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From “Jerusalem Delivered”
From the Italian by Edward Fairfax
“THOUGH gone, though dead, I love thee still; behold | |
| Death wounds but kills not love: yet if thou live, | |
| Sweet soul, still in his breast, my follies bold | |
| Ah pardon, love’s desires and stealth forgive: | |
| Grant me from his pale mouth some kisses cold, | 5 |
| Since death doth love of just reward deprive, | |
| And of thy spoils, sad death, afford me this,— | |
| Let me his mouth, pale, cold, and bloodless, kiss. | |
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| “O gentle mouth! with speeches kind and sweet | |
| Thou didst relieve my grief, my woe, and pain; | 10 |
| Ere my weak soul from this frail body fleet, | |
| Ah, comfort me with one dear kiss or twain; | |
| Perchance, if we alive had happed to meet, | |
| They had been given which now are stolen: oh vain, | |
| O feeble life, betwixt his lips out fly! | 15 |
| Oh, let me kiss thee first, then let me die! | |
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| “Receive my yielded spirit, and with thine | |
| Guide it to heaven, where all true love hath place.” | |
| This said, she sighed and tore her tresses fine, | |
| And from her eyes two streams poured on his face. | 20 |
| The man, revivèd with those showers divine, | |
| Awaked, and openèd his lips a space; | |
| His lips were opened, but fast shut his eyes, | |
| And with her sighs one sigh from him upflies. | |
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| The dame perceived that Tancred breathed and sight, | 25 |
| Which calmed her grief some deal and eased her fears: | |
| “Unclose thine eyes” (she says), “my lord and knight, | |
| See my last services, my plaints, and tears; | |
| See her that dies to see thy woful plight, | |
| That of thy pain her part and portion bears; | 30 |
| Once look on me: small is the gift I crave,— | |
| The last which thou canst give, or I can have.” | |
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| Tancred looked up, and closed his eyes again, | |
| Heavy and dim; and she renewed her woe. | |
| Quoth Vafrine, “Cure him first and then complain: | 35 |
| Medicine is life’s chief friend, plaint her worst foe.” | |
| They plucked his armor off, and she each vein, | |
| Each joint, and sinew felt and handled so, | |
| And searched so well each thrust, each cut; and wound, | |
| That hope of life her love and skill soon found. | 40 |
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| From weariness and loss of blood she spied | |
| His greatest pains and anguish most proceed. | |
| Naught but her veil amid those deserts wide | |
| She had to bind his wounds in so great need: | |
| But love could other bands (though strange) provide, | 45 |
| And pity wept for joy to see that deed; | |
| For with her amber locks, cut off, each wound | |
| She tied—O happy man, so cured, so bound! | |
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| For why? her veil was short and thin, those deep | |
| And cruel hurts to fasten, roll, and bind: | 50 |
| Nor salve nor simple had she; yet to keep | |
| Her knight alive, strong charms of wondrous kind | |
| She said, and from him drove that deadly sleep, | |
| That now his eyes he lifted, turned, and twined, | |
| And saw his squire, and saw that courteous dame | 55 |
| In habits strange, and wondered whence she came. | |
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| He said, “O Vafrine, tell me whence com’st thou, | |
| And who this gentle surgeon is, disclose.” | |
| She smiled, she sighed, she looked she wist not how, | |
| She wept, rejoiced, she blushed as red as rose: | 60 |
| “You shall know all” (she says); “your surgeon now | |
| Commands your silence, rest, and soft repose; | |
| You shall be sound, prepare my guerdon meet.” | |
| His head then laid she in her bosom sweet. | |
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