Ours was the loss when gallant Dudon fell,
So highly honour'd, and belov'd so well.
But though that death which feeble mortals fear,
Has robb'd us of thy valued succour here,
Thou for our cause may'st heav'nly aid obtain,
Enroll'd among the bright angelic train.
"Twas thine, partaker of our mortal day,
To wield thy sword in many a bloody fray;
Now freed from earth and all its vain alarms,
Wield thou, a sainted spirit, heav'nly arms:
Learn to accept the vows we here bestow,
And look with pity down on human wo:
Then our emprize shall certain vict'ry bless,
Then, humbly grateful for vouchsaf'd success,
Thy conqu❜ring friends shall votive shrines decree,
And kneeling armies pay their thanks to thee."
Thus spake the Chief; and now the shades of Night
Had quench'd each scatter'd ray of cheerful light;
Sweet sleep, that gives the wounded heart relief,
Steals on the mourners, and suspends their grief.
But little slept their matchless Lord; intent
For ever on his charge, his thoughts he bent
To gain the needful timbers, and prepare
The dread machines of artificial war,
By whose resistless aid he hop'd alone
To force the strong defences of the town.
Soon as fair morning ting'd the Eastern skies,
He rose, to tend great Dudon's obsequies.
Hard by the camp, beneath a rising ground,
Their last repose the hero's ashes found:
Of cypress was the tomb; and o'er the dead
A lofty palm in gloomy grandeur spread:
The priestly train the last sad duties paid,
And chaunted mournful requiems to his shade.
Among the boughs in order due were plac'd
Trophies and arms, with rich devices grac❜d,
From Syrian, Persian foes in battle torn,
The victor's tomb now fated to adorn;
And in the midst the trunk suspended bore
The armour that the living hero wore:
"Dudon the brave" ('twas thus subscrib'd) "lies here; The lofty champion's honor'd dust revere."
The rites now o'er that parted friends demand,
The camp's artificers, a skilful band,
To the tall wood the great Commander sends;
A num'rous armed guard their steps attends.
In hollow vales th' embosom'd forest lies,
Its distant site made known by Syrian spies.
They haste to hew the timbers, and prepare
The irresistible machines of war.
Cheering their toil, they plied their weapons well,
Till half the children of the forest fell.
Prostrate the mountain ash his honours spread;
The palm, the fun'ral cypress, bow'd his head:
The pine, the holm with green unfading crown'd,
The fir, the beech, the poplar strew the ground:
The married elm lies low, where loves to twine
With am'rous confidence, the teeming vine;
Propp'd by the fond support she mounts on high,
Forgets her lowly lot, and soars into the sky.
Some fell'd the yew, and some with hardier stroke,
O'erturn'd the monarch of the woods, the oak;
He, though a thousand summers have renew'd
His leafy pride, unshaken, unsubdu'd,
Smiling at Time, his giant stature rears,
And braves the tempests of unnumber'd years.
Full many an ash the rude assailant feels,
And many a cedar loads the groaning wheels.
Startled by clanging arms and shouting men,
Each sylvan monster quits his gloomy den;
Rous'd from their nests the feather'd nations fly,
Swarm through the crowded air, and join the mingled cry.
Satan, (or Pluto, as he is here called,) indignant at the success of the Christians in Palestine, summons a council in the infernal regions, to consider the best means of opposing their further progress. His speech. He sends his Angels on earth. At their instigation, Idraot, Prince of Damascus, a Magician, sends his niece, Armida, who is likewise an Enchantress, to the Camp of the Christians, to endeavour to seduce their Chiefs. Her arrival at the Camp, and interview with Eustace. He introduces her to Godfrey. Her fictitious account of herself. Godfrey refuses to grant her the assistance she requires; but at length, at the instance of his brother Eustace and others of his younger Knights, consents to permit ten of the Adventurers to accompany her. Her stratagems to induce others to join her.
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