The prows, their speed stopp’d, o’er the surges nod,
The falling anchors dash the foaming flood;
When, sudden as they stopp’d, the swarthy race,
With smiles of friendly welcome on each face,
The ship’s high sides swift by the cordage climb:
Illustrious Gama, with an air sublime,
Soften’d by mild humanity, receives,
And to their chief the hand of friendship gives,
Bids spread the board, and, instant as he said,
Along the deck the festive board is spread:
The sparkling wine in crystal goblets glows,
And round and round with cheerful welcome flows.
While thus the vine its sprightly glee inspires,
From whence the fleet, the swarthy chief enquires,
What seas they past, what ‘vantage would attain,
And what the shore their purpose hop’d to gain?
“From farthest west,” the Lusian race reply,
“To reach the golden Eastern shores we try.
Through that unbounded sea whose billows roll
From the cold northern to the southern pole;
And by the wide extent, the dreary vast
Of Afric’s bays, already have we past;
And many a sky have seen, and many a shore,
Where but sea monsters cut the waves before.
To spread the glories of our monarch’s reign,
For India’s shore we brave the trackless main,
Our glorious toil, and at his nod would brave
The dismal gulfs of Acheron’s92* black wave.
And now, in turn, your race, your country tell,
If on your lips fair truth delights to dwell
To us, unconscious of the falsehood, show
What of these seas and India’s site you know.”
“Rude are the natives here,” the Moor replied;
“Dark are their minds, and brute-desire their guide:
But we, of alien blood, and strangers here,
Nor hold their customs nor their laws revere.
From Abram’s race our holy prophet sprung,93*
An angel taught, and heaven inspir’d his tongue;
His sacred rites and mandates we obey,
And distant empires own his holy sway.
From isle to isle our trading vessels roam,
Mozambique’s harbour our commodious home.
If then your sails for India’s shore expand,
For sultry Ganges or Hydaspes’94* strand,
Here shall you find a pilot skill’d to guide
Through all the dangers of the perilous tide,
Though wide-spread shelves, and cruel rocks unseen,
Lurk in the way, and whirlpools rage between.
Accept, meanwhile, what fruits these islands hold,
And to the regent let your wish be told.
Then may your mates the needful stores provide,
And all your various wants be here supplied.”
So spake the Moor, and bearing smiles untrue
And signs of friendship, with his bands withdrew.
O’erpower’d with joy unhop’d the sailors stood,
To find such kindness on a shore so rude.
Now shooting o’er the flood his fervid blaze,
The red-brow’d sun withdraws his beamy rays;
Safe in the bay the crew forget their cares,
And peaceful rest their wearied strength repairs.
Calm twilight now95* his drowsy mantle spreads,
And shade on shade, the gloom still deep’ning, sheds.
The moon, full orb’d, forsakes her wat’ry cave,
And lifts her lovely head above the wave.
The snowy splendours of her modest ray
Stream o’er the glist’ning waves, and quiv’ring play:
Around her, glitt’ring on the heaven’s arch’d brow,
Unnumber’d stars, enclos’d in azure, glow,
Thick as the dew-drops of the April dawn,
Or May-flowers crowding o’er the daisy-lawn:
The canvas whitens in the silvery beam,
And with a mild pale red the pendants gleam:
The masts’ tall shadows tremble o’er the deep;
The peaceful winds a holy silence keep;
The watchman’s carol, echo’d from the prows,
Alone, at times, awakes the still repose.
Aurora now, with dewy lustre bright,
Appears, ascending on the rear of night.
With gentle hand, as seeming oft to pause,
The purple curtains of the morn she draws;
The sun comes forth, and soon the joyful crew,
Each aiding each, their joyful tasks pursue.
Wide o’er the decks the spreading sails they throw;
From each tall mast the waving streamers flow;
All seems a festive holiday on board
To welcome to the fleet the island’s lord.
With equal joy the regent sails to meet,
And brings fresh cates, his off’rings, to the fleet:
For of his kindred race their line he deems,
That savage race96* who rush’d from Caspia’s streams,
And triumph’d o’er the East, and, Asia won,
In proud Byzantium97* fix’d their haughty throne.
Brave Vasco hails the chief with honest smiles,
And gift for gift with liberal hand he piles.
His gifts, the boast of Europe’s heart disclose,
And sparkling red the wine of Tagus flows.
High on the shrouds the wond’ring sailors hung,
To note the Moorish garb, and barb’rous tongue:
Nor less the subtle Moor, with wonder fir’d,
Their mien, their dress, and lordly ships admir’d:
Much he enquires their king’s, their country’s name,
And, if from Turkey’s fertile shores they came?
What God they worshipp’d, what their sacred lore,
What arms they wielded, and what armour wore?
To whom brave Gama: “Nor of Hagar’s blood
Am I, nor plough from Ismael’s shores the flood;
From Europe’s strand I trace the foamy way,
To find the regions of the infant day.
The God we worship stretch’d yon heaven’s high bow,
And gave these swelling waves to roll below;
The hemispheres of night and day He spread,
He scoop’d each vale, and rear’d each mountain’s head;
His Word produc’d the nations of the earth,
And gave the spirits of the sky their birth;
On earth, by Him, his holy lore was given,
On earth He came to raise mankind to heaven.
And now behold, what most your eyes desire,
Our shining armour, and our arms of fire;
For who has once in friendly peace beheld,
Will dread to meet them on the battle field.”
Straight as he spoke98* the warlike stores display’d
Their glorious show, where, tire on tire inlaid,
Appear’d of glitt’ring steel the carabines,
There the plum’d helms,99* and pond’rous brigandines;100*
O’er the broad bucklers sculptur’d orbs emboss’d
The crooked faulchions, dreadful blades were cross’d:
Here clasping greaves, and plated mail-quilts strong;
The long-bows here, and rattling quivers hung,
And like a grove the burnish’d spears were seen,
With darts and halberts double-edged between;
Here dread grenadoes and tremendous bombs,
With deaths ten thousand lurking in their wombs,
And far around, of brown and dusky red,
The pointed piles of iron balls were spread.
The bombardiers, now to the regent’s view
The thund’ring mortars and th
e cannon drew;
Yet, at their leader’s nod, the sons of flame
(For brave and gen’rous ever are the same)
Withheld their hands, nor gave the seeds of fire
To rouse the thunders of the dreadful tire.
For Gama’s soul disdain’d the pride of show
Which acts the lion o’er the trembling roe.
His joy and wonder oft the Moor express’d,
But rankling hate lay brooding in his breast;
With smiles obedient to his will’s control,
He veils the purpose of his treach’rous soul:
For pilots, conscious of the Indian strand,
Brave Vasco sues, and bids the Moor command
What bounteous gifts shall recompense their toils;
The Moor prevents him with assenting smiles,
Resolved that deeds of death, not words of air,
Shall first the hatred of his soul declare;
Such sudden rage his rankling mind possess’d,
When Gama’s lips Messiah’s name confess’d.101*
Oh depth of Heaven’s dread will, that ranc’rous hate
On Heaven’s best lov’d in ev’ry clime should wait!
Now, smiling round on all the wond’ring crew
The Moor, attended by his bands, withdrew;
His nimble barges soon approach’d the land,
And shouts of joy receiv’d him on the strand.
From heaven’s high dome the vintage-god102* beheld
(Whom nine long months his father’s thigh conceal’d);103*
Well pleas’d he mark’d the Moor’s determin’d hate
And thus his mind revolv’d in self-debate: —
“Has Heaven, indeed, such glorious lot ordain’d,
By Lusus’ race such conquests to be gain’d
O’er warlike nations, and on India’s shore,
Where I, unrivall’d, claim’d the palm before?
I, sprung from Jove! And shall these wand’ring few,
What Ammon’s son104* unconquer’d left, subdue
Ammon’s brave son who led the god of war
His slave auxiliar at his thund’ring car?
Must these possess what Jove to him denied,
Possess what never sooth’d the Roman pride?
Must these the victor’s lordly flag display
With hateful blaze beneath the rising day,
My name dishonour’d, and my victories stain’d,
O’erturn’d my altars, and my shrines profan’d?
No; be it mine to fan the Regent’s hate;
Occasion seiz’d commands the action’s fate.
’Tis mine — this captain, now my dread no more,
Shall never shake his spear on India’s shore.”
So spake the Power,105* and with the lightning’s flight
For Afric darted thro’ the fields of light.
His form divine he cloth’d in human shape,106*
And rush’d impetuous o’er the rocky cape:
In the dark semblance of a Moor he came
For art and old experience known to fame:
Him all his peers with humble deference heard,
And all Mozambique and its prince rever’d:
The prince in haste he sought, and thus express’d
His guileful hate in friendly counsel dress’d:
“And to the regent of this isle alone
Are these adventurers and their fraud unknown?
Has Fame conceal’d their rapine from his ear?
Nor brought the groans of plunder’d nations here?
Yet still their hands the peaceful olive bore
Whene’er they anchor’d on a foreign shore:
But nor their seeming nor their oaths I trust,
For Afric knows them bloody and unjust.
The nations sink beneath their lawless force,
And fire and blood have mark’d their deadly course.
We too, unless kind Heav’n and thou prevent,
Must fall the victims of their dire intent,
And, gasping in the pangs of death, behold
Our wives led captive, and our daughters sold.
By stealth they come, ere morrow dawn, to bring
The healthful bev’rage from the living spring:
Arm’d with his troops the captain will appear;
For conscious fraud is ever prone to fear.
To meet them there select a trusty band,
And, in close ambush, take thy silent stand;
There wait, and sudden on the heedless foe
Rush, and destroy them ere they dread the blow.
Or say, should some escape the secret snare,
Saved by their fate, their valour, or their care,
Yet their dread fall shall celebrate our isle,
If Fate consent, and thou approve the guile.
Give then a pilot to their wand’ring fleet,
Bold in his art, and tutor’d in deceit;
Whose hand advent’rous shall their helms misguide,
To hostile shores, or whelm them in the tide.”
So spoke the god, in semblance of a sage
Renown’d for counsel and the craft of age.
The prince with transport glowing in his face
Approv’d, and caught him in a kind embrace:
And instant at the word his bands prepare
Their bearded darts and implements of war,
That Lusus’ sons might purple with their gore
The crystal fountain which they sought on shore:
And, still regardful of his dire intent,
A skilful pilot to the bay he sent,
Of honest mien, yet practised in deceit,
Who far at distance on the beach should wait,
And to the ‘scaped, if some should ‘scape the snare
Should offer friendship and the pilot’s care,
But when at sea, on rocks should dash their pride,
And whelm their lofty vanes beneath the tide.
Apollo107* now had left his wat’ry bed,
And o’er the mountains of Arabia spread
His rays that glow’d with gold; when Gama rose,
And from his bands a trusty squadron chose:
Three speedy barges brought their casks to fill
From gurgling fountain, or the crystal rill:
Full arm’d they came, for brave defence prepar’d,
For martial care is ever on the guard:
And secret warnings ever are imprest
On wisdom such as wak’d in Gama’s breast.
And now, as swiftly springing o’er the tide
Advanc’d the boats, a troop of Moors they spied;
O’er the pale sands the sable warriors crowd,
And toss their threat’ning darts, and shout aloud.
Yet seeming artless, though they dar’d the fight,
Their eager hope they plac’d in artful flight,
To lead brave Gama where, unseen by day,
In dark-brow’d shades their silent ambush lay.
With scornful gestures o’er the beach they stride,
And push their levell’d spears with barb’rous pride,
Then fix the arrow to the bended bow,
And strike their sounding shields, and dare the foe.
With gen’rous rage the Lusian race beheld,
And each brave breast with indignation swell’d,
To view such foes, like snarling dogs, display
Their threat’ning tusks, and brave the sanguine fray:
Together with a bound they spring to land,
Unknown whose step first trod the hostile strand.
Thus, when to gain his beauteous charmer’s smile,
The youthful lover dares the bloody toil,108*
Before the nodding bull’s stern front he stands,
He leaps, he wheels, he shouts, and waves his hands:
The lordly brute disdains the stripling’s rage,
His
nostrils smoke, and, eager to engage,
His hornèd brows he levels with the ground,
And shuts his flaming eyes, and wheeling round
With dreadful bellowing rushes on the foe,
And lays the boastful gaudy champion low.
Thus to the sight the sons of Lusus sprung,
Nor slow to fall their ample vengeance hung:
With sudden roar the carabines resound,
And bursting echoes from the hills rebound;
The lead flies hissing through the trembling air,
And death’s fell dæmons through the flashes glare.
Where, up the land, a grove of palms enclose,
And cast their shadows where the fountain flows,
The lurking ambush from their treach’rous stand
Beheld the combat burning on the strand:
They see the flash with sudden lightnings flare,
And the blue smoke slow rolling on the air:
They see their warriors drop, and starting hear
The ling’ring thunders bursting on their ear.
Amaz’d, appall’d, the treach’rous ambush fled,
And rag’d,109* and curs’d their birth, and quak’d with dread.
The bands that vaunting show’d their threaten’d might,
With slaughter gor’d, precipitate in flight;
Yet oft, though trembling, on the foe they turn
Their eyes that red with lust of vengeance burn:
Aghast with fear, and stern with desperate rage
The flying war with dreadful howls they wage,
Flints, clods, and javelins hurling as they fly,
As rage110* and wild despair their hands supply:
And, soon dispers’d, their bands attempt no more
To guard the fountain or defend the shore:
O’er the wide lawns no more their troops appear:
Nor sleeps the vengeance of the victor here;
To teach the nations what tremendous fate
From his right arm on perjur’d vows should wait,
He seized the time to awe the Eastern world,
And on the breach of faith his thunders hurl’d.
From his black ships the sudden lightnings blaze,
And o’er old Ocean flash their dreadful rays:
White clouds on clouds inroll’d the smoke ascends,
The bursting tumult heaven’s wide concave rends:
The bays and caverns of the winding shore
Repeat the cannon’s and the mortar’s roar:
The bombs, far-flaming, hiss along the sky,
And, whirring through the air, the bullets fly;
The wounded air, with hollow deafen’d sound,
Groans to the direful strife, and trembles round.
Now from the Moorish town the sheets of fire,
Wide blaze succeeding blaze, to heaven aspire.
Luis de Camoes Collected Poetical Works Page 93