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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=531509" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Jerusalem Delivered - Book 06 - part 03</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXIX</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This youth was one of those, who late desired<br>With that vain-glorious boaster to have fought,<br>But Tancred chosen, he and all retired;<br>Now when his slackness he awhile admired,<br>And saw elsewhere employed was his thought,<br>Nor that to just, though chosen, once he proffered,<br>He boldly took that fit occasion offered.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXX</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No tiger, panther, spotted leopard,<br>Runs half so swift, the forests wild among,<br>As this young champion hasted thitherward,<br>Where he attending saw the Pagan strong:<br>Tancredi started with the noise he heard,<br>As waked from sleep, where he had dreamed long,<br>'Oh stay,' he cried, 'to me belongs this war!'<br>But cried too late, Otho was gone too far.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXI</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then full of fury, anger and despite,<br>He stayed his horse, and waxed red for shame,<br>The fight was his, but now disgraced quite<br>Himself he thought, another played his game;<br>Meanwhile the Saracen did hugely smite<br>On Otho's helm, who to requite the same,<br>His foe quite through his sevenfold targe did bear,<br>And in his breastplate stuck and broke his spear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXII</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The encounter such, upon the tender grass,<br>Down from his steed the Christian backward fell;<br>Yet his proud foe so strong and sturdy was,<br>That he nor shook, nor staggered in his sell,<br>But to the knight that lay full low, alas,<br>In high disdain his will thus gan he tell,<br>'Yield thee my slave, and this thine honor be,<br>Thou may'st report thou hast encountered me.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXIII</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Not so,' quoth he, 'pardy it's not the guise<br>Of Christian knights, though fall'n, so soon to yield;<br>I can my fall excuse in better wise,<br>And will revenge this shame, or die in field.'<br>The great Circassian bent his frowning eyes,<br>Like that grim visage in Minerva's shield,<br>'Then learn,' quoth he, 'what force Argantes useth<br>Against that fool that proffered grace refuseth.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXIV</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With that he spurred his horse with speed and haste,<br>Forgetting what good knights to virtue owe,<br>Otho his fury shunned, and, as he passed,<br>At his right side he reached a noble blow,<br>Wide was the wound, the blood outstreamed fast,<br>And from his side fell to his stirrup low:<br>But what avails to hurt, if wounds augment<br>Our foe's fierce courage, strength and hardiment?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXV</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Argantes nimbly turned his ready steed,<br>And ere his foe was wist or well aware,<br>Against his side he drove his courser's head,<br>What force could he gainst so great might prepare?<br>Weak were his feeble joints, his courage dead,<br>His heart amazed, his paleness showed his care,<br>His tender side gainst the hard earth he cast,<br>Shamed, with the first fall; bruised, with the last.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXVI</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The victor spurred again his light-foot steed,<br>And made his passage over Otho's heart,<br>And cried, 'These fools thus under foot I tread,<br>This dare contend with me in equal mart.'<br>Tancred for anger shook his noble head,<br>So was he grieved with that unknightly part;<br>The fault was his, he was so slow before,<br>With double valor would he salve that sore.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXVII</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Forward he galloped fast, and loudly cried:<br>'Villain,' quoth he, 'thy conquest is thy shame,<br>What praise? what honor shall this fact betide?<br>What gain? what guerdon shall befall the same?<br>Among the Arabian thieves thy face go hide,<br>Far from resort of men of worth and fame,<br>Or else in woods and mountains wild, by night,<br>On savage beasts employ thy savage might.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXVIII</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Pagan patience never knew, nor used,<br>Trembling for ire, his sandy locks he tore,<br>Our from his lips flew such a sound confused,<br>As lions make in deserts thick, which roar;<br>Or as when clouds together crushed and bruised,<br>Pour down a tempest by the Caspian shore;<br>So was his speech imperfect, stopped, and broken,<br>He roared and thundered when he should have spoken.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXIX</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But when with threats they both had whetted keen<br>Their eager rage, their fury, spite and ire,<br>They turned their steeds and left large space between<br>To make their forces greater, 'proaching nigher,<br>With terms that warlike and that worthy been:<br>O sacred Muse, my haughty thoughts inspire,<br>And make a trumpet of my slender quill<br>To thunder out this furious combat shrill.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XL</div><div style="margin:10px 0">These sons of Mayors bore, instead of spears,<br>Two knotty masts, which none but they could lift,<br>Each foaming steed so fast his master bears,<br>That never beast, bird, shaft flew half so swift;<br>Such was their fury, as when Boreas tears<br>The shattered crags from Taurus' northern clift,<br>Upon their helms their lances long they broke,<br>And up to heaven flew splinters, spark and smoke.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XLI</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The shock made all the towers and turrets quake,<br>And woods and mountains all nigh hand resound;<br>Yet could not all that force and fury shake<br>The valiant champions, nor their persons wound;<br>Together hurtled both their steeds, and brake<br>Each other's neck, the riders lay on ground:<br>But they, great masters of war's dreadful art,<br>Plucked forth their swords and soon from earth up start.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XLII</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Close at his surest ward each warrior lieth,<br>He wisely guides his hand, his foot, his eye,<br>This blow he proveth, that defence he trieth,<br>He traverseth, retireth, presseth nigh,<br>Now strikes he out, and now he falsifieth,<br>This blow he wardeth, that he lets slip by,<br>And for advantage oft he lets some part<br>Discovered seem; thus art deludeth art.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Torquato+Tasso">Torquato Tasso</a><div class=q>
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This youth was one of those, who late desired
With that vain-glorious boaster to have fought,
But Tancred chosen, he and all retired;
Now when his slackness he awhile admired,
And saw elsewhere employed was his thought,
Nor that to just, tho..."></div>
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