Weeping she spoke—­weeping always, and sobbing, and full of wilful words.  But yet she felt all the time the arm that was round her.

“Armida,” said Rinaldo, in a voice full of tenderness, “be calm, and know me for what I am—­no enemy, no conqueror, nothing that intends thee shame or dishonour; but thy champion, thy restorer—­he that will preserve thy kingdom for thee, and seat thee in house and home.  Look at me—­look in these eyes, and see if they speak false.  And oh, would to Heaven thou wouldst indeed be as I am in faith.  There isn’t a queen in all the East should equal thee in glory.”

His tears fell on her eyelids as he spoke—­scalding tears; and she looked at him, and her heart re-opened to its lord, all love and worship; and Armida said, “Behold thy handmaid; dispose of her even as thou wilt.”

And that same day Godfrey of Boulogne was lord of Jerusalem, and paid his vows on the sepulchre of his Master.

[Footnote 1: 

“Chiama gli abitator’ de l’ombre eterne
Il rauco suon de la tartarea tromba. 
Treman le spaziose atre caverne,
E l’aer cieco a quel romor rimbomba. 
Ne si stridendo mai da le superne
Regioni del cielo il folgor piomba: 
Ne si scossa gia mai trema la terra,
Quando i vapori in sen gravida serra.” 
Canto iv. st. 3.

The trump of Tartarus, with iron roar,
Called to the dwellers the black regions under: 
Hell through its caverns trembled to the core,
And the blind air rebellowed to the thunder: 
Never yet fiery bolt more fiercely tore
The crashing firmament, like rocks, asunder;
Nor with so huge a shudder earth’s foundations
Shook to their mighty heart, lifting the nations.

The tone of this stanza (suggested otherwise by Vida) was caught from a fine one in Politian, the passage in which about the Nile I ought to have called to mind at page 168.

  “Con tal romor, qualor l’aer discorda,
    Di Giove il foco d’alta nube piomba: 
  Con tal tumulto, onde la gente assorda,
    Da l’alte cataratte il Nil rimbomba: 
  Con tal orror del Latin sangue ingorda
    Sono Megera la tartarea tromba.”

Fragment on the Jousting of Giuliano de’ Medici.

  Such is the noise, when through his cloudy floor
    The bolt of Jove falls on the pale world under;
  So shakes the land, where Nile with deafening roar
    Plunges his clattering cataracts in thunder;
  Horribly so, through Latium’s realm of yore,
    The trump of Tartarus blew ghastly wonder.]

[Footnote 2: 

“La bella Armida, di sua forma altiera,
E de’ doni del sesso e de l’etate,
L’ impresa prende:  e in su la prima sera
Parte, e tiene sol vie chiuse e celate: 
E ’n treccia e ’n gonna femminile spera
Vincer popoli invitti e schiere armate.” 
Canto iv. st. 27.]

[Footnote 3: 

“That sweet grove
Of Daphne by Orontes.”
Parad.  Lost, b. iv.