Sing me the victor’s hymn and in this brake
Honour triumphant o’er all honours be.
When Summer blooms, when Autumn fruitage reaps,
Here the clear useful waters murmuring flow;
Glad finds me here, here gladsome leaves me Day.
Enamoured nightingales here break the sleeps
Weariness weaveth; here I ‘tomb the Woe
Whilom the grave where, all my joyaunce lay.
CLXX.
Ah, minha Dinamene! Asst deixaste
(Ad Dinamenem aquis extinctam. Cf. Sonn. 168).
Then couldst thou leave, ah Dinamene mine!
One who could never leave the will to sue thee,
That now, gent Nymph! these eyne may ne’er review thee?
Why thus despised life so soon resign?
How couldst abandon for eternal syne
One who to lose thee did so far pursue thee?
And had this Main such might that it withdrew thee
From ever seeing him so doomed to pine?
Not e’en allowed me Death dour and dure
To speak thee, thou thyself the sable veil
Consentedst o’er thine eyes by Doom be thrown.
O Sea! o Sky! O my sad lot obscure!
What life can lose I that shall much avail,
If cheap I hold it in such woes to wone!
CLXXI.
Guardando em mi a sorts o feu direyto,
(Same subject. Garcilasso; Sonn. 26).
Fortune, preserving rights of sovranty,
Cut short my gladness when ’twas green and gay,
Ah me! how much was ended on that day
Which in my bosom brent such memory!
The more I muse, the more it seemeth me
That for such welfare Discount one must pay;
Unless one deem it meet the World should say
There’s perfect goodness in her treacherous gree.
Then if my Fortune for such Discount meant me
To dree displeasure, in whose sentiment
Memory can only kill me to content me;
What blame shall deal me Thought? What punishment?
If the same cause Thought chooseth to torment me,
Cause me to suffer ill what Ills torment?
CLXXII.
Cantando estava hum dia bem seguro,
(Same subject: Lupi Moerin videre prigres).
One day befell me I sang my song secure,
When Silvio passing this wise said his say:
(Silvio, that ancient Swain who knew to spae
By song of birds the Future’s way full sure!)
“Liso! whenever willeth Fate obscure,
Shall come to oppress thee on the self-same day
Two wolves: at once thy voice and tuneful lay
Shall fly thee, flee thy melody suave and pure!”
True! thus it fortuned; one tare the throat
Of all I owned, and drove to grass my kine
Whereon I builded hopes of sterling gain.
And for more damage yet, the other smote
My gentle lambkin I did love so fain,
Perpetual yearning of this soul of mine.
CLXXIII.
O Ceo, a terra, o vento sossegado;
(Same subject).
The Heavens and Earth all husht; no gusts to moan;
The waves dispreading o’er the sandy plain,
The fishes slumber-reinfed in the Main,
The nightly Silence on her rest-full throne:
The Fisher-youth Aonio, sadly strown
Where to the wind-breath sways the watery reign,
Weeps, and the loved name bewails in vain,
Which may no longer save by name be known.
“Wavelets! ere Love shall do me dead (he cried)
To me return my Nymph, whose early Death
Despite my dolour was by you design’d!”
None answer! Tombleth from afar the tide;
With gentle movement slow the forest sway’th;
Winds catch the words and waft them on the wind.
CLXXIV.
Ah, Fortuna cruel! Ah, duros Fados!
(Same subject).
Ah cruel Fortune! Ah Fate loath to spare!
How sudden changed you to the worst my best!
Your care and cark have robbed me of my rest,
And now ye restfull gloat on cark and care.
Whilere ye made me in fruition fare,
And your conditions on my gusts would test;
All, one by one, in single hour to wrest,
Leaving redoubled bale where blessings were.
How better far had been I never saw
The doucest boons of Love? Boons (ah!) so suave
Why leave me, leaving me of you forlorn?
Thy voice fro’ plaining, peevish Soul! withdraw:
Soul fallen fro’ high estate to pain so grave,
E’en as thou lovedst in vain ’tis vain to mourn.
CLXXV.
Quanto tempo, olhos meus, com tal lamento
(Probably written in India).
How long, mine Eyes! how long with such lament
Shall I behold you tristful, aggravated?
Suffice you not sighs burning, never sated,
Renewing torments aye my soul torment?
Sufficeth not my reveries consent
In pining, plaining, yearning unabated?
Still must you fare parforce so ill-entreated
You feed on tear-floods’ only nutriment?
CLXXVI.
Lembracas que lembrays o bem passado,
(Written after Natercia’s death?).
Memories remembering Good of by-gone date,
That present Evil more of ill present,
Let me, an will ye, live my life content,
Let me not perish in this pitiful state.
If all, withal, be naught but fiat of Fate,
I die of life in Discontentment spent,
Come all my blessings by Love’s Accident,
And come mine every bane premeditate.
For loss of life to me hath lesser cost,
As thus ’twould lose sad memories aye memorious,
Memories whereby such Ills in thought obtain.
For naught he loseth who, in fine, hath lost
The hopes he cherisht of that good so glorious,
Which made a pleasure of his very pain.
CLXXVII.
Quando os olhos emprigo no passado,
(Garcilasso, Sonn. I.).
When I employ mine eyes on times gone by,
Of all my Bygones I parforce repent;
What went in wanton waste I see misspent;
And all employments misemployed espy.
Aye tied to losing game with tightest tie,
All I accomplisht ‘complisht detriment;
And recking least what Disillusion meant
When Hope appeared hopelessest was I.
The many Castles built in dreams of day,
At point when towering to their tallest pride,
I saw Time sudden on this level lay.
With what wild Falses wanton Fancy lied!
All stops in Death, the Wind sweeps all away,
Sad he that hopes! Sad he that dares confide!
CLXXVIII.
Ja cantey, ja chorey a dura guerra
(A Palinode. Cf. Sonn. 1, 3, 167, 182, and 301).
Erst sang I, erst I wept Love’s tyranny,
And his dure warfare did for years sustain;
Forbade he thousand times I tell my bane,
For fear his followers all their error see.
Nymphs! for whom opes and closes Castaly;
Ye who in thousand snares have Death o’ertane,
Concede me now your energies sovereign,
To tell on Love, what ills encloseth he.
That whoso heed his hest thro’ youth’s hot tide,
In my pure verses find a proof full ample
&nbs
p; How oft in promised glories hath he lied.
For while my saddest state I see for sample,
If you inspire my task, full-satisfied
I’ll hang my votive lyre upon your temple.
CLXXIX.
Os meus alegres venturosos dias,
(By Diogo Bernardes?).
My tale of happy, fortune-favoured Days,
Passed like the leven-ray so speedy spent;
Slow-paced fare sluggish stounds of dreariment
Following joyaunce, fugitive estrays.
Ah false pretensions! Vain phantastick ways!
What can ye bring me now to breed Content?
When of my fevered breast the flame that brent
Frore Time to ashes froze that genial blaze.
Past faults in ash-heaps I revolve and trow
Youth left none other fruit for heritage,
Whence shame and Dolour for my soul are meet.
Revolve I more than all my more of age,
Vain longings, vainer weepings, vainest woe,
That fleet-foot Time with all may flit and fleet.
CLXXX.
Horas breves de meu contentamento,
(By Francisco de Sa de Miranda?).
Short Hours! whose glad Content my fortune graced,
When I enjoyed you, Fancy ne’er had power
To see you changed in one easy hour,
And by the tortures of long years effaced.
What towering castles on the wind I basbd
O’erturned, in fine, the Wind that bore the tower,
My fault engendered mine abiding stowre,
For-that on sandy base my house was placed.
Love with his luring shows at first draws near;
All things he maketh possible, all secure;
But when at bestest then shall disappear.
Strangest of evils! strange misaventure!
For some small good that ne’er can persevere
One Good to venture that doth aye endure!
CLXXXI.
Onde acharey lugar tad apartado,
(Written in Africa? Cf. Elegy XI.).
Where shall I ever find so far a spot,
In fullest freedom from all Aventure,
I say not only fro’ mankind secure,
But e’en where forest-creature entereth not?
Some dreadful darkling Deene by man forgot,
Or solitary tangle, sad, obscure,
Where grow no grasses, flow no fountains pure,
In fine a site so similar to my lot?
That I, emprisoned in the craggy womb,
May amid Death-in-Life and Life-in-Death,
My fortunes freely and in full lament.
There, as my gauge of grief naught measureth,
No days of joyaunce shall I spend in gloom,
And gloomy days shall find my soul content.
CLXXXII.
Aqui de longos danos breve historia
(By Diogo Bemardes?).
Here of my long-lost Weal short history
Who boast them being amourists may read:
To them repair of dole it may concede,
Mine it can ne’er fro’ memory cause to flee.
I wrote not seeking fame or jactancy
My other verses merit for their meed;
But to display her vaunt of cruel deed
Who vaunts so high a victory over me.
Yet grow my sorrows with my growing years,
They made my numbers sing, devoid of art,
The guile of blind-fold Love who robbed my wit.
An voice I gave to song; I gave to tears
My Soul, and tane in hand my pen, this part,
This little part, of all my pains I writ.
CLXXXIII.
Por sua Ninfa Cefalo deixava
(Of Cephalus the “bucephalous.” Ovid., Met. 7).
Cephalus, love-smit by his Nymph withdrew,
Leaving Aurora lost in love for aye,
Albe the goddess herald lovely Day,
Albe she mirror flowers of rosiest hue.
He who fair Procris loved with love so true,
That for her love the world he would bewray,
Seeks a temptation that shall try her fay
And tempt the firmness in her Fere she knew.
Doffing his raiment dons he a dire deceit:
Feigns him another, offers her a price:
She breaks her fickle faith and gives Consent.
Subtle invention for his own defeat!
See the blind lover find so strange device
That live he ever life of Discontent!
CLXXXIV.
Sentindose alcancada a betta Esposa
(Continues Sonn. 183. Where is the third?).
Feeling herself entrapt the lovely Spouse
Of Cephalus to sin so readily led,
Far from her husband o’er the mountains fled,
By snare compelled or by shame none trows.
For he, in fine, whom jealous pangs arouse
And on blind errand by Cupldo sped,
Like a lost traveller toileth on her tread
And pardoneth all her crimes of violate vows.
Before the hard Nymph’s feet he prostrate lay,
Who for his jealous trick enstoned her heart,
To pray her pardon, e’en for life to pray.
Oh strong Affection with thy madding art!
When for the sin that would himself betray
He must pray pardon from the peccant part! l
CLXXXV.
Seguia aquelle fogo que o guiava,
(After Musseus).
Followed the beckoning of the beacon-fire
Leander, battling wind and battling wave;
Yet brast the billows on the breast so brave
The more, as Love would more of strength inspire.
Whenas his forces felt he faint and tire,
Without one craven thought his will to enslave,
Tho’ reft of words, the intent for which he strave
Thus he commended to the Sea’s deaf ire: —
“Thou Sea!” (the youngling cried in lone distress)
My life I pray not; now my only prayer
Save me my Hero, nill this sight she see.
Bear thou my lifeless body, let it fare
Far from her tower; be my friend in this
Sith my best joyaunce moved thy jealousy.
CLXXXVI.
Os alhos onde o casio Amor ardia,
(Epitaph-sonnet, by Diogo Bemardes?).
Those eyne where showed chaste Love his ardent glow,
Joying his fiery form in them to sight;
That face where blusht with lustre marvel-bright
The Rose-bud purpling on her bed of snow:
The locks that fired Sol with envious lowe
Because they ‘minished his golden light;
That hand’s pure whiteness and that form so dight
In clay Death-chilled all lie here below.
Perfectest loveliness in youngest years,
Blossom in time untimely tom from Earth,
That fades and withers gript by Death’s hand dure:
How melts not Love and drowns in piteous tears?
Not shed for Her who fared to heavenly birth j
But for himself left here in night obscure.
CLXXXVII.
Ditosa pena, como a mao que a guia,
(To Manvel Barata the Caligrapher: after A.D. 1572).
Pen! ever happy as its guiding hand,
With such perfected art in subtlest ways,
Whenas with Reason I would ‘tempt thy praise,
I lose the praises which my Fancy fand:
But Love, who shifteth efforts at command,
Command to sing thee all-wise on me lays,
Not with the warrior-plectrum Mart essays,
But in suave melodies and musick bland.
Thy name, Emmanuel hight, from Pole to Pole
Sublimely
towereth spreading thy renown,
When erst none raised thee above thy peers:
But that thy name be writ on deathless roll;
Behold Apollo brings the bloomy crown,
Kept as thy guerdon for such growth of years.
CLXXXVIII.
Espanta crecer tanto o Crocodilo,
(To a new bishop, Pinheiro, the Pine. Cf. Sonn. 190).
We note with marvel growth of Crocodile
Only for born so puny-impotent;
Who, born a grosser birth, would represent
A lesser marvel to his patrial Nyle.
Vainly shall heavenward raise my earthly style
Your new arid now Pontifical ornament;
For deathless Merits, while a-womb still pent
Shaped robes to enrobe you in the welcome while.
Foreslow’d yet slow it came: our due of meed
Oft cometh slowest; this is sure and clear,
Tho’ guerdon some time cometh not remiss.
The spheres, that nearest neighbour Primal Sphere,
Have tardier movements. Who hath power to rede
Upon that riddle, riddle such as this!
CLXXXIX.
Ornou sublime esforgo a o grande Atlante,
(To the Viceroy D. Joam de Castro).
Bedeckt great Atlas meed of Might sublime,
Wherewith the sky-machine he mote sustent;
Genius enhonoured Homer to invent
‘Yond the fourth sky a path for Greece to climb.
Crowned clear constant Love who spurneth Time
Orpheus, ne peace could tempt ne storm torment
Inspired Fortune free and confident
Caesar, her fondling in his youthful prime.
Thou, Fame! upraisedst to the’hill of Gloire
Alcide in ranges where thou lovst to bide:
But Castro, Heaven-endowed with highest claim,
Decks, honours, crowns, inspires, upraises more
Than Atlas, Homer, Orpheus, Caesar, Alcide,
The meed of Might, Genius, Love, Fortune,
Fame.
CXC.
Despoys que vio Cibele o corpo humano
(Cf. Sonn. 188).
When viewed Cybete what erst had been
Fair Atys’ human form grown verdant Pine,
Her first vain anger gan to ruth incline,
And hopeless waited she her new-born teen.
Devising noble snare her woe to wean,
She prayed Jupiter, of love divine,
The worth of noble Palm and Bay to assign
Unto her Pine-tree, Sovran of the Green.
Vouchsafes a better boon her puissant Son,
Its growth should touch the stars with towering brow,
And there see mysteries of the sky supernal.
O happy Pine-tree! O thou happier one
Who sees his brows becrowned with your bough
And in your shadow sings his songs eternal!
CXCI
Poys torna por seu Rey, e juniamenie.
Luis de Camoes Collected Poetical Works Page 149