In the meantime Satan has called together his followers for consultation. Among the many plans for holding the Christian army in check is the sending of the beautiful enchantress Armida to the camp of Godfrey, where she succeeds by her wiles in drawing away from the army a number of the bravest warriors. The king of Egypt, with an immense army, announces his intention to help Jerusalem and from this time on, this menace hovers like a black cloud over the horizon of the poem, ever approaching nearer and nearer, till in the last canto the storm is averted by the bravery of the Christian warriors and the aid of heaven. Argantes, one of the pagan warriors of Jerusalem, sends a herald to Godfrey's camp, challenging any of his warriors to single combat. Tancred is appointed by Godfrey to accept the challenge, and the two doughty champions fight all day long with no result. When night comes on both retire, bearing away serious wounds. Erminia, who has been in a terrible state of anxiety during the combat, cannot rest content when night comes on, without learning the condition of Tancred's wounds. She puts on Clorinda's suit of armor, leaves the city, and makes her way to the Christian camp, first sending a messenger to Tancred, announcing that a lady desires to see him. The scene which follows is very picturesque, describing as it does the silence of the night and the distant view of the tents. On high were the clear stars; the gentle Hours Walked cloudless through the galaxy of space, And the calm moon rose, lighting up the flowers With frost of living pearl: like her in grace, Th' enamored maid from her illumined face Reflected light where'er she chanced to rove; And made the silent Spirit of the place, The hills, the melancholy moon above, And the dumb valleys round, familiars of her love. Seeing the Camp, she whispered: "O ye fair Italian tents! how amiable ye show! The breathing winds that such refreshment bear, Ravish my soul, for 't is from you they blow So may relenting Heaven on me bestow,-- On me, by froward Fate so long distressed,-- A chaste repose from weariness and woe, As in your compass only lies my quest; As 'tis your arms alone can give my spirit rest." * * * * * Ah, little does she think, while thus she dreams, What is prepared for her by Fortune's spite! She is so placed, that the moon's placid beams In line direct upon her armor light; So far remote into the shades of night The silver splendor is conveyed, and she Surrounded is with brilliancy so bright, That whosoe'er might chance her crest to see, Would of a truth conclude it must Clorinda be.