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The Lusiad

or, the discovery of India. An Epic Poem. Translated from The Original Portuguese of Luis de Camohens [by W. J. Mickle]
  

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 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
BOOK V.
 VI. 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
 IX. 
 X. 


189

BOOK V.

While on the beach the hoary father stood
And spoke the murmurs of the multitude,
We spread the canvas to the rising gales,
The gentle winds distend the snowy sails.
As from our dear-loved native shore we fly
Our votive shouts, redoubled, rend the sky;
“Success, success,” far ecchoes o'er the tide,
While our broad hulks the foamy waves divide.
From Leo now, the lordly star of day,
Intensely blazing, shot his fiercest ray;
When slowly gliding from our wishful eyes,
The Lusian mountains mingled with the skies;

190

Tago's loved stream, and Syntra's mountains cold
Dim fading now, we now no more behold;
And still with yearning hearts our eyes explore,
Till one dim speck of land appears no more.
Our native soil now far behind, we ply
The lonely dreary waste of seas and boundless sky:
Through the wild deep our venturous navy bore,
Where but our Henry plough'd the wave before:
The verdant islands, first by him descry'd,
We past; and now in prospect opening wide,
Far to the left, increasing on the view,
Rose Mauritania's hills of paly blue:
Far to the right the restless ocean roared,
Whose bounding surges never keel explored;
If bounding shore, as Reason deems, divide
The vast Atlantic from the Indian tide.
Now from her woods, with fragrant bowers adorn'd,
From fair Madeira's purple coast we turn'd:
Cyprus and Paphos' vales the smiling loves
Might leave with joy for fair Madeira's groves;

191

A shore so flowery, and so sweet an air,
Venus might build her dearest temple there.
Onward we pass Massilia's barren strand,
A waste of wither'd grass and burning sand;
Where his thin herds the meagre native leads,
Where not a rivulet laves the doleful meads;
Nor herbs nor fruitage deck the woodland maze;
O'er the wild waste the stupid ostrich strays,
In devious search to pick her scanty meal,
Whose fierce digestion gnaws the temper'd steel.
From the green verge, where Tigitania ends,
To Ethiopia's line the dreary wild extends.
Now past the limit, which his course divides,
When to the North the Sun's bright chariot rides,
We leave the winding bays and swarthy shores,
Where Senegal's black wave impetuous roars;
A flood, whose course a thousand tribes surveys,
The tribes who blacken'd in the fiery blaze,
When Phaeton, devious from the solar height,
Gave Afric's sons the sable hue of night.
And now from far the Lybian cape is seen,
Now by my mandate named the Cape of Green;
Where midst the billows of the ocean smiles
A flowery sister-train, the happy isles,

192

Our onward prows the murmuring surges lave;
And now our vessels plough the gentle wave,
Where the blue islands, named of Hesper old,
Their fruitful bosoms to the deep unfold.
Here changeful Nature shews her various face,
And frolicks o'er the slopes with wildest grace:
Here our bold fleet their ponderous anchors threw,
The sickly cherish, and our stores renew.
From him, the warlike guardian power of Spain,
Whose spear's dread lightning o'er th' embattled plain
Has oft o'erwhelm'd the Moors in dire dismay,
And fixt the fortune of the doubtful day;
From him we name our station of repair,
And Jago's name that isle shall ever bear.
The northern winds now curl'd the blackening main,
Our sails unfurl'd we plough the tide again:
Round Afric's coast our winding course we steer,
Where bending to the East the shores appear.
Here Jalofo its wide extent displays,
And vast Mandinga shews its numerous bays;

193

Whose mountains' sides, though parch'd and barren, hold,
In copious store, the seeds of beamy gold.
The Gambea here his serpent journey takes,
And through the lawns a thousand windings makes;
A thousand swarthy tribes his current laves
Ere mix his waters with th' Atlantic waves.
The Gorgades we past, that hated shore,
Famed for its terrors by the bards of yore;
Where but one eye by Phorcus' daughters shared,
The lorn beholders into marble stared;
Three dreadful sisters! down whose temples roll'd
Their hair of snakes in many a hissing fold,
And scattering horror o'er the dreary strand,
With swarms of vipers sow'd the burning sand.
Still to the south our pointed keels we guide,
And through the Austral gulph still onward ride:
Her palmy forests mingling with the skies,
Leona's rugged steep behind us flies;

194

The cape of palms that jutting land we name,
Already conscious of our nation's fame.
Where the vext waves against our bulwarks roar,
And Lusian towers o'erlook the bending shore:
Our sails wide swelling to the constant blast,
Now by the isle from Thomas named we past;
And Congo's spacious realm before us rose,
Where copious Layra's limpid billow flows;
A flood by ancient hero never seen,
Where many a temple o'er the banks of green,
Rear'd by the Lusian heroes, through the night
Of Pagan darkness, pours the mental light.
Behind us now the northern ocean streams;
Lower and lower still the Pole-star gleams,

195

Till past the limit, where the car of day
Roll'd o'er our heads, and pour'd the downward ray:
We now beheld Calisto's star retire
Beneath the waves, unawed by Juno's ire.
Here, while the Sun his polar journeys takes,
His visit doubled, double seasons makes;
Stern winter twice deforms the changeful year,
And twice the spring's gay flowers their honours rear.
Now pressing onward, past the burning zone,
Another heaven to ancient times unknown,
Its arch'd expanse of deeper azure shews;
Before us now another Pole Star glows:
Here gloomy night assumes a darker reign,
And fewer stars inspire the heavenly plain;
Fewer than those that gild the northern pole,
And o'er our seas their glittering chariots roll:
Full to the south a shining cross appears,
Our heaving breasts the blissful Omen cheers:

196

Seven radiant stars compose the hallow'd sign
That rose still higher o'er the wavy brine.
Beneath this southern axle of the world
Never, with daring search, was flag unfurl'd;
Nor pilot knows if bounding shores are placed,
Or if one dreary sea o'erflow the lonely waste.
While thus our keels still onward boldly stray'd,
Now tost by tempests, now by calms delay'd,
To tell the terrors of the deep untry'd,
What toils we suffer'd, and what storms defy'd;
What rattling deluges the black clouds pour'd,
What dreary weeks of solid darkness lour'd;
What mountain surges mountain surges lash'd,
What sudden hurricanes the canvas dash'd;
What bursting lightnings, with incessant flare,
Kindled in one wide flame the burning air;
What roaring thunders bellow'd o'er our head,
And seem'd to shake the reeling ocean's bed:
To tell each horror on the deep reveal'd,
Would ask an iron throat with tenfold vigour steel'd:
Those dreadful wonders of the deep I saw,
Which fill the sailor's breast with sacred awe;

197

And which the sages, of their learning vain,
Esteem the phantoms of the dreamful brain:
That living fire, by sea-men held divine,
Of heaven's own care in storms the holy sign,
Which midst the horrors of the tempest plays,
And on the blast's dark wings will gaily blaze;
Those eyes distinct have seen that living fire
Glide through the storm, and round my sails aspire.
And oft, while wonder thrill'd my breast, mine eyes
To heaven have seen the watery columns rise.
Slender at first the subtle fume appears,
And writhing round and round its volume rears:
Thick as a mast the vapour swells its size,
A curling whirlwind lifts it to the skies;
The tube now straitens, now in width extends,
And in a hovering cloud its summit ends:
Still gulp on gulp it sucks the rising tide,
And now the cloud, with cumbrous weight supply'd,

198

Full-gorged, and blackening, spreads, and moves, more slow,
And waving trembles to the waves below.
Thus when to shun the summer's sultry beam
The thirsty heifer seeks the cooling stream,
The eager horse-leech fixing on her lips,
Her blood with ardent throat insatiate sips,
Till the gorged glutton, swell'd beyond her size,
Drops from her wounded hold, and bursting dies.
So bursts the cloud, o'erloaded with its freight,
And the dash'd ocean staggers with the weight.
But say, ye sages, who can weigh the cause,
And trace the secret springs of Nature's laws,
Say, why the wave, of bitter brine erewhile,
Should to the bosom of the deep recoil
Robb'd of its salt, and from the cloud distill
Sweet as the waters of the limpid rill?
Ye sons of boastful wisdom, famed of yore,
Whose feet unwearied wander'd many a shore,
From Nature's wonders to withdraw the veil,
Had you with me unfurl'd the daring sail,

199

Had view'd the wondrous scenes mine eyes survey'd,
What seeming miracles the deep display'd,
What secret virtues various Nature shew'd,
Oh! heaven! with what a fire your page had glow'd!
And now since wandering o'er the foamy spray,
Our brave Armada held her venturous way,
Five times the changeful Empress of the night
Had fill'd her shining horns with silver light,
When sudden from the main-top's airy round
Land, land, is ecchoed—At the joyful sound,
Swift to the crowded decks the bounding crew
On wings of hope and fluttering transport flew,
And each strain'd eye with aching sight explores
The wide horizon of the eastern shores:
As thin blue clouds the mountain summits rise,
And now the lawns salute our joyful eyes;
Loud through the fleet the ecchoing shouts prevail,
We drop the anchor, and restrain the sail;
And now descending in a spacious bay,
Wide o'er the coast the venturous soldiers stray,
To spy the wonders of the spacious shore,
Where stranger's foot had never trod before.
I and my pilots on the yellow sand
Explore beneath what sky the shores expand.

200

That sage device, whose wonderous use proclaims
Th' immortal honour of its authors' names,
The Sun's height measured, and my compass scann'd,
The painted globe of ocean and of land.
Here we perceived our venturous keels had past
Unharm'd the wintery tropick's howling blast;
And now approach'd dread Neptune's secret reign,
Where the stern Power, as o'er the frozen plain
He rides, wide scatters from the polar star
Hail, ice, and snow, and all the wintery war.
While thus attentive on the beach we stood,
My soldiers, hastening from the upland wood,
Right to the shore a trembling Negro brought,
Whom on the forest-height by force they caught,
As distant wander'd from the call of home,
He suck'd the honey from the porous comb.
Horror glared in his look, and fear extreme
In mein more wild than brutal Polypheme:
No word of rich Arabia's tongue he knew,
Nor sign could answer, nor our gems would view:
From garments striped with shining gold he turn'd,
The starry diamond and the silver spurn'd.

201

Strait at my nod are worthless trinkets brought;
Round beads of chrystal as a bracelet wrought,
A cap of red, and dangling on a string
Some little bells of brass before him ring:
A wide-mouth'd laugh confest his barbarous joy,
And both his hands he raised to grasp the toy.
Pleased with these gifts we set the savage free,
Homeward he springs away, and bounds with glee.
Soon as the gleamy streaks of purple morn
The lofty forest's topmost boughs adorn,
Down the steep mountain's side, yet hoar with dew,
A naked crowd, and black as night their hue,
Come tripping to the shore: Their wishful eyes
Declare what tawdry trifles most they prize:
These to their hopes were given, and, void of fear,
Mild seem'd their manners, and their looks sincere.
A bold rash youth, ambitious of the fame
Of brave adventurer, Velose his name,
Through pathless brakes their homeward steps attends,
And on his single arm for help depends.
Long was his stay: my earnest eyes explore,
When rushing down the mountain to the shore
I mark'd him; terror urged his rapid strides,
And soon Coëllo's skiff the wave divides.

202

Yet ere his friends advanced, the treacherous foe
Trod on his latest steps, and aim'd the blow.
Moved by the danger of a youth so brave,
Myself now snatch'd an oar, and sprung to save:
When sudden, blackening down the mountain's height,
Another crowd pursued his panting flight;
And soon an arrowy and a flinty shower
Thick o'er our heads the fierce barbarians pour.
Nor pour'd in vain; a feather'd arrow stood
Fix'd in my leg, and drank the gushing blood.

203

Vengeance as sudden every wound repays,
Full on their fronts our flashing lightnings blaze;
Their shrieks of horror instant pierce the sky,
And wing'd with fear at fullest speed they fly.
Long tracks of gore their scatter'd flight betray'd,
And now Veloso to the fleet convey'd,
His sportful mates his brave exploits demand,
And what the curious wonders of the land:
“Hard was the hill to climb, my valiant friend,
“But oh! how smooth and easy to descend!
“Well hast thou proved thy swiftness for the chace,
“And shewn thy matchless merit in the race!”
With look unmoved the gallant youth reply'd,
“For you, my friends, my fleetest speed was try'd;
“'Twas you the fierce barbarians meant to slay;
“For you I fear'd the fortune of the day;
“Your danger great without mine aid I knew,
“And swift as lightning to your rescue flew.”

204

He now the treason of the foe relates,
How soon, as past the mountain's upland straits,
They changed the colour of their friendly shew,
And force forbade his steps to tread below:
How down the coverts of the steepy brake
Their lurking stand a treacherous ambush take;
On us, when speeding to defend his flight,
To rush, and plunge us in the shades of night:
Nor while in friendship would their lips unfold
Where India's ocean laved the orient shores of gold.
Now prosp'rous gales the bending canvas swell'd;
From these rude shores our fearless course we held:
Beneath the glistening wave the God of day
Had now five times withdrawn the parting ray,
When o'er the prow a sudden darkness spread,
And slowly floating o'er the mast's tall head
A black cloud hover'd: nor appear'd from far
The moon's pale glimpse, nor faintly twinkling star;
So deep a gloom the louring vapour cast,
Transfixt with awe the bravest stood aghast.

205

Meanwhile a hollow bursting roar resounds,
As when hoarse surges lash their rocky mounds;
Nor had the blackening wave, nor frowning heaven
The wonted signs of gathering tempest given.
Amazed we stood—O thou, our fortune's guide,
Avert this Omen, mighty God,—I cried;
Or through forbidden climes adventrous stray'd,
Have we the secrets of the deep survey'd,
Which these wide solitudes of seas and sky
Were doom'd to hide from man's unhallow'd eye?
Whate'er this prodigy, it threatens more
Than midnight tempests and the mingled roar,
When sea and sky combine to rock the marble shore.
I spoke, when rising through the darken'd air,
Appall'd we saw an hideous Phantom glare;
High and enormous o'er the flood he tower'd,
And thwart our way with sullen aspect lour'd:
An earthy paleness o'er his cheeks was spread,
Erect uprose his hairs of wither'd red;
Writhing to speak his sable lips disclose,
Sharp and disjoin'd, his gnashing teeth's blue rows;
His haggard beard flow'd quivering on the wind,
Revenge and horror in his mien combined;
His clouded front, by withering lightnings scared,
The inward anguish of his soul declared.

206

His red eyes glowing from their dusky caves
Shot livid fires: Far ecchoing o'er the waves
His voice resounded, as the cavern'd shore
With hollow groan repeats the tempest's roar.
Cold gliding horrors thrill'd each hero's breast,
Our bristling hairs and tottering knees confest
Wild dread, the while with visage ghastly wan,
His black lips trembling, thus the fiend began:

207

O you, the boldest of the nations, fired
By daring pride, by lust of fame inspired,
Who scornful of the bowers of sweet repose,
Through these my waves advance your daring prows,
Regardless of the lengthening watery way,
And all the storms that own my sovereign sway,
Who mid surrounding rocks and shelves explore
Where never hero braved my rage before;
Ye sons of Lusus, who with eyes profane
Have view'd the secrets of my awful reign,
Have pass'd the bounds which jealous Nature drew
To veil her secret shrine from mortal view;

208

Hear from my lips what direful woes attend,
And bursting soon shall o'er your race descend.
With every bounding keel that dares my rage,
Eternal war my rocks and storms shall wage,
The next proud fleet that through my drear domain,
With daring search shall hoist the streaming vane,
That gallant navy by my whirlwinds tost,
And raging seas shall perish on my coast:
Then He who first my secret reign descried
A naked corse wide floating o'er the tide
Shall drive—Unless my heart's full raptures fail,
O Lusus! oft shalt thou thy children wail;
Each year thy shipwreck'd sons shalt thou deplore,
Each year thy sheeted masts shall strew my shore.
With trophies plumed behold an Hero come ,
Ye dreary wilds, prepare his yawning tomb.

209

Though smiling fortune blest his youthful morn,
Though glory's rays his laurel'd brows adorn,
Full oft though he beheld with sparkling eye
The Turkish moons in wild confusion fly,
While he, proud victor, thunder'd in the rear,
All, all his mighty fame shall vanish here.
Quiloa's sons, and thine Mombaze, shall see
Their conqueror bend his laurel'd head to me;
While proudly mingling with the tempest's sound,
Their shouts of joy from every cliff rebound.
The howling blast, ye slumbering storms prepare,
A youthful Lover and his beauteous Fair,
Triumphant sail from India's ravaged land;
His evil angel leads him to my strand.
Through the torn hulk the dashing waves shall roar,
The shatter'd wrecks shall blacken all my shore.
Themselves escaped, despoil'd by savage hands,
Shall naked wander o'er the burning sands,
Spared by the waves far deeper woes to bear,
Woes even by me acknowledged with a tear.
Their infant race, the promised heirs of joy,
Shall now no more an hundred hands employ;
By cruel want, beneath the parents' eye,
In these wide wastes their infant race shall die;
Through dreary wilds where never Pilgrim trod,
Where caverns yawn and rocky fragments nod,

210

The hapless Lover and his Bride shall stray,
By night unshelter'd, and forlorn by day.
In vain the Lover o'er the trackless plain
Shall dart his eyes, and cheer his spouse in vain.
Her tender limbs, and breast of mountain snow,
Where ne'er before intruding blast might blow,
Parch'd by the sun, and shrivell'd by the cold
Of dewy night, shall he, fond man, behold.
Thus wand'ring wide, a thousand ills o'erpast,
In fond embraces they shall sink at last;
While pitying tears their dying eyes o'erflow,
And the last sigh shall wail each other's woe.

211

Some few, the sad companions of their fate,
Shall yet survive, protected by my hate,
On Tagus' banks the dismal tale to tell
How blasted by my frown your heroes fell.
He paus'd, in act still farther to disclose
A long, a dreary prophecy of woes:
When springing onward, loud my voice resounds,
And midst his rage the threatening Shade confounds.
What art thou, Horrid Form, that ridest the air?
By heaven's eternal light, stern Fiend, declare.
His lips he writhes, his eyes far round he throws,
And from his breast deep hollow groans arose,
Sternly askaunce he stood: with wounded pride
And anguish torn, In me, behold, he cried,
While dark-red sparkles from his eyeballs roll'd,
In me the Spirit of the Cape behold,
That rock by you the Cape of Tempests named,
By Neptune's rage in horrid earthquakes framed,
When Jove's red bolts o'er Titan's offspring flamed.
With wide-stretch'd piles I guard the pathless strand,
And Afric's southern mound unmoved I stand:
Nor Roman prow, nor daring Tyrian oar
Ere dash'd the white wave foaming to my shore;
Nor Greece nor Carthage ever spread the sail
On these my seas to catch the trading gale.

222

You, you alone have dared to plough my main,
And with the human voice disturb my lonesome reign.
Sprung from th' embrace of Titan and of Earth,
The hundred-handed giant at a birth,
And Me the rock-ribb'd mother gave to fame,
Great Adamastor then my dreaded name.
In my bold brothers' glorious hopes engaged,
Tremendous war against the gods I waged:
Yet not to reach the throne of heaven I try,
With mountain piled on mountain to the sky;
To me the conquest of the seas befel,
In his green realm the second Jove to quell.
Nor did ambition all my passions hold,
'Twas love that prompted an attempt so bold.
Ah me, one summer in the cool of day
I saw the Nereids on the sandy bay
With lovely Thetis from the wave advance
In mirthful frolic, and the naked dance.
In all her charms reveal'd the goddess trode,
With fiercest fires my struggling bosom glow'd;
Yet, yet I feel them burning in my heart,
And hopeless languish with the raging smart.
For her, each goddess of the heavens I scorn'd,
For her alone my fervent ardour burn'd.

223

In vain I woo'd her to the lover's bed,
From my grim form with horror mute she fled.
Madning with love, by force I ween to gain
The silver goddess of the blue domain:
To the hoar mother of the Nereid band
I tell my purpose, and her aid command:
By fear impell'd, old Doris tries to move,
And win the spouse of Peleus to my love.
The silver goddess with a smile replies,
What nymph can yield her charms a giant's prize!
Yet from the horrors of a war to save,
And guard in peace our empire of the wave,
Whate'er with honour he may hope to gain,
That let him hope his wish shall soon attain.
The promised grace infused a bolder fire,
And shook my mighty limbs with fierce desire.
But ah, what error spreads its dreamful night,
What phantoms hover o'er the lover's sight!
The war resign'd, my steps by Doris led,
While gentle eve her shadowy mantle spread,
Before my steps the snowy Thetis shone
In all her charms, all naked, and alone.

214

Swift as the wind with open arms I sprung,
And round her waist with joy delirious clung:
In all the transports of the warm embrace,
An hundred kisses on her angel face,
On all its various charms my rage bestows,
And on her cheek my cheek enraptured glows.
When, oh, what anguish while my shame I tell!
What fixt despair, what rage my bosom swell!
Here was no goddess, here no heavenly charms,
A rugged mountain fill'd my eager arms,
Whose rocky top o'erhung with matted brier,
Received the kisses of my amourous fire.
Waked from my dream cold horror freezed my blood;
Fixt as a rock before the rock I stood;
O fairest goddess of the ocean train,
Behold the triumph of thy proud disdain;
Yet why, I cried, with all I wish'd decoy,
And when exulting in the dream of joy,
An horrid mountain to mine arms convey!—
Madning I spoke, and furious sprung away.
Far to the south I sought the world unknown,
Where I unheard, unscorn'd, might wail alone,
My foul dishonour, and my tears to hide,
And shun the triumph of the goddess' pride.
My brothers now by Jove's red arm o'erthrown,
Beneath huge mountains piled on mountains groan;

215

And I, who taught each eccho to deplore,
And tell my sorrows to the desert shore,
I felt the hand of Jove my crimes pursue,
My stiffening flesh to earthy ridges grew,
And my huge bones, no more by marrow warm'd,
To horrid piles and ribs of rock transform'd,
Yon dark-brow'd cape of monstrous size became,
Where round me still, in triumph o'er my shame,
The silvery Thetis bids her surges roar,
And waft my groans along the dreary shore.
He spoke, and deep a lengthen'd sigh he drew,
A doleful sound, and vanish'd from the view;
The frighten'd billows gave a rolling swell,
And distant far prolong'd the dismal yell;
Faint and more faint the howling ecchoes die,
And the black cloud dispersing leaves the sky.

226

High to the angel host, whose guardian care
Had ever round us watch'd, my hands I rear,
And heaven's dread king implore, As o'er our head
The fiend dissolved, an empty shadow fled;
So may his curses by the winds of heaven
Far o'er the deep, their idle sport, be driven!
Now from the wave the chariot of the day
Whirl'd by the fiery coursers springs away,
When full in view the giant Cape appears,
Wide spreads its limbs, and high its shoulders rears;
Behind us now it curves the bending side,
And our bold vessels plow the eastern tide.
Nor long excursive off at sea we stand,
A cultured shore invites us to the land.
Here their sweet scenes the rural joys bestow,
And give our wearied minds a lively glow.

227

The tenants of the coast, a festive band,
With dances meet us on the yellow sand;
Their brides on slow-paced oxen rode behind;
The spreading horns with flowery garlands twined,
Bespoke the dew-lapt beeves their proudest boast,
Of all their bestial store the valued most.
By turns the husbands and the brides prolong
The various measures of the rural song.
Now to the dance the rustic reeds resound;
The dancers' heels light-quivering beat the ground,
And now the lambs around them bleating stray,
Feed from their hands, or round them frisking play.
Methought I saw the sylvan reign of Pan,
And heard the music of the Mantuan swan:
With smiles we hail them, and with joy behold
The blissful manners of the age of gold.
With that mild kindness, by their looks display'd,
Fresh stores they bring, with cloth of red repay'd:

218

Yet from their lips no word we knew could flow,
No sign of India's strand their hands bestow.
Fair blow the winds; again with sails unfurl'd
We dare the main, and seek the eastern world.
Now round black Afric's coast our navy veer'd,
And to the world's mid circle northward steer'd:
The southern pole low to the wave declined,
We leave the isle of Holy Cross behind;
That isle where erst a Lusian, when he past
The tempest-beaten cape, his anchors cast,
And own'd his proud ambition to explore
The kingdoms of the morn could dare no more.
From thence, still on, our daring course we hold
Through trackless gulphs, whose billows never roll'd
Around the vessel's pitchy sides before;
Through trackless gulphs, where mountain surges roar,
For many a night, when not a star appear'd,
Nor infant moon's dim horns the darkness cheer'd;
For many a dreary night, and cheerless day,
In calms now fetter'd, now the whirlwind's play,
By ardent hope still fired, we forced our dreadful way.
Now smooth as glass the shining waters lie,
No cloud slow moving sails the azure sky;

219

Slack from their height the sails unmoved decline,
The airy streamers form the downward line;
No gentle quiver owns the gentle gale,
Nor gentlest swell distends the ready sail;
Fixt as in ice the slumbering prows remain,
And silence wide extends her solemn reign.
Now to the waves the bursting clouds descend,
And heaven and sea in meeting tempests blend;
The black-wing'd whirlwinds o'er the ocean sweep,
And from his bottom roars the staggering deep.
Driven by the yelling blast's impetuous sway
Staggering we bound, yet onward bound away:
And now escaped the fury of the storm,
New danger threatens in a various form;
Though fresh the breeze the swelling canvas swell'd,
A current's headlong sweep our prows withheld:
The rapid force imprest on every keel,
Backward, o'erpower'd, our rolling vessels reel:
When from their southern caves the winds, enraged
In horrid conflict with the waves engaged;
Beneath the tempest groans each loaded mast,
And o'er the rushing tide our bounding navy past.

220

Now shined the sacred morn, when from the East
Three kings the holy cradled Babe addrest,
And hail'd him Lord of heaven: that festive day
We dropt our anchors in an opening bay;
The river from the sacred day we name,
And stores, the wandering seaman's right, we claim:
Stores we received; our dearest hope in vain,
No word they utter'd could our ears retain;
Nought to reward our search for India's sound,
By word or sign our ardent wishes crown'd.
Behold, O King, how many a shore we try'd!
How many a fierce barbarian's rage defy'd!
Yet still in vain for India's shores we try,
The long-sought shores our daring search defy.
Beneath new heavens, where not a star we knew,
Through changing climes, where poison'd air we drew;
Wandering new seas, in gulphs unknown, forlorn,
By labour weaken'd, and by famine worn;
Our food corrupted, pregnant with disease,
And pestilence on each expected breeze;

221

Not even a gleam of hope's delusive ray
To lead us onward through the devious way;
That kind delusion which full oft has cheer'd
The bravest minds, till glad success appear'd
Worn as we were each night with hopeless care,
Each day with danger that increased despair;
Oh! Monarch, judge, what less than Lusian fire
Could still the daring scorn of fate inspire!
What less, O King, than Lusian faith withstand,
When dire despair and famine gave command
Their chief to murder, and with lawless power
Sweep Afric's seas, and every coast devour!
What more than Men in wild despair still bold!
These more than Men in these my band behold!
Sacred to death, by death alone subdued,
These all the rage of fierce despair withstood;

222

Firm to their faith, though fondest hope no more
Could give the promise of their native shore!
Now the sweet waters of the stream we leave,
And the salt waves our gliding ships receive;
Here to the left, between the bending shores,
Torn by the winds the whirling billow roars;
And boiling raves against the sounding coast,
Whose mines of gold Sofala's merchants boast:
Full to the gulph the showery south-winds howl,
Aslant against the wind our vessels rowl:
Far from the land, wide o'er the ocean driven,
Our helms resigning to the care of heaven,
By hope and fear's keen passion tost, we roam,
When our glad eyes beheld the surges foam
Against the beacons of a cultured bay,
Where sloops and barges cut the watery way.
The river's opening breast some upward ply'd,
And some came gliding down the sweepy tide.
Quick throbs of transport heaved in every heart
To view the knowledge of the seaman's art;
For here we hoped our ardent wish to gain,
To hear of India's strand, nor hoped in vain.
Though Ethiopia's sable hue they bore
No look of wild surprize the natives wore:

223

Wide o'er their heads the cotton turban swell'd,
And cloth of blue the decent loins conceal'd.
Their speech, though rude and dissonant of sound,
Their speech a mixture of Arabian own'd.
Fernando, skill'd in all the copious store
Of fair Arabia's speech and flowery lore,
In joyful converse heard the pleasing tale,
That o'er these seas full oft the frequent sail,
And lordly vessels, tall as ours, appear'd,
Which to the regions of the morning steer'd,
And back returning to the southmost land,
Convey'd the treasures of the Indian strand;
Whose chearful crews, resembling ours, display
The kindred face and colour of the day.
Elate with joy we raise the glad acclaim,
And, River of good signs, the port we name:
Then, sacred to the angel guide, who led
The young Tobiah to the spousal bed,
And safe return'd him through the perilous way,
We rear a column on the friendly bay.

224

Our keels, that now had steer'd through many a clime,
By shell-fish roughen'd, and incased with slime,
Joyful we clean, while bleating from the field
The fleecy dams the smiling natives yield:
But while each face an honest welcome shews,
And big with sprightly hope each bosom glows,
(Alas! how vain the bloom of human joy!
How soon the blasts of woe that bloom destroy!)
A dread disease its rankling horrors shed,
And death's dire ravage through mine army spread.
Never mine eyes such dreary sight beheld,
Ghastly the mouth and gums enormous swell'd;
And instant, putrid like a dead man's wound,
Poisoned with fœtid streams the air around.
No sage physician's ever-watchful zeal,
No skilful surgeon's gentle hand to heal,
Were found: each dreary mournful hour we gave
Some brave companion to a foreign grave.
A grave, the awful gift of every shore!—
Alas! what weary toils with us they bore!
Long, long endear'd by fellowship in woe,
O'er their cold dust we give the tears to flow;

225

And in their hapless lot forbode our own,
A foreign burial, and a grave unknown!
Now deeply yearning o'er our deathful fate,
With joyful hope of India's shore elate,
We loose the haulsers and the sail expand,
And upward coast the Ethiopian strand.
What danger threaten'd at Quiloa's isle,
Mozambic's treason, and Mombassa's guile;
What miracles kind heaven our guardian wrought,
Loud Fame already to thine ears has brought:
Kind heaven again that guardian care display'd,
And to thy port our weary fleet convey'd,
Where thou, O king, heaven's regent power below,
Bidst thy full bounty and thy truth to flow;
Health to the sick, and to the weary rest,
And joyful hope revived in every breast,
Proclaim thy gifts, with grateful joy repay'd,
The brave Man's tribute for the brave Man's aid.
And now in honour of thy fond command,
The glorious annals of my native land;
And what the perils of a rout so bold,
So dread as ours, my faithful lips have told.
Then judge, great Monarch, if the world before
Ere saw the prow such length of seas explore!

226

Nor sage Ulysses, nor the Trojan pride
Such raging gulphs, such whirling storms defy'd;
Nor one poor tenth of my dread course explored,
Though by the Muse as demigods adored.
O thou whose breast all Helicon inflamed,
Whose birth seven vaunting cities proudly claim'd;
And thou whose mellow lute and rural song,
In softest flow, led Mincio's waves along,
Whose warlike numbers as a storm impell'd,
And Tyber's surges o'er his borders swell'd;
Let all Parnassus lend creative fire,
And all the Nine with all their warmth inspire;
Your demigod's conduct through every scene
Cold fear can paint, or wildest fancy feign;
The Syren's guileful lay, dire Circe's spell,
And all the horrors of the Cyclop's cell;
Bid Scylla's barking waves their mates o'erwhelm,
And hurl the guardian Pilot from the helm,
Give sails and oars to fly the purple shore,
Where love of absent friend awakes no more,

227

In all their charms display Calypso's smiles,
Her flowery arbours and her amorous wiles;
In skins confined the blustering winds controul,
Or o'er the feast bid loathsome harpies prowl;
And lead your heroes through the dread abodes
Of tortured spectres and infernal gods;
Give every flower that decks Aonia's hill
To grace your fables with divinest skill;
Beneath the wonders of my tale they fall,
Where truth all unadorn'd and pure exceeds them all.
While thus illustrious Gama charm'd their ears,
The look of wonder each Melindian wears,
And pleased attention witness'd the command
Of every movement of his lips or hand.
The king enraptured own'd the glorious fame
Of Lisbon's monarchs, and the Lusian name;

228

What warlike rage the victor-kings inspired!
Nor less their armies loyal faith admired.
Nor less his menial train, in wonder lost,
Repeat the gallant deeds that please them most,
Each to his mate, while fixed in fond amaze
The Lusian features every eye surveys;
While present to the view, by Fancy brought,
Arise the wonders by the Lusians wrought,
And each bold feature to their wondering sight
Displays the raptured ardour of the fight.
Apollo now withdrew the chearful day,
And left the western sky to twilight grey;
Beneath the wave he sought fair Thetis' bed,
And to the shore Melinda's Sovereign sped.
What boundless joys are thine, O just Renown,
Thou hope of Virtue, and her noblest crown;
By thee the seeds of conscious worth are fired,
Hero by hero, fame by fame inspired:
Without thine aid how soon the hero dies!
By thee upborne his name ascends the skies.
This Ammon knew, and own'd his Homer's lyre
The noblest glory of Pelides' ire.

229

This knew Augustus, and from Mantua's shade
To courtly ease the Roman bard convey'd;
And soon exulting flow'd the song divine,
The noblest glory of the Roman line.
Dear was the Muse to Julius; ever dear
To gallant Scipio, though the victor-spear
One hand employed, yet on the martial field
The other knew th' immortal pen to wield.
Each glorious chief the victor's palm who bore
In Greece, in Latium, or on barbarous shore,
Each glorious name, e'er to the Muse endear'd,
Or wooed the Muses, or the Muse revered.
Alas, on Tago's hapless shores alone
The Muse is slighted, and her charms unknown;
For this, no Virgil here attunes the lyre,
No Homer here awakes the hero's fire.
On Tago's shores are Scipios, Cæsars born,
And Alexanders Lisbon's clime adorn;
But heaven has stampt them in a rougher mould,
Nor gave the polish to their genuine gold.
Careless and rude or to be known or know,
In vain to them the sweetest numbers flow:
Unheard, in vain their native poet sings,
And cold neglect weighs down the Muse's wings,

230

Even he whose veins the blood of Gama warms,
Walks by, unconscious of the Muse's charms:
For him no Muse shall leave her golden loom,
No palm shall blossom, and no wreath shall bloom;
Yet shall my labours and my cares be paid
By fame immortal, and by Gama's shade:
Him shall the song on every shore proclaim,
The first of heroes, first of naval fame.
Rude and ungrateful though my country be,
This proud example shall be taught by Me,
“Where'er the hero's worth demands the skies,
“To crown that worth some generous bard shall rise!”

Aristotle has pronounced, that the works of Homer contain the perfect model of the epic poem. Homer never gives us any digressive declamation spoken in the person of the poet, or interruptive of the thread of his narration. For this reason Milton's beautiful complaint of his blindness has been censured as a violation of the rules of the Epopea. But it may be presumed there is an appeal beyond the writings of Homer, an appeal to the reason of these rules. When Homer laid the plan of his works, he felt that to write a poem like an history, whose parts had no necessary dependence and connexion with each other, must be uninterresting and tiresome to the reader of real genius. The unity of one action adorned with proper collateral episodes therefore presented itself in its progressive dependencies of beginning, middle, and end; or in other words, a description of certain circumstances, the actions which these produce, and the catastrophe. This unity of conduct, as most interesting, is indespensably necessary to the epic poem. But it does not follow, that a declamation in the person of the poet, at the beginning or end of a book, is properly a breach of the unity of the conduct of the action; therefore the omission of such declamations by Homer, as not founded on the nature of the epic poem, is no argument against the use of them. If this however will not be allowed by the critic, let the critic remember, that Homer has many digressive histories, which have no dependence on, or connexion with the action of the poem. If the declamation of Camoens in praise of Poetry must be condemned, what defence can be offered for the long story of Maron's wine in the ninth Odyssey, to which even the numbers of a Pope could give no dignity! Yet however a Bossu or a Rapin may condemn the digressive exclamations of Camoens, the reader of taste, who judges from what he feels, would certainly be unwilling to have them expunged. The declamation with which he concludes the seventh Lusiad, must please, must touch every breast. The feelings of a great spirit in the evening of an active and military life, sinking under the pressure of neglect and dependence, yet the complaint expressed with the most manly resentment,


231

cannot fail to interest the generous, and, if adorned with the dress of poetry, to plead an excuse for its admission with the man of taste. The declamation which concludes the present book, has also some arguments to offer in its defence. As the fleet of Gama have now safely conquered many difficulties, and are promised a pilot to conduct them to India, it is a proper contrast to the murmurings of the populace, expressed by the old Man, at the end of the fourth Lusiad, and is by no means an improper conclusion to the episode which so highly extols the military fame of the Lusian warriors.

In the works of Aaron Hill, Esq; there is a loose paraphrase of the conclusion of this book, in the elegiac or alternate measure.

END OF THE FIFTH BOOK.
 

See the life of Don Henry, Prince of Portugal, in the Preface.

The discovery of some of the West-Indian islands by Columbus was made in 1492 and 1493. His discovery of the continent of America was not till 1498. The fleet of Gama sailed from the Tagus in 1497.

Called by the ancients Insulæ Purpurariæ. Now Madeira and Porto Sancto. The former was so named by Juan Gonzales, and Tristan Vaz, from the Spanish word Madera, wood. These discoverers were sent out by the great Don Henry.

Called by Ptolemy Caput Assinarium.

The province of Jalofo lies between the two rivers, the Gambea and the Zanago. The latter has other names in the several countries through which it runs. In its course it makes many islands, inhabited only by wild beasts. It is navigable 150 leagues, at the end of which it is crossed by a stupendous ridge of perpendicular rocks, over which the river rushes with such violence, that travellers pass under it without any other inconveniency than the prodigious noise. The Gambea, or Rio Grande runs 180 leagues, but is not so far navigable. It carries more water, and runs with less noise than the other, though filled with many rivers which water the country of Mandinga. Both rivers are branches of the Niger. Their waters have this remarkable quality; when mixed together they operate as an emetic, but when separate do not. They abound with great variety of fishes, and their banks are covered with horses, crocodiles, winged serpents, elephants, ounces, wild boars, with great numbers of others, wonderful for the variety of their nature and different forms. Faria y Sousa.

Tombotu, the mart of Mandinga gold, was greatly resorted to by the merchants of Grand Cairo, Tunis, Oran, Tremisen, Fez, Morocco, &c.

Contra hoc promontorium (Hesperionceras) Gorgades insulæ narrantur, Gorgonum quondam domus, bidui navigatione distantes a continente, ut tradit Xenophon Lampsacenus. Penetravit in eas Hanno Pœnorum imperator, prodiditque hirta fœminarum corpora viros pernicitate evasisse, duarumque Gorgonum cutes argumenti et miraculi gratia in Junonis templo posuit, spectatas usque ad Carthaginem captam. Plin. Hist. Nat. l. 6. c. 31.

During the reign of John II. the Portuguese erected several forts, and acquired great power in the extensive regions of Guinea. Azambuja, a Portuguese captain, having obtained leave from Caramansa, a Negro Prince, to erect a fort on his territories, an unlucky accident had almost proved fatal to the discoverers. A huge rock lay very commodious for a quarry; the workmen began on it; but this rock, as the Devil would have it, happened to be a Negro God. The Portuguese were driven away by the enraged worshippers, who were afterwards with difficulty pacified by a profusion of such presents as they most esteemed.

The Portuguese having brought an Ambassador from Congo to Lisbon sent him back instructed in the faith. By this means the King, Queen, and about 100,000 of the people were baptized; the idols were destroyed and churches built. Soon after the Prince, who was then absent at war, was baptized by the name of Alonzo. His younger brother, Aquitimo, however, would not receive the faith, and the father, because allowed only one wife, turned apostate, and left the crown to his Pagan son, who, with a great army, surrounded his brother, when only attended by some Portuguese and Christian Blacks, in all only thirty-seven. By the bravery of these, however, Aquitimo was defeated, taken, and slain. One of Aquitimo's officers declared, they were not defeated by the thirty-seven Christians, but by a glorious army who fought under a shining cross. The idols were again destroyed, and Alonzo sent his sons, grandsons, and nephews to Portugal to study; two of whom were afterwards bishops in Congo. Extracted from Faria y Sousa.

According to fable, Calisto was a nymph of Diana. Jupiter having assumed the figure of that goddess, completed his amorous desires. On the discovery of her pregnancy Diana drove her from her train. She fled to the woods, where she was delivered of a son. Juno changed them into bears, and Jupiter placed them in heaven, where they form the constellation of Ursa major and minor. Juno still enraged, entreated Thetis never to suffer Calisto to bathe in the sea. This is founded on the appearance of the northern pole-star, to the inhabitants of our hemisphere: but when Gama approached the austral pole, the northern, of consequence, disappeared under the waves.

The constellation of the southern pole was called The Cross by the Portuguese sailors, from the appearance of that figure formed by seven stars, four of which are particularly luminous. Dante, who wrote before the discovery of the southern hemisphere, has these remarkable lines in the first canto of his Purgatorio.

I mi volsi a man destra, e posi mente
All altro polo, e vidi quattro stelle
Non viste mai, fuor ch' alla prima gente.

Voltaire somewhere observes, that this looked like a prophecy, when, in the succeeding age, these four stars were known to be near the Antartic pole. Dante, however, spoke allegorically of the four cardinal virtues.

In the southern hemisphere, as Camoens observes, the nights are darker than in the northern, the skies being adorned with much fewer stars.

Non, mihi si linguæ centum sunt, oraque centum,
Ferrea vox, omnes scelerum comprendere formas.
En. VI.

Is thus accounted for in natural history. The sulphureous vapours of the air, after being violently agitated by a tempest, unite, and when the humidity begins to subside, as is the case when the storm is almost exhausted, by the agitation of their atoms they take fire, and are attracted by the masts and cordage of the ship. Being thus naturally the pledges of the approaching calm, it is no wonder that the superstition of sailors should in all ages have esteemed them divine, and

Of heaven's own care in storms the holy sign.

In the expedition of the Golden Fleece, in a violent tempest these fires were seen to hover over the heads of Castor and Pollux, who were two of the Argonauts, and a calm immediately ensued. After the apotheoses of these heroes, the Grecian sailors invoked these fires by the names of Castor and Pollux, or the sons of Jupiter. The Athenians called them Σωτηρες Saviours; and Homer, in his hymn to Castor and Pollux, says,

Ναυταις σηματα καλα πονου σφισιν, οι δε ιδοντες
Γηθησαν, παυσαιτο δ' οιζιροιο πονοιο.

In this book, particularly in the description of Massilia, the Gorgades, the fires called Castor and Pollux, and the water-spout, Camoens has happily imitated the manner of Lucan. It is probable that Camoens, in his voyage to the East-Indies, was an eye witness of the phænomena of the fires and water-spout. The latter is thus described by Pliny, l. 2. c. 51. Fit et caligo, belluæ similis nubes dira navigantibus vocatur et columna, cum spissatus humor rigensque ipse se sustinet, et in longam veluti fistulam nubes aquam trahit. When the violent heat attracts the waters to rise in the form of a tube, the marine salts are left behind by the action of rarefaction, being too gross and fixed to ascend. It is thus, when the overloaded vapour bursts, that it descends

Sweet as the waters of the limpid rill.

The Astrolabium, an instrument of infinite service in navigation, by which the altitude of the sun, and distance of the stars is taken. It was invented in Portugal during the reign of Johh II. by two Jew Physicians, named Roderic and Joseph. It is asserted by some that they were assisted by Martin of Bohemia, a celebrated Mathematician. Partly from Castera. Vid. Barros, Dec. 1. l. 4. c. 2.

Camoens, in describing the adventure of Fernando Veloso, by departing from the truth of history, has shewn his judgment as a Poet. The Place where the Portuguese landed they named the Bay of St. Helen. They caught one of two negroes, says Faria, who were busied in gathering honey on a mountain. Their behaviour to this savage, whom they gratified with a red cap, some glasses and bells, induced him to bring a number of his companions for the like trifles. Though some who accompanied Gama were skilled in the various Ethiopic languages, not one of the natives could understand them. A commerce however was commenced by signs and gestures. Gama behaved to them with great civility; the fleet was chearfully supplied with fresh provisions, for which the natives received cloaths and trinkets. But this friendship was soon interrupted by a young rash Portuguese. Having contracted an intimacy with some of the negroes, he obtained leave to penetrate into the country along with them, to observe their habitations and strength. They conducted him to their huts with great good nature, and placed before him, what they esteemed an elegant repast, a sea-calf dressed in the way of their country. This so much disgusted the delicate Portuguese, that he instantly got up and abruptly left them. Nor did they oppose his departure, but accompanied him with the greatest innocence. As fear, however is always jealous, he imagined they were leading him as a victim to slaughter. No sooner did he come near the ships, than he called aloud for assistance. Coëllo's boat immediately set off for his rescue. The Ethiopians fled to the woods; and now esteeming the Portuguese as a band of lawless plunderers, they provided themselves with arms, and lay in ambush. Their weapons were javelins, headed with short pieces of horn, which they throw with great dexterity. Soon after, while Gama and some of his officers were on the shore taking the altitude of the sun by the astrolabium, they were suddenly and with great fury attacked by the ambush from the woods. Several were much wounded, multos convulnerant, inter quos Gama in pede vulnus accepit, and Gama received a wound in the foot. The Admiral made a speedy retreat to the fleet, prudently chusing rather to leave the negroes the honour of the victory, than to risque the life of one man in a quarre so foreign to the destination of his expedition, and where, to impress the terror of his arms could be of no service to his interest. When he came nearer to the East-Indies he acted in a different manner. He then made himself dreaded whenever the treachery of the natives provoked his resentment. Collected from Faria and Osorius.

The critics, particularly the French, have vehemently declaimed against the least mixture of the Comic, with the dignity of the Epic Poem. It is needless to enter into any defence of this passage of Camoens, farther than to observe, that Homer, Virgil, and Milton have offended the critics in the same manner, and that this piece of raillery in the Lusiad is by much the politest, and the least reprehensible of any thing of the kind in the four Poets. In Homer are several strokes of low raillery. Patroclus having killed Hector's charioteer, puns thus on his sudden fall. “It is a pity he is not nearer the sea! He would soon catch abundance of oysters, nor would the storms frighten him. See how he dives from his chariot down to the sand! What excellent divers are the Trojans! Virgil, the most judicious of all Poets, descends even to burlesque, where the commander of a galley tumbles the Pilot into the sea:

------ Segnemque Menœten
In mare præcipitem puppi deturbat ab alta.
At gravis ut sundo vix tandem redditus imo est
Jam senior, madidaque fluens in veste Menœtes,
Summa petit scopuli siccaque in rupe resedit.
Illum et labentem Teucri, et risere natantem;
Et salsos rident revomentem pectore fluctus.

And though the character of the speakers, the ingenious defence which has been offered for Milton, may, in some measure, vindicate the raillery which he puts into the mouths of Satan and Belial, the lowness of it, when compared with that of Camoens, must still be acknowledged. Talking of the execution of the diabolical artillery among the good angels, they, says Satan,

Flew off, and into strange vagaries fell
As they would dance, yet for a dance they seem'd
Somewhat extravagant and wild, perhaps
For joy of offer'd peace.—
To whom thus Belial, in like gamesome mood,
Leader, the terms we sent were terms of weight,
Of hard contents, and full of force urg'd home,
Such as we might perceive amus'd them all,
And stumbled many ------
------ this gift they have beside,
They shew us when our faces walk not upright.

The partiality of Translators and Editors is become almost proverbial. The admiration of their author is supposed when they undertake to introduce him to the public; that admiration therefore, may without a blush be confessed; but if the reputation of judgment is valued, all the jealousy of circumspection is necessary, for the transition from admiration to partiality and hypercriticism is not only easy, but to oneself often imperceptible. Yet however guarded against this partiality of hypercriticism the Translator of Camoens may deem himself, he is aware that some of his colder readers, may perhaps, in the following instance accuse him of it. Regardless however of the sang froid of those who judge by authority and not by their own feelings, he will venture to appeal to the few whose taste, though formed by the classics, is untainted with classical prejudices. To these he will appeal, and to these he will venture the assertion, that the fiction of the apparition of the Cape of Tempests, in sublimity and awful grandeur of imagination, stands unsurpassed in human composition.—Voltaire, and the foreign Critics, have confessed its merit.— In the prodigy of the Harpies in the Æneid, neither the

Virginei volucrum vultus, fœdissimi ventris
Proluvies, uncæque manus, et pallida semper
Ora fame:

Though Virgil, to heighten the description, introduces it with

------ nec sævior ulla
Pestis et ira Deûm Stygiis sese extulit undis:

Nor the predictions of the harpy Celæno, can, in point of dignity, bear any comparison with the fiction of Camoens. The noble and admired description of Fame, in the fourth Æneid, may seem indeed to challenge competition:

Fama, malum quo non aliud velocius ullum:
Mobilitate viget, viresque acquirit eundo:
Parva metu primò; mox sese attollit in auras,
Ingrediturque solo, & caput inter nubila condit:
Illam Terra parens, ira irritata Deorum,
Extremam (ut perbibent) Cœo Enceladoque sororem
Progenuit; pedibus celerem et pernicibus alis:
Monstrum borrendum, ingens; cui quot sunt corpore plumæ,
Tot vigiles oculi subter (mirabile dictu)
Tot linguæ, totidem ora sonant, tot subrigit aures.
Nocte volat cœli medio terræque, per umbram
Stridens, nec dulci declinat lumina somno:
Luce sedet custos, aut summi culmine tecti,
Turribus aut altis, et magnus territat urbes.
Fame, the great ill, from small beginnings grows;
Swift from the first, and every moment brings
New vigour to her flights, new pinions to her wings
Soon grows the Pigmy to gigantic size,
Her feet on earth, her forehead in the skies:
Enraged against the Gods, revengeful Earth
Produced her last of the Titanian birth.
Swift in her walk, more swift her winged haste,
A monstrous phantom, horrible and vast;
As many plumes as raise her lofty flight,
So many piercing eyes enlarge her sight:
Millions of opening mouths to Fame belong,
And every mouth is furnish'd with a tongue,
And round with listning ears the flying plague is hung;
She fills the peaceful universe with cries,
No slumbers ever close her wakeful eyes:
By day from lofty towers her head she shews.—
Dryd.

The Mobilitate viget, the Vires acquirit eundo, the Parva metu primo, &c. the Caput inter nubila condit, the plumæ, oculi linguæ, ora, and aures, the Nocte volat, the Luce sedet custos, and the Magnas territat urbes, are all very great, and finely imagined. But the whole picture is the offspring of careful attention and judgment; it is a noble display of the calm majesty of Virgil, but it has not the enthusiasm of that heat of spontaneous conception, which the ancients honoured with the name of inspiration. The fiction of Camoens, on the contrary, is the genuine effusion of the glow of poetical imagination. The description of the spectre, the awfulness of the prediction, and the horror that breathes through the whole, till the phantom is interrupted by Gama, are in the true spirit of the wild and grand terrific of an Homer, or a Shakespeare. But however Camoens may, in this passage, have excelled Virgil, he himself is infinitely surpassed by two passages of Holy Writ. “A thing was secretly brought to me,” says the Author of the book of Job, “and mine ear received a little thereof. In thoughts from the visions of the night, when deep sleep falleth on men, fear came upon me and trembling, which made all my bones to shake: then a spirit passed before my face; the hair of my flesh stood up: It stood still, but I could not discern the form thereof: an image was before mine eyes, there was silence, and I heard a voice: Shall mortal man be more just than God! shall a man be more pure than his Maker! Behold he put no trust in his servants, and his angels be charged with folly: how much less them that dwell in houses of clay, whose foundation is in the dust, and who are crushed before the moth!

This whole passage, particularly the indistinguishable form and the silence, are as superior to Camoens in the inimitably wild terrific, as the following, from the Apocalypse, is in grandeur of description. “And I saw another mighty angel come down from heaven, cloathed with a cloud, and a rainbow was upon his head, his face was as it were the sun, and his feet as pillars of fire . . . . and he set his right foot upon the sea, and his left foot upon the earth, and cried with a loud voice, as when a lion roareth . . . . . and he lifted up his hand to heaven, and sware by Him that liveth for ever and ever, . . . . . that Time should be no more.

On the return of Gama to Portugal, a fleet of thirteen sail, under the command of Pedro Alvarez Cabral, was sent out on the second voyage to India, where the admiral with only fix ships arrived. The rest were mostly destroyed by a terrible tempest at the Cape of Good Hope, which lasted twenty days. The day-time, says Faria, was so dark that the sailors could scarcely see each other, or hear what was said for the horrid noise of the winds. Among those who perished was the celebrated Bartholomew Diaz, who was the first modern discoverer of the Cape of Good Hope, which he named the Cape of Tempests.

Don Francisco de Almeyda. He was the first Portuguese viceroy of India, in which country he obtained several great victories over the Mohammedans and Pagans. He was the first who conquered Quiloa and Mombassa or Mombaze. On his return to Portugal he put into the bay of Saldanna, near the Cape of Good Hope, to take in water and provisions. The rudeness of one of his servants produced a quarrel with the Caffres, or Hottentots. His attendants, much against his will, forced him to march against the blacks. “Ah, whither (he exclaimed) will you carry the infirm man of sixty years.” After plundering a miserable village, on the return to their ships they were attacked by a superior number of Caffres, who fought with such fury in rescue of their children, whom the Portuguese had seized, that the viceroy and fifty of his attendants were slain.

This poetical description of the miserable catastrophe of Don Emmanuel de Souza, and his beautiful spouse Leonora de Sà, is by no means exaggerated. He was several years governor of Diu in India, where he amassed immense wealth. On his return to his native country, the ship in which was his lady, all his riches, and five hundred men, his sailors and domestics, was dashed to pieces on the rocks at the Cape of Good Hope. Don Emmanuel, his lady, and three children, with four hundred of the crew escaped, having only saved a few arms and provisions. As they marched through the wild uncultivated deserts, some died of famine, of thirst, and fatigue; others, who wandered from the main body in search of water, were murdered by the savages, or destroyed by the wild beasts. They arrived at last at a village inhabited by Ethiopian banditti. At first they were courteously received, but the barbarians, having unexpectedly seized their arms, stripped the whole company naked, and left them destitute to the mercy of the desert. The wretchedness of the delicate and exposed Leonora was encreased by the brutal insults of the negroes. Her husband, unable to relieve, beheld her miseries. After having travelled about 300 leagues, her legs swelled, her feet bleeding at every step, and her strength exhausted, she sunk down, and with the sand covered herself to the neck, to conceal her nakedness. In this dreadful situation, she beheld two of her children expire. Her own death soon followed. Her husband, who had been long enamoured of her beauty, received her last breath in a distracted embrace. Immediately he snatched his third child in his arms, and uttering the most lamentable cries, he ran into the thickest of the wood, where the wild beasts were soon heard to growl over their prey. Of the whole four hundred who escaped the waves, only six and twenty arrived at another Ethiopian village, whose inhabitants were more civilized, and traded with the merchants of the Red sea, from whence they found a passage to Europe, and brought the tidings of the unhappy fate of their companions. Jerome de Cortereal, a Portuguese poet, has written an affecting poem on the shipwreck and deplorable catastrophe of Don Emmanuel and his beloved spouse. Partly from Castera.

Doris, the sister and spouse of Nereus, and mother of the Nereides. By Nereus, in the physical sense of the fable, is understood the water of the sea, and by Doris, the bitterness or salt, the supposed cause of its prolific quality in the generation of fishes.

The circumstances of the disappearance of the spectre are in the same poetical spirit of the introduction. If we may be allowed to allegorise the amour of Adamastor, it will be found a necessary part of the fiction, and, at any rate, to suppose the spectre the Spirit of that huge promontory the Cape of Tempests, which by night makes its awful appearance to the fleet of Gama, while wandering in an unknown ocean, is a noble flight of imagination; nor need one scruple to affirm, that the deception of the lover, and the metamorphosis, are in the best manner of Ovid. As already observed in the preface, the poem of Camoens is often allegorical: To establish Christianity in the East, is expresly said in the Lusiad to be the great purpose of the Hero. By Bacchus, the demon who opposes the expedition, must, of consequence, be meant the genius of Mohammedism: and accordingly in the eighth book, the Evil Spirit and Bacchus are mentioned as the same personage; where, in the figure of Mohammed, he appears in a dream to a Mohammedan priest. In like manner by Adamastor, the genius of Mohammedism must be supposed to be meant. The Moors, who professed that religion, till the arrival of Gama, were the sole navigators of the eastern seas, and by every exertion of force and fraud they endeavoured to prevent the settlements of the Christians. In the figure of the spectre, the French translator finds an exact description of the person of Mohammed, his fierce demeanour and pale complexion, but he certainly carries his unravelment too far in several instances: to mention only two; “Mohammed (says he) was a false prophet, so is Adamastor, who says Emmanuel de Souza and his spouse shall die in one another's arms, whereas, the husband was devoured by wild beasts in the wood. . . . By the metamorphosis of Adamastor into an huge mass of earth and rock, laved by the waves, is meant the death and tomb of Mohammed. He died of a dropsy, behold the waters which surround him; voi a les eaux qui Péntourent.—His tomb was exceeding high, behold the height of the promontory.” By such latitude of interpretation, the allegory which was really intended by an author, becomes suspected by the reader. As Camoens, however, has assured us that he did allegorise, one need not hesitate to affirm, that the amour of Adamastor is an instance of it. By Thetis is figured Renown, or true Glory, by the fierce passion of the giant, the fierce rage of ambition, and by the rugged mountain that filled his deluded arms, the infamy acquired by the brutal conqueror Mohammed. The hint of this last circumstance is adopted from Castera.

Variety is no less delightful to the reader than to the traveller, and the imagination of Camoens gave an abundant supply. The insertion of this pastoral landscape, between the terrific scenes which precede and follow, has a fine effect. “Variety,” says Pope, in one of his notes on the Odyssey, “gives life and delight; and it is much more necessary in epic than in comic or tragic poetry, sometimes to shift the scenes to diversify and embellish the story.” The authority of another celebrated [illeg.]ter offers itself: “Les Portugais naviguant sur l'océan Atlantique, decouvrirent la pointe le plus méridionale de l'Afrique; ils virent une vaste mer; elle les porta aux Indes Orientales; leurs périls fur cette mer, et la découverte de Mozambique, de Melinde, et de Calecut, ont été chan és par le Camoëns, dont le poëme fait sentir quelque chose de charmes de l'Odyssée, et de la magnificence de l'Eneïde.” i. e. The Portuguese sailing upon the Atlantic ocean discovered the most southern point of Africa: here they found an immense sea, which carried them to the East Indies. The dangers they encountered in the voyage, the discovery of Mozambic, of Melinda, and of Calecut, have been sung by Camoens, whose poem recalls to our minds the charms of the Odyssey, and the magnificence of the Eneid. Montesquieu, Spirit of Laws, b. xxi. c. 21.

A small island, named Santa Cruz by Bartholomew Diaz, who discovered it. According to Faria y Sousa, he went twenty-five leagues further, to the river del Infante, which, till past by Gama, was the utmost extent of the Portuguese discoveries.

It was the force of this rushing current which retarded the further discoveries of Diaz. Gama got over it by the assistance of a tempest. The seasons, when these seas are safely navigable, are now perfectly known.

The frequent disappointments of the Portuguese, when they expect to hear some account of India, is a judicious imitation of several parts of Virgil; who, in the same manner, magnifies the distresses of the Trojans in their search for the fated seat of Empire:

------ O gens
Infelix! cui te exitio fortuna refervat?
Septima post Trojæ excidium jam vertitur æstas;
Cum freta, cum terras omnes, tot inhospita saxa
Sideraque emensæ ferimur: dum per mare magnum
Italiam sequimur fugientem, et volvimur undis.
En. V.

It had been extremely impolitic in Gama to mention the mutiny of his followers to the king Melinda. The boast of their loyalty besides, has a good effect in the poem, as it elevates the heroes, and gives uniformity to the character of bravery, which the dignity of the Epopea required to be ascribed to them. History relates the matter differently. In standing for the Cape of Good Hope, Gama gave the highest proofs of his resolution, “In illo autem cursu valdé Gamæ virtus enituit.” The fleet seemed now tossed to the clouds, ut modo nubes contingere, and now sunk to the lowest whirlpools of the abyss. The winds were unsufferably cold, and to the rage of the tempest was added the horror of an almost continual darkness. The crew expected every moment to be swallowed up in the deep. At every interval of the storm, they came round Gama, asserting the impossibility to proceed further, and imploring to return. This he resolutely refused. A conspiracy against his life was formed, but was discovered by his brother. He guarded against it with the greatest courage and prudence, he put all the pilots in chains, and he himself, with some others, took the management of the helms. At last, after having many days withstood the tempest, and a perfidious combination, invicto animo, with an unconquered mind, a favourable change of weather revived the spirits of the fleet, and allowed them to double the Cape of Good Hope. Extr. from Osor.

When Gama arrived in the East, a considerable commerce was carried on between the Indies and the Red Sea by the Moorish traders, by whom the gold mines of Sofala, and the riches of the oriental or Ethiopic coast of Africa were enjoyed. The traffic of the East was by land brought to Grand Cairo, from whence Europe was supplied by the Venetian and Antwerpian merchants.

Rio dos bons sinais.

It was the custom of the Portuguese navigators to erect crosses on the shores of the new-discovered countries. Gama carried materials for pillars of stone along with him, and erected six of these crosses during his expedition. They bore the name and arms of the king of Portugal, and were intended as proofs of the title which accrues from the first discovery.

This poetical description of the Scurvy is by no means exaggerated above what sometimes really happens in the course of a long voyage.

See En. V. 833.

The Lotophagi, so named from the plant Lotus, are thus described by Homer.

Not prone to ill, nor strange to foreign guest;
They eat, they drink, and Nature gives the feast;
The trees around them all their fruit produce;
I otos the name; divine, nectareous juice;
(Thence call'd Lotophagi) which whoso tastes,
Insatiate riots in the sweet repasts,
Nor other home, nor other care intends,
But quits his house, his country, and his friends:
The three we sent, from off th' inchanting ground
We dragg'd reluctant, and by force we bound:
The rest in haste forsook the pleasing shore,
Or, the charm tasted, had return'd no more.
Pope, Odys. ix.

The natural history of the Lotos, however, is very different. There are various kinds of it. The Lybian Lotos is a shrub like a bramble, the berries like the myrtle, but purple when ripe, and about the bigness of an olive. Mixed with bread-corn it was used as food for slaves. They also made an agreeable wine of it, but which would not keep above ten days. See Pope's note in loco.

The gift of Æolus to Ulysses.

The adverse winds in leathern bags he brac'd,
Compress'd their force, and lock'd each struggling blast:
For him the mighty sire of gods assign'd,
The tempest's lord, the tyrant of the wind;
His word alone the list'ning storms obey,
To smooth the deep, or swell the foamy sea.
These in my hollow ship the monarch hung,
Securely fetter'd by a silver thong;
But Zephyrus exempt, with friendly gales
He charg'd to fill, and guide the swelling sails:
Rare gift! but oh, what gift to fools avails.
Pope, Odyss. x.

The companions of Ulysses imagined that these bags contained some valuable treasure, and opened them while their leader slept. The tempests bursting out drove the fleet from Ithaca, which was then in sight, and was the cause of a new train of miseries.

See the third Eneid.

See the sixth Eneid, and the eleventh Odyssey.