Luis de Camoes Collected Poetical Works

by Luis de Camoes

Part of the World she willed Life so brief

  E’en of its little leave a little space;

  So might the Life I led

  In shattered pieces o’er the Woold be spread.

  III.

  Here woned I wasting days in darkling Ill,

  Woeful, enforced, evil, solitaire,

  Wi’ toil and travail filled and ires and woes:

  Not having only (no!) to me contráyr

  Sea-life, sun-scorching, waters raw and chill

  And ugly climate’s gross and gravid air,

  But eke my Thoughts, the wanderer’s primest snare

  That mocks the very nature of his mind,

  ‘Gainst me I saw in strife;

  To Memory’s ken they bore

  Some dream of fleeting short-lived, by-gone gloire

  The World had shown me when I lived my life;

  Only to double Ills wherewith I pined;

  Only to prove there be

  For man full many an hour of gree and glee.

  IV.

  Here with such thankless Thoughts did I remain

  Wasting my time and life; while to such height

  On Fancy’s wing they flew, then failed and fell

  (O, look ye could such fall for me be light!)

  Down, down fro’ visioned bliss and dreamery vain

  To Wanhope never sighting day of Joy.

  Imagination turned here to annoy

  And improvised yammer, sob and sigh

  That tare the echoing air.

  Here my Soul prison-hent

  Saw her quick fleshly Casing torn and rent

  By dolours girded, driven to despair;

  A butt exposed to dread artillerye

  Of Fortune’s proud misboon,

  Pride-full, inexorable, importune.

  V.

  Nowheres had I to lodge, nowheres to lie,

  Nor aught of Esperance where my weary head

  Might rest a moment and enjoy repose:

  All was one sorrow, all things suffering bred,

  Yet not to do me dead (no!) but to aby

  Untamed Destiny’s will and chosen ill.

  Oh! how this seething Sea with groans I still!

  These Winds, my wearied accents vex and tire,

  Would seem their wrath t’ inrein:

  Only the Heavens severe,

  Planets and Fate and Fortune ever fere,

  Of my perpetual losses gat their gain;

  Proving them potent, wreaking all their ire

  On Atomy terrene,

  An earth-born, earth-bred Worm, so wee, so mean.

  VI.

  An from such Labours could my lot befall

  To learn for certain that at any hour

  Remembered me those lovely Eyes erst seen;

  And if these mournful words I here outpour

  Could reach and touch those ears angelical

  Of Her whose sight my light of Life hath been;

  Who turning somewhat on herself my teen

  And in her Mind revolving, with all haste,

  The times, that now are naught,

  Of my douce erring ways,

  Of my sweet evils, and the stormy days

  For her I suffered and for her I sought,

  And (albe late) if by some pity graced

  Some touch of ruth she’d own

  And self condemn that had o’erharshness shown:

  VII.

  This could I only know forsure, I’d feel

  A Something restful ‘waits remaining life,

  To soothe my sufferings and to glad my woe.

  Ah Ladye! Ah Ladye! in what riches rife

  Are you? that here ferforth from every Weal

  By mere sweet feigning sustenance you bestow!

  Attonce, when Fancy deigns your shape to show,

  Fly all my pitiful toils, flies all my pain,

  Only remembering you

  I fare with strength secure

  And e’en Death’s stoniest stare I dare endure;

  And Hopes around me gathering hope renew,

  Whereby my bended brow, made smooth and fain,

  Makes grief, however grave,

  Melt into yearning reveries soft and suave.

  VIII.

  Here ask I (with my soul such thoughts obeying)

  Of love-born breezes breathing low their sighs,

  Ladye! what news fro’ where you bide they bore;

  Of birds, thence winging, you did they espy?

  How fare you, Fairest? what your lips were saying?

  Whence? How? Wi’ whom? What was the day, the hour?

  There my tired Life-tide bettereth of its stowre,

  Taking new spirits bravelier to warray

  Fortune with toil and grieving,

  Only once more to view you

  Only once more to serve you and to lo’e you.

  Time saith he all will end wi’ single cleaving:

  Yet the fond longing Love, who long delay

  Ne’er suffereth, shows him bent

  Old wounds to open and anew torment.

  L’ENVOI.

  Thus live I; and if any ask of thee

  Canzon! why nill I die?

  Thou mayst reply him “’Tis because I die!”

  CANZON XI.

  Vinde cá meu tao certo Secretario

  (Autobiographical, No. 2).

  I.

  Come here! my confidential Secretary

  Of the complaints in which my days are rife,

  PAPER, — whereon I gar my griefs o’erflow.

  Tell we, we twain, Unreasons which in life

  Deal me inexorable, contrary

  Destinies surd to prayer and tearful woe.

  Dash we some water-drops on muchel lowe,

  Fire we with outcries storm of rage so rare

  That shall be strange to mortal memory.

  Such misery tell we

  To God and Man and eke, in fine, to air

  Whereto so many times did I confide

  My tale and vainly told as now I tell;

  But e’en as error was my birthtide-lot,

  That this be one of many doubt I not.

  And as to hit the butt so far I fail

  E’en if I sinned here cease they to chide:

  Within mine only Refuge will I ‘bide

  To speak and faultless sin with free intent.

  Sad he so scanty mercies must content!

  II.

  Long I’ve unlearnt me that complaint of dole

  Brings cure of dolours; but a wight in pain

  To greet is forced an the grief be great

  I will outgreet; but weak my voice and vain

  To express the sorrows which oppress my soul;

  For nor with greeting shall my dole abate.

  Who then shall grant me, to relieve my weight

  Of sorrow, flowing tears and infinite sighs

  Equal those miseries my Sprite o’erpower?

  But who at any hour

  Can measure miseries with his tears or cries?

  I’ll tell, in fine, the lore for me design’d

  By wrath and woe and all their sovenance;

  For other dole hath qualities harder, sterner.

  Draw near and hear me each despairing Learner

  And fly the many fed on Esperance —

  Or wights who fancy Hope will prove her kind;

  For Love and Fortune willed, with single mind,

  To leave them hopeful, so they comprehend

  What measure of unweal in hand they hend.

  I learnt a thousand times it was my doom

  To know the Better and to work the Worse:

  Then with conforming tormentize to curse

  My course of coming years, when cast I round

  A boyish eye-glance with a gentle zest,

  It was my Star’s behest

  A Boy born blind should deal me life-long wound.

  Infantine tear-drops welled out the deep

  With vague en
amoured longings, nameless pine:

  My wailing accents fro’ my cradle-stound

  Already sounded me love-sighing sound.

  Thus age and destiny had like design:

  For when, peraunter, rocking me to sleep

  They sung me Love-songs wherein lovers weep,

  Attonce by Nature’s will asleep I fell,

  So Melancholy witcht me with her spell!

  IV.

  My nurse some Feral was; fate nilled approve

  By any Woman such a name be tane

  Who gave me breast; nor seemed it suitable.

  Thus was I suckled that my lips indrain

  E’en fro’ my childhood venom-draught of Love,

  Whereof in later years I drained my fill,

  Till by long custom failed the draught to kill.

  Then an Ideal semblance struck my glance

  Of that fere Human deckt with charms in foyson.

  Sweet with the suavest poyson,

  Who nourisht me with paps of Esperance;

  Till later saw mine eyes the original,

  Which of my wildest, maddest appetite

  Makes sinful error sovran and superb.

  Meseems as human form it came disturb,

  But scintillating Spirit’s divinest light

  So graceful gait, such port imperial

  Were hers, unweal vainglory’d self to weal

  When in her sight, whose lively sheen and shade

  Exceeded aught and all things Nature made.

  V.

  What new unkindly kind of human pain

  Had Love not only doled for me to dree

  But eke on me was wholly execute?

  Implacable harshness cooling fervency

  Of Love-desire (thought’s very might and main)

  Drave me far distant fro’ my settled suit,

  Vext and self-shamed to sight its own pursuit.

  Hence sombre shades phantastick born and bred

  Of trifles promising rashest Esperance;

  While boons of happy chance

  Were likewise feigned and enfigured.

  But her despisal wrought me such dismay

  That made my Fancy phrenesy-ward incline,

  Turning to disconcert the guiling lure.

  Here mine ’twas to divine, and hold for sure,

  That all was truest Truth I could divine;

  And straightway all I said in shame to unsay;

  To see whatso I saw in contrayr way;

  In fine, just Reasons seek for jealousy

  Yet were the Unreasons eather far to see.

  I. —

  I know not how she knew that fared she stealing

  With Eyen-rays mine inner man which flew

  Her-ward with subtlest passage through the eyne

  Little by little all fro’ me she drew,

  E’en as from rain-wet canopy, exhaling

  The subtle humours, sucks the hot sunshine.

  The pure transparent geste and mien, in fine,

  Wherefore inadequate were and lacking sense

  “Beauteous “ and “Belle” were words withouten weight;

  The soft, compassionate

  Eye-glance that held the Spirit in suspense,

  Such were the magick herbs the Heavens all-wise

  Drave me a draught to drain, and for long years

  To other Being my shape and form transmew’d;

  And this transforming with such joy I view’d

  That e’en my sorrows snared I with its snares;

  And, like the doomed man, I veiled mine eyes

  To hide an evil crescive in such guise;

  Like one caressed and on flattery fed

  Of Love for whom his being was born and bred.

  VII.

  Then who mine absent Life hath power to paint

  Wi’ discontent of all I bore in view;

  That Bide, so far from where she had her Bide,

  Speaking, which even what I spake unknew,

  Wending, withal unseeing where I went,

  And sighing weetless for what cause I sigh’d?

  Then, as those torments last endurance tried,

  That dreadful dolour which from Tartarus’ waves

  Shot up on earth and racketh more than all,

  Wherefrom shall oft befall

  It turn to gentle yearning rage that raves?

  Then with repine-full fury fever-high,

  Wishing yet wishing not for Love’s surceáse;

  Shifting to other side for vengeance,

  Desires deprived of their esperance,

  What now could ever change such ills as these?

  Then the fond yearnings for the things gone by,

  Pure torment sweet in bitter faculty,

  Which from these fiery furies could distil

  Sweet tears of Love with pine the soul to thrill?

  VIII.

  For what excuses lone with self I sought,

  When my suave Love forfended me to find

  Fault in the Thing beloved and so loved?

  Such were the feigned cures that forged my mind

  In fear of torments that for ever taught

  Life to support itself by snares approved.

  Thus through a goodly part of Life I roved,

  Wherein if ever joyed I aught content

  Short-lived, immodest, flaw-full, without heed,

  ’Twas nothing save the seed

  That bare me bitter tortures long unspent.

  This course continuous dooming to distress,

  These wandering steps that strayed o’er every road

  So wrought, they quencht for me the flamy thirst

  I suffered grow in Sprite, in Soul I nurst

  With Thoughts enamoured for my daily food,

  Whereby was fed my Nature’s tenderness:

  And this by habit’s long and asperous stress,

  Which might of mortals never mote resist,

  Was turned to pleasure-taste of being triste.

  IX.

  Thus fared! Life with other interchanging;

  I no, but Destiny showing fere unlove;

  Yet even thus for other ne’er I’d change.

  Me from my dear-loved patrial nide she drove

  Over the broad and boisterous Ocean ranging,

  Where Life so often saw her Extreme range.

  Now tempting rages rare and missiles strange

  Of Mart, she willed that my eyes should see

  And hands should touch, the bitter fruit he dight:

  That on this Shield they sight

  In painted semblance fire of enemy.

  Then ferforth driven, vagrant, peregrine,

  Seeing strange nations, customs, tongues, costumes;

  Various heavens, qualities different,

  Only to follow, passing-diligent

  Thee, giglet Fortune! whose fierce will consumes

  Man’s age upbuilding aye before his eyne

  A Hope with semblance of the diamond’s shine:

  But, when it falleth out of hand we know,

  ’Twas fragile glass that showed so glorious show.

  X.

  Failed me the ruth of man, and I descried

  Friends to unfriendly changed and contráyr,

  In my first peril; and I lacked ground,

  Whelmed by the second, where my feet could fare;

  Air for my breathing was my lot denied,

  Time failed me, in fine, and failed me Life’s dull round.

  What darkling secret, mystery profound

  This birth to Life, while life is doomed withhold

  Whate’er the world contain for Life to use!

  Yet never Life to lose

  Though ’twas already lost times manifold!

  In brief my Fortune could no horror make,

  Ne certain danger ne ancipitous case

  (Injustice dealt by men, whom wild-confused

  Misrule, that rights of olden days abused,

  O’er neighbou
r-men upraised to power and place!)

  I bore not, lashed to the sturdy stake,

  Of my long-suffering, which my heart would break

  With importuning persecuting harms

  Dasht to a thousand bits by forceful arms.

  XI.

  Number I not so numerous ills as He

  Who, ‘scaped the wuthering wind and furious flood,

  In happy harbour tells his travel-tale:

  Yet now, e’en now, my Fortune’s wavering mood

  To so much misery obligeth me

  That e’en to pace one forward pace I quail:

  No more shirk I what evils may assail;

  No more to falsing welfare I pretend;

  For human cunning naught can gar me gain.

  In fine on sovran Strain

  Of Providence divine I now depend:

  This thought, this prospect ’tis at times I greet.

  My sole consoler for dead hopes and fears.

  But human weakness when its eyne alight

  Upon the things that fleet, and can but sight

  The sadding Memories of the long-past years;

  What bread such times I break, what drink I drain,

  Are bitter tear-floods I can ne’er refrain,

  Save by upbuilding castles based on air,

  Phantastick painture fair and false as fair.

  XII.

  For an it possible were that Time and Tide

  Could bend them backward and, like Memory, view

  The faded footprints of Life’s earlier day;

  And, web of olden story weaving new,

  In sweetest error could my footsteps guide

  ‘Mid bloom of flowers where wont my youth to stray;

  Then would the memories of the long sad way

  Deal me a larger store of Life-content;

  Viewing fair converse and glad company,

  Where this and other key

  She held for opening hearts to new intent; —

  The fields, the frequent stroll, the lovely show,

  The view, the snow, the rose, the formosure,

  The soft and gracious mien so gravely gay,

  The singular friendship casting clean away

  All villein longings, earthy and impure,

  As One whose Other I can never see; —

  Ah, vain, vain memories! whither lead ye me

  With this weak heart, that still must toil and tire

  To tame (as tame it should) your vain Desire?

  L’ENVOI.

  No more, Canzon! no more; for I could prate

  Sans compt a thousand years; and if befall

  Blame to thine over-large and long-drawn strain

  We ne’er shall see (assure who blames) contain

  An Ocean’s water packt in vase so small.

  Nor sing I delicate lines in softest tone

  For gust of praise; my song to man makes known

  Pure Truth wherewith mine own Experience teems,

  Would God they were the stuff that builds our