Luis de Camoes Collected Poetical Works

by Luis de Camoes

  Behold these thousands bend the suppliant knee —

  Thy navy’s thund’ring sides black to the land

  Display their terrors — yet mayst thou command — —”

  O’erpower’d he paus’d. Majestic and serene

  Great Vasco rose, then, pointing to the scene

  Where bled the war, “Thy fleet, proud king, behold

  O’er ocean and the strand in carnage roll’d!

  So, shall this palace, smoking in the dust,

  And yon proud city, weep thy arts unjust.

  The Moors I knew, and, for their fraud prepar’d,

  I left my fix’d command my navy’s guard:555*

  Whate’er from shore my name or seal convey’d

  Of other weight, that fix’d command forbade;

  Thus, ere its birth destroy’d, prevented fell

  What fraud might dictate, or what force compel.

  This morn the sacrifice of Fraud I stood,

  But hark, there lives the brother of my blood,

  And lives the friend, whose cares conjoin’d control

  These floating towers, both brothers of my soul.

  ‘If thrice,’ I said, ‘arise the golden morn,

  Ere to my fleet you mark my glad return,

  Dark Fraud with all her Moorish arts withstands,

  And force, or death withholds me from my bands:

  Thus judge, and swift unfurl the homeward sail,

  Catch the first breathing of the eastern gale,

  Unmindful of my fate on India’s shore:556*

  Let but my monarch know, I wish no more.’

  Each, panting while I spoke, impatient cries,

  The tear-drop bursting in their manly eyes,

  ‘In all but one thy mandates we obey,

  In one we yield not to thy gen’rous sway:

  Without thee, never shall our sails return;

  India shall bleed, and Calicut shall burn —

  Thrice shall the morn arise; a flight of bombs

  Shall then speak vengeance to their guilty domes:

  Till noon we pause; then, shall our thunders roar,

  And desolation sweep the treach’rous shore.’

  Behold, proud king, their signal in the sky,

  Near his meridian tower the sun rides high.

  O’er Calicut no more the ev’ning shade

  Shall spread her peaceful wings, my wrath unstaid;

  Dire through the night her smoking dust shall gleam,

  Dire thro’ the night shall shriek the female scream.”

  “Thy worth, great chief,” the pale-lipp’d regent cries,

  “Thy worth we own: oh, may these woes suffice!

  To thee each proof of India’s wealth we send;

  Ambassadors, of noblest race, attend — —”

  Slow as he falter’d, Gama caught the word,

  “On terms I talk not, and no truce afford:

  Captives enough shall reach the Lusian shore:

  Once you deceiv’d me, and I treat no more.

  E’en now my faithful sailors, pale with rage,

  Gnaw their blue lips, impatient to engage;

  Rang’d by their brazen tubes, the thund’ring band

  Watch the first movement of my brother’s hand;

  E’en now, impatient, o’er the dreadful tire

  They wave their eager canes betipp’d with fire;

  Methinks my brother’s anguish’d look I see,

  The panting nostril and the trembling knee,

  While keen he eyes the sun. On hasty strides,

  Hurried along the deck, Coello chides

  His cold, slow ling’ring, and impatient cries,

  ‘Oh, give the sign, illume the sacrifice,

  A brother’s vengeance for a brother’s blood — —”

  He spake; and stern the dreadful warrior stood;

  So seem’d the terrors of his awful nod,

  The monarch trembled as before a god;

  The treach’rous Moors sank down in faint dismay,

  And speechless at his feet the council lay:

  Abrupt, with outstretched arms, the monarch cries,

  “What yet — —” but dar’d not meet the hero’s eyes,

  “What yet may save!”557* — Great Vasco stern rejoins,

  “Swift, undisputing, give th’ appointed signs:

  High o’er thy loftiest tower my flag display,

  Me and my train swift to my fleet convey:

  Instant command — behold the sun rides high — —”

  He spake, and rapture glow’d in ev’ry eye;

  The Lusian standard o’er the palace flow’d,

  Swift o’er the bay the royal barges row’d.

  A dreary gloom a sudden whirlwind threw;

  Amid the howling blast, enrag’d, withdrew

  The vanquish’d demon. Soon, in lustre mild

  As April smiles, the sun auspicious smil’d:

  Elate with joy, the shouting thousands trod,

  And Gama to his fleet triumphant rode.

  Soft came the eastern gale on balmy wings:

  Each joyful sailor to his labour springs;

  Some o’er the bars their breasts robust recline,

  And, with firm tugs, the rollers558* from the brine,

  Reluctant dragg’d, the slime-brown’d anchors raise;

  Each gliding rope some nimble hand obeys;

  Some bending o’er the yard-arm’s length, on high,

  With nimble hands, the canvas wings untie;

  The flapping sails their wid’ning folds distend,

  And measur’d, echoing shouts their sweaty toils attend.

  Nor had the captives lost the leader’s care,

  Some to the shore the Indian barges bear;

  The noblest few the chief detains, to own

  His glorious deeds before the Lusian throne;

  To own the conquest of the Indian shore:

  Nor wanted ev’ry proof of India’s store.

  What fruits in Ceylon’s fragrant woods abound,

  With woods of cinnamon her hills are crown’d:

  Dry’d in its flower, the nut of Banda’s grove,

  The burning pepper, and the sable clove;

  The clove, whose odour on the breathing gale,

  Far to the sea, Molucca’s plains exhale;

  All these, provided by the faithful Moor,

  All these, and India’s gems, the navy bore:

  The Moor attends, Mozaide, whose zealous care

  To Gama’s eyes unveil’d each treach’rous snare:559*

  So burn’d his breast with Heav’n-illumin’d flame,

  And holy rev’rence of Messiah’s name.

  O, favour’d African, by Heaven’s own light

  Call’d from the dreary shades of error’s night!

  What man may dare his seeming ills arraign,

  Or what the grace of Heaven’s designs explain!

  Far didst thou from thy friends a stranger roam,

  There wast thou call’d to thy celestial home.560*

  With rustling sound now swell’d the steady sail;

  The lofty masts reclining to the gale,

  On full-spread wings the navy springs away,

  And, far behind them, foams the ocean grey:

  Afar the less’ning hills of Gata fly,

  And mix their dim blue summits with the sky:

  Beneath the wave low sinks the spicy shore,

  And, roaring through the tide, each nodding prore

  Points to the Cape, great Nature’s southmost bound,

  The Cape of Tempests, now of Hope renown’d.

  Their glorious tale on Lisboa’s shore to tell

  Inspires each bosom with a rapt’rous swell;

  Now through their breasts the chilly tremors glide,

  To dare once more the dangers dearly tried. —

  Soon to the winds are these cold fears resign’d,

  And all their country rushes on the mind;

&
nbsp; How sweet to view their native land, how sweet

  The father, brother, and the bride to greet!

  While list’ning round the hoary parent’s board

  The wond’ring kindred glow at ev’ry word;

  How sweet to tell what woes, what toils they bore,

  The tribes, and wonders of each various shore!

  These thoughts, the traveller’s lov’d reward, employ,

  And swell each bosom with unutter’d joy.561*

  The queen of love, by Heaven’s eternal grace,

  The guardian goddess of the Lusian race;

  The queen of love, elate with joy, surveys

  Her heroes, happy, plough the wat’ry maze:

  Their dreary toils revolving in her thought,

  And all the woes by vengeful Bacchus wrought;

  These toils, these woes, her yearning cares employ,

  To bathe, and balsam in the streams of joy.

  Amid the bosom of the wat’ry waste,

  Near where the bowers of Paradise were plac’d,562*

  An isle, array’d in all the pride of flowers,

  Of fruits, of fountains, and of fragrant bowers,

  She means to offer to their homeward prows,

  The place of glad repast and sweet repose;

  And there, before their raptur’d view, to raise

  The heav’n-topp’d column of their deathless praise.

  The goddess now ascends her silver car,

  (Bright was its hue as love’s translucent star);

  Beneath the reins the stately birds,563* that sing

  Their sweet-ton’d death-song spread the snowy wing;

  The gentle winds beneath her chariot sigh,

  And virgin blushes purple o’er the sky:

  On milk-white pinions borne, her cooing doves

  Form playful circles round her as she moves;

  And now their beaks in fondling kisses join,

  In am’rous nods their fondling necks entwine.

  O’er fair Idalia’s bowers the goddess rode,

  And by her altars sought Idalia’s god:

  The youthful bowyer of the heart was there;

  His falling kingdom claim’d his earnest care.564*

  His bands he musters, through the myrtle groves

  On buxom wings he trains the little loves.

  Against the world, rebellious and astray,

  He means to lead them, and resume his sway:

  For base-born passions, at his shrine, ’twas told,

  Each nobler transport of the breast controll’d.

  A young Actæon,565* scornful of his lore,

  Morn after morn pursues the foamy boar,

  In desert wilds, devoted to the chase;

  Each dear enchantment of the female face

  Spurn’d, and neglected. Him, enrag’d, he sees,

  And sweet, and dread his punishment decrees.

  Before his ravish’d sight, in sweet surprise,

  Naked in all her charms, shall Dian rise;

  With love’s fierce flames his frozen heart shall burn,566*

  Coldly his suit, the nymph, unmov’d, shall spurn.

  Of these lov’d dogs that now his passions sway,

  Ah, may he never fall the hapless prey!

  Enrag’d, he sees a venal herd, the shame

  Of human race, assume the titled name;567*

  And each, for some base interest of his own,

  With Flatt’ry’s manna’d lips assail the throne.

  He sees the men, whom holiest sanctions bind

  To poverty, and love of human kind;

  While, soft as drop the dews of balmy May,

  Their words preach virtue, and her charms display,

  He sees with lust of gold their eyes on fire,

  And ev’ry wish to lordly state aspire;

  He sees them trim the lamp at night’s mid hour,

  To plan new laws to arm the regal power;

  Sleepless, at night’s mid hour, to raze the laws,

  The sacred bulwarks of the people’s cause,

  Fram’d ere the blood of hard-earn’d victory

  On their brave fathers’ helm-hack’d swords was dry.

  Nor these alone; each rank, debas’d and rude,

  Mean objects, worthless of their love, pursued:

  Their passions thus rebellious to his lore,

  The god decrees to punish and restore.

  The little loves, light hov’ring in the air,

  Twang their silk bow-strings, and their aims prepare:

  Some on th’ immortal anvils point the dart,

  With power resistless to inflame the heart;

  Their arrow heads they tip with soft desires,

  And all the warmth of love’s celestial fires;

  Some sprinkle o’er the shafts the tears of woe,

  Some store the quiver, some steel-spring the bow;

  Each chanting as he works the tuneful strain

  Of love’s dear joys, of love’s luxurious pain;

  Charm’d was the lay to conquer and refine,

  Divine the melody, the song divine.

  Already, now, began the vengeful war,

  The witness of the god’s benignant care;

  On the hard bosoms of the stubborn crowd568*

  An arrowy shower the bowyer train bestow’d;

  Pierced by the whizzing shafts, deep sighs the air,

  And answering sighs the wounds of love declare.

  Though various featur’d, and of various hue,

  Each nymph seems loveliest in her lover’s view;

  Fir’d by the darts, by novice archers sped,

  Ten thousand wild, fantastic loves are bred:

  In wildest dreams the rustic hind aspires,

  And haughtiest lords confess the humblest fires.

  The snowy swans of love’s celestial queen

  Now land her chariot on the shore of green;

  One knee display’d, she treads the flow’ry strand,

  The gather’d robe falls loosely from her hand;

  Half-seen her bosom heaves the living snow,

  And on her smiles the living roses glow.

  The bowyer god,569* whose subtle shafts ne’er fly

  Misaim’d, in vain, in vain on earth or sky,

  With rosy smiles the mother power receives;

  Around her climbing, thick as ivy leaves,

  The vassal loves in fond contention join

  Who, first and most, shall kiss her hand divine.

  Swift in her arms she caught her wanton boy,

  And, “Oh, my son,” she cries, “my pride, my joy!

  Against thy might the dreadful Typhon fail’d,

  Against thy shaft nor heav’n, nor Jove prevail’d;

  Unless thine arrow wake the young desires,

  My strength, my power, in vain each charm expires:

  My son, my hope, I claim thy powerful aid,

  Nor be the boon thy mother sues delay’d:

  Where’er — so will th’ eternal fates — where’er

  The Lusian race the victor standards rear,

  There shall my hymns resound, my altars flame,

  And heav’nly Love her joyful lore proclaim.

  My Lusian heroes, as my Romans, brave,

  Long toss’d, long hopeless on the storm-torn wave,

  Wearied and weak, at last on India’s shore

  Arriv’d, new toils, repose denied, they bore;

  For Bacchus there with tenfold rage pursued

  My dauntless sons, but now his might subdued,

  Amid these raging seas, the scene of woes,

  Theirs shall be now the balm of sweet repose;

  Theirs ev’ry joy the noblest heroes claim,

  The raptur’d foretaste of immortal fame.

  Then, bend thy bow and wound the Nereid train,

  The lovely daughters of the azure main;

  And lead them, while they pant with am’rous fire,

  Right to the isle whic
h all my smiles inspire:

  Soon shall my care that beauteous isle supply,

  Where Zephyr, breathing love, on Flora’s lap shall sigh.

  There let the nymphs the gallant heroes meet,

  And strew the pink and rose beneath their feet:

  In crystal halls the feast divine prolong,

  With wine nectareous and immortal song:

  Let every nymph the snow-white bed prepare,

  And, fairer far, resign her bosom there;

  There, to the greedy riotous embrace

  Resign each hidden charm with dearest grace.

  Thus, from my native waves a hero line

  Shall rise, and o’er the East illustrious shine;570*

  Thus, shall the rebel world thy prowess know,

  And what the boundless joys our friendly powers bestow.”

  She said; and smiling view’d her mighty boy;

  Swift to the chariot springs the god of joy;

  His ivory bow, and arrows tipp’d with gold,

  Blaz’d to the sun-beam as the chariot roll’d:

  Their silver harness shining to the day,

  The swans, on milk-white pinions, spring away,

  Smooth gliding o’er the clouds of lovely blue;

  And Fame571* (so will’d the god) before them flew:

  A giant goddess, whose ungovern’d tongue

  With equal zeal proclaims or right or wrong;

  Oft had her lips the god of love blasphem’d,

  And oft with tenfold praise his conquests nam’d:

  A hundred eyes she rolls with ceaseless care,

  A thousand tongues what these behold declare:

  Fleet is her flight, the lightning’s wing she rides,

  And, though she shifts her colours swift as glides

  The April rainbow, still the crowd she guides.

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  And now, aloft her wond’ring voice she rais’d,

  And, with a thousand glowing tongues, she prais’d

  The bold discoverers of the eastern world —

  In gentle swells the list’ning surges curl’d,

  And murmur’d to the sounds of plaintive love

  Along the grottoes where the Nereids rove.

  The drowsy power on whose smooth easy mien

  The smiles of wonder and delight are seen,

  Whose glossy, simp’ring eye bespeaks her name,

  Credulity, attends the goddess Fame.

  Fir’d by the heroes’ praise, the wat’ry gods,572*

  With ardent speed forsake their deep abodes;

  Their rage by vengeful Bacchus rais’d of late,

  Now stung remorse, and love succeeds to hate.

  Ah, where remorse in female bosom bleeds,

  The tend’rest love in all its glow succeeds.

  When fancy glows, how strong, O Love, thy power!

  Nor slipp’d the eager god the happy hour;