Part 53

LIII “But those are common faults, and faults of kind, Excused by nature, by your sex and years; I erred likewise, if I pardon find None can condemn you, that our trespass hears; Your dear remembrance will I keep in mind, In joys, in woes, in comforts, hopes and fears, Call me your soldier and your knight, as far As Christian faith permits, and Asia’s war.

LIV “Ah, let our faults and follies here take end, And let our errors past you satisfy, And in this angle of the world ypend, Let both the fame and shame thereof now die, From all the earth where I am known and kenned, I wish this fact should still concealed lie: Nor yet in following me, poor knight, disgrace Your worth, your beauty, and your princely race.

LV “Stay here in peace, I go, nor wend you may With me, my guide your fellowship denies, Stay here or hence depart some better way, And calm your thoughts, you are both sage and wise.” While thus he spoke, her passions found no stay, But here and there she turned and rolled her eyes, And staring on his face awhile, at last Thus in foul terms, her bitter wrath forth brast:

LVI “Of Sophia fair thou never wert the child, Nor of the Azzain race ysprung thou art, The mad sea-waves thee hare, some tigress wild On Caucasus’ cold crags nursed thee apart; Ah, cruel man l in whom no token mild Appears, of pity, ruth, or tender heart, Could not my griefs, my woes, my plaints, and all One sigh strain from thy breast, one tear make fall?

LVII “What shall I say, or how renew my speech? He scorns me, leaves me, bids me call him mine: The victor hath his foe within his reach; Yet pardons her, that merits death and pine; Hear how he counsels me; how he can preach, Like chaste Xenocrates, gainst love divine; O heavens, O gods! why do these men of shame, Thus spoil your temples and blaspheme your name?

LVIII “Go cruel, go, go with such peace, such rest, Such joy, such comfort, as thou leavest me here: My angry soul discharged from this weak breast, Shall haunt thee ever, and attend thee near, And fury-like in snakes and firebrands dressed, Shall aye torment thee, whom it late held dear: And if thou ’scape the seas, the rocks, and sands And come to fight among the Pagan bands,

LIX “There lying wounded, mongst the hurt and slain, Of these my wrongs thou shalt the vengeance bear, And oft Armida shalt thou call in vain, At thy last gasp; this hope I soon to hear:” Here fainted she, with sorrow, grief and pain, Her latest words scant well expressed were, But in a swoon on earth outstretched she lies, Stiff were her frozen limbs, closed were her eyes.

LX Thou closed thine eyes, Armida, heaven envied Ease to thy grief, or comfort to thy woe; Ah, open then again, see tears down slide From his kind eyes, whom thou esteem’st thy foe, If thou hadst heard, his sighs had mollified Thine anger, hard he sighed and mourned so; And as he could with sad and rueful look His leave of thee and last farewell he took.

LXI What should he do? leave on the naked sand This woful lady half alive, half dead? Kindness forbade, pity did that withstand; But hard constraint, alas! did thence him lead; Away he went, the west wind blew from land Mongst the rich tresses of their pilot’s head, And with that golden sail the waves she cleft, To land he looked, till land unseen he left.

LXII Waked from her trance, foresaken, speechless, sad, Armida wildly stared and gazed about, “And is he gone,” quoth she, “nor pity had To leave me thus twixt life and death in doubt? Could he not stay? could not the traitor-lad From this last trance help or recall me out? And do I love him still, and on this sand Still unrevenged, still mourn, still weeping stand?

LXIII “Fie no! complaints farewell! with arms and art I will pursue to death this spiteful knight, Not earth’s low centre, nor sea’s deepest part, Not heaven, nor hell, can shield him from my might, I will o’ertake him, take him, cleave his heart, Such vengeance fits a wronged lover’s spite, In cruelty that cruel knight surpass I will, but what avail vain words, alas?

LXIV “O fool! thou shouldest have been cruel than, For then this cruel well deserved thine ire, When thou in prison hadst entrapped the man, Now dead with cold, too late thou askest fire; But though my wit, my cunning nothing can, Some other means shall work my heart’s desire, To thee, my beauty, thine be all these wrongs, Vengeance to thee, to thee revenge belongs.

LXV “Thou shalt be his reward, with murdering brand That dare this traitor of his head deprive, O you my lovers, on this rock doth stand The castle of her love for whom you strive, I, the sole heir of all Damascus land, For this revenge myself and kingdom give, If by this price my will I cannot gain, Nature gives beauty; fortune, wealth in vain.

LXVI “But thee, vain gift, vain beauty, thee I scorn, I hate the kingdom which I have to give, I hate myself, and rue that I was born, Only in hope of sweet revenge I live.” Thus raging with fell ire she gan return From that bare shore in haste, and homeward drive, And as true witness of her frantic ire, Her locks waved loose, face shone, eyes sparkled fire.

LXVII When she came home, she called with outcries shrill, A thousand devils in Limbo deep that won, Black clouds the skies with horrid darkness fill, And pale for dread became the eclipsed sun, The whirlwind blustered big on every hill, And hell to roar under her feet begun, You might have heard how through the palace wide, Some spirits howled, some barked, some hissed, some cried.

LXVIII A shadow, blacker than the mirkest night, Environed all the place with darkness sad, Wherein a firebrand gave a dreadful light, Kindled in hell by Tisiphone the mad; Vanished the shade, the sun appeared in sight, Pale were his beams, the air was nothing glad, And all the palace vanished was and gone, Nor of so great a work was left one stone.

LXIX As oft the clouds frame shapes of castles great Amid the air, that little time do last, But are dissolved by wind or Titan’s heat, Or like vain dreams soon made, and sooner past: The palace vanished so, nor in his seat Left aught but rocks and crags, by kind there placed; She in her coach which two old serpents drew, Sate down, and as she used, away she flew.

LXX She broke the clouds, and cleft the yielding sky, And bout her gathered tempest, storm and wind, The lands that view the south pole flew she by, And left those unknown countries far behind, The Straits of Hercules she passed, which lie Twixt Spain and Afric, nor her flight inclined To north or south, but still did forward ride O’er seas and streams, till Syria’s coasts she spied.

LXXI Now she went forward to Damascus fair, But of her country dear she fled the sight, And guided to Asphaltes’ lake her chair, Where stood her castle, there she ends her flight, And from her damsels far, she made repair To a deep vault, far from resort and light, Where in sad thoughts a thousand doubts she cast, Till grief and shame to wrath gave place at last.

LXXII “I will not hence,” quoth she, “till Egypt’s lord In aid of Zion’s king his host shall move; Then will I use all helps that charms afford, And change my shape or sex if so behove: Well can I handle bow, or lance, or sword, The worthies all will aid me, for my love: I seek revenge, and to obtain the same, Farewell, regard of honor; farewell, shame.

LXXIII “Nor let mine uncle and protector me Reprove for this, he most deserves the blame, My heart and sex, that weak and tender be, He bent to deeds that maidens ill became; His niece a wandering damsel first made he, He spurred my youth, and I cast off my shame, His be the fault, if aught gainst mine estate I did for love, or shall commit for hate.”

LXXIV This said, her knights, her ladies, pages, squires She all assembleth, and for journey fit In such fair arms and vestures them attires As showed her wealth, and well declared her wit; And forward marched, full of strange desires, Nor rested she by day or night one whit, Till she came there, where all the eastern bands, Their kings and princes, lay on Gaza’s sands.

SEVENTEENTH BOOK

THE ARGUMENT. Egypt’s great host in battle-ray forth brought, The Caliph sends with Godfrey’s power to fight; Armida, who Rinaldo’s ruin sought, To them adjoins herself and Syria’s might. To satisfy her cruel will and thought, She gives herself to him that kills her knight: He takes his fatal arms, and in his shield His ancestors and their great deeds beheld.

I Gaza the city on the frontier stands Of Juda’s realm, as men to Egypt ride, Built near the sea, beside it of dry sands Huge wildernesses lie and deserts wide Which the strong winds lift from the parched lands And toss like roaring waves in roughest tide, That from those storms poor passengers almost No refuge find, but there are drowned and lost.

II Within this town, won from the Turks of yore Strong garrison the king of Egypt placed, And for it nearer was, and fitted more That high emprise to which his thoughts he cast, He left great Memphis, and to Gaza bore His regal throne, and there, from countries vast Of his huge empire all the puissant host Assembled he, and mustered on the coast.

III Come say, my Muse, what manner times these were, And in those times how stood the state of things, What power this monarch had, what arms they bear, What nations subject, and what friends he brings; From all lands the southern ocean near, Or morning star, came princes, dukes and kings, And only thou of half the world well-nigh The armies, lords, and captains canst descry.

IV When Egypt from the Greekish emperor Rebelled first, and Christ’s true faith denied, Of Mahomet’s descent a warrior There set his throne and ruled that kingdom wide, Caliph he hight, and Caliphs since that hour Are his successors named all beside: So Nilus old his kings long time had seen That Ptolemies and Pharaohs called had been.