The mighty beame redoubled oft his blowes, And with such force the engine smote and hit, That her broad side the towre wide open throwes, Her joynts were broke, her rafters cleft and split; But yet, ‘gainst every hap whence mischief grows Prepared, the piece (’gainst such extremes made fit), Lanched forth two sithes, sharpe, cutting, long, and broade, And cut the ropes, whereon the engine roade. As an old rocke, which age, or stormy winde Teares from some craggy hill, or mountaine steepe, Doth breake, doth bruise, and into dust doth grinde Woods, houses, hamlets, herds, and folds of sheep; So fell the beame, and down with it all kinde Of arms, of weapons, and of men did sweep, Wherewith the towers once or twice did shake, Trembled the walls, the hills and mountains quake. (80, 81, 82.) The Turks attempt to burn the tower with wildfire, but are prevented by a providential tempest, and it approaches so close that the besiegers throw their drawbridge on the walls. The courage of Godfrey was animated by a divine vision of all those princes who had been slain in the sacred war, bearing arms in behalf of the crusaders. And on the bridge he stept, but there was staid By Soliman, who entrance all denied; That narrow tree to virtue great was made The field, as in few blowes right soon was tried. Here will I give my life for Sion’s aid, Here will I end my days, the Soldan cried; Behind me cut, or breake this bridge, that I May kill a thousand Christians first, then die. But thither fierce Rinaldo threatening went, And at his sight fled all the Soldan’s traine; What shall I do? if here my life be spent, I spend and spill (quoth he) my blood in vaine; With that his steps from Godfrey back he bent, And to him let the passage free remaine, Who threatening followed as the Soldan fled, And on the walls the purple crown dispred: About his head he tost, he turned, he cast That glorious ensign with a thousand twines; Thereon the wind breathes with his sweetest blast— Thereon with golden rays glad Phebus shines: Earth laughs for joy, the streames forbeare their hast, Floods clap their hands, on mountains dance the pines; And Sion’s towres and sacred temples smile For their deliv’rance from that bondage vile. (xviii. 98–100.)