Description of the pictures, given by Paulus. The heroes of Portugal, from Lusus, one of the companions of Bacchus (who gave his name to Portugal), and Ulysses, the founder of Lisbon, down to Don Pedro and Don Henrique (Henry), the conquerors of Ceuta, are all represented in the portraits of Gama, and are characterized by appropriate verses. Meanwhile the zamorim has recourse to the oracles of his false gods, who make him acquainted with the future dominion of the Portuguese over India, and the consequent ruin of his empire. The Mohammedan Arabs conspire against the Portuguese. The zamorim questions the truth of Gama's statement, and charges him with being captain of a band of pirates. Gama is obliged to give up to the Indians the whole of his merchandise as ransom, when he obtains permission to re-embark. He seizes several merchants of Calicut, whom he detains on board his ship as hostages for his two factors, who were on land to sell his merchandise. He afterwards liberates the natives, whom he exchanges for his two companions. In Mickle's translation this portion of the original is omitted, and the factors are released in consequence of a victory gained by Gama.
Description of the pictures, given by Paulus. The heroes of Portugal, from Lusus, one of the companions of Bacchus (who gave his name to Portugal), and Ulysses, the founder of Lisbon, down to Don Pedro and Don Henrique (Henry), the conquerors of Ceuta, are all represented in the portraits of Gama, and are characterized by appropriate verses. Meanwhile the zamorim has recourse to the oracles of his false gods, who make him acquainted with the future dominion of the Portuguese over India, and the consequent ruin of his empire. The Mohammedan Arabs conspire against the Portuguese. The zamorim questions the truth of Gama's statement, and charges him with being captain of a band of pirates. Gama is obliged to give up to the Indians the whole of his merchandise as ransom, when he obtains permission to re-embark. He seizes several merchants of Calicut, whom he detains on board his ship as hostages for his two factors, who were on land to sell his merchandise. He afterwards liberates the natives, whom he exchanges for his two companions. In Mickle's translation this portion of the original is omitted, and the factors are released in consequence of a victory gained by Gama.
WITH eye unmov'd the silentCatual[497]view'dThe pictur'd sire[498]with seeming life endu'd;A verdant vine-bough waving in his right,Smooth flow'd his sweepy beard of glossy white,When thus, as swift the Moor unfolds the word,The valiant Paulus to the Indian lord:—"Bold though these figures frown, yet bolder farThese godlike heroes shin'd in ancient war.{223}In that hoar sire, of mien serene, august,Lusus behold, no robber-chief unjust;His cluster'd bough—the same which Bacchus bore[499]—He waves, the emblem of his care of yore;The friend of savage man, to Bacchus dear,The son of Bacchus, or the bold compeer,What time his yellow locks with vine-leaves curl'd,The youthful god subdued the savage world,Bade vineyards glisten o'er the dreary waste,And humaniz'd the nations as he pass'd.Lusus, the lov'd companion of the god,In Spain's fair bosom fix'd his last abode,Our kingdom founded, and illustrious reign'dIn those fair lawns, the bless'd Elysium feign'd,[500]{224}Where, winding oft, the Guadiana roves,And Douro murmurs through, the flow'ry groves.Here, with his bones, he left his deathless fame,And Lusitania's clime shall ever bear his name.That other chief th' embroider'd silk displays,Toss'd o'er the deep whole years of weary days,On Tago's banks, at last, his vows he paid:To wisdom's godlike power, the Jove-born maid,[501]Who fir'd his lips with eloquence divine,On Tago's banks he rear'd the hallow'd shrine.Ulysses he, though fated to destroy,On Asian ground, the heav'n-built towers of Troy,[502]On Europe's strand, more grateful to the skies,He bade th' eternal walls of Lisbon rise."[503]{225}"But who that godlike terror of the plain,Who strews the smoking field with heaps of slain?What num'rous legions fly in dire dismay,Whose standards wide the eagle's wings display?"The pagan asks: the brother chief[504]replies:—"Unconquer'd deem'd, proud Rome's dread standard flies,His crook thrown by, fir'd by his nation's woes,The hero-shepherd Viriatus rose;His country sav'd proclaim'd his warlike fame,And Rome's wide empire trembled at his name.That gen'rous pride which Rome to Pyrrhus bore,[505]To him they show'd not; for they fear'd him more.Not on the field o'ercome by manly force,Peaceful he slept; and now, a murder'd corse,By treason slain, he lay. How stern, behold,That other hero, firm, erect, and bold:The power by which he boasted he divin'd,Beside him pictur'd stands, the milk-white hind:Injur'd by Rome, the stern Sertorius fledTo Tago's shore, and Lusus' offspring led;Their worth he knew; in scatter'd flight he droveThe standards painted with the birds of Jove.And lo, the flag whose shining colours ownThe glorious founder of the Lusian throne!Some deem the warrior of Hungarian race,[506]Some from Lorraine the godlike hero trace.From Tagus' banks the haughty Moor expell'd,Galicia's sons, and and Leon's warriors quell'd,To weeping Salem's[507]ever-hallow'd meads,His warlike bands the holy Henry leads;By holy war to sanctify his crown,And, to his latest race, auspicious waft it down."{226}"And who this awful chief?" aloud exclaimsThe wond'ring regent. "O'er the field he flamesIn dazzling steel; where'er he bends his courseThe battle sinks beneath his headlong force:Against his troops, though few, the num'rous foesIn vain their spears and tow'ry walls oppose.With smoking blood his armour sprinkled o'er,High to the knees his courser paws in gore:O'er crowns and blood-stain'd ensigns scatter'd roundHe rides; his courser's brazen hoofs resound.""In that great chief," the secondGamacries,"The first Alonzo[508]strikes thy wond'ring eyes.From Lusus' realm the pagan Moors he drove;Heav'n, whom he lov'd, bestow'd on him such love,Beneath him, bleeding of its mortal wound,The Moorish strength lay prostrate on the ground.Nor Ammon's son, nor greater Julius dar'dWith troops so few, with hosts so num'rous warr'd:Nor less shall Fame the subject heroes own:Behold that hoary warrior's rageful frown!On his young pupil's flight[509]his burning eyesHe darts, and, 'Turn thy flying host,' he cries,'Back to the field!' The vet'ran and the boyBack to the field exult with furious joy:Their ranks mow'd down, the boastful foe recedes,The vanquish'd triumph, and the victor bleeds.Again, that mirror of unshaken faith,Egaz behold, a chief self-doom'd to death.[510]{227}Beneath Castilia's sword his monarch lay;Homage he vow'd his helpless king should pay;His haughty king reliev'd, the treaty spurns,With conscious pride the noble Egaz burns;His comely spouse and infant race he leads,Himself the same, in sentenced felons' weeds,Around their necks the knotted halters bound,With naked feet they tread the flinty ground;And, prostrate now before Castilia's throne,Their offer'd lives their monarch's pride atone.Ah Rome! no more thy gen'rous consul boast.[511]Whose 'lorn submission sav'd his ruin'd host:No father's woes assail'd his stedfast mind;The dearest ties the Lusian chief resign'd."There, by the stream, a town besieged behold,The Moorish tents the shatter'd walls enfold.Fierce as the lion from the covert springs,When hunger gives his rage the whirlwind's wings;From ambush, lo, the valiant Fuaz pours,And whelms in sudden rout th'astonish'd Moors.The Moorish king[512]in captive chains he sends;And, low at Lisbon's throne, the royal captive bends.Fuaz again the artist's skill displays;Far o'er the ocean shine his ensign's rays:In crackling flames the Moorish galleys fly,And the red blaze ascends the blushing sky:O'er Avila's high steep the flames aspire,And wrap the forests in a sheet of fire:{228}There seem the waves beneath the prows to boil;And distant, far around for many a mile,The glassy deep reflects the ruddy blaze;Far on the edge the yellow light decays,And blends with hov'ring blackness. Great and dreadThus shone the day when first the combat bled,The first our heroes battled on the main,The glorious prelude of our naval reign,Which, now the waves beyond the burning zone,And northern Greenland's frost-bound billows own.Again behold brave Fuaz dares the fight!O'erpower'd he sinks beneath the Moorish might;Smiling in death the martyr-hero lies,And lo, his soul triumphant mounts the skies.Here now, behold, in warlike pomp portray'd,A foreign navy brings the pious aid.[513]Lo, marching from the decks the squadrons spread,Strange their attire, their aspect firm and dread.The holy cross their ensigns bold display,To Salem's aid they plough'd the wat'ry way:Yet first, the cause the same, on Tago's shoreThey dye their maiden swords in pagan gore.Proud stood the Moor on Lisbon's warlike towers,From Lisbon's walls they drive the Moorish powers:Amid the thickest of the glorious fight,Lo, Henry falls, a gallant German knight,A martyr falls: that holy tomb behold,There waves the blossom'd palm, the boughs of gold:O'er Henry's grave the sacred plant arose,And from the leaves,[514]Heav'n's gift, gay health redundant flows."Aloft, unfurl!" the valiant Paulus cries.Instant, new wars on new-spread ensigns rise{229}"In robes of white behold a priest advance![515]His sword in splinters smites the Moorish lance:Arronchez won revenges Lira's fall:And lo, on fair Savilia's batter'd wall,How boldly calm, amid the crashing spears,That hero-form the Lusian standard rears.There bleeds the war on fair Vandalia's plain:Lo, rushing through the Moors, o'er hills of slainThe hero rides, and proves by genuine claimThe son of Egas,[516]and his worth the same.Pierc'd by his dart the standard-bearer dies;Beneath his feet the Moorish standard lies:High o'er the field, behold the glorious blaze!The victor-youth the Lusian flag displays.Lo, while the moon through midnight azure rides,From the high wall adown his spear-staff glidesThe dauntless Gerald:[517]in his left he bearsTwo watchmen's heads, his right the falchion rears:The gate he opens, swift from ambush riseHis ready bands, the city falls his prize:Evora still the grateful honour pays,Her banner'd flag the mighty deed displays:There frowns the hero; in his left he bearsThe two cold heads, his right the falchion rears.{230}Wrong'd by his king,[518]and burning for revenge,Behold his arms that proud Castilian change;The Moorish buckler on his breast he bears,And leads the fiercest of the pagan spears.Abrantes falls beneath his raging force,And now to Tagus bends his furious course.Another fate he met on Tagus' shore,Brave Lopez from his brows the laurels tore;His bleeding army strew'd the thirsty ground,And captive chains the rageful leader bound.Resplendent far that holy chief behold!Aside he throws the sacred staff of gold,And wields the spear of steel. How bold advanceThe num'rous Moors, and with the rested lanceHem round the trembling Lusians. Calm and boldStill towers the priest, and lo, the skies unfold:[519]Cheer'd by the vision, brighter than the day,The Lusians trample down the dread arrayOf Hagar's legions: on the reeking plainLow, with their slaves, four haughty kings lie slain.In vain Alcazar rears her brazen walls,Before his rushing host Alcazar falls.There, by his altar, now the hero shines,And, with the warrior's palm, his mitre twines.That chief behold: though proud Castilia's hostHe leads, his birth shall Tagus ever boast.As a pent flood bursts headlong o'er the strandSo pours his fury o'er Algarbia's land:Nor rampir'd town, nor castled rock affordThe refuge of defence from Payo's sword.{231}By night-veil'd art proud Sylves falls his prey,And Tavila's high, walls, at middle day,Fearless he scales: her streets in blood deploreThe seven brave hunters murder'd by the Moor.[520]These three bold knights how dread![521]Thro' Spain and FranceAt joust and tourney with the tilted lanceVictors they rode: Castilia's court beheldHer peers o'erthrown; the peers with rancour swell'd:The bravest of the three their swords surround;Brave Ribeir strews them vanquish'd o'er the ground.Now let thy thoughts, all wonder and on fire,That darling son of warlike Fame admire.Prostrate at proud Castilia's monarch's feetHis land lies trembling: lo, the nobles meet:Softly they seem to breathe, and forward bendThe servile neck; each eye distrusts his friend;Fearful each tongue to speak; each bosom cold:When, colour'd with stern rage, erect and bold,The hero rises: 'Here no foreign throneShall fix its base; my native king aloneShall reign.' Then, rushing to the fight, he leads;Low, vanquish'd in the dust, Castilia bleeds.Where proudest hope might deem it vain to dare,God led him on, and crown'd the glorious war.{232}Though fierce, as num'rous, are the hosts that dwellBy Betis' stream, these hosts before him fell.The fight behold: while absent from his bands,Press'd on the step of flight his army stands,To call the chief a herald speeds away:Low, on his knees, the gallant chief survey!He pours his soul, with lifted hands implores,And Heav'n's assisting arm, inspir'd, adores.Panting, and pale, the herald urges speed:With holy trust of victory decreed,Careless he answers, 'Nothing urgent calls:'And soon the bleeding foe before him falls.To Numa, thus, the pale patricians fled—'The hostile squadrons o'er the kingdom spread!'They cry; unmov'd, the holy king replies—'And I, behold, am off'ring sacrifice!'[522]Earnest, I see thy wond'ring eyes inquireWho this illustrious chief, his country's sire?The Lusian Scipio well might speak his fame,But nobler Nunio shines a greater name:[523]On earth's green bosom, or on ocean grey,A greater never shall the sun survey."Known by the silver cross, and sable shield,Two Knights of Malta[524]there command the field;{233}From Tago's banks they drive the fleecy prey,And the tir'd ox lows on his weary way:When, as the falcon through the forest gladeDarts on the lev'ret, from the brown-wood shadeDarts Roderic on their rear; in scatter'd flightThey leave the goodly herds the victor's right.Again, behold, in gore he bathes his sword;His captive friend,[525]to liberty restor'd,Glows to review the cause that wrought his woe,The cause, his loyalty, as taintless snow.Here treason's well-earn'd meed allures thine eyes,[526]Low, grovelling in the dust, the traitor dies;Great Elvas gave the blow. Again, behold,Chariot and steed in purple slaughter roll'd:Great Elvas triumphs; wide o'er Xeres' plainAround him reeks the noblest blood of Spain.{234}"Here Lisbon's spacious harbour meets the view:How vast the foe's, the Lusian fleet how few!Castile's proud war-ships, circling round, encloseThe Lusian galleys; through their thund'ring rows,Fierce pressing on, Pereira fearless rides,His hook'd irons grasp the adm'ral's sides:Confusion maddens: on the dreadless knightCastilia's navy pours its gather'd might:Pereira dies, their self-devoted prey,And safe the Lusian galleys speed away.[527]"Lo, where the lemon-trees from yon green hillThrow their cool shadows o'er the crystal rill;There twice two hundred fierce Castilian foesTwice eight, forlorn, of Lusian race enclose;Forlorn they seem; but taintless flow'd their bloodFrom those three hundred who of old withstood;Withstood, and from a thousand Romans toreThe victor-wreath, what time the shepherd[528]boreThe leader's staff of Lusus: equal flameInspir'd these few,[529]their victory the same.Though twenty lances brave each single spear,Never the foes superior might to fearIs our inheritance, our native right,Well tried, well prov'd in many a dreadful fight."That dauntless earl behold; on Libya's coast,Far from the succour of the Lusian host,[530]{235}Twice hard besieg'd, he holds the Ceutan towersAgainst the banded might of Afric's powers.That other earl;[531]—behold the port he bore,So, trod stern Mars on Thracia's hills of yore.What groves of spears Alcazar's gates surround!There Afric's nations blacken o'er the ground.A thousand ensigns, glitt'ring to the day,The waning moon's slant silver horns display.In vain their rage; no gate, no turret falls,The brave De Vian guards Alcazar's walls.In hopeless conflict lost his king appears;Amid the thickest of the Moorish spearsPlunges bold Vian: in the glorious strifeHe dies, and dying saves his sov'reign's life."Illustrious, lo, two brother-heroes shine,[532]Their birth, their deeds, adorn the royal line;To ev'ry king of princely Europe known,In ev'ry court the gallant Pedro shone.The glorious Henry[533]—kindling at his nameBehold my sailors' eyes all sparkle flame!{236}Henry the chief, who first, by Heav'n inspir'd,To deeds unknown before, the sailor fir'd,The conscious sailor left the sight of shore,And dar'd new oceans, never plough'd before.The various wealth of ev'ry distant landHe bade his fleets explore, his fleets command.The ocean's great discoverer he shines;Nor less his honours in the martial lines:The painted flag the cloud-wrapt siege displays,There Ceuta's rocking wall its trust betrays.Black yawns the breach; the point of many a spearGleams through the smoke; loud shouts astound the ear.Whose step first trod the dreadful pass? Whose swordHew'd its dark way, first with the foe begor'd?'Twas thine, O glorious Henry, first to dareThe dreadful pass, and thine to close the war.Taught by his might, and humbled in her gore,The boastful pride of Afric tower'd no more."Num'rous though these, more num'rous warriors shineTh' illustrious glory of the Lusian line.But ah, forlorn, what shame to barb'rous pride![534]Friendless the master of the pencil died;{237}Immortal fame his deathless labours gave;Poor man, he sunk neglected to the grave!"The gallant Paulus faithful thus explain'dThe various deeds the pictur'd flags contain'd.Still o'er and o'er, and still again untir'd,The wond'ring regent of the wars inquir'd:Still wond'ring, heard the various pleasing tale,Till o'er the decks cold sigh'd the ev'ning gale:The falling darkness dimm'd the eastern shore,And twilight hover'd o'er the billows hoarFar to the west, when, with his noble band,The thoughtful regent sought his native strand.O'er the tall mountain-forest's waving boughsAslant, the new moon's slender horns arose;Near her pale chariot shone a twinkling star,And, save the murm'ring of the wave afar,Deep-brooding silence reign'd; each labour clos'd,In sleep's soft arms the sons of toil repos'd.And now, no more the moon her glimpses shed,A sudden, black-wing'd cloud the sky o'erspread,A sullen murmur through the woodland groan'd,In woe-swoll'n sighs the hollow winds bemoan'd:Borne on the plaintive gale, a patt'ring showerIncreas'd the horrors of the evil hour.{238}Thus, when the God of earthquakes rocks the ground,He gives the prelude in a dreary sound;O'er nature's face a horrid gloom he throws,With dismal note the cock unusual crows,A shrill-voic'd howling trembles thro' the air,As passing ghosts were weeping in despair;In dismal yells the dogs confess their fear,And shiv'ring, own some dreadful presence near.So, lower'd the night, the sullen howl the same,And, 'mid the black-wing'd gloom, stern Bacchus came;The form, and garb of Hagar's son he took,The ghost-like aspect, and the threat'ning look.[535]Then, o'er the pillow of a furious priest,Whose burning zeal the Koran's lore profess'd,Reveal'd he stood, conspicuous in a dream,His semblance shining, as the moon's pale gleam:"And guard," he cries, "my son, O timely guard,Timely defeat the dreadful snare prepar'd:And canst thou, careless, unaffected, sleep,While these stern, lawless rovers of the deepFix on thy native shore a foreign throne,Before whose steps thy latest race shall groan!"He spoke; cold horror shook the Moorish priest;He wakes, but soon reclines in wonted rest:An airy phantom of the slumb'ring brainHe deem'd the vision; when the fiend again,With sterner mien, and fiercer accent spoke:"Oh faithless! worthy of the foreign yoke!And know'st thou not thy prophet sent by Heav'n,By whom the Koran's sacred lore was giv'n,God's chiefest gift to men: and must I leaveThe bowers of Paradise, for you to grieve,For you to watch, while, thoughtless of your woe,Ye sleep, the careless victims of the foe;The foe, whose rage will soon with cruel joy,If unoppos'd, my sacred shrines destroy?Then, while kind Heav'n th'auspicious hour bestows,Let ev'ry nerve their infant strength oppose.{239}When, softly usher'd by the milky dawn,The sun first rises[536]o'er the daisied lawn,His silver lustre, as the shining dewOf radiance mild, unhurt the eye may view:But, when on high the noon-tide flaming raysGive all the force of living fire to blaze,{240}A giddy darkness strikes the conquer'd sight,That dares, in all his glow, the lord of light.Such, if on India's soil the tender shootOf these proud cedars fix the stubborn root,Such, shall your power before them sink decay'd.And India's strength shall wither in their shade."He spoke; and, instant from his vot'ry's bedTogether with repose, the demon fled;Again cold horror shook the zealot's frame,And all his hatred of Messiah's nameBurn'd in his venom'd heart, while, veil'd in night,Right to the palace sped the demon's flight.Sleepless the king he found, in dubious thought;His conscious fraud a thousand terrors brought:All gloomy as the hour, around him stand,With haggard looks, the hoary Magi band:[537]To trace what fates on India's wide domainAttend the rovers from unheard-of Spain,Prepar'd, in dark futurity, to proveThe hell-taught rituals of infernal Jove:Mutt'ring their charms, and spells of dreary sound,With naked feet they beat the hollow ground;Blue gleams the altar's flame along the walls,With dismal, hollow groans the victim falls;With earnest eyes the priestly band exploreThe entrails, throbbing in the living gore.And lo, permitted by the power divine,The hov'ring demon gives the dreadful sign.[538]{241}Here furious War her gleamy falchion draws,Here lean-ribb'd Famine writhes her falling jaws;Dire as the fiery pestilential starDarting his eyes, high on his trophied car,Stern Tyranny sweeps wide o'er India's ground;On vulture-wings fierce Rapine hovers round;Ills after ills, and India's fetter'd might,Th'eternal yoke.[539]Loud shrieking at the sight,The starting wizards from the altar fly,And silent horror glares in ev'ry eye:Pale stands the monarch, lost in cold dismay,And, now impatient, waits the ling'ring day.With gloomy aspect rose the ling'ring dawn,And dropping tears flow'd slowly o'er the lawn;The Moorish priest, with fear and vengeance fraught,Soon as the light appear'd his kindred sought;Appall'd, and trembling with ungen'rous fear,In secret council met, his tale they hear;As, check'd by terror or impell'd by hate,Of various means they ponder and debate,{242}Against the Lusian train what arts employ,By force to slaughter, or by fraud destroy;Now black, now pale, their bearded cheeks appear,As boiling rage prevails, or boding fear;Beneath their shady brows, their eye-balls roll,Nor one soft gleam bespeaks the gen'rous soul;Through quiv'ring lips they draw their panting breath.While their dark fraud decrees the works of death;Nor unresolv'd the power of gold to trySwift to the lordly catual's gate they hie.—Ah, what the wisdom, what the sleepless careEfficient to avoid the traitor's snare;What human power can give a king to knowThe smiling aspect of the lurking foe!So let the tyrant plead.[540]—The patriot kingKnows men, knows whence the patriot virtues spring;From inward worth, from conscience firm and bold,(Not from the man whose honest name is sold),He hopes that virtue, whose unalter'd weightStands fix'd, unveering with the storms of state.Lur'd was the regent with the Moorish gold,And now agreed their fraudful course to hold,Swift to the king the regent's steps they tread;The king they found o'erwhelm'd in sacred dread.The word they take, their ancient deeds relate,Their ever faithful service of the state;[541]{243}"For ages long, from shore to distant shoreFor thee our ready keels the traffic bore:For thee we dar'd each horror of the wave;Whate'er thy treasures boast our labours gave.And wilt thou now confer our long-earn'd due,Confer thy favour on a lawless crew?The race they boast, as tigers of the woldBear that proud sway, by justice uncontroll'd.Yet, for their crimes, expell'd that bloody home,These, o'er the deep, rapacious plund'rers roam.Their deeds we know; round Afric's shores they came,And spread, where'er they pass'd, devouring flame;Mozambique's towers, enroll'd in sheets of fire,Blaz'd to the sky, her own funereal pyre.Imperial Calicut shall feel the same,And these proud state-rooms feed the funeral flame;While many a league far round, their joyful eyesShall mark old ocean reddening to the skies.Such dreadful fates, o'er thee, O king, depend,Yet, with thy fall our fate shall never blend:Ere o'er the east arise the second dawnOur fleets, our nation from thy land withdrawn,In other climes, beneath a kinder reignShall fix their port: yet may the threat be vain!{244}If wiser thou with us thy powers employ,Soon shall our powers the robber-crew destroy.By their own arts and secret deeds o'ercome,Here shall they meet the fate escaped at home."While thus the priest detain'd the monarch's ear,His cheeks confess'd the quiv'ring pulse of fear.Unconscious of the worth that fires the brave,In state a monarch, but in heart a slave,He view'd braveVasco, and his gen'rous train,As his own passions stamp'd the conscious stain:Nor less his rage the fraudful regent fir'd;And valiantGama'sfate was now conspir'd.Ambassadors from IndiaGamasought,And oaths of peace, for oaths of friendship brought;The glorious tale, 'twas all he wish'd, to tell;So Ilion's[542]fate was seal'd when Hector fell.Again convok'd before the Indian throne,The monarch meets him with a rageful frown;"And own," he cries, "the naked truth reveal,Then shall my bounteous grace thy pardon seal.Feign'd is the treaty thou pretend'st to bring:No country owns thee, and thou own'st no king.Thy life, long roving o'er the deep, I know—A lawless robber, every man thy foe.And think'st thou credit to thy tale to gain?Mad were the sov'reign, and the hope were vain,Through ways unknown, from utmost western shore,To bid his fleets the utmost east explore.Great is thy monarch, so thy words declare;But sumptuous gifts the proof of greatness bear:Kings thus to kings their empire's grandeur show;Thus prove thy truth, thus we thy truth allow.If not, what credence will the wise afford?What monarch trust the wand'ring seaman's word?No sumptuous gift thou bring'st.[543]—Yet, though some crimeHas thrown thee, banish'd from thy native clime,{245}(Such oft of old the hero's fate has been),Here end thy toils, nor tempt new fates unseen:Each land the brave man nobly calls his home:Or if, bold pirates, o'er the deep you roam,Skill'd the dread storm to brave, O welcome here!Fearless of death, or shame, confess sincere:My name shall then thy dread protection be,My captain thou, unrivall'd on the sea."Oh now, ye Muses, sing what goddess fir'dGama'sproud bosom, and his lips inspir'd.Fair Acidalia, love's celestial queen,[544]The graceful goddess of the fearless mien,Her graceful freedom on his look bestow'd,And all collected in his bosom glow'd."Sov'reign," he cries, "oft witness'd, well I knowThe rageful falsehood of the Moorish foe:Their fraudful tales, from hatred bred, believ'd,Thine ear is poison'd, and thine eye deceiv'd.What light, what shade the courtier's mirror gives,That light, that shade the guarded king receives.Me hast thou view'd in colours not mine own,Yet, bold I promise shall my truth be known.If o'er the seas a lawless pest I roam,A blood-stain'd exile from my native home,How many a fertile shore and beauteous isle,Where Nature's gifts, unclaim'd, unbounded, smile,{246}Mad have I left, to dare the burning zone,And all the horrors of the gulfs unknownThat roar beneath the axle of the world.Where ne'er before was daring sail unfurl'd!And have I left these beauteous shores behind,And have I dar'd the rage of ev'ry wind,That now breath'd fire, and now came wing'd with frost,Lur'd by the plunder of an unknown coast?Not thus the robber leaves his certain preyFor the gay promise of a nameless day.Dread and stupendous, more than death-doom'd manMight hope to compass, more than wisdom plan,To thee my toils, to thee my dangers rise:Ah! Lisbon's kings behold with other eyes.Where virtue calls, where glory leads the way,No dangers move them, and no toils dismay.Long have the kings of Lusus' daring raceResolv'd the limits of the deep to trace,Beneath the morn to ride the furthest waves,And pierce the farthest shore old Ocean laves.Sprung from the prince,[545]before whose matchless powerThe strength of Afric wither'd as a flowerNever to bloom again, great Henry shone,Each gift of nature and of art his own;Bold as his sire, by toils on toils untir'd,To find the Indian shore his pride aspir'd.Beneath the stars that round the Hydra shine,And where fam'd Argo hangs the heav'nly sign,Where thirst and fever burn on ev'ry galeThe dauntless Henry rear'd the Lusian sail.Embolden'd by the meed that crown'd his toils,Beyond the wide-spread shores and num'rous isles,Where both the tropics pour the burning day,Succeeding heroes forc'd th' exploring way;That race which never view'd the Pleiad's car,That barb'rous race beneath the southern star,Their eyes beheld.—Dread roar'd the blast—the waveBoils to the sky, the meeting whirlwinds raveO'er the torn heav'ns; loud on their awe-struck earGreat Nature seem'd to call, 'Approach not here!'{247}At Lisbon's court they told their dread escape,And from her raging tempests, nam'd the Cape.[546]'Thou southmost point,' the joyful king exclaim'd,'Cape of Good Hope, be thou for ever nam'd!Onward my fleets shall dare the dreadful way,And find the regions of the infant day.'In vain the dark and ever-howling blastProclaim'd, 'This ocean never shall be past;'Through that dread ocean, and the tempests' roar,My king commanded, and my course I bore.The pillar thus of deathless fame, begunBy other chiefs,[547]beneath the rising sunIn thy great realm, now to the skies I raise,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 bringThe world can boast—the friendship of my king.And mark the word, his greatness shall appearWhen next my course to India's strand I steer,Such proofs I'll bring as never man beforeIn 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:{248}His noble confidence with truth impressedSunk deep, unwelcome, in the monarch's breast,Nor wanting charms his avarice to gainAppear'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 dauntlessGamaheard:The Moorish threats yet sounding in his ear,He acts with caution, and is led by fear.With solemn pomp he bids his lords prepareThe friendly banquet; to the regent's careCommends braveGama, 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, shinesDe Gama'sbed.The regent's palace high o'erlook'd the bayWhereGama'sblack-ribb'd fleet at anchor lay.[548]Ah, why the voice of ire and bitter woeO'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 flightTo 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 fireOf 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 showsHer darkling caverns; from his dungeon rose{249}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 demandsThe last assistance of th' infernal bands.As when the whirlwinds, sudden bursting, bearTh' 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 strandThey bend; the demon leads the dreadful band,And, in the bosoms of the raging MoorsAll 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 braveGama'ssuit 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 toGama'smanner-piercing eyes.As in the sun's bright[549]beam the gamesome boyPlays with the shining steel or crystal toy,{250}Swift and irregular, by sudden starts,The living ray with viewless motion darts,Swift o'er the wall, the floor, the roof, by turnsThe sun-beam dances, and the radiance burns:In quick succession, thus, a thousand viewsThe 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,AndGama, 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,AndVasco'strust with friendly toils repays.
END OF THE EIGHTH BOOK.{252}
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.
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.
RED[550]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 downHis 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:{253}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 sueFrom 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 lateOur injur'd honour fix thy dreadful fate."While thus he spake, his changeful look declar'dIn his proud breast what starting passions warr'd.No feature mov'd onGama'sface 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 conveyThe glorious tale of all the toils I bore,Afric surrounded, and the Indian shore{254}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'dThe dancing streamer o'er the palace rear'd;Instant another ensign distant rose,Where, jutting through the flood, the mountain throwsA ridge enormous, and on either sideDefends 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 whereGama'snavy rode,Then, proudly heav'd with panting hope, exploreThe 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 landThe 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 numberGama'smight,Proudly their boastful shouts provoke the fight;Far round the shore the echoing peal rebounds,Behind the hill an answ'ring shout resounds:{255}Still by the point new-spreading sails appear,Till seven timesGama'sfleet 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 eyesThe Indian king to manlyGamacries,"Not one of thine on Lisboa's shore shall tellThe 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 ireShall blast thy perfidy," greatVascocried,"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 inclaspingGama'sin a ring,Their fleet sweeps on.—Loud whizzing from the stringThe black-wing'd arrows float along the sky,And rising clouds the falling clouds supply.The lofty crowding spears that bristling stoodWide 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 valiantGama, thrill'd with transport, hearsHis 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 shoreGroans; quick and quicker blaze embraces blazeIn flashing arms; louder the thunders raiseTheir roaring, rolling o'er the bended skiesThe burst incessant; awe-struck Echo diesFalt'ring and deafen'd; from the brazen throats,Cloud after cloud, enroll'd in darkness, floats,{256}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 sightCan measure heav'n, slow rolls the cloudy white:Beneath, the smoky blackness spreads afarIts hov'ring wings, and veils the dreadful warDeep 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 roarThe yelling shrieks of thousands strike the shore:Presaging horror through the monarch's breastCrept cold; and gloomy o'er the distant east,Through Gata's hills[553]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 sideSome 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, aghastHe hears the howling of the whirlwind's blast;Above, resounds the crash, and down the steepSome rolling weight groans on with found'ring sweep;{257}Aghast he stands, amid the shades of night,And all his soul implores the friendly light:It comes; the dreadful lightning's quiv'ring blazeThe 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 bayThe rushing whirlwind pour'd the sudden day:Disaster's giant arm in one wide sweepAppear'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 coastGroan'd prores ingulf'd; the lashing surges raveO'er the black keels upturn'd, the swelling waveKisses the lofty mast's reclining head;And, far at sea, some few torn galleys fled.Amid the dreadful scene triumphant rodeThe 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 foesRear'd o'er the dashing waves their haggard brows.No word of scorn the loftyGamaspoke,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:{258}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 silentVascosawThe weight of horror, and o'erpowering aweThat shook the Moors, that shook the regent's knees,And sunk the monarch down. By swift degreesThe 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 restrainThy 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 theeBehold these thousands bend the suppliant knee—Thy navy's thund'ring sides black to the landDisplay their terrors—yet mayst thou command——"O'erpower'd he paus'd. Majestic and sereneGreatVascorose, then, pointing to the sceneWhere bled the war, "Thy fleet, proud king, beholdO'er ocean and the strand in carnage roll'd!So, shall this palace, smoking in the dust,And yon proud city, weep thy arts unjust.The Moors I knew, and, for their fraud prepar'd,I left my fix'd command my navy's guard:[555]{259}Whate'er from shore my name or seal convey'dOf other weight, that fix'd command forbade;Thus, ere its birth destroy'd, prevented fellWhat fraud might dictate, or what force compel.This morn the sacrifice of Fraud I stood,But hark, there lives the brother of my blood,And lives the friend, whose cares conjoin'd controlThese floating towers, both brothers of my soul.'If thrice,' I said, 'arise the golden morn,Ere to my fleet you mark my glad return,Dark Fraud with all her Moorish arts withstands,And force, or death withholds me from my bands:Thus judge, and swift unfurl the homeward sail,Catch the first breathing of the eastern gale,Unmindful of my fate on India's shore:[556]Let but my monarch know, I wish no more.'Each, panting while I spoke, impatient cries,The tear-drop bursting in their manly eyes,'In all but one thy mandates we obey,In one we yield not to thy gen'rous sway:Without thee, never shall our sails return;India shall bleed, and Calicut shall burn—Thrice shall the morn arise; a flight of bombsShall then speak vengeance to their guilty domes:Till noon we pause; then, shall our thunders roar,And desolation sweep the treach'rous shore.'Behold, proud king, their signal in the sky,Near his meridian tower the sun rides high.O'er Calicut no more the ev'ning shadeShall spread her peaceful wings, my wrath unstaid;Dire through the night her smoking dust shall gleam,Dire thro' the night shall shriek the female scream.""Thy worth, great chief," the pale-lipp'd regent cries,"Thy worth we own: oh, may these woes suffice!To thee each proof of India's wealth we send;Ambassadors, of noblest race, attend——"Slow as he falter'd,Gamacaught the word,"On terms I talk not, and no truce afford:{260}Captives enough shall reach the Lusian shore:Once you deceiv'd me, and I treat no more.E'en now my faithful sailors, pale with rage,Gnaw their blue lips, impatient to engage;Rang'd by their brazen tubes, the thund'ring bandWatch the first movement of my brother's hand;E'en now, impatient, o'er the dreadful tireThey wave their eager canes betipp'd with fire;Methinks my brother's anguish'd look I see,The panting nostril and the trembling knee,While keen he eyes the sun. On hasty strides,Hurried along the deck, Coello chidesHis cold, slow ling'ring, and impatient cries,'Oh, give the sign, illume the sacrifice,A brother's vengeance for a brother's blood——"He spake; and stern the dreadful warrior stood;So seem'd the terrors of his awful nod,The monarch trembled as before a god;The treach'rous Moors sank down in faint dismay,And speechless at his feet the council lay:Abrupt, with outstretched arms, the monarch cries,"What yet——" but dar'd not meet the hero's eyes,"What yet may save!"[557]—GreatVascostern rejoins,"Swift, undisputing, give th' appointed signs:High o'er thy loftiest tower my flag display,Me and my train swift to my fleet convey:Instant command—behold the sun rides high——"He spake, and rapture glow'd in ev'ry eye;The Lusian standard o'er the palace flow'd,Swift o'er the bay the royal barges row'd.A dreary gloom a sudden whirlwind threw;Amid the howling blast, enrag'd, withdrewThe vanquish'd demon. Soon, in lustre mildAs April smiles, the sun auspicious smil'd:{261}Elate with joy, the shouting thousands trod,AndGamato his fleet triumphant rode.Soft came the eastern gale on balmy wings:Each joyful sailor to his labour springs;Some o'er the bars their breasts robust recline,And, with firm tugs, the rollers[558]from the brine,Reluctant dragg'd, the slime-brown'd anchors raise;Each gliding rope some nimble hand obeys;Some bending o'er the yard-arm's length, on high,With nimble hands, the canvas wings untie;The flapping sails their wid'ning folds distend,And measur'd, echoing shouts their sweaty toils attend.Nor had the captives lost the leader's care,Some to the shore the Indian barges bear;The noblest few the chief detains, to ownHis glorious deeds before the Lusian throne;To own the conquest of the Indian shore:Nor wanted ev'ry proof of India's store.What fruits in Ceylon's fragrant woods abound,With woods of cinnamon her hills are crown'd:Dry'd in its flower, the nut of Banda's grove,The burning pepper, and the sable clove;The clove, whose odour on the breathing gale,Far to the sea, Molucca's plains exhale;All these, provided by the faithful Moor,All these, and India's gems, the navy bore:The Moor attends, Mozaide, whose zealous careToGama'seyes unveil'd each treach'rous snare:[559]{262}So burn'd his breast with Heav'n-illumin'd flame,And holy rev'rence of Messiah's name.O, favour'd African, by Heaven's own lightCall'd from the dreary shades of error's night!What man may dare his seeming ills arraign,Or what the grace of Heaven's designs explain!Far didst thou from thy friends a stranger roam,There wast thou call'd to thy celestial home.[560]With rustling sound now swell'd the steady sail;The lofty masts reclining to the gale,On full-spread wings the navy springs away,And, far behind them, foams the ocean grey:Afar the less'ning hills of Gata fly,And mix their dim blue summits with the sky:Beneath the wave low sinks the spicy shore,And, roaring through the tide, each nodding prorePoints to the Cape, great Nature's southmost bound,The Cape of Tempests, now of Hope renown'd.{263}Their glorious tale on Lisboa's shore to tellInspires each bosom with a rapt'rous swell;Now through their breasts the chilly tremors glide,To dare once more the dangers dearly tried.—Soon to the winds are these cold fears resign'd,And all their country rushes on the mind;How sweet to view their native land, how sweetThe father, brother, and the bride to greet!While list'ning round the hoary parent's boardThe wond'ring kindred glow at ev'ry word;How sweet to tell what woes, what toils they bore,The tribes, and wonders of each various shore!These thoughts, the traveller's lov'd reward, employ,And swell each bosom with unutter'd joy.[561]The queen of love, by Heaven's eternal grace,The guardian goddess of the Lusian race;The queen of love, elate with joy, surveysHer heroes, happy, plough the wat'ry maze:Their dreary toils revolving in her thought,And all the woes by vengeful Bacchus wrought;{264}These toils, these woes, her yearning cares employ,To bathe, and balsam in the streams of joy.Amid the bosom of the wat'ry waste,Near where the bowers of Paradise were plac'd,[562]An isle, array'd in all the pride of flowers,Of fruits, of fountains, and of fragrant bowers,She means to offer to their homeward prows,The place of glad repast and sweet repose;And there, before their raptur'd view, to raiseThe heav'n-topp'd column of their deathless praise.The goddess now ascends her silver car,(Bright was its hue as love's translucent star);Beneath the reins the stately birds,[563]that singTheir sweet-ton'd death-song spread the snowy wing;The gentle winds beneath her chariot sigh,And virgin blushes purple o'er the sky:On milk-white pinions borne, her cooing dovesForm playful circles round her as she moves;And now their beaks in fondling kisses join,In am'rous nods their fondling necks entwine.O'er fair Idalia's bowers the goddess rode,And by her altars sought Idalia's god:The youthful bowyer of the heart was there;His falling kingdom claim'd his earnest care.[564]{265}His bands he musters, through the myrtle grovesOn buxom wings he trains the little loves.Against the world, rebellious and astray,He means to lead them, and resume his sway:For base-born passions, at his shrine, 'twas told,Each nobler transport of the breast controll'd.A young Actæon,[565]scornful of his lore,Morn after morn pursues the foamy boar,{266}In desert wilds, devoted to the chase;Each dear enchantment of the female faceSpurn'd, and neglected. Him, enrag'd, he sees,And sweet, and dread his punishment decrees.Before his ravish'd sight, in sweet surprise,Naked in all her charms, shall Dian rise;With love's fierce flames his frozen heart shall burn,[566]Coldly his suit, the nymph, unmov'd, shall spurn.{267}Of these lov'd dogs that now his passions sway,Ah, may he never fall the hapless prey!Enrag'd, he sees a venal herd, the shameOf human race, assume the titled name;[567]{268}And each, for some base interest of his own,With Flatt'ry's manna'd lips assail the throne.He sees the men, whom holiest sanctions bindTo poverty, and love of human kind;While, soft as drop the dews of balmy May,Their words preach virtue, and her charms display,He sees with lust of gold their eyes on fire,And ev'ry wish to lordly state aspire;He sees them trim the lamp at night's mid hour,To plan new laws to arm the regal power;Sleepless, at night's mid hour, to raze the laws,The sacred bulwarks of the people's cause,Fram'd ere the blood of hard-earn'd victoryOn their brave fathers' helm-hack'd swords was dry.Nor these alone; each rank, debas'd and rude,Mean objects, worthless of their love, pursued:Their passions thus rebellious to his lore,The god decrees to punish and restore.The little loves, light hov'ring in the air,Twang their silk bow-strings, and their aims prepare:Some on th' immortal anvils point the dart,With power resistless to inflame the heart;Their arrow heads they tip with soft desires,And all the warmth of love's celestial fires;Some sprinkle o'er the shafts the tears of woe,Some store the quiver, some steel-spring the bow;Each chanting as he works the tuneful strainOf love's dear joys, of love's luxurious pain;Charm'd was the lay to conquer and refine,Divine the melody, the song divine.Already, now, began the vengeful war,The witness of the god's benignant care;On the hard bosoms of the stubborn crowd[568]An arrowy shower the bowyer train bestow'd;{269}Pierced by the whizzing shafts, deep sighs the air,And answering sighs the wounds of love declare.Though various featur'd, and of various hue,Each nymph seems loveliest in her lover's view;Fir'd by the darts, by novice archers sped,Ten thousand wild, fantastic loves are bred:In wildest dreams the rustic hind aspires,And haughtiest lords confess the humblest fires.The snowy swans of love's celestial queenNow land her chariot on the shore of green;One knee display'd, she treads the flow'ry strand,The gather'd robe falls loosely from her hand;Half-seen her bosom heaves the living snow,And on her smiles the living roses glow.The bowyer god,[569]whose subtle shafts ne'er flyMisaim'd, in vain, in vain on earth or sky,With rosy smiles the mother power receives;Around her climbing, thick as ivy leaves,The vassal loves in fond contention joinWho, first and most, shall kiss her hand divine.Swift in her arms she caught her wanton boy,And, "Oh, my son," she cries, "my pride, my joy!Against thy might the dreadful Typhon fail'd,Against thy shaft nor heav'n, nor Jove prevail'd;Unless thine arrow wake the young desires,My strength, my power, in vain each charm expires:My son, my hope, I claim thy powerful aid,Nor be the boon thy mother sues delay'd:Where'er—so will th' eternal fates—where'erThe Lusian race the victor standards rear,There shall my hymns resound, my altars flame,And heav'nly Love her joyful lore proclaim.My Lusian heroes, as my Romans, brave,Long toss'd, long hopeless on the storm-torn wave,Wearied and weak, at last on India's shoreArriv'd, new toils, repose denied, they bore;For Bacchus there with tenfold rage pursuedMy dauntless sons, but now his might subdued,{270}Amid these raging seas, the scene of woes,Theirs shall be now the balm of sweet repose;Theirs ev'ry joy the noblest heroes claim,The raptur'd foretaste of immortal fame.Then, bend thy bow and wound the Nereid train,The lovely daughters of the azure main;And lead them, while they pant with am'rous fire,Right to the isle which all my smiles inspire:Soon shall my care that beauteous isle supply,Where Zephyr, breathing love, on Flora's lap shall sigh.There let the nymphs the gallant heroes meet,And strew the pink and rose beneath their feet:In crystal halls the feast divine prolong,With wine nectareous and immortal song:Let every nymph the snow-white bed prepare,And, fairer far, resign her bosom there;There, to the greedy riotous embraceResign each hidden charm with dearest grace.Thus, from my native waves a hero lineShall rise, and o'er the East illustrious shine;[570]Thus, shall the rebel world thy prowess know,And what the boundless joys our friendly powers bestow."She said; and smiling view'd her mighty boy;Swift to the chariot springs the god of joy;His ivory bow, and arrows tipp'd with gold,Blaz'd to the sun-beam as the chariot roll'd:Their silver harness shining to the day,The swans, on milk-white pinions, spring away,Smooth gliding o'er the clouds of lovely blue;And Fame[571](so will'd the god) before them flew:{271}A giant goddess, whose ungovern'd tongueWith equal zeal proclaims or right or wrong;Oft had her lips the god of love blasphem'd,And oft with tenfold praise his conquests nam'd:A hundred eyes she rolls with ceaseless care,A thousand tongues what these behold declare: