The Lusiad: Book IV

BOOK IV.

THE ARGUMENT.

STATE OF PORTUGAL ON THE DEATH OF DOM FERNANDO.

Beatrice, daughter of Fernando, not acknowledged by the Portuguese, the throne is occupied by Don John, a natural brother of Fernando. A Spanish prince having married Beatrice, the Spaniards invade Portugal, which they claim by right of marriage. The Portuguese, divided in council, are harangued in an eloquent speech by Don Nuño Alvarez Pereyra; he rallies the nobility around the king, who conquers the Castilians on the gory field of Aljubarota. Nuño Alvarez, following up his victory, penetrates as far as Seville, where ho dictates the terms of peace to the haughty Spaniards. Don John carries war against the Moors into Africa. His son, Edward, renews hostilities with the African Moors: his brother, Don Fernando, surnamed the Inflexible, taken prisoner, prefers death in captivity to the surrender of Ceuta to the Moors, as the price of his ransom. Alfonso V. succeeds to the throne of Portugal; is victorious over the Moors, but conquered by the Castilians. John II., the thirteenth king of Portugal, sends out adventurers to find a way, by land, to India; they perish at the mouth of the Indus. Emmanuel, succeeding to the throne, resolves on continuing the discoveries of his predecessors. The rivers Indus and Ganges, personified, appear in a vision to Emmanuel, who, in consequence, makes choice of Vasco de Gama to command an expedition to the East.

AS the toss’d vessel on the ocean rolls,
When dark the night, and loud the tempest howls,
When the ’lorn mariner in every wave
That breaks and gleams, forebodes his wat’ry grave;
But when the dawn, all silent and serene,
With soft-pac’d ray dispels the shades obscene,

1
Great Pedro’s son in noble soul he proves;
And Heaven announc’d him king by right divine;-
A cradled infant gave the wondrous sign. 2
Her tongue had never lisp’d the mother’s name,
No word, no mimic sound her lips could frame,
When Heaven the miracle of speech inspir’d:
She raised her little hands, with rapture fir’d,
"Let Portugal," she cried, "with joy proclaim
The brave Don John, and own her monarch’s name."

The burning fever of domestic rage
Now wildly rav’d, and mark’d the barb’rous age;
Through every rank the headlong fury ran,
And first, red slaughter in the court began.
Of spousal vows, and widow’d bed defil’d,
Loud fame the beauteous Leonore revil’d.
The adult’rous noble in her presence bled,
And, torn with wounds, his num’rous friends lay dead.

1 beheld:
Each cruel breast, where rankling envy swell’d,
Accus’d his foe as minion of the queen;
Accus’d, and murder closed the dreary scene.
All holy ties the frantic transport brav’d,
Nor sacred priesthood, nor the altar sav’d.
Thrown from a tower, like Hector’s son of yore,
The mitred head 2 was dash’d with brains and gore.
Ghastly with scenes of death, and mangled limbs,
And, black with clotted blood, each pavement swims.

With all the fierceness of the female ire,
When rage and grief to tear the breast conspire,
The queen beheld her power, her honours lost, 3
And ever, when she slept, th’ adult’rer’s ghost,

1 led.
To him the furious queen for vengeance cries,
Implores to vindicate his lawful prize,
The Lusian sceptre, his by spousal right;
The proud Castilian arms, and dares the fight.
To join his standard as it waves along,
The warlike troops from various regions throng:
Those who possess the lands by Rodrick given, 2
What time the Moor from Turia’s banks was driven;
That race who joyful smile at war’s alarms,
And scorn each danger that attends on arms;
Whose crooked ploughshares Leon’s uplands tear,
Now, cas’d in steel, in glitt’ring arms appear,
Those arms erewhile so dreadful to the Moor:
The Vandals glorying in their might of yore
March on; their helms, and moving lances gleam
Along the flow’ry vales of Betis’ stream:
Nor stay’d the Tyrian islanders 3 behind,
On whose proud ensigns, floating on the wind,
Alcides’ pillars 3 tower’d: Nor wonted fear
Withheld the base Galician’s sordid spear;
Though, still; his crimson seamy scars reveal
The sure-aimed vengeance of the Lusian steel.

1 and wakes his barb’rous fires,
Which ever burn for vengeance, if the tongue
Of hapless stranger give the fancied wrong.
Nor bold Asturia, nor Guipuscoa’s shore,
Famed for their steely wealth, and iron ore,
Delay’d their vaunting squadrons; o’er the dales
Cas’d in their native steel, and belted mails,
Blue gleaming from afar, they march along,
And join, with many a spear, the warlike throng.
As thus, wide sweeping o’er the trembling coast,
The proud Castilian leads his num’rous host;
The valiant John for brave defence prepares,
And, in himself collected, greatly dares:
For such high valour in his bosom glow’d,
As Samson’s locks 2 by miracle bestow’d:
Safe, in himself resolv’d, the hero stands,
Yet, calls the leaders of his anxious bands:
The council summon’d, some with prudent mien,
And words of grave advice their terrors screen.
By sloth debas’d, no more the ancient fire
Of patriot loyalty can now inspire;
And each pale lip seem’d opening to declare
For tame submission, and to shun the war;
When glorious Nunio, starting from his seat,
Claim’d every eye, and clos’d the cold debate:
Singling his brothers from the dastard train,
His rolling looks, that flash’d with stern disdain,
On them he fix’d, then snatch’d his hilt in ire,
While his bold speech 3 bewray’d the soldier’s fire,

Oh, shame! and yield, untried, the martial field!
That land whose genius, as the god of war,
Was own’d, where’er approach’d her thund’ring car;
Shall now her sons their faith, their love deny,
And, while their country sinks, ignobly fly;
Ye tim’rous herd, are ye the genuine line
Of those illustrious shades, whose rage divine,
Beneath great Henry’s standards aw’d the foe,
For whom ye tremble and would stoop so low!
That foe, who, boastful now, then basely fled,
When your undaunted sires the hero led,
When seven bold earls, in chains, the spoil adorn’d,
And proud Castile through all her kindreds mourn’d,
Castile, your awful dread--yet, conscious, say,
When Diniz reign’d, when his bold son bore sway,
By whom were trodden down the bravest bands
That ever march’d from proud Castilia’s lands?
’Twas your brave sires--and has one languid reign
Fix’d in your tainted souls so deep a stain,
That now, degen’rate from your noble sires,
The last dim spark of Lusian flame expires?
Though weak Fernando reign’d, in war unskill’d,
A godlike king now calls you to the field.
Oh! could like his, your mounting valour glow,
Vain were the threat’nings of the vaunting foe.
Not proud Castile, oft by your sires o’erthrown,
But ev’ry land your dauntless rage should own.
Still, if your hands, benumb’d by female fear,
Shun the bold war, hark! on my sword I swear,
Myself alone the dreadful war shall wage,
Mine be the fight"--and, trembling with the rage
Of val’rous fire, his hand half-drawn display’d
The awful terror of his shining blade,--
"I and my vassals dare the dreadful shock;
My shoulders never to a foreign yoke
Shall bend; and, by my sov’reign’s wrath I vow,
And, by that loyal faith renounc’d by you,

The hero paus’d--’Twas thus the youth of Rome,
The trembling few who ’scaped the bloody doom
That dy’d with slaughter Cannæ’s purple field,
Assembled stood, and bow’d their necks to yield;
When nobly rising, with a like disdain,
The young Cornelius rag’d, nor rag’d in vain: 1
On his dread sword his daunted peers he swore,
(The reeking blade yet black with Punic gore)
While life remain’d their arms for Rome to wield,
And, but with life, their conquer’d arms to yield.
Such martial rage brave Nunio’s mien inspir’d;
Fear was no more: with rapt’rous ardour fir’d,
"To horse, to horse!" the gallant Lusians cried;
Rattled the belted mails on every side,
The spear-staff trembled; round their necks they wav’d
Their shining falchions, and in transport rav’d,
"The king our guardian!"--loud their shouts rebound,
And the fierce commons echo back the sound.
The mails, that long in rusting peace had hung,
Now on the hammer’d anvils hoarsely rung:
Some, soft with wool, the plumy helmets line,
And some the breast-plate’s scaly belts entwine:
The gaudy mantles some, and scarfs prepare,
Where various lightsome colours gaily flare;
And golden tissue, with the warp enwove,
Displays the emblems of their youthful love.

1 tide:
Nunio, to proud Castile as dread a name,
As erst to Gaul and Italy the fame
Of Attila’s impending rage. The right
Brave Roderic led, a chieftain train’d in fight;
Before the left the bold Almada rode;
And, proudly waving o’er the centre, nod
The royal ensigns, glitt’ring from afar,
Where godlike John inspires and leads the war.

’Twas now the time, when from the stubbly plain
The lab’ring hinds had borne the yellow grain;
The purple vintage heap’d the foamy tun,
And fierce, and red, the sun of August shone;
When from the gate the squadrons march along:
Crowds press’d on crowds, the walls and ramparts throng.
Here the sad mother rends her hoary hair,
While hope’s fond whispers struggle with despair:
The weeping spouse to Heaven extends her hands:
And, cold with dread, the modest virgin stands,
Her earnest eyes, suffus’d with trembling dew,
Far o’er the plain the plighted youth pursue:
And prayers, and tears, and all the female wail,
And holy vows, the throne of Heaven assail.

Now each stern host full front to front appears,
And one joint shout heaven’s airy concave tears:
A dreadful pause ensues, while conscious pride
Strives on each face the heart-felt doubt to hide.
Now wild, and pale, the boldest face is seen;
With mouth half open, and disorder’d mien,

1 rapid tide;
The slow-pac’d Durius 2 rushes o’er the plain,
And fearful Tagus hastens to the main:
Such was the tempest of the dread alarms,
The babes that prattled in their nurses’ arms
Shriek’d at the sound: with sudden cold impress’d,
The mothers strain’d their infants to the breast,
And shook with horror. Now, far round, begin
The bow-strings’ whizzing, and the brazen 3 din
Of arms on armour rattling; either van
Are mingled now, and man oppos’d to man:
To guard his native fields the one inspires,
And one the raging lust of conquest fires:
Now with fix’d teeth, their writhing lips of blue,
Their eye-balls glaring of the purple hue,
Each arm strains swiftest to impel the blow;
Nor wounds they value now, nor fear they know,
Their only passion to offend the foe.
In might and fury, like the warrior god,
Before his troops the glorious Nunio rode:

1

1 plain.
Ye dreary ghosts, who now for treasons foul,
Amidst the gloom of Stygian darkness howl;
Thou Catiline, and, stern Sertorius, tell
Your brother shades, and soothe the pains of hell;
With triumph tell them, some of Lusian race
Like you have earn’d the traitor’s foul disgrace.

As waves on waves, the foes’ increasing weight
Bears down our foremost ranks, and shakes the fight;
Yet, firm and undismay’d great Nunio stands,
And braves the tumult of surrounding bands.
So, from high Ceuta’s 2 rocky mountains stray’d,
The ranging lion braves the shepherd’s shade;
The shepherds hast’ning o’er the Tetuan 3 plain,
With shouts surround him, and with spears restrain:
He stops, with grinning teeth his breath he draws,
Nor is it fear, but rage, that makes him pause;
His threat’ning eyeballs burn with sparkling fire,
And, his stern heart forbids him to retire:
Amidst the thickness of the spears he flings,
So, midst his foes, the furious Nunio springs:
The Lusian grass with foreign gore distain’d,
Displays the carnage of the hero’s hand.
[An ample shield the brave Giraldo bore,
Which from the vanquish’d Perez’ arm he tore;

1 hew’d their bloody way,
Till, in a cold embrace, the striplings lay.
Lopez and Vincent rush’d on glorious death,
And, midst their slaughter’d foes, resign’d their breath.
Alonzo, glorying in his youthful might,
Spurr’d his fierce courser through the stagg’ring fight:
Shower’d from the dashing hoofs, the spatter’d gore
Flies round; but, soon the rider vaunts no more:
Five Spanish swords the murm’ring ghosts atone,
Of five Castilians by his arm o’erthrown.
Transfix’d with three Iberian spears, the gay,
The knightly lover, young Hilario lay:
Though, like a rose, cut off in op’ning bloom,
The hero weeps not for his early doom;
Yet, trembling in his swimming eye appears
The pearly drop, while his pale cheek he rears;
To call his lov’d Antonia’s name he tries,
The name half utter’d, down he sinks, and dies.] 2

Now through his shatter’d ranks the monarch strode,
And now before his rallied squadrons rode:
Brave Nunio’s danger from afar he spies,
And instant to his aid impetuous flies.
So, when returning from the plunder’d folds,
The lioness her empty den beholds,
Enrag’d she stands, and list’ning to the gale,
She hears her whelps low howling in the vale;
The living sparkles flashing from her eyes,
To the Massylian 3 shepherd-tents she flies;

"Our dear-lov’d freedom on our lances lies;
Behold your friend, your monarch leads the way,
And dares the thickest of the iron fray.
Say, shall the Lusian race forsake their king,
Where spears infuriate on the bucklers ring!"

He spoke; then four times round his head he whirl’d
His pond’rous spear, and midst the foremost hurl’d;
Deep through the ranks the forceful weapon pass’d,
And many a gasping warrior sigh’d his last. 1
With noble shame inspir’d, and mounting rage,
His bands rush on, and foot to foot engage;
Thick bursting sparkles from the blows aspire;
Such flashes blaze, their swords seem dipp’d in fire; 2
The belts of steel and plates of brass are riv’n,
And wound for wound, and death for death is giv’n.

1
A naked ghost now sought the gloomy strand;
And he of Calatrave, the sov’reign knight,
Girt with whole troops his arm had slain in fight,
Descended murm’ring to the shades of night.
Blaspheming Heaven, and gash’d with many a wound,
Brave Nunio’s rebel kindred gnaw’d the ground.
And curs’d their fate, and died. Ten thousand more
Who held no title and no office bore,
And nameless nobles who, promiscuous fell,
Appeas’d that day the foaming dog of hell. 2
Now, low the proud Castilian standard lies
Beneath the Lusian flag; a vanquish’d prize.
With furious madness fired, and stern disdain,
The fierce Iberians 3 to the fight again
Rush headlong; groans and yellings of despair
With horrid uproar rend the trembling air.
Hot boils the blood, thirst burns, and every breast
Pants, every limb, with fainty weight oppress’d,
Slow now obeys the will’s stern ire, and slow
From every sword descends the feeble blow:
Till rage grew languid, and tir’d slaughter found
No arm to combat, and no breast to wound.
Now from the field Castile’s proud monarch flies, 4
In wild dismay he rolls his madd’ning eyes,

1
The glorious victor on the field remain’d.
The funeral rites, and holy vows he paid:
Yet, not the while the restless Nunio stay’d;
O’er Tago’s waves his gallant bands he led,
And humbled Spain in every province bled:
Sevilia’s standard on his spear he bore,
And Andalusia’s ensigns, steep’d in gore.
Low in the dust, distress’d Castilia mourn’d,
And, bath’d. in tears, each eye to Heav’n was turn’d;
The orphan’s, widow’s, and the hoary sire’s;
And Heav’n relenting, quench’d the raging fires
Of mutual hate: from England’s happy shore
The peaceful seas two lovely sisters bore. 2

1 plac’d
To bound the world, the zealous warrior pass’d.
The shrines of Hagar’s race, the shrines of lust,
And moon-crown’d mosques lay smoking in the dust.
O’er Abyla’s high steep his lance he rais’d,
On Ceuta’s lofty towers his standard blaz’d:
Ceuta, the refuge of the traitor train,
His vassal now, insures the peace of Spain.

But ah, how soon the blaze of glory dies! 2
Illustrious John ascends his native skies.

1

1 groan’d,
And, still they groan beneath the Lusian sway.
’Twas his, in victor-pomp, to bear away
The golden apples from Hesperia’s shore,
Which but the son of Jove had snatch’d before.

1 aspires.
The Lord of Arragon, from Cadiz’ walls,
And hoar Pyrene’s 2 sides his legions calls;
The num’rous legions to his standard throng,
And war, with horrid strides, now stalks along.
With emulation fir’d, the prince 3 beheld
His warlike sire ambitious of the field;
Scornful of ease, to aid his arms he sped,
Nor sped in vain: The raging combat bled:
Alonzo’s ranks with carnage gor’d, Dismay
Spread her cold wings, and shook his firm array;
To flight she hurried; while, with brow serene,
The martial boy beheld the deathful scene.
With curving movement o’er the field he rode,
Th’ opposing troops his wheeling squadrons mow’d:
The purple dawn, and evening sun beheld
His tents encamp’d assert the conquer’d field.
Thus, when the ghost of Julius 4 hover’d o’er
Philippi’s plain, appeas’d with Roman gore,
Octavius’ legions left the field in flight,
While happier Marcus triumph’d in the fight.

1 an honour’d grave; 2
That shore which oft has felt the servile chain,
But, now smiles happy in. the care of Spain.
Now, from the port the brave advent’rers bore,
And cut the billows of the Rhodian shore;
Now, reach the strand where noble Pompey 3 bled;
And now, repair’d with rest, to Memphis sped;
And now, ascending by the vales of Nile,
(Whose waves pour fatness o’er the grateful soil),
Through Ethiopia’s peaceful dales they stray,
Where their glad eyes Messiah’s rites 4 survey:
And now they pass the fam’d Arabian flood,
Whose waves of old in wondrous ridges stood,
While Israel’s favour’d race the sable 5 bottom trod:
Behind them, glist’ning to the morning skies,
The mountains nam’d from Ishmael’s offspring 6 rise;
Now, round their steps the blest Arabia spreads
Her groves of odour, and her balmy meads;
And every breast, inspir’d with glee, inhales
The grateful fragrance of Sabæa’s gales:

1
Carmanian hordes, and Indian tribes they saw,
And many a barb’rous rite, and many a law 2
Their search explor’d; but, to their native shore,
Enrich’d with knowledge, they return’d no more.
The glad completion of the fate’s decree,
Kind Heaven reserv’d, Emmanuel, for thee.
The crown, and high ambition of thy 3 sires,
To thee descending, wak’d thy latent fires,
And, to command the sea from pole to pole,
With restless wish inflam’d thy mighty soul.

Now, from the sky, the sacred light withdrawn,
O’er heaven’s clear azure shone the stars of dawn,
Deep silence spread her gloomy wings around,
And human griefs were wrapp’d in sleep profound.
The monarch slumber’d on his golden bed,
Yet, anxious cares possess’d his thoughtful head;
His gen’rous soul, intent on public good,
The glorious duties of his birth review’d.
When, sent by Heaven, a sacred dream inspir’d
His lab’ring mind, and with its radiance fir’d
High to the clouds his tow’ring head was rear’d,
New worlds, and nations fierce, and strange, appear’d;
The purple dawning o’er the mountains How’d,
The forest-boughs with yellow splendour glow’d;
High, from the steep, two copious glassy streams
Roll’d down, and glitter’d in the morning beams;

Are doom’d to yield, and dignify thy crown;
To thee our golden shores the Fates decree;
Our necks, unbow’d before, shall bend to thee.
Wide thro’ the world resounds our wealthy fame;
Haste, speed thy prows, that fated wealth to claim.
From Paradise my hallow’d waters spring;
The sacred Ganges I, my brother king
Th’ illustrious author 1 of the Indian name:
Yet, toil shall languish, and the fight shall flame;
Our fairest lawns with streaming gore shall smoke,
Ere yet our shoulders bend beneath the yoke;
But, thou shalt conquer: all thine eyes survey,
With all our various tribes, shall own thy sway."

He spoke; and, melting in a silv’ry stream,
Both disappear’d; when waking from his dream,
The wond’ring monarch, thrill’d with awe divine,
Weighs in his lofty thoughts the sacred sign.

And spread the canvas for the Indian sea."
Instant my looks with troubled ardour burn’d,
When, keen on me, his eyes the monarch turn’d:
What he beheld I know not, but I know,
Big swell’d my bosom with a prophet’s glow:
And long my mind, with wondrous bodings fir’d,
Had to the glorious, dreadful toil aspir’d
Yet, to the king, whate’er my looks betray’d,
My looks the omen of success display’d.
When with that sweetness in his mien express’d,
Which, unresisted, wins the gen’rous breast,
"Great are the dangers, great the toils," he cried,
"Ere glorious honours crown the victor’s pride.
If in the glorious strife the hero fall,
He proves no danger could his soul appal;
And, but to dare so great a toil, shall raise
Each age’s wonder, and immortal praise.
For this dread toil, new oceans to explore,
To spread the sail where sail ne’er How’d before,
For this dread labour, to your valour due,
From all your peers I name, O VASCO, 1 you.
Dread as it is, yet light the task shall be
To you my GAMA, as perform’d for me."
My heart could bear no more:--"Let skies on fire,
Let frozen seas, let horrid war conspire,
I dare them all," I cried, "and, but repine
That one poor life is all I can resign.
Did to my lot Alcides’ 2 labours fall,
For you my joyful heart would dare them all;

While thus, with loyal zeal, my bosom swell’d,
That panting zeal my prince with joy beheld:
Honour’d with gifts I stood, but, honour’d more
By that esteem my joyful sov’reign bore.
That gen’rous praise which fires the soul of worth,
And gives new virtues unexpected birth,
That praise, e’en now, my heaving bosom fires,
Inflames my courage, and each wish inspires.

Mov’d by affection, and allur’d by fame,
A gallant youth, who bore the dearest name,
Paulus, my brother, boldly su’d to share
My toils, my dangers, and my fate in war;
And, brave Coëllo urg’d the hero’s claim
To dare each hardship, and to join our fame:
For glory both with restless ardour burn’d,
And silken ease for horrid danger spurn’d;
Alike renown’d in council, or in field,
The snare to baffle, or the sword to wield.
Through Lisbon’s youth the kindling ardour ran,
And bold ambition thrill’d from man to man;
And each, the meanest of the vent’rous band,
With gifts stood honour’d by the sov’reign’s hand.
Heavens! what a fury swell’d each warrior’s breast,
When each, in turn, the smiling king address’d!
Fir’d by his words the direst toils they scorn’d,
And, with the horrid lust of danger fiercely burn’d.

With such bold rage the youth of Mynia glow’d,
When the first keel the Euxine surges plough’d;
When, bravely vent’rous for the golden fleece,
Orac’lous Argo 1 sail’d from wond’ring Greece.
Where Tago’s yellow stream the harbour laves,
And slowly mingles with the ocean waves,

Still to the sailor’s eye displays his grave;
Thro’ howling tempests, and thro’ gulfs untried,
O mighty God! be thou our watchful guide."
While kneeling thus, before the sacred shrine,
In holy faith’s most solemn rite we join;
Our peace with Heav’n the bread of peace confirms,
And meek contrition ev’ry bosom warms:
Sudden, the lights extinguish’d, all around
Dread silence reigns, and midnight-gloom profound;
A sacred horror pants on every breath,
And each firm breast devotes itself to death,
An offer’d sacrifice, sworn to obey
My nod, and follow where I lead the way.
Now, prostrate round the hallow’d shrine we lie, 1
Till rosy morn bespreads the eastern sky;

A hoary sire exclaims, "oh! whither run,
My heart’s sole joy, my trembling age’s stay,
To yield thy limbs the dread sea-monster’s prey!
To seek thy burial in the raging wave,
And leave me cheerless sinking to the grave!
Was it for this I watch’d thy tender years,
And bore each fever of a father’s fears!
Alas, my boy! "--His voice is heard no more,
The female shriek resounds along the shore:
With hair dishevell’d, through the yielding crowd
A lovely bride springs on, and screams aloud;
"Oh! where, my husband, where to seas unknown,
Where wouldst thou fly, me and my love disown!

Such, the ’lorn parents’ and the spouses’ woes,
Such, o’er the strand the voice of wailing rose;
From breast to breast the soft contagion crept,
Moved by the woful sound the children wept;
The mountain-echoes catch the big swoll’n sighs,
And, through the dales, prolong the matron’s cries;
The yellow sands with tears are silver’d o’er,
Our fate the mountains and the beach deplore.
Yet, firm we march, nor turn one glance aside
On hoary parent, or on lovely bride.
Though glory fir’d our hearts, too well we knew
What soft affection, and what love could do.
The last embrace the bravest worst can bear:
The bitter yearnings of the parting tear
Sullen we shun, unable to sustain
The melting passion of such tender pain.

Now, on the lofty decks, prepar’d, we stand,
When, tow’ring o’er the crowd that veil’d the strand,
A reverend figure 1 fix’d each wond’ring eye,
And, beck’ning thrice, he wav’d his hand on high,

1

"O frantic thirst of honour and of fame,
The crowd’s blind tribute, a fallacious name;
What stings, what plagues, what secret scourges curs’d,
Torment those bosoms where thy pride is nurs’d
What dangers threaten, and what deaths destroy
The hapless youth, whom thy vain gleams decoy!

1 in armour stands,
Treads on thy borders, and the foe demands:
A thousand cities own his lordly sway,
A thousand various shores his nod obey.
Through all these regions, all these cities, scorn’d
Is thy religion, and thine altars spurn’d.
A foe renown’d in arms the brave require;
That high-plum’d foe, renown’d for martial fire,
Before thy gates his shining spear displays,
Whilst thou wouldst fondly dare the wat’ry maze,
Enfeebled leave thy native land behind,
On shores unknown a foe unknown to find.
Oh! madness of ambition! thus to dare
Dangers so fruitless, so remote a war!
That Fame’s vain flattery may thy name adorn,
And thy proud titles on her flag be borne:
Thee, lord of Persia, thee, of India lord,
O’er Ethiopia’s vast, and Araby ador’d!

"Curs’d be the man who first on floating wood,
Forsook the beach, and braved the treach’rous flood!

1
To crown his brows, the hallow’d wreath entwine;
Nor may his name to future times resound;
Oblivion be his meed, and hell profound!
Curs’d be the wretch, the fire of heaven who stole,
And with ambition first debauch’d the soul!
What woes, Prometheus, 2 walk the frighten’d earth!
To what dread slaughter has thy pride giv’n birth!
On proud Ambition’s pleasing gales upborne,
One boasts to guide the chariot of the morn;
And one on treach’rous pinions soaring high, 3
O’er ocean’s waves dar’d sail the liquid sky:
Dash’d from their height they mourn’d their blighted aim;
One gives a river, one a sea the name!
Alas! the poor reward of that gay meteor, fame!
Yet, such the fury of the mortal race,
Though fame’s fair promise ends in foul disgrace,
Though conquest still the victor’s hope betrays,
The prize a shadow, or a rainbow-blaze,
Yet, still through fire and raging seas they run
To catch the gilded shade, and sink undone!"

 

 

END OF THE FOURTH BOOK.

 

 

---

Footnotes

103:1 Dom John was a natural brother of Fernando, being an illegitimate son of Pedro.--Ed.

103:2 A cradled infant gave the wondrous sign.--No circumstance has ever been more ridiculed by the ancient and modern pedants than Alexander’s pretensions to divinity. Some of his courtiers expostulating with him one day on the absurdity of such claim, he replied, "I know the truth of what you say, but these," (pointing to a crowd of Persians) "these know no better." The report that the Grecian army was commanded by a son of Jupiter spread terror through the East, and greatly facilitated the operations of the conqueror. The miraculous speech of the infant, attested by a few monks, was adapted to the superstition of the age of John I. and, as he was illegitimate, was of infinite service to his cause. The pretended fact, however, is differently related.

104:1 Lisbon, or Ulyssipolis, supposed to be founded by Ulysses.--Ed.

104:2 The mitred head.--Don Martin, bishop of Lisbon, a man of exemplary life. He was by birth a Castilian, which was esteemed a sufficient reason to murder him, as of the queen’s party. He was thrown from the tower of his own cathedral, whither he had fled to avoid the popular fury.

104:3 The queen beheld her power, her honours lost.--Possessed of great beauty and great abilities, this bad woman was a disgrace to her sex, and a curse to the age and country which gave her birth. Her sister, Donna Maria, a lady of unblemished virtue, had been secretly married to the infant, Don Juan, the king’s brother, who was passionately attached to her. Donna Maria had formerly endeavoured to dissuade her sister from the adulterous marriage with the king. In revenge of this, the queen, Leonora, persuaded Don Juan that her sister was unfaithful to his bed. The enraged husband hastened to his wife, and, without enquiry or expostulation, says Mariana, dispatched her with two strokes of his dagger. He was afterwards convinced of her innocence. Having sacrificed her honour, and her first husband, to a king, (says Faria), Leonora soon sacrificed that king to a wicked gallant, a Castilian nobleman, named Don Juan Fernandez de Andeyro. An unjust war with Castile, wherein the Portuguese were defeated by sea and land, was the first fruits of the policy of the new favourite. Andeyro one day being in a great perspiration, by some military exercise, the queen tore her veil, and publicly gave it him to wipe his face. The grand master of Avis, the king s illegitimate brother, afterwards John I., and some others, expostulated with her on the indecency of this behaviour. She dissembled her resentment, but, soon after, they were seized and committed to the castle of Evora, where a forged order for their execution was sent; but the governor suspecting some fraud, showed it to

106:1 Beatrice.

106:2 By Rodrick given.--The celebrated hero of Corneille’s tragedy of the Cid.

106:3 Cadiz: in ancient times a Phœnician colony, whose coins bear the emblem of two pillars--the pillars of Hercules (Alcides).--Ed.

107:1 The Gascons or Basques, a very ancient and singular people. Their language has no relation to that of any other people. They are regarded as the earliest inhabitants of the Spanish peninsula.--Ed.

107:2 See Judges xvi. 17-19.

107:3 This speech in the original has been much admired by foreign critics, as a model of military eloquence. The critic, it is hoped, will perceive that the translator has endeavoured to support the character of the speaker.

109:1 This was the famous P. Corn. Scipio Africanus. The fact, somewhat differently related by Livy, is this. After the defeat at Cannæ, a considerable body of Romans fled to Canusium, and appointed Scipio and Ap. Claudius their commanders. While they remained there, it was told Scipio, that some of his chief officers, at the head of whom was Cæcilius Metellus, were taking measures to transport themselves out of Italy. He went immediately to their assembly; and drawing his sword, said, I swear that I will not desert the Commonwealth of Rome, nor suffer any other citizen to do it. The same oath I require of you, Cæcilius, and of all present; whoever refuses, let him know that this sword is drawn against him. The historian adds, that they were as terrified by this, as if they had beheld the face of their conqueror, Hannibal. They all swore, and submitted themselves to Scipio.--Vid. Livy, bk. 22. c. 53.

110:1 Sestos was a city of Thrace, on the Dardanelles, opposite Abydos.--Ed.

111:1 The Guadiana, one of the two great rivers of Spain.--Ed.

111:2 The Douro.

111:3 Homer and Virgil have, with great art, gradually heightened the fury of every battle, till the last efforts of their genius were lavished in describing the superior prowess of the hero in the decisive engagement. Camoëns, in like manner, has bestowed his utmost attention on this his principal battle. The circumstances preparatory to the engagement are happily imagined, and solemnly conducted, and the fury of the combat is supported with a poetical heat, and a variety of imagery, which, one need not hesitate to affirm, would do honour to an ancient classic author.

112:1 And his own brothers shake the hostile lance.--The just indignation with which Camoëns treats the kindred of the brave Nunio Alvaro de Pereyra, is condemned by the French translator. "The Pereyras," says he, "deserve no stain on their memory for joining the King of Castile, whose title to the crown of Portugal was infinitely more just and solid than that of Don John." Castera, however, is grossly mistaken. Don Alonzo Enriquez, the first King of Portugal, was elected by the people, who had recovered their liberties at the glorious battle of Ourique. At the election the constitution of the kingdom was settled in eighteen short statutes, wherein it is expressly provided, that none but a Portuguese can be king of Portugal; that if an infanta marry a foreign prince, he shall not, in her right, become King of Portugal, and a new election of a king, in case of the failure of the male line, is, by these statutes, supposed legal. By the treaty of marriage between the King of Castile and Donna Beatrix, the heiress of Fernando of Portugal, it was agreed, that only their children should succeed to the Portuguese crown; and that, in case the throne became vacant ere such children were born, the Queen-dowager, Leonora, should govern with the title of Regent. Thus, neither by the original constitution, nor by the treaty of marriage, could the King of Castile succeed to the throne of Portugal. And any pretence he might found on the marriage contract was already forfeited; for he caused himself and his queen to be proclaimed, added Portugal to his titles, coined Portuguese money with his bust, deposed the queen regent, and afterwards sent her prisoner to Castile. The lawful heir, Don Juan, the eon of Inez de Castro, was kept in prison by his rival, the King of Castile; and, as before observed, a new election was, by the original statutes, supposed legal in cases of emergency. These facts, added to the consideration of the tyranny of the King of Castile, and the great services which Don John had rendered his country, fully vindicate the indignation of Camoëns against the traitorous Pereyras.

113:1 Near Pharsalus was fought the decisive battle between Cæsar and Pompey, B.C. 48.--Ed.

113:2 Ceuta, a small Spanish possession on the Mediterranean coast of Morocco.--Ed.

113:3 Tetuan, a city of Morocco.--Ed.

114:1 Through the fierce Brigians.--The Castilians, so called from one of their ancient kings, named Brig, or Brigus, whom the monkish writers call the grandson of Noah.

114:2 These lines are not in the common editions of Camoëns. They consist of three stanzas in the Portuguese, and are said to have been left out by the author himself in his second edition. The translator, however, as they breathe the true spirit of Virgil, was willing to preserve them with this acknowledgment.

114:3 Massylia, a province in Numidia, greatly infested with lions, particularly that part of it called Os sete montes irmaōs, the seven brother-mountains.

115:1 And many a gasping warrior sigh’d his last.--This, which is almost literal from--

Muitos lançaraō o ultimo suspiro,--

and the preceding circumstance of Don John’s brandishing his lance four times--

E sopesando a lança quatro vezes,

are poetical, and in the spirit of Homer. Besides Maldonat, Castera has, in this battle, introduced several other names which have no place in Camoëns. Carrillo, Robledo, John of Lorca, Salazar of Seville were killed, he tells us: And, "Velasques and Sanches, natives of Toledo, Galbes, surnamed the ‘Soldier without Fear,’ Montanches, Oropesa, and Mondonedo, all six of proved valour, fell by the hand of young Antony, who brought to the fight either more address, or better fortune than these." Not a word of this is in the Portuguese.

115:2 Their swords seem dipp’d in fire.--This is as literal as the idiom of the two languages would allow. Dryden has a thought like that of this couplet, but which is not in his original:--

"Their bucklers clash; thick blows descend from high,
And flakes of fire from their hard helmets fly."
DRYD. Virg. Æn. xii.

116:1 Grand master of the order of St. James, named Don Pedro Nunio. He, was not killed, however, in this battle, which was fought on the plains of Aljubarota, but in that of Valverda, which immediately followed. The reader may, perhaps, be surprised to find that every soldier mentioned in these notes is a Don, a Lord. The following piece of history will account for the number of the Portuguese nobles. Don Alonzo Enriquez, Count of Portugal, was saluted king by his army at the battle of Ourique; in return, his majesty dignified every man in his army with the rank of nobility.--Vide the 9th of the Statutes of Lamego.

116:2 Cerberus.

116:3 The Spaniards.

116:4 This tyrant, whose unjust pretensions to the crown of Portugal laid his own, and that, kingdom in blood, was on his final defeat overwhelmed with all the frenzy of grief. In the night after the decisive battle of Aljubarota, he fled upwards of thirty miles upon a mule. Don Laurence, archbishop of Braga, in a letter written in old Portuguese to Don John, abbot of Alcobaza, gives this account of his behaviour: "The constable has informed me that he saw the King of Castile at Santaren, who behaved as a madman, cursing his existence, and

117:1 The festive days by heroes old ordain’d.--As a certain proof of the victory, it was required, by the honour of these ages, that the victor should encamp three days on the field of battle. By this knight-errantry the advantages which ought to have been pursued were frequently lost. Don John, however, though he complied with the reigning ideas of honour, sent Don Nunio, with a proper army, to reap the fruits of his victory.

117:2 John of Portugal, about a year after the battle of Aljubarota, married Philippa, eldest daughter of John of Gaunt, duke of Lancaster, son of Edward III. who assisted the king, his son-in-law, in an irruption into Castile, and, at the end of the campaign, promised to return with more numerous forces for the next. But this was prevented by the marriage of his youngest daughter, Catalina, with Don Henry, eldest son of the King of Castile. The King of Portugal on this entered Galicia, and reduced the cities of Tui and Salvaterra. A truce followed. While the tyrant of Castile meditated a new war, he was kilted by a fall from his horse, and, leaving no issue by his queen, Beatrix (the King of Portugal’s daughter), all pretension to that crown ceased. The truce was now prolonged for fifteen years, 118:1 The Pillars of Hercules, or Straits of Gibraltar.--Ed.

118:2 The character of this great prince claims a place in these notes, as it affords a comment on the enthusiasm of Camoëns, who has made him the hero of his episode. His birth, excellent education, and masterly conduct when regent, have already been mentioned. The same justice, prudence, and heroism always accompanied him when king. He had the art to join the most winning affability with all the manly dignity of the sovereign. To those who were his friends, when a private man, he was particularly attentive. His nobility dined at his table, he frequently made visits to them, and introduced among them the taste for, and the love of, letters. As he felt the advantages of education, he took the utmost care of that of his children. He had many sons, and he himself often instructed them in solid and useful knowledge, and was amply repaid. He lived to see them men, men of parts and of action, whose only emulation was 119:1 Camoëns, in this instance, has raised the character of one brother at the other’s expense, to give his poem an air of solemnity. The siege of Tangier was proposed. The king’s brothers differed in their opinions: that of Don Fernand, though a knight-errant adventure, was approved of by the young nobility. The infants, Henry and Fernand, at the head of 7000 men, laid siege to Tangier, and were surrounded by a numerous army of Moors, some writers say six hundred thousand. On condition that the Portuguese army should be allowed to return home, the infants promised to surrender Ceuta. The Moors gladly accepted of the terms, but demanded one of the infants as a hostage. Fernand offered himself, and was left. The king was willing to comply with the terms to relieve his brother, but the court considered the value of Ceuta, and would not consent. The pope also interposed his authority, that Ceuta should be kept as a check on the infidels, and proposed to raise a crusade for the delivery of Fernand. In the meanwhile large offers were made for his liberty. These were rejected by the Moors, who would accept of nothing but Ceuta, to whose vast importance they were no strangers. When negotiations failed, King Edward assembled a large army to effect his brother’s release, but, just as he was setting out, he was seized with the plague, and died, leaving orders with his queen to deliver up Ceuta for the release of his brother. This, however, was never performed. Don Fernand remained with the Moors till his death. The magnanimity of his behaviour gained him their esteem 120:1 The Moors.

121:1 When Henry IV. of Castile died, he declared that the infanta Joanna, was his heiress, in preference to his sister, Donna Isabella, married to Don Ferdinand, son to the King of Arragon. In hopes to attain the kingdom of Castile, Don Alonzo, king of Portugal, obtained a dispensation from the pope to marry his niece, Donna Joanna. After a bloody war, the ambitious views of Alonzo and his courtiers were defeated.

121:2 The Pyrenees which separate France from Spain.--Ed.

121:3 The Prince of Portugal.

121:4 Julius Caesar.

122:1 Naples.

122:2 Parthenope was one of the Syrens. Enraged because she could not allure Ulysses, she threw herself into the sea. Her corpse was thrown ashore, and buried where Naples now stands.

122:3 The coast of Alexandria.

122:4 Among the Christians of Abyssinia.

122:5 Sandy, the French sable = sand.--Ed.

122:6 The Nabathean mountains; so named from Nabaoth, the son of Ishmael.

123:1 Beyond where Trajan.--The Emperor Trajan extended the bounds of the Roman Empire in the East far beyond any of his predecessors. His conquests reached to the river Tigris, near which stood the city of Ctesiphon, which he subdued. The Roman historians boasted that India was entirely conquered by him; but they could only mean Arabia Felix.--Vid. Dion. Cass. Euseb. Chron. p. 206.

123:2 Qui mores hominum multorum vidit.--HOR.

123:3 Emmanuel was cousin to the late king, John II. and grandson to king Edward, son of John I.

124:1 The river Indus, which gave name to India.

125:1 Vasco de Gama, who is, in a certain sense, the hero of the Lusiad, was born in 1469, at Sines, a fishing town on the Atlantic, midway between Lisbon and Cape St. Vincent where, in a small church on a cliff, built by the great navigator after his appointment as Viceroy of India, is an inscription to his memory.--Ed.

125:2 Hercules.

126:1 Orac’lous Argo.--According to the fable, the vessel of the Argonauts spoke and prophesied. See The Argonautics of Apollonius Rhodius.--Ed.

127:1 This fact is according to history: Aberat Olysippone prope littus quatuor passuum millia templum sanè religiosum et sanctum ab Henrico in honorem Sanctissimæ Virginis edificatum . . . . . . In id Gama pridie illius diei, quo erat navem conscensurus, se recepit, ut noctem cum religiosis hominibus qui in ædibus templo conjunctis habitabant, in precibus et votis consumeret. Sequenti die cum multi non illius tantùm gratia, sod aliorum etiam, qui illi comites erant, 129:1 By this old man is personified the populace of Portugal. The endeavours to discover the East Indies by the Southern Ocean, for about eighty years had been the favourite topic of complaint, and never was any measure of government more unpopular than the expedition of GAMA. Emmanuel’s council were almost unanimous against the attempt. Some dreaded the introduction of wealth, and its attendants, luxury and effeminacy; while others affirmed, that no adequate advantages could arise from so perilous and remote a navigation. The expressions of the thousands who crowded the shore when GAMA gave his sails to the wind, are thus expressed by Osorius: "A multis tamen interim is fletus atque lamentatio fiebat, un funus efferre viderentur. Sic enim dicebant: En quo miseros mortales provexit cupiditas et ambitio? Potuitne gravius supplicium hominibus

130:1 More literally rendered by Capt. R. Burton:--

"---------------He spoke
From a full heart, and skill’d in worldly lore,
In deep, slow tones this solemn warning, fraught
With wisdom, by long-suffering only taught:
‘O passion of dominion! O fond lust
Of that poor vanity which men call fame!
O treach’rous appetite, whose highest gust
Is vulgar breath that taketh honour’s name!
O fell ambition, terrible but just
Art thou to breasts that cherish most thy flame!
Brief life for them is peril, storm, and rage;
This world a hell, and death their heritage.

"‘Shrewd prodigal! whose riot is the dearth
Of states and principalities oppress’d,
Plunder and rape are of thy loathly birth,
Thou art alike of life and soul the pest.
High titles greet thee on this slavish earth,
Yet, none so vile but they would fit thee best.
But Fame, forsooth, and Glory thou art styl’d,
And the blind herd is by a sound beguil’d’"

131:1 The Moor.--Ed.

132:1 The Muses.--Ed.

132:2 Prometheus is said to have stolen fire from heaven.--Ed.

132:3 Alluding to the fables of Phaeton and Icarus; the former having obtained from Helios, his father, permission to guide the chariot of the sun for one day, nearly set the world on fire. He perished in the river Eridanus (the Po.) Icarus, the sun having melted the wax with which his wings were cemented, fell into that part of the Ægean which, from his misfortune, was called the Icarian Sea.--Ed.