Luis de Camoes Collected Poetical Works

by Luis de Camoes

  The burning east shall tremble, chill’d with fear;

  Reeking with noble blood, Cambalao’s stream

  Shall blaze impurpled on the ev’ning beam;

  Urg’d on by raging shame, the monarch brings,

  Banded with all their powers, his vassal kings:

  Narsinga’s rocks their cruel thousands pour,

  Bipur’s stern king attends, and thine, Tanore:

  To guard proud Calicut’s imperial pride

  All the wide North sweeps down its peopled tide:

  Join’d are the sects that never touch’d before,

  By land the pagan, and by sea the Moor.

  O’er land, o’er sea the great Pacheco strews

  The prostrate spearmen, and the founder’d proas.596*

  Submiss and silent, palsied with amaze,

  Proud Malabar th’ unnumber’d slain surveys:

  Yet burns the monarch; to his shrine he speeds;

  Dire howl the priests, the groaning victim bleeds;

  The ground they stamp, and, from the dark abodes,

  With tears and vows, they call th’ infernal gods.

  Enrag’d with dog-like madness, to behold

  His temples and his towns in flames enroll’d,

  Secure of promis’d victory, again

  He fires the war, the lawns are heap’d with slain.

  With stern reproach he brands his routed Nayres,

  And for the dreadful field himself prepares;

  His harness’d thousands to the fight he leads;

  And rides exulting where the combat bleeds:

  Amid his pomp his robes are sprinkled o’er,

  And his proud face dash’d, with his menials’ gore:597*

  From his high couch he leaps, and speeds to flight

  On foot inglorious, in his army’s sight.

  Hell then he calls, and all the powers of hell,

  The secret poison, and the chanted spell;

  Vain as the spell the poison’d rage is shed,

  For Heav’n defends the hero’s sacred head.

  Still fiercer from each wound the tyrant burns,

  Still to the field with heavier force returns;

  The seventh dread war he kindles; high in air

  The hills dishonour’d lift their shoulders bare;

  Their woods, roll’d down, now strew the river’s side,

  Now rise in mountain turrets o’er the tide;

  Mountains of fire, and spires of bick’ring flame,

  While either bank resounds the proud acclaim,

  Come floating down, round Lusus’ fleet to pour

  Their sulph’rous entrails598* in a burning shower.

  Oh, vain the hope. — Let Rome her boast resign;

  Her palms, Pacheco, never bloom’d like thine;

  Nor Tiber’s bridge,599* nor Marathon’s red field,

  Nor thine, Thermopylæ, such deeds beheld;

  Nor Fabius’ arts such rushing storms repell’d.

  }

  Swift as, repuls’d, the famish’d wolf returns

  Fierce to the fold, and, wounded, fiercer burns;

  So swift, so fierce, seven times, all India’s might

  Returns unnumber’d to the dreadful fight;

  One hundred spears, seven times in dreadful stower,

  Strews in the dust all India’s raging power.”

  The lofty song (for paleness o’er her spread)

  The nymph suspends, and bows the languid head;

  Her falt’ring words are breathed on plaintive sighs:

  “Ah, Belisarius, injur’d chief,” she cries,

  “Ah, wipe thy tears; in war thy rival see,

  Injur’d Pacheco falls despoil’d like thee;

  In him, in thee dishonour’d Virtue bleeds,

  And Valour weeps to view her fairest deeds, —

  Weeps o’er Pacheco, where, forlorn he lies

  Low on an alms-house bed, and friendless dies.

  Yet shall the muses plume his humble bier,

  And ever o’er him pour th’ immortal tear;

  Though by the king, alone to thee unjust,

  Thy head, great chief, was humbled in the dust,

  Loud shall the muse indignant sound thy praise —

  ‘Thou gav’st thy monarch’s throne its proudest blaze.’

  While round the world the sun’s bright car shall ride,

  So bright shall shine thy name’s illustrious pride;

  Thy monarch’s glory, as the moon’s pale beam,

  Eclips’d by thine, shall shed a sickly gleam.

  Such meed attends when soothing flatt’ry sways,

  And blinded State its sacred trust betrays!”

  Again the nymph exalts her brow, again

  Her swelling voice resounds the lofty strain:

  “Almeyda comes, the kingly name he bears,

  Deputed royalty his standard rears:

  In all the gen’rous rage of youthful fire

  The warlike son attends the warlike sire.

  Quiloa’s blood-stain’d tyrant now shall feel

  The righteous vengeance of the Lusian steel.

  Another prince, by Lisbon’s throne belov’d,

  Shall bless the land, for faithful deeds approv’d.

  Mombaz shall now her treason’s meed behold,

  When curling flames her proudest domes enfold:

  Involv’d in smoke, loud crashing, low shall fall

  The mounded temple and the castled wall.

  O’er India’s seas the young Almeyda pours,

  Scorching the wither’d air, his iron show’rs;

  Torn masts and rudders, hulks and canvas riv’n,

  Month after month before his prows are driv’n;

  But Heav’n’s dread will, where clouds of darkness rest,

  That awful will, which knows alone the best,

  Now blunts his spear: Cambaya’s squadrons join’d

  With Egypt’s fleets, in pagan rage combin’d,

  Engrasp him round; red boils the stagg’ring flood,

  Purpled with volleying flames and hot with blood:

  Whirl’d by the cannon’s rage, in shivers torn,

  His thigh, far scattered, o’er the wave is borne.

  Bound to the mast the godlike hero stands,600*

  Waves his proud sword, and cheers his woful bands.

  Though winds and seas their wonted aid deny,

  To yield he knows not, but he knows to die:

  Another thunder tears his manly breast:

  Oh fly, blest spirit, to thy heav’nly rest!

  Hark! rolling on the groaning storm I hear,

  Resistless vengeance thund’ring on the rear.

  I see the transports of the furious sire,

  As o’er the mangled corse his eyes flash fire.

  Swift to the fight, with stern though weeping eyes,

  Fix’d rage fierce burning in his breast, he flies;

  Fierce as the bull that sees his rival rove

  Free with the heifers through the mounded grove,

  On oak or beech his madd’ning fury pours;

  So pours Almeyda’s rage on Dabul’s towers.

  His vanes wide waving o’er the Indian sky,

  Before his prows the fleets of India fly;601*

  On Egypt’s chief his mortars’ dreadful tire

  Shall vomit all the rage of prison’d fire:

  Heads, limbs, and trunks shall choke the struggling tide,

  Till, ev’ry surge with reeking crimson dy’d,

  Around the young Almeyda’s hapless urn

  His conqueror’s naked ghosts shall howl and mourn.

  As meteors flashing through the darken’d air

  I see the victors’ whirling falchions glare;

  Dark rolls the sulph’rous smoke o’er Dio’s skies,

  And shrieks of death, and shouts of conquest rise,

  In one wide tumult blended. The rough roar

  Shakes the brown tents on Ganges’ trem
bling shore;

  The waves of Indus from the banks recoil;

  And matrons, howling on the strand of Nile,

  By the pale moon, their absent sons deplore:

  Long shall they wail; their sons return no more.

  “Ah, strike the notes of woe!” the siren cries;

  “A dreary vision swims before my eyes.

  To Tagus’ shore triumphant as he bends,

  Low in the dust the hero’s glory ends:

  Though bended bow, nor thund’ring engine’s hail,

  Nor Egypt’s sword, nor India’s spear prevail,

  Fall shall the chief before a naked foe,

  Rough clubs and rude-hurl’ed stones shall strike the blow;

  The Cape of Tempests shall his tomb supply,

  And in the desert sands his bones shall lie,

  No boastful trophy o’er his ashes rear’d:

  Such Heav’n’s dread will, and be that will rever’d!

  “But lo, resplendent shines another star,”

  Loud she resounds, “in all the blaze of war!

  Great Cunia602* guards Melinda’s friendly shore,

  And dyes her seas with Oja’s hostile gore;

  Lamo and Brava’s tow’rs his vengeance tell:

  Green Madagascar’s flow’ry dales shall swell

  His echo’d fame, till ocean’s southmost bound

  On isles and shores unknown his name resound.

  “Another blaze, behold, of fire and arms!

  Great Albuquerque awakes the dread alarms:

  O’er Ormuz’ walls his thund’ring flames he pours,

  While Heav’n, the hero’s guide, indignant show’rs

  Their arrows backwards603* on the Persian foe,

  Tearing the breasts and arms that twang’d the bow.

  Mountains of salt and fragrant gums in vain

  Were spent untainted to embalm the slain.

  Such heaps shall strew the seas and faithless strand

  Of Gerum, Mazcate,604* and Calayat’s land,

  Till faithless Ormuz own the Lusian sway,

  And Barem’s605* pearls her yearly safety pay.

  “What glorious palms on Goa’s isle I see,606*

  Their blossoms spread, great Albuquerque, for thee!

  Through castled walls the hero breaks his way,

  And opens with his sword the dread array

  Of Moors and pagans; through their depth he rides,

  Through spears and show’ring fire the battle guides.

  As bulls enrag’d, or lions smear’d with gore,

  His bands sweep wide o’er Goa’s purpled shore.

  Nor eastward far though fair Malacca607* lie,

  Her groves embosom’d in the morning sky;

  Though with her am’rous sons the valiant line

  Of Java’s isle in battle rank combine,

  Though poison’d shafts their pond’rous quivers store;

  Malacca’s spicy groves and golden ore,

  Great Albuquerque, thy dauntless toils shall crown!

  Yet art thou stain’d.”608* Here, with a sighful frown,

  The goddess paus’d, for much remain’d unsung,

  But blotted with a humble soldier’s wrong.

  “Alas,” she cries, “when war’s dread horrors reign,

  And thund’ring batteries rock the fiery plain,

  When ghastly famine on a hostile soil,

  When pale disease attends on weary toil,

  When patient under all the soldier stands,

  Detested be the rage which then demands

  The humble soldier’s blood, his only crime

  The am’rous frailty of the youthful prime!

  Incest’s cold horror here no glow restrain’d,

  Nor sacred nuptial bed was here profan’d,

  Nor here unwelcome force the virgin seiz’d;

  A slave, lascivious, in his fondling pleas’d,

  Resigns her breast. Ah, stain to Lusian fame!

  (’Twas lust of blood, perhaps ’twas jealous flame;)

  The leader’s rage, unworthy of the brave,

  Consigns the youthful soldier to the grave.

  Not Ammon609* thus Apelles’ love repaid,

  Great Ammon’s bed resign’d the lovely maid;

  Nor Cyrus thus reprov’d Araspas’ fire;

  Nor haughtier Carlo thus assum’d the sire,

  Though iron Baldwin to his daughter’s bower,

  An ill-match’d lover, stole in secret hour:

  With nobler rage the lofty monarch glow’d,

  And Flandria’s earldom on the knight bestow’d.”610*

  Again the nymph the song of fame resounds:

  “Lo, sweeping wide o’er Ethiopia’s bounds,

  Wide o’er Arabia’s purple shore, on high

  The Lusian ensigns blaze along the sky:

  Mecca, aghast, beholds the standards shine,

  And midnight horror shakes Medina’s shrine;611*

  Th’ unhallow’d altar bodes th’ approaching foe,

  Foredoom’d in dust its prophet’s tomb to strew.

  Nor Ceylon’s isle, brave Soarez, shall withhold

  Its incense, precious as the burnish’d gold,

  What time o’er proud Columbo’s loftiest spire

  Thy flag shall blaze: Nor shall th’ immortal lyre

  Forget thy praise, Sequeyra! To the shore

  Where Sheba’s sapient queen the sceptre bore,612*

  Braving the Red Sea’s dangers shalt thou force

  To Abyssinia’s realm thy novel course;

  And isles, by jealous Nature long conceal’d,

  Shall to the wond’ring world be now reveal’d.

  Great Menez next the Lusian sword shall bear;

  Menez, the dread of Afric, high shall rear

  His victor lance, till deep shall Ormuz groan,

  And tribute doubled her revolt atone.

  “Now shines thy glory in meridian height” —

  And loud her voice she rais’d— “O matchless knight!

  Thou, thou, illustrious Gama, thou shalt bring

  The olive bough of peace, deputed king!

  The lands by thee discover’d shall obey

  Thy sceptred power, and bless thy regal sway.

  But India’s crimes, outrageous to the skies,

  A length of these Saturnian days denies:

  Snatch’d from thy golden throne,613* the heav’ns shall claim

  Thy deathless soul, the world thy deathless name.

  “Now o’er the coast of faithless Malabar

  Victorious Henry614* pours the rage of war;

  Nor less the youth a nobler strife shall wage,

  Great victor of himself though green in age;

  No restless slave of wanton am’rous fire,

  No lust of gold shall taint his gen’rous ire.

  While youth’s bold pulse beats high, how brave the boy

  Whom harlot-smiles nor pride of power decoy!

  Immortal be his name! Nor less thy praise,

  Great Mascarene,615* shall future ages raise:

  Though power, unjust, withhold the splendid ray

  That dignifies the crest of sov’reign sway,

  Thy deeds, great chief, on Bintam’s humbled shore

  (Deeds such as Asia never view’d before)

  Shall give thy honest fame a brighter blaze

  Than tyrant pomp in golden robes displays.

  Though bold in war the fierce usurper shine,

  Though Cutial’s potent navy o’er the brine

  Drive vanquish’d: though the Lusian Hector’s sword

  For him reap conquest, and confirm him lord;

  Thy deeds, great peer, the wonder of thy foes,

  Thy glorious chains unjust, and gen’rous woes,

  Shall dim the fierce Sampayo’s fairest fame,

  And o’er his honours thine aloud proclaim.

  Thy gen’rous woes! Ah gallant injur’d chief,

  Not thy own
sorrows give the sharpest grief.

  Thou seest the Lusian name her honours stain,

  And lust of gold her heroes’ breasts profane;

  Thou seest ambition lift the impious head,

  Nor God’s red arm, nor ling’ring justice dread;

  O’er India’s bounds thou seest these vultures prowl,

  Full gorged with blood, and dreadless of control;

  Thou seest and weepst thy country’s blotted name,

  The gen’rous sorrow thine, but not the shame.

  Nor long the Lusian ensigns stain’d remain:

  Great Nunio616* comes, and razes every stain.

  Though lofty Calè’s warlike towers he rear;

  Though haughty Melic groan beneath his spear;

  All these, and Diu yielded to his name,

  Are but th’ embroid’ry of his nobler fame.

  Far haughtier foes of Lusian race he braves;

  The awful sword of justice high he waves:

  Before his bar the injur’d Indian stands,

  And justice boldly on his foe demands,

  The Lusian foe; in wonder lost, the Moor

  Beholds proud rapine’s vulture grip restore;

  Beholds the Lusian hands in fetters bound

  By Lusian hands, and wound repaid for wound.

  Oh, more shall thus by Nunio’s worth be won,

  Than conquest reaps from high-plum’d hosts o’erthrown.

  Long shall the gen’rous Nunio’s blissful sway

  Command supreme. In Dio’s hopeless day

  The sov’reign toil the brave Noronha takes;

  Awed by his fame 617* the fierce-soul’d Rumien shakes,

  And Dio’s open’d walls in sudden flight forsakes.

  }

  A son of thine, O Gama,618* now shall hold

  The helm of empire, prudent, wise, and bold:

  Malacca sav’d and strengthen’d by his arms,

  The banks of Tor shall echo his alarms;

  His worth shall bless the kingdoms of the morn,

  For all thy virtues shall his soul adorn.

  When fate resigns thy hero to the skies,

  A vet’ran, fam’d on Brazil’s shore619* shall rise:

  The wide Atlantic and the Indian main,

  By turns, shall own the terrors of his reign.

  His aid the proud Cambayan king implores,

  His potent aid Cambaya’s king restores.

  The dread Mogul with all his thousands flies,

  And Dio’s towers are Souza’s well-earn’d prize.

  Nor less the zamorim o’er blood-stain’d ground620*

  Shall speed his legions, torn with many a wound,

  In headlong rout. Nor shall the boastful pride

  Of India’s navy, though the shaded tide

  Around the squadron’d masts appear the down

  Of some wide forest, other fate renown.