22 Thus as she woos, she rolls her rueful eyes With piteous look, and changeth oft her chere,[5] An hundred sighs from her false heart up-flies; She sobs, she mourns, it is great ruth to hear: The hardest breast sweet pity mollifies; What stony heart resists a woman's tear? But yet the knight, wise, wary, not unkind, Drew forth his sword, and from her careless twined:[6] 23 Towards the tree he march'd; she thither start, Before him stepp'd, embraced the plant, and cried-- 'Ah! never do me such a spiteful part, To cut my tree, this forest's joy and pride; Put up thy sword, else pierce therewith the heart Of thy forsaken and despised Armide; For through this breast, and through this heart, unkind, To this fair tree thy sword shall passage find.' 24 He lift his brand, nor cared, though oft she pray'd, And she her form to other shape did change; Such monsters huge, when men in dreams are laid, Oft in their idle fancies roam and range: Her body swell'd, her face obscure was made; Vanish'd her garments rich, and vestures strange; A giantess before him high she stands, Arm'd, like Briareus, with an hundred hands. 25 With fifty swords, and fifty targets bright, She threaten'd death, she roar'd, she cried and fought; Each other nymph, in armour likewise dight, A Cyclops great became; he fear'd them nought, But on the myrtle smote with all his might, Which groan'd, like living souls, to death nigh brought; The sky seem'd Pluto's court, the air seem'd hell, Therein such monsters roar, such spirits yell: 26 Lighten'd the heaven above, the earth below Roared aloud; that thunder'd, and this shook: Bluster'd the tempests strong; the whirlwinds blow; The bitter storm drove hailstones in his look; But yet his arm grew neither weak nor slow, Nor of that fury heed or care he took, Till low to earth the wounded tree down bended; en fled the spirits all, the charms all ended. 27 The heavens grew clear, the air wax'd calm and still, The wood returned to its wonted state, Of witchcrafts free, quite void of spirits ill, Of horror full, but horror there innate: He further tried, if ought withstood his will To cut those trees, as did the charms of late, And finding nought to stop him, smiled and said-- 'O shadows vain! O fools, of shades afraid!' 28 From thence home to the camp-ward turn'd the knight; The hermit cried, upstarting from his seat, 'Now of the wood the charms have lost their might; The sprites are conquer'd, ended is the feat; See where he comes!'--Array'd in glittering white Appear'd the man, bold, stately, high, and great; His eagle's silver wings to shine begun With wondrous splendour 'gainst the golden sun.