Whom Will of Fortune so conforming made?
XLII.
Lindo, e sutil trancado, que ficaste
(To a lady who gave him a fillet in lien of hair-lock).
Fair-woven Fillet! in whose pledge I find
Promise of remedy I desire to gain,
If sole the seeing thee so mad my brain,
What would the tresses erst by thee confine’d?
Those golden-hued locks thou hast entwine’d,
That hold the solar splendours in disdain,
I weet not was’t to make my prayer in vain,
Or if to find me them thou didst unbind.
Thee, fair-wove Fillet! I in hand see hent
And for the solace to my sorrows owed,
Lacking that other I must take this dole:
And, if my longings may not win Content,
I have to assure her ’tis in Love’s own code
A part must take who cannot take the whole.
XLIII.
O Cisne quando sente ser chegada
(He sings the Swan-song; for Natercia married?).
The Swan, who feeleth that enfated hour
Nigh draw and show him term of life draw nigh,
A voice more touching, of more harmonie
Raiseth awaking lone deserted shore.
Fain he’d enjoy of life-tide something more,
And mourneth weeping an unwilled good-bye;
In yearning sorrow, for that dight to die,
His notes the Journey’s mournful close deplore.
Thus I, my Ladye! when to me was shown
The tristful dying of my Love-in-grief,
Already thinned to the thinmost thread;
With suaver accent, more harmonious tone,
Of your disfavours I to sing was lief, —
“Your faith perjurious and my Love done dead.”
XLIV.
Por os raros estremos que mostrou,
(In praise of four inaids of honour).
For rare extremes displayed in days of yore,
Pallas for learned, Venus for-that fair,
Dian for chaste, Juno for queenly air,
Africk, Europa, Asia did adore.
He who conjoined by Almighty Pow’r
Spirit and Flesh in generous league to pair,
This World-machinery, lustrous ‘yond Compare,
Fabrick’d with simple Elementals four.
But Nature willed greater marvel see
In you, my Dames! when joined in every one
What she had portioned amid her fours.
To you their splendours yielded Sol and Lune:
You with live light, and grace and purest blee,
Air, Earth, Fire, Water served as servitours.
XLV.
Tomava Daliana por vinganga
(Continues No. 41).
Willed Daliana wed, to avenge the slight
Of the hard Shepherd loved in love so true,
With neatherd Giles; and self-avenging rue
That alien error, false and coy despight:
The sure discretion and confiding light
Which on her cheeks the rosy tincture drew,
Wan Melancholy changed in every hue;
For asperous Change oft changeth bright for blight.
Graciousest Floret laid in land ‘so lean;
Sweet fruitage harvested by horny hand!
Memories of other love and perjured fay
Have turned to horrid hill the grassy green;
While cogging interest, feigning Love’s command,
Made even Beauty wend on hapless way.
XLVI.
Grao tempo ha ja que soube da Ventura
(A Plaint written in India?).
Long Syne now ’tis sin’ taught me Aventure
The life my fatal fiat hath forecast;
For such prolonged experience of my Past
Gave of my Future indice clear and sure:
Love fere and cruel! Fortune aye obscure!
Well have you tried me, bound me hard and fast:
Lay waste, destroy, allow no weal to last;
Do vengeance on my days that still endure.
Love wot from Fortune none to me befell
And, that I feel the more what failures are,
He made my maintenance Dreams impossible.
But you, my Ladye! since (you see) my Star
None other wills, deign in my Soul to dwell,
Where Fortune lacketh might to make or mar.
XLVII.
Se somente hora alguma em vos piedade
(Written after parting and en route to India?).
If I some hour some ruth in you could see
Vouchsafed for so long torment to me dight,
Love sore had suffered I depart the sight
Of those loved Eyes, long yearned-for Pyne of me
From you I parted, but my volunty,
Which like the natural limns you in my Sprite,
Makes me this absence view in lying light,
Yet come I soon to prove that truth it be.
I must go, Ladye! but in parting shed
Sad tears shall ever claim revenge in kind
From eyes whereof you were the daily bread.
Thus to my pains I’ll give Life tortured;
For here, in fine, my Sovenance shall find
Myself in your oblivion sepulchred.
XLVIII.
Oh como me se alonga de anno em ano
(One of the last, written at Mozambique?).
Ah me! how longsome lengthens year by year
This weary way-worn pilgrimage of mine!
How shortens, flying to its fatal fine,
This my brief human course, this vain career!
With days decreasing increast Ills draw near;
I lost what cure I had, last anodyne:
If that experience teacheth to divine,
Each greater Hope doth greater snare appear.
I run to catch this welfare sans a chance;
Welfare that faileth me in middle way,
And thousand falls destroy my confidence.
It flies, I tarry; and in tarriance
When raised mine eyes to see if still it stay,
’Tis lost to vision and to esperance.
XLIX.
Ja he tempo ja, que minha confianca
(A variant of No. 48; Horace, I. Odes, v.).
’Tis time, time ’tis that this my confidence
Descend from heights of false opinion;
But Love to Reason-rule will not be won;
‘I may not, therefore, with all Hope dispense:
Life, yes! for shift to asperous circumstance
Forbiddeth length of life to hearts fordone,
In Death hold I my sole salvation?
Yes! but who seeks for Death ne’er finds the chance.
Parforce I hope and eke parforce I live.
Ah Love’s hard Law that never deigns relent,
Nor soothes the Spirit which must captive grieve!
But if, in fine, parforce to live I’m meant,
Wherefore want I the glory fugitive
Of a vain Hope whose pain’s my punishment?
L.
Amor, com a esperanfa jd perdida
(A variant of the last variant).
Amor! with Esperance now for aye forlore,
I pilgrimaged to Thy sovran Fame;
And for my shipwreck-sign on stormy Main
In lieu of garments Life for offering bore.
What more of me wouldst Thou, who evermore
Destroydst the Glory ’twas my boast to gain?
Deem not to conquer me, nor I again
Intend to enter by an issueless door.
Here seest thou life and soul and esperance,
The sweet despoilings of my bygone weal,
As long as willed she, whom I adore.
On these thou lief mayst wreak thy vengeance,
And, if determined more revenge
to deal,
Suffice thy heart-desire the tears I pour.
LI.
Apolo, e as nove Musas discantando
(Petrarch, I. 12 and 47).
‘Mid the nine Muses’ choir Apollo singing
To his gilt lyre, so influenced my sprite
With descant sweet, harmonical delight,
I hent in hand my pen and writ, beginning: —
“Happy the day, the hour, the moment bringing
Those delicate eyne my very me to smite:
Happy the feelings that could feel them dight
To die, with love-desires the heart unstringing.”
This wise I sang when Cupid changed my chance
Whirling the wheel of Esperance, that raced
So legier; well nigh ’twas invisible.
For me the blackest night clear Day o’ercast;
And if remained me aught of Esperance,
’Twould be of balefuller bane — if possible.
LII.
Lembrancas saudosas, se cuidays
(Cf. Sonn. 4 and 46).
Sad yearning Memories! an ye still be straining
To end my life-tide placed in such estate,
I live not so ensnared by ban and bate,
As one not hoping more, far more, of paining.
Long time already you my heart are training
To wone of whatso welfare desperate:
Now I with Fortune have deliberate
To suffer torments of your own ordaining.
Patience I’ll bind, as thole-pin bindeth oar,
To what displeasures Life may lief affy:
Let Thought as wills it care of suffering take.
For sith resistance can avail no more
In such a cruel fall fro’ height so high,
Upon my sufferings I my fall must break.
LIII.
Apartavase Nise de Montana,
(Of Nise or Ines, the drowned Dame).
Departed Nise parted from Montane,
And, parting, ever woned within his sprite,
For her in Memory limned the Shepherd-wight,
The freaks of Fortune easier to sustain.
Upon a Fore-land facing Indick main
Propt on his curved crook he bowed his height,
And o’er the vasty seas prolonged his sight,
Eyeing the wavelets reckless of his pain.
Since to such after-longings, pangs so fell,
(Quoth he) would leave me she I most adore,
I call to witness all the stars and spheres:
But, Waves, if aught of ruth in you may dwell
Eke bear away the tears these eyelids pour
E’en as you bear her that has caused the tears.
LIV.
Quando vejo que meu destino ordena,
(Following No. 47).
Whenas I see my Destiny ordain,
By way of proving, I from you depart,
Leaving my welfare’s better, higher part
That prove the very fault my bitterest bane:
The dure displeasure, dooming constant pain
When musing Memory communes with my heart,
Hardens my senses with such cunning art
That Absence-dolour grieves with lesser strain.
But how can hap it that a Change, destroying
All that I fondest love, so far forbore
To end my days, of parted life bereaving?
I’ll bit and bridle this so bitter coying:
For parting, Ladye! me had grieved more
Had I in parting grieved with lesser grieving.
LV.
Despoys de tantos dias mal gastados
(Another sigh over the Past. Cf. Sonn. 49, and Petrarch, 1.48).
After so many days spent evilly,
After so many a sleepless night spent ill,
After so many a weeping tears in rill,
Vain sighs so many vainly sighed by me:
How did not Disenchantment set you free
(Desires!) that of Forgottens, will or nill,
You can a cure apply to wounds that kill,
Love cure-less made, and Time and Destiny?
Now had ye not so long experience
Of Love’s unreasons, whom you served amain,
In you resistance were a weak pretence.
But, as for bane of you you bore Love’s bane,
Time never cured, nor Absence-term immense,
What hope ye (sad Desires!) of Love to gain?
LVI.
Nayades, vis que os nos habitays,
(A conceit: written in Coimbra?).
Naiads! ye ladyes who in rivers wone
And pour your treasures o’er the pined-for Plain,
Fain shall ye see these eyelids rail and rain
Waters that well-nigh equal all your own.
Dryads! who busk ye and with shafts are boun
To fell the roe-deer in their flying slain,
You shall see other Eyne like triumphs gain
O’er hearts of higher value felled and thrown.
Quit then your quivers and your waters cold;
And haste ye, lovely Nymphs! if so incline’d
To see one pair of Eyes breed many ills.
Here shall ye note how vain the days have roll’d:
And yet not vainly note, for you shall find
Her eyes your quivers hold, mine eyes your rills.
LVI I.
Mudaose-os tempos, mudaose as vontades;
(Written perhaps in India).
Times change, change mortal loves and volunties;
Changeth man’s fortune, changeth confidence:
The world is made of endless Change immense,
Ever assuming strange new qualities.
Continuous novelties our sight espies,
From all we hoped showing difference:
Long live our sorrows graved in Memory-sense,
Our joy (if joy have been) in yearning dies.
Time clothes the country with a greeny coat,
That erst lay clothed in snow-sheet hoar and frore;
Time shifts my sugred lay to bitter note.
And more than every day hath change in store,
Time works another Change of more dismay,
For now as wont Time changeth never more.
LVIII.
Se as penas com que Amor tad mal me trata
(Exhorting her “carpere diem”).
If pains whereby Love wreaks me such despight
Permit me life so long to live by pain,
Till seen those starry Eyne in wanness wane,
Whose sight doth slay me by their burning light:
And if long Time, who putteth all to flight,
Wilt the fresh Roses that unpluckt remain,
And if those tresses lose their lucent stain
Fram gold refined to fine silvern white:
Then, Ladye! eke your sight shall see me changing
The harrowing memory of your cruelties,
When naught availeth you such change of chance.
With sighs you’ll sight yourself o’er Bygones ranging,
What time my power ‘twill be to exercise
On your too late regrets my vengeance.
LIX.
Quem jaz no grad Sepulchro, que descreve
(Dialogue-sonnet on Dom Joam III.).
Who lies i’ the lordly Tomb that doth indite
So noble blazon on the doughty shield?
“A Naught! for thus in fine all flesh must yield:
Yet did he all, held all that Mortal might.”
A King?—” He did what Kings to do be dight:
He studied Peace to practise, War to wield:
But as on Moorman rude he weighed a-field,’
So on his ashes, Earth! now lie thou light!”
Is’t Alexander?—” Fancy no such thing!
More to conserve than conquer more he strave.”
A Hadrian, holding Earth’s dominion?
Numa?—” No Numa he: ’tis John the King,
The Third of Portugal, seconded by none!”
LX.
Quern pode livre ser, gentil Senhora,
(Petrarch, I. 75 and 16).
Who mote enjoy his freedom, Ladye fair!
Seeing your presence with unprejudiced mind,
If aye the Boy that was from babehood blind
Wone in the Babies which your pupils bear?
There reigns he, rules he, deals he love-doom there.
There lives he venerate of all mankind;
For the love-light, the features finely ‘fined,
Are imaged idols for Love’s worshipper.
Who sees the roses bloom on Snows pure-white
Set in the rondured, crispy threads of gold,
(If sight may haply through such lightning speer)
Sees aureate radiance, rays that pierce with light
The dubious Spirit through the bosom’s fold,
E’en as enpierceth Sol the chrystalline sphere.
LXI.
Como fizeste, b Portia, tal ferida?
(“Dialogismus” to Portia Bruti).
How couldst, O Portia! deal thee wound so dread?
Was it free-willed or was’t innocence? —
“’Twas Love alone who sought experience,
How I could suffer Life by Death done dead.”
And Love invited thine own blood to shed,
Death to resist and make a Life-defence?
“’Tis that my practice make I patience
Lest fear of dying do my Death impede.”
Then wherefore swallow coals of burning lowe
To steel self-customed?—”’Tis that Love ordains
I die and, dying, pains of dying know.”
And art thou one that hurt of steel disdains?
“Yea! for we feel not an accustomed blow;
Nor would! Death withouten dying pains.”
LXII.
Do iad divino acento ern voz humane
(To Joam Jose Leitam. Cf. Sonn. 134).
Of accents human yet in heavenly strains
Of elegant phrase so singular-peregrine,
My works (right well I weet) shall ne’er be digne;
For my rude Genius disillusion deigns.
But from your choice illustrious Pen e’er drains
Liquor excelling waters Caballine;
And by your aid shall Tage with flowrets fine
E’en Mantuan fulness fill with jealous pains.
And more, the Maidens of their meed unspare
Born of that lovely dame, Mnemosyne,
To you their favours lent in world-known share, My Muse, and yours so famed for high degree,
Both in the world themselves may ‘title rare,
Yours for high Genius, mine for Jealousy.
LXIII.
Delaxo desta pedra estd metido,
(To Dom Fernando de Castro?).
Lieth ensepulchred beneath this stone,
Luis de Camoes Collected Poetical Works Page 143