Luis de Camoes Collected Poetical Works

by Luis de Camoes

  Various of figure, and of various face,

  As the foul demon will’d the likeness base.

  Taught to behold the rays of godhead shine

  Fair imag’d in the human face divine,

  With sacred horror thrill’d, the Lusians view’d

  The monster forms, Chimera-like, and rude.477*

  Here, spreading horns a human visage bore,

  So, frown’d stern Jove in Lybia’s fane of yore.

  One body here two various faces rear’d;

  So, ancient Janus o’er his shrine appear’d.

  A hundred arms another brandish’d wide;

  So, Titan’s son478* the race of heaven defied.

  And here, a dog his snarling tusks display’d;

  Anubis, thus in Memphis’ hallow’d shade

  Grinn’d horrible. With vile prostrations low

  Before these shrines the blinded Indians bow.479*

  And now, again the splendid pomp proceeds;

  To India’s lord the haughty regent leads.

  To view the glorious leader of the fleet

  Increasing thousands swell o’er every street;

  High o’er the roofs the struggling youths ascend,

  The hoary fathers o’er the portals bend,

  The windows sparkle with the glowing blaze

  Of female eyes, and mingling diamond’s rays.

  And now, the train with solemn state and slow,

  Approach the royal gate, through many a row

  Of fragrant wood-walks, and of balmy bowers,

  Radiant with fruitage, ever gay with flowers.

  Spacious the dome its pillar’d grandeur spread,

  Nor to the burning day high tower’d the head;

  The citron groves around the windows glow’d,

  And branching palms their grateful shade bestow’d;

  The mellow light a pleasing radiance cast;

  The marble walls Dædalian sculpture grac’d

  Here India’s fate,480* from darkest times of old,

  The wondrous artist on the stone enroll’d;

  Here, o’er the meadows, by Hydaspes’ stream,

  In fair array the marshall’d legions seem:

  A youth of gleeful eye the squadrons led,

  Smooth was his cheek, and glow’d with purest red:

  Around his spear the curling vine-leaves wav’d;

  And, by a streamlet of the river lav’d,

  Behind her founder, Nysa’s walls were rear’d;481*

  So breathing life the ruddy god appear’d,

  Had Semele beheld the smiling boy,482*

  The mother’s heart had proudly heav’d with joy.

  Unnumber’d here, were seen th’ Assyrian throng,

  That drank whole rivers as they march’d along:

  Each eye seem’d earnest on their warrior queen,483*

  High was her port, and furious was her mien;

  Her valour only equall’d by her lust;

  Fast by her side her courser paw’d the dust,

  Her son’s vile rival; reeking to the plain

  Fell the hot sweat-drops as he champ’d the rein.

  And here display’d, most glorious to behold,

  The Grecian banners, op’ning many a fold,

  Seem’d trembling on the gale; at distance far

  The Ganges lav’d the wide-extended war.

  Here, the blue marble gives the helmets’ gleam;

  Here, from the cuirass shoots the golden beam.

  A proud-eyed youth, with palms unnumber’d gay,

  Of the bold veterans led the brown array;

  Scornful of mortal birth enshrin’d he rode,

  Call’d Jove his father,484* and assum’d the god.

  While dauntless Gama and his train survey’d

  The sculptur’d walls, the lofty regent said:

  “For nobler wars than these you wond’ring see

  That ample space th’ eternal fates decree:

  Sacred to these th’ unpictur’d wall remains,

  Unconscious yet of vanquish’d India’s chains.

  Assur’d we know the awful day shall come,

  Big with tremendous fate, and India’s doom.

  The sons of Brahma, by the god their sire

  Taught to illume the dread divining fire,

  From the drear mansions of the dark abodes

  Awake the dead, or call th’ infernal gods;

  Then, round the flame, while glimm’ring ghastly blue,

  Behold the future scene arise to view.

  The sons of Brahma, in the magic hour,

  Beheld the foreign foe tremendous lower;

  Unknown their tongue, their face, and strange attire,

  And their bold eye-balls burn’d with warlike ire:

  They saw the chief o’er prostrate India rear

  The glitt’ring terrors of his awful spear.

  But, swift behind these wint’ry days of woe

  A spring of joy arose in liveliest glow,

  Such gentle manners, leagued with wisdom, reign’d

  In the dread victors, and their rage restrain’d.

  Beneath their sway majestic, wise, and mild,

  Proud of her victors’ laws, thrice happier India smil’d.

  So, to the prophets of the Brahmin train

  The visions rose, that never rose in vain.”

  The regent ceas’d; and now, with solemn pace,

  The chiefs approach the regal hall of grace.

  The tap’stried walls with gold were pictur’d o’er,

  And flow’ry velvet spread the marble floor.485*

  In all the grandeur of the Indian state,

  High on a blazing couch, the monarch sat,

  With starry gems the purple curtains shin’d,

  And ruby flowers and golden foliage twin’d

  Around the silver pillars: high o’er head

  The golden canopy its radiance shed:

  Of cloth of gold the sov’reign’s mantle shone,

  And, his high turban flam’d with precious stone

  Sublime and awful was his sapient mien,

  Lordly his posture, and his brow serene.

  A hoary sire, submiss on bended knee,

  (Low bow’d his head), in India’s luxury,

  A leaf,486* all fragrance to the glowing taste,

  Before the king each little while replac’d.

  The patriarch Brahmin (soft and slow he rose),

  Advancing now, to lordly Gama bows,

  And leads him to the throne; in silent state

  The monarch’s nod assigns the captain’s seat;

  The Lusian train in humbler distance stand:

  Silent, the monarch eyes the foreign band

  With awful mien; when valiant Gama broke

  The solemn pause, and thus majestic spoke: —

  “From where the crimson sun of ev’ning laves

  His blazing chariot in the western waves,

  I come, the herald of a mighty king,

  And, holy vows of lasting friendship bring

  To thee, O monarch, for resounding Fame

  Far to the west has borne thy princely name;

  All India’s sov’reign thou! Nor deem I sue,

  Great as thou art, the humble suppliant’s due.

  Whate’er from western Tagus to the Nile,

  Inspires the monarch’s wish, the merchant’s toil,

  From where the north-star gleams o’er seas of frost,

  To Ethiopia’s utmost burning coast,

  Whate’er the sea, whate’er the land bestows,

  In my great monarch’s realm unbounded flows.

  Pleas’d thy high grandeur and renown to hear,

  My sov’reign offers friendship’s bands sincere:

  Mutual he asks them, naked of disguise,

  Then, every bounty of the smiling skies

  Shower’d on his shore and thine, in mutual flow,

  Shall joyful Commerce on each shore bestow.


  Our might in war, what vanquish’d nations fell

  Beneath our spear, let trembling Afric tell;

  Survey my floating towers, and let thine ear,

  Dread as it roars, our battle-thunder hear.

  If friendship then thy honest wish explore,

  That dreadful thunder on thy foes shall roar.

  Our banners o’er the crimson field shall sweep,

  And our tall navies ride the foamy deep,

  Till not a foe against thy land shall rear

  Th’ invading bowsprit, or the hostile spear:

  My king, thy brother, thus thy wars shall join,

  The glory his, the gainful harvest thine.”

  Brave Gama spake; the pagan king replies,

  “From lands which now behold the morning rise,

  While eve’s dim clouds the Indian sky enfold,

  Glorious to us an offer’d league we hold.

  Yet shall our will in silence rest unknown,

  Till what your land, and who the king you own,

  Our council deeply weigh. Let joy the while,

  And the glad feast, the fleeting hours beguile.

  Ah! to the wearied mariner, long toss’d

  O’er briny waves, how sweet the long-sought coast!

  The night now darkens; on the friendly shore

  Let soft repose your wearied strength restore,

  Assur’d an answer from our lips to bear,

  Which, not displeas’d, your sov’reign lord shall hear.

  More now we add not.”487* From the hall of state

  Withdrawn, they now approach the regent’s gate;

  The sumptuous banquet glows; all India’s pride

  Heap’d on the board the royal feast supplied.

  Now, o’er the dew-drops of the eastern lawn

  Gleam’d the pale radiance of the star of dawn,

  The valiant Gama on his couch repos’d,

  And balmy rest each Lusian eye-lid clos’d:

  When the high catual, watchful to fulfil

  The cautious mandates of his sov’reign’s will,

  In secret converse with the Moor retires;

  And, earnest, much of Lusus’ sons inquires;

  What laws, what holy rites, what monarch sway’d

  The warlike race? When thus the just Mozaide: —

  “The land from whence these warriors well I know,

  (To neighb’ring earth my hapless birth I owe)

  Illustrious Spain, along whose western shores

  Grey-dappled eve the dying twilight pours. —

  A wondrous prophet gave their holy lore,

  The godlike seer a virgin mother bore,

  Th’ Eternal Spirit on the human race

  (So be they taught) bestow’d such awful grace.

  In war unmatch’d, they rear the trophied crest:

  What terrors oft have thrill’d my infant breast488*

  When their brave deeds my wond’ring fathers told;

  How from the lawns, where, crystalline and cold,

  The Guadiana rolls his murm’ring tide,

  And those where, purple by the Tago’s side,

  The length’ning vineyards glisten o’er the field,

  Their warlike sires my routed sires expell’d:

  Nor paus’d their rage; the furious seas they brav’d,

  Nor loftiest walls, nor castled mountains saved;

  Round Afric’s thousand bays their navies rode,

  And their proud armies o’er our armies trod.

  Nor less, let Spain through all her kingdoms own,

  O’er other foes their dauntless valour shone:

  Let Gaul confess, her mountain-ramparts wild,

  Nature in vain the hoar Pyrenians pil’d.

  No foreign lance could e’er their rage restrain,

  Unconquer’d still the warrior race remain.

  More would you hear, secure your care may trust

  The answer of their lips, so nobly just,

  Conscious of inward worth, of manners plain,

  Their manly souls the gilded lie disdain.

  Then, let thine eyes their lordly might admire,

  And mark the thunder of their arms of fire:

  The shore, with trembling, hears the dreadful sound,

  And rampir’d walls lie smoking on the ground.

  Speed to the fleet; their arts, their prudence weigh,

  How wise in peace, in war how dread, survey.”

  With keen desire the craftful pagan burn’d

  Soon as the morn in orient blaze return’d,

  To view the fleet his splendid train prepares;

  And now, attended by the lordly Nayres,

  The shore they cover, now the oarsmen sweep

  The foamy surface of the azure deep:

  And now, brave Paulus gives the friendly hand,

  And high on Gama’s lofty deck they stand.

  Bright to the day the purple sail-cloths glow,

  Wide to the gale the silken ensigns flow;

  The pictur’d flags display the warlike strife;

  Bold seem the heroes, as inspir’d by life.

  Here, arm to arm, the single combat strains,

  Here, burns the combat on the tented plains

  General and fierce; the meeting lances thrust,

  And the black blood seems smoking on the dust.

  With earnest eyes the wond’ring regent views

  The pictur’d warriors, and their history sues.

  But now the ruddy juice, by Noah found,489*

  In foaming goblets circled swiftly round,

  And o’er the deck swift rose the festive board;

  Yet, smiling oft, refrains the Indian lord:

  His faith forbade with other tribe to join

  The sacred meal, esteem’d a rite divine.490*

  In bold vibrations, thrilling on the ear,

  The battle sounds the Lusian trumpets rear;

  Loud burst the thunders of the arms of fire,

  Slow round the sails the clouds of smoke aspire,

  And rolling their dark volumes o’er the day

  The Lusian war, in dreadful pomp, display.

  In deepest thought the careful regent weigh’d

  The pomp and power at Gama’s nod bewray’d;

  Yet, seem’d alone in wonder to behold

  The glorious heroes, and the wars half told

  In silent poesy. — Swift from the board

  High crown’d with wine, uprose the Indian lord;

  Both the bold Gamas, and their gen’rous peer,

  The brave Coello, rose, prepar’d to hear

  Or, ever courteous, give the meet reply:

  Fix’d and inquiring was the regent’s eye:

  The warlike image of a hoary sire,

  Whose name shall live till earth and time expire,

  His wonder fix’d, and more than human glow’d

  The hero’s look; his robes of Grecian mode;

  A bough, his ensign, in his right he wav’d,

  A leafy bough. — But I, fond man depraved!

  Where would I speed, as madd’ning in a dream,

  Without your aid, ye Nymphs of Tago’s stream!

  Or yours, ye Dryads of Mondego’s bowers!

  Without your aid how vain my wearied powers!

  Long yet, and various lies my arduous way

  Through low’ring tempests and a boundless sea.

  Oh then, propitious hear your son implore,

  And guide my vessel to the happy shore.

  Ah! see how long what perilous days, what woes

  On many a foreign coast around me rose,

  As, dragg’d by Fortune’s chariot-wheels along,

  I sooth’d my sorrows with the warlike song:491*

  Wide ocean’s horrors length’ning now around,

  And, now my footsteps trod the hostile ground;

  Yet, mid each danger of tumultuous war

  Your Lusian heroes ever claim’d my care:

  As
Canace492* of old, ere self-destroy’d,

  One hand the pen, and one the sword employ’d,

  Degraded now, by poverty abhorr’d,

  The guest dependent at the lordling’s board:

  Now blest with all the wealth fond hope could crave,

  Soon I beheld that wealth beneath the wave

  For ever lost;493* myself escap’d alone,

  On the wild shore all friendless, hopeless, thrown;

  My life, like Judah’s heaven-doom’d king of yore,494*

  By miracle prolong’d; yet not the more

  To end my sorrows: woes succeeding woes

  Belied my earnest hopes of sweet repose:

  In place of bays around my brows to shed

  Their sacred honours, o’er my destin’d head

  Foul Calumny proclaim’d the fraudful tale,

  And left me mourning in a dreary jail.495*

  Such was the meed, alas! on me bestow’d,

  Bestow’d by those for whom my numbers glow’d,

  By those who to my toils their laurel honours ow’d.

  }

  Ye gentle nymphs of Tago’s rosy bowers,

  Ah, see what letter’d patron-lords are yours!

  Dull as the herds that graze their flow’ry dales,

  To them in vain the injur’d muse bewails:

  No fost’ring care their barb’rous hands bestow,

  Though to the muse their fairest fame they owe.

  Ah, cold may prove the future priest of fame

  Taught by my fate: yet, will I not disclaim

  Your smiles, ye muses of Mondego’s shade;

  Be still my dearest joy your happy aid!

  And hear my vow: Nor king, nor loftiest peer

  Shall e’er from me the song of flatt’ry hear;

  Nor crafty tyrant, who in office reigns,

  Smiles on his king, and binds the land in chains;

  His king’s worst foe: nor he whose raging ire,

  And raging wants, to shape his course, conspire;

  True to the clamours of the blinded crowd,

  Their changeful Proteus, insolent and loud:

  Nor he whose honest mien secures applause,

  Grave though he seem, and father of the laws,

  Who, but half-patriot, niggardly denies

  Each other’s merit, and withholds the prize:

  Who spurns the muse,496* nor feels the raptur’d strain,

  Useless by him esteem’d, and idly vain:

  For him, for these, no wreath my hand shall twine;

  On other brows th’ immortal rays shall shine:

  He who the path of honour ever trod,

  True to his king, his country, and his God,

  On his blest head my hands shall fix the crown

  Wove of the deathless laurels of renown.

  END OF THE SEVENTH BOOK.

  BOOK VIII.