A Truth so truthful I to heart have laid
Sithence in plighted troth of purest strain
What Will I had your tributary I made.
CCLVI.
Ilusire Gracia, nombre de una moya.
(Spanish: Parody of Garcilasso: Sonn. 24).
Illustrious Gracia! name of Spinster known;
First-come of witches, and alike in case
To Mondonedo, Palma, limping Thrasse,
The magick mitre ever digne to don.
If in the middle of the Church have shown
The veil (down-falling) your all-shameless face,
Of you shall clamour all men, high and base,
“See how the Devil wantoneth with his own!”
She moveth mountains fro’ their ‘stablished stead;
Her words the courses of the tides command;
Her spells through sea-waves drive a dry footway.
Blusheth her birthplace and rich Tage runs red,
Who for her beareth more of man than sand,
So shall large tribute some to Hell defray.
CCLVII.
Qual tem a borboleta por costume,
(The Poet and the Moth).
Ever! as Nature’s ure the Night-moth dooms,
Allured and spell-bound by the taper’s light,
To wheel in thousand gyres until her flight
Now in cremation ends, now self consumes:
So run I to the ray my Soul illumes,
Fired, fair Aonia! by this eyen-light
And burn me, howsoe’er my cautious sprite
To free the rational part of me presumes.
I know man’s Sight for a daring visionist;
How high the human Thought will soar and strain
And how my life to death I surely gave.
But Amor wills not any him resist,
Nor my soul wills it, which in torment-pain
E’en as in greater gloire is glad to live.
CCLVIII.
Lembrangas de meu bem, doces lembran$as,
(Written by Martim de Crasto?).
Memories of happiness mine! douce Memories
That aye so lively in my Soul remain,
Crave ye no more of me, for all the gain
I gained you see how Change has made her prize.
Ay blindfold Love! Ay Hope’s dead, vanities
That could in other days my strength sustain!
Now shall you leave him who endured your pain
And every trust shall fly with Life that flies.
Yea, trust shall fly with Life, since Aventure
Stole in one moment all that Boast so glorious
Which, grown to greatest growth, shall least endure.
Oh! would Remembrance fleet with joys memorious,
At least my spirit mote abide secure
With her to win a victory more victorious.
CCLIX.
Fermosos olhos, que citidado days
(Carpe diem. Cf. Garcilasso: Sonn. 5).
Beautiful eyes which deal an envious care
To very light of Sunshine purest pure!
That Sol’s all-fairest sheeniest formosure
You leave surpast with splendour sans Compare.
If an ye flout (for that ye shine so fair)
Love’s fineness, ever lief your heart to ‘lure,
See now, sith much you see, may not endure
Your charms resplendent as you would they were.
Pluck, pluck of fleet-foot Time, the fugitive,
And of your beauty, fairest doucest fruit
In vain desired ere full-ripe it grew.
To me, who die for you, for you who live,
Make Love pay tribute due to loving suit,
Happy to pay the tax was due to you.
CCLX.
Pues siempre sin cessar, mis ojos trisies,
(Spanish: to a dame who sent him a tear ‘twixt two plates).
My lamentable Eyne! when aye ye wone
Tearfully treating night and treating day,
See an be this true Tear that doth convey
That Sun which oft tide made you shed your own.
If you assure me that your sight have shown
The Tear a Tear, ‘twill be my sort and stay;
And, from this hour, I’ll hold in wisest way
Were shed the many shed for her alone.
But whatsoever thing much coveted,
Tho’ we behold it, fails our faith to gain;
Much less this mister thing ne’er ‘magined.
Still I assure you, though the Tear you feign,
Enough the Tear to me for Tear you sped
That I this Tear for Tear shall e’er maintain.
CCLXI.
Tem feito os olhos neste apartamento
(By Pedro da Cunha?).
Have shed these eyelids, in this banishment,
Of after-yearnings a tempestuous sea,
Which added pining to the pine of me
And upon sentiment heaped sentiment.
My sufferings turn to pangs which aye torment,
Pity is turned to pitiless penalty;
And so is Reason wrecked by Will that she
Enslaves to Evil mine intendiment.
Tongue ne’er attaineth what the Soul can sense;
And so, if any wish at any hour
To ken what bin uncomprehended Grief,
Leave he his lover, and experience
That before parting I had lesser stowre
To part from living better to have Life.
CCLXII.
A Peregrinacao de hum pensamento
(By Martim de Crasto?).
The Pilgrimaging of a Thought intent,
Which of mine Ill makes habit and costume,
Doth of my sorry life so much consume,
As grow the causes that my soul torment.
By grief of suffering sufferance goeth spent;
But so is spent my Soul no lights illume,
That wrapt in Weal whereto she dares presume,
Of Evils hent in hand she takes no tent
Afar I feared (as though could Fear protect)
What dangers drumming at the door I see,
When in me nothing find I safe or sure.
But now I reck (O never had I reckt!)
That man’s poor wits in Love’s captivity,
Save cure of Fortune ne’er shall know a cure.
CCLXIII.
Achome da Fortuna salteado,
(By Martim de Crasto?).
I find me waylaid by that bandit Fate;
Time fleeth flitting with his fleetest flight,
Leaving me doubtful of my life’s own light
And every moment driven more desperate.
To Care so care-full changed my careless State]
Where gloire is greatest groweth grisliest blight:
Nor live I fearing loss with aught affright,
Nor for regain of me in trust I wait.
Whatever bird abide in wildest hill,
Whatever bestial in his lair repose,
All have glad hours; mine all are sad with spleen.
You, Eyne! aye pining by your proper will
(For Love defrays me with his torment-woes)
Weep when you see the scene your sight hath seen. —
CCLXIV.
Se no que tenho dito vos offendo,
(F. y S. ends. By Dr. Alvaro Vaz?).
If aught I haply said your heart offend,
’Twas no desire of mine in aught to offend you;
For though my merits ne’er pretence pretend you,
Ne’er to dismerit you will I pretend.
But sure my Fate is such (as I intend),
Whate’er I gained striving to intend you,
Hereto hath never made me comprehend you,
For I my proper self misapprehend.
The Days, with aidance lent by Aventure,
Each man and every from illusion wean;
While mi
sadventure undeceives no fewer.
Which better serves me may declare my teen
Or joys I erst enjoyed, while endure
This life so large that years so few hath seen:
PART II. (Nos. 265-301).
CCLXV.
Doce contentamento ja passado,
(Autobiographic).
Sweetest Content that was with joys that were,
Wherein consisted all the Weal I knew;
Who thus your dear companionship withdrew
And left me lonesome far fro’ you to fare?
Who reckt to see him in this state of care
While those brief hours by joyaunce feathered flew,
When giglet Fortune gave consent I view
My cares full feeding upon sleight and snare?
My Fortune ‘proved her coy and cruel elf,
She caused my losses, she and only she
From whom all caution were but wasted pains.
Nor let created thing deceive itself,
No sort prevention man shall ever free
To fly those evils which his star ordains.
CCLXVI.
Sempre, cruel Senhora, receei,
(Complaining of infidelity).
Ever, my cruel Faire! with fear I strave,
Your un-trust viewing with a meting glance,
Lest grow to’ Unlove your tardy dalliance;
Lest, since I love you, self I fail to save.
Perish, in fine, whate’er Hope bade me crave,
Since you on other love build esperance:
Now shall so puissant be your change and chance
As ever hid I what to you I gave.
I gave you life and sent; I gave my sprite;
O’er all this me I gave you lordship-power;
You promise love and promised love deny.
Now am I suchwise, so forlorn of plight,
I ken not whither wend I, but some hour
Heavy on you shall this remembrance lie.
CCLXVII.
Fortuna em mim guardando seu direito
(Autobiographic).
Fortune o’er me reserving rightful Hest
In green my Joyaunce joyed to cast away.
O how much Happiness ended on that day
Whose sad Remembrance burneth in my breast!
All contemplating, my suspicion guess’d
For Weal so pleasant this surcease must pay
Lest every worldling say and truly say
That world-deceits can breed of Weals the best.
But an my Fortune (to discount me bent)
Dealt me such Blessing and such Sentiment lent me
Of Memory, only to destroy me lent;
How then can blame me Suffering this wise sent me,
If the same cause it useth to torment,
I hold best cause to bear what Ills torment me?
CCLXVIII.
Se a Fortuna inquieta, e mal olhada,
(Answer to one who praised him}.
If aye-unquiet Fortune evil-eyed,
Loving the justest laws of Heaven to infame,
That quiet life, which doth her Unlove claim,
Would grant me, ‘joying honest restful tide:
Haply my Muse by happiness glorified
In light more ardent, in a livelier flame,
Our Tagus bedded in his patrial frame
With lilt of lyre beloved had lullaby’d:
But since my Destiny, dealing toil and moil
That dark my weakling Muse so weary faring,
Doth to such high-toned praise deny consent;
Then let your Muse, of generous laud unsparing,
Seek other subject of a higher coil,
And to the admiring World yourself present.
CCLXIX.
Este amor que vos tenho limpo, e puro,
(“Worth half The Lusiads,” said Bocage).
This Love for you I keep so chaste and pure,
No touch of villein purpose can abate,
Dating from ten derest age his earliest date,
I strive this only in this soul endure.
That it shall nowise change I wone secure,
Sans fear of any freak or false of Fate,
Or Good supremely good, or sorriest state,
Or Present safe, or Future aye unsure.
Fast fades the Daisy and the flowers go die,
Winter and Summer strew them all a-field,
For my love only ’tis eternal May:
But, Ladye! seeing you every grace deny, ‘
And seeing your thankless heart no favour yield,
My love misleads me lost in sore dismay.
CCLXX.
Se grande gloria me vem so de olhar-te,
(Variant of No. 148).
If be my greatest glory but to view thee,
’Tis grief unequal when my sight forlore thee;
If by my merits I presume implore thee,
Full dear I pay the false desires that sue thee:
If as thou art with praises I approve thee,
I know that I, as I, offend before thee.
If ill I will me for-that I adore thee,
What prize can seek I higher than to love thee?
Extremes of love-pains these I bear so woe,
Ah my sweet glory! Ah my threasury!
And when I deem them gone again they grow.
This wise my Memory holds one only Thee;
I n’ote an I be live or dead, I know
That Battle’s properest end be Victory.
CCLXXI.
A formosura desta fresca serra,
(Of Cintra, or perhaps of Ceuta).
These Mountain-beauties of the freshest green,
These verdant chestnuts shedding shadows chill;
The unhurried rail of many a murmurous rill,
Banishing sorrow from the gladding scene:
Hoarse Ocean-whispers; regions strange, seldseen;
Sol slowly westering ‘neath the horizon-hill;
The clustering flocks and herds that linger still,
Cloud-armies battling in the blue Serene:
In fine, whatever rarest fairest Nature
Offers with prodigal show of varied store,
Dealeth me (thee unseen) but sore unweal:
Sans thee all ‘noyeth me who all abhor;
Sans thee I feel and shall for ever feel
In greatest gladness sadness even greater.
CCLXXII.
Sospechas, que en mi triste phantasia
(Spanish: by Garcilasso?).
Doubts that my dolorous phantasies affright!
Still on my senses warfare ye declare,
Stirring, re-stirring in this breast my care,
And mar with cruel hand my day, my night:
Now my Resistance hath forlore his might;
Now doth my Spirit her defence forbear:
I own you victor, and repenting fare
I ever fought you with such obstinate fight
Then bear me sudden to that awesome stead
Where not to see my doom ensculptured shown,
Hereto mine eyelids strove I closed to keep.
Now I ground weapons, for to hold his own
And hold so hard, the World a wretch forbade:
Then all my spoilings on your charet heap!
CCLXXIII.
Sustenta meu viver huma esperanqa
(Suspecting infidelity).
Only one single Hope my life sustaineth
Derived fro’ single Good I so desire,
For when it plighteth me a troth entire
My greatest doubt fro’ smallest change obtaineth:
And when this Welfare highest place attaineth,
Raising my raptured Soul to height still higher,
To see him win such Weal inflames my ire
For-that his Sovenance place for you disdaineth.
Thus in this net-work so enmeshed I wone,
My life I hardly give, for aye sustenting
A novel matter heapt on cares I own.
Sighings of sadness from my bosom venting,
Musick’d by whizzing shot of cannon-stone,
I fare, these wretched matters still lamenting.
CCLXXIV.
Ja nad sinto, Senhora, os desenganos,
(Another complaint of infidelity).
No more, Madhme! feel I false hopes and fears
Wherewith your coying aye my fondness tried,
Nor sight I guerdon to my love denied,
Guerdon deserved by the faith of years.
Lone I my loss beweep, lone shed my tears,
When seeing, Ladye! who my place supplied:
But here you single-handed’venged my pride
On your ungrateful sprite, your snares, your fleers
Gives double glory whatso vengeance
The Wight offended taketh on the Offender,
When satisfaction comes in righteous way:
But now your coyness, your ill change and chance
I see their vengeance-debt so fully render,
E’en I pray never so high price you pay.
CCLXXV.
Que pode ja fazer minha Ventura,
(A Complaint: autobiographic).
What now can Fortune to my lot secure
That shall have power with joy my life to grace?
Or how foundations of my Future base
On baseless visions evermore unsure?
What pain so certain, or what pang so dure,
That can be greater than my gruesome case?
Flow shall to any fear my Thought give place
If all mine evils but my Thoughts depure?
Like one who leameth in his youth the craft
Of eating Poisons blent with cunning skill,
Whose ancient usance breeds immunity:
Thus I, accustomed to the venom-draught,
And used to sufferance of my present ill,
Feel naught of feeling for futurity.
CCLXXVI.
Quando cuido no tempo, que contente
(Sufistical).
As I o’ermuse times passed, when content
I saw the seed-of-pearl, snow, rose and gold,
Like one who seeth vision’d Wealth untold,
Meseems the Present doth my Past present;
But, in the passing of such Accident,
When I so far fro’ you my death behold,
I fear lest every Thought ill-bode unfold,
I fear lest Fancy fain herself absent:
The days are many since by aventure
I saw you, Ladye! (an so dare I say)
With eyne of heart that naught of fear could see.
Now in so hapless case am I unsure
E’en of my Fancy and your ‘noyous way:
This bin a riddle I may never ree.
CCLXXVII.
Quando, Senhora, quiz amor qu’ amasse
(Written for a friend?).
When Love, my Ladye! willed that I love
Luis de Camoes Collected Poetical Works Page 153