Part 34 (2/2)

XLV ”And more, which more thy hate may justly move, More to thy loss, more to thy shame and grief, I thee inchanted, and allured to love, Wicked deceit, craft worthy sharp reprief; Mine honor gave I thee all gifts above, And of my beauties made thee lord and chief, And to my suitors old what I denayed, That gave I thee, my lover new, unprayed.

XLVI ”But reckon that among, my faults, and let Those many wrongs provoke thee so to wrath, That hence thou run, and that at naught thou set This pleasant house, so many joys which hath; Go, travel, pa.s.s the seas, fight, conquest get, Destroy our faith, what shall I say, our faith?

Ah no! no longer ours; before thy shrine Alone I pray, thou cruel saint of mine;

XLVII ”All only let me go with thee, unkind, A small request although I were thy foe, The spoiler seldom leaves the prey behind, Who triumphs lets his captives with him go; Among thy prisoners poor Armida bind, And let the camp increase thy praises so, That thy beguiler so thou couldst beguile, And point at me, thy thrall and bondslave vile.

XLVIII ”Despised bondslave, since my lord doth hate These locks, why keep I them or hold them dear?

Come cut them off, that to my servile state My habit answer may, and all my gear: I follow thee in spite of death and fate, Through battles fierce where dangers most appear, Courage I have, and strength enough perchance, To lead thy courser spare, and bear thy lance:

XLIX ”I will or bear, or be myself, thy s.h.i.+eld, And to defend thy life, will lose mine own: This breast, this bosom soft shall be thy bield Gainst storms of arrows, darts and weapons thrown; Thy foes, pardie, encountering thee in field, Will spare to strike thee, mine affection known, Lest me they wound, nor will sharp vengeance take On thee, for this despised beauty's sake.

L ”O wretch! dare I still vaunt, or help invoke From this poor beauty, scorned and disdained?”

She said no more, her tears her speeches broke, Which from her eyes like streams from springs down rained: She would have caught him by the hand or cloak, But he stepped backward, and himself restrained, Conquered his will, his heart ruth softened not, There plaints no issue, love no entrance got.

LI Love entered not to kindle in his breast, Which Reason late had quenched, his wonted flame; Yet entered Pity in the place at least, Love's sister, but a chaste and sober dame, And stirred him so, that hardly he suppressed The springing tears that to his eyes up came; But yet even there his plaints repressed were, And, as he could, he looked, and feigned cheer.

LII ”Madam,” quoth he, ”for your distress I grieve, And would amend it, if I might or could.

From your wise heart that fond affection drive: I cannot hate nor scorn you though I would, I seek no vengeance, wrongs I all forgive, Nor you my servant nor my foe I hold, Truth is, you erred, and your estate forgot, Too great your hate was, and your love too hot.

LIII ”But those are common faults, and faults of kind, Excused by nature, by your s.e.x and years; I erred likewise, if I pardon find None can condemn you, that our trespa.s.s 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 fellows.h.i.+p denies, Stay here or hence depart some better way, And calm your thoughts, you are both sage and wise.”

While thus he spoke, her pa.s.sions 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 G.o.ds! 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 h.e.l.l, can s.h.i.+eld 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 surpa.s.s I will, but what avail vain words, alas?

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