The deathless pillar of my nation’s praise.
Through these wild seas no costly gift I brought;
Thy shore alone and friendly peace I sought.
And yet to thee the noblest gift I bring
The world can boast — the friendship of my king.
And mark the word, his greatness shall appear
When next my course to India’s strand I steer,
Such proofs I’ll bring as never man before
In deeds of strife, or peaceful friendship bore.
Weigh now my words, my truth demands the light,
For truth shall ever boast, at last, resistless might.”
Boldly the hero spake with brow severe,
Of fraud alike unconscious, as of fear:
His noble confidence with truth impressed
Sunk deep, unwelcome, in the monarch’s breast,
Nor wanting charms his avarice to gain
Appear’d the commerce of illustrious Spain.
Yet, as the sick man loathes the bitter draught,
Though rich with health he knows the cup comes fraught;
His health without it, self-deceiv’d, he weighs,
Now hastes to quaff the drug, and now delays;
Reluctant thus, as wav’ring passion veer’d,
The Indian lord the dauntless Gama heard:
The Moorish threats yet sounding in his ear,
He acts with caution, and is led by fear.
With solemn pomp he bids his lords prepare
The friendly banquet; to the regent’s care
Commends brave Gama, and with pomp retires:
The regent’s hearths awake the social fires;
Wide o’er the board the royal feast is spread,
And, fair embroidered, shines De Gama’s bed.
The regent’s palace high o’erlook’d the bay
Where Gama’s black-ribb’d fleet at anchor lay.548*
Ah, why the voice of ire and bitter woe
O’er Tago’s banks, ye nymphs of Tagus, show?
The flow’ry garlands from your ringlets torn,
Why wand’ring wild with trembling steps forlorn?
The demon’s rage you saw, and mark’d his flight
To the dark mansions of eternal night:
You saw how, howling through the shades beneath,
He wak’d new horrors in the realms of death.
What trembling tempests shook the thrones of hell,
And groan’d along her caves, ye muses, tell.
The rage of baffled fraud, and all the fire
Of powerless hate, with tenfold flames conspire;
From ev’ry eye the tawny lightnings glare,
And hell, illumin’d by the ghastly flare,
(A drear blue gleam), in tenfold horror shows
Her darkling caverns; from his dungeon rose
Hagar’s stern son: pale was his earthy hue,
And from his eye-balls flash’d the lightnings blue;
Convuls’d with rage the dreadful shade demands
The last assistance of th’ infernal bands.
As when the whirlwinds, sudden bursting, bear
Th’ autumnal leaves high floating through the air;
So, rose the legions of th’ infernal state,
Dark Fraud, base Art, fierce Rage, and burning Hate:
Wing’d by the Furies to the Indian strand
They bend; the demon leads the dreadful band,
And, in the bosoms of the raging Moors
All their collected, living strength he pours.
One breast alone against his rage was steel’d,
Secure in spotless Truth’s celestial shield.
One evening past, another evening clos’d,
The regent still brave Gama’s suit oppos’d;
The Lusian chief his guarded guest detain’d,
With arts on arts, and vows of friendship feign’d.
His fraudful art, though veil’d in deep disguise,
Shone bright to Gama’s manner-piercing eyes.
As in the sun’s bright549* beam the gamesome boy
Plays with the shining steel or crystal toy,
Swift and irregular, by sudden starts,
The living ray with viewless motion darts,
Swift o’er the wall, the floor, the roof, by turns
The sun-beam dances, and the radiance burns:
In quick succession, thus, a thousand views
The sapient Lusian’s lively thought pursues;
Quick as the lightning ev’ry view revolves,
And, weighing all, fix’d are his dread resolves.
O’er India’s shore the sable night descends,
And Gama, now, secluded from his friends,
Detain’d a captive in the room of state,
Anticipates in thought to-morrow’s fate;
For just Mozaide no gen’rous care delays,
And Vasco’s trust with friendly toils repays.
END OF THE EIGHTH BOOK.
BOOK IX.
THE ARGUMENT.
The liberation of Gama’s factors is effected by a great victory over the Moorish fleet, and by the bombardment of Calicut. Gama returns in consequence to his ships, and weighs anchor to return to Europe with the news of his great discoveries. Camoëns then introduces a very singular, but agreeable episode, recounting the love adventures of his heroes in one of the islands of the ocean. Venus, in search of her son, journeys through all his realms to implore his aid, and at length arrives at the spot where Love’s artillery and arms are forged. Venus intercedes with her son in favour of the Portuguese. The island of Love, like that of Delos, floats on the ocean. It is then explained by the poet that these seeming realities are only allegorical.
RED550* rose the dawn; roll’d o’er the low’ring sky,
The scattering clouds of tawny purple fly.
While yet the day-spring struggled with the gloom,
The Indian monarch sought the regent’s dome.
In all the luxury of Asian state,
High on a star-gemm’d couch the monarch sat:
Then on th’ illustrious captive, bending down
His eyes, stern darken’d with a threat’ning frown,
“Thy truthless tale,” he cries, “thy art appears,
Confess’d inglorious by thy cautious fears.
Yet, still if friendship, honest, thou implore,
Yet now command thy vessels to the shore:
Gen’rous, as to thy friends, thy sails resign,
My will commands it, and the power is mine:
In vain thy art, in vain thy might withstands,
Thy sails, and rudders too, my will demands:551*
Such be the test, thy boasted truth to try,
Each other test despis’d, I fix’d deny.
And has my regent sued two days in vain!
In vain my mandate, and the captive chain!
Yet not in vain, proud chief, ourself shall sue
From thee the honour to my friendship due:
Ere force compel thee, let the grace be thine,
Our grace permits it, freely to resign,
Freely to trust our friendship, ere too late
Our injur’d honour fix thy dreadful fate.”
While thus he spake, his changeful look declar’d
In his proud breast what starting passions warr’d.
No feature mov’d on Gama’s face was seen;
Stern he replies, with bold yet anxious mien,
“In me my sov’reign represented see,
His state is wounded, and he speaks in me;
Unaw’d by threats, by dangers uncontroll’d,
The laws of nations bid my tongue be bold.
No more thy justice holds the righteous scale,
The arts of falsehood and the Moors prevail;
I see the doom my favour’d foes decree,
Yet, though in chains I stand, my fleet is free.
The bitter taunts of scorn
the brave disdain;
Few be my words, your arts, your threats are vain.
My sov’reign’s fleet I yield not to your sway;552*
Safe shall my fleet to Lisboa’s strand convey
The glorious tale of all the toils I bore,
Afric surrounded, and the Indian shore
Discover’d. These I pledg’d my life to gain,
These to my country shall my life maintain.
One wish alone my earnest heart desires,
The sole impassion’d hope my breast respires;
My finish’d labours may my sov’reign hear!
Besides that wish, nor hope I know, nor fear.
And lo, the victim of your rage I stand,
And bare my bosom to the murd’rer’s hand.”
With lofty mien he spake. In stern disdain,
“My threats,” the monarch cries, “were never vain:
Swift give the sign.” — Swift as he spake, appear’d
The dancing streamer o’er the palace rear’d;
Instant another ensign distant rose,
Where, jutting through the flood, the mountain throws
A ridge enormous, and on either side
Defends the harbours from the furious tide.
Proud on his couch th’ indignant monarch sat,
And awful silence fill’d the room of state.
With secret joy the Moors, exulting, glow’d,
And bent their eyes where Gama’s navy rode,
Then, proudly heav’d with panting hope, explore
The wood-crown’d upland of the bending shore.
Soon o’er the palms a mast’s tall pendant flows,
Bright to the sun the purple radiance glows;
In martial pomp, far streaming to the skies,
Vanes after vanes in swift succession rise,
And, through the opening forest-boughs of green,
The sails’ white lustre moving on is seen;
When sudden, rushing by the point of land
The bowsprits nod, and wide the sails expand;
Full pouring on the sight, in warlike pride,
Extending still the rising squadrons ride:
O’er every deck, beneath the morning rays,
Like melted gold, the brazen spear-points blaze;
Each prore surrounded with a hundred oars,
Old Ocean boils around the crowded prores:
And, five times now in number Gama’s might,
Proudly their boastful shouts provoke the fight;
Far round the shore the echoing peal rebounds,
Behind the hill an answ’ring shout resounds:
Still by the point new-spreading sails appear,
Till seven times Gama’s fleet concludes the rear.
Again the shout triumphant shakes the bay;
Form’d as a crescent, wedg’d in firm array,
Their fleet’s wide horns the Lusian ships enclasp,
Prepar’d to crush them in their iron grasp.
Shouts echo shouts. — With stern, disdainful eyes
The Indian king to manly Gama cries,
“Not one of thine on Lisboa’s shore shall tell
The glorious tale, how bold thy heroes fell.”
With alter’d visage, for his eyes flash’d fire,
“God sent me here, and God’s avengeful ire
Shall blast thy perfidy,” great Vasco cried,
“And humble in the dust thy wither’d pride.”
A prophet’s glow inspir’d his panting breast,
Indignant smiles the monarch’s scorn confess’d.
Again deep silence fills the room of state,
And the proud Moors, secure, exulting wait:
And now inclasping Gama’s in a ring,
Their fleet sweeps on. — Loud whizzing from the string
The black-wing’d arrows float along the sky,
And rising clouds the falling clouds supply.
The lofty crowding spears that bristling stood
Wide o’er the galleys as an upright wood,
Bend sudden, levell’d for the closing fight,
The points, wide-waving, shed a gleamy light.
Elate with joy the king his aspect rears,
And valiant Gama, thrill’d with transport, hears
His drums’ bold rattling raise the battle sound;
Echo, deep-ton’d, hoarse, vibrates far around;
The shiv’ring trumpets tear the shrill-voic’d air,
Quiv’ring the gale, the flashing lightnings flare,
The smoke rolls wide, and sudden bursts the roar,
The lifted waves fall trembling, deep the shore
Groans; quick and quicker blaze embraces blaze
In flashing arms; louder the thunders raise
Their roaring, rolling o’er the bended skies
The burst incessant; awe-struck Echo dies
Falt’ring and deafen’d; from the brazen throats,
Cloud after cloud, enroll’d in darkness, floats,
Curling their sulph’rous folds of fiery blue,
Till their huge volumes take the fleecy hue,
And roll wide o’er the sky; wide as the sight
Can measure heav’n, slow rolls the cloudy white:
Beneath, the smoky blackness spreads afar
Its hov’ring wings, and veils the dreadful war
Deep in its horrid breast; the fierce red glare,
Cheq’ring the rifted darkness, fires the air,
Each moment lost and kindled, while around,
The mingling thunders swell the lengthen’d sound.
When piercing sudden through the dreadful roar
The yelling shrieks of thousands strike the shore:
Presaging horror through the monarch’s breast
Crept cold; and gloomy o’er the distant east,
Through Gata’s hills553* the whirling tempest sigh’d,
And westward sweeping to the blacken’d tide,
Howl’d o’er the trembling palace as it past,
And o’er the gilded walls a gloomy twilight cast;
Then, furious, rushing to the darken’d bay,554*
Resistless swept the black-wing’d night away,
With all the clouds that hover’d o’er the fight,
And o’er the weary combat pour’d the light.
As by an Alpine mountain’s pathless side
Some traveller strays, unfriended of a guide;
If o’er the hills the sable night descend,
And gath’ring tempest with the darkness blend,
Deep from the cavern’d rocks beneath, aghast
He hears the howling of the whirlwind’s blast;
Above, resounds the crash, and down the steep
Some rolling weight groans on with found’ring sweep;
Aghast he stands, amid the shades of night,
And all his soul implores the friendly light:
It comes; the dreadful lightning’s quiv’ring blaze
The yawning depth beneath his lifted step betrays;
Instant unmann’d, aghast in horrid pain,
his knees no more their sickly weight sustain;
Powerless he sinks, no more his heart-blood flows;
So sunk the monarch, and his heart-blood froze;
So sunk he down, when o’er the clouded bay
The rushing whirlwind pour’d the sudden day:
Disaster’s giant arm in one wide sweep
Appear’d, and ruin blacken’d o’er the deep;
The sheeted masts drove floating o’er the tide,
And the torn hulks roll’d tumbling on the side;
Some shatter’d plank each heaving billow toss’d,
And, by the hand of Heav’n, dash’d on the coast
Groan’d prores ingulf’d; the lashing surges rave
O’er the black keels upturn’d, the swelling wave
Kisses the lofty mast’s reclining head;
And, far at sea, some few tor
n galleys fled.
Amid the dreadful scene triumphant rode
The Lusian war-ships, and their aid bestow’d:
Their speedy boats far round assisting ply’d,
Where plunging, struggling, in the rolling tide,
Grasping the shatter’d wrecks, the vanquish’d foes
Rear’d o’er the dashing waves their haggard brows.
No word of scorn the lofty Gama spoke,
Nor India’s king the dreadful silence broke.
Slow pass’d the hour, when to the trembling shore,
In awful pomp, the victor-navy bore:
Terrific, nodding on, the bowsprits bend,
And the red streamers other war portend:
Soon bursts the roar; the bombs tremendous rise,
And trail their black’ning rainbows o’er the skies;
O’er Calicut’s proud domes their rage they pour,
And wrap her temples in a sulph’rous shower.
’Tis o’er —— In threat’ning silence rides the fleet:
Wild rage, and horror yell in ev’ry street;
Ten thousands pouring round the palace gate,
In clam’rous uproar wail their wretch’d fate:
While round the dome, with lifted hands, they kneel’d,
“Give justice, justice to the strangers yield —
Our friends, our husbands, sons, and fathers slain!
Happier, alas, than these that yet remain —
Curs’d be the counsels, and the arts unjust —
Our friends in chains — our city in the dust —
Yet, yet prevent — —”
The silent Vasco saw
The weight of horror, and o’erpowering awe
That shook the Moors, that shook the regent’s knees,
And sunk the monarch down. By swift degrees
The popular clamour rises. Lost, unmann’d,
Around the king the trembling council stand;
While, wildly glaring on each other’s eyes,
Each lip in vain the trembling accent tries;
With anguish sicken’d, and of strength bereft,
Earnest each look inquires, What hope is left!
In all the rage of shame and grief aghast,
The monarch, falt’ring, takes the word at last:
“By whom, great chief, are these proud war-ships sway’d,
Are there thy mandates honour’d and obey’d?
Forgive, great chief, let gifts of price restrain
Thy just revenge. Shall India’s gifts be vain! —
Oh spare my people and their doom’d abodes —
Prayers, vows, and gifts appease the injur’d gods:
Shall man deny? Swift are the brave to spare:
The weak, the innocent confess their care —
Helpless, as innocent of guile, to thee
Luis de Camoes Collected Poetical Works Page 113
