Luis de Camoes Collected Poetical Works

by Luis de Camoes

  Girt with whole troops his arm had slain in fight,

  Descended murm’ring to the shades of night.

  }

  Blaspheming Heaven, and gash’d with many a wound,

  Brave Nunio’s rebel kindred gnaw’d the ground.

  And curs’d their fate, and died. Ten thousand more

  Who held no title and no office bore,

  And nameless nobles who, promiscuous fell,

  Appeas’d that day the foaming dog of hell.302*

  Now, low the proud Castilian standard lies

  Beneath the Lusian flag; a vanquish’d prize.

  With furious madness fired, and stern disdain,

  The fierce Iberians303* to the fight again

  Rush headlong; groans and yellings of despair

  With horrid uproar rend the trembling air.

  Hot boils the blood, thirst burns, and every breast

  Pants, every limb, with fainty weight oppress’d,

  Slow now obeys the will’s stern ire, and slow

  From every sword descends the feeble blow:

  Till rage grew languid, and tir’d slaughter found

  No arm to combat, and no breast to wound.

  Now from the field Castile’s proud monarch flies,304*

  In wild dismay he rolls his madd’ning eyes,

  And leads the pale-lipp’d flight, swift wing’d with fear,

  As drifted smoke; at distance disappear,

  The dusty squadrons of the scatter’d rear;

  }

  Blaspheming Heaven, they fly, and him who first

  Forg’d murd’ring arms, and led to horrid wars accurs’d.

  The festive days by heroes old ordain’d305*

  The glorious victor on the field remain’d.

  The funeral rites, and holy vows he paid:

  Yet, not the while the restless Nunio stay’d;

  O’er Tago’s waves his gallant bands he led,

  And humbled Spain in every province bled:

  Sevilia’s standard on his spear he bore,

  And Andalusia’s ensigns, steep’d in gore.

  Low in the dust, distress’d Castilia mourn’d,

  And, bath’d in tears, each eye to Heav’n was turn’d;

  The orphan’s, widow’s, and the hoary sire’s;

  And Heav’n relenting, quench’d the raging fires

  Of mutual hate: from England’s happy shore

  The peaceful seas two lovely sisters bore.306*

  The rival monarchs to the nuptial bed,

  In joyful hour, the royal virgins led,

  And holy peace assum’d her blissful reign,

  Again the peasant joy’d, the landscape smiled again.

  But, John’s brave breast to warlike cares inur’d,

  With conscious shame the sloth of ease endu’rd,

  When not a foe awak’d his a rage in Spain,

  The valiant hero brav’d the foamy main;

  The first, nor meanest, of our kings who bore

  The Lusian thunders to the Afric shore.

  O’er the wild waves the victor-banners flow’d,

  Their silver wings a thousand eagles show’d;

  And, proudly swelling to the whistling gales,

  The seas were whiten’d with a thousand sails.

  Beyond the columns by Alcides307* plac’d

  To bound the world, the zealous warrior pass’d.

  The shrines of Hagar’s race, the shrines of lust,

  And moon-crown’d mosques lay smoking in the dust.

  O’er Abyla’s high steep his lance he rais’d,

  On Ceuta’s lofty towers his standard blaz’d:

  Ceuta, the refuge of the traitor train,

  His vassal now, insures the peace of Spain.

  But ah, how soon the blaze of glory dies!308*

  Illustrious John ascends his native skies.

  His gallant offspring prove their genuine strain,

  And added lands increase the Lusian reign.

  Yet, not the first of heroes Edward shone

  His happiest days long hours of evil own.

  He saw, secluded from the cheerful day,

  His sainted brother pine his years away.

  O glorious youth, in captive chains, to thee

  What suiting honours may thy land decree!309*

  Thy nation proffer’d, and the foe with joy,

  For Ceuta’s towers, prepar’d to yield the boy;

  The princely hostage nobly spurns the thought

  Of freedom, and of life so dearly bought:

  The raging vengeance of the Moors defies,

  Gives to the clanking chains his limbs, and dies

  A dreary prison-death. Let noisy fame

  No more unequall’d hold her Codrus’ name;

  Her Regulus, her Curtius boast no more,

  Nor those the honour’d Decian name who bore.

  The splendour of a court, to them unknown,

  Exchang’d for deathful Fate’s most awful frown,

  To distant times, through every land, shall blaze

  The self-devoted Lusian’s nobler praise.

  Now, to the tomb the hapless king descends,

  His son, Alonzo, brighter fate attends.

  Alonzo! dear to Lusus’ race the name;

  Nor his the meanest in the rolls of fame.

  His might resistless, prostrate Afric own’d,

  Beneath his yoke the Mauritanians310* groan’d,

  And, still they groan beneath the Lusian sway.

  ’Twas his, in victor-pomp, to bear away

  The golden apples from Hesperia’s shore,

  Which but the son of Jove had snatch’d before.

  The palm, and laurel, round his temples bound,

  Display’d his triumphs on the Moorish ground.

  When proud Arzilla’s strength, Alcazer’s towers,

  And Tingia, boastful of her num’rous powers,

  Beheld their adamantine walls o’erturn’d,

  Their ramparts levell’d, and their temples burn’d.

  Great was the day: the meanest sword that fought

  Beneath the Lusian flag such wonders wrought

  As from the muse might challenge endless fame,

  Though low their station, and untold their name.

  Now, stung with wild ambition’s madd’ning fires,

  To proud Castilia’s throne the king311* aspires.

  The Lord of Arragon, from Cadiz’ walls,

  And hoar Pyrene’s312* sides his legions calls;

  The num’rous legions to his standard throng,

  And war, with horrid strides, now stalks along.

  With emulation fir’d, the prince313* beheld

  His warlike sire ambitious of the field;

  Scornful of ease, to aid his arms he sped,

  Nor sped in vain: The raging combat bled:

  Alonzo’s ranks with carnage gor’d, Dismay

  Spread her cold wings, and shook his firm array;

  To flight she hurried; while, with brow serene,

  The martial boy beheld the deathful scene.

  With curving movement o’er the field he rode,

  Th’ opposing troops his wheeling squadrons mow’d:

  The purple dawn, and evening sun beheld

  His tents encamp’d assert the conquer’d field.

  Thus, when the ghost of Julius314* hover’d o’er

  Philippi’s plain, appeas’d with Roman gore,

  Octavius’ legions left the field in flight,

  While happier Marcus triumph’d in the fight.

  When endless night had seal’d his mortal eyes,

  And brave Alonzo’s spirit sought the skies,

  The second of the name, the valiant John,

  Our thirteenth monarch, now ascends the throne.

  To seize immortal fame, his mighty mind,

  (What man had never dar’d before), design’d;

  That glorious labour which I now pursue,

  Through se
as unsail’d to find the shores that view

  The day-star, rising from his wat’ry bed,

  The first grey beams of infant morning shed.

  Selected messengers his will obey;

  Through Spain and France they hold their vent’rous way.

  Through Italy they reach the port that gave

  The fair Parthenope315* an honour’d grave;316*

  That shore which oft has felt the servile chain,

  But, now smiles happy in the care of Spain.

  Now, from the port the brave advent’rers bore,

  And cut the billows of the Rhodian shore;

  Now, reach the strand where noble Pompey317* bled;

  And now, repair’d with rest, to Memphis sped;

  And now, ascending by the vales of Nile,

  (Whose waves pour fatness o’er the grateful soil),

  Through Ethiopia’s peaceful dales they stray,

  Where their glad eyes Messiah’s rites318* survey:

  And now they pass the fam’d Arabian flood,

  Whose waves of old in wondrous ridges stood,

  While Israel’s favour’d race the sable319* bottom trod:

  }

  Behind them, glist’ning to the morning skies,

  The mountains nam’d from Ishmael’s offspring320* rise;

  Now, round their steps the blest Arabia spreads

  Her groves of odour, and her balmy meads;

  And every breast, inspir’d with glee, inhales

  The grateful fragrance of Sabæa’s gales:

  Now, past the Persian gulf their route ascends

  Where Tigris’ wave with proud Euphrates blends;

  Illustrious streams, where still the native shows

  Where Babel’s haughty tower unfinished rose:

  From thence, through climes unknown, their daring course

  Beyond where Trajan forced his way, they force;321*

  Carmanian hordes, and Indian tribes they saw,

  And many a barb’rous rite, and many a law322*

  Their search explor’d; but, to their native shore,

  Enrich’d with knowledge, they return’d no more.

  The glad completion of the fate’s decree,

  Kind Heaven reserv’d, Emmanuel, for thee.

  The crown, and high ambition of thy323* sires,

  To thee descending, wak’d thy latent fires,

  And, to command the sea from pole to pole,

  With restless wish inflam’d thy mighty soul.

  Now, from the sky, the sacred light withdrawn,

  O’er heaven’s clear azure shone the stars of dawn,

  Deep silence spread her gloomy wings around,

  And human griefs were wrapp’d in sleep profound.

  The monarch slumber’d on his golden bed,

  Yet, anxious cares possess’d his thoughtful head;

  His gen’rous soul, intent on public good,

  The glorious duties of his birth review’d.

  When, sent by Heaven, a sacred dream inspir’d

  His lab’ring mind, and with its radiance fir’d:

  High to the clouds his tow’ring head was rear’d,

  New worlds, and nations fierce, and strange, appear’d;

  The purple dawning o’er the mountains flow’d,

  The forest-boughs with yellow splendour glow’d;

  High, from the steep, two copious glassy streams

  Roll’d down, and glitter’d in the morning beams;

  Here, various monsters of the wild were seen,

  And birds of plumage azure, scarlet, green:

  Here, various herbs, and flow’rs of various bloom;

  There, black as night, the forest’s horrid gloom,

  Whose shaggy brakes, by human step untrod,

  Darken’d the glaring lion’s dread abode.

  Here, as the monarch fix’d his wond’ring eyes,

  Two hoary fathers from the streams arise;

  Their aspect rustic, yet, a reverend grace

  Appear’d majestic on their wrinkled face:

  Their tawny beards uncomb’d, and sweepy long,

  Adown their knees in shaggy ringlets hung;

  From every lock the crystal drops distil,

  And bathe their limbs, as in a trickling rill;

  Gay wreaths of flowers, of fruitage, and of boughs,

  (Nameless in Europe), crown’d their furrow’d brows.

  Bent o’er his staff, more silver’d o’er with years,

  Worn with a longer way, the one appears;

  Who now slow beck’ning with his wither’d hand,

  As now advanc’d before the king they stand: —

  “O thou, whom worlds to Europe yet unknown,

  Are doom’d to yield, and dignify thy crown;

  To thee our golden shores the Fates decree;

  Our necks, unbow’d before, shall bend to thee.

  Wide thro’ the world resounds our wealthy fame;

  Haste, speed thy prows, that fated wealth to claim.

  From Paradise my hallow’d waters spring;

  The sacred Ganges I, my brother king

  Th’ illustrious author324* of the Indian name:

  Yet, toil shall languish, and the fight shall flame;

  Our fairest lawns with streaming gore shall smoke,

  Ere yet our shoulders bend beneath the yoke;

  But, thou shalt conquer: all thine eyes survey,

  With all our various tribes, shall own thy sway.”

  He spoke; and, melting in a silv’ry stream,

  Both disappear’d; when waking from his dream,

  The wond’ring monarch, thrill’d with awe divine,

  Weighs in his lofty thoughts the sacred sign.

  Now, morning bursting from the eastern sky,

  Spreads o’er the clouds the blushing rose’s dye,

  The nations wake, and, at the sov’reign’s call,

  The Lusian nobles crowd the palace hall.

  The vision of his sleep the monarch tells;

  Each heaving breast with joyful wonder swells:

  “Fulfil,” they cry: “the sacred sign obey;

  And spread the canvas for the Indian sea.”

  Instant my looks with troubled ardour burn’d,

  When, keen on me, his eyes the monarch turn’d:

  What he beheld I know not, but I know,

  Big swell’d my bosom with a prophet’s glow:

  And long my mind, with wondrous bodings fir’d,

  Had to the glorious, dreadful toil aspir’d:

  Yet, to the king, whate’er my looks betray’d,

  My looks the omen of success display’d.

  When with that sweetness in his mien express’d,

  Which, unresisted, wins the gen’rous breast,

  “Great are the dangers, great the toils,” he cried,

  “Ere glorious honours crown the victor’s pride.

  If in the glorious strife the hero fall,

  He proves no danger could his soul appal;

  And, but to dare so great a toil, shall raise

  Each age’s wonder, and immortal praise.

  For this dread toil, new oceans to explore,

  To spread the sail where sail ne’er flow’d before,

  For this dread labour, to your valour due,

  From all your peers I name, O Vasco,325* you.

  Dread as it is, yet light the task shall be

  To you my Gama, as perform’d for me.”

  My heart could bear no more:— “Let skies on fire,

  Let frozen seas, let horrid war conspire,

  I dare them all,” I cried, “and, but repine

  That one poor life is all I can resign.

  Did to my lot Alcides’326* labours fall,

  For you my joyful heart would dare them all;

  The ghastly realms of death, could man invade,

  For you my steps should trace the ghastly shade.”

  While thus, with loyal zeal, my bosom swell’d,
/>   That panting zeal my prince with joy beheld:

  Honour’d with gifts I stood, but, honour’d more

  By that esteem my joyful sov’reign bore.

  That gen’rous praise which fires the soul of worth,

  And gives new virtues unexpected birth,

  That praise, e’en now, my heaving bosom fires,

  Inflames my courage, and each wish inspires.

  Mov’d by affection, and allur’d by fame,

  A gallant youth, who bore the dearest name,

  Paulus, my brother, boldly su’d to share

  My toils, my dangers, and my fate in war;

  And, brave Coëllo urg’d the hero’s claim

  To dare each hardship, and to join our fame:

  For glory both with restless ardour burn’d,

  And silken ease for horrid danger spurn’d;

  Alike renown’d in council, or in field,

  The snare to baffle, or the sword to wield.

  Through Lisbon’s youth the kindling ardour ran,

  And bold ambition thrill’d from man to man;

  And each, the meanest of the vent’rous band,

  With gifts stood honour’d by the sov’reign’s hand.

  Heavens! what a fury swell’d each warrior’s breast,

  When each, in turn, the smiling king address’d!

  Fir’d by his words the direst toils they scorn’d,

  And, with the horrid lust of danger fiercely burn’d.

  With such bold rage the youth of Mynia glow’d,

  When the first keel the Euxine surges plough’d;

  When, bravely vent’rous for the golden fleece,

  Orac’lous Argo327* sail’d from wond’ring Greece.

  Where Tago’s yellow stream the harbour laves,

  And slowly mingles with the ocean waves,

  In warlike pride, my gallant navy rode,

  And, proudly o’er the beach my soldiers strode.

  Sailors and landsmen, marshall’d o’er the strand,

  In garbs of various hue around me stand;

  Each earnest, first to plight the sacred vow,

  Oceans unknown, and gulfs untried to plough:

  Then, turning to the ships their sparkling eyes,

  With joy they heard the breathing winds arise;

  Elate with joy, beheld the flapping sail,

  And purple standards floating on the gale:

  While each presag’d, that great as Argo’s fame,

  Our fleet should give some starry band a name.

  Where foaming on the shore the tide appears,

  A sacred fane its hoary arches rears:

  Dim o’er the sea the ev’ning shades descend,

  And, at the holy shrine, devout, we bend:

  There, while the tapers o’er the altar blaze,

  Our prayers, and earnest vows to Heav’n we raise.