Luis de Camoes Collected Poetical Works

by Luis de Camoes

  Of bloom and leafage, saw I saddest show —

  A lone and widowed Bird who whelmed in woe

  More solitary made the solitude:

  O’er a clear Fount that sea-ward path pursue’d

  With mournful dulcet murmur bent she low,

  And with her plunged plume disturbed its flow

  And drank the water seen it muddy-hue’d.

  The cause that cast her down in grievous care

  Was the lone Turtle’s sense of severance:

  Behold how Severance mortal griefs can bear!

  An love and parting have such vehemence,

  And to unreasoning Bird so deal despair,

  Say what shall sense he that hath sent and sense?

  CCCXLIII.

  Canfada e rouca boz por que bolando

  (Spanish: written by Camoens?).

  Weary harsh-sounding Voice! why take not flight

  And where lies sleeping my Florinda wend;

  And there of all things whereto I pretend

  Why not, O happy Voice! enjoy delight?

  Go soft, and sighing in her ear alight,

  And unheard tell her, though she ne’er attend,

  I dree such Evils only Death can end

  And I am singing when to die I’m dight.

  And tell her, though her counterfeit I hold

  Here to my ‘biding I would see her hieing,

  Would she not find her lover lifeless-cold.

  But ay! I n’ote what say you save I’m dying,

  Because so near her beauties to behold Yet ne’er beholding what I die for ‘spying.

  CCCXLIV.

  O capitao Romano esclarecido,

  (Alluding to Albuquerque and Ruy Dias?).

  The Roman Capitayne so famed of yore,

  Sertorius, second never found in fight,

  Such lofty model to us mortals dight

  That ne’er was heard of, ne’er was seen before.

  Sith for a soldier who his oath forswore,

  Doing a villein deed of base-born wight,

  He dealt so terrible and so dread requite,

  Wherefore his Many feared him ever more.

  What made the Chief that Legion decimate?

  For-that it failed do the duties owe’d

  To grim and grisly, hard and horrid Mart.

  O clear example! Captain forceful great,

  Who upon Roman men the lore bestow’d

  Of soldier Science, of invincible Art!

  CCCXLV.

  A Roma populaca proguntava

  (Apology for marriage: by Camoens?).

  Happed of the Roman populace to speer

  A certain curious Wit, a careless Wight,

  Wherefore in general do the kye delight

  To pair at certain seasons of the year?

  Whereto as Folk discreet, which would appear

  Responsive soaring to an eminent height,

  They by a single phrase threw notable light

  On the dark theme and showed what held they dear.

  This was the intention:—” Brutes may not intend

  How fair fruition and what weighty worth

  Have Hymen’s fetters binding man’s desire:

  But brutaller Bestials they who e’er pretend

  In flesh a pleasure find, find joy on Earth,

  Leaving their Souls to feed the Eternal Fire.

  CCCXLVI.

  Com o generoso rdstro alanceado

  (One of the last written by Camoens).

  With sign of lance-thrust on his generous face,

  And smircht his Royal brow with dust and blood,

  To Charon’s gloomy bark on Acheron flood

  Came great Sebastiam — shade in shadowy place.

  The cruel Ferryman, seen the forceful case,

  Whenas the King would pass opposing strode,

  And cried “None tombless o’er this flood e’er yode

  For all Unburieds on the shore must pace.”

  Commoved the valorous King with kindled ire

  Replies: “False Greybeard! haply wouldst assure

  None past you side by force of golden ore?

  Durst thou with Monarch bathed in Moormangore

  Chaffer of funeral pomps, of sepulture?

  From one less wealthy o’ wound thy fee require!”

  CCCXLVII.

  Quando do raro esforco que mostravas

  (On the brave death of a young soldier).

  When thy rare Valiancy in battle shown

  To gather warfare’s largest fruit ne’er failéd,

  Fate shore thy flowering age, whose feats prevailéd

  O’er the short year-tale thou couldst call thine own.

  Set in its helmet-frame thy face outshone

  When visor-veiléd Mars, Amor unveiled:

  If oped thy Sabre serried squads assailéd

  Thy geste of Beauty Beauty’s eye-glance won.

  No steel of foeman, no! could doom thee bleed;

  ’Twas Vulcan’s deed, the god whose forceful might

  Enpierceth surest harness part and part:

  But he, for pardon of his fault shall plead,

  He deemed, seeing thy bravery beauty-dight,

  Thou wert a son of Venus sire’d by Mart.

  CCCXLVIII.

  Quam cedo te roubou a morte dura

  (Of D. Alvaro da Silveira slain and unburied?).

  How soon hath stole thy life Death sore and dure

  Illustrious Spirit wont to soar and stye?

  Leaving thine outcast, clay-cold corse to lie

  In strangest albe noble sepulture!

  Fro’ Life, whose duraunce here may not endure,

  Already bathed in the Foe’s red dye,

  Raised by thy Valour’s forceful hand on high

  Thou winnest Immortal Fields where Life is sure.

  The Spirit joyeth happy time e’terne;

  The Corse, that earthly grave could not contain,

  Earth bade her feathered children bear their prey.

  Thou leftest every heart to pine and yearn;

  Thou soughtest honoured death on Honour-plain:

  Our Tagus bare thee, Ganges bore away.

  CCCXLIX.

  A it, Senhor, a quem as Sacras Musas

  (To his uncle D. Bento de Camoens?).

  To thee, Senhor! whose Soul the sacred Muses

  Feed with a portion of their food divine,

  Not they of Delian fount nor Caballine,

  Which be Medeas, Circes and Medúses;

  But the gent bosoms wherein Grace infuses

  Arts which to heavenly laws o’ grace incline,

  Kindly of doctrine and wi’ Love benign,

  Not they whom blinded Vanity confuses;

  This feeble offspring, and the latest bearing

  Of mine intelligence in weakly way,

  To thee a warm affection proffereth.

  But an thou notice it as over-daring,

  Here for that daring I would pardon pray, —

  Pardon my Heart’s affection meriteth.

  CCCL.

  Tu, que descanso buscas com cuidado,

  (On the Redemption).

  Thou who with restless Hope to rest thee tried

  Upon this mundane Life’s tempestuous Main,

  Hope not fro’ travail any rest attain,

  Save rest in CHRIST, the JESU crucified.

  If toil for riches bring thee sleepless tide,

  In Him is found immeasurable gain;

  If of true formosure thy Soul be fain,

  This Lord espying in His love shalt ‘bide:

  If worldly pleasure or delight thou seek,

  The sweets of every sweet He holds in hoard,

  Delighting all with joys o’er Earth victorious.

  If haply gloire or honours thou bespeak,

  What can more honour bring, what bin more glorious

  Than serve of highest lords the highest Lord?

  CCCLI.

  O gloriosa Cr
uz, O victorioso

  (Of Dom Sebastiam’s Banner? Cf. Sonn. 243).

  O glorious Cross! O Cross for aye victorious!

  Trophy that every mortal spoil containeth;

  O chosen signal which to worlds ordaineth

  A Panacea marvellous and memorious!

  O Living Fount that Holy Water raineth!

  In Thee our every bane its balm obtaineth,

  In Thee the Lord, “Almighty” titled, deigneth

  Assume of Merciful the Name most glorious.

  In Thee was ended dreadful Vengeance-day,

  In Thee may Pity bear so fairest flower

  As Prime that followeth Winter’s injury.

  Vanish all foemen flying from Thy power;

  Thou couldst so potent change in Him display

  Who never ceased what He was to be.

  CCCLII.

  Mil vezes se move meu pensamento

  (Imperfect: Here Jur ends).

  For times a thousand mine Intent was bent

  To praise that forehead hued chrystalline,

  Those ribbéd tresses shining golden Shine,

  The clear mind passing man’s intendiment;

  Which, wi’ the softest, suavest movement, rent

  (Such was its might) the breast-plate diamantine

  Those sovereign Graces and that Air divine,

  That honest pride with sweetest accent blent:

  The Roses lying in a waste of snow

  Those pearls of Morning-land, a chosen row,

  Bedded in rubies smiling douce and gay:

  The light those glorious Eyne on us bestow,

  Shown by your gladdening smilet ever gay,

  Is light from Heaven, a paradisial ray.

  CCCLIII.

  Queimado sejas tu e teus enganos

  (Braga, No. 300; Storck, 348).

  Burn thou and burn wi’ thee thy snaring Bane

  Love! cruel fellow felonous and fell,

  Burnt be thine arrows, burn thy string as well

  And Bow, the weapon working so much pain:

  Thy covenanted promises prophane,

  Thy wheedlings honieder than Hydromel,

  All, all may see I, when wi’ gall they swell,

  Brent by the blaze wherewith thou burnest men.

  I leave thee now, those eyen-strings untying,

  To sight the orbs wherewith my sprite hast tied,

  For well sufficeth thee such vengeance.

  But like the Wight of desperate wound a-dying,

  Ill shalt thou die if well the hurt thou hide

  Losing the single medicine — Esperance.

  CCCLIV.

  Senhora, quem a tanto se atreve

  (Braga, No. 304; Storck, 349).

  Dame, whoso dareth hie to such a height

  He serve you, cherish you in Sovenance,

  Knowing such memory be sans esperance,

  The dues he claimeth bin ne little ne light.

  This Sprite holds more than what these Hands indite,

  Yet never hoping happy change of chance,

  Nor wishing other fair deliverance

  Fairer than Love-debt to your service dight.

  To hope for mighty chance from Aventure

  Would to your meritment but work offence,

  And thus you pay the pains I underwent.

  I hold impossible my Care to cure,

  And still remain my sense and sentiment

  In bond of debtor to your Formosure.

  CCCLV.

  Angelica la bella despreciando

  (Spanish: Ariosto, XVIII. 165; Braga, 308; Storck, 350).

  Angelica, the bellabone, misdeeming

  Whatever joys Time placed upon her way,

  Flouted with jeering laugh all men, that May

  Kingdoms and knightly value scant esteeming.

  Only of self and beauteous self aye dreaming

  Hied upon Frankish-land her steps one day,

  Where saw she lonely under a tree-shade lay

  A hapless infant with his life-blood streaming.

  She who had spurnéd Love and Love’s behest,

  She who to all so cruel showed, so dure,

  Within her sensed the boon of softening breast.

  Thus seeing Medóro doth her hele secure

  And hence Love turnéd ill to good the best:

  In fine Love-chances all bin Aventure.

  CCCLVI.

  La letra que s’el nombre en que me fundo

  (Spanish: to Luisa: Braga, 309; Storck, 351).

  The leading letter on my building-ground

  Cometh the chiefest in my weary way,

  Justly the same was L, so men should say

  Its light on lowly Earth, is loveliest found.

  Thus eke the V, that formeth second sound,

  Voweth to Death all eyne her Light survey; Then showeth Y that yearneth to warray

  And maketh dying hour most joyous Stound.

  Next cometh sign of S that doth sustain

  The Sovran Being in whose form consist

  Virtue and grace and gifts as many and high,

  In fine all finisheth A, alluding plain

  At end, at end, to me the wretch so triste

  Whom Amor doomed for her love to die.

  CCCLVII.

  Luiza, son tan rubios fus cabellos

  (Spanish: Braga, 312; Storck, 332).

  Louise! thy tresses wear so ruddy hues

  Sol but to see them would his car detain;

  And, while their splendour gars his shine to wane,

  Would lose his radiance, not thy vision lose.

  Blest who, by worth empower’d, their glory views,

  Blester the hand that could one tress obtain,

  But blestest he who doth his Soul maintain

  Only on glorious lights these locks diffuse.

  Louise! when shine and shimmer so immense

  Of hair that lighteth all the Loves wi’ lowe

  (And Love of other love claims recompense);

  Tho’ scant I merit thou such gift bestow

  Still claims to see one tress my sighting sense

  To pay my weeping and to pay my woe.

  CCCLVIII.

  Se, senhora Lurina, algum comeco

  (Another Icarus: Braga, 338; Storck, 354).

  If any fain begin, my Dame Lurine!

  A song commensurate with your due of praise,

  He first would note your hard unfavouring ways

  As highest honour to my pen ’twould mean.

  For if in hope to praise I intervene

  And to your world inspired self would raise,

  The Thought inspireth me with such amaze

  That makes me, certés, more your worth misween.

  This soaring you-ward, whom such gifts exalt

  Of so high ardour, of so ardent flame,

  Melteth my pinions boldly fugitive;

  And if I fall in Ocean of default,

  I to my failure give fair name and fame

  But who your Value’s claim shall dare to give?

  CCCLIX.

  Tristezas t Com passar tristes gemidos

  — (Jur. MS.; Storck, 355).

  Tristesse! wi’ tristest moans and groans I wone

  Thro’ day, thro’ night to Phantasy appealing:

  In this black cavern Extreme sorrow feeling

  To see my life-tide suchwise overthrown:

  Hidden like shadows fly my years, and flown

  Leave naught of fruitage that can work my healing,

  Save but to see them passing, whirling, wheeling

  With Fortune’s whirlgig till no sense I own.

  In such imaginings, in tristest way

  My Soul turns giddy, nor I sense in Sent

  If I with any one say words I say;

  And, if of anything my Thoughts take tent,

  I cannot say, while so my woes torment,

  An fare I sane of sense or fare I fey.

  CCCLX.

  Dexadme,
cantinelas dukes mias

  (Spanish: an Adieu: Storck, 356 and 439).

  Leave me, ye douce melodious Lays o’ mine,

  Leave me, ye rustick Pipes of sweet accord;

  Leave me, clear Founts and leas of greeny sward,

  Leave me, glad Garths all shadow and sunshine:

  Leave me, ye Pastimes of my pride-full syne

  Leave me, ye Dances round the festal board;

  Leave me the Pleasures flutes and flocks afford,

  Leave me, ye Slumbers ‘mid the sleepy kine.

  Leave me, ye Stars and Moon and eke thou Sun,

  Leave me to mourn where tristest shades dismay me,

  Leave me sans joy ‘twixt Pole and Pole to run;

  Leave me, sweet Prizes that to death betray me:

  Yea! leave me all in fine and leave me none

  Save Dule and Dolour which are dight to slay me!

  CANZONI

  CANZON I.

  Fermosa, e gentil Dama, quando vejo

  (Of his young love).

  I.

  Beauteous and gentle Dame! whenso I see

  That head of gold on snow, most lovely sight,

  That gracious mouth with dainty dimple drest

  And chrystal neck on bosom silvern-white,

  For self I only crave one Crave of me,

  Nor more of you than sight of so fair geste.

  Then I myself protest

  Yours before God and Man; there ever bum

  By mine own tear-drops burnt;

  And, loving you, I learn

  Love for the Self that love of you hath learnt

  And Self by only Self so lost I view

  In my self-jealousy for love of you.

  II.

  If I, peraunter, live in Discontent

  And with enfeebled Spirit for-that bearing

  Sweet pains I labour to intend in vain,

  I fly my very self yet fly I faring

  You-wards; and bide so blithe when gained my bent,

  I mock the memories of my passéd pain.

  Of whom shall I complain

  If you to deal me life this wise elect

  In sufferéd miseries,

  Save I myself subjéct,

  Myself which merits not so precious prize?

  But this, e’en this, my own I may not call,

  The pride-full pleasure to become your Thrall.

  IV.

  Of delicate Eyebrows drawn in darkling line

  Love fashioned the Bows that deal the blow,

  And took for bowstring hanks of beauteous hair:

  And, as all suited that in you doth show,

  He made his shafts of rays that rained your eyne

  Wherewith he smiteth all who sight them dare.

  Eyne so supremely fair

  With arms of vantage suchwise Amor arm

  Wherewith to slay the Soul:

  But if be great the harm

  The hurt’s high glory makes it sound and whole;