Part 48

LXII “‘Ye happy youths, who April fresh and May Attire in flowering green of lusty age, For glory vain, or virtue’s idle ray, Do not your tender limbs to toil engage; In calm streams, fishes; birds, in sunshine play, Who followeth pleasure he is only sage, So nature saith, yet gainst her sacred will Why still rebel you, and why strive you still?

LXIII “‘O fools who youth possess, yet scorn the same, A precious, but a short-abiding treasure, Virtue itself is but an idle name, Prized by the world ’bove reason all and measure, And honor, glory, praise, renown and fame, That men’s proud harts bewitch with tickling pleasure, An echo is, a shade, a dream, a flower, With each wind blasted, spoiled with every shower.

LXIV “‘But let your happy souls in joy possess The ivory castles of your bodies fair, Your passed harms salve with forgetfulness, Haste not your coming evils with thought and care, Regard no blazing star with burning tress, Nor storm, nor threatening sky, nor thundering air, This wisdom is, good life, and worldly bliss, Kind teacheth us, nature commands us this.’

LXV “Thus sung the spirit false, and stealing sleep, To which her tunes enticed his heavy eyes, By step and step did on his senses creep, Still every limb therein unmoved lies, Not thunders loud could from this slumber deep, Of quiet death true image, make him rise: Then from her ambush forth Armida start, Swearing revenge, and threatening torments smart.

LXVI “But when she looked on his face awhile, And saw how sweet he breathed, how still he lay, How his fair eyes though closed seemed to smile, At first she stayed, astound with great dismay, Then sat her down, so love can art beguile, And as she sat and looked, fled fast away Her wrath, that on his forehead gazed the maid, As in his spring Narcissus tooting laid;

LXVII “And with a veil she wiped now and then From his fair cheeks the globes of silver sweat, And cool air gathered with a trembling fan, To mitigate the rage of melting heat, Thus, who would think it, his hot eye-glance can Of that cold frost dissolve the hardness great Which late congealed the heart of that fair dame, Who late a foe, a lover now became.

LXVIII “Of woodbines, lilies, and of roses sweet, Which proudly flowered through that wanton plain, All platted fast, well knit, and joined meet, She framed a soft but surely holding chain, Wherewith she bound his neck his hands and feet; Thus bound, thus taken, did the prince remain, And in a coach which two old dragons drew, She laid the sleeping knight, and thence she flew:

LXIX “Nor turned she to Damascus’ kingdoms large, Nor to the fort built in Asphalte’s lake, But jealous of her dear and precious charge, And of her love ashamed, the way did take, To the wide ocean whither skiff or barge From us doth seld or never voyage make, And there to frolic with her love awhile, She chose a waste, a sole and desert isle.

LXX “An isle that with her fellows bears the name Of Fortunate, for temperate air and mould, There in a mountain high alight the dame, A hill obscured with shades of forests old, Upon whose sides the witch by art did frame Continual snow, sharp frost and winter cold, But on the top, fresh, pleasant, sweet and green, Beside a lake a palace built this queen.

LXXI “There in perpetual sweet and flowering spring, She lives at ease, and joys her lord at will; The hardy youth from this strange prison bring Your valors must, directed by my skill, And overcome each monster and each thing, That guards the palace or that keeps the hill, Nor shall you want a guide, or engines fit, To bring you to the mount, or conquer it.

LXXII “Beside the stream, yparted shall you find A dame, in visage young, but old in years, Her curled locks about her front are twined, A party-colored robe of silk she wears: This shall conduct you swift as air or wind, Or that flit bird that Jove’s hot weapon bears, A faithful pilot, cunning, trusty, sure, As Tiphys was, or skilful Palinure.

LXXIII “At the hill’s foot, whereon the witch doth dwell, The serpents hiss, and cast their poison vilde, The ugly boars do rear their bristles fell, There gape the bears, and roar the lions wild; But yet a rod I have can easily quell Their rage and wrath, and make them meek and mild. Yet on the top and height of all the hill, The greatest danger lies, and greatest ill:

LXXIV “There welleth out a fair, clear, bubbling spring, Whose waters pure the thirsty guests entice, But in those liquors cold the secret sting Of strange and deadly poison closed lies, One sup thereof the drinker’s heart doth bring To sudden joy, whence laughter vain doth rise, Nor that strange merriment once stops or stays, Till, with his laughter’s end, he end his days:

LXXV “Then from those deadly, wicked streams refrain Your thirsty lips, despise the dainty cheer You find exposed upon the grassy plain, Nor those false damsels once vouchsafe to hear, That in melodious tunes their voices strain, Whose faces lovely, smiling, sweet, appear; But you their looks, their voice, their songs despise, And enter fair Armida’s paradise.

LXXVI “The house is builded like a maze within, With turning stairs, false doors and winding ways, The shape whereof plotted in vellum thin I will you give, that all those sleights bewrays, In midst a garden lies, where many a gin And net to catch frail hearts, false Cupid lays; There in the verdure of the arbors green, With your brave champion lies the wanton queen.

LXXVII “But when she haply riseth from the knight, And hath withdrawn her presence from the place, Then take a shield I have of diamonds bright, And hold the same before the young man’s face, That he may glass therein his garments light, And wanton soft attire, and view his case, That with the sight shame and disdain may move His heart to leave that base and servile love.

LXXVIII “Now resteth naught that needful is to tell, But that you go secure, safe, sure and bold, Unseen the palace may you enter well, And pass the dangers all I have foretold, For neither art, nor charm, nor magic spell, Can stop your passage or your steps withhold, Nor shall Armida, so you guarded be, Your coming aught foreknow or once foresee:

LXXIX “And eke as safe from that enchanted fort You shall return and scape unhurt away; But now the time doth us to rest exhort, And you must rise by peep of springing day.” This said, he led them through a narrow port, Into a lodging fair wherein they lay, There glad and full of thoughts he left his guests, And in his wonted bed the old man rests.

FIFTEENTH BOOK

THE ARGUMENT. The well instructed knights forsake their host, And come where their strange bark in harbor lay, And setting sail behold on Egypt’s coast The monarch’s ships and armies in array: Their wind and pilot good, the seas in post They pass, and of long journeys make short way: The far-sought isle they find; Armida’s charms They scorn, they shun her sleights, despise her arms.

I The rosy-fingered morn with gladsome ray Rose to her task from old Tithonus’ lap When their grave host came where the warriors lay, And with him brought the shield, the rod, the map. “Arise,” quoth he, “ere lately broken day, In his bright arms the round world fold or wrap, All what I promised, here I have them brought, Enough to bring Armida’s charms to naught.”

II They started up, and every tender limb In sturdy steel and stubborn plate they dight, Before the old man stalked, they followed him Through gloomy shades of sad and sable night, Through vaults obscure again and entries dim, The way they came their steps remeasured right; But at the flood arrived, “Farewell,” quoth he, “Good luck your aid, your guide good fortune be.”

III The flood received them in his bottom low And lilt them up above his billows thin; The waters so east up a branch or bough, By violence first plunged and dived therein: But when upon the shore the waves them throw, The knights for their fair guide to look begin, And gazing round a little bark they spied, Wherein a damsel sate the stern to guide.

IV Upon her front her locks were curled new, Her eyes were courteous, full of peace and love; In look a saint, an angel bright in show, So in her visage grace and virtue strove; Her robe seemed sometimes red and sometimes blue, And changed still as she did stir or move; That look how oft man’s eye beheld the same So oft the colors changed, went and came.

V The feathers so, that tender, soft, and plain, About the dove’s smooth neck close couched been, Do in one color never long remain, But change their hue gainst glimpse of Phoebus’ sheen; And now of rubies bright a vermeil chain, Now make a carknet rich of emeralds green; Now mingle both, now alter, turn and change To thousand colors, rich, pure, fair, and strange.

VI “Enter this boat, you happy men,” she says, “Wherein through raging waves secure I ride, To which all tempest, storm, and wind obeys, All burdens light, benign is stream and tide: My lord, that rules your journeys and your ways, Hath sent me here, your servant and your guide.” This said, her shallop drove she gainst the sand, And anchor cast amid the steadfast land.

VII They entered in, her anchors she upwound, And launched forth to sea her pinnace flit, Spread to the wind her sails she broad unbound, And at the helm sat down to govern it, Swelled the flood that all his banks he drowned To bear the greatest ship of burthen fit; Yet was her fatigue little, swift and light, That at his lowest ebb bear it he might.

VIII Swifter than thought the friendly wind forth bore The sliding boat upon the rolling wave, With curded foam and froth the billows hoar About the cable murmur roar and rave; At last they came where all his watery store The flood in one deep channel did engrave, And forth to greedy seas his streams he sent, And so his waves, his name, himself he spent.