Before the prosp’rous gale your sails expand,
A skilful pilot oft in danger tried,
Of heart sincere, shall prove your faithful guide.”
Thus Hermes157* spoke; and as his flight he takes
Melting in ambient air, De Gama wakes.
Chill’d with amaze he stood, when through the night
With sudden ray appear’d the bursting light;
The winds loud whizzing through the cordage sigh’d,
“Spread, spread the sail!” the raptur’d Vasco cried;
“Aloft, aloft, this, this the gale of heaven,
By Heaven our guide, th’ auspicious sign is given;
Mine eyes beheld the messenger divine,
‘O fly,’ he cried, ‘and give the fav’ring sign.
Here treason lurks.’” —— Swift as the captain spake
The mariners spring bounding to the deck,
And now, with shouts far-echoing o’er the sea,
Proud of their strength the pond’rous anchors weigh.
When158* Heaven again its guardian care display’d;
Above the wave rose many a Moorish head,
Conceal’d by night they gently swam along,
And with their weapons saw’d the cables strong,
That by the swelling currents whirl’d and toss’d,
The navy’s wrecks might strew the rocky coast.
But now discover’d, every nerve they ply,
And dive, and swift as frighten’d vermin fly.
Now through the silver waves that curling rose,
And gently murmur’d round the sloping prows,
The gallant fleet before the steady wind
Sweeps on, and leaves long foamy tracts behind;
While as they sail the joyful crew relate
Their wondrous safety from impending fate;
And every bosom feels how sweet the joy
When, dangers past, the grateful tongue employ.
The sun had now his annual journey run,
And blazing forth another course begun,
When smoothly gliding o’er the hoary tide
Two sloops afar the watchful master spied;
Their Moorish make the seaman’s art display’d;
Here Gama weens to force the pilot’s aid:
One, base with fear, to certain shipwreck flew;
The keel dash’d on the shore, escap’d the crew.
The other bravely trusts the gen’rous foe,
And yields, ere slaughter struck the lifted blow,
Ere Vulcan’s thunders bellow’d. Yet again
The captain’s prudence and his wish were vain;
No pilot here his wand’ring course to guide,
No lip to tell where rolls the Indian tide;
The voyage calm, or perilous, or afar,
Beneath what heaven, or which the guiding star:
Yet this they told, that by the neighb’ring bay
A potent monarch reign’d, whose pious sway
For truth and noblest bounty far renown’d,
Still with the stranger’s grateful praise was crown’d.
O’erjoyed, brave Gama heard the tale, which seal’d
The sacred truth that Maia’s159* son reveal’d;
And bids the pilot, warn’d by Heaven his guide,
For fair Melinda160* turn the helm aside.
’Twas now the jovial season, when the morn
From Taurus flames, when Amalthea’s horn
O’er hill and dale the rose-crown’d Flora pours,
And scatters corn and wine, and fruits and flowers.
Right to the port their course the fleet pursu’d,
And the glad dawn that sacred day161* renew’d,
When, with the spoils of vanquish’d death adorn’d,
To heaven the Victor162* of the tomb return’d.
And soon Melinda’s shore the sailors spy;
From every mast the purple streamers fly;
Rich-figur’d tap’stry now supplies the sail.
The gold and scarlet tremble in the gale;
The standard broad its brilliant hues bewrays,
And floating on the wind wide-billowing plays;
Shrill through the air the quiv’ring trumpet sounds,
And the rough drum the rousing march rebounds.
As thus, regardful of the sacred day,
The festive navy cut the wat’ry way,
Melinda’s sons the shore in thousands crowd,
And, offering joyful welcome, shout aloud:
And truth the voice inspir’d. Unaw’d by fear,
With warlike pomp adorn’d, himself sincere,
Now in the port the gen’rous Gama rides;
His stately vessels range their pitchy sides
Around their chief; the bowsprits nod the head,
And the barb’d anchors gripe the harbour’s bed.
Straight to the king, as friends to gen’rous friends,
A captive Moor the valiant Gama sends.
The Lusian fame, the king already knew,
What gulfs unknown the fleet had labour’d through,
What shelves, what tempests dar’d. His liberal mind
Exults the captain’s manly trust to find;
With that ennobling worth, whose fond employ
Befriends the brave, the monarch owns his joy,
Entreats the leader and his weary band
To taste the dews of sweet repose on land,
And all the riches of his cultur’d fields
Obedient to the nod of Gama yields.
His care, meanwhile, their present want attends,
And various fowl, and various fruits he sends;
The oxen low, the fleecy lambkins bleat,
And rural sounds are echo’d through the fleet.
His gifts with joy the valiant chief receives,
And gifts in turn, confirming friendship, gives.
Here the proud scarlet darts its ardent rays,
And here the purple and the orange blaze;
O’er these profuse the branching coral spread,
The coral163* wondrous in its wat’ry bed;
Soft there it creeps, in curving branches thrown,
In air it hardens to a precious stone.
With these a herald, on whose melting tongue
The copious rhetoric164* of Arabia hung,
He sends, his wants and purpose to reveal,
And holy vows of lasting peace to seal.
The monarch sits amid his splendid bands,
Before the regal throne the herald stands,
And thus, as eloquence his lips inspir’d,
“O king,” he cries, “for sacred truth admir’d,
Ordain’d by heaven to bend the stubborn knees
Of haughtiest nations to thy just decrees;
Fear’d as thou art, yet sent by Heaven to prove
That empire’s strength results from public love:
To thee, O king, for friendly aid we come;
Nor lawless robbers o’er the deep we roam:
No lust of gold could e’er our breasts inflame
To scatter fire and slaughter where we came;
Nor sword, nor spear our harmless hands employ
To seize the careless, or the weak destroy.
At our most potent monarch’s dread command
We spread the sail from lordly Europe’s strand;
Through seas unknown, through gulfs untried before,
We force our journey to the Indian shore.
“Alas, what rancour fires the human breast!
By what stern tribes are Afric’s shores possess’d!
How many a wile they tried, how many a snare!
Not wisdom sav’d us, ’twas the Heaven’s own care:
Not harbours only, e’en the barren sands
A place of rest denied our weary bands:
From us, alas, what harm could prudence fear!
From us so few, their num’rou
s friends so near!
While thus, from shore to cruel shore long driven,
To thee conducted by a guide from heaven,
We come, O monarch, of thy truth assur’d,
Of hospitable rites by Heaven secur’d;
Such rites165* as old Alcinous’ palace grac’d,
When ‘lorn Ulysses sat his favour’d guest.
Nor deem, O king, that cold Suspicion taints
Our valiant leader, or his wish prevents;
Great is our monarch, and his dread command
To our brave captain interdicts the land
Till Indian earth he tread. What nobler cause
Than loyal faith can wake thy fond applause,
O thou, who knowest the ever-pressing weight
Of kingly office,166* and the cares of state!
And hear, ye conscious heavens, if Gama’s heart
Forget thy kindness, or from truth depart,
The sacred light shall perish from the sun,
And rivers to the sea shall cease to run.”167*
He spoke; a murmur of applause succeeds,
And each with wonder own’d the val’rous deeds
Of that bold race, whose flowing vanes had wav’d
Beneath so many a sky, so many an ocean brav’d.
Nor less the king their loyal faith reveres,
And Lisboa’s lord in awful state appears,
Whose least command on farthest shores obey’d,
His sovereign grandeur to the world display’d.
Elate with joy, uprose the royal Moor,
And smiling thus,— “O welcome to my shore!
If yet in you the fear of treason dwell,
Far from your thoughts th’ ungen’rous fear expel:
Still with the brave, the brave will honour find,
And equal ardour will their friendship bind.
But those who spurn’d you, men alone in show,
Rude as the bestial herd, no worth they know;
Such dwell not here: and since your laws require
Obedience strict, I yield my fond desire.
Though much I wish’d your chief to grace my board,
Fair be his duty to his sov’reign Lord:
Yet when the morn walks forth with dewy feet
My barge shall waft me to the warlike fleet;
There shall my longing eyes the heroes view,
And holy vows the mutual peace renew.
What from the blust’ring winds and length’ning tide
Your ships have suffer’d, shall be here supplied.
Arms and provisions I myself will send,
And, great of skill, a pilot shall attend.”
So spoke the king: and now, with purpled ray,
Beneath the shining wave the god of day
Retiring, left the evening shades to spread;
And to the fleet the joyful herald sped:
To find such friends each breast with rapture glows,
The feast is kindled, and the goblet flows;
The trembling comet’s imitated rays168*
Bound to the skies, and trail a sparkling blaze:
The vaulting bombs awake their sleeping fire,
And, like the Cyclops’ bolts, to heaven aspire:
The bombardiers their roaring engines ply,
And earth and ocean thunder to the sky.
The trump and fife’s shrill clarion far around
The glorious music of the fight resound;
Nor less the joy Melinda’s sons display,
The sulphur bursts in many an ardent ray,
And to the heaven ascends, in whizzing gyres,
And ocean flames with artificial fires.
In festive war the sea and land engage,
And echoing shouts confess the joyful rage.
So pass’d the night: and now, with silv’ry ray,
The star of morning ushers in the day.
The shadows fly before the roseate hours,
And the chill dew hangs glitt’ring on the flowers.
The pruning-hook or humble spade to wield,
The cheerful lab’rer hastens to the field;
When to the fleet, with many a sounding oar,
The monarch sails; the natives crowd the shore;
Their various robes in one bright splendour join,
The purple blazes, and the gold stripes shine;
Nor as stern warriors with the quiv’ring lance,
Or moon-arch’d bow, Melinda’s sons advance;
Green boughs of palm with joyful hands they wave,
An omen of the meed that crowns the brave:
Fair was the show the royal barge display’d,
With many a flag of glist’ning silk array’d,
Whose various hues, as waving thro’ the bay,
Return’d the lustre of the rising day:
And, onward as they came, in sov’reign state
The mighty king amid his princes sat:
His robes the pomp of Eastern splendour show,
A proud tiara decks his lordly brow:
The various tissue shines in every fold,
The silken lustre and the rays of gold.
His purple mantle boasts the dye of Tyre,169*
And in the sunbeam glows with living fire.
A golden chain, the skilful artist’s pride,
Hung from his neck; and glitt’ring by his side
The dagger’s hilt of star-bright diamond shone,
The girding baldric170* burns with precious stone;
And precious stone in studs of gold enchas’d,
The shaggy velvet of his buskins grac’d:
Wide o’er his head, of various silks inlaid,
A fair umbrella cast a grateful shade.
A band of menials, bending o’er the prow,
Of horn wreath’d round the crooked trumpets blow;
And each attendant barge aloud rebounds
A barb’rous discord of rejoicing sounds.
With equal pomp the captain leaves the fleet,
Melinda’s monarch on the tide to greet:
His barge nods on amidst a splendid train,
Himself adorn’d in171* all the pride of Spain:
With fair embroidery shone his armèd breast,
For polish’d steel supplied the warrior’s vest;
His sleeves, beneath, were silk of paly blue,
Above, more loose, the purple’s brightest hue
Hung as a scarf in equal gath’rings roll’d,
With golden buttons and with loops of gold:
Bright in the sun the polish’d radiance burns,
And the dimm’d eyeball from the lustre turns.
Of crimson satin, dazzling to behold,
His cassock swell’d in many a curving fold;
The make was Gallic, but the lively bloom
Confess’d the labour of Venetia’s loom.
Gold was his sword, and warlike trousers lac’d
With thongs of gold his manly legs embrac’d.
With graceful mien his cap aslant was turn’d.
The velvet cap a nodding plume adorn’d.
His noble aspect, and the purple’s ray,
Amidst his train the gallant chief bewray.
The various vestments of the warrior train,
Like flowers of various colours on the plain,
Attract the pleas’d beholder’s wond’ring eye,
And with the splendour of the rainbow vie.
Now Gama’s bands the quiv’ring trumpet blow,
Thick o’er the wave the crowding barges row,
The Moorish flags the curling waters sweep,
The Lusian mortars thunder o’er the deep;
Again the fiery roar heaven’s concave tears,
The Moors astonished stop their wounded ears;
Again loud thunders rattle o’er the bay,
And clouds of smoke wide-rolling blot the day;
The captain’s barge the gen’rous king ascends,
>
His arms the chief enfold, the captain bends,
(A rev’rence to the scepter’d grandeur due):
In silent awe the monarch’s wond’ring view
Is fix’d on Vasco’s noble mien;172* the while
His thoughts with wonder weigh the hero’s toil.
Esteem and friendship with his wonder rise,
And free to Gama all his kingdom lies.
Though never son of Lusus’ race before
Had met his eye, or trod Melinda’s shore
To him familiar was the mighty name,
And much his talk extols the Lusian fame;
How through the vast of Afric’s wildest bound
Their deathless feats in gallant arms resound;
When that fair land where Hesper’s offspring reign’d,
Their valour’s prize the Lusian youth obtain’d.
Much still he talk’d, enraptur’d of the theme,
Though but the faint vibrations of their fame
To him had echo’d. Pleas’d his warmth to view,
Convinc’d his promise and his heart were true,
The illustrious Gama thus his soul express’d
And own’d the joy that labour’d in his breast:
“Oh thou, benign, of all the tribes alone,
Who feel the rigour of the burning zone,
Whose piety, with Mercy’s gentle eye
Beholds our wants, and gives the wish’d supply,
Our navy driven from many a barb’rous coast,
On many a tempest-harrow’d ocean toss’d,
At last with thee a kindly refuge finds,
Safe from the fury of the howling winds.
O gen’rous king, may He whose mandate rolls
The circling heavens, and human pride controls,
May the Great Spirit to thy breast return
That needful aid, bestow’d on us forlorn!
And while yon sun emits his rays divine,
And while the stars in midnight azure shine,
Where’er my sails are stretch’d the world around,
Thy praise shall brighten, and thy name resound.”
He spoke; the painted barges swept the flood,
Where, proudly gay, the anchor’d navy rode;
Earnest the king the lordly fleet surveys;
The mortars thunder, and the trumpets raise
Their martial sounds Melinda’s sons to greet,
Melinda’s sons with timbrels hail the fleet.
And now, no more the sulphury tempest roars,
The boatmen leaning on the rested oars
Breathe short; the barges now at anchor moor’d,
The king, while silence listen’d round, implor’d
The glories of the Lusian wars to hear,
Whose faintest echoes long had pleas’d his ear:
Their various triumphs on the Afric shore
O’er those who hold the son of Hagar’s173* lore.
Luis de Camoes Collected Poetical Works Page 96