Luis de Camoes Collected Poetical Works

by Luis de Camoes

  And bin his murtherous arms of such a sort

  One owes him dearest debt when all a-mort.

  VI.

  Of mode that if, percas, the Fancy fall

  In fleshly weakness, of her own Consent,

  ’Tis that such knowledge ne’er to me was known,

  Therefore not only reasons I invent

  For Love, I pardon all his pains withal;

  Nay, more I thank him with my benison.

  This Fay deserves be shown

  What grace and favour to those eyne ‘pertain,

  And the douce Smile’s dear prize:

  But ah! that ne’er we gain

  With gain of Paradise other Paradise;

  And thus my sore perplexed Esperance

  Satisfies self with goods beyond her chance.

  L’ENVOI.

  An I my remedy with reasonings plead,

  Know thou, Canzon! ’tis for-that none I see,

  And proffering words I ‘guile appetency.

  CANZON II.

  A instabilidade de Fortuna

  (Of Love and Luck).

  I.

  Of Fortune’s stable Instability,

  Of pleasant blindings by the god born blind,

  (Pleasant an mote they but their length prolong)

  Lief would I sing, some rest for life to find;

  For as sore paining importuneth me,

  Importune all mankind mine irksome song,

  And if the pleasant Past with present Wrong

  In my frore bosom freeze my hardened strain;

  Insanity so insane

  Shall be the surest signal of my woe; One slip in many slips may concert show:

  Then, as I trust in Truths to heart I’ve tane

  (An Truth to Ills I tell e’er condescend)

  Let all the world Love’s disillusion know;

  Love who with Reason now is friend to friend

  Lest sin of lover unchastised end.

  II.

  Yea, Love made laws and brake with me his law;

  Yea, waxed he reasoning which whilere was blind,

  Sole that Unreasons to my Soul he deal.

  And if in any error Love I find,

  Sense in sore dolence never yet I saw:

  Nor Love sans error ever deals love-weal.

  But that his fancy-freedom more I feel

  He fand a feignéd cause eftsoon to slay me:

  For thiswise low to lay me

  In such abysmal depth of hellish woe,

  My Thoughts did naught of outrecuidance know:

  I sought no loftier height that mote betray me

  Than what Love willéd; and if Love ordain

  Be paid the Quit-claim I his daring owe,

  Know all that Love who doth my sin arraign

  My sin eke caused and eke caused its pain.

  III.

  Those Eyne I worship, on the self-same day

  When to my humbler Thoughts they deigned inclining,

  Deep in my Spirit laid I reverent;

  And then like Miser aye for more a-pining

  My heart as choicest viand I gave away,

  My heart to orders then obedient:

  But as there present wot they all I meant

  And of my longings aim and object knew,

  Or for some other cue

  My tonguediscovered (shameless Thought to think!)

  Dying of thirst-pangs by the River-brink

  I sit and fruitage of my service view;

  But high it towereth when to pluck I strain me;

  And sink the waters when I stoop to drink:

  Thus I in hunger and in thirst maintain me,

  Nor Tantalus dreeth pains have overtane me.

  IV.

  When her, who liveth in my Soul ensoul’d,

  My base audacity to win essay’d,

  I won her only in the form of wile:

  The cloud that ever my fixt Thought o’erlaid

  Figured her in my arms to have and hold,

  Dreaming of longings nurst in waking while.

  And, as my longings still my heart would ‘guile

  And of so precious prize warm Hope reveal;

  On Tantalus-pangs I feel,

  Torments I suffer to a wheel fast bound,

  With thousand changes whirling round and round

  Here sink I sudden when I rise to weal;

  And as I win so lose I all confiding;

  And so self-flying seek I self unfound;

  And so a vengeance binds me, aye betiding

  E’en as Ixion firm in change abiding.

  From one part flitting unto other part,

  Shall glut its greed upon this aching heart;

  I feed in Fancy yet am famine-spent

  And with more feeding more enfamisht grow,

  Lest of my torments lose I aught of smart:

  Thus live I only for my painful woe,

  A second Tityus, and myself unknow.

  VI.

  With alien loves I robbed and wills o’erthrew

  (Triumphs to crafty guiling arts I owéd)

  My feigning bosom ever self maintain’d:

  I ‘guiled and lured them in so false a mode,

  That, when my bidding could their souls subdue,

  I slew my victims with the love I feign’d.

  But soon the penalty which Right ordain’d

  Love in his vengeance forced me feel my fill, —

  Compelled me climb the hill

  Of harshest treatment dealeth me your ire,

  Weighted with rolling rock of long Desire,

  That dasheth downwards from my height of Weal

  Again the seat desired I would attain;

  Again I fail, in fine, of fight I tire.

  Marvel not, Sisyphus! if so I strain

  Perforce upclimbing slopes of pine and pain.

  VII.

  Thiswise my Summum Bonum offereth self

  To my an-hungered Longings, that I fell

  The loss of losing so high boon the more:

  E’en as the Miser when his dreams reyeal

  The treasure trove whereby he win him pelf,

  Slaking his thirsty greed with golden ore;

  Then waking hurries he the buried store

  To dig, the wealthy mine his dream design’d:

  But all he hopes to find

  His fortune turneth into charred coal:

  Then only greater greed invades his Soul,

  Failing in dearest hopes of all his kind:

  Love all my senses lost in similar guise;

  For ghosts, which nightly make the Hades goal,

  Had feared with less of fear the triste abyss,

  Ne’er had they known the bliss of Paradise

  L’ENVOI.

  Canzon! no more: I n’ote what now to tell:

  But that less dearly I pay my tormentrye

  Command the Cryer cry what caused me die.!

  CANZON III.

  Ja a rdxa manham clara

  (He sees his lover in the beauties of Nature).

  I.

  Now Mom the rosiest-bright

  Hasted her Orient portals wide to ope;

  And from the mountain’s cope

  Discoured the Darkness that oppresseth sight

  Sol, urging ceaseless flight, —

  Longing for fair Aurora’s gladding face,

  Following with fiery pace

  (Borne by the Coursers travails try and tire,

  And o’er the herbage dank cool dew respire)

  Clear, joyful, luminous spreads him over space:

  Birds with night-rested wing

  From bough to bough in morning-joyaunce spring

  And with suave-sounding douce melodious lay

  The approach of Day, Day’s happy heraults, sing.

  II.

  The Morn, fresh, belle, amene,

  Her brow unveiling, every holt and height

  Robeth in verdant light,

  Clear-tinted, soft, angelic
al, serene.

  O the delicious teen!

  O high effect of Love omnipotent!

  Who deigneth his Consent

  Whereso I lief would fare, or fain would stay,

  Ne’er fade fro’ sight of me that Seraph-ray

  Wherefore I live content in dreariment.

  But thou, Aurora pure!

  For such high blessing bless thine Aventure,

  Which gave thee guerdon of so high effect,

  To show reflected all that Formosure.

  III.

  The Light so sweet and live

  Shows to these eyne her Light by whom I’m slain,

  With locks, a golden skein,

  No gold shall rival howsoe’er it strive.

  This Light shall eath outdrive

  The thick Obscure of sent and sentiment

  By softest reveries shent:

  These dew-drops, pearling delicatest flowers,

  Bin of my wearied eyne the tear-full showers

  I weep with joyaunce, when such woes torment:

  The feathered songster’s chaunt

  Is but my spirit making long descent

  And still proclaiming the geste peregrine

  With sounds divine that worlds in wonder haunt.

  IV.

  E’en as occurs to those

  Soon to see Night o’erdark their dearest Days,

  Before the dying gaze

  Some saintly Vision comes its charm disclose:

  ’Tis so to me who lose

  This life, my Ladye: which be you alone:

  This sprite that hath her Wone

  In you (the while from prison forth she flies)

  Beholds your Beauties showing all the dyes

  Of fair Aurora, fairer, rosier grown.

  O happy parting-pain!

  O high-exalted Glory sovereign!

  If my desire endarken not the light;

  For what, in fine, I sight gives life again.

  V.

  But my force natural

  Which on this purest vision self maintained,

  Fails me with ease unfeigned,

  As Suns are fain to fail this earthen ball.

  If want of strength you call

  Dying in this so tristful, painful plight,

  The blame to Love be dight

  Or to yourself where fares he whole of heart,

  Who in such long-drawn Severance garred me part,

  That Life by cark and care may fly the light.

  For an my Life atone,

  A thing of matter, only flesh and bone,

  This Life I lose Love did to me consign;

  Yet I’m not mine: if slain the sin’s your own.

  L’ENVOI.

  Canzon of Cygnet, sung in hour extreme!

  On the hard grave and cold

  Of Memory, thee I leave commune to hold

  With fittest Scripture for my sepulthre:

  For now the óbscure shades my Day enfold.

  CANZON IV.

  Vaó as serenas agoas.

  (Of his Lover in Coimbra.)

  I.

  The gentle waters flow

  Mondego-dale down-flowing,

  Nor rest soft railing till with brine they blend:

  There ’twas began to grow,

  Little by little growing,

  My woes beginning never more to end.

  There first my vision kenn’d

  In this amenest scene,

  Where holds me Death in hold,

  That brow, snow gilt wi’ gold;

  Sweet pleasant laughlet, glance of eyes serene,

  Geste of so delicate grace

  That in my Spirit limned shall aye hold place.

  II.

  In this enfloweréd land,

  Gladsome, fresh-aired, serene,

  Glad and content for self lived I alwáy;

  Peace in my war I fand,

  Aye boastful of the teen

  Dealt me by many eyes of radiant ray.

  From one to other day

  Hope told her tale oft-told:

  Long was the syne I spent;

  Life was all jolliment

  For that it joyed one such Weal to hold.

  But now what can it ‘vail

  When of those lovely orbs ’tis forced to fail?

  III.

  Ah, who me there had said

  Of love so high-profound

  I mote at any hour behold the fine?

  And who could e’er persuade

  I mote fro’ you be severed, Ladye mine? —

  That from such time I tyne

  All boon of Esperance;

  And see the fond vain Thought

  In moment brought to nought,

  Nor leave me anything save Sovenance:

  But this shall aye be true

  Till parting breath to Life shall breathe adieu.

  Our parting had in store,

  To you the pang shall spare

  My Sprite was doomed to bear:

  For your least suffering I should suffer more

  Than aught my soul hath shent. —

  Let me, my Ladye! die, live you content

  L’ENVOI.

  Thou, Canzon! shalt be fain

  To fare in companye

  With these clear waters through the meadows welling;

  And shalt for me remain

  A cry, a sob, a sigh;

  That to the World such tale of sorrow telling,

  (A tale so large, so long)

  My tears memorious shall enbalm my song.

  CANZON V.

  Se este meu pensamento

  (Of her beauty and of his torments).

  I.

  Could this my fond Intent,

  E’en as ’tis sweet and suave,

  Outspeak my spirit shaping self in cries;

  Showing what Ills torment

  So cruel, asperous, grave,

  To yours, my Ladye! not to other eyes;

  Haply it mote some wise

  Your bosom stony-dure

  To ruth and blandness bend:

  Then I my ways who wend,

  A lonely sparrow humble and obscure,

  Turned to Swan snow-pure, —

  With song canorous cleaving upper air,

  In accents manifest

  Would paint my pining and your precious geste.

  II.

  Would paint those glorious eyne

  Which in their babes enhold

  The Boy whose eyne are blinded by their rays;

  The locks of gilded Shine

  Tressed with purest gold

  Whereto declineth Sol his dimméd blaze;

  The head that aye arrays

  Nature with choicest shows:

  The well-proportioned

  Nostrils clean-cut, high-bred,

  Fine as the leafage of the freshest rose;

  The lips so gracious

  Perforce we praise though Praise for pardon pled;

  In fine, it is a hoard;

  Pearls are the teeth and golden every word.

  III.

  Right clear in you were seen

  (O Dame right delicate!)

  How proudly Nature rose to pride of place:

  But I from scene to scene

  Was doomed to translate

  Into my torture your all-gentle grace:

  Only what dour dure case

  Conditioned your Unruth

  Ladye! my heart must hide,

  Lest be in you descried

  A “Would-’twere-not” which perfect gifts undo’th.

  And if one ask, forsooth,

  “Why art thou done to Death?” I had replied:

  “I die because so fair ‘

  Is she, I feel unfit to die for her.”

  IV.

  And if, peraventure,

  Madáme! my words offend you,

  Of you inditing things unfelt by Sent;

  And if your formosure

  Earthward so condescend you,

  Sto
oping to conquer man’s Intendiment;

  On such a base had leant

  Whatever song I sing,

  Of purest Love the lays;

  That so display your praise

  A heart transfigured by long suffering.

  And where men judgment bring

  Of Cause by caused Effects, my sore distress

  There would declare sans fear:

  Shall see my provenance whoso lendeth ear.

  V.

  Rathe would I then display

  Eyes full of yearning woe,

  And sighs that draw with them my very Sprite;

  Gaiety feigning gay;

  Steps melancholy slow;

  Speech that forgetteth speech as soon as dight:

  With self a constant fight,

  Then for a pardon plead;

  A fear when falsing brave;

  A search for weal I crave;

  And of not finding it a coward dread;

  And learn in final stead

  That all the fine for which with speech I strave,

  Are tears and passion-pine,

  Are fancy-freedom yours and dolours mine.

  But, Dame! who shall compare,

  Whate’er his words express,

  Your doucest beauty with my bitter pain:

  And in sweet song declare

  That boast of highest stress

  Love in my spirit deigned to ordain?

  Such force hath not the vain

  Power of human Wit

  So heavy weight to endure,

  Unless their aid assure

  A glance of pity, some sweet counterfeit,

  Which would convert defeat

  Into delight, and temper Care with Cure,

  In fine, would turn despite

  To gust of praises in your name indite.

  L’ENVOI.

  Canzon! say thou no more, and if thy verse

  Feebly thy pain express,

  Ask they no more or haply shalt say less.

  CANZON VI.

  Com forca desusada

  (Autobiographical: written at Goa? Ternate? Banda? —

  Some Oriental Island belonging to Portugal).

  I.

  With furious force seld-shown

  Scorcheth Sol’s fire eterne

  An Islet couchéd far i ‘th’ Eastern Main,

  Of stranger wights the wone,

  Where Hiems grisly-stern

  Gladly regreeneth all the brumal plain.

  There men of Lusus’ strain,

  With blades a-thirst for blood,

  Seigniory hold supreme:

  Girt by a sea-like stream

  That ever ebbs and flows with Ocean’s flood,

  What growth of herbs it breedeth

  The kine conjointly and man’s eyne full feedeth.

  II.

  Here ’twas mine Aventúre

  Willéd the greater part

  Of life I pass, a life no life of mine;

  E’en that my sepulture,

  In hands of horrid Mart,