Luis de Camoes Collected Poetical Works

by Luis de Camoes

  Pluto long customed torture-throes to deal;

  Stood still in rarest rest

  Ixion’s whirling wheel,

  And feel in glory who their pains unfeel.

  XII.

  By the strange marvel movéd

  The Queen, that ruleth Hades’ shadowy host,

  Restored thy well-beloved

  Fere, who life-lorn and lost

  Had woned for many a day ‘mid ghosts a ghost.

  XIII.

  Then, my Misaventure

  How may’t not soften Soul of mortal strain,

  Against my weal more dure,

  Less human, less humane

  Than wrath of Callirrhoe, Nymph prophane?

  XIV.

  O coy with cruel scorn,

  Hard-hearted Bosom and enstonied

  As any Tygress born

  In Hyrcan wold and bred;

  Or in the rock’s hard womb engendered!

  XV.

  Yet what say I, sad wight!

  To whom entrust my plaints and trust in vain?

  Ye only (O Delight

  Of the salt humid reign!)

  Clear Nymphs, condolence of my sufferings deign

  XVI.

  And, trickt with golden ore,

  Upraising tressed heads of auburn shine

  O’er waves that rear and roar,

  With locks a-dripping brine,

  All come ye forth to sight what state be mine.

  XVII.

  Come forth in company

  Singing and plucking fairest flowers draw near!

  Mine agony shall ye see;

  Ye shall my Love-tale hear

  And answer tear and sob with sob and tear.

  XVIII.

  The lostest ye shall view,

  And most unhappiest Body e’er was born;

  That self did erst transmew

  To tears, whose state forlorn

  Hath no surviving care but aye to mourn.

  ODE IV.

  Fermosa fera humana,

  (To a venal fair in Lisbon).

  I.

  Fair Human unhumáne, —

  Against whose haughty heart and hardened breast,

  The might all-sovereign

  Of vengeful Amor’s conquering behest,

  Each gridéd arrow-head

  He had in quiver but to break hath sped:

  II.

  Beloved Circe mine!

  Albe not only mine yet loved the more;

  To whom I did assign

  My loved Liberty, man’s liefest store,

  Bit after bit I yielded,

  And e’en had yielded more had I but held it;

  III.

  Sith Nature in despight

  Dealt thee of Reason particules so contrkyr,

  That with such beauty dight

  Flaming in various fires thou art fain to fare,

  Yet burning self in none

  Longer than Earth is lit by single Lune;

  IV.

  Then on thy Triumph thou go’st

  Dight with the spoilings of the Love-forshent,

  Fro’ whom thou robst the boast

  Of human judgment, reason, sense and sent

  Almost to all allying

  Favours thou bidest unto all denying;

  V.

  For so thou joyest seeing

  The Youth, who nightly comes in steel confine’d,

  The tempest-tumult dreeing,

  Whenas descendeth Jove in water and wind,

  At door his mistress keeps

  Closed on his pleasure till for pain he sleeps.

  VI.

  How canst fro’ fear refrain,

  Fear lest so coying, sdeignful dalliance

  Nemesis (wont to rein

  Mad pride and farthest flights of esperance)

  Visit with vengeful ire

  And ‘gainst thee Amor’s fiercest anger fire?

  VII.

  See Flora fair and lief;

  Rich with the robberies of a thousand sighs,

  Still wailing for the Chief

  Who there, at last, in Thessaly vanquisht lies,

  And was so famed by Fame

  Rome gave him altars and a saintly name.

  VIII.

  See her in Lesbos born,

  Whom highest psaltery garréd honour-rife;

  An for her sake forlorn

  Were many, yet she lost her dearest life,

  Down-leaping stones whose stain

  Is being latest cure of Lover’s pain.

  IX.

  She, for the chosen Youth

  In whom the threefold Graces showed their guile,

  Whom Venus hid in growth

  Of lettuce-garden for her loving while,

  Wi’ Death’s cold ague paid

  The lives for many miserable made.

  X.

  And, seeing herself so left

  By him for whom she left so many a Fere,

  She rusht, of hope bereft,

  To fling her down the Leap infamely dear:

  For Unlove’s evil knows

  ’Tis gain of Life when Life away it throws.

  XI.

  “Take me, fierce waves! nor spare:

  Take me, since other left me lorn and lone!”

  She spake and cleaving air

  Down sprang in wrath from high altarial stone.

  Lend aidance thou, suave

  Love! aid thou, heavenly Bird that swayst the wave

  XII.

  Take her on either wing,

  Unhurt, unperilled, Boy compassionate!

  Before her form she fling

  In these fere waters olden flame to ‘bate.

  A Love so high is digne

  To live and aye be loved for peregrine.

  XIII.

  Nay! Reason bids she be

  For she-wolves fancy-free who Love would vend,

  ‘Sample, wherein they see

  That all who prisoners take be tane at end:

  Thus doth the deme record

  Nemesis, deeming Love of all be Lord.

  ODE V.

  Nunca manhaa suave

  (To an unvenal Fair: last of the Edit. Princ.).

  I.

  No Mom so clear, so bright

  Dispreading radiance o’er the terrene Round,

  That followeth gruesome night

  With darksome tempest glooming seas profound,

  E’er gladdened Ship that saw herself fast bound

  For the dread deeps of brine,

  As me the lovely lightings of those eyne.

  II.

  That charm of Formosure,

  In every eye-glance shining brightest sheen;

  Whereby the shades obscure

  Don light and every meadow dons new green;

  Whene’er my thoughts see melancholick scene,

  She and her living spell

  Griefs every darkling cloud fro’ me dispel.

  III.

  My breast, wherein you bide,

  Were for so great a weal a vase too wee:

  And when you turn aside,

  Those eyne that scanty value deal to me,

  Then, gentle Ladye! Such a fire I dree

  Of life-consuming ray

  As feels the Moth who lamp-ward wings his way.

  IV.

  Had! Souls thousand-fold,

  For those all-lovely eyne fit sacrifice,

  All that could find a hold

  My hand would hang to lashes of those eyes;

  And, in that clear pure Vision taught to arise,

  Each would (tho’ small of worth)

  In your Eye-babes behold renewed birth.

  V.

  And you, who fancy-free

  Now fare unheeding my so mournful moan,

  Circled by Souls of me,

  Could not withdraw your eyne fro’ where they wone;

  Nor could it be (amid them seeing your own)

  But that they show such grief

 
That must a single Soul make loving-lief.

  VI.

  Yet, as the burning breast

  Can lodge one spirit only, fairest Faire!

  Enough one love you best

  As though a myriad-fold your lovers were.

  So shall the dolours of its ardent flame

  Work with such main and might,

  You nill in cinders see your ownest sprite.

  ODE VI.

  Pode hum desejo immenso

  (How Absence breedeth Desire).

  I.

  A Love-desire immense

  Can so enfire the breast

  Een the live Spirit melts with heat intense

  Depuring every stain of terrene vest;

  And purifying Sprite so raised, so lit

  Wi’ deathless eyes divine

  That make her read the line she sees not writ.

  II.

  For flames that heavenward tend

  Sent forth such luminous ray,

  That if exalted wish to weal extend

  It seeth, as never saw it, clearest day;

  And there it views long-sought Original,

  Live hues and grace refine’d

  Of costlier kind than aught corporeal.

  III.

  Then, O, example clear

  Of Beauty’s portraiture,

  Which from so far I note, and see so near

  In Soul, this wish doth elevate and depure;

  Deem not mine eyes such Image ne’er may sight,

  That form man ne’er could know

  Were he not ‘vantaged mo’e than human wight

  IV.

  For an absented eyes

  In you behold not blent

  Compast proportions, and surpassing dyes

  Of blushing purity, pudent, excellent;

  Charms which the speaking painture, Poesy,

  Limned heretofore in lays

  That mortal charms bepraise as mortals see:

  V.

  An they the locks ne’er sight

  The vulgar ‘title gold;

  And never see those eyne of brightest light,

  The Sun’s own treasures as we singers hold;

  Unless they sight that miracle of brow

  To whom shall men declare

  Owe semblance rare the Chrystal, Rose and Snow?

  VI.

  They see attonce grace pure,

  A light severe, elate,

  Reflected ray of heavenly Formosure,

  Soul-stamped and from the Soul reverberate;

  As chrystal-mirror, struck by solar beam,

  That doth around it shed

  The sparks it cherished in clearer stream.

  VII.

  And the grave mien they see,

  With the glad lively vein,

  Which be commingled with such quality

  That one from other nowise can be tane;

  Nor can that gladness cease to breed a fear,

  However soft and suave,

  Nor sadness, how so grave, be aught but dear.

  VIII.

  Of Sense, unstained by guile,

  They see high splendid powers

  Sweetened by softest heart-delighting smile,

  Whose fair disclosure clothes the mead with flowers;

  The Voice so low, so soft, the discreet words

  Whose breath of musick binds

  The hastiest winds and highest soaring birds:

  IX.

  The glancing of her eyes,

  Felling whereso it fall,

  Of which no genius fitly can devise

  If due to Artifice or Chance did all;

  Presence whose graceful pose and pliant lines,

  Whose gait, whose walk, whose geste

  Teach Beauty, well exprest by Beauty’s signs.

  X.

  That something n’ote I what

  Aspiring n’ote I how,

  Soul-vision sees when visible ’tis not,

  But knowledge never had the power to know;

  Nor all that Tuscan Poesy, whose might

  Phoebus doth more restore;

  Nor Beatrix nor Laura showed such sight:

  XI.

  In you this age of ours

  Ladye! such marvel ‘spies,

  If Genius, Science, Art might own such powers,

  Which to your beauty’s excellence could rise,

  Such as I saw to sore long exile driven,

  Such as afar I see.

  These wings to Thought of me Desire hath given!

  XII.

  Then if Desire refine

  A soul such flames inflame,

  Thro’ you it win some particule divine;

  I’ll sing an unsung song to hail your name

  That Baetis hear me and the Tyber vaunt:

  For, our clear Tage I view

  With somewhat sombre hue roll dissonant.

  XIII.

  Enamel now the dale

  No flowers, but spike and spine

  Its forms deform; and seemeth me there fail

  Ears for my singing, for your beauties eyne.

  But, work whatever wills the World’s vile will,

  The Sun within you beaming

  With brightest streaming light black night shall fill.

  ODE VII.

  A quem darao de Pindo as Moradoras,

  (To D. Manoel de Portugal, friend and poet).

  I.

  For whom shall weave the Mays on Pindus woning,

  Lere-taught and fairest-fair,

  Bloom-wreaths to deck the hair

  With bay triumphant or with myrtle green;

  With glorious palm who never may misween

  Her boast of high renown,

  Whose spiring height no mighty weight bows down?

  II.

  To whom shall offer, lapt in delicate skirts,

  Her roses ruddy Chloris,

  Her shell-lets snow-white Doris;

  Those land-born blooms, these buds of Ocean-bed,

  Aureate and argent, white and nectar-red,

  With dance and choir and song

  Where lovely Napes meet the Nereid throng?

  III.

  To whom shall offer odes, canzons, and hymns

  Fro’ Theban home Amphion,

  Fro’ Lesbos-land Orion,

  Save as your offerings, by whose wit we see

  Unto our long forgotten poesy

  Honour and gloire restore’d

  Dom Manoel de Portugal, my Lord!

  IV.

  Following the footprints trod by bygone spirits,

  High, gentle, royal race,

  You with kind honour grace

  My lowly genius, high in zeal and bold.

  You for Maecenas I enfame and hold,

  And consecrate your name

  Will I, if aught of power my verse shall claim.

  V.

  My rough rude Cantos (that new life bestow

  On many an honoured tomb,

  On palms Time robbed of bloom

  Won by our Lusia’s sons, in war sans-peers,

  As hoarded treasury of the future years)

  Seek you, my song’s defender

  From Lethe-law that gars all fame surrender.

  VI.

  In this your tree with honour dight and glory

  A stem of strength renowned

  My blooming ivy found

  Stay for my worth hereto esteemed mean:

  For higher climbing here ’twould rest and lean;

  And you with it shall rise

  High as you raise its branchlets to the skies.

  VII.

  Ever had mortal Genius peregrine

  Fortune and Chance for foes;

  That high as he arose

  By single arm on wings of Fame upborne,

  So with that other arm man’s hate and scorn

  Weighed down his flight, to dree

  The vile oppression of Necessity.

  VIII.

  But high-exalted hearts of
empery digne,

  Commanding aventure,

  Were pillars aye secure

  Of the “Gaye Science”: such Octavian,

  The Scipio, Alexander, Gratian,

  Whom deathless we behold;

  Such you our century goldening with your gold.

  IX.

  Then long as o’er the world sonorous lyres

  In world-esteem abound,

  For doct and jocund sound;

  And while our Tagus and our Douro bear

  Breasts dear to crisp-haired Mart, and Phoebus fair,

  No fall your fame befall

  My Lord, Dom Manoel de Portugal!

  ODE VIII.

  A quelle unico Exemplo,

  (Recommending D. Garcia d’Orta to Viceroy Count of

  Redondo).

  I.

  That sole and single sample

  Of Hero-daring, godlike bravery

  Which merited, in temple

  Of Fame eternal, sempiternal day;

  Great son of Tethys, who for years full ten

  Scourged the miserable Trojan men:

  II.

  No less of glory gained

  For herbs and medicinal policy,

  As dextrous and long-trained

  In prowest exercise of soldiery:

  This wise the hands that death to many gave

  Gave life to many, strong to slay and save.

  III.

  Nor disregarded aught

  That fere and doughty Youth no fear could tame;

  Of arts to mortals taught

  By beardless Phoebus for the languid frame;

  And if a dreadful Hector could he kill

  Eke deadliest wounds were healed by his skill.

  IV.

  He with such arts was dight

  By his half-human Master wise and old,

  Whence grew so strong his sprite

  In virtue, science, counsels manifold,

  That well knew Telephus, wounded by his steel,

  The hand that harmed was the hand to heal.

  V.

  Thus you, O excellent

  And most illustrious County! Heaven’s own gage

  Given us to represent

  For present ages past heroic age;

  In whom transmewed your forbears’ memories,

  Honours and glories to new life arise:

  VI.

  Albe your thoughts be bent

  On warfare busied, with hard campaign,

  Or with sanguinolent

  Taproban or Achem who haunts the Main,

  Or with our hidden foe, Cambayan fere;

  Who each and every quakes your name to hear:

  VII.

  Yet aid that olden lore

  Learned Achilles held in high repute;

  Look! that becomes you more

  To see how fruiteth in your days the fruit

  Set by that Hortulan (Orta), lief to show

  New herbs and simples herbalists unknow.

  VIII. —

  Look! in your Viceroy-years

  An Hortulan produceth many an herb

  Fro’ fields the Hindu ears,