Part 44

XXXI “But if his courage any champion move To try the hazard of this dreadful spring, I give him leave the adventure great to prove, Some news he may report us of the thing:” This said, his lords attempt the charmed grove, Yet nothing back but fear and flight they bring, For them inforced with trembling to retire, The sight, the sound, the monsters and the fire.

XXXII This happed when woful Tancred left his bed To lay in marble cold his mistress dear, The lively color from his cheek was fled, His limbs were weak his helm or targe to bear; Nathless when need to high attempts him led, No labor would he shun, no danger fear, His valor, boldness, heart and courage brave, To his faint body strength and vigor gave.

XXXIII To this exploit forth went the venturous knight, Fearless, yet heedful; silent, well advised, The terrors of that forest’s dreadful sight, Storms, earthquakes, thunders, cries, he all despised: He feared nothing, yet a motion light, That quickly vanished, in his heart arised When lo, between him and the charmed wood, A fiery city high as heaven up stood.

XXXIV The knight stepped back and took a sudden pause, And to himself, “What help these arms?” quoth he, “If in this fire, or monster’s gaping jaws I headlong cast myself, what boots it me? For common profit, or my country’s cause, To hazard life before me none should be: But this exploit of no such weight I hold, For it to lose a prince or champion bold.

XXXV But if I fly, what will the Pagans say? If I retire, who shall cut down this spring? Godfredo will attempt it every day. What if some other knight perform the thing? These flames uprisen to forestall my way Perchance more terror far than danger bring. But hap what shall;” this said, he forward stepped, And through the fire, oh wondrous boldness, leapt!

XXXVI He bolted through, but neither warmth nor heat! He felt, nor sign of fire or scorching flame; Yet wist he not in his dismayed conceit, If that were fire or no through which he came; For at first touch vanished those monsters great, And in their stead the clouds black night did frame And hideous storms and showers of hail and rain; Yet storms and tempests vanished straight again.

XXXVII Amazed but not afraid the champion good Stood still, but when the tempest passed he spied, He entered boldly that forbidden wood, And of the forest all the secrets eyed, In all his walk no sprite or phantasm stood That stopped his way or passage free denied, Save that the growing trees so thick were set, That oft his sight, and passage oft they let.

XXXVIII At length a fair and spacious green he spied, Like calmest waters, plain, like velvet, soft, Wherein a cypress clad in summer’s pride, Pyramid-wise, lift up his tops aloft; In whose smooth bark upon the evenest side, Strange characters he found, and viewed them oft, Like those which priests of Egypt erst instead Of letters used, which none but they could read.

XXXIX Mongst them he picked out these words at last, Writ in the Syriac tongue, which well he could, “Oh hardy knight, who through these woods hast passed: Where Death his palace and his court doth hold! Oh trouble not these souls in quiet placed, Oh be not cruel as thy heart is bold, Pardon these ghosts deprived of heavenly light, With spirits dead why should men living fight?”

XL This found he graven in the tender rind, And while he mused on this uncouth writ, Him thought he heard the softly whistling wind His blasts amid the leaves and branches knit And frame a sound like speech of human kind, But full of sorrow grief and woe was it, Whereby his gentle thoughts all filled were With pity, sadness, grief, compassion, fear.

XLI He drew his sword at last, and gave the tree A mighty blow, that made a gaping wound, Out of the rift red streams he trickling see That all bebled the verdant plain around, His hair start up, yet once again stroke he, He nould give over till the end he found Of this adventure, when with plaint and moan, As from some hollow grave, he heard one groan.

XLII “Enough, enough!” the voice lamenting said, “Tancred, thou hast me hurt, thou didst me drive Out of the body of a noble maid Who with me lived, whom late I kept on live, And now within this woful cypress laid, My tender rind thy weapon sharp doth rive, Cruel, is’t not enough thy foes to kill, But in their graves wilt thou torment them still?

XLIII “I was Clorinda, now imprisoned here, Yet not alone within this plant I dwell, For every Pagan lord and Christian peer, Before the city’s walls last day that fell, In bodies new or graves I wot not clear, But here they are confined by magic’s spell, So that each tree hath life, and sense each bough, A murderer if thou cut one twist art thou.”

XLIV As the sick man that in his sleep doth see Some ugly dragon, or some chimera new, Though he suspect, or half persuaded be, It is an idle dream, no monster true, Yet still he fears, he quakes, and strives to flee, So fearful is that wondrous form to view; So feared the knight, yet he both knew and thought All were illusions false by witchcraft wrought:

XLV But cold and trembling waxed his frozen heart, Such strange effects, such passions it torment, Out of his feeble hand his weapon start, Himself out of his wits nigh, after went: Wounded he saw, he thought, for pain and smart, His lady weep, complain, mourn, and lament, Nor could he suffer her dear blood to see, Or hear her sighs that deep far fetched be.

XLVI Thus his fierce heart which death had scorned oft, Whom no strange shape or monster could dismay, With feigned shows of tender love made soft, A spirit false did with vain plaints betray; A whirling wind his sword heaved up aloft, And through the forest bare it quite away. O’ercome retired the prince, and as he came, His sword he found, and repossessed the same,

XLVII Yet nould return, he had no mind to try His courage further in those forests green; But when to Godfrey’s tent he proached nigh, His spirits waked, his thoughts composed been, “My Lord.” quoth he, “a witness true am I Of wonders strange, believe it scant though seen, What of the fire, the shades, the dreadful sound You heard, all true by proof myself have found;

XLVIII “A burning fire, so are those deserts charmed, Built like a battled wall to heaven was reared; Whereon with darts and dreadful weapons armed, Of monsters foul mis-shaped whole bands appeared; But through them all I passed, unhurt, unharmed, No flame or threatened blow I felt or feared, Then rain and night I found, but straight again To day, the night, to sunshine turned the rain.

XLIX “What would you more? each tree through all that wood Hath sense, hath life, hath speech, like human kind, I heard their words as in that grove I stood, That mournful voice still, still I bear in mind: And, as they were of flesh, the purple blood At every blow streams from the wounded rind; No, no, not I, nor any else, I trow, Hath power to cut one leaf, one branch, one bough.” L While thus he said, the Christian’s noble guide Felt uncouth strife in his contentious thought, He thought, what if himself in perzon tried Those witchcrafts strange, and bring those charms to naught, For such he deemed them, or elsewhere provide For timber easier got though further sought, But from his study he at last abraid, Called by the hermit old that to him said:

LI “Leave off thy hardy thought, another’s hands Of these her plants the wood dispoilen shall, Now, now the fatal ship of conquest lands, Her sails are struck, her silver anchors fall, Our champion broken hath his worthless bands, And looseth from the soil which held him thrall, The time draws nigh when our proud foes in field Shall slaughtered lie, and Sion’s fort shall yield.”

LII This said, his visage shone with beams divine, And more than mortal was his voice’s sound, Godfredo’s thought to other acts incline, His working brain was never idle found. But in the Crab now did bright Titan shine, And scorched with scalding beams the parched ground, And made unfit for toil or warlike feat His soldiers, weak with labor, faint with sweat:

LIII The planets mild their lamps benign quenched out, And cruel stars in heaven did signorize, Whose influence cast fiery flames about And hot impressions through the earth and skies, The growing heat still gathered deeper rout, The noisome warmth through lands and kingdoms flies, A harmful night a hurtful day succeeds, And worse than both next morn her light outspreads.

LIV When Phoebus rose he left his golden weed, And donned a gite in deepest purple dyed, His sanguine beams about his forehead spread, A sad presage of ill that should betide, With vermeil drops at even his tresses bleed, Foreshows of future heat, from the ocean wide When next he rose, and thus increased still Their present harms with dread of future ill,

LV While thus he bent gainst earth his scorching rays, He burnt the flowers, burnt his Clytie dear, The leaves grew wan upon the withered sprays, The grass and growing herbs all parched were, Earth cleft in rifts, in floods their streams decays, The barren clouds with lightning bright appear, And mankind feared lest Climenes’ child again Had driven awry his sire’s ill-guided wain.

LVI As from a furnace flew the smoke to skies, Such smoke as that when damned Sodom brent, Within his caves sweet Zephyr silent lies, Still was the air, the rack nor came nor went, But o’er the lands with lukewarm breathing flies The southern wind, from sunburnt Afric sent, Which thick and warm his interrupted blasts Upon their bosoms, throats, and faces casts.

LVII Nor yet more comfort brought the gloomy night, In her thick shades was burning heat uprolled, Her sable mantle was embroidered bright With blazing stars and gliding fires for gold, Nor to refresh, sad earth, thy thirsty sprite, The niggard moon let fall her May dews cold, And dried up the vital moisture was, In trees, in plants, in herbs, in flowers, in grass.

LVIII Sleep to his quiet dales exiled fled From these unquiet nights, and oft in vain The soldiers restless sought the god in bed, But most for thirst they mourned and most complain; For Juda’s tyrant had strong poison shed, Poison that breeds more woe and deadly pain, Than Acheron or Stygian waters bring, In every fountain, cistern, well and spring:

LIX And little Siloe that his store bestows Of purest crystal on the Christian bands, The pebbles naked in his channel shows And scantly glides above the scorched sands, Nor Po in May when o’er his banks he flows, Nor Ganges, waterer of the Indian lands, Nor seven-mouthed Nile that yields all Egypt drink, To quench their thirst the men sufficient think.