Part 14 (1/2)
VI Her plaints were interrupted with a sound, That seemed from thickest bushes to proceed, Some jolly shepherd sung a l.u.s.ty round, And to his voice he tuned his oaten reed; Thither she went, an old man there she found, At whose right hand his little flock did feed, Sat making baskets, his three sons among, That learned their father's art, and learned his song.
VII Beholding one in s.h.i.+ning Arms appear, The seely man and his were sore dismay'd; But sweet Erminia comforted their fear, Her vental up, her visage open laid; You happy folk, of heav'n beloved dear, Work on, quoth she, upon your harmless trade; These dreadful arms, I bear, no warfare bring To your sweet toil, nor those sweet tunes you sing.
VIII ”But, father, since this land, these towns and towers Destroyed are with sword, with fire and spoil, How may it be unhurt that you and yours In safety thus apply your harmless toil?”
”My son,” quoth he, ”this poor estate of ours Is ever safe from storm of warlike broil; This wilderness doth us in safety keep, No thundering drum, no trumpet breaks our sleep.
IX ”Haply just Heaven's defence and s.h.i.+eld of right Doth love the innocence of simple swains, The thunderbolts on highest mountains light, And seld or never strike the lower plains; So kings have cause to fear Bellona's might, Not they whose sweat and toil their dinner gains, Nor ever greedy soldier was enticed By poverty, neglected and despised.
X ”O poverty, chief of the heavenly brood, Dearer to me than wealth or kingly crown: No wish for honor, thirst of others' good, Can move my heart, contented with mine own: We quench our thirst with water of this flood, Nor fear we poison should therein be thrown; These little flocks of sheep and tender goats Give milk for food, and wool to make us coats.
XI ”We little wish, we need but little wealth, From cold and hunger us to clothe and feed; These are my sons, their care preserves from stealth Their father's flocks, nor servants more I need: Amid these groves I walk oft for my health, And to the fishes, birds, and beasts give heed, How they are fed, in forest, spring and lake, And their contentment for example take.
XII ”Time was, for each one hath his doating time, These silver locks were golden tresses then, That country life I hated as a crime, And from the forest's sweet contentment ran, And there became the mighty caliph's man, and though I but a simple gardener were, Yet could I mark abuses, see and hear.
XIII ”Enticed on with hope of future gain, I suffered long what did my soul displease; But when my youth was spent, my hope was vain.
I felt my native strength at last decrease; I gan my loss of l.u.s.ty years complain, And wished I had enjoyed the country's peace; I bade the court farewell, and with content My latter age here have I quiet spent.”
XIV While thus he spake, Erminia hushed and still His wise discourses heard, with great attention, His speeches grave those idle fancies kill Which in her troubled soul bred such dissension; After much thought reformed was her will, Within those woods to dwell was her intention, Till Fortune should occasion new afford, To turn her home to her desired lord.
XV She said therefore, ”O shepherd fortunate!
That troubles some didst whilom feel and prove, Yet livest now in this contented state, Let my mishap thy thoughts to pity move, To entertain me as a willing mate In shepherd's life which I admire and love; Within these pleasant groves perchance my heart, Of her discomforts, may unload some part.
XVI ”If gold or wealth, of most esteemed dear, If jewels rich thou diddest hold in prize, Such store thereof, such plenty have I here, As to a greedy mind might well suffice:”
With that down trickled many a silver tear, Two crystal streams fell from her watery eyes; Part of her sad misfortunes then she told, And wept, and with her wept that shepherd old.
XVII With speeches kind, he gan the virgin dear Toward his cottage gently home to guide; His aged wife there made her homely cheer, Yet welcomed her, and placed her by her side.
The princess donned a poor pastoral's gear, A kerchief coa.r.s.e upon her head she tied; But yet her gestures and her looks, I guess, Were such as ill beseemed a shepherdess.
XVIII Not those rude garments could obscure and hide The heavenly beauty of her angel's face, Nor was her princely offspring d.a.m.nified Or aught disparaged by those labors base; Her little flocks to pasture would she guide, And milk her goats, and in their folds them place, Both cheese and b.u.t.ter could she make, and frame Herself to please the shepherd and his dame.
XIX But oft, when underneath the greenwood shade Her flocks lay hid from Phoebus' scorching rays, Unto her knight she songs and sonnets made, And them engraved in bark of beech and bays; She told how Cupid did her first invade, How conquered her, and ends with Tancred's praise: And when her pa.s.sion's writ she over read, Again she mourned, again salt tears she shed.
XX ”You happy trees forever keep,” quoth she, ”This woful story in your tender rind, Another day under your shade maybe Will come to rest again some lover kind; Who if these trophies of my griefs he see, Shall feel dear pity pierce his gentle mind;”
With that she sighed and said, ”Too late I prove There is no troth in fortune, trust in love.
XXI ”Yet may it be, if gracious heavens attend The earnest suit of a distressed wight, At my entreat they will vouchsafe to send To these huge deserts that unthankful knight, That when to earth the man his eyes shall bend, And sees my grave, my tomb, and ashes light, My woful death his stubborn heart may move, With tears and sorrows to reward my love.
XXII ”So, though my life hath most unhappy been, At least yet shall my spirit dead be blest, My ashes cold shall, buried on this green, Enjoy that good this body ne'er possessed.”
Thus she complained to the senseless treen, Floods in her eyes, and fires were in her breast; But he for whom these streams of tears she shed, Wandered far off, alas, as chance him led.
XXIII He followed on the footsteps he had traced, Till in high woods and forests old he came, Where bushes, thorns and trees so thick were placed, And so obscure the shadows of the same, That soon he lost the tract wherein he paced; Yet went he on, which way he could not aim, But still attentive was his longing ear If noise of horse or noise of arms he hear.
XXIV If with the breathing of the gentle wind, An aspen leaf but shaked on the tree, If bird or beast stirred in the bushes blind, Thither he spurred, thither he rode to see: Out of the wood by Cynthia's favor kind, At last, with travel great and pains, got he, And following on a little path, he heard A rumbling sound, and hasted thitherward.
XXV It was a fountain from the living stone, That poured down clear streams in n.o.ble store, Whose conduit pipes, united all in one, Throughout a rocky channel ghastly roar; Here Tancred stayed, and called, yet answered none, Save babbling echo, from the crooked sh.o.r.e; And there the weary knight at last espies The springing daylight red and white arise.
XXVI He sighed sore, and guiltless heaven gan blame, That wished success to his desire denied, And sharp revenge protested for the same, If aught but good his mistress fair betide; Then wished he to return the way he came, Although he wist not by what path to ride, And time drew near when he again must fight With proud Argantes, that vain-glorious knight.
XXVII His stalwart steed the champion stout bestrode And p.r.i.c.ked fast to find the way he lost, But through a valley as he musing rode, He saw a man that seemed for haste a post, His horn was hung between his shoulders broad, As is the guise with us: Tancredi crossed His way, and gently prayed the man to say, To G.o.dfrey's camp how he should find the way.