LXI“预示着,啊太真实:“他一个空间sighed for grief, then said, "Fain would I know The man in red, with such a knightly grace, A worthy lord he seemeth by his show, How like to Godfrey looks he in the face, How like in person! but some-deal more low." "Baldwin," quoth she, "that noble baron hight, By birth his brother, and his match in might. LXII "Next look on him that seems for counsel fit, Whose silver locks betray his store of days, Raymond he hight, a man of wondrous wit, Of Toulouse lord, his wisdom is his praise; What he forethinks doth, as he looks for, hit, His stratagems have good success always: With gilded helm beyond him rides the mild And good Prince William, England's king's dear child. LXIII "With him is Guelpho, as his noble mate, In birth, in acts, in arms alike the rest, I know him well, since I beheld him late, By his broad shoulders and his squared breast: But my proud foe that quite hath ruinate My high estate, and Antioch opprest, I see not, Boemond, that to death did bring Mine aged lord, my father, and my king." LXIV Thus talked they; meanwhile Godfredo went Down to the troops that in the valley stayed, And for in vain he thought the labor spent, To assail those parts that to the mountains laid, Against the northern gate his force he bent, Gainst it he camped, gainst it his engines played; All felt the fury of his angry power, That from those gates lies to the corner tower. LXV The town's third part was this, or little less, Fore which the duke his glorious ensigns spread, For so great compass had that forteress, That round it could not be environed With narrow siege -- nor Babel's king I guess That whilom took it, such an army led -- But all the ways he kept, by which his foe Might to or from the city come or go. LXVI His care was next to cast the trenches deep, So to preserve his resting camp by night, Lest from the city while his soldiers sleep They might assail them with untimely flight. This done he went where lords and princes weep With dire complaints about the murdered knight, Where Dudon dead lay slaughtered on the ground. And all the soldiers sat lamenting round. LXVII His wailing friends adorned the mournful bier With woful pomp, whereon his corpse they laid, And when they saw the Bulloigne prince draw near, All felt new grief, and each new sorrow made; But he, withouten show or change of cheer, His springing tears within their fountains stayed, His rueful looks upon the corpse he cast Awhile, and thus bespake the same at last; LXVIII "We need not mourn for thee, here laid to rest, Earth is thy bed, and not the grave the skies Are for thy soul the cradle and the nest, There live, for here thy glory never dies: For like a Christian knight and champion blest Thou didst both live and die: now feed thine eyes With thy Redeemer's sight, where crowned with bliss Thy faith, zeal, merit, well-deserving is. LXIX "Our loss, not thine, provokes these plaints and tears: For when we lost thee, then our ship her mast, Our chariot lost her wheels, their points our spears, The bird of conquest her chief feather cast: But though thy death far from our army hears Her chiefest earthly aid, in heaven yet placed Thou wilt procure its help Divine, so reaps He that sows godly sorrow, joy by heaps. LXX "For if our God the Lord Armipotent Those armed angels in our aid down send That were at Dothan to his prophet sent, Thou wilt come down with them, and well defend Our host, and with thy sacred weapons bent Gainst Sion's fort, these gates and bulwarks rend, That so by hand may win this hold, and we May in these temples praise our Christ for thee." LXXI Thus he complained; but now the sable shade Ycleped night, had thick enveloped The sun in veil of double darkness made; Sleep, eased care; rest, brought complaint to bed: All night the wary duke devising laid How that high wall should best be battered, How his strong engines he might aptly frame, And whence get timber fit to build the same. LXXII Up with the lark the sorrowful duke arose, A mourner chief at Dudon's burial, Of cypress sad a pile his friends compose Under a hill o'ergrown with cedars tall, Beside the hearse a fruitful palm-tree grows, Ennobled since by this great funeral, Where Dudon's corpse they softly laid in ground, The priest sung hymns, the soldiers wept around. LXXIII Among the boughs, they here and there bestow Ensigns and arms, as witness of his praise, Which he from Pagan lords, that did them owe, Had won in prosperous fights and happy frays: His shield they fixed on the hole below, And there this distich under-writ, which says,