The battle should avenge, and blood atone.
A numerous host against the prince he sped,
The valiant prince his little army led:
Dire was the shock; the deep-riven helms resound,
And foes with foes lie grappling on the ground.
Yet, though around the stripling’s sacred head
By angel hands etherial shields were spread;
Though glorious triumph on his valour smiled,
Soon on his van the baffled foe recoil’d:
With bands more num’rous to the field he came,
His proud heart burning with the rage of shame.
And now in turn Guimaria’s204* lofty wall,
That saw his triumph, saw the hero fall;
Within the town immured, distress’d he lay,
To stern Castilia’s sword a certain prey.
When now the guardian of his infant years,
The valiant Egas, as a god appears;
To proud Castile the suppliant noble bows,
And faithful homage for his prince he vows.
The proud Castile accepts his honour’d faith,
And peace succeeds the dreadful scenes of death.
Yet well, alas, the generous Egas knew
His high-soul’d prince to man would never sue:
Would never stoop to brook the servile stain,
To hold a borrow’d, a dependent reign.
And now with gloomy aspect rose the day,
Decreed the plighted servile rights to pay;
When Egas, to redeem his faith’s disgrace,
Devotes himself, his spouse, and infant race.
In gowns of white, as sentenced felons clad,
When to the stake the sons of guilt are led,
With feet unshod they slowly moved along,
And from their necks the knotted halters hung.
“And now, O king,” the kneeling Egas cries,
“Behold my perjured honour’s sacrifice:
If such mean victims can atone thine ire,
Here let my wife, my babes, myself expire.
If gen’rous bosoms such revenge can take,
Here let them perish for the father’s sake:
The guilty tongue, the guilty hands are these,
Nor let a common death thy wrath appease;
For us let all the rage of torture burn,
But to my prince, thy son, in friendship turn.”
He spoke, and bow’d his prostrate body low,
As one who waits the lifted sabre’s blow;
When o’er the block his languid arms are spread,
And death, foretasted, whelms the heart with dread:
So great a leader thus in humbled state,
So firm his loyalty, his zeal so great,
The brave Alonzo’s kindled ire subdu’d,
And, lost in silent joy, the monarch stood;
Then gave the hand, and sheath’d the hostile sword,
And, to such honour honour’d peace205* restor’d.
Oh Lusian faith! oh zeal beyond compare!
What greater danger could the Persian dare,
Whose prince in tears, to view his mangled woe,
Forgot the joy for Babylon’s206* o’erthrow.
And now the youthful hero shines in arms,
The banks of Tagus echo war’s alarms:
O’er Ourique’s wide campaign his ensigns wave,
And the proud Saracen to combat brave.
Though prudence might arraign his fiery rage
That dar’d with one, each hundred spears engage,
In Heaven’s protecting care his courage lies,
And Heaven, his friend, superior force supplies.
Five Moorish kings against him march along,
Ismar the noblest of the armèd throng;
Yet each brave monarch claim’d the soldier’s name,
And far o’er many a land was known to fame.
In all the beauteous glow of blooming years207*
Beside each king a warrior nymph appears;
Each with her sword her valiant lover guards,
With smiles inspires him, and with smiles rewards.
Such was the valour of the beauteous maid,208*
Whose warlike arm proud Ilion’s209* fate delay’d.
Such in the field the virgin warriors210* shone,
Who drank the limpid wave of Thermodon.211*
’Twas morn’s still hour, before the dawning grey
The stars’ bright twinkling radiance died away,
When lo, resplendent in the heaven serene,
High o’er the prince the sacred cross was seen;
The godlike prince with Faith’s warm glow inflam’d,
“Oh, not to me, my bounteous God!” exclaim’d,
“Oh, not to me, who well thy grandeur know,
But to the pagan herd thy wonders show.”
The Lusian host, enraptur’d, mark’d the sign
That witness’d to their chief the aid divine:
Right on the foe they shake the beamy lance,
And with firm strides, and heaving breasts, advance;
Then burst the silence, “Hail, O king!” they cry;
“Our king, our king!” the echoing dales reply:
Fir’d at the sound, with fiercer ardour glows
The Heaven-made monarch; on the wareless foes
Rushing, he speeds his ardent bands along:
So, when the chase excites the rustic throng,
Rous’d to fierce madness by their mingled cries,
On the wild bull the red-eyed mastiff flies.
The stern-brow’d tyrant roars and tears the ground
His watchful horns portend the deathful wound.
The nimble mastiff springing on the foe,
Avoids the furious sharpness of the blow;
Now by the neck, now by the gory sides
Hangs fierce, and all his bellowing rage derides:
In vain his eye-balls burn with living fire,
In vain his nostrils clouds of smoke respire,
His gorge torn down, down falls the furious prize
With hollow thund’ring sound, and raging dies:212*
Thus, on the Moors the hero rush’d along,
Th’ astonish’d Moors in wild confusion throng;
They snatch their arms, the hasty trumpet sounds,
With horrid yell the dread alarm rebounds;
The warlike tumult maddens o’er the plain,
As when the flame devours the bearded grain:
The nightly flames the whistling winds inspire,
Fierce through the braky thicket pours the fire:
Rous’d by the crackling of the mounting blaze
From sleep the shepherds start in wild amaze;
They snatch their clothes with many a woeful cry,
And, scatter’d, devious to the mountains fly:
Such sudden dread the trembling Moors alarms,
Wild and confused, they snatch the nearest arms;
Yet flight they scorn, and, eager to engage,
They spur their foamy steeds, and trust their furious rage:
Amidst the horror of the headlong shock,
With foot unshaken as the living rock
Stands the bold Lusian firm; the purple wounds
Gush horrible; deep, groaning rage resounds;
Reeking behind the Moorish backs appear
The shining point of many a Lusian spear;
The mailcoats, hauberks,213* and the harness steel’d,
Bruis’d, hack’d, and torn, lie scatter’d o’er the field;
Beneath the Lusian sweepy force o’erthrown,
Crush’d by their batter’d mails the wounded groan;
Burning with thirst they draw their panting breath,
And curse their prophet214* as they writhe in death.
Arms sever’d from the trunks still grasp the steel,215*
Heads gasping roll; the fighting squadrons reel;
Fainty and weak with languid arms they close,
And stagg’ring, grapple with the stagg’ring foes.
So, when an oak falls headlong on the lake,
The troubled waters slowly settling shake:
So faints the languid combat on the plain,
And settling, staggers o’er the heaps of slain.
Again the Lusian fury wakes its fires,
The terror of the Moors new strength inspires:
The scatter’d few in wild confusion fly,
And total rout resounds the yelling cry.
Defil’d with one wide sheet of reeking gore,
The verdure of the lawn appears no more:
In bubbling streams the lazy currents run,
And shoot red flames beneath the evening sun.
With spoils enrich’d, with glorious trophies216* crown’d,
The Heaven-made sov’reign on the battle ground
Three days encamp’d, to rest his weary train,
Whose dauntless valour drove the Moors from Spain.
And now, in honour of the glorious day,
When five proud monarchs fell, his vanquish’d prey,
On his broad buckler, unadorn’d before,
Placed as a cross, five azure shields he wore,
In grateful memory of the heav’nly sign,
The pledge of conquest by the aid divine.
Nor long his falchion in the scabbard slept,
His warlike arm increasing laurels reap’d:
From Leyra’s walls the baffled Ismar flies,
And strong Arroncha falls his conquer’d prize;
That hononr’d town, through whose Elysian groves
Thy smooth and limpid wave, O Tagus, roves.
Th’ illustrious Santarene confess’d his power,
And vanquish’d Mafra yields her proudest tower.
The Lunar mountains saw his troops display
Their marching banners and their brave array:
To him submits fair Cintra’s cold domain,
The soothing refuge of the Naiad train.
When Love’s sweet snares the pining nymphs would shun:
Alas, in vain, from warmer climes they run:
The cooling shades awake the young desires,
And the cold fountains cherish love’s soft fires.
And thou, famed Lisbon, whose embattled wall
Rose by the hand that wrought proud Ilion’s217* fall;218*
Thou queen of cities, whom the seas obey,
Thy dreaded ramparts own’d the hero’s sway.
Far from the north a warlike navy bore
From Elbe, from Rhine, and Albion’s misty219* shore;
To rescue Salem’s220* long-polluted shrine
Their force to great Alonzo’s force they join:
Before Ulysses’ walls the navy rides,
The joyful Tagus laves their pitchy sides.
Five times the moon her empty horns conceal’d,
Five times her broad effulgence shone reveal’d,
When, wrapt in clouds of dust, her mural pride
Falls thund’ring, — black the smoking breach yawns wide.
As, when th’ imprison’d waters burst the mounds,
And roar, wide sweeping, o’er the cultur’d grounds;
Nor cot nor fold withstand their furious course;
So, headlong rush’d along the hero’s force.
The thirst of vengeance the assailants fires,
The madness of despair the Moors inspires;
Each lane, each street resounds the conflict’s roar,
And every threshold reeks with tepid gore.
Thus fell the city, whose unconquer’d221* towers
Defied of old the banded Gothic powers,
Whose harden’d nerves in rig’rous climates train’d
The savage courage of their souls sustain’d:
Before whose sword the sons of Ebro fled,
And Tagus trembled in his oozy bed;
Aw’d by whose arms the lawns of Betis’ shore
The name Vandalia from the Vandals bore.
When Lisbon’s towers before the Lusian fell,
What fort, what rampart might his arms repel!
Estremadura’s region owns him lord,
And Torres-vedras bends beneath his sword;
Obidos humbles, and Alamquer yields,
Alamquer famous for her verdant fields,
Whose murm’ring riv’lets cheer the traveller’s way,
As the chill waters o’er the pebbles stray.
Elva the green, and Moura’s fertile dales,
Fair Serpa’s tillage, and Alcazar’s vales
Not for himself the Moorish peasant sows;
For Lusian hands the yellow harvest glows:
And you, fair lawns, beyond the Tagus’ wave,
Your golden burdens for Alonzo save;
Soon shall his thund’ring might your wealth reclaim,
And your glad valleys hail their monarch’s name.
Nor sleep his captains while the sov’reign wars;
The brave Giraldo’s sword in conquest shares,
Evora’s frowning walls, the castled hold
Of that proud Roman chief, and rebel bold,
Sertorious dread, whose labours still remain;222*
Two hundred arches, stretch’d in length, sustain
The marble duct, where, glist’ning to the sun,
Of silver hue the shining waters run.
Evora’s frowning walls now shake with fear,
And yield, obedient to Giraldo’s spear.
Nor rests the monarch while his servants toil,
Around him still increasing trophies smile,
And deathless fame repays the hapless fate
That gives to human life so short a date.
Proud Beja’s castled walls his fury storms,
And one red slaughter every lane deforms.
The ghosts, whose mangled limbs, yet scarcely cold,
Heap’d, sad Trancoso’s streets in carnage roll’d,
Appeas’d, the vengeance of their slaughter see,
And hail th’ indignant king’s severe decree.
Palmela trembles on her mountain’s height,
And sea-laved Zambra owns the hero’s might.
Nor these alone confess’d his happy star,
Their fated doom produc’d a nobler war.
Badaja’s223* king, a haughty Moor, beheld
His towns besieg’d, and hasted to the field.
Four thousand coursers in his army neigh’d,
Unnumber’d spears his infantry display’d;
Proudly they march’d, and glorious to behold,
In silver belts they shone, and plates of gold.
Along a mountain’s side secure they trod,
Steep on each hand, and rugged was the road;
When, as a bull, whose lustful veins betray
The madd’ning tumult of inspiring May;
If, when his rage with fiercest ardour glows,
When in the shade the fragrant heifer lows,
If then, perchance, his jealous burning eye
Behold a careless traveller wander by,
With dreadful bellowing on the wretch he flies,
The wretch defenceless, torn and trampled dies.
So rush’d Alonzo on the gaudy train,
And pour’d victorious o’er the mangled slain;
The royal Moor precipitates in flight,
The mountain echoes with the wild affright
Of flying squadrons; down their arms they throw,
And dash from rock to rock to shun the foe.
The foe! what wonders may not virtue dare!
But sixty horsemen wag’d the conqu’ring war.224*
The warlike monarch still his toil renews,
New conquest still each victory pursues.
To him Badaja’s lofty gates expand,
And the wide region owns his dread command.
&nbs
p; When, now enraged, proud Leon’s king beheld
Those walls subdued, which saw his troops expell’d;
Enrag’d he saw them own the victor’s sway,
And hems them round with battailous array.
With gen’rous ire the brave Alonzo glows;
By Heaven unguarded, on the num’rous foes
He rushes, glorying in his wonted force,
And spurs, with headlong rage, his furious horse;
The combat burns, the snorting courser bounds,
And paws impetuous by the iron mounds:
O’er gasping foes and sounding bucklers trod
The raging steed, and headlong as he rode
Dash’d the fierce monarch on a rampire bar —
Low grovelling in the dust, the pride of war,
The great Alonzo lies. The captive’s fate
Succeeds, alas, the pomp of regal state.
“Let iron dash his limbs,” his mother cried,
“And steel revenge my chains:” she spoke, and died;
And Heaven assented — Now the hour was come,
And the dire curse was fallen Alonzo’s doom.225*
No more, O Pompey, of thy fate complain,
No more with sorrow view thy glory’s stain;
Though thy tall standards tower’d with lordly pride
Where northern Phasis226* rolls his icy tide;
Though hot Syene,227* where the sun’s fierce ray
Begets no shadow, own’d thy conqu’ring sway;
Though from the tribes that shiver in the gleam
Of cold Boötes’ wat’ry glist’ning team;
To those who parch’d beneath the burning line,
In fragrant shades their feeble limbs recline,
The various languages proclaim’d thy fame,
And trembling, own’d the terrors of thy name;
Though rich Arabia, and Sarmatia bold,
And Colchis,228* famous for the fleece of gold;
Though Judah’s land, whose sacred rites implor’d
The One true God, and, as he taught, ador’d;
Though Cappadocia’s realm thy mandate sway’d,
And base Sophenia’s sons thy nod obey’d;
Though vex’d Cilicia’s pirates wore thy bands,
And those who cultur’d fair Armenia’s lands,
Where from the sacred mount two rivers flow,
And what was Eden to the pilgrim show;
Though from the vast Atlantic’s bounding wave
To where the northern tempests howl and rave
Round Taurus’ lofty brows: though vast and wide
The various climes that bended to thy pride;
No more with pining anguish of regret
Bewail the horrors of Pharsalia’s fate:
For great Alonzo, whose superior name
Unequall’d victories consign to fame,
The great Alonzo fell — like thine his woe;
Luis de Camoes Collected Poetical Works Page 98