Luis de Camoes Collected Poetical Works

by Luis de Camoes

  Resting fro”sanguined arms and fierce affrays,

  The illustrious Capitaine Fame loves to raise,

  Fernan’ de Castro, noble name all-known.

  This, so much feared by all Orient fone,

  This, forcing Envy’s self to sing his praise,

  This, who in fine held angry Mavors’ rays,

  To clay converted here shall ever wone.

  Joy that thou breddest, warrior Lusitania!

  This Viriktus born in other date,

  Nor less for ever o’er his loss lament.

  Here for example take to thee Dardania;

  For if one Brave could Roman braves abate,

  Yet stands not Carthage for this feat content.

  LXIV.

  Que venfays no Oriente tantos Reys

  (To Viceroy and Poet Dom L. de Athaide).

  Than having conquered many an Eastern Roy;

  Than having rendered back our Indick reign;

  Than darkening every Fame man erst could gain

  From Faithless peoples torn, with sore annoy.

  Than conquering Death and Death’s oblivious Loy;

  And conquering all, in fine, that arms had tane;

  More ’twas unarmed to conquer homely bane, —

  Chimaeras dire, and monster ills destroy:

  Then upon conquering fone so fierce in bate,

  And by your Derring-do so doing your name

  Without a second heard a-world shall be;

  That which shall render you more worldly fame

  Is that you conquer, Sir! i’ the friendly state,

  Such lack of thanks, such jarring jealousy.

  LXV.

  Vossos olhos Senhora, que competent

  (Much admired).

  Your eyes, my Ladye! that with Sol compete

  In Beauty’s fervid sheen and clearest light,

  Full fill mine own with such a suave delight,

  They melt in tear-floods when your sight they meet.

  My Sense surrenders, prone before your feet,

  Blent in that presence of majestick might;

  And from drear dungeons tinct with obscure night

  Fear-fraught it only thinks to flit and fleet.

  But an, perchance, your glance be not avert,,

  This harsh despisal in your eyes I view

  My fainting spirit animates once more.

  O gentle cure! O strangest disconcert!

  What would one favour do (which ne’er you do)

  When one disfavour doth my life restore?

  LXVI.

  Fermosma do Ceo a nos decida,

  (To Dona Guiomar Henriques?).

  Beauty from heavenly heights to Earth descended!

  That leav’st no heart save what thy hest hath bent,

  And satisfying all Intendiment

  Without thy being of any thought intended:

  What tongue so daring rash that e’er pretended

  Of praising thee pretentious hardiment,

  When every greater gift intelligent,

  By thy least value finds its force transcended?

  If on thy better part of worth I gaze,

  Seeing how opens Earth a heavenly scene,

  My genius fails me and my sprite is wrung.

  But what more hinders yet to sing thy praise,

  Is that when seeing thee I lose my tongue,

  And lose my senses when thou be unseen.

  LXVII.

  Poys metts olhos nao cartsao de chorar

  (Petrarch, “lunga historia”).

  Since never tire mine eyes to weep alway

  Griefs never tiring in their trial to tire me;

  Since ne’er allayed the fire, wherewith to fire me

  She hath the power which I could ne’er allay:

  Tire not, thou blind-born Love! to lead astray

  Thither whence never more shall I retire me;

  Nor cease the world by hearing to inspire me,

  Till my weak accents cease to sing my lay.

  And if in meads, and dales, and bosky hills

  Ruth linger haply haply Love remain

  In birds and beasts; if sea and stones can feel;

  Hear they the long-drawn history of mine Ills,

  Healed be their pains by witnessing my pain;

  For only greater sorrows sorrows heal.

  LXVIII.

  Dai-me huma ley, Senhora, de querervos,

  (Written when dismissed the Presence?).

  Deal me a Law to love you, Dame! I pray you,

  So under bail Annoy shall ne’er pursue you,

  For Faith that forces me thus dear to lo’e you,

  Eke shall enforce me keep the Law to obey you.

  Forbid me all but let these eyne survey you;

  Let me in spirit-contemplation view you;

  For an I fail with love-content to endue you,

  Leastwise may I with hatred ne’er affray you.

  And if this cruel coy Condition

  You deal, to law of Life refuse consent,

  Deal it me, Dame! albeit law of Death

  If e’en you deal not this ‘twere well you wone

  Unweeting how my life in grief is spent;

  Yet will I live content till latest breath.

  LXIX.

  Ferido sem ter cura perecia

  (On being re-admitted?).

  A desperate wound was dealt sans hope of heal

  To dure and doughty Telephus, bravest Brave,

  By him a Mother washed in Stygian wave, J

  And who was harmless from all stroke of steel.

  When to Apollo’s oracle made appeal

  The Brave, applying how himself to save,

  It answered:—” Wound of self-same weapon crave

  Fro’ him who wounded and who cure shall deal.”

  Such wise my Ladye! will mine Aventhre

  That I, the sorely wounded by your sight,

  Gain from a second sighting Love’s recure.

  But to my sight so sweet your formosure,

  Here bide I ever like hydropick wight

  Whose every draught shall more of drouth assure.

  LXX.

  Na metade do Ceo subido ardia,

  (Echo-Sonnet and first mention of Natercia, i.e. Caterina).

  Flamed on the midway firmamental hill

  The Shepherd genial-clear, what time ‘gan stray

  The Goats from greeny meads, and sought the way

  To grateful freshness of a cooly rill:

  Under the treen leaves and shadows chill

  The Birds took shelter from the burning ray:

  And, as they ceased their modulated lay,

  Naught brake the silence save hoarse chirps of Gryll:

  When’Shepherd Liso, lone on grass-grown lea,

  Sought where his cruel nymph, Natercia, woned

  Wailing with thousands weary, sighs his lot;

  “Why flee the lover who fares lost for thee

  To one who loves thee not?” (This wise he moaned);

  And Echo answered (moaning), Loves thee not.

  LXXI.

  Ja e roxa, e branca Aurora destoucava

  (Cf. No. 41).

  Now red and white Aurore had loosed the snood

  That snared her delicate golden-hued hair,

  And bloom-enamelled meadows fresh and fair

  Wi’ beads of rory Chrystal had bedew’d:

  When the two beauteous flocks a-pasture yode

  Commit to Silvio and Laurente’s care;

  Swains were the twain and parted was the pair

  From one the never-parting Love-god woo’d.

  Laurente, weeping truest tears, ‘gan cry; —

  “O delicatest Nymph! I ne’er could learn

  How one who lives in absence nills to die;

  For life withouten thee as naught I spurn!”

  “Love spurns Consenting” (Silvio makes reply),

  “For Death offendeth Esperance of return.”

  LXXI
I.

  Quando de minhas tnagoas a comprida

  (Of DinamJnJ, Petrarch, I. 47).

  When of my yearning grief the long offending

  Imagination seals with sleep these eyes,

  She cometh visioned in her Spirit-guise,

  Who was in life to me life-dream unending.

  There in a Desert-wold, so far extending

  Fails him man’s eyen-sight and fainting dies,

  I fly to reach her; but I feel she flies

  Compelled, faster and still farther wending.

  I cry:—” Flee not fro’ me, thou Shade benign, ah!”

  She (on me fixing modest glance resign’d

  As one who sayeth, This may never be!”)

  Flieth again; and I once more cry “Dina”!

  But ere the mini come I wake and find

  Even that brief deceit I may not see.

  LXXIII.

  Sospiros inflamados que cantays

  (Conclusion to the Amores?).

  Hot Sighs and Singulfs! that have voice to sing

  The sorrows making Life a joyous woe;

  I fare and leave ye, for I fear ye go

  Forlore in fording of the Lethe-spring.

  Now ye are writ in Script unperishing

  Where all with finger shall your presence show,

  As model-sorrows j and e’en I allow

  That you be sign-posts to the wandering.

  In whomso, then, you see large Esperance

  Of Love and Luck (which may to some appear,

  Albe misgifts, the happiest ordinance)

  Say him, you served the Pair for many a year,

  Say, that in Fortune all is change and chance,

  Say him, that Love is naught but sleight and snare.

  LXXIV.

  Aquella fera humana que enriquece

  (He calls for more suffering and boasts his pains).

  That feral Human who her wealth doth owe

  To her presumptuous, prideful surquedry,

  Who robs my vitals, doomed by Love to dree

  An Ill that faileth when ’twould greater grow:

  If (as it seemeth) Heaven in her would show

  The Show most lovely that the World can see;

  Why make my Life her direst injury?

  Why make my Death her vaunt the prowest prow?

  Now boast sublime, in fine, your geste victorious,

  Ladye! of taking one so willing tane;

  Make my large Story o’er the World memorious:

  The more I see you deal me pang and pain

  The more I glory in this gloire so glorious,

  Seeing you glory for-that I be slain,

  LXXV.

  Ditoso seja aquelle que sbmente

  (Another cry of Jealousy. Cf. Canz. X. 7).

  Happy be mortal man if he lament

  Only disdainful love unkindly coy,

  For coyness never may his hope destroy

  Sooner or later to enjoy Content.

  Happy be mortal man who Absence-shent

  Can sense no sorrow save remembered joy;

  For albe fear of change may breed Annoy

  One feareth Dolour less when sensed by Sent.

  Happy, in fine, be any, every plight

  Where love-reserve, deception and disdain

  To harm and torture lover’s heart delight.

  But hapless he who feels repine and blight

  Of wayward error pardon ne’er may gain,

  Nor feels the peccant load oppress his sprite.

  LXXVI.

  Quem fosse accompanhando juntamente

  (Written in the Goa prison? Petrarch, I. 80).

  Ah! could I only fare accompanied

  By the true Birdie o’er this greeny plain,

  Who, since her only Mate fro’ her was tane,

  Rnoweth none other joyous time and tide:

  And ah! if flying far fro’ man I hied,

  With her for neighbour and companion fain,

  She mote assist me to deplore my pain,

  And I assist her sore by sorrow tried.

  Blest bird! if Nature ne’er for thee endure

  Thou to thy firstling add a second fere

  She wills thy Sorrows solace shall supply:

  But unblest he by long-willed Aventure

  Denied air enow to breathe a sigh,

  And all, in fine, that doth the World ensphere.

  LXXVII.

  O culto divinal se celebrava

  (Petrarch, I. 3. Comp. Canz. VII. 2).

  With holy Worship came they to adore,

  In fane where every creature praised and pray’d,

  The Almighty Maker, who the thing He made

  Vouchsafed with holy bloodshed to restore.

  There Love, occasion ‘biding ever more,

  Where naught of danger my sure Will affray’d,

  With rarest Sprite in Angel-form array’d

  My light of Reason like a robber bore.

  I (who had deemed the place would lend defence

  And knowing not his customed liberty,

  None may escape by over-confidence)

  Yielded me captive, but this day I see,

  Ladye! he willed me yours of Will prepense,

  And now repent me I so long was free.

  LXXVIII.

  Leda serenidade deleytosa,

  (To Natercia?).

  A glad delicious air serene that shows

  On Earth-face represented Paradise;

  Sweet smile ‘mid rubies live and pearls of price,

  A blush-rose set in gold and virgin snows:

  Attuned presence gracious for repose,

  Where Sense and Daring mingle with advice,

  Teaching how Art conjoining Artifice

  Can build up Beauty, e’en as Nature knows:

  Accents that either Life or Death engender,

  Rare voice and suave, in fine, my Ladye! yours;

  In merriest season Modesty unfeigned:

  These be the weapons make my soul surrender,

  And Love encaptureth me; but poor his powers

  To rob my glory by surrender gained.

  LXXIX.

  Bem sey, Amor, que he certo o que receo;

  (He encourages Love to deceive him).

  Well weet I, Love! the truth I dread and grieve,

  But thou, to grow thee ever purer pure,

  Denayst it me in perjured sleight secure,

  Sworn by thy golden bow — and I believe.

  Upon thy bosom I have laid my neave

  Nor see my sorrows through a glass obscure:

  Yet thou’rt so obstinate me to re-assure,

  I call me liar, owning I deceive.

  Consent not only I by snares be tane,

  I thank thy snaring, and to self deny

  Whate’er I see or feel of ban and bane.

  O what strong evil to myself take I!

  Who undeceived seeing Truth so plain,

  Can still be blinded by a blind-eyed Boy!

  LXXX.

  Como quando do Mar tempestuoso

  (Garcilasso, Sonn. 7).

  As when a saved Waif fro’ stormy Main,

  The worn and weary sea-tost sailor-wight

  Swims from the cruel wreck, in woeful plight,

  And cannot hear the name of Sea sans pain:

  He swears, tho’ seeing it a calmy plain,

  It ne’er shall tempt him out of home’s delight;

  Anon, forgetting horrid bygone fright i

  He turns to tempt it, covetous of gain:

  Thus I, my Ladye! ‘scaping from the storm

  Stirred by your presence, fly in hope to save me,

  Swearing no similar accident shall find me;

  With spirit alway dwelling on your form

  I turn once more, when greeds of gain embrave me,

  Where erst Misfortune had so nearly tyned me.

  LXXXI.

  Amor he um fogo que arde sem se ver;

  (Defining Love)
.

  Love is a living Lowe that lurking bumeth;

  ’Tis wound that paineth yet ne’er taketh tent;

  It is one long contented Discontent;

  ’Tis Dule which driving mad no Dule discerneth:

  Love’s Will for nothing save well-willing yearneth;

  ’Tis faring hermit-like in city pent;

  It is a Malcontent when gained Consent;

  ’Tis holding greatest loss most lucre earneth:

  It is the being tane with gladdest gree;

  ’Tis Winner serving fain the thing he won;

  It is to entreat the slayer loyally.

  But how can Love, with all his favour shown,

  Cause in our mortal hearts conformity

  When Love is love’s own foe, most fere of fone?

  LXXXII.

  Se pena por amarvos se merece,

  (Written for a friend?).

  If Pain the loving-price of you must pay,

  Who shall escape it? Who fare fancy-free?

  What Soul, Sense, Reason, is there that shall see

  Your sight, nor instant your behests obey?

  What greater glory can this life array

  Than Thought beguiling with your phantasy?

  Not sole each rigour, every tormentry

  Your sight unpaineth; nay! forgot are they.

  But an you must destroy them all who loving

  By Love-right only to be yours pretend,

  You will destroy the world which all is yours.

  Ladye! with me you may begin this proving,

  For shows it clearly, and all thoughts intend,

  I love you all I ought with all my powers.

  LXXXIII.

  Que levas, cruel Morte l Hum claro dia.

  (On the death of the Infanta D. Maria, A.D. 157S).

  What takest thou, cruel Death?— “A day all splendid.!’

  At what hour diddest take’t?—” At dawn of day.”

  Dost thou intend thy prize?—” Intend it? Nay!”

  Who willed thou take it?—” HE that it intended.”

  Who ‘joys her body?— “Clay-cold Earth that penn’d it.”

  How quenched was her light?—” Night o’er it lay.”

  What saith our Lusia?—” She must say her say.”

  What say?—” Great Mary my deserts transcended.”

  Slewst them that saw her?—” They lay dead before.”

  What now saith Love?— “He durst no word let fall.”

  And who doth silence him?— “My will be done.”

  What to the Court was left?—” Love-longings sore.”

  What there is left to see?—” No thing at all.”

  What glory failed it?—” Failed this lovely One.”

  LXXXIV.

  Ondados fios de ouro reluzente,

  (Memories of an absent Beauty).

  Ye wavy wirelets shining golden sheen,

  Now by her lovely hand bound close to head,

  Then o’er her Roses in profusion spread,