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The Lusiads (Oxford World's Classics)

Page 24

by Luis Vaz de Camoes


  Which soared through the lofty halls,

  While the instruments, in harmony,

  Conformed smoothly to the measure.

  Sudden silence restrained the winds

  And made a sweet murmuring

  In the waters, while savage beasts, deep

  In their natural lairs, were lulled to sleep.

  7 Her ravishing voice was telling the heavens

  The names of heroes* yet to be born,

  Whose luminous souls Proteus had glimpsed

  In that revolving, transparent globe

  Sent him by Jupiter in a dream

  So that afterwards, in Neptune’s kingdom,

  He prophesied, and now from memory

  The nymph rehearsed the glorious history.

  8 What she learned there in the ocean depths

  Was in the tragic not the comic mode,

  And not known to Iopas of Carthage

  Nor to Demodocus* among the Phaeacians.

  Here, my Calliope,* in my final labour,

  I implore you, as my just reward,

  To reinstate in this extremity

  My joy in writing which is failing me.

  9 My years decline, and of my summer days

  Few remain as Autumn fast closes;

  Ill fortune has starved the genius

  I no longer vaunt, nor can vouch for;

  Sorrows are carrying me off to the river

  Of dark oblivion and endless sleep;

  Queen of the muses, grant that what I will

  For my nation, I have strength to fulfil!

  10 The goddess sang that from the Tagus,

  Over the seas da Gama had opened,

  Would come fleets to conquer all the coast

  Where the Indian Ocean sighs;

  Those Hindu kings who did not bow

  Their necks to the yoke would incite

  The wrath of an implacable enemy,

  Their choice to yield or, on the instant, die.

  11 She sang of one among the Malabaris,

  King of Cochin* and a high priest

  Who, rather than sever the bonds

  He had forged with the mighty heroes,

  Would suffer his cities and farms laid

  Waste by the Samorin’s iron and fire,

  In his cruel rage and abiding hate

  Of the Portuguese encroaching on his state.

  12 She sang of one who would embark*

  In Belém destined to repair this wrong,

  The great Pacheco, Portugal’s Achilles,

  Not knowing what future he takes to sea.

  As he embarks above the seething

  Ocean, the great ship’s timbers

  Will groan and uncharacteristically

  Wallow a little deeper in the sea.

  13 Arriving at length in the far east

  He will hurry with his tiny crew

  To succour the King of Cochin,

  And there in the Strait of Cambalon,

  In the salt delta of the winding river,

  Will rout the infernal Nairs,

  Chilling the sultry Orient that such

  A small company could achieve so much.

  14 The Samorin will summon reinforcements;

  The kings of Beypore and Tanur* will come

  From the hills of Narsinga, swearing

  Firm allegiance to their lord;

  From Calicut to Cannanore, every

  Nair will be summoned in support,

  As both the hostile faiths prepare for war,

  Muslims by sea and Hindus on the shore.

  15 So a second time, dauntless Pacheco,

  Will destroy them by land and by sea,

  And all Malabar will be astounded

  At the multitudes of those killed.

  Again, impetuously, the Samorin

  Will rush back into battle,

  Insulting his men, howling incantations

  To his deaf gods in their wooden stations.

  16 Pacheco will not only hold the fords,

  But burn towns, houses, and temples;

  Inflamed with anger, watching his cities

  One by one laid low, that dog

  Will force his men, reckless of life,

  To attack both passages at once,

  But Pacheco will have wings, and his complete

  Command of them both will seal their defeat.

  17 The Samorin will be spied in person

  Observing the battle, inciting his men,

  Until one whistling cannon-shot

  Bespatters with blood the royal palanquin.

  Then, discovering neither strategy

  Nor force can impress Pacheco,

  He will try poison, treachery, and finesse,

  But always (so Heaven wills) without success.

  18 ‘A seventh time,’ she sang, ‘he will return

  To attack the invincible Portuguese

  Whom nothing will daunt or dismay

  As they continue wreaking confusion:

  The Samorin will take into battle,

  New, terrible wooden engines,

  To grapple with the caravels, till then

  Beyond attack, even by the bravest men.

  19 ‘He will launch towering fireships

  To burn as much of the fleet as he can;

  But the soldier’s skill and ingenuity

  Will make all such onslaughts futile.

  No one in the annals of warfare,

  Who has soared on the wings of fame,

  Can match this man whose triumphs never cease

  —Allow me this, Rome and illustrious Greece.

  20 ‘That he bore the brunt of so many battles

  With barely one hundred soldiers,

  Routing so many accomplished foes

  With such stratagem and resource,

  Must seem nothing more than fantasy,

  Or that the heavenly choirs came down,

  Summoned to assist him and to impart

  Zeal, courage, skill, and a steadfast heart.

  21 ‘Not even Miltiades* at Marathon

  When he destroyed the might of Darius,

  Nor Leonidas defending Thermopylae

  With four thousand Lacedaemonians,

  Nor young Horatius, who held the bridge

  Against all the forces of the Etruscans,

  Nor Quintus Fabius—none of them showed more

  Wisdom and strength than this paragon of war.’

  22 But at this, the nymph dropped her pitch

  To a throaty dirge, heavy with tears,

  As she sang of the deep ingratitude

  With which bravery was rewarded:

  ‘Belisarius,’* she sang, ‘whom the nine

  Muses never cease to celebrate,

  If your feats went unrecognized, behold

  One by whose destiny to be consoled.

  23 ‘Here is a comrade, alike in deeds

  As in his harsh, thankless end:

  In both you and him, we see noble hearts

  Brought to wretchedness and obliquity.

  To die in the beds of a hospice

  Who were bulwarks to their king and faith!

  So kings behave, it being their royal way

  To subject truth and justice to their sway.

  24 ‘So kings behave when, besotted

  By what is smooth and plausible,

  They award the prize Ajax deserves*

  To the fraudulent tongue of Ulysses.

  Yet revenge follows, for where gifts

  Are showered on the sycophant

  Instead of on some worthy knight-companion,

  They vanish among greedy hangers-on.

  25 ‘As for you, O king, who so badly repaid

  Such a servant, this is your one blot:

  You denied him a fair estate

  When he won for you a rich realm.

  So long as Apollo’s rays circle

  The earth, I give you my poet’s word*

  He will be among the
great and glorious,

  And you reprobated for your avarice.

  26 ‘But here’, she resumed, ‘comes another,

  Francisco de Almeida,* the viceroy,

  And his son, destined to win on the seas

  Fame as great as any Roman of old.

  Together, by the power of arms,

  They will castigate fertile Kilwa,*

  Driving out its perfidious princeling

  To impose a loyal and humane king.

  27 ‘Mombasa,* too, furnished with such

  Palaces and sumptuous houses,

  Will be laid waste with iron and fire

  In payment for its former treachery.

  Along the Indian coast, swarming

  With enemy ships plotting Portugal’s

  Downfall, Lourenço with sail and with oar

  Will give his uttermost, and then give more.

  28 ‘Though the powerful Samorin’s giant ships*

  Choke the entire sea, his cannon-shot

  Thundering from hot brass

  Will pulverize rudder, mast, and sail;

  Then, daring to grapple the enemy

  Flagship, watch him leap

  On deck, armed only with lance and sword,

  To drive four hundred Muslims overboard.

  29 ‘But God’s inscrutable wisdom (He knows

  Best what is best for his servants)

  Will place him where neither strength nor wisdom

  Can avail in preserving his life.

  In Chaul,* the very seas will churn

  With blood, fire, and iron resistance,

  As the combined fleets of Egypt and Cambay

  Confront him with his destiny that day.

  30 ‘The united power of many enemies

  (Might was defeated only by might),

  Faltering winds and a swelling sea

  Will all be ranged against him.

  Here, let ancient heroes rise

  To learn from this scion of courage

  This second Scaeva* who, however maimed,

  Knows no surrender and will not be tamed.

  31 ‘With one thighbone completely shattered

  By a wayward cannon-ball, still

  He battles on with his forearms alone

  And a heart not to be daunted,

  Until another ball snaps the ties

  Binding flesh and spirit together:

  The leaping soul slips its body’s prison

  To claim the greater prize of the arisen.

  32 ‘Go in peace, O soul! After war’s

  Turbulence, you have earned supreme peace!

  As for that scattered, broken body,

  He who fathered it plans vengeance.

  Already, I hear their hot perdition

  Looming in a thunderous barrage

  On Mameluke and cruel Cambayan*

  From catapult, from ordnance and cannon.

  33 ‘Here comes the father, magnified

  By his anger and grief, his heart

  On fire, his eyes swimming, his soul

  Transfixed by paternal love.

  He has taken an oath his noble rage

  Will make blood run knee-high

  In the enemy ships; the Nile will mourn,

  The Indus witness, the Ganges be forlorn.

  34 ‘As an impassioned bull, rehearsing

  For terrible combat, tests his horns

  On the trunk of an oak or tall beech,

  Attacking air in a trial of strength,

  So Francisco, before descending

  In wrath on the coast of Cambay,

  Plunges his sword in opulent Dabhol,

  All its pretensions made contemptible.

  35 ‘Then sailing into the bay of Diu,*

  Scene of famous battles and sieges,

  He will scatter the vast but feeble fleet

  Of Calicut that is powered by oars;

  While the ships of wary Melik-el-Hissa,

  Caught in a hail of cannon-fire,

  Will be relegated to their cold, dread

  Burial places on the ocean bed.

  36 ‘But it is Emir Hussein’s grappled fleet

  Bears the brunt of the avenger’s anger,

  As arms and legs swim in the bay

  Without the bodies they belonged to;

  Bolts of fire will make manifest

  The passionate victors’ blind fury,

  And nothing will penetrate ears and eyes

  But smoke, iron, flames, and battle-cries.

  37 ‘But sadly, after this great triumph

  As he sets sail for his native Tagus,

  His glory is all but stolen away

  In the dark and mournful outcome!*

  The Cape of Storms, which keeps his memory

  Along with his bones, will be unashamed

  In dispatching from the world such a soul

  Not Egypt nor all India could control.

  38 ‘For there, brute savages will achieve

  What eluded more skilled enemies,

  And fire-hardened knobkerries do

  What bows and cannon-balls could not;

  God’s judgements are inscrutable;

  Pagans, unable to comprehend,

  Attribute to ill fortune or mischance

  What providence ordains and heaven grants.

  39 ‘But what great light* do I see breaking,’

  Sang the nymph and in a higher strain,

  ‘Where the seas of Malindi flow crimson

  With the blood of Lamu, Oja, and Brava?

  This is Cunha’s doing, to be remembered

  In seas which wash remote islands,

  And on those beaches which once bore the name

  St Lawrence—the whole south will know his fame!

  40 ‘That light, too,* is from Persian Ormuz

  From the fires and the gleaming arms

  Of Albuquerque as he rebukes them

  For scorning his light, honourable yoke.

  There they will see their hissing arrows*

  Turn miraculously in the air

  Against the archers—so God ever fights

  For His Church and for those who spread its rites.

  41 ‘Not all that land’s mountains of salt

  Can preserve from corruption the corpses

  Littering the beaches, choking the seas

  Of Gerum,* Muscat, and Al Quraiyat,

  Till, by the strength of his arm, they learn

  To bow the neck as he compels

  That grim realm to yield, without dispute,

  Pearls from Bahrain as their annual tribute.

  42 ‘What glorious palms I see, plaited

  By Victory to crown his forehead

  When, without fear or indecision,

  He seizes the famous island of Goa.

  Then, yielding to hard circumstance,

  He abandons it, and waits the occasion

  To return and hold it, for so strength and skill

  Can bend both Mars and fortune to their will.

  43 ‘Watch him as he renews the attack, despite

  Ramparts, fire, lances, and cannon,

  Breaking with his sword the packed, bristling

  Squadrons of Hindus and Muslims;

  His noble warriors will match in fury

  Famished lions or raging bulls

  On that morning sacred to St Catherine,*

  Born in Egypt and now Goa’s patron.

  44 ‘Nor will you evade him, for all your

  Vast treasures and your location

  There in Dawn’s very emporium,

  Renowned, opulent Malacca!

  For all your arrows tipped with poison,

  The curved daggers you bear as arms,

  Amorous Malays and valiant Javanese

  All will be subject to the Portuguese.’

  45 This siren would have sung more stanzas

  In praise of illustrious Albuquerque,

  But recalled that act which damned him

  Even as
his fame circled the earth.

  The great captain, fated to earn

  Glory for his deeds, should have been

  A comrade to his fellows in distress,

  Not a judge, absolute and merciless.

  46 Yet at a time of hunger and hardships,

  Sickness, arrows, and constant bombardment,

  When season and place dealt harshly

  With men rigid in their discipline,

  It seems the brutal, savage act*

  Of an arrogant and inhuman heart

  To execute a comrade who had known

  What love and human weakness must condone.

  47 This was not the crime of incest

  Nor the violent abuse of a virgin,

  Still less of hidden adultery

  For this was a slave, anyone’s woman.

  Whether from jealousy, or shame

  Or too habituated to cruelty,

  He gave unremitting rein to his fury,

  And left an ugly stain on his memory.

  48 Alexander, seeing Apelles* enamoured

  Of Campaspe, released her willingly

  Though he was not one of his veterans

  Not sharing the rigours of a siege.

  Cyrus knew how Araspas smouldered

  Like hot charcoal for Panthea

  Whom he held captive, though he had promised

  His love for her would never be dishonest;

  49 The great Persian, seeing him conquered

  By love, which no defence keeps out,

  Readily pardoned him, and was served

  In a weighty matter in recompense.

  Through kidnap and rape, Judith

  Became wife of the iron Baldwin.

  But Charles her father raised him to be great,

  And be the founder of the Flemish state.

  50 But resuming her song, the nymph

  Sang now of Soares de Albergaria,*

  Whose standards will strike terror

  Along the whole coast of the Red Sea:

  ‘Medina’s abomination will fear him,

  And Mecca and Jiddah, to the farthest shores

  Of Abyssinia, while Berbera will await

  The market town of Zeila’s dreadful fate;

  51 ‘Even the noble isle of Taprobana,

  As famous under its ancient name

  As today when its fragrant groves

  Of hot cinnamon make it supreme,

  She, too, will be taxed by the flag

  Of Portugal, hoisted mighty and proud

  In Colombo, high on the great tower

  Where all the people recognize its power.

  52 ‘Then Lopes de Sequeira,* parting

  The Red Sea, will open a passage

  To you, Abyssinia, mighty empire,

  Home of Candace and the Queen of Sheba;

  He will see Massawa with its cisterns

  And the port of Arkiko close by,

  Discovering to the world further marvels

  As remote islands glimpse his caravels.

  53 ‘After will come Duarte de Meneses,*

  Showing much of his metal in Africa;

 

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