Part 69

LXXXVI And with his heavy, strong and mighty targe, That with seven hard bulls’ hides was surely lined, And strengthened with a cover thick and large Of stiff and well-attempered steel behind, He shielded Raymond from the furious charge, From swords, from darts, from weapons of each kind, And all his foes drove back with his sharp blade, That sure and safe he lay, as in a shade.

LXXXVII Thus saved, thus shielded, Raymond ’gan respire, He rose and reared himself in little space, And in his bosom burned the double fire Of vengeance; wrath his heart; shame filled his face; He looked around to spy, such was his ire, The man whose stroke had laid him in that place, Whom when he sees not, for disdain he quakes, And on his people sharp revengement takes.

LXXXVIII The Gascoigns turn again, their lord in haste To venge their loss his band recorded brings, The troop that durst so much now stood aghast, For where sad fear grew late, now boldness springs, Now followed they that fled, fled they that chased; So in one hour altereth the state of things, Raymond requites his loss, shame, hurt and all, And with an hundred deaths revenged one fall.

LXXXIX Whilst Raymond wreaked thus his just disdain On the proud-heads of captains, lords and peers, He spies great Sion’s king amid the train, And to him leaps, and high his sword he rears, And on his forehead strikes, and strikes again, Till helm and head he breaks, he cleaves, he tears; Down fell the king, the guiltless land he bit, That now keeps him, because he kept not it.

XC Their guides, one murdered thus, the other gone, The troops divided were, in diverse thought, Despair made some run headlong gainst their fone, To seek sharp death that comes uncalled, unsought; And some, that laid their hope on flight alone, Fled to their fort again; yet chance so wrought, That with the flyers in the victors pass, And so the fortress won and conquered was.

XCI The hold was won, slain were the men that fled, In courts, halls, chambers high; above, below, Old Raymond fast up to the leads him sped, And there, of victory true sign and show, His glorious standard to the wind he spread, That so both armies his success might know. But Solyman saw not the town was lost, For far from thence he was, and near the host;

XCII Into the field he came, the lukewarm blood Did smoke and flow through all the purple field, There of sad death the court and palace stood, There did he triumphs lead, and trophies build; An armed steed fast by the Soldan yood, That had no guide, nor lord the reins to wield, The tyrant took the bridle, and bestrode The courser’s empty back, and forth he rode.

XCIII Great, yet but short and sudden was the aid That to the Pagans, faint and weak, he brought, A thunderbolt he was, you would have said, Great, yet that comes and goes as swift as thought And of his coming swift and flight unstayed Eternal signs in hardest rocks hath wrought, For by his hand a hundred knights were slain, But time forgot hath all their names but twain;

XCIV Gildippes fair, and Edward thy dear lord, Your noble death, sad end, and woful fate, If so much power our vulgar tongue afford, To all strange wits, strange ears let me dilate, That ages all your love and sweet accord, Your virtue, prowess, worth may imitate, And some kind servant of true love that hears, May grace your death, my verses, with some tears.

XCV The noble lady thither boldly flew, Where first the Soldan fought, and him defied, Two mighty blows she gave the Turk untrue, One cleft his shield, the other pierced his side; The prince the damsel by her habit knew, “See, see this mankind strumpet, see,” he cried, “This shameless whore, for thee fit weapons were Thy neeld and spindle, not a sword and spear.”

XCVI This said, full of disdain, rage and despite, A strong, a fierce, a deadly stroke he gave, And pierced her armor, pierced her bosom white, Worthy no blows, but blows of love to have: Her dying hand let go the bridle quite, She faints, she falls, ’twixt life and death she strave, Her lord to help her came, but came too late, Yet was not that his fault, it was his fate.

XCVII What should he do? to diverse parts him call Just ire and pity kind, one bids him go And succor his dear lady, like to fall, The other calls for vengeance on his foe; Love biddeth both, love says he must do all, And with his ire joins grief, with pity woe. What did he then? with his left hand the knight Would hold her up, revenge her with his right.

XCVIII But to resist against a knight so bold Too weak his will and power divided were; So that he could not his fair love uphold, Nor kill the cruel man that slew his dear. His arm that did his mistress kind enfold, The Turk cut off, pale grew his looks and cheer, He let her fall, himself fell by her side, And, for he could not save her, with her died.

XCIX As the high elm, whom his dear vine hath twined Fast in her hundred arms and holds embraced, Bears down to earth his spouse and darling kind If storm or cruel steel the tree down cast, And her full grapes to naught doth bruise and grind, Spoils his own leaves, faints, withers, dies at last, And seems to mourn and die, not for his own, But for her death, with him that lies o’erthrown:

C So fell he mourning, mourning for the dame Whom life and death had made forever his; They would have spoke, but not one word could frame, Deep sobs their speech, sweet sighs their language is, Each gazed on other’s eyes, and while the same Is lawful, join their hands, embrace and kiss: And thus sharp death their knot of life untied, Together fainted they, together died.

CI But now swift fame her nimble wings dispread, And told eachwhere their chance, their fate, their fall, Rinaldo heard the case, by one that fled From the fierce Turk and brought him news of all. Disdain, good-will, woe, wrath the champion led To take revenge; shame, grief, for vengeance call; But as he went, Adrastus with his blade Forestalled the way, and show of combat made.

CII The giant cried, “By sundry signs I note That whom I wish, I search, thou, thou art he, I marked each worthy’s shield, his helm, his coat, And all this day have called and cried for thee, To my sweet saint I have thy head devote, Thou must my sacrifice, my offering be, Come let us here our strength and courage try, Thou art Armida’s foe, her champion I.”

CIII Thus he defied him, on his front before, And on his throat he struck him, yet the blow His helmet neither bruised, cleft nor tore, But in his saddle made him bend and bow; Rinaldo hit him on the flank so sore, That neither art nor herb could help him now; Down fell the giant strong, one blow such power, Such puissance had; so falls a thundered tower.

CIV With horror, fear, amazedness and dread, Cold were the hearts of all that saw the fray, And Solyman, that viewed that noble deed, Trembled, his paleness did his fear bewray; For in that stroke he did his end areed, He wist not what to think, to do, to say, A thing in him unused, rare and strange, But so doth heaven men’s hearts turn, alter, change.

CV As when the sick or frantic men oft dream In their unquiet sleep and slumber short, And think they run some speedy course, and seem To move their legs and feet in hasty sort, Yet feel their limbs far slower than the stream Of their vain thoughts that bears them in this sport, And oft would speak, would cry, would call or shout, Yet neither sound, nor voice, nor word send out:

CVI So run to fight the angry Soldan would, And did enforce his strength, his might, his ire, Yet felt not in himself his courage old, His wonted force, his rage and hot desire, His eyes, that sparkled wrath and fury bold, Grew dim and feeble, fear had quenched that fire, And in his heart an hundred passions fought, Yet none on fear or base retire he thought.

CVII While unresolved he stood, the victor knight Arrived, and seemed in quickness, haste and speed, In boldness, greatness, goodliness and might, Above all princes born of human seed: The Turk small while resists, not death nor fight Made him forget his state or race, through dreed, He fled no strokes, he fetched no groan nor sigh, Bold were his motions last, proud, stately, high.

CVIII Now when the Soldan, in these battles past That Antheus-like oft fell oft rose again, Evermore fierce, more fell, fell down at last To lie forever, when this prince was slain, Fortune, that seld is stable, firm or fast, No longer durst resist the Christian train, But ranged herself in row with Godfrey’s knights, With them she serves, she runs, she rides, she fights.

CIX The Pagan troops, the king’s own squadron fled, Of all the east, the strength, the pride, the flower, Late called Immortal, now discomfited, It lost that title proud, and lost all power; To him that with the royal standard fled, Thus Emireno said, with speeches sour, “Art not thou he to whom to bear I gave My king’s great banner, and his standard brave?

CX “This ensign, Rimedon, I gave not thee To be the witness of thy fear and flight, Coward, dost thou thy lord and captain see In battle strong, and runn’st thyself from fight? What seek’st thou? safety? come, return with me, The way to death is path to virtue right, Here let him fight that would escape; for this The way to honor, way to safety is.”

CXI The man returned and swelled with scorn and shame, The duke with speeches grave exhorts the rest; He threats, he strikes sometime, till back they came, And rage gainst force, despair gainst death addressed. Thus of his broken armies gan he frame A battle now, some hope dwelt in his breast, But Tisiphernes bold revived him most, Who fought and seemed to win, when all was lost;

CXII Wonders that day wrought noble Tisipherne, The hardy Normans all he overthrew; The Flemings fled before the champion stern, Gernier, Rogero, Gerard bold he slew; His glorious deeds to praise and fame etern His life’s short date prolonged, enlarged and drew, And then, as he that set sweet life at nought, The greatest peril, danger, most he sought.

CXIII He spied Rinaldo, and although his field Of azure purple now and sanguine shows, And though the silver bird amid his shield Were armed gules; yet he the champion knows. And says, “Here greatest peril is, heavens yield Strength to my courage, fortune to my blows, That fair Armida her revenge may see, Help, Macon, for his arms I vow to thee.”