Two sentinels see her, and believing her to be Clorinda, pursue her. She flies and is carried by her horse many miles away, finally reaching a shepherd's cottage on the banks of the Jordan, where for some time she takes up her abode far from war's alarms and the "pangs of despised love." The description of Erminia's life here is much admired for its delineations of the charm of rural life. She slept, till in her dreaming ear, the bowers Whispered, the gay birds warbled of the dawn; The river roared; the winds to the young flowers Made love; the blithe bee wound its dulcet horn: Roused by the mirth and melodies of morn, Her languid eyes she opens, and perceives The huts of shepherds on the lonely lawn; Whilst seeming voices, 'twixt the waves and leaves Call back her scattered thoughts,--again she sighs and grieves. Her plaints were silenced by soft music, sent As from a rural pipe, such sounds as cheer The Syrian shepherd in his summer tent, And mixed with pastoral accents, rude but clear She rose and gently, guided by her ear, Came where an old man on a rising ground In the fresh shade, his white flocks feeding near, Twig baskets wove, and listened to the sound Trilled by three blooming boys, who sate disporting round. The shepherd, pitying Erminia's distress, takes her to his wife, and she thus becomes a member of the humble but happy household. In the meantime many events are taking place between the Christians and pagans, sorties, single combats, and attacks on the walls of the city. Godfrey has caused powerful engines of war to be built, especially a mighty movable tower, so high that it overtops the walls of the city. Clorinda, eager for glory, undertakes one night to destroy the tower, in spite of the warning of her old servant Arsetes, who tells her the story of her birth, and reveals the fact that she is of Christian parentage. She issues forth, succeeds in setting fire to the tower, but not being able to reënter the city, flies, followed by Tancred, who not recognizing her, fights with her and to his own eternal sorrow, slays her. This passage is regarded as the most beautiful of the whole poem: As the deep Euxine, though the wind no more Blows, that late tossed its billows to the stars, Stills not at once its rolling and its roar, But with its coasts long time conflicting jars; Thus, though their quickly-ebbing blood debars Force from their blades as vigor from their arms, Still lasts the frenzy of the flame which Mars Blew in their breasts; sustained by whose strong charms, Yet heap they strokes on strokes, yet harms inflict on harms.