Part 12 (1/2)
x.x.xVII Forward he galloped fast, and loudly cried: ”Villain,” quoth he, ”thy conquest is thy shame, What praise? what honor shall this fact betide?
What gain? what guerdon shall befall the same?
Among the Arabian thieves thy face go hide, Far from resort of men of worth and fame, Or else in woods and mountains wild, by night, On savage beasts employ thy savage might.”
x.x.xVIII The Pagan patience never knew, nor used, Trembling for ire, his sandy locks he tore, Out from his lips flew such a sound confused, As lions make in deserts thick, which roar; Or as when clouds together crushed and bruised, Pour down a tempest by the Caspian sh.o.r.e; So was his speech imperfect, stopped, and broken, He roared and thundered when he should have spoken.
x.x.xIX But when with threats they both had whetted keen Their eager rage, their fury, spite and ire, They turned their steeds and left large s.p.a.ce between To make their forces greater, 'proaching nigher, With terms that warlike and that worthy been: O sacred Muse, my haughty thoughts inspire, And make a trumpet of my slender quill To thunder out this furious combat shrill.
XL These sons of Mavors bore, instead of spears, Two knotty masts, which none but they could lift, Each foaming steed so fast his master bears, That never beast, bird, shaft flew half so swift; Such was their fury, as when Boreas tears The shattered crags from Taurus' northern clift, Upon their helms their lances long they broke, And up to heaven flew splinters, sparks and smoke.
XLI The shock made all the towers and turrets quake, And woods and mountains all nigh hand resound; Yet could not all that force and fury shake The valiant champions, nor their persons wound; Together hurtled both their steeds, and brake Each other's neck, the riders lay on ground: But they, great masters of war's dreadful art, Plucked forth their swords and soon from earth up start.
XLII Close at his surest ward each warrior lieth, He wisely guides his hand, his foot, his eye, This blow he proveth, that defence he trieth, He traverseth, retireth, presseth nigh, Now strikes he out, and now he falsifieth, This blow he wardeth, that he lets slip by, And for advantage oft he lets some part Discovered seem; thus art deludeth art.
XLIII The Pagan ill defenced with sword or targe, Tancredi's thigh, as he supposed, espied And reaching forth gainst it his weapon large, Quite naked to his foe leaves his left-side; Tancred avoideth quick his furious charge, And gave him eke a wound deep, sore and wide; That done, himself safe to his ward retired, His courage praised by all, his skill admired.
XLIV The proud Circa.s.sian saw his streaming blood, Down from his wound, as from a fountain, running, He sighed for rage, and trembled as he stood, He blamed his fortune, folly, want of cunning; He lift his sword aloft, for ire nigh wood, And forward rushed: Tancred his fury shunning, With a sharp thrust once more the Pagan hit, To his broad shoulder where his arm is knit.
XLV Like as a bear through pierced with a dart Within the secret woods, no further flieth, But bites the senseless weapon mad with smart, Seeking revenge till unrevenged she dieth; So mad Argantes fared, when his proud heart Wound upon wound, and shame on shame espieth, Desire of vengeance so o'ercame his senses, That he forgot all dangers, all defences.
XLVI Uniting force extreme, with endless wrath, Supporting both with youth and strength untired, His thundering blows so fast about he layeth, That skies and earth the flying sparkles fired; His foe to strike one blow no leisure hath, Scantly he breathed, though he oft desired, His warlike skill and cunning all was waste, Such was Argantes' force, and such his haste.
XLVII Long time Tancredi had in vain attended When this huge storm should overblow and pa.s.s, Some blows his mighty target well defended, Some fell beside, and wounded deep the gra.s.s; But when he saw the tempest never ended, Nor that the Paynim's force aught weaker was, He high advanced his cutting sword at length, And rage to rage opposed, and strength to strength.
XLVIII Wrath bore the sway, both art and reason fail, Fury new force, and courage new supplies, Their armors forged were of metal frail, On every side thereof, huge cantels flies, The land was strewed all with plate and mail.
That, on the earth; on that, their warm blood lies.
And at each rush and every blow they smote Thunder the noise, the sparks, seemed lightning hot.
XLIX The Christian people and the Pagans gazed, On this fierce combat wis.h.i.+ng oft the end, Twixt hope and fear they stood long time amazed, To see the knights a.s.sail, and eke defend, Yet neither sign they made, nor noise they raised, But for the issue of the fight attend, And stood as still, as life and sense they wanted, Save that their hearts within their bosoms panted.
L Now were they tired both, and well-nigh spent, Their blows show greater will than power to wound; But Night her gentle daughter Darkness, sent, With friendly shade to overspread the ground, Two heralds to the fighting champions went, To part the fray, as laws of arms them bound Aridens born in France, and wise Pindore, The man that brought the challenge proud before.
LI These men their sceptres interpose, between The doubtful hazards of uncertain fight; For such their privilege hath ever been, The law of nations doth defend their right; Pindore began, ”Stay, stay, you warriors keen, Equal your honor, equal is your might; Forbear this combat, so we deem it best, Give night her due, and grant your persons rest.
LII ”Man goeth forth to labor with the sun, But with the night, all creatures draw to sleep, Nor yet of hidden praise in darkness won The valiant heart of n.o.ble knight takes keep:”
Argantes answered him, ”The fight begun Now to forbear, doth wound my heart right deep: Yet will I stay, so that this Christian swear, Before you both, again to meet me here.”
LIII ”I swear,” quoth Tancred, ”but swear thou likewise To make return thy prisoner eke with thee; Else for achievement of this enterprise, None other time but this expect of me;”
Thus swore they both; the heralds both devise, What time for this exploit should fittest be: And for their wounds of rest and cure had need, To meet again the sixth day was decreed.
LIV This fight was deep imprinted in their hearts That saw this b.l.o.o.d.y fray to ending brought, An horror great possessed their weaker parts, Which made them shrink who on their combat thought: Much speech was of the praise and high desarts Of these brave champions that so n.o.bly fought; But which for knightly worth was most ypraised, Of that was doubt and disputation raised.
LV All long to see them end this doubtful fray, And as they favor, so they wish success, These hope true virtue shall obtain the day, Those trust on fury, strength and hardiness; But on Erminia most this burden lay, Whose looks her trouble and her fear express; For on this dangerous combat's doubtful end Her joy, her comfort, hope and life depend.
LVI Her the sole daughter of that hapless king, That of proud Antioch late wore the crown, The Christian soldiers to Tancredi bring, When they had sacked and spoiled that glorious town; But he, in whom all good and virtue spring, The virgin's honor saved, and her renown; And when her city and her state was lost, Then was her person loved and honored most.
LVII He honored her, served her, and leave her gave, And willed her go whither and when she list, Her gold and jewels had he care to save, And them restored all, she nothing missed, She, that beheld this youth and person brave, When, by this deed, his n.o.ble mind she wist, Laid ope her heart for Cupid's shaft to hit, Who never knots of love more surer knit.
LVIII Her body free, captivated was her heart, And love the keys did of that prison bear, Prepared to go, it was a death to part From that kind Lord, and from that prison dear, But thou, O honor, which esteemed art The chiefest virtue n.o.ble ladies wear, Enforcest her against her will, to wend To Aladine, her mother's dearest friend.
LIX At Sion was this princess entertained, By that old tyrant and her mother dear, Whose loss too soon the woful damsel plained, Her grief was such, she lived not half the year, Yet banishment, nor loss of friends constrained The hapless maid her pa.s.sions to forbear, For though exceeding were her woe and grief, Of all her sorrows yet her love was chief.