make success more sure,
He would that Solyman, with gold and gem
Giv’n for that use, the Arabs should secure;
While he the Asian and barbaric Moor
Bribed to his ported flag; at his desire
The Soldan went; and quickly to his lure
Attach’d the greedy Arabs’ souls of fire,
Robbers in ev’ry age, and myrmidons of hire.

Thus made their Chief, he now with blade and bow
O’erran Judea, gath’ring ample prey;
So that he barr’d all access to and fro
Betwixt the tented camp and navied bay:
And brooding deep, from bitter day to day,
Over his ancient power, his present lot —
A ruin’d name, an empire pass’d away, —
Some greater deed his wrath resolved to plot,
“Though yet he had not judged, or well determined what.

To him Alecto hurried, in the guise
Of a grave man right venerably old,
With bearded lip, smooth chin, and piercing eyes,
And wrinkled aspect, bloodless to behold:
Her head a Turkish shawl in many a fold
Wreath’d round; the vest across her shoulders flung,
Flow’d to her heel; a cimeter in gold
Shone at her side; aback a quiver hung;
And in her martial hand she bore a bow unstrung.

“While we,” she said, “but traverse empty plains,
A howling wilderness of sands forlorn,
Where now no rapine to be reap’d remains,
Nor conquest gain’d but such as we should scorn,
Godfrey to very heaven exalts his horn,
Smiting the City with his muster’d powers;
And now his engines to the walls are drawn;
And we must see, if unimproved the hours,
Fire ride the flaring wind, and scale her topless towers.

“Shall plunder’d herds, raped flocks, and hamlets burn’d
Be the sole spoils of Solyman? what then,
Are thus thy realms retrieved, thy wrongs return’d,
Rule reacquired, or grandeur thine again?
Rouse thee, arouse! lead forth thine armed men;
Let Dedanim awake; let Kedar rise,
And storm the Dragon in his midnight den!
Trust to thine own Araspes, whose advice
Has, both in good and ill, approved itself of price.

“He looks not for us, dreads us not, disdains
The naked Arab as a tim’rous slave;
Nor dreams that tribes whom custom only trains
To spoils and flight, would dare a deed so grave.
But thy brave worth shall make the rovers brave
Against an armed camp, which slumbers bind
Apt for the sword!” Her counsel thus she gave;
And breathing all her furies in his mind,
Mounted the passing cloud, and mingled with the wind.

He, lifting up his arm toward the skies,
Shouts to her, — “Thou, who fir’st my spirit so!
No man art thou, though under man’s disguise;
I know thee — follow thee, behold! I go:
Where plains extended, mountains now shall grow,
Mountains of lifeless people gash’d and stark;
Where burn’d the desert, streams of blood shall flow;
Be now my Genius; lead me to the mark;
And rule my lifted lance to conquer through the dark!”

No dallying; no delay! he sounds his swarms,
Collects, harangues them, wins them to combine;
And with his own electric ardor warms
The Camp to second his matured design:
All stand prepared; Alecto gave the sign; —
With her own lips the sounding brass she blew,
And loosed the banner on its breezy pine;
Swift march the hosts, but still as falling dew, —
So still, so swift, they e’en the course of fame outflew.

Alecto led, then left them; she assumed
A courier’s likeness and succinct array,
And at the time when check’ring twilight gloom’d,
And earth, ’twixt serious night and cheerful day,
Seem’d pond’ring which dominion to obey,
Entering the City, to the king’s divan
Through the mix’d multitudes she made her way;
And to his ear disclosed what Solyman
Purposed by night — the hour, the signal, and the plan —

But now black shadows, flush’d with vapors red,
Curtain’d the moon; the weeping stars withdrew;
And the chill skies, in lieu of hoar-frost, shed
On earth the semblance of a bloody dew:
Pale meteors fell; malignant goblins flew
Through heaven; and groans that froze the soul with fright
Were heard, while from his grots of brimstone blue,
The King of Ghosts let loose each damned sprite,
And from the void abyss spumed forth his densest night.

Through these drear glooms the fiery Solyman
Sought the devoted tents; but when Night’s wain
Had measured half its journey, and began
Sheer down heaven’s western steep to drive amain,
Within a mile of the pavilion’d plain,
Where the lulled Christian in his martial cloak
Slept unsuspecting, he his barb’rous train
With food refresh’d; then, farther to provoke
Their souls to deeds of blood, thus eloquently spoke:

“Look on yon Camp, with thousand thefts and spoils
Dress’d out, more widely famed than strongly mann’d,
That, like a sea, into its greedy coils
Has gather’d all the wealth of Asian land!
This now boon Fortune offers to your hand,
The amplest booty with the slightest cost,
And the least peril; all is at command, —
Steeds, clothed in scarlet, arms, with gold emboss’d,
Woo you, not profit them; all, all shall be engross’d!

“This is no more the host whose arms subdued
Imperial Nice, and clove the Persian’s crest;
For in a war so long as hath ensued,
The greater part, of life lie dispossess’d:
Yet, grant it were entire, — in deepest rest
Is it not drown’d! the sabre in the sheath?
Unlaced the hauberk? he is soon oppress’d
Who sleeps, — his life hangs by a slender breath;
Warriors! the cell of sleep is but the porch to death.

“On then, come on! I first will cleave a path
Through the grim guards within the enter’d wall;
Let all swords strike like mine! pattern your wrath
By mine; by mine your cruelty and gall!
Now let the Galilean’s empire fall;
Now write you glorious in immortal gore;
And free your Asia from the tyrant’s thrall!”
Thus he inflamed their spirits to the core;
Then to the deed of death moved stilly as before.

Lo, through the gloom the sentinels he spies,
By the faint twinkling of a casual lamp!
Nor can he longer hope in full surprise
To take the cautious Duke and slumb’ring Camp.
The sentries soon beheld his lion-ramp,
And, their alarum sounding loud, bear back,
Warn’d of his numbers by their sullen tramp;
So that the foremost guards were roused, nor slack
To seize their ready arms, and face the near attack.

Sure of discov’ry now, the Arabs wound
Their barb’rous horns, and raised their yelling cry,
“Lilian il Allah!” to the well-known sound
Neigh’d all their steeds — earth rang as they rush’d by:
Bellow’d the mountains, roar’d the rifted sky,
Roar’d the deep vales; th’ abysses caught the tone,
And answer’d in drear thunder, while on high,
Alecto the blue torch of Phlegethon
Shook toward Zion hill, and sign’d her legions on.

First rush’d the Soldan on the guard, e’en then
In lax confusion, unarranged; less swift
Leaps the grim lion from his bosky den,
Shoots the fierce eagle from her mountain clift:
Floods, that pluck up and in their rapid drift
Roll down huts, rocks, and trees; lightnings, that blast
Strong towers with bolts that leave a burning rift;
Earthquakes, whose motions turn the world aghast,
Are symbols weak to paint the force with which he pass’d.

His sabre never through the grisly shade
Falls, but it smites; nor smites without a wound;
Nor wounds, but straight it kills; should more be said,
The truth would like romance or falsehood sound.
Pain he dissembles, or he has not found,
Or scorns the blows which feebler arms imprint;
Yet oft his burganet of steel rings round
Like loud alarm-bells with the lively dint
Of pole-axe, spear, or sword, and sparkles like a flint.

Just as his single sword to flight delivers
This foremost phalanx, a gigantic deed,
Like a sea swell’d with thousand mountain-rivers,
His rushing Arabs to the charge succeed.
Then the scared Franks flew tent-ward at full speed,
Th’ audacious Victor following as they fled;
And with them, rapt sublime on his black steed,
Ent’ring the camp-gate, he on all sides spread
Havoc, and grief, and pain; loud waitings, rage, and dread.

High on the Soldan’s helm, in scales of pearl,
With writhen neck, raised paws, outflying wings,
And tail roll’d downward, ending in a curl,
A rampant dragon grinn’d malignant things:
Its lips froth’d poison; brandishing three stings,
You almost heard its hiss; at ev’ry stroke
Heap’d on its crest, through all its livid rings
It seem’d the monster into motion woke,
“Spit forth its spiteful fire, and belch’d Tartareous smoke.

Such and so Gorgon-like the Soldan’s form
Show’d by those fires to the beholders’ sight.
As Ocean tossing in a midnight storm
To sailors, with her million waves alight.
Some give their timid trembling feet to flight;
Some, their brave hands to the revenging blade;
And still th’ infuriate Anarch of the Night
Increased the risks by dark’ning them in shade,
And to the midnight winds tumultuous discord bray’d.

Of those who show’d in this tremendous hour
The stoutest heart, was old Latinus, bred
On Tiber’s banks; toils had not quell’d his power, —
He stood an oak with all its leaves unshed,
Green, though in age; five sons to war he led,
Who, nobly envying his exploits sublime,
His steps attended with unequal tread;
In iron armors, they their unripe prime,
And their yet growing limbs, clothed long before their time.

The sire’s example whets their souls to slake
In blood their eager wrath; “And come,” he cries,
“Come where ye see yon tyrannous proud Snake
Devour the crowd that from his fierceness flies.
Let not the sanguine crimes and butcheries
Which he on others perpetrates, unbrace
Your usual courage; fame through peril lies;
And honor, O my boys, itself is base,
Which no surmounted toils of jeopardy aggrace!”

So the fierce Lioness her tawny whelps,
Ere mane invests their neck, or nails their paws,
Ere time with power their native malice helps,
Or teeth and whiskers jag their horrid jaws,
Leads sternly with her to the sylvan wars,
And by her own inflames their savage moods
Against the hunter who to flight o’erawes
The weaker beasts, and insolent intrudes
Upon the holy gloom and quiet of her woods.

At once before, beside him, and behind,
The sire and his imprudent little crew,
As though incited by one heart and mind,
In sudden impulse on the Soldan flew;
Five long sharp lances they or thrust, or threw;
But his the eldest son in daring vein
Rashly abandon’d, and with ardor drew
The keen-edged sword, presuming, but in vain,
The warrior’s prancing steed at vantage to have slain.

But as a cliff, exposed to storms, which towers,
Smit by a sea that ever howls and raves,
Firm in itself, sustains the wrath of showers,
Heaven’s hail, fire, thunder, winds, and mountain waves;
So the strong Soldan lifts his front, so braves,
Unshaken in his seat, th’ encounter weak
Of sword and spear: himself from harm he saves;
And of the son that on his steed would wreak
Revenge, the head disparts, betwixt the eyes and cheek.

Fond Amarante, to aid the falling youth,
Stretch’d forth his pious arm; O zeal misplaced,
Vain tenderness, and inconsid’rate ruth!
That to his brother’s ruin he must haste
To join his own! twined fondly round the waist,
That arm the Turkish sabre from his side
Lopp’d off, — down sank embracer and embraced;
And lip to lip, with melancholy pride,
Mixing their last faint sighs, like drooping roses died.

Then, having cut Sabino’s lance in twain,
That vex’d him from afar, he spurr’d his horse,
Which, bounding on him with a loosen’d rein,
O’erturn’d and trampled so without remorse
On his fair breast, that from the youthful corse
In dreadful throes the spirit pass’d forlorn;
Sorely repining at its foul divorce
From those delightful visions which adorn,
With such sweet hues, the birth of Boyhood’s fresh May morn.

But Picus and Laurentes yet had life;
Twins, born so similar in face and size,
Their persons oft set strangers at sweet strife,
And caused fond error in their parents’ eyes:
Th’ illusion now which with an art so nice
Nature had raised, Rage disenchants to dust;
The sabre harshly cancels all disguise;
One through the heart the savage Soldan thrust,
And one he sunder’d quite, and left a breathless bust.

The father (ah, no father now!) bereft
Of his brave infants in so short a space,
Felt his own death in those five deaths, which left
To him no scion of his name or race:
In such sharp agonies how strength could brace
His aged heart, or reason aid his brain
Still to live on and combat face to face,
I know not; but perhaps he saw not plain
The looks, the dying pangs, and paleness of the slain.

Perchance the Night with friendly pinions dim
Hid half their anguish from the parent’s view;
Still he felt conquest would be naught to him,
Unless with full revenge he perish’d too?
Then of his own blood prodigal he grew,
And of the Soldan’s than a bird of prey
More greedily voracious; nor well knew
Which best his passionate desire would pay, —
Or to be kill’d outright, or suffer on, and slay.

But cried aloud: “Is then this arm so frail,
So scorn’d as old, or ridiculed as dead,
That all its efforts do not yet avail,
To call down wrath on my defenceless head?”
He said, and hurl’d with fury as he said,
His spear at the majestic homicide;
Straight to the mark the whizzing weapon fled,
Shiver’d both plate and mail, and pierced his side;
Whence the bright blood outgush’d, and all his armor dyed.

Roused by the wound, the Turk against him drove,
Sternly severe; his sword quick passage found
Through the knight’s mail,- -the target first it clove,
Which seven bull-hides in vain encompass’d round,
And in his bowels sheath’d its point profound:
The forcible assault from saddle push’d
The hapless knight; he sigh’d, and from his wound,
And from his mouth a purple vomit gush’d,
That all with blood the sands, with blood the herbage blush’d.

But as an Alpine oak which scorn’d the strength
Of Aquilo and Eurus, firm and sound,
By some unusual wind torn up at length,
Down tumbles, widely ravaging around
The pines and crashing cedars, so to ground
Latinus fell, and to destruction drew
More foes than one round whom his arm she wound;
Fit end for one so brave! that overthrew,
E’en when o’erthrown himself, and e’en when slaughter’d, slew.

While, wreaking thus his inward hate, the Turk
Broke his long fast of battle, in their turn
His active Arabs in their barb’rous work
Make quick dispatch, and all resistance spurn:
Henry, the English knight, and Olopherne,
The proud Bavarian, stretch’d on earth supine,
Expire beneath thy hand, Dragutes stern!
Gilbert and Philip, Ariadene! by thine,
Born in fair castles both, beside th’ enchanting Rhine.

Albatzar’s mace Ernesto slew; the blade
Of Algazel, Engerlan; but to tell
What various modes of death the field display’d,
And the ignoble multitudes that fell,
Mocks all attempt; at the first “Lillah” yell
And blast of trumpets, in his martial bed
Godfrey was woke, was up, was arm’d, in selle;
Gather’d a massy squadron; at their head
Placed himself; ranged their ranks; and on to battle led.

He, when he heard the uproar that was raised
Grow momently more wild, was well advised
That the marauding wand’rers of the waste
In sudden insult had the camp surprised;
Having by frequent message been apprized,
That they the regions round for spoil laid bare;
This well he knew; but never had surmised,
That such wild vagabonds would ever dare
To beard, in very deed, the lion in his lair.

But riding on, he heard alarum given
Elsewhere, — “To arms! to arms!” the trumpet jars;
And barb’rous howls all horribly to heaven,
Loud as the clang and whirl of countless cars,
Ascend, and in loud thunder climb the stars;
This was Clorinda, who to battle hied
With the king’s troops, and, terrible as Mars,
Argantes, breathing fury, at her side;
To Guelph, his viceroy, then the Captain turn’d, and cried:

“Hear what new war-cry swells from yonder part
That lies toward the hills and city! there,
We need thy utmost courage, strength, and art,
The sallier’s first insulting shocks to bear:
Go then! to guard that quarter be thy care;
And with thee half of these my troops array
In closest cube; while I myself prepare,
Where southward the hoarse horns defiance bray,
To front the hostile charge, and stand at desp’rate bay.

The plan mark’d out, to right and left they wheel’d.
By different paths, an equal risk to face, —
Guelph to the hills, and Godfrey to the field
Where now the Arabs hold his men in chase;
Proceeding, he gains strength; at ev’ry pace,
To his uplifted standard numbers throng:
Which, by the tune he reach’d the special place
Where the grim Soldan slaught’ring pass’d along,
Had grown a mighty host, firm, massy, stout, and strong.

Thus, humbly gliding from his native mountain.
The Po at first fills not his narrow bed;
But aye the more, the farther from the fountain,
With added forces his proud waters spread;
O’er the burst banks his curl’d brows tower; with tread
Conqu’ring and swift, he takes his giant leap
Down the whelm’d vales, and with his horned head
Rebuts the Adrian waves: nor, in his sweep,
Seems to pay tax, but wage fierce warfare with, the deep.

When Godfrey saw His troops affrighted fly,
He spurr’d, and shouted: “Shame! what new dis grace,
What dastard fear is this? tell me but why
You run, behold at least who gives you chase; —
A heartless crowd, irresolute and base,
Reeds shaken by a breeze; they neither know
To strike a gallant soldier to his face,
Nor take a stroke in front; your faces show!
That will alone suffice to scare the craven foe!”

This said, he spurr’d his horse, and onward flew
Where he beheld the Soldan’s shining snake;
Through blood and dust, through sabres not a few,
And groves of spears his progress did he make;
With stroke and onset he dissolved and brake
Ranks the most strong, and masses most compact;
And everywhere to earth was seen to shake,
With a bold arm, attacking or attack’d,
Warrior and war-horse, shield and shielded cataphract.

O’er the mix’d heap of men and arms made black
With bloodshed, bounds his barb, of nothing shy;
Th’ intrepid Soldan saw the coming wrack,
And neither fled, nor had the wish to fly;
But spurr’d abroad to meet him, and on high
Raised his Damascus cimeter to smite
The moment they should meet; — thus drew they nigh;
O what two Peers did Fortune there unite,
From the world’s wide extremes, to prove their matchless might!

Fury in narrow lists with virtue strove
For Asia’s boundless empire: who can tell
The fierceness of the fight! how sabre drove
At sword! how swift and strong the strokes that fell!
Their dreadful deeds I pass unsung; they dwell
With unessential Night, whose awful screen
Hid them from notice! they were deeds that well
Deserved a noonday sun, and to have been
By the whole world at once in cloudless glory seen.

The Christians, cheer’d by such a glorious guide,
Wax bold, and push the battle to the gate;
And round the dragon-crested homicide,
Dense grows the crowd, arm’d best in proof of plate:
Foot press’d to foot, no ground repining hate
Concedes; nor this nor that side wins or quails;
Faithful and infidel alike elate,
The victor falls, the vanquish’d now prevails;
And life and grisly death are hung in equal scales.

As with like rage and strength to battle fly —
Here the strong South-wind, there the ruffian North, —
They cuff, they rave, they clash; and sea and sky
To neither yield themselves, though lash’d to froth,
But cloud for cloud, and wave for wave send forth:
So fought both hosts beneath the hideous shade —
Unyielding, firm, sharp, obstinate, and wroth;
Front shocking front, in horrible parade,
Shield with shield, helm with helm, and blade loud clash’d with blade.

Nor toward the City shock the charging hosts
Meanwhile with less loud uproar; nor less dense
Glooms their array; a thousand thousand ghosts
And Stygian fiends the cope of heaven immense
Fill, and in Pagan bosoms breathe intense
Resolve and fortitude; that none desire,
Or even think to stir a footstep thence;
While with new rage Argantes they inspire,
Enough inflamed before with his accustom’d fire.

He too the guards repulsed, and at one bound
Clear o’er the deep fosse and high ramparts leap’d, —
Levelled the outworks, smooth’d the lofty mound,
And with the Franks he slew, the trenches heap’d;
So that his knights with ease pursuing, steep’d
The ground with gore, and to a purple red
Dyed the white tents; like praise Clorinda reap’d
Fast by his side, or following where he sped;
With much disdain that she th’ assailants did not head.

And now the Christians were in flight, when Guelph
The field of slaughter opportunely gain’d:
He made them turn their faces; he himself
Bore the foe’s onset, and his rage restrain’d.
Thus fought they; and on both sides the blood rain’d
In equal showers, and equally they earn’d
The dreary laurels of revenge distain’d:
His eyes meanwhile where hot the battle burn’d,
From his empyreal seat the King of Glory turn’d.

There He abides; there, full of truth and love,
Creates, adorns, and governs all that be,
High o’er this narrow-bounded world, above
The reach of reason and of sense; there He
Presides from all to all eternity,
Sublime on solemn throne, unbuilt with hands,
Three Lights in One! while in meek ministry,
Beneath his feet, with Fate and Nature stands
Motion, and He whose glass weighs out her golden:

With Place and Fortune, who, like magic dust,
The glory, gold, and power of things below,
Tosses and whirls in her capricious gust,
Reckless of human joy and human wo:
There He in splendor shrouds himself from show,
Which not e’en holiest eyes unshaded see;
And round about him, in a glorious bow,
Millions of happy souls keep jubilee, —
Equals alike in bliss, though diff’ring in degree.

As the loud harmony of angel hymns
Joyous through heaven’s resounding palace roll’d,
Michael he summon’d, whose seraphic limbs
Sparkle and burn in adamant and gold;
And thus serenely spake: “Dost thou behold.
How from th’ abyss yon fiends are risen, to spoil
The faithful flock beloved of my fold?
Seest thou them, arm’d with malice, how they toil”
In wrack and uproar wide those kingdoms to embroil?

“Go! bid them all avaunt, and leave the care
Of war to warriors, as is just and right;
Nor tempest and infect the earth and air
Longer, with their foul charms and evil flight;
But bid them back to the abyss of night,
Their merited abode of wail and pain;
There to torment themselves, and wreak their spite
On the lost spirits subject to their chain;
Lo, this my bidding is, and thus do I ordain!”

This said, the wing’d Archangel low inclined
In rev’rent awe before th’ Almighty’s throne;
Then spread his golden pinions on the wind,
And, swifter than all thought, away is flown:
He pass’d the regions which the Blessed own
For their peculiar home, a glorious sphere
Of fire and splendor; next, the milder zone
Of whitest crystal; and the circle clear,
Which, gemm’d with stars, whirls round, and charm his tuneful ear.

To left, distinct in influence and in phase,
He sees bright Jove and frigid Saturn roll;
And those five other errant fires, whose maze
Of motion some angelic spark of soul
Directs with truth unerring to the goal:
Through fields of endless sunshine he arrives
Where thunders, winds, and showers from pole to pole
Waste and renew, as each for mast’ry strives,
Green Earth, that fades to bloom, and to decay revives.

The horrors of the storm, the shadowy glooms,
With his immortal fans he shakes away;
The splendor falling from his face illumes
Night with a sunshine luminous as day:
So after rain in April or in May,
The sun with colors fine of ev’ry hue
Paints the moist clouds, green, crimson, gold, and gray;
Cleaving the liquid sky’s calm bosom blue,
So shines a shooting star in momentary view.

But when he came where the malignant Fiends
Inflamed the Turks, he check’d his swift career;
Balanced his vigorous pinions on the winds;
Then spoke, and, speaking, shook his dreadful spear:
“Not yet, Accursed! have ye learn’d to fear
That God whose blazing thunderbolts of yore
Scorch’d your gay wings, and to the nether sphere
Smote you? have ages, spent in torments sore,
Left you rebellious still, and haughty as before?

“Lo! Heaven hath sworn, that to the Cross shall nod
Yon towers, and Sion ope her portal gates;
Who shall withstand the oracles of God;
Provoke his wrath, and fight against the Fates!
Depart, ye Cursed! to your native states,
The regions of perpetual death and pain,
To you devote; the fiery surge awaits
Your coming, and rears bright its blazing mane,
There urge your impious wars, your triumphs there ordain!

“There o’er the guilty tyrannize; there wreak
Your rage, and muster all the pangs ye know,
Mid racks of iron, shaken chains, the shriek
And gnashing of interminable wo!”
This heard, they fled; whom he perceived more slow,
The Angel, with his fatal lance divine,
Goaded and drove; with sullen groans they go;
The realms of smiling light, and golden shine
Of the gay morning-stars reluctant to resign.

And spread tow’rd Hell their dragon wings, to tease.
And tear with sharper pangs the tortured ghosts;
Not swallows in such flocks pass o’er the seas,
Gath’ring to milder suns and warmer coasts;
Not leaves in woods, when Autumn’s first night-frosts
Nip their sear’d beauty, in such numbers e’er
Heap the low valleys: freed from their foul hosts,
The joyous earth shook off her black despair,
And cheer’d with flowers the ground, with harmony the.

Yet not for this the valor or the ire
In fierce Argantes’ breast decay’d or sank;
Though there Alecto breathed not now her fire,
Nor with her whip of scorpions lash’d his flank;
But evermore, where frown’d the closest rank,
He keenly plied his sharp, vindictive blade;
He mow’d down Briton, Greek, Italian, Frank;
The proud, the mean, the potent equal made;
And the plumed liege beside his plumeless vassal laid.

Not far behind, the Camp Clorinda strow’d
With
’d limbs, and with as keen a gust;
Through Bellinger’s proud heart, the warm abode
Of life and sense, her cimeter she thrust, —
True to her wish, and to her aim so just,
Its red point issued from the back; she left
The hapless warrior grov’ling in the dust,
Then through the navel Albino bereft
Of life, and Gailo’s skull, though helmed in sunder cleft.

Gernier’s right hand, that gash’d her as she pass’d,
She cut sheer off; which yet did not abstain
From grasping with its quiv’ring fingers fast,
Half animate, the sword, and on the plain
Glid like a snake’s lithe tail, that, cut in twain
By some stung passenger, twists to and fro,
And fiercely strives to reunite, in vain:
Thus lopp’d, he writhed; the Heroine left him so,
Then at Achilles flew, and dealt a nobler blow.

Betwixt the nape and neck the sabre smit,
And cut the nerves and sinews that sustain’d
The head, which, falling, on the earth alit,
And in foul dust the beauteous face profaned,
Ere the trunk fell; erect the trunk remain’d,
(A sight of horror!) nor its seat forsook;
Till the sagacious steed, no longer rein’d
By the strong hand that wont its pride to brook,
Rampant from off its back the useless burden shook.

While thus the dauntless Heroine gored and scourged
The Western Lords, and thinn’d their serried lines,
Her steed against her brave Gildippe urged,
Nor made less slaughter on the Saracines:
Their sex the same, the same wild beauty shines
In each; in each the fire of glory glows;
At her courageous rival each repines;
But face to face in battle thus to close,
Fate grants it not, — their lives are owed to mighties.

Here one, and there the other shock’d and charged,
Nor this nor that could clear the fighting crowd;
But gen’rous Guelph press’d forward, and discharged
At his fair foe, with broad-sword raised, a proud
Aspiring stroke; it linger’d not, but plough’d
Her side, and purple turn’d its purest white;
Heroic scorn her flashing smile avow’d, —
She with a thrust sharp answer made the knight,
And ’twixt the ribs his wound did passing well requite.

A second, stronger blow Lord Guelpho strook,
Which err’d as tall Osmida, passing by,
By chance upon his turban’d forehead took
The wound unmeant, gash’d deep from eye to eye:
But here, for glory fierce, the company
Which Guelph commanded, interposing, drew
In numbers round; while, fix’d to do or die,
Of the press’d Pagans crowds on crowds throng’d too,
So that the madd’ning fight more wild each moment grew.

Meanwhile Aurora sweet her roseate face
Shows from the balcony of heaven; and lo!
Burst from his bonds, and fervent from disgrace,
Where the press thickens and the tumults grow,
Comes Argillan, abrupt; from top to toe
Sheathed in such arms as chance for the assault
First offers, — good or bad, he cares not, so
They do but serve him to amend his fault,
And by new deeds to praise his tarnish’d name exalt.

As when a wild steed in the stalls of kings
Fed for the battle, from his manger breaks;
O’er vales, o’er mountains to his loves he springs,
Seeks the known meads, or to the river takes;
His curl’d mane dances on his back; he shakes
His haughty neck aloft; his broad hoofs sound
Like the black thunder; with the bright fire-flakes
Struck forth from his swift trampling, burns the ground,
And with his neighings shrill he fills the world around.

So issues Argillan; his fierce eyes blaze,
Intrepid shows his brow, sublimely strong
His lifted arm; his swift feet leave no trace,
Scarce stir the light dust as they bound along:
And now, the turban’d multitudes among,
He lifts his voice like one that laughs to scorn
All jeopardy and fear; “O ye vile throng!
Dregs of the world! what impudence has drawn
You to a field of war, amidst wild asses born?

“’Tis not for you the shield and battle blade
To shake aloft, or wear the warrior’s weed;
But to commit, half naked and afraid,
Wounds to the wind, your safety to the steed!
All your achievements and brave schemes, indeed,
Are wrought by night, blind Night your sole resource
And tower of strength! now she has fled, you need
Valor and arms of more efficient force;
To what kind guardian Power will you now have recourse?”

While thus he spoke, on Algazel’s bare cheek
So fierce a stroke he took at bold surprise,
As clove his jaws, and, as he sought to speak,
Cut short his answ’ring accents; o’er the eyes
Of the poor wretch a misty horror flies;
An icy frost runs chill from vein to vein;
He groans, he falls, and in the agonies
Of death, still fill’d with fury and disdain,
Bites with his gnashing teeth th’ abominated plain.

By various deaths then Agricalt he slew,
Strong Muleasses, stronger Saladine;
Then at Aldiazel exulting flew,
And clove the haughty Arab to the chine:
Next wounding in the breast bold Ariadine,
He beat him down, and with fierce vaunts of pride
Taunted the youth; he, stretch’d on earth supine,
His languid eyes uplifting ere he died,
Thus to His glorying words presagingly replied:

“Not thou, whoe’er thou art, shalt glory long
In this my death, short-sighted homicide!
Like chance awaits thee; soon a hand more strong
Shall stretch thee pale and breathless by my side!”
Grimly he smiled; and “Of my fate,” he cried,
“Let Heaven take care; meanwhile die thou, and fill
The maw of birds and hounds!” then with a stride
Of haughtier vaunt, he press’d him with his heel,
And drew at once away the spirit and the steel.

Mix’d with the lancers rode the Soldan’s page —
His favorite page, angelically fair;
On whose smooth chin the flowers that vernal age
Strews in its deep’ning ripeness yet were rare;
A poet’s fancy would the pearls compare
That in moist silver his warm cheeks enchase,
To dews on April roses; to his hair,
Untrimm’d, the golden gather’d dust gave grace,
And even severe disdain show’d sweet in such a face.

His steed for whiteness match’d the snows that drift
On the high Apennines; the lights that glance
In Arctic skies, are not more lithe and swift
Than he to run, to twine, to wheel, to prance:
Grasp’d in the midst he shook a Moorish lance,
And a short sabre graced his side; with bold
Barbaric pomp, as in antique romance,
He shone in purple, glorious to behold,
Fretted with blazing gems, and damask’d o’er with gold.

While the fair boy whose mind the new delight
Of glory charm’d, with uncheck’d conquest warm,
Hither and thither in his childish sleight
Drove the bewilder’d crowd with little harm,
Like a grim lion couching cool and calm,
Fierce Argillano to his motions lent
Regard; watch’d well His time; then raised his arm, —
Loud whizz’d the lance, and, true to his intent,
At stealth the white steed slew, and down the rider went.

At his sweet face, where suppliant pity mild
For mercy, mercy, vainly made appeal,
The victor-churl struck, hoping to have spoil’d
That masterpiece of beauty; but the steel,
Humaner than the man, appear’d to feel
Pain for the wrong, and lighted flat; alas,
What could it serve him! soon his cruel skill
The fault retrieved, — he made a surer pass;
Deep gash’d the sword his cheek, and stretch’d him on the grass.

The Soldan, who at no great distance fought,
By Godfrey in the battle kept at bay,
Turn’d his spurr’d steed the moment he had caught
Sight of the risk, and through the wedged array
Of charged and charging squadrons clove his way,
And came in time — for vengeance, not for aid;
O grief! O anguish! he beheld his gay
And late so smiling Lesbin lowly laid,
Like a fine flower cut down, and drooping undecay’d.

His graceful head fell with an air so meek;
Life’s flitting sunshine languish’d into night
O’er his blue eye, and on the suff ’ring cheek,
Strew’d by Death’s Angel in his love, the white
Rose breathed so sweetly, that, in pride’s despite,
His marble heart was touch’d; and from his brain,
In midst of rage, the tears gush’d big and bright:
What! can he weep, who saw his ancient reign
Pass by without one tear to mark his parting pain?

He weeps! but when the smoking sword he news
In Lesbin’s blood imbrued, all softness dies;
His spirit is ablaze; his rage renews;
The scorch’d tears stagnate in his stormy eyes,
That flash with fire; on Argillan he flies,
Lifts his drawn sword, and splits from thong to thong,
First the raised buckler with its proud device,
And next his helmed head — a stroke most strong,
Worthy a Sultan’s scorn who writhed beneath such wrong.

Nor thus content, he from his steed alights,
And makes fierce battle with the corse he slew;
Like a struck mastiff, that in vengeance bites
The stone some passenger in anger threw:
O vain relief of anguish! to pursue
“With rage the dust insensible to pain:
But me an win! e Godfrey and his circling crew
Of chevaliers, against the Soldan’s train
Spent not in vain their powers, struck not their blows in vain.

A thousand Turks were there from head to heel
Sheathed in fine mail, with plated shields; their frame,
Untired by toil, was stubborn as the steel
That arm’d their limbs; their daring souls the same, —
Versed in all movements of the martial game:
The Soldan’s ancient body-guard, they pass’d
With him to the Arabian wilds, when came
His evil hour, and to his fortunes fast
Adhered through bright and dark, confed’rates to the last.

These, press’d together close in firmest rank,
Little or nothing to the Franks gave place;
Among them Godfrey charged, and in the flank
Wounded Rostene, Corcutes in the face;
From Selin, lifting high his Moorish mace,
He shore the head; then to Rosseno drew,
Lopp’d off both arms, and in that piteous case
Left him to die, while on the rest he flew;
And many a Paynim maim’d, and many a Paynim slew.

While thus he strikes, and on his moony shield
Takes all their strokes, invincible as bold,
Nor in one point the gruff barbarians yield,
Their hopes yet ardent, nor their courage cold,
Fresh clouds of drifted dust ride nigh, that hold
Lightnings of war within their womb; and lo!
Nearer and nearer as their skirts are roll’d,
A sudden shine of arms moves to and fro,
That fills with deep alarm the bosoms of the foe.

Here fifty knights to battle came, who bore
In argent field the Red-cross of their Lord;
Had I a hundred mouths and tongues, yea, more,
Throat, lungs, and breath of brass to sound abroad
Their deeds, I could not fittingly record
What numbers lifeless sank upon the plain
In their first charge; the valiant Turk that warr’d,
And Arab that warr’d not, but sought to gain
The gates for flight, alike was met, was pierced, was slain.

Grief, Scorn, Pain, Horror, Cruelty, and Fear,
Ran shrieking on all sides, and you might see
Death the Destroyer stride from van to rear,
In thousand guises, butch’ring those that flee;
Conqu’ring the brave; and with a bloody sea
Billowing the ground: — the king with many a knight
Had issued from the walls, in certainty
Of full success, and with the morning light
Beheld the subject plain and uncompleted fight.

But when, no longer dubious of th’ event,
He the main army saw in disarray,
He bade the trumpet sound retreat, and sent
Repeated heralds to command and pray
Argantes and Clorinda back; but they,
Intoxicate with blood, and blind with ire,
Long time refuse his message to obey;
At length they yield, but jointly still aspire
To orb their scatter’d troops and in firm rank retire.

But who a coward host can rule or guide?
The flight is taken, and the fierce foe nigh;
One casts his shield, and one his sword aside,
As more encumber’d than defenced thereby:
Stretch’d from the South towards the Western sky,
A rugged valley winds, abrupt and deep,
Near Salem, — thither do the many fly,
In crowds on crowds rude rushing down the steep, —
Dark clouds of dust arise, and to the city sweep.

While down the hill precipitate they ran,
The Christian host vast slaughter of them made;
But when they cross’d the valley, and began
To climb the rocks in bowshot of the aid
Sent by the king, his forces Guelpho stayed;
For, at such disadvantages of height,
He would not risk th’ uncertain escalade;
Thus safe within the walls, the king from flight
Received the small remains of that unprosp’rous fight.

All that to human efforts Nature grants,
The Soldan now had done; with sweat and gore
His members are bedew’d; he gasps and pants;
Sharp anguish shakes his frame, he can no more:
Weak grew his arm beneath the shield it bore;
His red right hand, with slaughter overspent,
Scarce waved the sword; that sword, so sharp before,
Now only bruised, so blunted, hack’d, and bent,
It long had lost the use for which the shape was lent.

Feeling thus faint, he hesitating stands
In dubious mood, ’twixt warring counsels toss’d, —
Or should he perish by his own proud hands,
Since hope afresh was wreck’d and honor lost,
So none the glory of his death could boast.
Or, should he care to save his life, and flee
Far from the field where lay his vanquished host?
“Fortune,” at last he cried, “I yield to thee;
And let my flight the seal of thy scorn’d conquest be: —

“Let Godfrey view once more, and smile to view
My second exile; — soon shall he again
See me in arms return’d, to vex anew
His haunted peace and never stable reign:
Yield I do not; eternal my disdain
Shall be as are my wrongs; though fires consume
My dust, immortal shall my hate remain;
And aye my naked ghost fresh wrath assume,
Through life a foe most fierce, but fiercer from the tomb!”