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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. 
 VI. 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
 IX. 
 X. 


1

THE LUSIAD.

[_]

The pagination of the source document has been followed.

BOOK I.

Arms and the Heroes, who from Lisbon's shore,
Thro' Seas where sail was never spread before,
Beyond where Ceylon lifts her spicy breast,
And waves her woods above the watery waste,

2

With prowess more than human forc'd their way
To the fair kingdoms of the rising day:
What wars they wag'd, what seas, what dangers past,
What glorious Empire crown'd their toils at last,
Vent'rous I sing, on soaring pinions borne,
And all my Country's wars the song adorn;

3

What Kings, what Heroes of my native land
Thunder'd on Asia's and on Afric's strand:
Illustrious shades, who levell'd in the dust
The idol-temples and the shrines of lust;
And where, erewhile, foul demons were rever'd,
To Holy Faith unnumber'd altars rear'd:
Illustrious names, with deathless laurels crown'd,
While time rolls on in every clime renown'd!
Let Fame with wonder name the Greek no more,
What lands he saw, what toils at sea he bore;
Nor more the Trojan's wandering voyage boast,
What storms he brav'd, how driven on many a coast:

4

No more let Rome exult in Trajan's name,
Nor eastern conquests Ammon's pride proclaim;
A nobler Hero's deeds demand my lays
Than e'er adorn'd the song of ancient days,
Illustrious Gama, whom the waves obey'd,
And whose dread sword the fate of Empire sway'd.
And you, fair Nymphs of Tagus, parent stream,
If e'er your meadows were my pastoral theme,
While you have listen'd, and by moonshine seen
My footsteps wander o'er your banks of green,
O come auspicious, and the song inspire
With all the boldness of your Hero's fire:
Deep and majestic let the numbers flow,
And, rapt to heaven, with ardent fury glow,
Unlike the verse that speaks the lover's grief,
When heaving sighs afford their soft relief,
And humble reeds bewail the shepherd's pain:
But like the warlike trumpet be the strain
To rouse the Hero's rage, and far around,
With equal powers, your warriors' deeds resound.
And thou, O born the pledge of happier days,
To guard our freedom and our glories raise,

5

Given to the world to spread religion's sway,
And pour o'er many a land the mental day,
Thy future honours on thy shield behold,
The cross, and victor's wreath, embost in gold:

6

At thy commanding frown we trust to see,
The Turk and Arab bend the suppliant knee:
Beneath the morn, dread King, thine Empire lies,
When midnight veils thy Lusitanian skies;
And when descending in the western main
The sun still rises on thy lengthening reign:

7

Thou blooming Scion of the noblest stem,
Our nation's safety, and our age's gem,
O young Sebastian, hasten to the prime
Of manly youth, to Fame's high temple climb:
Yet now attentive hear the Muse's lay
While thy green years to manhood speed away:
The youthful terrors of thy brow suspend,
And, O propitious, to the song attend,
The numerous song, by Patriot-passion fir'd,
And by the glories of thy race inspir'd:
To be the Herald of my Country's fame
My first ambition and my dearest aim:
Nor conquests fabulous, nor actions vain,
The Muse's pastime, here adorn the strain:
Orlando's fury, and Rugero's rage,
And all the heroes of th' Aonian page,
The dreams of Bards surpass'd the world shall view,
And own their boldest fictions may be true;
Surpass'd, and dimm'd by the superior blaze
Of Gama's mighty deeds, which here bright Truth displays.
Nor more let History boast her heroes old,
Their glorious rivals here, dread Prince, behold:
Here shine the valiant Nunio's deeds unfeign'd,
Whose single arm the falling state sustain'd;

8

Here fearless Egas' wars, and, Fuas, thine,
To give full ardour to the song combine;
But ardour equal to your martial ire
Demands the thundering sounds of Homer's lyre.
To match the Twelve so long by Bards renown'd,
Here brave Magrizo and his Peers are crown'd
(A glorious Twelve!) with deathless laurels, won
In gallant arms before the English throne.
Unmatch'd no more the Gallic Charles shall stand,
Nor Cæsar's name the first of praise command:
Of nobler acts the crown'd Alphonsos see,
Thy valiant Sires, to whom the bended knee
Of vanquish'd Afric bow'd. Nor less in fame,
He who confin'd the rage of civil flame,
The godlike John, beneath whose awful sword
Rebellion crouch'd, and trembling own'd him Lord.
Those Heroes too, who thy bold flag unfurl'd,
And spread thy banners o'er the eastern world,
Whose spears subdued the kingdoms of the morn,
Their names, and glorious wars the song adorn:
The daring Gama, whose unequal'd name
Proud monarch shines o'er all of naval fame:
Castro the bold, in arms a peerless knight,
And stern Pacheco, dreadful in the fight:

9

The two Almeydas, names for ever dear,
By Tago's nymphs embalm'd with many a tear;
Ah, still their early fate the nymphs shall mourn,
And bathe with many a tear their hapless urn:
Nor shall the godlike Albuquerk restrain
The Muse's fury; o'er the purpled plain
The Muse shall lead him in his thundering car
Amidst his glorious brothers of the war,
Whose fame in arms resounds from sky to sky,
And bids their deeds the power of death defy.
And while, to thee, I tune the duteous lay,
Assume, O potent King, thine Empire's sway;
With thy brave host through Afric march along,
And give new triumphs to immortal song:
On thee with earnest eyes the nations wait,
And cold with dread the Moor expects his fate;
The barbarous Mountaineer on Taurus' brows
To thy expected yoke his shoulder bows;
To thee, fair Thetis yields her blue domain,
And binds her daughter with thy nuptial chain;
And from the bowers of heaven thy Grandsires see
Their various virtues bloom afresh in thee;
One for the joyful days of Peace renown'd,
And one with War's triumphant laurels crown'd:

10

With joyful hands, to deck thy manly brow,
They twine the laurel and the olive-bough;
With joyful eyes a glorious throne they see,
In Fame's eternal dome, reserv'd for thee.
Yet while thy youthful hand delays to wield
The scepter'd power, or thunder of the field,
Here view thine Argonauts, in seas unknown,
And all the terrors of the burning zone,
Till their proud standards, rear'd in other skies,
And all their conquests meet thy wondering eyes.
Now far from land, o'er Neptune's dread abode
The Lusitanian fleet triumphant rode;
Onward they traced the wide and lonesome main,
Where changeful Proteus leads his scaly train;
The dancing vanes before the Zephyrs flow'd,
And their bold keels the tractless Ocean plow'd;
Unplow'd before, the green-ting'd billows rose,
And curl'd and whiten'd round the nodding prows.
When Jove, the God who with a thought controuls
The raging seas, and balances the poles,

11

From heav'n beheld, and will'd, in sovereign state,
To fix the eastern World's depending fate:
Swift at his nod th' Olympian herald flies,
And calls th' immortal senate of the skies;
Where, from the sovereign throne of earth and heaven,
Th' immutable decrees of fate are given.
Instant the Regents of the spheres of light,
And those who rule the paler orbs of night,
With those, the gods whose delegated sway
The burning South and frozen North obey;
And they whose empires see the day-star rise,
And evening Phœbus leave the western skies,
All instant pour'd along the milky road,
Heaven's chrystal pavements glittering as they trode:
And now, obedient to the dread command,
Before their awful Lord in order stand.
Sublime and dreadful on his regal throne,
That glow'd with stars, and bright as lightning shone,
Th' immortal Sire, who darts the thunder, sate,
The crown and sceptre added solemn state;
The crown, of heaven's own pearls, whose ardent rays,
Flam'd round his brows, outshone the diamond's blaze:
His breath such gales of vital fragrance shed,
As might, with sudden life, inspire the dead:

12

Supreme Controul throned in his awful eyes
Appear'd, and mark'd the Monarch of the skies.
On seats that burn'd with pearl and ruddy gold,
The subject Gods their sovereign Lord enfold,
Each in his rank, when, with a voice that shook
The towers of heaven the world's dread Ruler spoke:
Immortal heirs of light, my purpose hear,
My counsels ponder, and the Fates revere:
Unless Oblivion o'er your minds has thrown
Her dark blank shades, to you, ye Gods, are known
The Fate's Decree, and ancient warlike Fame
Of that bold race which boasts of Lusus' name;
That bold advent'rous race the Fates declare,
A potent empire in the East shall rear,
Surpassing Babel's or the Persian fame,
Proud Grecia's boast, or Rome's illustrious name.
Oft from those brilliant seats have you beheld
The sons of Lusus on the dusty field,
With few triumphant o'er the numerous Moors,
Till from the beauteous lawns on Tagus' shores
They drove the cruel foe. And oft has heaven
Before their troops the proud Castilians driven;
While Victory her eagle-wings display'd
Where'er their Warriors waved the shining blade.

13

Nor rests unknown how Lusus' heroes stood
When Rome's ambition dy'd the world with blood;
What glorious laurels Viriatus gain'd,
How oft his sword with Roman gore was stain'd;
And what fair palms their martial ardour crown'd,
When led to battle by the Chief renown'd,
Who feign'd a dæmon, in a deer conceal'd,
To him the counsels of the Gods reveal'd.

14

And now ambitious to extend their sway
Beyond their conquests on the southmost bay
Of Afric's swarthy coast, on floating wood
They brave the terrors of the dreary flood,
Where only black-wing'd mists have hover'd o'er,
Or driving clouds have sail'd the wave before;
Beneath new skies they hold their dreadful way
To reach the cradle of the new-born day:
And Fate, whose mandates unrevok'd remain,
Has will'd, that long shall Lusus' offspring reign
The lords of that wide sea, whose waves behold
The sun come forth enthroned in burning gold.
But now the tedious length of winter past,
Distress'd and weak, the heroes faint at last.
What gulphs they dared, you saw, what storms they braved,
Beneath what various heavens their banners waved!
Now Mercy pleads, and soon the rising land
To their glad eyes shall o'er the waves expand;
As welcome friends the natives shall receive,
With bounty feast them, and with joy relieve.
And when refreshment shall their strength renew,
Thence shall they turn, and their bold rout pursue.
So spoke high Jove: The Gods in silence heard,
Then rising each, by turns, his thoughts preferr'd:

15

But chief was Bacchus of the adverse train;
Fearful he was, nor fear'd his pride in vain,
Should Lusus' race arrive on India's shore,
His ancient honours would be named no more;
No more in Nysa should the natives tell
What kings, what mighty hosts before him fell.
The fertile vales beneath the rising sun
He view'd as his, by right of victory won,
And deem'd that ever in immortal song
The Conqueror's title should to him belong.
Yet Fate, he knew, had will'd, that loos'd from Spain
Boldly advent'rous thro' the polar main,
A warlike race should come, renown'd in arms,
And shake the eastern world with war's alarms,
Whose glorious conquests and eternal fame
In black Oblivion's waves should whelm his name.
Urania-Venus , Queen of sacred Love,
Arose a pleader on the part of Jove;

16

Her eyes, well pleas'd, in Lusus' sons could trace
A kindred likeness to the Roman race,
For whom of old such kind regard she bore;
The same their triumphs on Barbaria's shore,
The same the ardour of their warlike flame,
The manly music of their tongue the same:
Affection thus the lovely Goddess sway'd,
Nor less what Fate's unblotted page display'd,
Where'er this people should their empire raise,
She knew her altars would unnumbered blaze,
And barbarous nations at her holy shrine
Be humaniz'd, and taught her lore divine.
Her spreading honours thus the one inspired,
And one the dread to lose his worship fired.
Their struggling factions shook th' Olympian state
With all the clamorous tempest of debate.
Thus when the storm with sudden gust invades
The antient forest's deep and lofty shades,
The bursting whirlwinds tear their rapid course,
The shatter'd oaks crash, and with echoes hoarse
The mountains groan, while whirling on the blast
The thickening leaves a gloomy darkness cast;

17

Such was the tumult in the blest abodes,
When Mars, high towering o'er the rival Gods,
Stept forth: stern sparkles from his eye balls glanc'd,
And now, before the throne of Jove advanc'd,
O'er his left shoulder his broad shield he throws,
And lifts his helm above his dreadful brows:
Bold and enrag'd he stands, and, frowning round,
Strikes his tall spear-staff on the sounding ground;
Heaven trembled, and the light turn'd pale —Such dread
His fierce demeanour o'er Olympus spread:
When thus the Warrior,—O Eternal Sire,
Thine is the sceptre, thine the thunder's fire,
Supreme dominion thine; then, Father, hear,
Shall that bold Race which once to thee was dear,
Who now fulfilling thy decrees of old,
Through these wild waves their fearless journey hold,
Shall that bold Race no more thy care engage,
But sink the victims of unhallowed rage!
Did Bacchus yield to Reason's voice divine,
Bacchus the cause of Lusus' sons would join,
Lusus, the lov'd companion of his cares,
His earthly toils, his dangers, and his wars:
But Envy still a foe to worth will prove,
To worth though guarded by the arm of Jove.

18

Then thou, dread Lord of Fate, unmov'd remain,
Nor let weak change thine awful counsels stain,
For Lusus' Race thy promis'd favour shew:
Swift as the arrow from Apollo's bow
Let Maia's son explore the watery way,
Where spent with toil, with weary hopes, they stray;
And safe to harbour, through the deep untried,
Let him, impower'd, their wandering vessels guide;
There let them hear of India's wish'd-for shore,
And balmy rest their fainting strength restore.
He spoke: high Jove assenting bow'd the head,
And floating clouds of nectar'd fragrance shed:
Then lowly bending to th' Eternal Sire,
Each in his duteous rank, the Gods retire.
Whilst thus in Heaven's bright palace Fate was weigh'd,
Right onward still the brave Armada stray'd:
Right on they steer by Ethiopia's strand
And pastoral Madagascar's verdant land.
Before the balmy gales of cheerful spring,
With heav'n their friend, they spread the canvas wing;
The sky cerulean, and the breathing air,
The lasting promise of a calm declare.

19

Behind them now the Cape of Praso bends,
Another Ocean to their view extends,
Where black-topt islands, to their longing eyes,
Lav'd by the gentle waves , in prospect rise.
But Gama, (captain of the vent'rous band,
Of bold emprize, and born for high command,
Whose martial fires, with prudence close allied,
Ensured the smiles of fortune on his side)
Bears off those shores which waste and wild appear'd,
And eastward still for happier climates steer'd:
When gathering round and blackening o'er the tide,
A fleet of small canoes the Pilot spied;
Hoisting their sails of palm-tree leaves, inwove
With curious art, a swarming crowd they move:
Long were their boats, and sharp to bound along
Through the dash'd waters, broad their oars and strong:
The bending rowers on their features bore
The swarthy marks of Phaeton's fall of yore:

20

When flaming lightnings scorch'd the banks of Po,
And nations blacken'd in the dread o'erthrow.
Their garb, discover'd as approaching nigh,
Was cotton strip'd with many a gaudy dye:
'Twas one whole piece beneath one arm confin'd,
The rest hung loose and flutter'd on the wind;
All, but one breast, above the loins was bare,
And swelling turbans bound their jetty hair:
Their arms were bearded darts and faulchions broad,
And warlike music sounded as they row'd.
With joy the sailors saw the boats draw near,
With joy beheld the human face appear:
What nations these, their wondering thoughts explore,
What rites they follow, and what God adore!
And now with hands and kerchiefs wav'd in air
The barb'rous race their friendly mind declare.
Glad were the crew, and ween'd that happy day
Should end their dangers and their toils repay.
The lofty masts the nimble youths ascend,
The ropes they haule, and o'er the yard-arms bend;
And now their bowsprits pointing to the shore,
A safe moon'd bay, with slacken'd sails they bore:
With cheerful shouts they furl the gather'd sail
That less and less flaps quivering on the gale;
The prows, their speed stopt, o'er the surges nod,
The falling anchors dash the foaming flood;

21

When sudden as they stopt, the swarthy race
With smiles of friendly welcome on each face,
Alert and bounding, by the cordage climb:
Illustrious Gama, with an air sublime,
Soften'd by mild humanity, receives,
And to their chief the hand of friendship gives,
Bids spread the board, and, instant as he said,
Along the deck the festive board is spread:
The sparkling wine in chrystal goblets glows,
And round and round with cheerful welcome flows.
While thus the Vine its sprightly glee inspires,
From whence the fleet, the swarthy Chief enquires,
What seas they past, what vantage would attain,
And what the shore their purpose hop'd to gain?
From farthest west, the Lusian race reply,
To reach the golden eastern shores we try.
Through that unbounded sea whose billows roll
From the cold northern to the southern pole;
And by the wide extent, the dreary vast
Of Afric's bays, already have we past;
And many a sky have seen, and many a shore,
Where but sea-monsters cut the waves before.
To spread the glories of our Monarch's reign,
For India's shore we brave the trackless main,
Our glorious toil, and at his nod would brave
The dismal gulphs of Acheron's black wave.

22

And now, in turn, your race, your Country tell,
If on your lips fair truth delights to dwell,
To us, unconscious of the falsehood, shew
What of these seas and India's site you know.
Rude are the natives here, the Moor reply'd,
Dark are their minds, and brute-desire their guide:
But we of alien blood, and strangers here,
Nor hold their customs nor their laws revere.
From Abram's race our holy prophet sprung,
An Angel taught, and heaven inspir'd his tongue;
His sacred rites and mandates we obey,
And distant Empires own his holy sway.
From isle to isle our trading vessels roam,
Mozambic's harbour our commodious home.
If then your sails for India's shores expand,
For sultry Ganges or Hydaspes' strand,
Here shall you find a Pilot skill'd to guide
Through all the dangers of the per'lous tide,
Though wide spread shelves, and cruel rocks unseen,
Lurk in the way, and whirlpools rage between.
Accept, mean while, what fruits these islands hold,
And to the Regent let your wish be told.

23

Then may your mates the needful stores provide,
And all your various wants be here supplied.
So spake the Moor, and bearing smiles untrue
And signs of friendship, with his bands withdrew.
O'erpower'd with joy unhop'd the sailors stood,
To find such kindness on a shore so rude.
Now shooting o'er the flood his fervid blaze,
The red-brow'd Sun withdraws his beamy rays;
Safe in the bay the crew forget their cares,
And peaceful rest their wearied strength repairs.
Calm Twilight now his drowsy mantle spreads,
And shade on shade, the gloom still deepening sheds.
The Moon, full orb'd, forsakes her watery cave,
And lifts her lovely head above the wave.
The snowy splendors of her modest ray
Stream o'er the glist'ning waves, and quivering play:
Around her, glittering on the heav'ns arch'd brow,
Unnumber'd stars, enclos'd in azure, glow,

24

Thick as the dew-drops of the rosy dawn,
Or May-flowers crouding o'er the daisy-lawn:
The canvas whitens in the silvery beam,
And with a paler red the pendants gleam:
The masts' tall shadows tremble o'er the deep;
The peaceful winds an holy silence keep;
The watchman's carol echo'd from the prows,
Alone, at times, awakes the still repose.
Aurora now, with dewy lustre bright,
Appears, ascending on the rear of night.
With gentle hand, as seeming oft to pause,
The purple curtains of the morn she draws;
The sun comes forth, and soon the joyful crew,
Each aiding each, their joyful tasks pursue.
Wide o'er the decks the spreading sails they throw;
From each tall mast the waving streamers flow;
All seems a festive holiday on board
To welcome to the fleet the island's Lord.
With equal joy the Regent sails to meet,
And brings fresh cates, his offerings, to the fleet:
For of his kindred Race their line he deems,
That savage Race who rush'd from Caspia's streams,
And triumph'd o'er the East, and, Asia won,
In proud Byzantium fixt their haughty throne.

25

Brave Vasco hails the chief with honest smiles,
And gift for gift with liberal hand he piles.
His gifts, the boast of Europe's arts disclose,
And sparkling red the wine of Tagus flows.
High on the shrouds the wondering sailors hung,
To note the Moorish garb, and barbarous tongue:
Nor less the subtle Moor, with wonder fired,
Their mien, their dress, and lordly ships admired:
Much he enquires their King's, their Country's name,
And, if from Turkey's fertile shores they came?
What God they worshipp'd, what their sacred lore,
What arms they wielded, and what armour wore?
To whom brave Gama; Nor of Hagar's blood
Am I, nor plow from Izmael's shores the flood;
From Europe's strand I trace the foamy way,
To find the regions of the infant day.
The God we worship stretch'd yon heaven's high bow,
And gave these swelling waves to roll below;
The hemispheres of night and day he spread,
He scoop'd each vale, and rear'd each mountain's head;
His Word produc'd the nations of the earth,
And gave the spirits of the sky their birth;
On Earth, by him, his holy lore was given,
On Earth he came to raise mankind to heaven.
And now behold, what most your eyes desire,
Our shining armour, and our arms of fire;

26

For who has once in friendly peace beheld,
Will dread to meet them on the battle field.
Strait as he spoke the Magazines display'd
Their glorious shew, where, tire on tire inlaid,
Appear'd of glittering steel the carabines,
There the plumed helms, and ponderous brigandines;
O'er the broad bucklers sculptur'd orbs embost
The crooked faulchions dreadful blades were crost:
Here clasping greaves, and plated mail-quilts strong,
The long-bows here, and rattling quivers hung,
And like a grove the burnish'd spears were seen,
With darts, and halberts double-edged between;
Here dread grenadoes, and tremendous bombs,
With deaths ten thousand lurking in their wombs,
And far around of brown, and dusky red
The pointed piles of iron balls were spread.
The Bombadeers, now to the Regent's view
The thundering mortars and the cannon drew;
Yet at their Leader's nod, the sons of flame
(For brave and generous ever are the same)

27

Withheld their hands, nor gave the seeds of fire
To rouse the thunders of the dreadful tire.
For Gama's soul disdain'd the pride of shew
Which acts the lion o'er the trembling roe.
His joy and wonder oft the Moor exprest,
But rankling hate lay brooding in his breast;
With smiles obedient to his will's controul,
He veils the purpose of his treacherous soul:
For Pilots, conscious of the Indian strand
Brave Vasco fues, and bids the Moor command
What bounteous gifts shall recompence their toils;
The Moor prevents him with assenting smiles,
Resolved that deeds of death, not words of air,
Shall first the hatred of his soul declare;
Such sudden rage his rankling mind possest,
When Gama's lips Messiah's name confest.
Oh depth of heaven's dread will, that rancorous hate
On heaven's best lov'd in every clime should wait;

28

Now smiling round on all the wondering crew
The Moor attended by his bands withdrew;
His nimble barges soon approach'd the land,
And shouts of joy received him on the strand.
From heaven's high dome the Vintage-God beheld;
(Whom nine long months his father's thigh conceal'd)
Well-pleased he mark'd the Moor's determined hate
And thus his mind revolved in self-debate:
Has heaven, indeed, such glorious lot ordain'd!
By Lusus' race such conquests to be gain'd
O'er warlike nations, and on India's shore,
Where I unrival'd, claim'd the palm before!
I sprung from Jove! and shall these wandering few,
What Ammon's son unconquer'd left, subdue!
Ammon's brave son who led the God of war
His slave auxiliar at his thundering car!
Must these possess what Jove to him deny'd,
Possess what never sooth'd the Roman pride!
Must these the Victor's lordly flag display
With hateful blaze beneath the rising day,

29

My name dishonour'd, and my victories stain'd,
O'erturn'd my altars, and my shrines profaned!
No—be it mine to fan the Regent's hate;
Occasion seized commands the action's fate.
'Tis mine—this captain now my dread no more,
Shall never shake his spear on India's shore.
So spake the Power, and with the lightning's flight
For Afric darted thro' the fields of light.
His form divine he cloath'd in human shape,
And rush'd impetuous o'er the rocky cape:
In the dark semblance of a Moor he came
For art and old experience known to fame:
Him all his peers with humble deference heard
And all Mozambic and its prince rever'd:
The Prince in haste he sought, and thus exprest
His guileful hate in friendly counsel drest:
And to the Regent of this isle alone
Are these Adventurers and their fraud unknown?
Has Fame conceal'd their rapine from his ear?
Nor brought the groans of plunder'd nations here?

30

Yet still their hands the peaceful olive bore
Whene'er they anchor'd on a foreign shore:
But nor their seeming, nor their oaths I trust,
For Afric knows them bloody and unjust.
The nations sink beneath their lawless force,
And fire and blood have mark'd their deadly course.
We too, unless kind heaven and Thou prevent,
Must fall the victims of their dire intent,
And, gasping in the pangs of death, behold
Our wives led captive, and our daughters sold.
By stealth they come, ere morrow dawn, to bring
The healthful beverage from the living spring:
Arm'd with his troop the Captain will appear;
For conscious fraud is ever prone to fear.
To meet them there select a trusty band,
And in close ambush take thy silent stand,
There wait, and sudden on the heedless foe
Rush, and destroy them ere they dread the blow.
Or say should some escape the secret snare
Saved by their fate, their valour, or their care,
Yet their dread fall shall celebrate our isle,
If fate consent, and thou approve the guile.
Give then a Pilot to their wandering fleet,
Bold in his art, and tutor'd in deceit;
Whose hand adventurous shall their helms misguide,
To hostile shores, or whelm them in the tide.

31

So spoke the God, in semblance of a sage
Renown'd for counsel and the craft of age.
The Moor with transport glowing in his face
Approved, and caught him in a kind embrace;
And instant at the word his bands prepare
Their bearded darts and implements of war,
That Lusus' sons, might purple with their gore,
The chrystal fountain which they sought on shore:
And still regardful of his dire intent,
A skilful pilot to the bay he sent;
Of honest mien, yet practised in deceit,
Who far at distance on the beach should wait,
And to the 'scaped, if some should 'scape the snare
Should offer friendship and the pilot's care,
But when at sea, on rocks should dash their pride,
And whelm their lofty vanes beneath the tide.
Apollo now had left his watery bed,
And o'er the mountains of Arabia spread
His rays that glow'd with gold; when Gama rose,
And from his bands a trusty squadron chose:
Three speedy barges brought their casks to fill
From gurgling fountain, or the chrystal rill:
Full-arm'd they came, for brave defence prepared,
For martial care is ever on the guard:

32

And secret warnings ever are imprest
On wisdom such as waked in Gama's breast.
And now, as swiftly springing o'er the tide
Advanced the boats, a troop of Moors they spy'd;
O'er the pale sands the sable warriors crowd,
And toss their threatening darts, and shout aloud.
Yet seeming artless, though they dared the fight,
Their eager hope they placed in artful flight,
To lead brave Gama where unseen by day
In dark-brow'd shades their silent ambush lay.
With scornful gestures o'er the beach they stride,
And push their level'd spears with barbarous pride,
Then fix the arrow to the bended bow,
And strike their sounding shields, and dare the foe.
With generous rage the Lusian Race beheld,
And each brave breast with indignation swell'd,
To view such foes like snarling dogs display
Their threatening tusks, and brave the sanguine fray:
Together with a bound they spring to land,
Unknown whose step first trode the hostile strand.
Thus , when to gain his beauteous Charmer's smile,
The youthful Lover dares the bloody toil,

33

Before the nodding Bull's stern front he stands,
He leaps, he wheels, he shouts, and waves his hands:
The lordly brute disdains the stripling's rage,
His nostrils smoke, and, eager to engage,
His horned brows he levels with the ground,
And shuts his flaming eyes, and wheeling round
With dreadful bellowing rushes on the foe,
And lays the boastful gaudy champion low.
Thus to the fight the sons of Lusus sprung,
Nor slow to fall their ample vengeance hung:
With sudden roar the carabines resound,
And bursting echoes from the hills rebound;
The lead flies hissing through the trembling air,
And death's fell dæmons through the flashes glare.
Where, up the land, a grove of palms enclose,
And cast their shadows where the fountain flows,
The lurking ambush from their treacherous stand
Beheld the combat burning on the strand:
They see the flash with sudden lightnings flare,
And the blue smoke slow rolling on the air:
They see their warriors drop, and, starting, hear
The lingering thunders bursting on their ear.

34

Amazed, appall'd, the treacherous ambush fled,
And raged , and curst their birth, and quaked with dread.
The bands that vaunting shew'd their threaten'd might,
With slaughter gored, precipitate in flight;
Yet oft, though trembling, on the foe they turn
Their eyes that red with lust of vengeance burn:
Aghast with fear and stern with desperate rage
The flying war with dreadful howls they wage,
Flints , clods, and javelins hurling as they fly,
As rage and wild despair their hands supply:
And soon disperst, their bands attempt no more
To guard the fountain or defend the shore:
O'er the wide lawns no more their troops appear:
Nor sleeps the vengeance of the Victor here;
To teach the nations what tremendous fate
From his right arm on perjur'd vows should wait,
He seized the time to awe the eastern world,
And on the breach of faith his thunders hurl'd.
From his black ships the sudden lightnings blaze,
And o'er old Ocean flash their dreadful rays:

35

White clouds on clouds inroll'd the smoke ascends,
The bursting tumult heaven's wide concave rends:
The bays and caverns of the winding shore
Repeat the cannon's and the mortar's roar:
The bombs, far-flaming, hiss along the sky,
And whirring through the air the bullets fly;
The wounded air with hollow deafen'd sound,
Groans to the direful strife, and trembles round.
Now from the Moorish town the sheets of fire,
Wide blaze succeeding blaze, to heaven aspire.
Black rise the clouds of smoke, and by the gales
Borne down, in streams hang hovering o'er the vales;
And slowly floating round the mountain's head
Their pitchy mantle o'er the landscape spread.
Unnumber'd sea-fowl rising from the shore,
Beat round in whirls at every cannon's roar:
Where o'er the smoke the masts' tall heads appear,
Hovering they scream, then dart with sudden fear,
On trembling wings far round and round they fly,
And fill with dismal clang their native sky.
Thus fled in rout confus'd the treacherous Moors
From field to field, then, hastning to the shores,
Some trust in boats their wealth and lives to save,
And wild with dread they plunge into the wave;

36

Some spread their arms to swim, and some beneath
The whelming billows, struggling, pant for breath,
Then whirl'd aloft their nostrils spout the brine;
While showering still from many a carabine
The leaden hail their sails and vessels tore,
Till struggling hard they reach'd the neighb'ring shore:
Due vengeance thus their perfidy repay'd,
And Gama's terrors to the East display'd.
Imbrown'd with dust a beaten pathway shews
Where 'midst unbrageous palms the fountain flows;
From thence at will they bear the liquid health;
And now sole masters of the island's wealth,
With costly spoils and eastern robes adorn'd,
The joyful victors to the fleet return'd.
With hell's keen fires still for revenge athirst,
The Regent burns, and weens, by fraud accurst,
To strike a surer, yet a secret blow,
And in one general death to whelm the foe.
The promised Pilot to the fleet he sends
And deep repentance for his crime pretends.
Sincere the Herald seems, and while he speaks,
The winning tears steal down his hoary cheeks.
Brave Gama, touch'd with generous woe, believes,
And from his hand the Pilot's hand receives:

37

A dreadful gift! instructed to decoy,
In gulphs to whelm them, or on rocks destroy.
The valiant Chief, impatient of delay,
For India now resumes the watery way;
Bids weigh the anchor and unfurl the sail,
Spread full the canvas to the rising gale;
He spoke; and proudly o'er the foaming tide,
Borne on the wind, the full-wing'd vessels ride;
While as they rode before the bounding prows
The lovely forms of sea-born nymphs arose.
The while brave Vasco's unsuspecting mind
Yet fear'd not ought the crafty Moor design'd:
Much of the coast he asks, and much demands
Of Afric's shores and India's spicy lands.
The crafty Moor by vengeful Bacchus taught
Employ'd on deadly guile his baneful thought;
In his dark mind he plann'd, on Gama's head
Full to revenge Mozambic and the dead.
Yet all the Chief demanded he reveal'd,
Nor ought of truth, that truth he knew, conceal'd:
For thus he ween'd to gain his easy faith,
And gain'd, betray to slavery or to death.
And now securely trusting to destroy,
As erst false Sinon snared the sons of Troy,

38

Behold, disclosing from the sky, he cries,
Far to the north, yon cloud-like isle arise:
From ancient times the natives of the shore
The blood-stain'd Image on the Cross adore.
Swift at the word, the joyful Gama cry'd,
For that fair island turn the helm aside,
O bring my vessels where the Christians dwell,
And thy glad lips my gratitude shall tell:
With sullen joy the treacherous Moor comply'd,
And for that island turn'd the helm aside.
For well Quiloa's swarthy race he knew,
Their laws and faith to Hagar's offspring true;
Their strength in war, through all the nations round,
Above Mozambic and her powers renown'd;
He knew what hate the Christian name they bore,
And hoped that hate on Vasco's bands to pour.
Right to the land the faithless Pilot steers,
Right to the land the glad Armada bears;
But heavenly Love's fair Queen , whose watchful care
Had ever been their guide, beheld the snare.

39

A sudden storm she rais'd: Loud howl'd the blast,
The yard-arms rattled, and each groaning mast
Bended beneath the weight. Deep sunk the prows,
And creaking ropes the creaking ropes oppose;
In vain the Pilot would the speed restrain,
The Captain shouts, the Sailors toil in vain;
Aslope and gliding on the leeward side
The bounding vessels cut the roaring tide:
Soon far they past; and now the slacken'd sail
Trembles and bellies to the gentle gale:
Now many a league before the tempest tost
The treacherous Pilot sees his purpose crost:
Yet vengeful still, and still intent on guile,
Behold, he cries, yon dim emerging isle:
There live the votaries of Messiah's lore
In faithful peace and friendship with the Moor.
Yet all was false, for there Messiah's name,
Reviled and scorn'd, was only known by fame.
The groveling natives there, a brutal herd,
The sensual lore of Hagar's son preferr'd.

40

With joy brave Gama hears the artful tale,
Bears to the harbour, and bids furl the sail.
Yet watchful still fair Love's celestial Queen
Prevents the danger with an hand unseen;
Nor past the bar his ventrous vessels guides,
And safe at anchor in the road he rides.
Between the isle and Ethiopia's land
A narrow current laves each adverse strand;
Close by the margin where the green tide flows,
Full to the bay a lordly city rose;
With fervid blaze the glowing Evening pours
Its purple splendors o'er the lofty towers;
The lofty towers with milder lustre gleam,
And gently tremble in the glassy stream.
Here reign'd an hoary King of ancient fame;
Mombaze the town, and fertile island's name.
As when the Pilgrim, who with weary pace
Through lonely wastes untrod by human race,
For many a day disconsolate has stray'd,
The turf his bed, the wild-wood boughs his shade,
O'erjoy'd beholds the cheerful seats of men
In grateful prospect rising on his ken:
So Gama joy'd, who many a dreary day
Had trac'd the vast, the lonesome watery way,

41

Had seen new stars, unkown to Europe, rise,
And brav'd the horrors of the polar skies:
So joy'd his bounding heart, when proudly rear'd,
The splendid City o'er the wave appear'd,
Where heaven's own lore, he trusted, was obey'd,
And Holy Faith her sacred rites display'd.
And now swift crowding through the horned bay
The Moorish barges wing'd their foamy way,
To Gama's fleet with friendly smiles they bore
The choicest products of their cultured shore.
But there fell rancour veil'd its serpent-head,
Though festive roses o'er the gifts were spread.
For Bacchus veil'd, in human shape, was here,
And pour'd his counsel in the Sovereign's ear.
O piteous lot of Man's uncertain state!
What woes on life's unhappy journey wait!
When joyful hope would grasp its fond desire,
The long-sought transports in the grasp expire.
By sea what treacherous calms, what rushing storms,
And death attendant in a thousand forms!
By land what strife, what plots of secret guile,
How many a wound from many a treacherous smile!
O where shall Man escape his numerous foes,
And rest his weary head in safe repose!
END OF THE FIRST BOOK.
 

M. Duperron de Castera, who has given a French prose translation, or rather paraphrase of the Lusiad, has a long note on this passage, which he tells us, must not be understood literally. Our author, he says, could not be ignorant that the African and Indian Oceans had been navigated before the times of the Portuguese. The Phœnicians whose fleets passed the straits of Gibraltar, made frequent voyages in these seas, though they carefully concealed the course of their navigation that other nations might not become partakers of their lucrative traffic. It is certain that Solomon, and Hiram king of Tyre, sent ships to the East by the Red Sea. It is also certain that Hanno a Carthaginian captain made a voyage round the whole coast of Africa, as is evident from the history of the expedition, written by himself in the Punic language; a Greek translation of which is now extant. Besides, Pliny, Pomponius Mela, Ptolomy and Strabo, assure us, that Mozambic and the adjacent islands and some parts of India were known to the Romans: and these words of Macrobius, Sed nec monstruosis carnibus abstinetis, inserentes poculis testiculos Castorum et venenata corpora Viperarum; quibus admiscetis quidquid India nutrit, sufficiently prove that they carried on a considerable traffic with the East. From all which, says M. Castera, we may conclude that the Portuguese were rather the Restorers than the Discoverers of the navigation to the Indies.

In this first book, and throughout the whole Poem, Camoens frequently describes his Heroes as passing through seas which had never before been navigated; and

Que so dos feyos focas se navega.
Where but Sea-monsters cut the waves before.

That this supposition afforded our author a number of poetical images, and adds a solemn grandeur to his subject, might perhaps with M. Castera be esteemed a sufficient apology for the poetical licence in such a violation of historical truth. Yet whatever liberties an Epic or Tragic Poet may commendably take in embellishing the actions of his heroes, an assertion relating to the scene where his Poem opens, if false, must be equally ridiculous as to call Vespasian the first who had ever assumed the title of Cesar. But it will be found that Camoens has not fallen into such absurdity. The Poem opens with a description of the Lusitanian fleet, after having doubled the Cape of Hope, driving about in the great Ethiopian Ocean, so far from land that it required the care of the Gods to conduct it to some hospitable shore. Therefore, though it is certain that the Phœnicians passed the Ne plus ultra of the ancients; though it is probable they traded on the coast of Cornwall, and the isles of Scilly; though there is some reason to believe that the Madeiras and Carribees were known to them; and though it has been supposed that some of their ships might have been driven by storm to the Brazils or North-America; yet there is not the least foundation in history to suppose that they traded to the Indies by the Cape of Good Hope. There is rather a demonstration of the contrary; for it is certain they carried on their traffic with the East, by a much nearer and safer way, by the two ports of Elath and Eziongeber on the Red Sea. Neither is it known in what particular part, whether in the Persian gulph, or in the Indian Ocean, the Tarshish and Ophir of the ancients are situated. Though it is certain that Hanno doubled the Cape of Good Hope, it is also equally certain that his voyage was merely a coasting one, like that of Nearchus in Alexander's time, and that he never ventured into the great Ocean, or went so far as Gama. The citation from Macrobius proves nothing at all relative to the point in question, for it is certain that the Romans received the Merchandise of India by the way of Syria and the Mediterranean, in the same manner as the Venetians imported the commodities of the East from Alexandria before the discoveries of the Portuguese. It remains, therefore, that Gama, who sailed by the Compass, after having gone further than his cotemporary Bartholomew Diaz, was literally the first who ever spread sail in the great southern Ocean, and that the Portuguese were not the Restorers, but literally the Discoverers of the present rout of Navigation to the East Indies.

He interweaves artfully the history of Portugal. —Voltaire.

In no period of History does Human Nature appear with more shocking, more diabolical features than in the wars of Cortez, and the Spanish Conquerors of South America. To the immortal honour of the Portuguese Discoverers, their conduct was in every respect the reverse. To establish a traffic equally advantageous to the natives as to themselves, was the motive on which they acted; the strictest honour, and that humanity which is ever inseparable from true bravery, presided over their transactions; nor did they ever proceed to hostilities till provoked, either by the open violence or by the perfidy of the Natives. Their honour was admired, and their friendship courted by the Indian Princes. To mention no more, the name of Gama was dear to them, and the great Albuquerque was beloved as a father, and his memory honoured with every token of affection and respect by the people and princes of India, though his conquests in the East were so great, that his Countrymen, without offering any injury to the fame of Alexander, compared him to that renowned Hero. It was owing to this spirit of honour and humanity, which in the heroical days of Portugal characterised that nation, that the religion of the Portuguese was eagerly embraced by many kings and provinces of Africa and India; while the Mexicans with manly disdain rejected the faith of the Spaniards, professing they would rather go to hell to escape these cruel Tyrants, than go to heaven, where they were told, they would meet them. Zeal for the Christian religion was esteemed, at the time of the Portuguese grandeur, as the most cardinal Virtue, and to propagate Christianity and extirpate Mohammedism were the most certain proofs of that zeal. In all their expeditions this was professedly a principal motive of the Lusitanian Monarchs, and Camoëns understood the nature of Epic poetry too well to omit, That the design of his Hero was to divulge the Law of heaven, a circumstance which gives a noble air of importance to his Subject. To take notice of the vast success of the Portuguese in propagating their religion, a success so different from that of our modern missionaries, is a necessary Elucidation of this, and of several other passages of the Lusiad.

King Sebastian, who came to the throne in his minority. Though the warm imagination of Camoens anticipated the praises of the future Hero, the young monarch, like Virgil's Pollio, had not the happiness to fulfil the prophecy. His endowments and enterprising genius promised indeed a glorious reign. Ambitious of military laurels, he led a powerful army into Africa, on purpose to replace Muley Hamet on the throne of Morocco, from which he had been deposed by Muley Molucco. On the 4th of August, 1578, in the 25th year of his age, he gave battle to the Usurper on the plains of Alcazar. This was that memorable engagement, to which the Moorish Emperor, extremely weakened by sickness, was carried in his litter. By the impetuosity of the attack, he first line of the Moorish infantry was broken, and the second disordered. Muley Molucco on this mounted his horse, drew his sabre, and would have put himself at the head of his troops, but was prevented by his attendants. On this act of violence, his emotion of mind was so great that he fell from his horse, and one of his guards having caught him in his arms, conveyed him to his litter, where, putting his finger on his lips to enjoin them silence, he immediately expired. Hamet Taba stood by the curtains of the carriage, opened them from time to time, and gave out orders as if he had received them from the Emperor. Victory declared for the Moors, and the defeat of the Portuguese was so total, that not above fifty of their whole army escaped. Hieron de Mendoça, and Sebastian de Mesa relate, that Don Sebastian, after having two horses killed under him, was surrounded and taken; but the party who had secured him quarrelling among themselves whose prisoner he was, a Moorish officer rode up and struck the King a blow over the right eye which brought him to the ground; when, despairing of ransom, the others killed him. Faria y Sousa, an exact and judicious historian reports, that Lewis de Brito meeting the King with the royal standard wrapped round him, Sebastian cried out, “Hold it fast, let us die upon it.” Brito affirmed, that after he himself was taken prisoner, he saw the King at a distance unpursued. Don Lewis de Lima afterwards met him making towards the river; and this, says the historian, was the last time he was ever seen alive. About twenty years after this fatal defeat there appeared a stranger at Venice, who called himself Sebastian, King of Portugal, whom he so perfectly resembled, that the Portuguese of that city acknowledged him for their Sovereign. Philip II. of Spain was now Master of the crown and kingdom of Portugal. His ambassador at Venice charged this stranger with many attrocious crimes, and had interest to get him apprehended and thrown into prison as an impostor. He underwent twenty-eight examinations before a committee of the nobles, in which he clearly acquitted himself of all the crimes that had been laid to his charge; he gave a distinct account of the manner in which he had passed his time from the fatal defeat at Alcazar. It was objected, that the successor of Muley Molucco sent a corps to Portugal which had been owned as that of the King by the Portuguese nobility who survived the battle. To this he replied, that his valet de chambre had produced that body to facilitate his escape, and that the nobility acted upon the same motive, and Mesa and Baena confess, that some of the nobility, after their return to Portugal, acknowledged, that the corps was so disfigured with wounds that it was impossible to know it. He shewed natural marks on his body, which many remembered on the person of the King whose name he assumed. He entered into a minute detail of the transactions that had passed between himself and the republic, and mentioned the secrets of several conversations with the Venetian ambassadors in the palace of Lisbon. The Committee were astonished, and shewed no disposition to declare him an Impostor; the Senate however refused to discuss the great point, unless requested by some Prince or State in alliance with them. This generous part was performed by the Prince of Orange, and an examination was made with great solemnity, but no decision followed, only the Senate set him at liberty, and ordered him to depart their dominions in three days. In his flight he fell into the hands of the Spaniards, who conducted him to Naples, where they treated him with the most barbarous indignities. After they had often exposed him, mounted on an ass, to the cruel insults of the brutal mob, he was shipped on board a galley as a slave. He was then carried to St. Lucar, from thence to a castle in the heart of Castile, and never was heard of more. The firmness of his behaviour, his singular modesty and heroical patience, are mentioned with admiration by Le Clede. To the last he maintained the truth of his assertions; a word never slipt from his lips which might countenance the charge of Imposture, or justify the cruelty of his persecutors. All Europe were astonished at the Ministry of Spain, who, by their method of conducting it, had made an affair so little to their credit, the topic of general conversation; and their assertion, that the unhappy sufferer was a magician, was looked upon as a tacit acknowledgement of the truth of his pretensions.

Portugal, when Camoens wrote his Lusiad, was at the zenith of its power and splendor. The glorious successes which had attended the arms of the Portuguese in Africa, had gained them the highest military reputation. Their fleets covered the Ocean. Their dominions and settlements extended along the western and eastern sides of the vast African continent. From the Red Sea to China and Japan they were sole masters of the riches of the East; and in America, the fertile and extensive regions of Brazil compleated their Empire. It is not therefore to be wondered at, that the imagination of Camoens was warmed with the view of his Country's greatness, and that he talks of its power and grandeur in a strain, which must appear as mere hyperbole to those whose ideas of Portugal are drawn from its present diminished state. After the defeat of Don Sebastian at Alcazar, which was the first step of the declension of the Portuguese grandeur, his uncle Cardinal Enricus ascended the throne; but he dying after a reign of two years, Philip II. of Spain made himself master of the kingdom of Portugal, which remained under the Spanish yoke for about sixty years. During this period, the Dutch possessed themselves of the best Portuguese settlements in the East Indies, in Africa and America; and thus, a sudden evening interrupted the grandeur of the Portuguese: So just is the observation of Goldsmith,

That Trade's proud Empire hastes to swift decay,
As Ocean sweeps the labour'd mole away;
While self-dependent power can time defy,
As rocks resist the billows and the sky.

May the English East India Company, in the midst of their successes, remember the fate of their predecessors, and ever be guarded against that politic people, who, according to the principles on which they have always acted, would take the same advantages of the weakness of England, which heretofore they took of the distresses of Portugal!

Imitated perhaps from Rutilius, speaking of the Roman Empire,

Volvitur ipse tibi, qui conspicit omnia, Phœbus,
Atque tuis ortos in tua condit equos.

or more probably from these lines of Buchanan, addressed to John III. king of Portugal, the grand father of Sebastian.

Inque tuis Phœbus regnis oriensque caaensque
Vix longum fesso conderet axe diem.
Et quæcunque vago se circumvolvit Olympo
Affulget ratibus flamma ministra tuis.

The Twelve Peers of France, often mentioned in the old Romances. For the Episode of Magrizo and his eleven companions, see the sixth Lusiad.

John III. King of Portugal, celebrated for a long and peaceful reign; and the Emperor Charles V. who was engaged in almost continual wars.

Anne novum tardis sidus te mensibus addas,
Qua locus Erigonen inter chelasque sequentes
Panditur: ipse tibi jam brachia contrabit ardens
Scorpius, et cœli justa plus parte reliquit.

Virg. G. I.

Some Critics have condemned Virgil for stopping his narrative to introduce even a short observation of his own. Milton's beautiful complaint of his blindness has been blamed for the same reason, as being no part of the subject of his Poem. The address of Camoens to Don Sebastian has not escaped the same censure; though in some measure undeservedly, as the Poet has had the art to interweave therein some part of the general argument of his poem.

This brave Lusitanian, who was first a shepherd and a famous hunter, and afterwards a captain of banditti, exasperated at the tyranny of the Romans, encouraged his countrymen to revolt and shake off the yoke. Being appointed General, he defeated Vetilius the Prætor, who commanded in Lusitania, or farther Spain. After this he defeated in three pitched battles, the Prætors C. Plautius Hypsæus, and Claudius Unimanus, though they led against him very numerous armies. For six years he continued victorious, putting the Romans to flight wherever he met them, and laying waste the countries of their allies. Having obtained such advantages over the Proconsul Servilianus, that the only choice which was left to the Roman army was death or slavery; the brave Viriatus, instead of putting them all to the sword, as he could easily have done, sent a deputation to the General, offering to conclude a peace with him on this single condition, That he should continue Master of the Country now in his power, and that the Romans should remain possessed of the rest of Spain.

The Proconsul, who expected nothing but death or slavery, thought these very favourable and moderate terms, and without hesitation concluded a peace, which was soon after ratified by the Roman senate and people. Viriatus, by this treaty, compleated the glorious design he had always in view, which was to erect a kingdom in the vast country he had conquered from the Republic. And had it not been for the treachery of the Romans, he would have become, as Florus calls him, the Romulus of Spain: He would have founded a monarchy capable of counterbalancing the power of Rome.

The Senate, still desirous to revenge their late defeat, soon after this peace ordered Q. Servilius Cæpio to exasperate Viriatus, and force him by repeated affronts to commit the first acts of hostility. But this mean artifice did not succeed: Viriatus would not be provoked to a breach of the peace. On this the Conscript Fathers, to the eternal disgrace of their Republic, ordered Cæpio to delare war, and to proclaim Viriatus, who had given no provocation, an enemy to Rome. To this baseness Cæpio added still a greater; he corrupted the ambassadors which Viriatus had sent to negotiate with him, who, at the instigation of the Roman, treacherously murdered their Protector and General while he slept.

—Univ. Hist.

Sertorius, who was invited by the Lusitanians to defend them against the Romans. He had a tame white Hind, which he had accustomed to follow him, and from which he pretended to receive the instructions of Diana. By this artifice he imposed upon the superstition of that people. Vid. Plut.

The French Translator has the following note on this place: Le Camoens n'a pourtant fait en cela que suivre l'exemple de l'Ecriture, comme on le voit dans ces paroles du premiere chapitre de Job. Quidam autem die cum venissent, &c. Un jour que les enfans du Seigneur s'etoient assemble devant son trone, Satan y vint aussi, &c.

An antient city in India sacred to Bacchus.

An Italian poet has given the following description of the celestial Venus.

Questa è vaga di Dio Venere bella
Vicina al Sole, e sopra ogni altra estella
Questa è quella beata, a cui s'inchina,
A cui fi volge desiando amore,
Chiamata cui del Ciel rara e divina
Beltà che vien tra noi per nostro honore,
Per far le menti disiando al Cielo
Obliare l'altrui col proprio velo.

Martel.

See the note in the Second Book on the following passage;—

As when in Ida's bower she stood of yore, &c.

Camoens says,

E na lingoa, na qual quando imagina,
Com pouca corrupçao cré que he Latina.

Qualifications are never elegant in poetry. Fanshaw's translation, and the original, both prove this.

------ their tongue
Which she thinks Latin with small dross among.

The thought in the Original has something in it wildly great, though it is not expressed in the happiest manner of Camoens,

O ceo tremeo, e Apollo detorvado
Hum pauco a luz perdes, como infiado.

Called by the ancient Geographers Menuthia, and Cerna Ethiopica; by the natives, the Island of the Moon; and by the Portuguese, the Isle of St. Laurence, on whose festival they discovered it.

The Original says, the Sea shewed them new islands, which it encircled and laved. Thus rendered by Fanshaw,

Neptune disclos'd new isles which he did play
About, and with his billows danc't the hay.
—ferunt luctu Cycnum Phaëtonis amati,
Populeas inter frondes umbramque sororum
Dum canit, & mœstum musa solatur amorem:
Canentem molli pluma duxisse senectam,
Linquentem terras, et sidera voce sequentem.

Virg. En.

The historical foundation of the fable of Phaeton is this. Phaeton was a young enterprising Prince of Libya. Crossing the Mediterranean in quest of adventures he landed at Epirus, from whence he went to Italy to see his intimate friend Cygnus. Phaeton was skilled in astrology, from whence he arrogated to himself the title of the son of Apollo. One day in the heat of summer as he was riding along the banks of the Po, his horses took fright at a clap of thunder, and plunged into the river, where together with their master they perished. Cygnus, who was a Poet, celebrated the death of his friend in verse, from whence the fable. Vid. Plutar. in vit. Pyrr.

Mohammed, who was descended from Ishmael, the son of Abraham by Hagar.

Camoens, in this passage, has imitated Homer in the manner of Virgil: by diversifying the scene he has made the description his own. The passage alluded to is in the eighth Iliad:

Ως δ' οτ' εν ουρανω αστρα φαεινην αμφι σεληνην
Φαινετ' αριπρεπεα, &c.

Thus elegantly translated by Pope:

As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night,
O'er heaven's clear azure spreads her sacred light,
When not a breath disturbs the deep serene,
And not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene;
Around her throne the vivid planets roll,
And stars unnumber'd gild the glowing pole,
O'er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed,
And tip with silver every mountain's head;
Then shine the vales, the rocks in prospect rise,
A flood of glory bursts from all the skies:
The conscious swains rejoicing in the sight,
Eye the blue vault, and bless the useful light.

The description of the armoury, and the account which Vasco de Gama gives of his religion, consists, in the Original, of thirty-two lines, which M. Castera has reduced into the following sentence: Leur Governeur fait differentes questions au Capitaine, qui pour le satisfaire lui explique en peu des mots la Religion que les Portugais suivent, l'usage des armes dont ils se servent dans la guerre, et le dessein qui les amene.

This omission affords us one of the numberless instances of the unpoetical taste of the French Paraphrist.

This, and of consequence, the reason of the Moor's hate, is entirely omitted by Castera. The original is, the Moor conceived hatred, “knowing they were followers of the truth which the Son of David taught.” Thus rendered by Fanshaw,

Knowing they follow that unerring light,
The Son of David holds out in his Book.

By this Solomon must be understood, not the Messiah, as meant by Camoens.

Zacocia, (governor of Mozambic) made no doubt but our people were of some Mohammedan country.—The mutual exchange of good offices between our people and these islanders promised a long continuance of friendship, but it proved otherwise. No sooner did Zacocia understand they were Christians, than all his kindness was turned into the most bitter hatred; he began to meditate their ruin, and sought by every means to destroy the fleet. —Osorio, Bp. of Sylves, Hist. of the Portug. Discov.

According to the Arabians, Bacchus was nourished during his infancy in a cave of mount Meros, which in Greek signifies a thigh. Hence the fable.

Alecto torvam faciem et furialia membra
Exuit: in vultus sese transformat aniles,
Et frontem obscœnum rugis arat.

—Vir. En. 7.

This similie is taken from a favourite exercise in Spain, where it is usual to see young Gentlemen of the best families entering the lists to fight with a Bull, adorned with ribbons, and armed with a javelin or kind of cutlas, which the Spaniards call Machete. Though Camoens in this description of it has given the victory to the Bull, it very seldom so happens, the young Caballeros being very expert at this valorous exercise, and ambitious to display their dexterity, which is a sure recommendation to the favour and good opinion of the Ladies.

------e maldizia
O velho inerte, e a mãy, que a filho cria.

Thus translated by Fanshaw,

------ curst their ill luck,
Th' old Devil, and the Dam that gave them suck.
Jamque faces et saxa volant, furor arma ministrat.
Virg. En. I.

The Spanish Commentator on this Place relates a very extraordinary instance of the furor arma ministrans. A Portuguese Soldier at the siege of Diu in the Indies being surroünded by the enemy, and having no ball to charge his musket, pulled out one of his teeth, and with it supplied the place of a bullet.

When Gama arrived in the East, the Moors were the only people who engrossed the trade of those parts. Jealous of such formidable rivals as the Portuguese, they employed every artifice to accomplish the destruction of Gama's fleet, for they foresaw the consequences of his return to Portugal. As the Moors were acquainted with these seas and spoke the Arabic language, Gama was obliged to employ them both as Pilots and Interpreters. The circumstance now mentioned by Camoens is an historical fact. The Moorish Pilot, says De Barros, intended to conduct the Portuguese into Quiloa, telling them that place was inhabited by Christians, but a sudden storm arising, drove the fleet from that shore, where death or slavery would have been the certain fate of Gama and his companions. The villany of the Pilot was afterwards discovered. As Gama was endeavouring to enter the port of Mombaze his ship struck on a sand bank, and finding their purpose of bringing him into the harbour defeated, two of the Moorish Pilots leaped into the sea and swam ashore. Alarmed at this tacit acknowledgement of guilt, Gama ordered two other Moorish Pilots who remained on board to be examined by whipping, who, after some time, made a full confession of their intended villany. This discovery greatly encouraged Gama and his men, who now interpreted the sudden storm which had driven them from Quiloa as a miraculous interposition of the Divine Providence in their favour.


43

BOOK II.

The fervent lustre of the evening ray
Behind the western hills now died away,
And night, ascending from the dim-brow'd east,
The twilight gloom with deeper shades increast;
When Gama heard the creaking of the oar,
And markt the white waves lengthening from the shore;
In many a skiff the eager natives came,
Their semblance friendship, but deceit their aim.
And now by Gama's anchor'd ships they ride,
And, Hail illustrious chief, their leader cried,
Your fame already these our regions own,
How your bold prows from worlds to us unknown

44

Have braved the horrors of the southern main,
Where storms and darkness hold their endless reign,
Whose whelmy waves our westward prows have barr'd
From oldest times, and ne'er before were dared
By boldest Leader: Earnest to behold
The wondrous hero of a toil so bold,
To you the Sovereign of these islands sends
The holy vows of peace, and hails you friends.
If friendship you accept, whate'er kind heaven
In various bounty to these shores has given,
Whate'er your wants, your wants shall here supply,
And safe in port your gallant fleet shall lie;
Safe from the dangers of the faithless tide,
And sudden bursting storms, by you untry'd;
Yours every bounty of the fertile shore,
'Till balmy rest your wearied crew restore.
Or if your toils and ardent hopes demand
The various treasures of the Indian strand,
The fragrant cinnamon, the glowing clove,
And all the riches of the spicy grove;
Or drugs of power the fever's rage to bound,
Or give soft langour to the smarting wound;
Or if the splendor of the diamond's rays,
The sapphire's azure, or the ruby's blaze,
Invite your sails to search the Eastern world,
Here may these sails in happy hour be furl'd:

45

For here the splendid treasures of the mine,
And richest offspring of the field combine
To give each boon that human want requires,
And every gem that lofty pride desires;
Then here, a potent King your generous friend,
Here let your per'lous toils and wandering searches end.
He said: brave Gama smiles with heart sincere,
And prays the herald to the king to bear
The thanks of grateful joy: but now, he cries,
The black'ning evening veils the coast and skies,
And through these rocks unknown forbids to steer;
Yet when the streaks of milky dawn appear
Edging the eastern wave with silver hore
My ready prows shall gladly point to shore;
Assured of friendship, and a kind retreat,
Assured and proffer'd by a King so great.
Yet mindful still of what his hopes had cheer'd,
That here his nation's holy shrines were rear'd,

46

He asks, if certain as the Pilot told,
Messiah's lore had flourished there of old,
And flourished still? The Herald mark'd with joy
The pious wish, and watchful to decoy,
Messiah here, he cries, has altars more
Than all the various shrines of other lore.
O'erjoyed brave Vasco heard the pleasing tale,
Yet fear'd that fraud its viper-sting might veil
Beneath the glitter of a shew so fair,
He half believes the tale, and arms against the snare.
With Gama sail'd a bold advent'rous band,
Whose headlong rage had urg'd the guilty hand:
Stern Justice for their crimes had ask'd their blood,
And pale in chains condemn'd to death they stood;
But sav'd by Gama from the shameful death,
The bread of peace had seal'd their plighted faith,

47

The desolate coast, when ordered, to explore,
And dare each danger of the hostile shore:
From this bold band he chose the subtlest two,
The port, the city, and its strength to view,
To mark if fraud its secret head betrayed,
Or if the rites of heaven were there displayed.
With costly gifts, as of their truth secure,
The pledge that Gama deem'd their faith was pure.
These two his Heralds to the King he sends:
The faithless Moors depart as smiling friends.
Now thro' the wave they cut their foamy way,
Their chearful songs resounding through the bay:
And now on shore the wondering natives greet,
And fondly hail the strangers from the fleet.
The prince their gifts with friendly vows receives,
And joyful welcome to the Lusians gives;
Where'er they pass, the joyful tumult bends,
And through the town the glad applause attends.
But he whose cheeks with youth immortal shone,
The God whose wondrous birth two mothers own,
Whose rage had still the wandering fleet annoyed,
Now in the town his guileful rage employed.
A Christian priest he seem'd; a sumptuous shrine
He rear'd, and tended with the rites divine:

48

O'er the fair altar waved the cross on high,
Upheld by angels leaning from the sky;
Descending o'er the Virgin's sacred head
So white, so pure, the Holy Spirit spread
The dove-like pictured wings, so pure, so white;
And, hovering o'er the chosen twelve, alight
The tongues of hallowed fire. Amazed, opprest,
With sacred awe their troubled looks confest
The inspiring Godhead, and the prophet's glow,
Which gave each language from their lips to flow.
Where thus the guileful Power his magic wrought
De Gama's heralds by the guides are brought:
On bended knees low to the earth they fall,
And to the Lord of heaven in transport call,
While the feign'd Priest awakes the censer's fire,
And clouds of incense round the shrine aspire.
With chearful welcome here, caress'd, they stay
Till bright Aurora, messenger of day,
Walk'd forth; and now the sun's resplendent rays,
Yet half emerging o'er the waters, blaze,
When to the fleet the Moorish oars again
Dash the curl'd waves, and waft the guileful train:
The lofty decks they mount. With joy elate,
Their friendly welcome at the palace-gate,

49

The King's sincerity, the people's care,
And treasures of the coast the spies declare:
Nor past untold what most their joys inspired,
What most to hear the valiant chief desired,
That their glad eyes had seen the rites divine,
Their country's worship, and the sacred shrine.
The pleasing tale the joyful Gama hears;
Dark fraud no more his generous bosom fears:
As friends sincere, himself sincere, he gives
The hand of welcome, and the Moors receives.
And now, as conscious of the destin'd prey,
The faithless race, with smiles and gestures gay,
Their skiffs forsaking, Gama's ships ascend,
And deep to strike the treacherous blow attend.

50

On shore the truthless monarch arms his bands,
And for the fleet's approach impatient stands;
That soon as anchor'd in the port they rode
Brave Gama's decks might reek with Lusian blood:
Thus weening to revenge Mozambic's fate,
And give full surfeit to the Moorish hate;
And now their bowsprits bending to the bay
The joyful crew the ponderous anchors weigh,
Their shouts the while resounding. To the gale
With eager hands they spread the fore-mast sail.
But Love's fair Queen the secret fraud beheld:
Swift as an arrow o'er the battle-field,
From heaven she darted to the watery plain,
And call'd the sea-born nymphs, a lovely train,
From Nereus sprung; the ready nymphs obey,
Proud of her kindred birth, and own her sway.

51

She tells what ruin threats her fav'rite race;
Unwonted ardour glows on every face;
With keen rapidity they bound away,
Dash'd by their silver limbs, the billows grey
Foam round: Fair Doto, fir'd with rage divine,
Darts through the wave, and onward o'er the brine
The lovely Nyse and Nerine spring
With all the vehemence and speed of wing.
The curving billows to their breasts divide
And give a yielding passage through the tide.

52

With furious speed the Goddess rush'd before,
Her beauteous form a joyful Triton bore,
Whose eager face with glowing rapture fired,
Betray'd the pride which such a task inspired.
And now arriv'd, where to the whistling wind
The warlike Navy's bending masts reclin'd,
As through the billows rush'd the speedy prows,
The nymphs dividing, each her station chose.
Against the Leader's prow, her lovely breast
With more than mortal force the Goddess prest;
The ship recoiling trembles on the tide,
The nymphs in help pour round on every side,
From the dread bar the threaten'd keels to save;
The ship bounds up, half lifted from the wave,
And trembling, hovers o'er the watry grave.
As when alarm'd, to save the hoarded grain,
The care-earn'd store for Winter's dreary reign,
So toil, so tug, so pant, the labouring Emmet train.
So toil'd the Nymphs, and strain'd their panting force
To turn the Navy from its fatal course:
Back, back the ship recedes; in vain the crew
With shouts on shouts their various toils renew;
In vain each nerve, each nautic art they strain,
And the rough wind distends the sail in vain:

53

Enraged, the Sailors see their labours crost;
From side to side the reeling helm is tost;
High on the poop the skilful master stands;
Sudden he shrieks aloud, and spreads his hands.
A lurking rock its dreadful rifts betrays,
And right before the prow its ridge displays;
Loud shrieks of horror from the yard-arms rise,
And a dire general yell invades the skies.
The Moors start, fear-struck, at the horrid sound,
As if the rage of combat roar'd around.
Pale are their lips, each look in wild amaze
The horror of detected guilt betrays.
Pierc'd by the glance of Gama's awful eyes
The conscious Pilot quits the helm and flies,
From the high deck he plunges in the brine;
His mates their safety to the waves consign;
Dash'd by their plunging falls on every side
Foams and boils up around the rolling tide.
Thus the hoarse tenants of the sylvan lake,
A Lycian race of old, to flight betake,

54

At every sound they dread Latona's hate,
And doubled vengeance of their former fate;
All sudden plunging leave the margin green,
And but their heads above the pool are seen.
So plung'd the Moors, when, horrid to behold!
From the bar'd rock's dread jaws the billows roll'd,
Opening in instant fate the fleet to whelm,
When ready Vasco caught the staggering helm:
Swift as his lofty voice resounds aloud
The ponderous anchors dash the whitening flood,
And round his vessel, nodding o'er the tide,
His other ships, bound by their anchors, ride.
And now revolving in his piercing thought
These various scenes with hidden import fraught;

55

The boastful Pilot's self-accusing flight,
The former treason of the Moorish spight;
How to the fatal rock the furious wind,
The rushing current, and their art combin'd;
Yet though the groaning blast the canvas swell'd,
Some wondrous cause, unknown, their speed witheld:
Amaz'd, with hands high rais'd, and sparkling eyes,
A miracle! the raptur'd Gama cries,
A miracle! O hail, thou sacred sign,
Thou pledge illustrious of the Care Divine.
Ah! fraudful Malice! how shall Wisdom's care
Escape the poison of thy gilded snare!
The front of honesty, the saintly shew,
The smile of friendship, and the holy vow;
All, all conjoin'd our easy faith to gain,
To whelm us, shipwreck'd, in the ruthless main;

56

But where our prudence no deceit could spy,
There, heavenly Guardian, there thy watchful eye
Beheld our danger: still, O still prevent,
Where human foresight fails, the dire intent,
The lurking treason of the smiling foe;
And let our toils, our days of lengthning woe,
Our weary wanderings end. If still for thee,
To spread thy rites, our toils and vows agree,
On India's strand thy sacred shrines to rear,
Oh, let some friendly land of rest appear:
If for thine honour we these toils have dar'd,
These toils let India's long-sought shore reward.
So spoke the Chief: the pious accents move
The gentle bosom of Celestial Love:
The beauteous Queen to heaven now darts away;
In vain the weeping nymphs implore her stay:
Behind her now, the morning star she leaves,
And the sixth heaven her lovely form receives.
Her radiant eyes such living splendors cast,
The sparkling stars were brighten'd as she past;
The frozen pole with sudden streamlets flow'd,
And as the burning zone with fervor glow'd.

57

And now confest before the throne of Jove,
In all her charms appears the queen of Love:
Flush'd by the ardour of her rapid flight
Through fields of æther and the realms of light,
Bright as the blushes of the roseate morn,
New blooming tints her glowing cheeks adorn;
And all that pride of beauteous grace she wore,
As when in Ida's bower she stood of yore,
When every charm and every hope of joy
Enraptured and allured the Trojan boy.
Ah! had that hunter, whose unhappy fate
The human visage lost by Dian's hate,

58

Had he beheld this fairer goddess move
Not hounds had slain him, but the fires of love.
Adown her neck, more white than virgin snow,
Of softest hue the golden tresses flow;
Her heaving breasts of purer, softer white,
Than snow hills glistening in the moon's pale light,
Except where covered by the sash, were bare,
And Love, unseen, smil'd soft, and panted there:
Nor less the zone the god's fond zeal employs,
The zone awakes the flames of secret joys.
As ivy tendrils round her limbs divine
Their spreading arms the young desires entwine;
Below her waist, and quivering on the gale,
Of thinnest texture, flows the silken veil:

59

(Ah! where the lucid curtain dimly shows,
With doubled fires the roving fancy glows!)
The hand of modesty the foldings threw,
Nor all conceal'd, nor all was given to view;
Yet her deep grief her lovely face betrays,
Though on her cheek the soft smile faultering plays.
All heaven was mov'd—as when some damsel coy,
Hurt by the rudeness of the amorous boy,
Offended chides and smiles; with angry mien
Thus mixt with smiles, advanc'd the plaintive queen;
And thus: O Thunderer! O potent Sire!
Shall I in vain thy kind regard require!
Alas! and cherish still the fond deceit,
That yet on me thy kindest smiles await.
Ah heaven! and must that valour which I love
Awake the vengeance and the rage of Jove!
Yet mov'd with pity for my fav'rite race
I speak, though frowning on thine awful face,
I mark the tenor of the dread decree,
That to thy wrath consigns my sons and me.
Yes! let stern Bacchus bless thy partial care,
His be the triumph, and be mine despair.
The bold advent'rous sons of Tajo's clime
I loved—alas! that love is now their crime:

60

O happy they, and prosp'rous gales their fate,
Had I pursued them with relentless hate!
Yes! let my woeful sighs in vain implore,
Yes! let them perish on some barb'rous shore,
For I have loved them—Here, the swelling sigh
And pearly tear-drop rushing in her eye,
As morning dew hangs trembling on the rose,
Though fond to speak, her further speech oppose—
Her lips, then moving, as the pause of woe
Were now to give the voice of grief to flow;
When kindled by those charms, whose woes might move,
And melt the prowling Tyger's rage to love,
The thundering God her weeping sorrows ey'd,
And sudden threw his awful state aside:
With that mild look which stills the driving storm,
When black roll'd clouds the face of heaven deform;
With that mild visage and benignant mien
Which to the sky restores the blue serene,
Her snowy neck and glowing cheek he prest,
And wip'd her tears, and clasp'd her to his breast;
Yet she, still sighing, dropt the trickling tear,
As the chid nursling, mov'd with pride and fear,

61

Still sighs and moans, though fondled and carest;
Till thus great Jove the Fates' decrees confest:
O thou, my daughter, still belov'd as fair,
Vain are thy fears, thy heroes claim my care:
No power of gods could e'er my heart incline,
Like one fond smile, one powerful tear of thine.
Wide o'er the eastern shores shalt thou behold
Thy flags far streaming, and thy thunders roll'd;
Where nobler triumphs shall thy nation crown,
Than those of Roman or of Greek renown.
If by mine aid the sapient Greek could brave
Th' Ogycian seas, nor sink a deathless slave;
If through th' Illyrian shelves Antenor bore,
Till safe he landed on Timavus' shore;
If, by his fate, the pious Trojan led,
Safe through Charibdis' barking whirlpools sped:
Shall thy bold Heroes, by my care disclaim'd,
Be left to perish, who, to worlds unnam'd
By vaunting Rome, pursue their dauntless way?
No—soon shalt thou with ravish'd eyes survey,
From stream to stream their lofty cities spread,
And their proud turrets rear the warlike head:

62

The stern-brow'd Turk shall bend the suppliant knee,
And Indian Monarchs, now secure and free,
Beneath thy potent Monarch's yoke shall bend,
And thy just Laws, wide o'er the East, extend.
Thy Chief, who now in Error's circling maze,
For India's shore through shelves and tempests strays;
Thy chief shalt thou behold, with lordly pride,
O'er Neptune's trembling realm triumphant ride.
O wondrous fate! when not a breathing gale
Shall curl the billows, or distend the sail,
The waves shall boil and tremble, aw'd with dread,
And own the terror o'er their empire spread.
That barb'rous coast, with various streams supplied,
Which, to his wants, the fountain's gifts deny'd;
That coast shalt thou behold his Port supply,
Where oft thy weary fleets in rest shall lie.
Each shore which weav'd for him the snares of death,
To him these shores shall pledge their offerr'd faith;
To him their haughty Lords shall lowly bend,
And yield him tribute for the name of friend.

63

The Red-sea wave shall darken in the shade
Of thy broad sails in frequent pomp display'd;
Thine eyes shall see the golden Ormuz' shore,
Twice thine, twice conquered, while the furious Moor,
Amazed, shall view his arrows backward driven,
Showered on his legions by the hand of heaven.
Though twice assailed by many a vengeful band,
Unconquered still shall Dio's ramparts stand,
Such prowess there shall raise the Lusian name
That Mars shall tremble for his blighted fame;
There shall the Moors blaspheming sink in death,
And curse their prophet with their parting breath.
Where Goa's warlike ramparts frown on high,
Pleas'd shalt thou see thy Lusian banners fly;
The Pagan tribes in chains shall crowd her gate,
While she sublime shall tower in royal state,
The fatal scourge, the dread of all who dare
Against thy sons to plan the future war.
Though few thy troops who Conanour sustain,
The foe, though numerous, shall assault in vain.
Great Calicut, for potent hosts renown'd,
By Lisbon's sons assail'd shall strew the ground:

64

By Cochin's walls, against whole troops of foes,
Shall one brave Lusian his proud breast oppose:
Ne'er did the lyre resound a hero's name
More brave, more worthy of immortal fame.
When blackening broad and far o'er Actium's tide
Augustus' fleets the slave of love defy'd,
When that fallen Hero to the combat led
The bravest troops in Bactrian Scythia bred,
With Asian legions, and, his shameful bane,
The Egyptian Queen attendant in the train;
Though Mars raged high, and all his fury pour'd,
Till with the storm the boiling surges roar'd,
Yet shall thine eyes more dreadful scenes behold,
On burning surges burning surges roll'd,
The sheets of fire far billowing o'er the brine,
While I my thunder to thy sons resign.
Thus many a sea shall blaze, and many a shore
Resound the horror of the combat's roar,
While thy bold prows triumphant ride along
By trembling China to the isles unsung

65

By ancient bard, by ancient chief unknown,
Till Ocean's utmost shore thy bondage own.
Thus from the Ganges to the Gadian strand,
From the most northern wave to southmost land;
That land which first, the Lusian shame and pride,
The brave neglected Magalhaens descryed,
From all that Vast, though crown'd with heroes old,
Who with the gods were demi-gods enroll'd:
From all that Vast no equal heroes shine
To match in arms, O lovely daughter, thine.
So spake the awful Ruler of the skies,
And Maia's son swift at his mandate flies:
His charge, from treason and Mombassa's king
The weary fleet to friendly port to bring,
And while in sleep the brave De Gama lay,
To warn, and fair the shore of rest display.
Fleet through the yielding air Cyllenius glides,
As to the light, the nimble air divides.
The mystic helmet on his head he wore,
And in his right the fatal rod he bore;

66

That rod, of power to wake the silent dead,
Or o'er the lids of care soft slumbers shed.
And now, attended by the herald Fame,
To fair Melinda's gate conceal'd he came;
And soon loud Rumour ecchoed through the town,
How from the western world, from waves unknown,
A noble band had reach'd the Æthiop shore,
Through seas and dangers never dared before:
The godlike dread attempt their wonder fires,
Their generous wonder fond regard inspires,
And all the city glows their aid to give,
To view the heroes, and their wants relieve.
'Twas now the solemn hour when midnight reigns,
And dimly twinkling o'er the ethereal plains
The starry host, by gloomy silence led,
O'er earth and sea a glimmering paleness shed;
When to the fleet, which hemm'd with dangers lay,
The silver-wing'd Cyllenius darts away.
Each care was now in soft oblivion steep'd,
The Watch alone accustom'd vigils kept;
E'en Gama, wearied by the day's alarms,
Forgets his cares, reclined in slumber's arms.
Scarce had he closed his careful eyes in rest,
When Maia's son in vision stood confest:
And fly, he cried, O Lusitanian, fly;
Here guile and treason every nerve apply:

67

An impious king for thee the toil prepares,
An impious people weave a thousand snares:
Oh fly these shores, unfurl the gather'd sail,
Lo, heaven, thy guide, commands the rising gale.
Hark, loud it rustles, see, the gentle tide
Invites thy prows; the winds thy lingering chide.
Here such dire welcome is for thee prepared
As Diomed's unhappy strangers shared;
His hapless guests at silent midnight bled,
On their torn limbs his snorting coursers fed.
Oh fly, or here with strangers' blood imbrew'd
Busiris' altars thou shalt find renew'd:
Amidst his slaughter'd guests his altars stood
Obscene with gore, and bark'd with human blood:
Then thou, beloved of heaven, my counsel hear;
Right by the coast thine onward journey steer,
Till where the sun of noon no shade begets,
But day with night in equal tenor sets.
A Sovereign there, of generous faith unstain'd,
With ancient bounty, and with joy unfeign'd
Your glad arrival on his shore shall greet,
And soothe with every care your weary fleet.

68

And when again for India's golden strand
Before the prosperous gale your sails expand,
A skilful Pilot oft in danger try'd,
Of heart sincere, shall prove your faithful guide.
Thus Hermes spoke, and as his flight he takes
Melting in ambient air, De Gama wakes.
Chill'd with amaze he stood, when through the night
With sudden ray appear'd the bursting light;
The winds loud whizzing through the cordage sigh'd,
Spread, spread the sail, the raptured Vasco cried;
Aloft, aloft, this, this the gale of heaven,
By heaven our guide, th' auspicious sign is given;
Mine eyes beheld the messenger divine,
O fly, he cried, and gave the favouring sign,
Here treason lurks.—Swift as the Captain spake
The mariners spring bounding to the deck,
And now with shouts far-ecchoing o'er the sea,
Proud of their strength the ponderous anchors weigh.
When heaven again its guardian care display'd;
Above the wave rose many a Moorish head,
Conceal'd by night they gently swam along,
And with their weapons sawed the cables strong,

69

That by the swelling currents whirl'd and tost,
The navy's wrecks might strew the rocky coast.
But now discover'd, every nerve they ply,
And dive, and swift as frighten'd vermin fly.
Now through the silver waves that curling rose,
And gently murmur'd round the sloping prows,
The gallant fleet before the steady wind
Sweeps on, and leaves long foamy tracts behind;
While as they sail the joyful crew relate
Their wondrous safety from impending fate;
And every bosom feels how sweet the joy
When dangers past the grateful tongue employ.
The sun had now his annual journey run,
And blazing forth another course begun,
When smoothly gliding o'er the hoary tide
Two sloops afar the watchful master spied;
Their Moorish make the seaman's art display'd;
Here Gama weens to force the Pilot's aid:
One, base with fear, to certain shipwreck flew;
The keel dash'd on the shore, escap'd the crew
The other bravely trusts the generous foe,
And yields, ere Slaughter struck the lifted blow,
Ere Vulcan's thunders bellowed. Yet again
The Captain's prudence and his wish were vain;

70

No Pilot here his wandering course to guide,
No lip to tell where rolls the Indian tide;
The voyage calm, or perilous, or afar,
Beneath what heaven, or which the guiding star:
Yet this they told, that by the neighbouring bay
A potent monarch reign'd, whose pious sway
For truth and noblest bounty far renown'd,
Still with the Stranger's grateful praise was crown'd.
O'erjoyed brave Gama heard the tale, which seal'd
The sacred truth that Maia's son reveal'd;
And bids the Pilot, warn'd by heaven his guide,
For fair Melinda turn the helm aside.
'Twas now the jovial season, when the morn
From Taurus flames, when Amalthea's horn
O'er hill and dale the rose-crown'd Flora pours,
And scatters corn and wine, and fruits and flowers.
Right to the port their course the fleet pursued,
And the glad dawn that sacred day renewed,
When with the spoils of vanquish'd death adorn'd
To heaven the Victor of the tomb return'd.
And soon Melinda's shore the sailors spy;
From every mast the purple streamers fly;
Rich-figured tap'stry now supplies the sail,
The gold and scarlet tremble in the gale;
The standard broad its brilliant hues bewrays,
And floating on the wind wide-billowing plays;

71

Shrill through the air the quivering trumpet sounds,
And the rough drum the rousing march rebounds.
As thus regardful of the sacred day
The festive navy cut the watery way,
Melinda's sons the shore in thousands crowd,
And offering joyful welcome shout aloud:
And truth the voice inspired. Unawed by fear,
With warlike pomp adorn'd, himself sincere,
Into the port the generous Gama rides;
His stately vessels range their pitchy sides
Around their chief; the bowsprits nod the head,
And the barb'd anchors gripe the harbour's bed.
Strait to the king, as friends to generous friends,
A captive Moor the valiant Gama sends.
The Lusian fame the king already knew,
What gulphs unknown the fleet had labour'd through,
What shelves, what tempests dared: His liberal mind
Exults the Captain's manly trust to find;
With that ennobling worth, whose fond employ
Befriends the brave, the Monarch owns his joy,
Entreats the Leader and his weary band
To taste the dews of sweet repose on land,
And all the riches of his cultured fields
Obedient to the nod of Gama yields.
His care meanwhile their present want attends,
And various fowl, and various fruits he fends;

72

The oxen low, the fleecy lambkins bleat,
And rural sounds are ecchoed through the fleet.
His gifts with joy the valiant Chief receives,
And gifts in turn, confirming friendship, gives.
Here the proud scarlet darts its ardent rays,
And there the purple and the orange blaze;
O'er these profuse the branching coral spread,
The coral wondrous in its watery bed;
Soft there it creeps, in curving branches thrown,
In air it hardens to a precious stone.
With these an Herald, on whose melting tongue
The copious rhet'ric of Arabia hung,
He sends, his wants and purpose to reveal,
And holy vows of lasting peace to seal.
The Monarch sits amidst his splendid bands,
Before the regal throne the Herald stands,
And thus, as eloquence his lips inspired,
O King, he cries, for sacred truth admired,
Ordain'd by heaven to bend the stubborn knees
Of haughtiest nations to thy just decrees;
Fear'd as thou art, yet sent by heaven to prove
That Empire's strength results from Public love:

73

To thee, O King, for friendly aid we come;
Nor lawless Robbers o'er the seas we roam:
No lust of gold could e'er our breasts inflame
To scatter fire and slaughter where we came;
Nor sword, nor spear our harmless hands employ
To seize the careless, or the weak destroy.
At our most potent Monarch's dread command
We spread the sail from lordly Europe's strand;
Through seas unknown, through gulphs untry'd before,
We force our journey to the Indian shore.
Alas, what rancour fires the human breast!
By what stern tribes are Afric's shores possest!
How many a wile they try'd, how many a snare!
Not wisdom sav'd us, 'twas the heaven's own care:
Not harbours only, e'en the barren sands
A place of rest deny'd our weary bands:
From us, alas, what harm could prudence fear!
From us so few, their numerous friends so near!
While thus from shore to cruel shore long driven,
To thee conducted by a guide from heaven,
We come, O Monarch, of thy truth assured,
Of hospitable rites by heaven secured;
Such rites as old Alcinous' palace graced,
When lorn Ulysses sat his favour'd guest.

74

Nor deem, O King, that cold suspicion taints
Our valiant Leader, or his wish prevents;
Great is our Monarch, and his dread command
To our brave Captain interdicts the land
Till Indian earth he tread: What nobler cause
Than loyal faith can wake thy fond applause,
O thou, who knowst the ever-pressing weight
Of kingly office, and the cares of state!
And hear, ye conscious heavens, if Gama's heart
Forget thy kindness, or from truth depart,
The sacred light shall perish from the Sun,
And Rivers to the sea shall cease to run.

75

He spoke; a murmur of applause succeeds,
And each with wonder own'd the val'rous deeds
Of that bold race, whose flowing vanes had wav'd
Beneath so many a sky, so many an Ocean brav'd.
Nor less the King their loyal faith reveres,
And Lisbon's Lord in awful state appears,
Whose least command on farthest shores obey'd,
His sovereign grandeur to the world display'd.
Elate with joy, uprose the royal Moor,
And smiling thus,—O welcome to my shore!
If yet in you the fear of treason dwell,
Far from your thoughts th' ungenerous fear expel:
Still with the brave, the brave will honour find,
And equal ardour will their friendship bind.
But those who spurn'd you, men alone in shew,
Rude as the bestial herd, no worth they know;
Such dwell not here: and since your laws require
Obedience strict, I yield my fond desire.
Though much I wish'd your Chief to grace my board,
Fair be his duty to his sovereign Lord:
Yet when the morn walks forth with dewy feet
My barge shall waft me to the warlike fleet;
There shall my longing eyes the heroes view,
And holy vows the mutual peace renew.
What from the blustering winds and lengthening tide
Your ships have suffer'd, shall be here supply'd.

76

Arms and provisions I myself will send,
And, great of skill, a Pilot shall attend.
So spoke the King: and now, with purpled ray,
Beneath the shining wave the god of day
Retiring, left the evening shades to spread;
And to the fleet the joyful herald sped:
To find such friends each breast with rapture glows,
The feast is kindled, and the goblet flows;
The trembling Comet's imitated rays
Bound to the skies, and trail a sparkling blaze:
The vaulting bombs awake their sleeping fire,
And like the Cyclops' bolts, to heaven aspire:
The Bombadeers their roaring engines ply,
And earth and ocean thunder to the sky.
The trump and fyfe's shrill clarion far around.
The glorious music of the fight resound;
Nor less the joy Melinda's sons display,
The sulphur bursts in many an ardent ray,
And to the heaven ascends in whizzing gyres,
And Ocean flames with artificial fires.
In festive war the sea and land engage,
And echoing shouts confess the joyful rage.
So past the night: and now with silvery ray
The Star of morning usher'd in the day.

77

The shadows fly before the roseate hours,
And the chill dew hangs glittering on the flowers.
The pruning hook or humble spade to wield,
The chearful labourer hastens to the field;
When to the fleet with many a sounding oar
The Monarch sails; the natives croud the shore;
Their various robes in one bright splendor join,
The purple blazes, and the gold-stripes shine;
Nor as stern warriors with the quivering lance,
Or moon-arch'd bow, Melinda's sons advance;
Green boughs of palm with joyful hands they wave,
An omen of the meed that crowns the Brave:
Fair was the show the royal Barge display'd,
With many a flag of glistning silk array'd,
Whose various hues, as nodding thro' the bay,
Return'd the lustre of the rising day:
And onward as they came, in sovereign state
The mighty King amid his Princes sate:
His robes the pomp of eastern splendor shew,
A proud Tiara decks his lordly brow:
The various tissue shines in every fold,
The silken lustre and the rays of gold.
His purple mantle boasts the dye of Tyre,
And in the sun-beam glows with living fire.
A golden chain, the skilful Artist's pride,
Hung from his neck; and glittering by his side

78

The dagger's hilt of star-bright diamond shone,
The girding baldric burns with precious stone;
And precious stone in studs of gold enchased,
The shaggy velvet of his buskins graced:
Wide o'er his head, of various silks inlaid,
A fair umbrella cast a grateful shade.
A band of menials, bending o'er the prow,
Of horn-wreath'd round the crooked trumpets blow;
And each attendant barge aloud rebounds
A barbarous discord of rejoicing sounds.
With equal pomp the Captain leaves the fleet,
Melinda's Monarch on the tide to meet:
His barge nods on amidst a splendid train,
Himself adorn'd in all the pride of Spain:
With fair embroidery shone his armed breast,
For polish'd steel supply'd the warrior's vest;
His sleeves, beneath, were silk of paly blue,
Above, more loose, the purple's brightest hue
Hung as a scarf in equal gatherings roll'd,
With golden buttons and with loops of gold:
Bright in the Sun the polish'd radiance burns,
And the dimm'd eyeball from the lustre turns.

79

Of crimson sattin, dazzling to behold
His cassoc swell'd in many a curving fold,
The make was Gallic, but the lively bloom
Confest the labour of Venetia's loom;
Gold was his sword, and warlike trowsers laced
With thongs of gold his manly legs embraced.
With graceful mien his cap aslant was turn'd,
The velvet cap a nodding plume adorn'd.
His noble aspect, and the purple's ray,
Amidst his train the gallant Chief bewray.
The various vestments of the warrior train,
Like flowers of various colours on the plain,
Attract the pleased beholders wondering eye,
And with the splendor of the rainbow vie.
Now Gama's bands the quivering trumpet blow,
Thick o'er the wave the crowding barges row,
The Moorish flags the curling waters sweep,
The Lusian mortars thunder o'er the deep;
Again the fiery roar heaven's concave tears,
The Moors astonished stop their wounded ears;
Again loud thunders rattle o'er the bay,
And clouds of smoke wide-rolling blot the day;
The Captain's barge the generous King ascends,
His arms the Chief enfold, the Captain bends,
A reverence to the scepter'd grandeur due:
In silent awe the Monarch's wondering view

80

Is fixt on Vasco's noble mien; the while
His thoughts with wonder weigh the Hero's toil.
Esteem and friendship with his wonder rise,
And free to Gama all his kingdom lies.
Though never son of Lusus' race before
Had met his eye, or trod Melinda's shore,
To him familiar was the mighty name,
And much his talk extols the Lusian fame;
How through the vast of Afric's wildest bound
Their deathless feats in gallant arms resound;
When that fair land where Hesper's offspring reign'd,
Their valour's prize the Lusian youth obtain'd.
Much still he talk'd, enraptured of the theme,
Though but the faint vibrations of their fame
To him had ecchoed. Pleased his warmth to view,
Convinced his promise and his heart were true,
The illustrious Gama thus his soul exprest
And own'd the joy that laboured in his breast:
Oh thou, benign, of all the tribes alone,
Who feel the rigour of the burning zone,
Whose piety, with mercy's gentle eye
Beholds our wants, and gives the wish'd supply;
Our navy driven from many a barbarous coast,
On many a tempest-harrowed ocean tost,

81

At last with thee a kindly refuge finds,
Safe from the fury of the howling winds.
O generous King, may He whose mandate rolls
The circling heavens, and human pride controuls,
May the Great Spirit to thy breast return
That needful aid, bestowed on us forlorn!
And while yon Sun emits his rays divine,
And while the stars in midnight azure shine,
Where'er my sails are stretch'd the world around,
Thy praise shall brighten, and thy name resound.
He spoke; the painted barges swept the flood,
Where, proudly gay, the anchored navy rode;
Earnest the King the lordly fleet surveys;
The mortars thunder, and the trumpets raise
Their martial sounds Melinda's sons to greet,
Melinda's sons with timbrels hail the fleet.
And now no more the sulphury tempest roars,
The boatmen leaning on the rested oars
Breathe short; the barges now at anchor moor'd,
The King, while silence listen'd round, implored
The glories of the Lusian wars to hear,
Whose faintest ecchoes long had pleased his ear:
Their various triumphs on the Afric shore
O'er those who hold the son of Hagar's lore

82

Fond he demands, and now demands again
Their various triumphs on the western main:
Again, ere readiest answer found a place,
He asks the story of the Lusian race;
What God was founder of the mighty line,
Beneath what heaven their land, what shores adjoin;
And what their climate, where the sinking day
Gives the last glimpse of twilight's silvery ray.
But most, O Chief, the zealous monarch cries,
What raging seas you braved, what louring skies;
What tribes, what rites you saw; what savage hate
On our rude Afric proved your hapless fate:
Oh tell, for lo, the chilly dawning star
Yet rides before the morning's purple car;
And o'er the wave the sun's bold coursers raise
Their flaming fronts, and give the opening blaze;
Soft on the glassy wave the zephyrs sleep,
And the still billows holy silence keep.
Nor less are we, undaunted Chief, prepared
To hear thy nation's gallant deeds declared;
Nor think, tho' scorch'd beneath the car of day,
Our minds too dull the debt of praise to pay;
Melinda's sons the test of greatness know,
And on the Lusian race the palm bestow.

83

If Titan's giant brood with impious arms
Shook high Olympus' brow with rude alarms;
If Theseus and Perithous dared invade
The dismal horrors of the Stygian shade,
Nor less your glory, nor your boldness less
That thus exploring Neptune's last recess
Contemns his waves and tempests. If the thirst
To live in fame, though famed for deeds accurst,
Could urge the caitiff, who to win a name
Gave Dian's temple to the wasting flame:
If such the ardour to attain renown,
How bright the lustre of the hero's crown,
Whose deeds of fair emprise his honours raise,
And bind his brows, like thine, with deathless bays!
END OF THE SECOND BOOK.
 

After Gama had been driven from Quiloa by a sudden storm, the assurances of the Mozambic pilot that the city was chiefly inhabited by Christians, strongly inclined him to enter the harbour of Mombaze; “Nec ullum locum (says Osorius) magis opportunum curandis atque reficiendis ægrotis posse reperiri. Jam eo tempore bona pars eorum, qui cum Gama conscenderant, variis morbis consumpta fuerat, et qui evaserant, erant gravi invaletudine debilitati. . . . . Tellus abundat fructibus et oleribus, et frugibus, et pecorum et armentorum gregibus, et aquis dulcibus. Utitur præterea mira cælitemperie. Homines vivunt admodum laute, et domos more nostro ædificant.—Misit rex nuncios, qui Gamam nomine illius salutarent. . . . Aiunt deinde regionem illam esse opulentissimam, earumque rerum omnium plenissimam, quarum gratia multi in Indiam navigabant. Regem adeò esse in illos voluntate propensum ut nihil esset tam difficile, quod non se eorum gratia facturum polliceretur.” Osorius Silvensis Episc. de Rebus Emman. Regis Lusit. gestis.

Erant enim in ea classe decem homines capite damnati, quibus fuerat ea lege vita, concessa, ut quibuscunque in locis a Gama relicti fuissent, regiones lustrarent, hominumque mores et instituta cognescerent. Osor.

During the reign of Emmanuel, and his predecessor John II. few criminals were executed in Portugal. These great and political princes employed the lives which were forfeited to the public in the most dangerous undertakings of public utility. In their foreign expeditions the condemned criminals were sent upon the most hazardous emergencies. If death was their fate, it was the punishment they had merited: if successful in what was requited, their crimes were expiated; and often, as in the voyage of Gama, they rendered their country the greatest atonement for their guilt which men in their circumstances could possibly make. Where the subject thus obtrudes the occasion, a short digression, it is hoped, will be pardoned. While every feeling breast must be pleased with the wisdom and humanity of the Portuguese monarchs, indignation and regret must rise on the view of the present state of the penal laws of England. What multitudes every year, in the prime of their life, end their days by the hand of the executioner! That the Legislature might devise means to make the greatest part of these lives useful to society is a fact, which surely cannot be disputed; though perhaps the remedy of an evil so shocking to humanity may be at some distance.

Erant enim in ea classe decem homines capite damnati, quibus fuerat ea lege vita, concessa, ut quibuscunque in locis a Gama relicti fuissent, regiones lustrarent, hominumque mores et instituta cognescerent. Osor.

During the reign of Emmanuel, and his predecessor John II. few criminals were executed in Portugal. These great and political princes employed the lives which were forfeited to the public in the most dangerous undertakings of public utility. In their foreign expeditions the condemned criminals were sent upon the most hazardous emergencies. If death was their fate, it was the punishment they had merited: if successful in what was requited, their crimes were expiated; and often, as in the voyage of Gama, they rendered their country the greatest atonement for their guilt which men in their circumstances could possibly make. Where the subject thus obtrudes the occasion, a short digression, it is hoped, will be pardoned. While every feeling breast must be pleased with the wisdom and humanity of the Portuguese monarchs, indignation and regret must rise on the view of the present state of the penal laws of England. What multitudes every year, in the prime of their life, end their days by the hand of the executioner! That the Legislature might devise means to make the greatest part of these lives useful to society is a fact, which surely cannot be disputed; though perhaps the remedy of an evil so shocking to humanity may be at some distance.

On it, the picture of that shape he plac't.
In which the Holy Spirit did alight,
The picture of the Dove, so white, so chaste,
On the blest Virgin's head, so chaste, so white.

In these lines, the best of all Fanshaw, the happy repetition “so chaste, so white,” is a beauty which, though not contained in the original, the present translator was unwilling to lose.

See the Preface.

When Gama lay at anchor among the islands of St. George, near to Mozambic, “there came three Ethiopians on board, (says Faria y Sousa) who, seeing St. Gabriel painted on the poop, fell on their knees in token of their Christianity, which had been preached to them in the primitive times, though now corrupted.” Barros, c. 4. and Castaneda, l. i. c. 9. report, that the Portuguese found two or three Abyssinian Christians in the city of Mombaze, who had an oratory in their house. The following short account of the Christians of the East may perhaps be acceptable. In the south parts of Malabar, about 200000 of the inhabitants professed Christianity before the arrival of the Portuguese. They called themselves the Christians of Saint Thomas, by which apostle their ancestors had been converted. For 1300 years they had been under the Patriarch of Babylon, who appointed their Meterane or archbishop. Dr. Geddes, in his History of the Church of Malabar, relates, that Francisco Roz, a jesuit missionary, complained to Menezes, the Portuguese archbishop of Goa, that when he shewed these people an image of our Lady, they cried out, “Away with that filthiness, we are Christians, and do not adore idols or pagods.”

Don Frey Aleixo de Menezes, archbishop of Goa, did “endeavour to thrust upon the church of Malabar the whole mass of popery, which they were before unacquainted with.” To this purpose he had engaged all the neighbouring princes to assist him, “and had secured the major part of the priests present, in all one hundred and fifty three, whereof two-thirds were ordained by himself, and made them abjure their old religion, and subscribe the creed of pope Pius IV.” Millar's History of the Propag. of Christianity.

The French translator has the following note on this place, “Cet endroit est l'un de ceux qui montrent combien l'Auteur est habile dans la mythologie, et en même tems combien de pénétration son allégorie demande. Il y a bien peu de gens, qui en lisant ici, &c.—This is one of the places which discover our Author's intimate acquaintance with Mythology, and at the same time how much attention his allegory requires. Many readers, on finding that the protectress of the Lusians sprung from the sea, would be apt to exclaim, Behold, the birth of the terrestrial Venus! How can a nativity so infamous be ascribed to the celestial Venus, who represents Religion? I answer, that Camoens had not his eye on those fables, which derive the birth of Venus from the foam of the waves, mixed with the blood which flowed from the dishonest wound of Saturn; he carries his views higher; his Venus is from a fable more noble. Nigidius relates, that two fishes one day conveyed an egg to the sea shore: This egg was hatched by two pigeons whiter than snow, and gave birth to the Assyrian Venus, which, in the Pagan theology, is the same with the celestial: She instructed mankind in Religion, gave them the lessons of virtue and the laws of equity. Jupiter, in reward of her labours, promised to grant her whatever she desired. She prayed him to give immortality to the two fishes, who had been instrumental in her birth, and the fishes were accordingly placed in the Zodiac. . . . . . This fable agrees perfectly with Religion, as I could clearly shew; but I think it more proper to leave to the ingenious reader the pleasure of tracing the allegory.” Thus the grave Castera.—Besides the above, Mythology gives two other accounts of the origin of the sign Pisces. When Venus and Cupid fled from the rage of Typhon, they were saved by two fishes, who carried them over the river Euphrates. The fishes, in return, were placed in the Zodiac. Another fable says, that that favour was obtained by Neptune for the two Dolphins, who first brought him his beloved Amphitrite. This variety in the Pagan Mythology is, at least, a proof that the allegory or a Poet ought not, without full examination, to be condemned on the appearance of inconsistency.

Cloto, or Clotho, as Castera observes, has by some error crept into almost all the Portuguese editions of the Lusiad. Clotho was one of the Fates, and neither Hesiod, Homer, nor Virgil have given such a name to any of the Nereides; but in the ninth Eneid Doto is mentioned,

------ Magnique jubebo
Æquoris esse Deas, qualis Nereïa Doto
Et Galatea secat spumantem pectore pontum.

The Nereides, in the Lusiad, says Castera, are the virtues divine and human. In the first book they accompany the Portuguese fleet;

------ before the bounding prows
The lovely forms of sea-born nymphs arose.

“And without doubt, says he, this allegory, in a lively manner, represents the condition of mankind. The virtues languish in repose; adversities animate and awake them. The fleet sailing before a favourable wind is followed by the Nereides, but the Nereides are scattered about in the sea. When danger becomes imminent, Venus, or Religion, assembles them to its safety.” Whatever the reader may think of the intention of Camoens, there is undoubtedly a prettiness in this explication. The following part is indeed highly pedantic. “Doto, continues Castera, is derived from the verb Διδωμι, I give. According to this etymology Doto is Charity. Nyse is Hope, and Nerine Faith. For the name Nyse comes from Νεω, I swim. For the action of Hope agrees with that of swimming, and is the symbol of it. Nerine is a term composed of νηστις, an old word, which signifies the waters of the sea, and of ρινη, a file; as if one should say, the file of the sea-waters, a mysterious expression, applicable to Faith, which is the file of our soul, and which is rendered perfect by the water of baptism.” Our French Translator wisely adds, that perhaps some persons may despise this etymology, but that for his part, he is unwilling to reject it, as it tends to unravel the allegory of his author.

Imitated from Virgil.

Cymothoë simul, et Triton adnixus acuto
Detrudunt naves scopulo.------

Virg. En. I.

Latona, says the fable, flying from the serpent Python, and faint with thirst, came to a pond, where some Lycian peasants were cutting the bulrushes. In revenge of the insults which they offered her in preventing her to drink, she changed them into frogs. This fable, says Castera, like almost all the rest, is drawn from history. Philocorus, as cited by Boccace, relates, that the Rhodians having declared war against the Lycians, were assisted by some troops from Delos, who carried the image of Latona on their standards. A detachment of these going to drink at a lake in Lycia, a croud of peasants endeavoured to prevent them. An encounter ensued; the peasants fled to the lake for shelter, and were there slain. Some months afterwards their companions came in search of their corpses, and finding an unusual quantity of frogs, imagined, according to the superstition of their age, that the souls of their friends appeared to them under that metamorphosis.

Is is allowable in Epic Poetry to introduce a comparison taken from a low image? This is a question which has exercised the abilities of Critics and Translators, till criticism has degenerated into trifling, and learning into pedantry. To some it may perhaps appear needless to vindicate Camoens, in a point wherein he is supported by the authority of Homer and Virgil. Yet as many readers are infected with the sang froid of a Bossu or a Perrault, an observation in defence of our Poet cannot be thought impertinent. If we examine the finest effusions of genius, we shall find, that the most genuine poetical feeling has often dictated those similies which are drawn from familiar and low objects. The Sacred Writers, and the greatest Poets of every nation, have used them. We may therefore conclude, that the criticism which condemns them is a refinement not founded on Nature. But, allowing them admissible, it must be observed, that to render them pleasing requires a peculiar happiness and delicacy of management. When the Poet attains this indispensible point, he gives a striking proof of his elegance, and of his mastership in his art. That the similies of the Emmets and of the Frogs in Camoens are happily expressed and applied, is indisputable. In that of the Frogs there is a peculiar propriety, both in the comparison itself, and in the allusion to the fable; as it was the intent of the Poet to represent not only the flight, but the baseness of the Moors. The similie he seems to have copied from Dante, Inf. Cant. 9.

Come le rane innanzi a la nemica
Biscia per l'acqua si dileguan' tutte
Fin che a la terra ciascuna s'abbica.

And Cant. 22.

E come a l'orlo de l'acqua d'un fosso
Stan' li ranocchi pur col muso fuori
Si' che celano i piedi, e l'al ro grosso.

Osorius gives the following account of this adventure. Talking of the two Exiles whom Gama had sent on shore; Rex læta et hilari fronte exules accepit, imperavitque domesticis suis, ut illis urbis situm et pulchritudinem demonstrarent. Ubi vero reversi sunt, Rex multa aromatum genera, quæ ex India deportari solent, illis ostentat, et quantulum visum est donat, ut Gamæ monstrare possent, et admonere, quanto esset utilius apud Regem amicum rem gerere, quàm vitam tam periculosæ navigationi committere. Cum his mandatis redeunt exules in classem, Gama mirificè lætatus eft, et postridie anchoras tolli jubet, et naves prope urbem constitui. Cùm verò illius navis æstus incitati vi celerius, quam commodum esset, inveheretur, timens ille nè in vadum incideret, vela contrahere et anchoras demittere confestim jussit. . . . . Quo facto Mozambiquenses gubernatores metu repentino perculsi, se præcipites in mare dejiciunt, et ad lintres quasdam, quæ non procul aberat, nando confugiunt. . . . . At Gama magnis vocibus ad eos, qui in lintribus erant, inclamavit, ut sibi suos gubernatores redderent: at illi clamores illius aspernati, gubernatores in terram exposuerunt. Hic Gama cum et conjectura, et aliquo etiam Arabis gubernatoris indicio, et multis præterea signis, perspexisset è quanto periculo fuisset auxilio divino liberatus, manus in cœlum sustulit. Barros and Castaneda, in relating this part of the voyage of Gama, say, that the fleet, just as they were entering the port of Mombassa were driven back, as it were, by an invisible hand. By a subsequent note it will appear, that the safety of the Armada depended upon this circumstance.

As the planet of Jupiter is in the sixth heaven, the Author has with propriety there placed the throne of that God. C.

J'entends les censeurs, says Castera, se récrier que cet endroit-ci ne convient nullement à la Venus celeste.—I am aware of the objection, that this passage is by no means applicable to the celestial Venus. I answer once for all, that the names and adventures of the Pagan Divinities are so blended and uncertain in Mythology, that a Poet is at great liberty to adapt them to his allegory as he pleases. Even the fables, which, to those who penetrate no deeper than the Rhind, may appear as profane, even these contain historical, physical, and moral truths, which fully atone for the seeming licenciousness of the letter. I could prove this in many instances, but let the present suffice. Paris, son of Priam, king of Troy, spent his first years as a shepherd in the country. At this time Juno, Minerva, and Venus disputed for the apple of gold, which was destined to be given to the most beautiful goddess. They consented that Paris should be their judge. His equity claimed this honour. He saw them all naked. Juno promised him riches, Minerva the sciences, but he decided in favour of Venus, who promised him the possession of the most beauful woman. What a ray of light is contained in this philosophical fable! Paris represents a studious man, who, in the silence of solitude, seeks the supreme good. Juno is the emblem of riches and dignities, Minerva, that of the sciences purely human, Venus is that of Religion, which contains the sciences both human and divine; the charming female, which she promises to the Trojan shepherd, is that Divine Wisdom which gives tranquillity of heart. A Judge so philosophical as Paris would not hesitate a moment to whom to give the apple of gold. Thus Castera. The above may likewise serve as a comment on the passage in the first book. See pag. 16, l. 5.

“The allegory of Camoens is here obvious. If Acteon, and the slaves of their violent passions could discover the beauties of true religion, they would be astonished and reclaimed; according to the expression of Seneca, “Si virtus cerni posset oculis corporeis, omnes ad amorem suum pelliceret.” Castera.

“That is Divine Love, which always accompanies Religion. Behold how our Author insinuates the excellence of his moral!”

Castera.

As the French Translator has acknowledged, there is no doubt but several Readers will be apt to decry this allegorical interpretation of the machinery of Camoens. Indeed there is nothing more easy for a fancyful genius, than to discover a system of allegory in the simplest narrative. The reign of Henry VIII. is as susceptible of it as any fable in the heathen Mythology. Nay, perhaps, more so. Under the names of Henry, More, Wolsey, Cromwell, Pole, Cranmer, &c. all the war of the passions, with their different catastrophes, might be delineated. But though it may be easy to find a metaphorical meaning, which was never intended by the Author, in what manner the Poets of the two last centuries adopted the use of allegory, is the question at present to be considered. Though it may be difficult to determine how far, yet one may venture to affirm, that Homer and Virgil sometimes allegorised. The poets, however, who wrote on the revival of letters, have left us in no doubt; we have their own authority for it, that their machinery is allegorical. Not only the Pagan Deities, but the more modern adventures of enchantment were used by them to delineate the affections; and the trials and rewards of the virtues and vices. Tasso published a treatise to prove that his Gierusalemme Liberata is no other than the Christian spiritual warfare. And Camoens, as observed in the preface, has twice asserted, that his machinery is allegorical. The Poet's assertion, and the taste of the age in which he wrote, sufficiently vindicate the Endeavour to unravel and explain the allegory of the Lusiad.

The following speech of Venus and the reply of Jupiter, are a fine imitation from the first Eneid, and do great honour to the Classical taste of the Portuguese Poet.

Imitated from Virg. En I.

Olli subridens hominum sator atque Deorum,
Vultu, quo cœlum tempestatesque serenat,
Oscula libavit natæ.------

i. e. The slave of Calypso, who offered Ulysses immortality on condition he would live with her

------ sub antro
Scyllam, et cœruleis canibus resonantia saxa.
Virg. En. III.

After the Portuguese had made great conquests in India, Gama had the honour to be appointed Viceroy. In 1524, when sailing thither to take possession of his government, his fleet was so becalmed on the coast Cambaya, that the ships stood motionless on the water, when in an instant, without the least change of the weather, the waves were shaken with a violent agitation, like trembling. The ships were tossed about, The sailors were terrified, and in the utmost confusion, thinking themselves lost. When Gama, perceiving it to be the effect of an earthquake, with his wonted heroism and prudence, exclaimed, “Of what are you afraid? Do you not see how the Ocean trembles under its Sovereigns!” Barros, L. 9. C. 1. and Faria, C. 9. who says, that such as lay sick of fevers were cured by the fright.

Both Barros and Castaneda relate this fact. Albuquerk, during the war of Ormuz, having given battle to the Persians and Moors, by the violence of a sudden wind the arrows of the latter were driven back upon themselves, whereby many o their troops were wounded.

Hinc ope barbarica variisque Antonius armis
Victor, ab Auroræ populis & litore rubro
Ægyptum, viresque Orientis, & ultima secum
Bactra vehit: sequiturque nefas! Ægyptia conjux.
Unà omnes ruere, ac totum spumare reductis
Convulsum remis rostrisque tridentibus æquor.
Alta petunt: pelago credas innare revulsas
Cyclada, aut montes concurrere montibus altos:
Tanta mole viri turritis puppibus instant.
Stupea flamma manu, telisque volatile ferrum
Spargitur: arva novâ Neptunia cæde rubescunt,
—sævit medio in certamine Mavors.

Virg. Æn. VIII.

Magalhaens, a most celebrated navigator. Neglected by Emmanuel king of Portugal, he offered his service to the king of Spain, under whom he made most important discoveries round the Straits, which bear his name, and in the back parts of South America; acquirements, which at this day are of the utmost value to the Spanish Empire. Of this hero see further, X. Lusiad, in the notes.

Tum virgam capit: hac animas ille evocat Orco
Pallentes, alias sub tristia Tartara mittit,
Dat somnos adimitque, & lumina morte resignat.

Virg. Æn. IV.

Diomede, a tyrant of Thrace, who fed his horses with human flesh; a thing, says the grave Castera, presque incroyable, almost incredible. Busiris, was a king of Egypt, who sacrificed strangers.

Quis—illaudati nescit Busiridis aras?
Virg. Geor. iii.

Hercules vanquished both these tyrants, and put them to the same punishments which their cruelty had inflicted on others. Isocrates composed an oration in honour of Busiris; a masterly example of Attic raillery and satire. To this Castera wisely appeals, to prove the truth of the history of that tyrant.

Having mentioned the escape of the Moorish pilots, Osorius proceeds: Rex deinde homines magno cum filentio scaphis & lintribus submittebat, qui securibus anchoralia nocte præciderent. Quod nisi fuisset à nostris singulari Gamæ industria vigilatum, et insidiis scelerati illius regis occursum, nostri in summum vitæ discrimen incidissent.

Vimen erat dum stagna subit, processerat undis
Gemma fuit.

Claud.

Sic et coralium, quo primum contigit auras,
Tempore durescit, mollis fuit herba sub undis.

Ovid.

There were on board Gama's fleet several persons skilled in the Oriental languages. Osor.

See the Eighth Odyssey, &c.

Castera's note on this place is so characteristical of a Frenchman, that the Reader will perhaps be pleased to see it transcribed. In his text he says, “Toi qui occupes si dignement le rang supreme—Le Poete dit, says he, in the note, Tens de Rey o officio, Toi qui fais le metier de Roi—The Poet says, thou who holdest the business of a king. I confess, he adds, I found a strong inclination to translate this sentence literally. I find much nobleness in it. However, I submitted to the opinion of some friends, who were afraid that the ears of Frenchmen would be shocked at the word business applied to a King. It is true, nevertheless, that Royalty is a business. Philip II. of Spain was convinced of it, as we may discern from one of his letters. Hallo, says he, me muy embaraçado, &c. I am so entangled and incumbered with the multiplicity of business, that I have not a moment to myself. In truth, we kings hold a laborious office; (or trade) there is little reason to envy us.” May the politeness of England never be disgusted with the word business applied to a king!

The propriety and artfulness of Homer's speeches have been often and justly admired. Camoens is peculiarly happy in the same department of the Epopea. The speech of Gama's herald to the King of Melinda is a striking instance of it. The compliments with which it begins have a direct tendency to the favours afterward to be asked. The assurances of the innocence, the purpose of the Voyagers, and the greatness of their king, are happily touched. The exclamation on the barbarous treatment they had experienced, “Not wisdom saved us, but heaven's own care,” are masterly insinuations. Their barbarous treatment is again repeated in a manner to move compassion: Alas! what could they fear, &c. is reasoning joined with the pathos. That they were conducted to the King of Melinda by heaven, and were by heaven assured of his truth, is a most delicate compliment, and in the true spirit of the Epic Poem. The allusion to Alcinous is well timed. The apology for Gama's refusal to come on shore, is exceeding artful. It conveys a proof of the greatness of the Portuguese Sovereign, and affords a compliment to Loyalty, which could not fail to be acceptable to a Monarch. In short, the whole of the speech supplicates warmly, but at the same time in the most manly manner; and the adjuration concludes it with all the appearance of warmth and sincerity. Eustathius would have written a whole chapter on such a speech in the Iliad or Odyssey.

Camoens seems to have his eye on the picture of Gama, which is thus described by Faria y Sousa. “He is painted with a black cap, cloak and breeches edged with velvet, all slashed, through which appears the crimson lining, the doublet of crimson sattin, and over it his armour inlaid with gold,”

The admiration and friendship of the king of Melinda, so much insisted on by Camoens, is a judicious imitation of Virgil's Dido. In both cases such preparation was necessary to introduce the long episodes which follow.

For a defence of the king of Melinda's learning, ignorantly objected to by Voltaire, see the Preface.


85

BOOK III.

Oh now, Calliope, thy potent aid!
What to the King th' illustrious Gama said
Cloath in immortal verse. With sacred fire
My breast, if e'er it loved thy lore, inspire:
So may the patron of the healing art,
The blooming God, to thee incline his heart;
From thee, the Mother of his darling Son,
May never wandering thought to Daphne run:

86

May never Clytia, nor Leucothoe's pride
Henceforth with thee his changeful love divide.
Then aid, O fairest Nymph, my fond desire,
And give my verse the Lusian warlike fire:
Fired by the Song, the listening world shall know
That Aganippe's streams from Tagus flow.
Oh, let no more the flowers of Pindus shine
On thy fair breast, or round thy temples twine:
On Tago's banks a richer chaplet blows,
And with the tuneful God my bosom glows:
I feel, I feel the mighty power infuse,
And bathe my spirit in Aonian dews!
Now silence wooe'd th' illustrious Chief's reply,
And keen attention watch'd on every eye;
When slowly turning with a modest grace,
The noble Vasco raised his manly face;
O mighty king, he cries, at thy command
The martial story of my native land
I tell; but more my doubtful heart had joy'd
Had other wars my praiseful lips employ'd.
When men the honours of their race commend,
The doubts of strangers on the tale attend:

87

Yet though reluctance faulter on my tongue,
Though day would fail a narrative so long,
Yet well assured no fiction's glare can raise,
Or give my country's fame a brighter praise;
Though less, far less, whate'er my lips can say,
Than truth must give it, I thy will obey.
Between that zone, where endless winter reigns,
And that, where flaming heat consumes the plains;
Array'd in green, beneath indulgent skies,
The queen of arts and arms fair Europe lies.
Around her northern and her western shores,
Throng'd with the finny race old Ocean roars;
The midland sea, where tide ne'er swell'd the waves,
Her richest lawns, the southern border, laves.
Against the rising morn, the northmost bound
The whirling Tanais parts from Asian ground,
As tumbling from the Scythian mountains cold
Their crooked way the rapid waters hold
To dull Mæotis' lake: Her eastern line
More to the south, the Phrygian waves confine;
Those waves, which, black with many a navy, bore
The Grecian heroes to the Dardan shore;
Where now the seaman rapt in mournful joy
Explores in vain the sad remains of Troy.

88

Wide to the north beneath the pole she spreads;
Here piles of mountains rear their rugged heads,
Here winds on winds in endless tempests rowl,
The valleys sigh, the lengthening ecchoes howl.
On the rude cliffs with frosty spangles grey,
Weak as the twilight gleams the solar ray;
Each mountain's breast with snows eternal shines,
The streams and seas eternal frost confines.
Here dwelt the numerous Scythian tribes of old,
A dreadful race! by victor ne'er controul'd,
Whose pride maintain'd that theirs the sacred earth,
Not that of Nile, which first gave man his birth.
Here dismal Lapland spreads a dreary wild,
Here Norway's wastes where harvest never smil'd,
Whose groves of fir in gloomy horror frown,
Nod o'er the rocks, and to the tempest groan.
Here Scandia's clime her rugged shores extends,
And far projected, through the Ocean bends;
Whose sons' dread footsteps yet Ausonia wears,
And yet proud Rome in mournful ruin bears.

89

When summer bursts stern winter's icy chain,
Here the bold Swede, the Prussian, and the Dane
Hoist the white sail and plough the foamy way,
Chear'd by whole months of one continual day:
Between these shores and Tanais' rushing tide
Livonia's sons and Russia's hords reside.
Stern as their clime the tribes, whose sires of yore
The name, far dreaded, of Sarmatians bore.
Where, famed of old, th' Hircinian forest lour'd,
Oft seen in arms the Polish troops are pour'd
Wide foraging the downs. The Saxon race,
The Hungar dextrous in the wild-boar chace,
The various nations whom the Rhine's cold wave
The Elbe, Amasis, and the Danube lave,
Of various tongues, for various princes known,
Their mighty Lord the German emperor own.
Between the Danube and the lucid tide
Where hapless Helle left her name, and died:

90

The dreadful god of battles' kindred race,
Degenerate now, possess the hills of Thrace.
Mount Hæmus here, and Rhodope renown'd,
And proud Byzantium, long with empire crown'd;
Their ancient pride, their ancient virtue fled,
Low to the Turk now bend the servile head.
Here spread the fields of warlike Macedon,
And here those happy lands where genius shone
In all the arts, in all the Muses' charms,
In all the pride of elegance and arms,
Which to the heavens resounded Grecia's name,
And left in every age a deathless fame.
The stern Dalmatians till the neighbouring ground;
And where Antenor anchor'd in the sound
Proud Venice as a queen majestic towers,
And o'er the trembling waves her thunder pours.
For learning glorious, glorious for the sword,
While Rome's proud monarch reign'd the world's dread lord,
Here Italy her beauteous landscapes shews;
Around her sides his arms old Ocean throws;
The dashing waves the ramparts force supply;
The hoary Alps high towering to the sky,
From shore to shore a rugged barrier spread,
And lour destruction on the hostile tread.
But now no more her hostile spirit burns,
There now the saint in humble vespers mourns;

91

To heaven more grateful than the pride of war,
And all the triumphs of the Victor's car.
Onward fair Gallia opens to the view
Her groves of olive, and her vineyards blue:
Wide spread her harvests o'er the scenes renown'd,
Where Julius proudly strode with laurel crown'd.
Here Seyn, how fair when glistening to the moon!
Rolls his white wave, and here the cold Garoon;
Here the deep Rhine the flowery margin laves,
And here the rapid Rhone impervious raves.
Here the gruff mountains, faithless to the vows
Of lost Pyrene rear their cloudy brows;
Whence, when of old the flames their woods devour'd,
Streams of red gold and melted silver pour'd.
And now, as head of all the lordly train
Of Europe's realms, appears illustrious Spain.
Alas, what various fortunes has she known!
Yet ever did her sons her wrongs atone;
Short was the triumph of her haughty foes,
And still with fairer bloom her honours rose.
Against one coast the Punic strand extends,
Each shore to close the midland ocean bends,

92

Where lock'd with land the struggling currents boil,
Famed for the godlike Theban's latest toil ,
Around her shores two various oceans swell,
And various nations in her bosom dwell;
Such deeds of valour dignify their names,
That each the lordly right of honour claims.
Proud Arragon, who twice her standard rear'd
In conquer'd Naples; and for art revered,
Galicia's prudent sons; the fierce Navar,
And he far dreaded in the Moorish war,
The bold Asturian; nor Sevilia's race,
Nor thine, Granada, claim the second place.
Here too the heroes who command the plain
By Betis water'd; here, the pride of Spain,
The brave Castilian pauses o'er his sword,
His country's dread deliverer and lord.
Proud o'er the rest, with splendid wealth array'd,
As crown to this wide empire, Europe's head,
Fair Lusitania smiles, the western bound,
Whose verdant breast the rolling waves surround,
Where gentle evening pours her lambent ray,
The last pale gleaming of departing day;

93

This, this, O mighty King, the sacred earth,
This the loved parent-soil that gave me birth.
And oh, would bounteous heaven my prayer regard,
And fair success my perilous toils reward,
May that dear land my latest breath receive,
And give my weary bones a peaceful grave.
Sublime the honours of my native land,
And high in heaven's regard her heroes stand;
By heaven's decree 'twas theirs the first to quell
The Moorish tyrants, and from Spain expel;
Nor could their burning wilds conceal their flight,
Their burning wilds confest the Lusian might.
From Lusus famed, whose honour'd name we bear,
(The son of Bacchus or the bold compeer,)
The glorious name of Lusitania rose,
A name tremendous to the Roman foes,
When her bold troops the valiant shepherd led,
And foul with rout the Roman eagles fled;
When haughty Rome atchiev'd the treacherous blow,
That own'd her terror of the matchless foe .
But when no more her Viriatus fought,
Age after age her deeper thraldom brought;
Her broken sons by ruthless tyrants spurn'd,
Her vineyards languish'd, and her pastures mourn'd;

94

Till time revolving raised her drooping head,
And o'er the wondering world her conquests spread.
Thus rose her power: the lands of lordly Spain
Were now the brave Alonzo's wide domain;
Great were his honours in the bloody fight,
And Fame proclaim'd him champion of the right.
And oft the groaning Saracen's proud crest
And shatter'd mail his awful force confest.
From Calpe's summits to the Caspian shore
Loud-tongued Renown his godlike actions bore.
And many a chief from distant regions came
To share the laurels of Alonzo's fame;
Yet more for holy faith's unspotted cause
Their spears they wielded, than for Fame's applause.
Great were the deeds their thundering arms display'd,
And still their foremost swords the battle sway'd.

95

And now to honour with distinguish'd meed
Each hero's worth the generous king decreed.
The first and bravest of the foreign bands
Hungaria's younger son brave Henry stands.
To him are given the fields where Tagus flows,
And the glad King his daughter's hand bestows;
The fair Teresa shines his blooming bride,
And owns her father's love, and Henry's pride.
With her, besides, the sire confirms in dower
Whate'er his sword might rescue from the Moor;
And soon on Hagar's race the hero pours
His warlike fury—soon the vanquish'd Moors
To him far round the neighbouring lands resign,
And heaven rewards him with a glorious line.
To him is born, heaven's gift, a gallant son,
The glorious founder of the Lusian throne.

96

Nor Spain's wide lands alone his deeds attest,
Delivered Judah Henry's might confest.
On Jordan's bank the victor-hero strode,
Whose hallowed waters bathed the Saviour-God;
And Salem's gate her open folds display'd,
When Godfrey conquer'd by the hero's aid.
But now no more in tented fields opposed,
By Tagus' stream his honoured age he closed;
Yet still his dauntless worth, his virtue lived,
And all the father in the son survived.
And soon his worth was proved, the parent dame
Avow'd a second hymeneal flame .
The low-born spouse assumes the monarch's place,
And from the throne expels the orphan race.
But young Alphonso, like his sires of yore,
(His grandsire's virtues as his name he bore)

97

Arms for the fight, his ravish'd throne to win,
And the laced helmet grasps his beardless chin.
Her fiercest firebrands Civil Discord waved,
Before her troops the lustful mother raved;
Lost to maternal love, and lost to shame,
Unawed she saw heaven's awful vengeance flame;
The brother's sword the brother's bosom tore,
And sad Guimaria's meadows blush'd with gore;
With Lusian gore the Peasant's cot was stain'd,
And kindred blood the sacred shrine profaned.
Here, cruel Progne, here, O Jason's wife,
Yet reeking with your children's purple life,
Here glut your eyes with deeper guilt than yours;
Here fiercer rage her fiercer rancour pours.
Your crime was vengeance on the faithless sires,
But here ambition with foul lust conspires.
'Twas rage of love, O Scylla, urged the knife
That robb'd thy father of his fated life;
Here grosser rage the mother's breast inflames,
And at her guiltless son the vengeance aims.
But aims in vain; her slaughter'd forces yield,
And the brave youth rides Victor o'er the field.

98

No more his subjects lift the thirsty sword,
And the glad realm proclaims the youthful Lord.
But ah, how wild the noblest tempers run!
His filial duty now forsakes the son;
Secluded from the day, in clanking chains
His rage the parents aged limbs constrains.
Heaven frown'd—Dark vengeance lowring on his brows,
And sheath'd in brass the proud Castilian rose,
Resolved the rigour to his daughter shewn,
The battle should avenge, and blood atone.
A numerous host against the prince he sped,
The valiant prince his little army led:
Dire was the shock; the whizzing javelins sung,
The Hauberks rattled, and the bucklers rung.
Yet though around the Stripling's sacred head
By angel hands etherial shields were spread;
Though glorious triumph on his valour smiled,
Soon on his van the baffled foe recoil'd:
With bands more numerous to the field he came,
His proud heart burning with the rage of shame.
And now in turn Guimaria's lofty wall,
That saw his triumph, saw the hero fall;
Within the town immured, distrest he lay,
To stern Castilia's sword a certain prey.
When now the guardian of his infant years,
The valiant Egas, as a god appears;

99

To proud Casteel the suppliant noble bows,
And faithful homage for his prince he vows.
The proud Casteel accepts his honour'd faith,
And peace succeeds the dreadful scenes of death.
Yet well, alas, the generous Egas knew
His high-soul'd Prince to man would never sue:
Would never stoop to brook the servile stain,
To hold a borrow'd, a dependent reign.
And now with gloomy aspect rose the day,
Decreed the plighted servile rites to pay;
When Egas to redeem his faith's disgrace
Devotes himself, his spouse, and infant race.
In gowns of white, as sentenced felons clad,
When to the stake the sons of guilt are led,
With feet unshod they slowly moved along,
And from their necks the knotted halters hung.
And now, O King, the kneeling Egas cries,
Behold my perjured honour's sacrifice:
If such mean victims can atone thine ire,
Here let my wife, my babes, myself expire.
If generous bosoms such revenge can take,
Here let them perish for the father's sake:
The guilty tongue, the guilty hands are these,
Nor let a common death thy wrath appease;
For us let all the rage of torture burn,
But to my Prince, thy son, in friendship turn.

100

He spoke, and bow'd his prostrate body low,
As one who waits the lifted sabre's blow;
When o'er the block his languid arms are spread,
And death, foretasted, whelms the heart with dread:
So great a Leader thus in humbled state,
So firm his loyalty, his zeal so great,
The brave Alonzo's kindled ire subdued,
And lost in silent joy the Monarch stood;
Then gave the hand, and sheath'd the hostile sword,
And to such honour honour'd peace restored.
Oh Lusian faith! oh zeal beyond compare!
What greater danger could the Persian dare,
Whose prince in tears, to view his mangled woe,
Forgot the joy for Babylon's o'erthrow.
And now the youthful hero shines in arms,
The banks of Tagus eccho war's alarms:
O'er Ourique's wide campaign his ensigns wave,
And the proud Saracen to combat brave.
Though prudence might arraign his fiery rage
That dared with one, each hundred spears engage,

101

In heaven's protecting care his courage lies,
And heaven his friend superior force supplies.
Five Moorish Kings against him march along,
Ismar the noblest of the armed throng;
Yet each brave Monarch claim'd the Soldier's name,
And far o'er many a land was known to fame.
In all the beauteous glow of blooming years,
Beside each King a warrior Nymph appears;
Each with her sword her valiant Lover guards,
With smiles inspires him, and with smiles rewards.
Such was the valour of the beauteous Maid,
Whose warlike arm proud Ilion's fate delay'd.
Such in the field the virgin warriors shone,
Who drank the limpid wave of Thermodon.
'Twas morn's still hour, before the dawning grey
The stars' bright twinkling radiance died away;
When lo, resplendent in the heaven serene,
High o'er the Prince the sacred Cross was seen;
The godlike Prince with faith's warm glow inflamed,
Oh, not to me, my bounteous God, exclaim'd!

102

Oh, not to me, who well thy grandeur know,
But to the Pagan herd thy wonders shew.
The Lusian host, enraptured, mark'd the sign
That witness'd to their Chief the aid divine:
Right on the foe they shake the beamy lance,
And with firm strides, and heaving breasts, advance;
Then burst the silence, Hail, O King, they cry;
Our King, our King, the ecchoing dales reply:
Fired at the sound, with fiercer ardour glows
The heaven-made Monarch; on the wareless foes
Rushing, he speeds his ardent bands along:
So when the chace excites the rustic throng,
Roused to fierce madness by their mingled cries
On the wild bull the red-eyed mastiff flies.
The stern-brow'd tyrant trusts his potent horns,
Around and round the nimble mastiff turns;
Now by the neck, now by the gory sides
He hangs, and all his bellowing rage derides:
In vain his eye-balls burn with living fire,
In vain his nostrils clouds of smoke respire,
His gorge torn out, down falls the furious prize
With hollow thundering sound, and raging dies:

103

Thus on the Moors the hero rush'd along,
Th' astonish'd Moors in wild confusion throng;
They snatch their arms, the hasty trumpet sounds,
With horrid yell the dread alarm rebounds;
The warlike tumult maddens o'er the plain,
As when the flame devours the bearded grain:
The nightly flames the whistling winds inspire,
Fierce through the braky thicket pours the fire:
Rous'd by the crackling of the mounting blaze
From sleep the shepherds start in wild amaze;
They snatch their cloaths with many a woeful cry,
And scatter'd devious to the mountains fly:
Such sudden dread the trembling Moors alarms,
And thus confused they snatch the nearest arms;
Yet flight they scorn, and eager to engage
They spur their foamy steeds, and trust their furious rage:
Amidst the horror of the headlong shock,
With foot unshaken as the living rock
The Lusian hero stands; the purple wounds
Gush horrible, deep groaning rage resounds;
Reeking behind the Moorish backs appear
The shining point of many a Lusian spear;

104

The mailcoats, hauberks, and the harness steel'd,
Bruis'd, hackt, and torn, lie scatter'd o'er the field;
Beneath the Lusian sweepy force o'erthrown,
Crush'd by their batter'd mails the wounded groan;
Burning with thirst they draw their panting breath,
And curse their Prophet as they writhe in death.
Arms sever'd from the trunks still grasp the steel,
Heads gasping rowl; the fighting squadrons reel;
Fainty and weak with languid arms they close,
And staggering grapple with the staggering foes.
So when an oak falls headlong on the lake,
The troubled waters slowly settling shake:

105

So faints the languid combat on the plain,
And settling staggers o'er the heaps of slain.
Again the Lusian fury wakes its fires,
The terror of the Moors new strength inspires:
The scatter'd few in wild confusion fly,
And total rout resounds the yelling cry.
Defiled with one wide sheet of reeking gore,
The verdure of the lawn appears no more:
In bubbling streams the lazy currents run,
And shoot red flames beneath the evening sun.
With spoils enrich'd, with glorious trophies crown'd
The heaven-made Sovereign on the battle ground

106

Three days encampt, to rest his weary train,
Whose dauntless valour drove the Moors from Spain.
And now in honour of the glorious day,
When five proud Monarchs fell his vanquish'd prey,
On his broad buckler, unadorn'd before,
Placed as a Cross, five azure shields he wore,

107

In grateful memory of the heavenly sign,
The pledge of conquest by the aid divine.
Nor long his faulchion in the scabbard slept,
His warlike arm increasing laurels reapt:
From Leyra's walls the baffled Ismar flies,
And strong Arroncha falls his conquer'd prize;
That honour'd town, through whose Elysian groves
Thy smooth and limpid wave, O Tagus, roves.
Th' illustrious Santarene confest his power,
And vanquish'd Mafra yields her proudest tower.
The Lunar mountains saw his troops display
Their marching banners and their brave array:
To him submits fair Cintra's cold domain,
The soothing refuge of the Nayad train.
When Love's sweet snares the pining Nymphs would shun:
Alas, in vain from warmer climes they run:
The cooling shades awake the young desires,
And the cold fountains cherish love's soft fires.
And thou, famed Lisbon, whose embattled wall
Rose by the hand that wrought proud Ilion's fall;

108

Thou queen of Cities, whom the seas obey,
Thy dreaded ramparts own'd the Hero's sway.
Far from the north a warlike navy bore
From Elbe, from Rhine, and Albion's misty shore;
To rescue Salem's long-polluted shrine
Their force to great Alonzo's force they join:
Before Ulysses' walls the navy rides,
The joyful Tagus laves their pitchy sides.
Five times the Moon her empty horns conceal'd,
Five times her broad effulgence shone reveal'd,
When, wrapt in clouds of dust, her mural pride
Falls thundering,—black the smoaking breach yawns wide.
As when th' imprison'd waters burst the mounds,
And roar, wide sweeping, o'er the cultured grounds;
Nor cot nor fold withstand their furious course;
So headlong rush'd along the Hero's force.
The thirst of vengeance the assailants fires,
The madness of despair the Moors inspires;

109

Each lane, each street resounds the conflict's roar,
And every threshold reeks with tepid gore.
Thus fell the City, whose unconquer'd towers
Defy'd of old the banded Gothic powers;
Whose harden'd nerves in rigorous climates train'd
The savage courage of their souls sustain'd:
Before whose sword the sons of Ebro fled,
And Tagus trembled in his oozy bed;
Aw'd by whose arms the lawns of Betis shore
The name Vandalia from the Vandals bore.
When Lisbon's towers before the Lusian fell,
What fort, what rampart might his arms repell!
Estremadura's region owns him Lord,
And Torres-vedras bends beneath his sword;
Obidos humbles, and Alamquer yields,
Alamquer famous for her verdant fields,
Whose murmuring rivulets cheer the traveller's way,
As the chill waters o'er the pebbles stray.
Elva the green, and Moura's fertile dales,
Fair Serpa's tillage and Alcazar's vales
Not for himself the Moorish peasant sows;
For Lusian hands the yellow harvest glows:

110

And you, fair lawns, beyond the Tagus' wave,
Your golden burdens for Alonzo save;
Soon shall his thundering might your wealth reclaim,
And your glad valleys hail their monarch's name.
Nor sleep his captains while the sovereign wars;
The brave Giraldo's sword in conquest shares,
Evora's frowning walls, the castled hold
Of that proud Roman chief, and rebel bold,
Sertorius dread, whose labours still remain;
Two hundred arches, stretch'd in length, sustain
The marble duct, where, glistening to the sun,
Of silver hue the shining waters run.
Evora's frowning walls now shake with fear,
And yield obedient to Giraldo's spear.
Nor rests the monarch while his servants toil,
Around him still increasing trophies smile,
And deathless fame repays the hapless fate
That gives to human life so short a date.
Proud Beja's castled walls his fury storms,
And one red slaughter every lane deforms.
The ghosts, whose mangled limbs, yet scarcely cold,
Heapt sad Trancoso's streets in carnage roll'd,
Appeased, the vengeance of their slaughter see,
And hail th' indignant king's severe decree.

111

Palmela trembles on her mountain's height,
And sea-laved Zambra owns the hero's might.
Nor these alone confest his happy star,
Their fated doom produced a noble war.
Badaja's king, an haughty Moor, beheld
His towns besieged, and hasted to the field.
Four thousand coursers in his army neigh'd,
Unnumber'd spears his infantry display'd;
Proudly they march'd, and glorious to behold,
In silver belts they shone, and plates of gold.
Along a mountain's side secure they trod,
Steep on each hand, and rugged was the road;
When as a bull, whose lustful veins betray
The mad'ning tumult of inspiring May;
If, when his rage with fiercest ardour glows,
When in the shade the fragrant heifer lows,
If then perchance his jealous burning eye
Behold a careless traveller wander by,
With dreadful bellowing on the wretch he flies,
The wretch defenceless torn and trampled dies.
So rush'd Alonzo on the gaudy train,
And pour'd victorious o'er the mangled slain;
The royal Moor precipitates in flight,
The mountain ecchoes with the wild affright
Of flying squadrons, down their arms they throw,
And dash from rock to rock to shun the foe.

112

The foe! what wonders may not virtue dare!
But sixty horsemen waged the conquering war.
The warlike monarch still his toil renews,
New conquest still each victory pursues.
To him Badaja's lofty gates expand,
And the wide region owns his dread command.
When now enraged proud Leon's king beheld
Those walls subdued which saw his troops expell'd;
Enraged he saw them own the victor's sway,
And hems them round with battalous array.
With generous ire the brave Alonzo glows,
By heaven unguarded, on the numerous foes
He rushes, glorying in his wonted force,
And spurs with headlong rage his furious horse;
The combat burns, the snorting courser bounds,
And paws impetuous by the iron mounds:
O'er gasping foes and sounding bucklers trod
The raging steed, and headlong as he rode
Dash'd the fierce monarch on a rampire bar—
Low groveling in the dust, the pride of war,
The great Alonzo lies. The captive's fate
Succeeds, alas, the pomp of regal state.
“Let iron dash his limbs,” his mother cried,
“And steel revenge my chains:” she spoke, and died;

113

And heaven assented—Now the hour was come,
And the dire curse was fallen Alonzo's doom.
No more, O Pompey, of thy fate complain,
No more with sorrow view thy glory's stain;
Though thy tall standards tower'd with lordly pride
Where northern Phasis rolls his icy tide;
Though hot Syene, where the sun's fierce ray
Begets no shadow, own'd thy conquering sway;
Though from the tribes that shiver in the gleam
Of cold Bootes' watery glistening team;
To those who parch'd beneath the burning line,
In fragrant shades their feeble limbs recline,
The various languages proclaim'd thy fame,
And trembling own'd the terrors of thy name;
Though rich Arabia and Sarmatia bold,
And Colchis, famous for the fleece of gold;
Though Judah's land, whose sacred rites implored
The One true God, and, as he taught, adored;

114

Though Cappadocia's realm thy mandate sway'd,
And base Sophenia's sons thy nod obey'd;
Though vext Cicilia's pirates wore thy bands,
And those who cultured fair Armenia's lands,
Where from the sacred mount two rivers flow,
And what was Eden to the Pilgrim shew;
Though from the vast Atlantic's bounding wave
To where the northern tempests howl and rave
Round Taurus' lofty brows: though vast and wide
The various climes that bended to thy pride;
No more with pining anguish of regret
Bewail the horrors of Pharsalia's fate:
For great Alonzo, whose superior name
Unequal'd victories consign to fame,
The great Alonzo fell—like thine his woe;
From nuptial kindred came the fatal blow.
When now the hero, humbled in the dust,
His crime atoned, confest that heaven was just,
Again in splendor he the throne ascends:
Again his bow the Moorish chieftain bends.
Wide round th' embattled gates of Santareen
Their shining spears and banner'd moons are seen.
But holy rites the pious king preferr'd;
The Martyr's bones on Vincent's Cape interr'd,

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(His sainted name the Cape shall ever bear)
To Lisbon's walls he brought with votive care.
And now the monarch, old and feeble grown,
Resigns the faulchion to his valiant son.
O'er Tagus' waves the youthful hero past,
And bleeding hosts before him shrunk aghast.
Choak'd with the slain, with Moorish carnage dy'd,
Sevilia's river roll'd the purple tide.
Burning for victory the warlike boy
Spares not a day to thoughtless rest or joy.
Nor long his wish unsatisfied remains:
With the besiegers' gore he dies the plains
That circle Beja's wall: yet still untamed,
With all the fierceness of despair inflamed,
The raging Moor collects his distant might;
Wide from the shores of Atlas' starry height,
From Amphelusia's cape, and Tingia's bay,
Where stern Antæus held his brutal sway,
The Mauritanian trumpet sounds to arms,
And Juba's realm returns the hoarse alarms;
The swarthy tribes in burnish'd armour shine,
Their warlike march Abeyla's shepherds join.
The great Miramolin on Tagus' shores
Far o'er the coast his banner'd thousands pours;

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Twelve kings and one beneath his ensigns stand,
And wield their sabres at his dread command.
The plundering bands far round the region haste,
The mournful region lies a naked waste.
And now enclosed in Santareen's high towers
The brave Don Sanco shuns th' unequal powers;
A thousand arts the furious Moor pursues,
And ceaseless still the fierce assault renews.
Huge clefts of rock, from horrid engines whirl'd,
In smouldering volleys on the town are hurl'd;
The brazen rams the lofty turrets shake,
And mined beneath the deep foundations quake;
But brave Alonzo's son, as danger grows,
His pride inflamed, with rising courage glows;
Each coming storm of missile darts he wards,
Each nodding turret, and each port he guards.
In that fair city, round whose verdant meads
The branching river of Mondego spreads,
Long worn with warlike toils, and bent with years
The king reposed, when Sanco's fate he hears.
His limbs forget the feeble steps of age,
And the hoar warrior burns with youthful rage.
His daring Veterans, long to conquest train'd,
He leads—the ground with Moorish blood is stain'd;

117

Turbans, and robes of various colours wrought,
And shiver'd spears in streaming carnage float.
In harness gay lies many a weltering steed,
And low in dust the groaning masters bleed.
As proud Miramolin in horror fled,
Don Sanco's javelin stretch'd him with the dead.
In wild dismay, and torn with gushing wounds
The rout wide scatter'd fly the Lusian bounds.
Their hands to heaven the joyful victors raise,
And every voice resounds the song of praise;
“Nor was it stumbling chance, nor human might,
“'Twas guardian heaven,” they sung, “that ruled the fight.”
This blissful day Alonzo's glories crown'd;
And pale disease soon gave the secret wound;
Her icy hand his feeble limbs invades,
And pining languor through his vitals spreads.
The glorious monarch to the tomb descends,
A nation's grief the funeral torch attends.
Each winding shore for thee, Alonzo, mourns,
Alonzo's name each woful bay returns;

118

For thee the rivers sigh their groves among,
And funeral murmurs wailing, roll along;
Their swelling tears o'erflow the wide campaign;
With floating heads, for thee, the yellow grain,
For thee the willow bowers and copses weep,
As their tall boughs lie trembling on the deep;
Adown the streams the tangled vine-leaves flow,
And all the landscape wears the look of woe.
Thus o'er the wondering world thy glories spread,
And thus thy mournful people bow the head;
While still, at eve, each dale Alonzo sighs,
And, oh, Alonzo! every hill replies;
And still the mountain ecchoes trill the lay,
Till blushing morn brings on the noiseful day.
The youthful Sanco to the throne succeeds,
Already far renown'd for valorous deeds;
Let Betis' tinged with blood his prowess tell,
And Beja's lawns, where boastful Afric fell.
Nor less when king his martial ardour glows,
Proud Sylves' royal walls his troops enclose!
Fair Sylves' lawns the Moorish peasant plough'd,
Her vineyards cultured, and her valleys sow'd;
But Lisbon's monarch reapt. The winds of heaven
Roar'd high—and headlong by the tempest driven,

119

In Tagus' breast a gallant navy sought
The sheltering port, and glad assistance brought.
The warlike crew, by Frederic the Red,
To rescue Judah's prostrate land were led;
When Guido's troops, by burning thirst subdued,
To Saladine the foe for mercy sued.
Their vows were holy, and the cause the same,
To blot from Europe's shores the Moorish name.
In Sanco's cause the gallant navy joins,
And royal Sylves to their force resigns.
Thus sent by heaven a foreign naval band
Gave Lisbon's ramparts to the Sire's command.
Nor Moorish trophies did alone adorn
The Hero's name; in warlike camps though born,
Though fenced with mountains, Leon's martial race
Smile at the battle-sign, yet foul disgrace
To Leon's haughty sons his sword atchieved;
Proud Tui's neck his servile yoke received;
And far around falls many a wealthy town,
O valiant Sanco, humbled to thy frown.
While thus his laurels flourish'd wide and fair
He dies: Alonzo reigns, his much-loved heir.

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Alcazar lately conquer'd from the Moor,
Reconquer'd, streams with the defenders' gore.
Alonzo dead, another Sanco reigns:
Alas, with many a sigh the land complains!
Unlike his Sire, a vain unthinking boy,
His servants now a jarring sway enjoy.
As his the power, his were the crimes of those
Whom to dispense that sacred power he chose.
By various counsels waver'd and confused,
By seeming friends, by various arts abused;
Long undetermined, blindly rash at last,
Enraged, unmann'd, untutor'd by the past.
Yet not like Nero, cruel and unjust,
The slave capricious of unnatural lust.
Nor had he smiled had flames consumed his Troy;
Nor could his people's groans afford him joy;
Nor did his woes from female manners spring,
Unlike the Syrian, or Sicilia's king.
No hundred cooks his costly meal prepared,
As heapt the board when Rome's proud tyrant fared.
Nor dared the artist hope his ear to gain,
By new-form'd arts to point the stings of pain.

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But proud and high the Lusian spirit soar'd,
And ask'd a godlike hero for their Lord.
To none accustom'd but an hero's sway,
Great must he be whom that bold race obey.
Complaint, loud murmur'd, every city fills,
Complaint, loud murmur'd, vibrates through the hills.
Alarm'd, Bolonia's warlike Earl awakes,
And from his listless brother's minions takes
The awful sceptre.—Soon was joy restored,
And soon, by just succession, Lisbon's Lord,
Beloved, Alonzo named the bold, he reigns;
Nor may the limits of his Sire's domains

122

Confine his mounting spirit. When he led
His smiling Consort to the bridal bed,
Algarbia's realm, he said, shall prove thy dower,
And soon Algarbia conquer'd own'd his power.
The vanquish'd Moor with total rout expell'd,
All Lusus' shores his might unrivall'd held.
And now brave Diniz reigns, whose noble fire
Bespoke the genuine lineage of his Sire.
Now heavenly peace wide waved her olive bough,
Each vale display'd the labours of the plough
And smiled with joy: the rocks on every shore
Resound the dashing of the merchant-oar.
Wise laws are form'd, and constitutions weigh'd,
And the deep-rooted base of Empire laid.
Not Ammon's son with larger heart bestow'd,
Not such the grace to him the Muses owed.
From Helicon the Muses wing their way,
Mondego's flowery banks invite their stay.
Now Coimbra shines Minerva's proud abode;
And fired with joy, Parnassus' bloomy God
Beholds another dear-loved Athens rise,
And spread her laurels in indulgent skies;
Her wreath of laurels ever green he twines
With threads of gold, and Baccaris adjoins.

123

Here castle walls in warlike grandeur lour,
Here cities swell and lofty temples tower:
In wealth and grandeur each with other vies;
When old and loved the parent-monarch dies.
His son, alas, remiss in filial deeds,
But wise in peace and bold in fight, succeeds,
The fourth Alonzo: Ever arm'd for war
He views the stern Casteel with watchful care.
Yet when the Lybian nations crost the main,
And spread their thousands o'er the fields of Spain,
The brave Alonzo drew his awful steel
And sprung to battel for the proud Casteel.
When Babel's haughty Empress bared the sword,
And o'er Hydaspes' lawns her legions pour'd;
When dreadful Attila, to whom was given
That fearful name, the Scourge of angry heaven,
The fields of trembling Italy o'erran
With many a Gothic tribe and northern clan;
Not such unnumber'd banners then were seen,
As now in fair Tartesia's dales convene;
Numidia's bow and Mauritania's spear,
And all the might of Hagar's race was here;

124

Granada's mongrels join their numerous host,
To those who dared the seas from Lybia's coast.
Awed by the fury of such ponderous force
The proud Castilian tries each hoped resource;
Yet not by terror for himself inspired,
For Spain he trembled, and for Spain was fired.
His much-loved bride his messenger he sends,
And to the hostile Lusian lowly bends.
The much-loved daughter of the King implored,
Now sues her father for her wedded Lord.
The beauteous dame approach'd the palace gate,
Where her great Sire was throned in regal state:
On her fair face deep-settled grief appears,
And her mild eyes were bathed in glistening tears;
Her careless ringlets, as a mourner's, flow
Adown her shoulders and her breasts of snow:
A secret transport through the father ran,
While thus, in sighs, the royal bride began:
And know'st thou not, O warlike King, she cry'd,
That furious Afric pours her peopled tide;
Her barbarous nations o'er the fields of Spain?
Morocco's Lord commands the dreadful train.

125

Ne'er since the surges bathed the circling coast,
Beneath one standard march'd so dread an host:
Such the dire fierceness of their brutal rage,
Pale are our bravest youth as palsied age.
By night our father's shades confess their fear,
Their shrieks of terror from the tombs we hear:
To stem the rage of these unnumber'd bands,
Alone, O Sire, my gallant husband stands;
His little host alone their breasts oppose
To the barb'd darts of Spain's innumerous foes:
Then haste, O Monarch, thou whose conquering spear
Has chill'd Malucca's sultry waves with fear;
Haste to the rescue of distress'd Casteel,
(Oh! be that smile thy dear affection's seal!)
And speed, my father, ere my husband's fate
Be fixt, and I, deprived of regal state,
Be left in captive solitude forlorn,
My spouse, my kingdom, and my birth to mourn.
In tears, and trembling, spoke the filial queen.
So lost in grief was lovely Venus seen,

126

When Jove, her Sire, the beauteous mourner pray'd
To grant her wandering son the promised aid.
Great Jove was moved to hear the fair deplore,
Gave all she ask'd, and grieved she ask'd no more.
So grieved Alonzo's noble heart. And now
The warrior binds in steel his awful brow;
The glittering squadrons march in proud array,
On burnish'd shields the trembling sun-beams play:
The blaze of arms the warlike rage inspires,
And wakes from slothful peace the hero's fires.
With trampling hoofs Evora's plains rebound,
And sprightly neighings eccho far around;
Far on each side the clouds of dust arise,
The drum's rough rattling rowls along the skies;
The trumpet's shrilly clangor sounds alarms,
And each heart burns, and ardent pants for arms.
Where their bright blaze the royal ensigns pour'd,
High o'er the rest the great Alonzo tower'd;
High o'er the rest was his bold front admired,
And his keen eyes new warmth, new force inspired.
Proudly he march'd, and now in Tarif's plain
The two Alonzoes join their martial train:
Right to the foe, in battle-rank updrawn,
They pause—the mountain and the wide-spread lawn
Afford not foot-room for the crowded foe:
Awed with the horrors of the lifted blow

127

Pale look'd our bravest heroes. Swell'd with pride,
The foes already conquer'd Spain divide,
And lordly o'er the field the promised victors stride.
So strode in Elah's vale the towering height
Of Gath's proud champion; so with pale affright
The Hebrews trembled, while with impious pride
The large-limb'd foe the shepherd boy defy'd:
The valiant boy advancing fits the string,
And round his head he whirls the sounding sling;
The monster staggers with the forceful wound,
And his huge bulk lies groaning on the ground.
Such impious scorn the Moor's proud bosom swell'd,
When our thin squadrons took the battle-field;
Unconscious of the Power who led us on,
That Power whose nod confounds th' infernal throne;
Led by that Power, the brave Castilian bared
The shining blade, and proud Morocco dared;
His conquering brand the Lusian hero drew,
And on Granada's sons resistless flew;
The lances rattle and the splinters sing,
And the broad faulchions on the bucklers ring:
With piercing shrieks the Moors their Prophet's name,
And ours their guardian Saint aloud acclaim.
Wounds gush on wounds, and blows resound to blows,
A lake of blood the level plain o'erflows;

128

The wounded gasping in the purple tide,
Now find the death the sword but half supplied.
Though wove and quilted by their Ladies' hands,
Vain were the mail-plates of Granada's bands.
With such dread force the Lusian rush'd along,
Steep'd in red carnage lay the boastful throng.
Yet now disdainful of so light a prize,
Sheer o'er the field the thundering hero flies;
And his bold arm the brave Castilian joins
In dreadful conflict with the Moorish lines.
The parting Sun now pour'd the ruddy blaze,
And twinkling Vesper shot his silvery rays
Athwart the gloom, and closed the glorious day,
When low in dust the strength of Afric lay.
Such dreadful slaughter of the boastful Moor
Never on battle-field was heap'd before;
Not he whose childhood vow'd eternal hate
And desperate war against the Roman state:
Though three strong Coursers bent beneath the weight
Of rings of gold, by many a Roman Knight,

129

Erewhile, the badge of rank distinguish'd, worn,
From their cold hands at Cannæ's slaughter torn;
Not his dread sword bespread the reeking plain
With such wide streams of gore, and hills of slain;
Nor thine, O Titus, to the Stygian coast,
From blood-stain'd Salem sent so many a ghost;
Though ages ere she fell, the Prophets old
The dreadful scene of Salem's fall foretold,
In words that breathe wild horror: Nor the shore,
When carnage choak'd the stream, so smoak'd with gore,
When Marius' fainting legions drank the flood,
Yet warm and purpled with Ambronian blood;
Not such the heaps as now the plains of Tarif strew'd.
While glory thus Alonzo's name adorn'd,
To Lisbon's shores the happy Chief return'd,
In glorious peace and well-deserved repose,
His course of fame, and honoured age to close.
When now, O king, a Damsel's fate severe,
A fate which ever claims the woful tear,

130

Disgraced his honours—On the Nymph's lorn head
Relentless rage its bitterest rancour shed:
Yet such the zeal her princely lover bore,
Her breathless corse the crown of Lisbon wore.
'Twas thou, O Love, whose dreaded shafts controul
The hind's rude heart, and tear the hero's soul;
Thou ruthless power, with bloodshed never cloyed,
'Twas thou thy lovely votary destroyed.
Thy thirst still burning for a deeper woe,
In vain to thee the tears of beauty flow;
The breast that feels thy purest flames divine,
With spouting gore must bathe thy cruel shrine.
Such thy dire triumphs!—Thou, O Nymph, the while,
Prophetic of the god's unpitying guile,
In tender scenes by love-sick fancy wrought,
By fear oft shifted as by fancy brought,
In sweet Mondego's ever-verdant bowers,
Languish'd away the slow and lonely hours:
While now, as terror waked thy boding fears,
The conscious stream received thy pearly tears;
And now, as hope revived the brighter flame,
Each eccho sigh'd thy princely lover's name.
Nor less could absence from thy prince remove
The dear remembrance of his distant love:

131

Thy looks, thy smiles, still meet his ravish'd eyes,
And all thy beauteous charms before him rise:
By night his slumbers bring thee to his arms,
By day his thoughts still wander o'er thy charms:
By night, by day, each thought thy loves employ,
Each thought the memory or the hope of joy.
Though fairest princely dames invok'd his love,
No princely dame his constant faith could move:
For thee alone his constant passion burn'd,
For thee the proffer'd royal maids he scorn'd.
Ah, hope of bliss too high—the princely dames
Refused, dread rage the father's breast inflames;
He, with an old man's wintery eye, surveys
The youth's fond love, and coldly with it weighs
The peoples' murmurs of his son's delay
To bless the nation with his nuptial day.
(Alas, the nuptial day was past unknown,
Which but when crown'd the prince could dare to own.)
And with the Fair One's blood the vengeful sire
Resolves to quench his Pedro's faithful fire.
Oh, thou dread sword, oft stain'd with heroes' gore,
Thou awful terror of the prostrate Moor,
What rage could aim thee at a female breast,
Unarm'd, by softness and by love possest!
Dragg'd from her bower by murderous ruffian hands,
Before the frowning king fair Inez stands;

132

Her tears of artless innocence, her air
So mild, so lovely, and her face so fair,
Moved the stern Monarch; when with eager zeal
Her fierce Destroyers urged the public weal;
Dread rage again the Tyrant's soul possest,
And his dark brow his cruel thoughts confest;
O'er her fair face a sudden paleness spread,
Her throbbing heart with generous anguish bled,
Anguish to view her lover's hopeless woes,
And all the mother in her bosom rose.
Her beauteous eyes in trembling tear-drops drown'd,
To heaven she lifted, for her hands were bound;
Then on her infants turn'd the piteous glance,
The look of bleeding woe; the babes advance,
Smiling in innocence of infant age,
Unawed, unconscious of their grandsire's rage;
To whom, as bursting sorrow gave the flow,
The native heart-sprung eloquence of woe,
The lovely captive thus:—O Monarch, hear,
If e'er to thee the name of man was dear,
If prowling tygers, or the the wolf's wild brood,
Inspired by nature with the lust of blood,
Have yet been moved the weeping babe to spare,
Nor left, but tended with a nurse's care,

133

As Rome's great founders to the world were given;
Shalt thou, who wear'st the sacred stamp of heaven,
The human form divine, shalt thou deny
That aid, that pity, which e'en beasts supply!
Oh, that thy heart were, as thy looks declare,
Of human mould, superfluous were my prayer;
Thou could'st not then a helpless damsel slay,
Whose sole offence in fond affection lay,
In faith to him who first his love confest,
Who first to love allured her virgin breast.
In these my babes shalt thou thine image see,
And still tremendous hurl thy rage on me?
Me, for their sakes, if yet thou wilt not spare,
Oh, let these infants prove thy pious care!

134

Yet Pity's lenient current ever flows
From that brave breast where genuine valour glows;
That thou art brave, let vanquish'd Afric tell,
Then let thy pity o'er mine anguish swell;
Ah, let my woes, unconscious of a crime,
Procure mine exile to some barbarous clime:

135

Give me to wander o'er the burning plains
Of Libya's desarts, or the wild domains
Of Scythia's snow-clad rocks and frozen shore,
There let me, hopeless of return, deplore:
Where ghastly horror fills the dreary vale,
Where shrieks and howlings die on every gale,
The lions roaring, and the tygers yell,
There with mine infant race, consign'd to dwell,
There let me try that piety to find,
In vain by Me implored from human kind:
There in some dreary cavern's rocky womb,
Amid the horrors of sepulchral gloom,
For him whose love I mourn, my love shall glow,
The sigh shall murmur, and the tear shall flow:
All my fond wish, and all my hope, to rear
These infant pledges of a love so dear,
Amidst my griefs a soothing glad employ,
Amidst my fears a woful, hopeless joy.
In tears she utter'd—as the frozen snow
Touch'd by the spring's mild ray, begins to flow,
So just began to melt his stubborn soul
As mild-ray'd Pity o'er the Tyrant stole;
But destiny forbade: with eager zeal,
Again pretended for the public weal,

136

Her fierce accusers urged her speedy doom;
Again dark rage diffused its horrid gloom
O'er stern Alonzo's brow: swift at the sign,
Their swords unsheathed around her brandish'd shine.
O foul disgrace, of knighthood lasting stain,
By men of arms an helpless lady slain!
Thus Pyrrhus, burning with unmanly ire,
Fulfill'd the mandate of his furious sire;
Disdainful of the frantic matron's prayer,
On fair Polyxena, her last fond care,
He rush'd, his blade yet warm with Priam's gore,
And dash'd the daughter on the sacred floor;
While mildly she her raving mother eyed,
Resign'd her bosom to the sword, and died.
Thus Inez, while her eyes to heaven appeal,
Resigns her bosom to the murdering steel:

137

That snowy neck, whose matchless form sustain'd
The loveliest face where all the Graces reign'd,
Whose charms so long the gallant Prince inflamed,
That her pale corse was Lisbon's queen proclamed,
That snowy neck was stain'd with spouting gore,
Another sword her lovely bosom tore.
The flowers that glisten'd with her tears bedew'd,
Now shrunk and languish'd with her blood imbrew'd.
As when a rose, ere while of bloom so gay,
Thrown from the careless virgin's breast away,
Lies faded on the plain, the living red,
The snowy white, and all its fragrance fled;
So from her cheeks the roses dy'd away,
And pale in death the beauteous Inez lay:
With dreadful smiles, and crimson'd with her blood,
Round the wan victim the stern murderers stood,
Unmindful of the sure, though future hour,
Sacred to vengeance and her Lover's power.
O Sun, couldst thou so foul a crime behold,
Nor veil thine head in darkness, as of old
A sudden night unwonted horror cast
O'er that dire banquet, where the sire's repast
The son's torn limbs supplied!—Yet you, ye vales!
Ye distant forests, and ye flowery dales!

138

When pale and sinking to the dreadful fall,
You heard her quivering lips on Pedro call;
Your faithful echoes caught the parting sound,
And Pedro! Pedro! mournful, sigh'd around.
Nor less the wood-nymphs of Mondego's groves
Bewail'd the memory of her hapless loves:
Her griefs they wept, and to a plaintive rill
Transform'd their tears, which weeps and murmurs still.
To give immortal pity to her woe
They taught the riv'let through her bowers to flow,
And still through violet beds the fountain pours
Its plaintive wailing, and is named Amours.
Nor long her blood for vengeance cry'd in vain:
Her gallant Lord begins his awful reign,
In vain her murderers for refuge fly,
Spain's wildest hills no place of rest supply.
The injur'd Lover's and the Monarch's ire,
And stern-brow'd Justice in their doom conspire:
In hissing flames they die, and yield their souls in fire.

139

Nor this alone his stedfast soul display'd:
Wide o'er the land he waved the awful blade
Of red-arm'd Justice. From the shades of night
He dragg'd the foul adulterer to light:
The robber from his dark retreat was led,
And he, who spilt the blood of murder, bled.

140

Unmoved he heard the proudest Noble plead,
Where Justice aim'd her sword, with stubborn speed
Fell the dire stroke. Nor cruelty inspired,
Noblest humanity his bosom fired.
The Caitiff, starting at his thoughts, represt
The seeds of murder springing in his breast.
His outstretch'd arm the lurking thief withheld,
For fixt as fate he knew his doom was seal'd.
Safe in his Monarch's care the Ploughman toil'd,
And force and violence was far exiled.
Pedro the just the peopled towns proclaim,
And every field resounds her Monarch's name.

141

Of this brave Prince the soft degenerate son,
Fernando the remiss, ascends the throne.
With arm unnerved the listless soldier lay
And own'd the influence of a nerveless sway:
The stern Castilian drew the vengeful brand,
And strode proud victor o'er the trembling land.
How terrible the hour, when heaven, in rage,
Thunders its vengeance on a guilty age!
Unmanly sloth the King, the nation stain'd;
And lewdness foster'd by the Monarch reign'd:
The Monarch own'd that first of crimes unjust,
The wanton revels of adulterous lust:
Such was his rage for beauteous Leonore,
Her from her husband's widow'd arms he tore:
Then with unblest, unhallow'd nuptials stain'd
The sacred altar, and its rites profaned.
Alas! the splendor of a crown, how vain,
From heaven's dread eye to veil the dimmest stain!

142

To conquering Greece, to ruin'd Troy, what woes,
What ills on ills, from Helen's rape arose!
Let Appius own, let banish'd Tarquin tell
On their hot rage what heavy vengeance fell.
One female ravish'd Gibeah's streets beheld,
O'er Gibeah's streets the blood of thousands swell'd
In vengeance of the crime; and streams of blood
The guilt of Zion's sacred bard pursued.
Yet Love full oft with wild delirium blinds,
And fans his basest fires in noblest minds;
The female garb the great Alcides wore,
And for his Omphale the distaff bore.
For Cleopatra's smiles the world was lost:
The Roman terror, and the Punic boast,
Cannæ's great victor, for a harlot's smile,
Resign'd the harvest of his glorious toil.
And who can boast he never felt the fires,
The trembling throbbings of the young desires,
When he beheld the breathing roses glow,
And the soft heavings of the living snow;
The waving ringlets of the auburn hair,
And all the rapturous graces of the Fair!

143

Oh! what defence, if fixt on him, he spy
The languid sweetness of the stedfast eye!
Ye who have felt the dear luxurious smart,
When angel charms oppress the powerless heart,
In pity here relent the brow severe,
And o'er Fernando's weakness drop the tear.

To conclude the notes on this book, it may not be unnecessary to observe, that Camoens, in this Episode, has happily adhered to a principal rule of the Epopea. To paint the manners and characters of the age in which the action is placed, is as requisite in the Epic Poem, as it is to preserve the unity of the character of an Individual. That gallantry of bravery and romantic cast of the military adventures, which characterised the Spaniards and Portuguese during the Moorish wars, is happily supported by Camoens in its most just and striking colours. In history we find surprising victories obtained over the Infidels: In the Lusiad we find the heroes breathing that enthusiasm which led them to conquest, that enthusiasm of military honours so strongly expressed by Alonzo V. of Portugal, at the seige of Arzila. In storming the citadel, the Count de Marialva, a brave old officer, lost his life. The King leading his only son, the Prince Don Juan, to the body of the Count, while the blood yet streamed from his wounds; “Behold, he cried, that great man! May God grant you, my son, to imitate his virtues. May your honour, like his, be complete!”

END OF THE THIRD BOOK.
 

Calliope—the Muse of Epic Poesy, and mother of Orpheus. Daphne, daughter of the river Peneus, flying from Apollo, was turned into the laurel. Clytia was metamorphosed into the Sun-flower, and Leucothoe, who was buried alive by her Father for yielding to the solicitations of Apollo, was by her Lover changed into an Incense tree. The physical meaning of these fables is obvious.

The preface to the speech of Gama, and the description of Europe which follows, are happy imitations of the manner of Homer. When Camoens describes countries, or musters an army, it is after the example of the great models of antiquity: By adding some characteristical feature of the climate or people, he renders his narrative pleasing, picturesque, and poetical.

In the year 409 the city of Rome was sacked, and Italy laid desolate by Alaric, king of the Scandian and other northern tribes. In mentioning this circumstance Camoens has not fallen into the common error of little Poets, who on every occasion bewail the outrage which the Goths and Vandals did to the Arts and Sciences. A complaint founded on ignorance. The Southern nations of Europe were sunk into the most contemptible degeneracy. The Sciences, with every branch of manly literature, were almost unknown. For near two centuries no Poet of note had adorned the Roman Empire. Those arts only, the abuse of which have a certain and fatal tendency to enervate the mind, the arts of Music and Cookery, were passionately cultivated in all the refinements of effeminate abuse. The art of war was too laborious for their delicacy, and the generous warmth of heroism and patriotism was incompatible with their effeminacy. On these despicable Sybarites the North poured her brave and hardy sons, who, though ignorant of polite literature, were possessed of all the manly virtues of the Scythians in a high degree. Under their conquests Europe wore a new face, which however rude, was infinitely preferable to that which it had lately worn. And however Ignorance may talk of their barbarity, it is to them that England owes her constitution, which, as Montesquieu observes, they brought from the woods of Saxony. The spirit of gallantry and romantic attachment to the fair sex, which distinguished the Northern Heroes, will make their manners admired, while, considered in the same point, the polished ages of Greece and Rome excite our horror and detestation. To add no more, it is to the irruption of these brave barbarians that modern Europe owes those remains of the spirit of Liberty, and some other of the greatest advantages, which she may at present possess.

Sybaris, a city in Grecia Magna, whose inhabitants were so effeminate, that they ordered all the cocks to be killed, that they might not be disturbed by their early crowing.

She was daughter to Bebryx, a king of Spain, and concubine to Hercules. Having wandered one day from her lover she was destroyed by wild beasts, on one of the mountains which bear her name. Diodorus Siculus, and others, derive the name of the Pyrenians from πυρ fire. To support which etymology they relate, that by the negligence of some shepherds the antient forests on these mountains were set on fire, and burned with such vehemence, that the melted metals spouted out and ran down from the sides of the hills. The allusion to this old tradition is in the true spirit of Homer and Virgil. C.

Hercules, says the fable, to crown his labours, separated the two mountains Calpe and Abyla, the one now in Spain, the other in Africa, in order to open a canal for the benefit of commerce; on which the ocean rushed in, and formed the Mediterranean, the Egean, and Euxin seas.

The assassination of Viriatus. See the note on Book I. p. 13.

Don Alonzo, king of Spain, apprehensive of the superior number of the Moors, with whom he was at war, demanded assistance from Philip I. of France, and of the duke of Burgundy. According to the military spirit of the nobility of that age, no sooner was his desire known than numerous bodies of troops thronged to his standard. These, in the course of a few years, having shewn signal proofs of their courage, the king distinguished the leaders with different marks of his regard. To Henry, a younger son of the duke of Burgundy he gave his daughter Teresa in marriage, with the sovereignty of the countries to the south of Galicia, commissioning him to enlarge his boundaries by the expulsion of the infidels. Under the government of this great man, who reigned by the title of Count, his dominion was greatly enlarged, and became more rich and populous than before. The two provinces of Entro Minho e Douro, and Fra los Montes, were subdued, with that part of Beira which was held by the Moorish king of Lamego, whom he constrained to pay tribute. Many thousands of Christians, who had either lived in miserable subjection to the Moors, or in desolate independency in the mountains, took shelter under the protection of Count Henry. Great multitudes of the Moors also chose rather to submit and remain in their native country under a mild government, than be exposed to the severities and the continual feuds and seditions of their own governors. These advantages, added to the great fertility of the soil of Henry's dominions, will account for the numerous armies and the frequent wars of the first sovereigns of Portugal.

Camoens, in making the founder of the Portuguese monarchy a younger son of the king of Hungary, has followed the old chronologist Galvan. The Spanish and Portuguese historians differ widely in their accounts of the parentage of this gallant stranger. Some bring him from Constantinople, and others from the house of Lorrain. But the clearest and most probable account of him is in the chronicle of Fleury, wherein is preserved a fragment of French history, written by a Benedictine monk in the beginning of the twelfth century, and in the time of Count Henry. By this it appears, that he was a younger son of Henry the only son of Robert the first duke of Burgundy, who was a younger brother of Henry I of France. Fanshaw having an eye to this history, has taken the unwarrantable liberty to alter the fact as mentioned by his author.

Amongst these Henry, saith the history,
A younger son of France, and a brave prince,
Had Portugal in lot.—
And the same king did his own daughter tie
To him in wedlock, to infer from thence
His firmer love.

Nor are historians agreed on the birth of Donna Teresa, the spouse of Count Henry. Brandam, and other Portuguese historians, are at great pains to prove she was the legitimate daughter of Alonzo and the beautiful Ximena de Guzman. But it appears from the more authentic chronicle of Fleury, that Ximena was only his concubine. And it is evident from all the historians, that Donna Urraca, the heiress of her father's kingdom, was younger than her half-sister, the wife of Count Henry.

His expedition to the Holy Land is mentioned by some monkish writers, but from the other parts of his history it is highly improbable. Camoens however shews his judgment in adopting every traditionary circumstance that might give an air of solemnity to his poem.

Don Alonzo Enriquez, son of Count Henry, was only entered into his third year when his father died. His mother assumed the reins of government, and appointed Don Fernando Perez de Traba to be her minister. When the young prince was in his eighteenth year, some of the nobility, who either envied the power of Don Perez, or were really offended with the reports that were spread of his familiarity with the prince's mother, of his intention to marry her, and to exclude the lawful heir, easily persuaded the young Count to take arms, and assume the sovereignty. A battle ensued, in which the prince was victorious. Teresa it is said, retired into the castle of Legonaso, where she was taken prisoner by her son, who condemned her to perpetual imprisonment, and ordered chains to be put upon her legs. That Don Alonzo made war against his mother, vanquished her party, and that she died in prison about two years after, A. D. 1130, are certain. But the cause of the war, that his mother was married to, or intended to marry Don Perez, and that she was put in chains, are uncertain.

The Scylla here alluded to was, according to fable, the daughter of Nisus king of Megara, who had a purple lock, in which lay the fate of his kingdom. Minos of Crete made war against him, for whom Scylla conceived so violent a passion, that she cut off the fatal lock while her father slept. Minos on this was victorious, but rejected the love of the unnatural daughter, who in despair flung herself from a rock, and in the fall was changed into a lark.

The Universal Historians having related this story of Egas, add, “All this is very pleasant and entertaining, but we see no sufficient reason to affirm that there is one syllable of it true”

When Darius laid seige to Babylon, one of his Lords, named Zopyrus, having cut off his nose and ears, persuaded the enemy that he had received these indignities from the cruelty of his master. Being appointed to a chief command in Babylon, he betrayed the city to Darius. Vid. Justin.

The Spanish and Portuguese histories afford several instances of the Moorish Chiefs being attended in the field of battle by their mistresses, and of the romantic gallantry and Amazonian courage of these ladies.

Penthesilea, Queen of the Amazons, who, after having signalized her valour at the seige of Troy, was killed by Achilles.

Thermodon, a river of Scythia in the country of the Amazons.

Quales Threïciæ cum flumina Thermodontis
Pulsant, et pictis bellantur Amazones armis:
Seu circum Hippolyten, seu cum se Martia curru
Penthesilea refert: magnoque ululante tumultu
Fœminea exultant lunatis agmina peltis.

Virg. En. IX.

It may, perhaps, be agreeable to the Reader, to see the description of a Bull-fight, as managed by Homer.

As when a lion, rushing from his den,
Amidst the plain of some wide-water'd fen,
(Where num'rous oxen, as at ease they feed,
At large expatiate o'er the ranker mead;)
Leaps on the herds before the herdsman's eyes;
The trembling herdsman far to distance flies:
Some lordly bull (the rest dispers'd and fled)
He singles out, arrests, and lays him dead.
Thus from the rage of Jove-like Hector flew
All Greece in heaps; but one he seiz'd, and slew;
Mycenian Periphas. ------

Pope. Il. XV.

There is a passage in Xenophon, upon which perhaps Camoens had his eye. Επει δε εληξεν η μαχη, παρην ιδειν, την μεν γην αιματι πεφυρμενην, &c. “When the battle was over one might behold, through the whole extent of the field, the ground purpled with blood, the bodies of friends and enemies stretched over each other, the shields pierced, the spears broken, and the drawn swords, some scattered on the earth, some plunged in the bosoms of the slain, and some yet grasped in the hands of the dead soldiers.”

As it was necessary in the preface to give a character of the French translation of the Lusiad, some support of that character is necessary in the notes. To point out every instance of the unpoetical taste of Castera, were to give his paraphrase of every fine passage in Camoens. His management of this battle will give an idea of his manner, it is therefore transcribed. “Le Portugais heurte impetuesement les soldats d'Ismar, les renverse et leur ouvre le sein à coups de lance; on se rencontre, on se choque avec une fureur qui ébranleroit le sommet de montagnes. La terre tremble sous les pas des coursiers sougueux; l'impitoyable Erinnys voit des blessures enormes et de coups dignes d'elles: les guerriers de Lusus brisent, coupent, taillent, enfoncent plastrons, armures, boucliers, cuirasses et turbans; la Parque étend ses ailes affreuses sur les Mauritains, l'un expire en mordant la poussiere, l'autre implore le secours de son prophete; têtes jambes et bras volent et bondissent de toutes parts, l'œil n'apperçoit que visages couverts d'une paleur livide, que corps déchirés et qu'entrailles palpitantes.” Had Castera seriously intended to burlesque his Author he could scarcely have better succeeded. As translation cannot convey a perfect idea of an author's manner, it is therefore not attempted. The attack was with such fury that it shook the tops of the mountains: This bombast, and the wretched anticlimax ending with turbans, are not in the original; from which indeed the whole is extremely wide. Had he added any poetical image, any flower to the embroidery of his Author, the increase of the richness of the tissue would have rendered his work more pleasing. It was therefore his interest to do so. But it was not in the feelings of Castera to translate the Lusiad with the spirit of Camoens.

This memorable battle was fought in the plains of Ourique, in 1139. The engagement lasted six hours; the Moors were totally routed with incredible slaughter. On the field of battle Alonzo was proclaimed king of Portugal. The Portuguese writers have given many fabulous accounts of this victory. Some affirm, that the Moorish army amounted to 380,000, others, 480,000, and others swell it to 600,000, whereas Don Alonzo's did not exceed 13,000. Miracles must also be added. Alonzo, they tell us, being in great perplexity, sat down to comfort his mind by the perusal of the Holy Scriptures. Having read the story of Gideon, he sunk into a deep sleep, in which he saw a very old man in a remarkable dress come into his tent, and assure him of victory. His chamberlain coming in, waked him, and told him there was an old man very importunate to speak with him. Don Alonzo ordered him to be brought in, and no sooner saw him than he knew him to be the old man whom he had seen in his dream. This venerable person acquainted him, that he was a fisherman, and had led a life of penance for sixty years on an adjacent rock, where it had been revealed to him, that if the Count marched his army the next morning, as soon as he heard a certain bell ring, he should receive the strongest assurance of victory. Accordingly, at the ringing of the bell, the Count put his army in motion, and suddenly beheld in the eastern sky, the figure of the Cross, and Christ upon it, who promised him a complete victory, and commanded him to accept the title of King, if it was offered him by the army. The same writers add, that as a standing memorial of this miraculous event, Don Alonzo changed the arms which his father had given, of a cross azure in a field argent, for five escutcheons, each charged with five bezants, in memory of the wounds of Christ. Others assert, that he gave in a field argent five escutcheons azure, in the form of a Cross, each charged with five bezants argent, placed salterwise, with a point sable, in memory of five wounds he himself received, and of five Moorish kings slain in the battle. There is an old record, said to be written by Don Alonzo, in which the story of the vision is related upon his Majesty's oath. The Spanish Critics, however, have discovered many inconsistencies in it. They find the language intermixed with phrases not then in use: it bears the date of the year of our Lord, at a time when that æra had not been introduced into Spain; and John, Bishop of Coimbra, signs as a witness before John, Metrapolitan of Braja, which is contrary to ecclesiastical rule. These circumstances, however, are not mentioned to prove the falsehood of the vision, but to vindicate the character of Don Alonzo from any share in the oath which passes under his name. The truth is, the Portuguese were always unwilling to pay any homage to the King of Castile. They adorned the battle which gave birth to their Monarchy, with miracle, and the new Sovereignty with a command from heaven, circumstances extremely agreeable both to the military pride and the superstition of these times. The regal dignity and constitution of the Monarchy, however, were not settled till about six years after the battle of Ourique. For mankind, say the Universal Historians, were not then so ignorant and barbarous, as to suffer a change of government to be made without any farther ceremony, than a tumultuous huzza. An account of the coronation of the first king of Portugal, and the principles of liberty which then prevailed in that kingdom, are worthy of our attention. The arms of Don Alonzo having been attended with glorious success, in 1145 he called an assembly of the Prelates, Nobility, and Commons, at Lamego. When the assembly opened, he appeared, seated on the throne, but without any other marks of regal dignity. Laurence de Viegas then demanded of the assembly, whether, according to the election on the field of battle at Ourique, and the briefs of Pope Eugenius III. they chused to have Don Alonzo Enriquez for their king? To this they answered they were willing. He then demanded, if they desired the Monarchy should be elective or hereditary. They declared their intention to be, that the crown should descend to the heirs male of Alonzo. Laurence de Viegas then asked, “Is it your pleasure that he be invested with the ensigns of Royalty? He was answered in the affirmative, and the Archbishop of Braga placed the crown upon his head, the king having his sword drawn in his hand. As soon as crowned Alonzo thus addressed the assembly; “Blessed be God, who has always assisted me, and has enabled me, with this sword, to deliver you from all your enemies. I shall ever wear it for your defence. You have made me a king, and it is but just that you should share with me in taking care of the state. I am your king, and as such let us make laws to secure the happiness of this kingdom.” Eighteen short statutes were then framed and assented to by the people. Laurence de Viegas at length proposed the great question, Whether it was their pleasure that the king should go to Leon, do homage and pay tribute to that prince, or to any other. Upon which, every man drawing his sword, cried with a loud voice, “We are free, and our king is free; we owe our liberty to our courage. If the king shall at any time submit to such an act, he deserves death, and shall not reign either over us, or among us.” The king rising up, approved this declaration, and declared, that if any of his descendents consented to such a submission, he was unworthy to succeed, and should be reputed incapable of wearing the crown.

Fanshaw's translation of this is curious. He is literal in the circumstances, but the debasements marked in italic are his own:

In these five shields he paints the recompence

(Os trinta Dinheiros; the thirty Denarii, says Camoens.)

For which the Lord was sold, in various ink
Writing his history, who did dispense
Such favour to him, more then heart could think.

(Writing the remembrance of him, by whom he was favoured, in various colours. Camoens.)

In every of the five he paints five-pence
So sums the thirty by a cinque-fold cinque
Accounting that which is the center, twice,
Of the five cinques, which he doth place cross-wise.

The tradition, that Lisbon was built by Ulysses, and thence called Olyssipolis, is as common as, and of equal authority with that, which says, that Brute landed a colony of Trojans in England, and gave the name of Britannia to the island.

The conquest of Lisbon was of the utmost importance to the infant Monarchy. It is one of the finest ports in the world, and ere the invention of cannon, was of great strength. The old Moorish wall was flanked by seventy-seven towers, was about six miles in length, and fourteen in circumference. When beseiged by Don Alonzo, according to some, it was garrisoned by an army of 200,000 men. This, not to say impossible, is highly incredible. However, that it was strong and well garrisoned is certain, as also that Alonzo owed the conquest of it to a fleet of adventurers, who were going to the Holy Land, the greatest part of which were English. One Udal op Rhys, in his tour through Portugal, says, that Alonzo gave them Almada, on the side of the Tagus opposite to Lisbon, and that Villa Franca was peopled by them, which they called Cornualla, either in honour of their native country, or from the rich meadows in its neighbourhood, where immense herds of cattle are kept, as in the English Cornwall.

This assertion of Camoens is not without foundation, for it was by treachery that Herimeneric, the Goth, got possession of Lisbon.

The aqueduct of Sertorius, here mentioned, is one of the grandest remains of antiquity. It was repaired by John III. of Portugal, about A. D. 1540.

The history of this battle wants authenticity.

As already observed, there is no authentic proof that Don Alonzo used such severity to his mother as to put her in chains. Brandan says it was reported that Don Alonzo was born with both his legs growing together, and that he was cured by the prayers of his tutor Egas Nunio. Legendary as this may appear, this however is deduceable from it, that from his birth there was something amiss about his legs. When he was prisoner to his son in law Don Fernando king of Leon, he recovered his liberty ere his leg, which was fractured in the battle, was restored, on condition that as soon as he was able to mount on horseback, he should come to Leon, and in person do homage for his dominions. This condition, so contrary to his coronation agreement, he found means to avoid. He ever after affected to drive in a calash, and would never mount on horseback more. This his natural and afterwards political infirmity, the superstitious of those days ascribed to the curses of his mother.

Tu quoque littoribus nostris, Æneïa nutrix,
Æternam moriens famam, Caïeta dedisti.

Virg. En. VII.

Miramolin, not the name of a person, but a title, quasi, Soldan. The Arabs call it Emir-Almoumini, the Emperor of the Faithful.

In this poetical exclamation, expressive of the sorrow of Portugal on the death of Alonzo, Camoens has happily imitated some passages of Virgil.

------ Ipsæ te, Tityre, pinus,
Ipsi te fontes, ipsa hæc arbusta vocabant.
Ecl. I. ------ Eurydicen vox ipsa et frigida lingua,
Ah miseram Eurydicen, anima fugiente, vocabat:
Eurydicen toto referebant flumine ripæ.
G. IV. ------ littus, Hyla, Hyla, omne sonaret.
Ecl. VI

The Portuguese, in their wars with the Moors, were several times assisted by the English and German crusades. In the present instance the fleet was mostly English, the troops of which nation were, according to agreement, rewarded with the plunder, which was exceeding rich, of the city of Silves. Nuniz de Leon as cronicas das Reis de Port.

Sardinapalus.

Heliogabalus, infamous for his gluttony.

Alluding to the history of Phalaris.

Camoens, who was quite an enthusiast for the honour of his country, has in this instance disguised the truth of history. Don Sancho was by no means the weak Prince here represented, nor did the miseries of his reign proceed from himself. The clergy were the sole authors of his and the public calamities. The Roman See was then in the height of its power, which it exerted in the most tyrannical manner. The ecclesiastical courts had long claimed the sole right to try an ecclesiastic, and to prohibit a Priest to say mass for a twelvemonth, was by the brethren his judges, esteemed a sufficient punishment for murder, or any other capital crime. Alonzo II. the father of Don Sancho, attempted to establish the authority of the King's courts of justice over the offending Clergy. For this the Archbishop of Braga excommunicated Gonzalo Mendez, the Chancellor, and Honorius the Pope excommunicated the King, and put his dominions under an interdict. The exterior offices of Religion were suspended, the vulgar fell into the utmost dissoluteness of manners; Mahommedism made great advances, and public confusion every where prevailed. By this policy the Holy Church constrained the nobility to urge the King to a full submission to the Papal chair. While a negotiation for this purpose was on foot Alonzo died, and left his son to struggle with an enraged and powerful Clergy. Don Sancho was just, affable, brave, and an enamoured husband. On this last virtue faction first fixed its envenomed fangs. The Queen was accused of arbitrary influence over her husband, and, according to the superstition of that age, she was believed to have disturbed his senses by an enchanted draught. Such of the nobility as declared in the King's favour were stigmatized, and rendered odious, as the creatures of the Queen. The confusions which ensued were fomented by Alonzo, Earl of Bologne, the King's brother, by whom the King was accused as the author of them. In short, by the assistance of the Clergy and Pope Innocent IV. Sancho was deposed, and soon after he died at Toledo. The beautiful Queen, Donna Mencia, was seized upon, and conveyed away by one Raymond Portocarrero, and was never heard of more. Such are the triumphs of Faction!

The Baccaris, or Lady's glove, an herb to which the Druids and ancient Poets ascribed magical virtues.

------ Baccare frontem
Cingite, ne vati noceat mala lingua futuro.
Virg. Ecl. VII.

Attila, a king of the Huns, surnamed The Scourge of God. He lived in the fifth century. He may be reckoned among the greatest conquerors.

The Princess Mary. She was a Lady of great beauty and virtue, but was exceedingly ill used by her husband, who was violently attached to his mistresses, though he owed his crown to the assistance of his father-in-law, the king of Portugal.

Camoens says, “A mortos faz espanto,” to give this elegance in English required a paraphrase. There is something wildly great, and agreeable to the superstition of that age, to suppose that the dead were troubled in their graves, on the approach of so terrible an army. The French translator, contrary to the original, ascribes this terror to the ghost of only one Prince, by which this stroke of Camoens, in the spirit of Shakespeare, is reduced to a piece of unmeaning frippery.

See the first Æneid.

It may perhaps be objected, that this is ungrammatical. But

------ Usus
Quem penes arbitrium eft, et jus et norma loquendi.

and Dryden, Pope, &c. often use wove as a participle in place of the harsh sounding woven, a word almost incompatible with the elegance of versification. The more harmonious word ought therefore to to be used; and use will ascertain its definition in grammar.

When the soldiers of Marius complained of thirst, he pointed to a river near the camp of the Ambrones; there, says he, you may drink, but it must be purchased with blood. Lead us on, they replied, that we may have something liquid, though it be blood. The Romans forcing their way to the river, the channel was filled with the dead bodies of the slain. Vid. Plut.

This unfortunate lady, Donna Inez de Castro, was the daughter of a Castilian gentleman, who had taken refuge in the court of Portugal. Her beauty and accomplishments attracted the regard of Don Pedro, the king's eldest son, a prince of a brave and noble disposition. La Neufville, Le Clede, and other historians, assert, that she was privately married to the prince ere she had any share in his bed. Nor was his conjugal fidelity less remarkable than the ardour of his passion. Afraid, however, of his father's resentment, the severity of whose temper he knew, his intercourse with Donna Inez passed at the court as an intrigue of gallantry. On the accession of Don Pedro the Cruel to the throne of Castile, many of the disgusted nobility were kindly received by Don Pedro, thro' the interest of his beloved Inez. The favour shewn to these Castilians gave great uneasiness to the politicians. A thousand evils were foreseen from the Prince's attachment to his Castilian mistress: even the murder of his children by his deceased spouse, the princess Constantia, was surmised; and the enemies of Donna Inez, finding the king willing to listen, omitted no opportunity to increase his resentment against the unfortunate lady. The prince was about his 28th year when his amour with his beloved Inez commenced.

Ad cœlum tendens ardentia lumina frustra,
Lumina nam teneras arcebant vincula palmas.
Virg. Æn. 2.

It has been observed by some critics, that Milton on every occasion is fond of expressing his admiration of music, particularly of the song of the Nightingale, and the full woodland choir. If in the same manner we are to judge of the favourite taste of Homer, we shall find it of a less delicate kind. He is continually describing the feast, the huge chine, the savoury viands on the glowing coals, and the foaming bowl. The ruling passion of Camoens is also strongly marked in his writings. One may venture to affirm, that there is no poem of equal length that abounds with so many impassioned encomiums on the fair sex as the Lusiad. The genius of Camoens seems never so pleased as when he is painting the variety of female charms, he feels all the magic of their allurements, and riots in his descriptions of the happiness and miseries attendant on the passion of love. As he wrote from his feelings, these parts of his works have been particularly honoured with the attention of the world. Tasso and Spenser have copied from his Island of Bliss, and three tragedies have been formed from this Episode of the unhappy Inez. One in English, by Mr. Mallet—but of this we need say nothing: it is one of the many neglected unsufferable loads of unanimated dulness, which, though honoured with the approbation of Mr. Garrick, have disgraced the English theatre, and rendered Modern Tragedy a name of contempt. The other two are by M. de la Motte, and Luis Velez de Guevara, a Spaniard. How these different writers have handled the same subject is not unworthy of the attention of the critic. The tragedy of M. de la Motte, from which Mallet's Elvira is copied, is highly characteristic of the French drama. In the Lusiad the beautiful victim expresses the strong emotions of genuine nature. She feels for what her lover will feel for her; the mother rises in her breast. she implores pity for her children; she feels the horrors of death, and would be glad to wander an exile with her babes, where her only solace would be the remembrance of her faithful passion. This however, it appears, would not suit the taste of a Paris audience. On the French stage the stern Roman heroes must be polite Petit-Maitres, and the tender Inez a blustering amazon. Lee's Alexander cannot talk in a higher rant. She not only wishes to die herself, but desires that her children and her husband Don Pedro may also be put to death.

Hé bien, seigneur, suivez vos barbares maximes,
On vous amene encor de nouvelles victimes,
Immclez sans remords, et pour nous punir mieux,
Ces gages d'un Hymen si coupable à vos yieux.
Ils ignorent le sang, dont le ciel les a fit naitre,
Par l'arrêt de leur mort faites les reconnaitre,
Consommez votre ouvrage, et que les mêmes coups
Rejoignent les enfans, et la femme, et l'epoux.

The Spaniard however has followed nature and Camoens, and in point of poetical merit his play is infinitely superior to that of the Frenchman. Don Pedro talks in the absence of his mistress with the beautiful simplicity of an Arcadian lover, and Inez implores the tyrant with the genuine tenderness of female affection and delicacy. The reader, who is acquainted with the Spanish tongue will thank me for the following extract.

Ines.
A mis hijos me quitais?
Rey Don Alonso, senor,
Porque me quereis quitar
La vida de tantas vezes?
Advertid, senor mirad,
Que el coraçon a pedaços
Dividido me arancais

Rey.
Llevaldos, Alvar Gonçalez.

Ines.
Hijos mios, donde vais?
Donde vais sin vuestra madre?
Falta en los hombres piedad?
Adonde vais luzes mais?
Como, que assi me dexais
En el mayor desconsuelo
En manos de la crueldad.

Nino Alson.
Consuelate madre mia,
Y a Dios te puedas quedar,
Que vamos con nuestro abuelo,
Y no querrá hazernas mal.

Ines.
Possible es, senor, Rey mio,
Padre, que ansi me cerreis
La puerta para el perdon?
[OMITTED] Aora, senor, aora,
Aora es tiempo de monstrar
El mucho poder que tiene
Vuestra real Magestad.
[OMITTED] Como, senor? vos os vais
Y a Alvar Gonçalez, y a Coello
Inhumanos me entregais?
Hijos, hijos de mi vida,
Dexad me los abraçar;
Alonso, mi vida hijo,
Dionis, a mores, tornad,
Tornad a ver vuestra madre:
Pedro mio, donde estas
Que ansi te olvidas de mi?
Possible es que en tanto mal
Me falta tu vista, esposo?
Quien te pudiera avisar
Del peligro en que afligida
Dona Ines tu esposa esta.

The drama, from which these extracts are taken, is entitled, Reynar despues de morir.

To give the character of Alphonso IV. will throw light on this inhuman transaction. He was an undutiful son, an unnatural brother, and a cruel father; a great and fortunate warrior, diligent in the execution of the laws, and a Machavilian politician. That good might be attained by villainous means, was his favourite maxim. When the enemies of Inez had persuaded him that her death was necessary to the welfare of the state, he took a journey to Coimbra, that he might see the lady, when the prince his son was absent on a hunting party. Donna Inez with her children threw herself at his feet. The king was moved with the distress of the beautiful suppliant, when his three counsellors, Alvaro Gonsalez, Diego Lopez Pacheco, and Pedro Coello, reproaching him for his disregard to the state, he relapsed to his former resolution. She was dragged from his presence. and brutally murdered by the hands of his three counsellors, who immediately returned to the king with their daggers reeking with the innocent blood of the princess his daughter-in-law. Alonzo, says La Neufville, avowed the horrid assassination, as if he had done nothing for which he ought to be ashamed.

At an old royal castle near Mondego, there is a rivulet called the fountain of Amours. According to tradition, it was here that Don Pedro resided with his beloved Inez. The fiction of Camoens, founded on the popular name of the rivulet, is in the spirit of Homer.

When the Prince was informed of the death of his beloved Inez, he was transported into the most violent fury. He took arms against his father. The country between the rivers Minho and Doura was laid desolate: but by the interposition of the Queen and the Archbishop of Braga the Prince relented, and the further horrors of a civil war were prevented. Don Alonzo was not only reconciled to his son, but laboured by every means to oblige him, and to efface from his memory the injury and insult he had received. The Prince, however, still continued to discover the strongest marks of affection and grief. When he succeeded to the crown, one of his first acts was a treaty with the King of Castile, whereby each Monarch engaged to give up such malecontents, as should take refuge in each other's dominions. In consequence of this, Pedro Coello and Alvaro Gonsalez, who, on the death of Alonzo, had fled to Castile, were sent prisoners to Don Pedro. Diego Pecheco, the third murderer, made his escape. The other two were put to death with the most exquisite tortures, and most justly merited, if exquisite torture is in any instance to be allowed. After this the King, Don Pedro, summoned an assembly of the states at Cantanedes. Here, in the presence of the Pope's nuncio, he solemnly swore on the holy Gospels, that having obtained a dispensation from Rome, he had secretly, at Braganza, espoused the Lady Inez de Castro, in the presence of the Bishop of Guarda, and of his master of the wardrobe; both of whom confirmed the truth of the oath. The Pope's Bull, containing the dispensation, was published; the body of Inez was lifted from the grave, was placed on a magnificent throne, and with the proper Regalia, crowned Queen of Portugal. The nobility did homage to her skeleton, and kissed the bones of her hand. The corps was then intered at the royal monastery of Alcobaça, with a pomp before unknown in Portugal, and with all the honours due to a Queen. Her monument is still extant, where her statue is adorned with the diadem and the royal robe. This, with the legitimation of her children, and the care he took of all who had been in her service, consoled him in some degree, and rendered him more conversable than he had hitherto been; but the cloud which the death of his Inez brought over the natural cheerfulness of his temper, was never totally dispersed.—A circumstance strongly characteristic of the rage of his resentment must not be omitted. When the murderers were brought before him, he was so transported with indignation, that he struck Pedro Coello several blows on the face with the shaft of his whip. Some grave writers have branded this action as unworthy of the Magistrate and the Hero; those who will, may add, of the Philosopher too: Something greater however belongs to Don Pedro: A regard which we do not feel for any of the three, will, in every bosom, capable of genuine love, inspire a tender sympathy for the agonies of his heart, when the presence of the inhuman murderers presented to his mind the horrid scene of the butchery of his beloved spouse.

The impression left on the philosophical mind by these historical facts, will naturally suggest some reflections on human nature. Every man is proud of being thought capable of love; and none more so than those who have the least title to the name of Lover; those whom the French call Les hommes de Galanterie, whose only happiness is in variety, and to whom the greatest beauty and mental accomplishments lose every charm after a few months enjoyment. Their satiety they scruple not to confess, but are not aware, that in doing so, they also confess, that the principle which inspired their passion was gross, and selfish. To constitute a genuine Love, like that of Don Pedro, requires a nobleness and goodness of heart, totally incompatible with an ungenerous mind. The youthful fever of the veins may, for a while, inspire an attachment to a particular object; but an affection so unchangeable and sincere as that of the Prince of Portugal, can only spring from a bosom possessed of the finest feelings and of every virtue.

History cannot afford an instance of any Prince who has a more eminent claim to the title of just than Pedro I. His diligence to correct every abuse was indefatigable, and when guilt was proved his justice was inexorable. He was dreadful to the evil, and beloved by the good, for he respected no persons, and his inflexible severity never digressed from the line of strict justice. An anecdote or two will throw some light on his character. A Priest having killed a Mason, the king dissembled his knowledge of the crime, and left the issue to the Ecclesiastical Court, where the Priest was punished by one year's suspension from saying mass. The king on this privately ordered the Mason's son to revenge the murder of his father. The young man obeyed, was apprehended, and condemned to death. When his sentence was to be confirmed by the king, Pedro enquired, what was the young man's trade. He was answered, that he followed his father's. Well then, said the king, I shall commute his punishment, and interdict him from meddling with stone or mortar for a twelve month. After this he fully established the authority of the king's courts over the Clergy, whom he punished with death when their crimes were capital. When solicited to refer the causes of such criminals to a higher tribunal, he would answer very calmly, That is what I intend to do: I will send them to the highest of all tribunals, to that of their Maker and mine. Against Adulterers he was particularly severe, often declaring it his opinion, that conjugal infidelity was the source of the greatest evils, and that therefore to restrain it was the interest and duty of the Sovereign. Though the fate of his beloved Inez chagrined and soured his temper, he was so far from being naturally sullen or passionate, that he was rather of a gay and sprightly disposition, affable and easy of access; delighted in music and dancing; a lover of learning, was himself a man of letters, and an elegant Poet. Vide Le Clede, Mariana, Faria.

This lady, named Leonora de Tellez, was the wife of Don Juan Lorenzo Acugna, a nobleman of one of the most distinguished families in Portugal. After a sham process this marriage was dissolved, and the king privately espoused to her, though at this time he was publicly married by proxy to Donna Leonora of Arragon. A dangerous insurrection, headed by one Velasquez, a taylor, drove the king and his adulterous bride from Lisbon. Soon after he caused his marriage to be publickly celebrated in the province between the Doure and Minho. Henry king of Castile, being informed of the general discontent that reigned in Portugal, marched a formidable army into that kingdom, to revenge the injury offered to some of his subjects, whose ships had been unjustly seized at Lisbon. The desolation hinted at by Camoens ensued. After the subjects of both kingdoms had severely suffered, the two kings ended the war, much to their mutual satisfaction, by an inter-marriage of their bastard children.

Judges, chap. xix. and xx.

2 Samuel, chap. iii. 10. “The sword shall never depart from thine house.”

Alcidem lanas nere coëgit amor. Ovid.


145

BOOK IV.

As the tost vessel on the ocean rowls,
When dark the night, and loud the tempest howls,
When the lorn mariner in every wave
That breaks and gleams, forbodes his watery grave;
But when the dawn, all silent and serene,
With soft-paced ray dispels the shades obscene,
With grateful transport sparkling in each eye,
The joyful crew the port of safety spy;
Such darkling tempests and portended fate,
While weak Fernando lived, appall'd the state;
Such when he dy'd, the peaceful morning rose,
The dawn of joy, and sooth'd the public woes.

146

As blazing glorious o'er the shades of night,
Bright in his east breaks forth the Lord of light,
So valiant John with dazzling blaze appears,
And from the dust his drooping nation rears.
Though sprung from youthful Passion's wanton loves,
Great Pedro's son in noble soul he proves;
And heaven announced him king by right divine,
A cradled infant gave the wondrous sign.
Her tongue had never lisp'd the mother's name,
No word, no mimic sound her lips could frame,
When heaven the miracle of speech inspired;
She raised her little hands, with rapture fired,
Let Portugal, she cried, with joy proclaim
The brave Don John, and own her monarch's name.
The burning fever of domestic rage
Now wildly raved, and mark'd the barbarous age;

147

Through every rank the headlong fury ran,
And first red slaughter in the court began.
Of spousal vows and widow'd bed defiled,
Loud fame the beauteous Leanore reviled.
The adulterous noble in her presence bled,
And torn with wounds his numerous friends lay dead.
No more those ghastly deathful nights amaze,
When Rome wept tears of blood in Scylla's days;
More horrid deeds Ulysses' towers beheld:
Each cruel breast where rankling envy swell'd,
Accused his foe as minion of the queen;
Accused, and murder closed the dreary scene.
All holy ties the frantic transport braved,
Nor sacred priesthood nor the altar saved.
Thrown from a tower, like Hector's son of yore,
The mitred head was dash'd with brains and gore.
Ghastly with scenes of death, and mangled limbs,
And black with clotted blood each pavement swims.
With all the fierceness of the female ire,
When rage and grief to tear the breast conspire,

148

The queen beheld her power, her honours lost,
And ever when she slept th' adulterer's ghost,
All pale, and pointing at his bloody shroud,
Seem'd ever for revenge to scream aloud.
Casteel's proud monarch to the nuptial bed
In happier days her royal daughter led.
To him the furious queen for vengeance cries,
Implores to vindicate his lawful prize,

149

The Lusian sceptre, his by spousal right;
The proud Castilian arms and dares the fight.
To join his standard as it waves along,
The warlike troops from various regions throng:
Those who possess the lands by Rodrick given,
What time the Moor from Turia's banks was driven;
That race who joyful smile at war's alarms,
And scorn each danger that attends on arms;

150

Whose crooked ploughshares Leon's uplands tear,
Now cased in steel in glittering arms appear,
Those arms erewhile so dreadful to the Moor:
The Vandals glorying in their might of yore
March on; their helms and moving lances gleam
Along the flowery vales of Betis' stream:
Nor staid the Tyrian islanders behind,
On whose proud ensigns floating on the wind
Alcides' pillars tower'd: Nor wonted fear
Withheld the base Galician's sordid spear;
Though still his crimson seamy scars reveal
The sure-aim'd vengeance of the Lusian steel.
Where tumbling down Cuenca's mountain side
The murmuring Tagus rolls his foamy tide,
Along Toledo's lawns, the pride of Spain,
Toledo's warriors join the martial train:
Nor less the furious lust of war inspires
The Biscayneer, and wakes his barbarous fires,
Which ever burn for vengeance, if the tongue
Of hapless stranger give the fancy'd wrong.
Nor bold Asturia, nor Guispuscoa's shore,
Famed for their steely wealth, and iron ore,
Delay'd their vaunting squadrons; o'er the dales
Cased in their native steel, and belted mails,

151

Blue gleaming from afar they march along,
And join with many a spear the warlike throng.
And thus, wide sweeping o'er the trembling coast,
The proud Castilian leads his numerous host;
The valiant John for brave defence prepares,
And in himself collected greatly dares:
For such high valour in his bosom glow'd,
As Samson's locks by miracle bestow'd:
Safe in himself resolved the hero stands,
Yet calls the leaders of his anxious bands:
The council summon'd, some with prudent mien,
And words of grave advice their terrors screen.
By sloth debased, no more the ancient fire
Of patriot loyalty can now inspire;
And each pale lip seem'd opening to declare
For tame submission, and to shun the war;
When glorious Nunio, starting from his seat,
Claim'd every eye, and closed the cold debate:
Singling his brothers from the dastard train,
His rowling looks, that flash'd with stern disdain,
On them he fixt, then snatch'd his hilt in ire,
While his bold speech bewray'd the soldier's fire,
Bold and unpolish'd; while his burning eyes
Seem'd as he dared the ocean, earth, and skies.

152

Heavens! shall the Lusian nobles tamely yield!
Oh shame! and yield untry'd the martial field!
That land whose genius, as the God of war,
Was own'd, where'er approach'd her thundering car;
Shall now her sons their faith, their love deny,
And, while their country sinks, ignobly fly!
Ye timorous herd, are you the genuine line
Of those illustrious shades, whose rage divine,
Beneath great Henry's standards awed the foe,
For whom you tremble and would stoop so low!
That foe, who, boastful now, then basely fled,
When your undaunted sires the hero led,
When seven bold Earls in chains the spoil adorn'd,
And proud Casteel through all her kindreds mourn'd,
Casteel, your awful dread—yet, conscious, say,
When Diniz reign'd, when his bold son bore sway,
By whom were trodden down the bravest bands
That ever march'd from proud Castilia's lands?
'Twas your brave sires—and has one languid reign
Fix'd in your tainted souls so deep a stain,
That now degenerate from your noble sires,
The last dim spark of Lusian flame expires?
Though weak Fernando reign'd in war unskill'd,
A godlike king now calls you to the field.
Oh! could like his your mounting valour glow,
Vain were the threatnings of the vaunting foe.

155

Not proud Casteel, oft by your sires o'erthrown,
But every land your dauntless rage should own.
Still if your hands benumb'd by female fear,
Shun the bold war, hark! on my sword I swear,
Myself alone the dreadful war shall wage,
Mine be the fight—and trembling with the rage
Of valorous fire, his hand half-drawn display'd
The awful terror of his shining blade—
I and my vassals dare the dreadful shock;
My shoulders never to a foreign yoke
Shall bend; and by my Sovereign's wrath I vow,
And by that loyal faith renounced by you,
My native land unconquer'd shall remain,
And all my Monarch's foes shall heap the plain.
The hero paused—'Twas thus the youth of Rome,
The trembling few who 'scaped the bloody doom
That dy'd with slaughter Cannæ's purple field,
Assembled stood, and bow'd their necks to yield;
When nobly rising with a like disdain
The young Cornelius raged, nor raged in vain:

156

On his dread sword his daunted peers he swore,
(The reeking blade yet black with Punic gore)
While life remain'd their arms for Rome to wield,
And but with life their conquer'd arms to yield.
Such martial rage brave Nunio's mien inspired;
Fear was no more: with rapturous ardour fired,
To horse, to horse, the gallant Lusians cry'd;
Rattled the belted mails on every side,
The spear-staff trembled; round their heads they waved
Their shining faulchions, and in transport raved,
The King our guardian—loud their shouts rebound,
And the fierce commons ecchoe back the sound.
The mails that long in rusting peace had hung,
Now on the hammer'd anvils hoarsely rung:
Some soft with wool the plumy helmets line,
And some the breast-plate's scaly belts entwine:
The gaudy mantles some, and scarfs prepare,
Where various lightsome colours gaily flare;
And golden tissue, with the warp enwove,
Displays the emblems of their youthful love.
The valiant John, begirt with warlike state,
Now leads his bands from fair Abrantes' gate;
Whose lawns of green the infant Tagus laves,
As from his spring he rolls his cooly waves.

157

The daring van in Nunio's care could boast
A general worthy of th' unnumber'd host,
Whose gaudy banners trembling Greece defy'd,
When boastful Xerxes lash'd the Sestian tide:
Nunio, to proud Casteel as dread a name,
As erst to Gaul and Italy the fame
Of Attila's impending rage. The right
Brave Roderic led, a Chieftain train'd in fight:
Before the left the bold Almada rode,
And proudly waving o'er the center nod
The royal ensigns, glittering from afar,
Where godlike John inspires and leads the war.
'Twas now the time, when from the stubbly plain
The labouring hinds had borne the yellow grain;
The purple vintage heapt the foamy tun,
And fierce and red the sun of August shone;
When from the gate the squadrons march along:
Crowds prest on crowds, the walls and ramparts throng:
Here the sad mother rends her hoary hair,
While hope's fond whispers struggle with despair:
The weeping spouse to heaven extends her hands:
And cold with dread the modest virgin stands,
Her earnest eyes, suffused with trembling dew,
Far o'er the plain the plighted youth pursue:

158

And prayers and tears and all the female wail,
And holy vows the throne of heaven assail.
Now each stern host full front to front appears,
And one joint shout heaven's airy concave tears:
A dreadful pause ensues, while conscious pride
Strives on each face the heart-felt doubt to hide.
Now wild and pale the boldest face is seen;
With mouth half open and disordered mien
Each warrior feels his creeping blood to freeze,
And languid weakness trembles in the knees.
And now the clangor of the trumpet founds,
And the rough rattling of the drum rebounds:
The fife's shrill whistling cuts the gale, on high
The flourish'd ensigns shine with many a dye
Of blazing splendor: o'er the ground they wheel
And chuse their footing, when the proud Casteel
Bids sound the horrid charge; loud bursts the sound,
And loud Artabro's rocky cliffs rebound:
The thundering roar rolls round on every side,
And trembling sinks Guidana's rapid tide;
The slow-paced Durius rushes o'er the plain,
And fearful Tagus hastens to the main:
Such was the tempest of the dread alarms,
The babes that prattled in their nurses' arms

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Shriek'd at the sound; with sudden cold imprest,
The mothers strain'd their infants to the breast,
And shook with horror—now, far round, begin
The bow strings whizzing, and the brazen din
Of arms on armour rattling; either van
Are mingled now, and man opposed to man:
To guard his native fields the one inspires,
And one the raging lust of conquest fires:
Now with fixt teeth, their writhing lips of blue,
Their eye-balls glaring of the purple hue,
Each arm strains swiftest to impell the blow;
Nor wounds they value now, nor fear they know,
Their only passion to offend the foe.
In might and fury, like the warrior God,
Before his troops the glorious Nunio rode:
That land, the proud invaders claim'd, he sows
With their spilt blood, and with their corses strews;
Their forceful volleys now the cross bows pour,
The clouds are darken'd with the arrowy shower;
The white foam reeking o'er their wavy mane,
The snorting coursers rage and paw the plain;

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Beat by their iron hoofs, the plain rebounds,
As distant thunder through the mountains sounds:
The ponderous spears crash, splintering far around;
The horse and horsemen flounder on the ground;
The ground groans with the sudden weight opprest,
And many a buckler rings on many a crest.
Where wide around the raging Nunio's sword
With furious sway the bravest squadrons gored,
The raging foes in closer ranks advance,
And his own brothers shake the hostile lance.
Oh! horrid fight! yet not the ties of blood,
Nor yearning memory his rage withstood;

161

With proud disdain his honest eyes behold
Who e'er the traytor, who his king has sold.
Nor want there others in the hostile band
Who draw their swords against their native land;
And headlong driven, by impious rage accurst,
In rank were foremost, and in fight the first.
So sons and fathers, by each other slain,
With horrid slaughter dyed Pharsalia's plain.
Ye dreary ghosts, who now for treasons foul,
Amidst the gloom of Stygian darkness howl;
Thou Cataline, and, stern Sertorius, tell
Your brother shades, and soothe the pains of hell;
With triumph tell them, some of Lusian race
Like you have earn'd the Traytor's foul disgrace.
As waves on waves, the foes encreasing weight
Bears down our foremost ranks and shakes the fight;
Yet firm and undismay'd great Nunio stands,
And braves the tumult of surrounding bands.
So, from high Ceuta's rocky mountains stray'd,
The ranging Lion braves the shepherd's shade;
The shepherds hastening o'er the Tetuan plain,
With shouts surround him, and with spears restrain:
He stops, with grinning teeth his breath he draws,
Nor is it fear, but rage, that makes him pause;

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His threatening eyeballs burn with sparkling fire,
And his stern heart forbids him to retire:
Amidst the thickness of the spears he flings,
So midst his foes the furious Nunio springs:
The Lusian grass with foreign gore distain'd,
Displays the carnage of the hero's hand.
“An ample shield the brave Giraldo bore,
“Which from the vanquish'd Perez' arm he tore;
“Pierced through that shield, cold death invades his eye,
“And dying Perez saw his Victor die.
“Edward and Pedro emulous of fame,
“The same their friendship, and their youth the same,
“Through the fierce Brigians hew'd their bloody way,
“Till in a cold embrace the striplings lay.
“Lopez and Vincent rush'd on glorious death,
“And midst their slaughtered foes resign'd their breath.
“Alonzo glorying in his youthful might
“Spur'd his fierce courser through the staggering fight:
“Shower'd from the dashing hoofs the spatter'd gore
“Flies round; but soon the Rider vaunts no more:
“Five Spanish swords the murmuring ghosts atone,
“Of five Castilians by his arm o'erthrown.

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“Transfixt with three Iberian spears, the gay,
“The knightly lover young Hilario lay:
“Though, like a rose, cut off in opening bloom,
“The Hero weeps not for his early doom;
“Yet trembling in his swimming eye appears
“The pearly drop, while his pale cheek he rears,
“To call his loved Antonia's name he tries,
“The name half utter'd, down he sinks, and dies.”
Now through his shatter'd ranks the Monarch strode,
And now before his rally'd squadrons rode:
Brave Nunio's danger from afar he spies,
And instant to his aid impetuous flies.
So when returning from the plunder'd folds,
The Lioness her emptied den beholds,
Enraged she stands, and listening to the gale,
She hears her whelps low howling in the vale;
The living sparkles flashing from her eyes,
To the Massylian shepherd-tents she flies;
She groans, she roars, and ecchoing far around
The seven twin-mountains tremble at the sound:

164

So raged the king, and with a chosen train
He pours resistless o'er the heaps of slain.
Oh bold companions of my toils, he cries,
Our dear-loved freedom on our lances lies;
Behold your friend, your Monarch leads the way,
And dares the thickest of the iron fray.
Say, shall the Lusian race forsake their king,
Where spears environ, and where javelins sing!
He spoke; then four times round his head he whirl'd
His ponderous spear, and midst the foremost hurl'd;
Deep through the ranks the forceful weapon past,
And many a gasping warrior sigh'd his last.

165

With noble shame inspired, and mounting rage,
His bands rush on, and foot to foot engage;
Thick bursting sparkles from the blows aspire;
Such flashes blaze, their swords seem dipt in fire;
The belts of steel and plates of brass are riven,
And wound for wound, and death for death is given.
The first in honour of Saint Jago's band,
A naked ghost now sought the gloomy strand;
And he, of Calatrave the sovereign knight,
Girt with whole troops his arm had slain in fight,
Descended murmuring to the shades of night.
Blaspheming heaven, and gash'd with many a wound
Brave Nunio's rebel kindred gnaw'd the ground,
And curst their fate, and dy'd. Ten thousands more
Who held no title and no office bore,
And nameless nobles who, promiscuous fell,
Appeas'd that day the foaming dog of hell.
Now low the proud Castilian standard lies
Beneath the Lusian flag, a vanquish'd prize.

166

With furious madness fired, and stern disdain,
The fierce Iberians to the fight again
Rush headlong; groans and yellings of despair
With horrid uproar rend the trembling air.
Hot boils the blood, thirst burns, and every breast
Pants, every limb with fainty weight opprest
Slow now obeys the will's stern ire, and slow
From every sword descends the feeble blow;
Till rage grew languid, and tired slaughter found
No arm to combat, and no breast to wound.
Now from the field Casteel's proud monarch flies,
In wild dismay he rowls his maddening eyes,
And leads the pale-lipt flight, who, wing'd with fear,
As drifted smoke at distance disappear,

167

Blaspheming fate, and cursing him who first
Forged horrid arms, and led to wars accurst.
The festive days by heroes old ordain'd
The glorious victor on the field remain'd.
The funeral rites and holy vows he paid:
Yet not the while the restless Nunio staid;
O'er Tago's waves his gallant bands he led,
And humbled Spain in every province bled:
Sevilia's standard on his spear he bore,
And Andalusia's ensigns steept in gore.
Low in the dust distrest Castilia mourn'd,
And bathed in tears each eye to heaven was turn'd;
The orphan's, widow's, and the hoary sire's;
And heaven relenting quench'd the raging fires
Of mutual hate: from England's happy shore
The peaceful seas two lovely sisters bore.

168

The rival monarchs to the nuptial bed
In joyful hour the royal virgins led,
And holy peace assum'd her blissful reign,
Again the peasant joy'd, the landscape smiled again.
But John's brave breast to warlike cares innured,
With conscious shame the sloth of ease endured.
When not a foe awaked his rage in Spain
The valiant Hero braved the foamy main;
The first, nor meanest, of our kings who bore
The Lusian thunders to the Afric shore.
O'er the wild waves the victor-banners flow'd,
Their silver wings a thousand eagles shew'd;
And proudly swelling to the whistling gales
The seas were whiten'd with a thousand sails.
Beyond the columns by Alcides placed
To bound the world, the zealous warrior past.
The shrines of Hagar's race, the shrines of lust,
And moon-crown'd mosques lay smoaking in the dust.
O'er Abyla's high steep his lance he raised,
On Ceuta's lofty towers his standard blazed:
Ceuta, the refuge of the traitor train,
His vassal now, ensures the peace of Spain.
But ah, how soon the blaze of glory dies!
Illustrious John ascends his native skies.

169

His gallant offspring prove their genuine strain,
And added lands increase the Lusian reign.
Yet not the first of heroes Edward shone;
His happiest days long hours of evil own.
He saw, secluded from the chearful day,
His sainted brother pine his years away.
O glorious youth in captive chains, to thee
What suiting honours can thy land decree!

170

Thy nation proffer'd, and the foe with joy
For Ceuta's towers prepared to yield the boy;
The princely hostage nobly spurns the thought
Of freedom and of life so dearly bought:
The raging vengeance of the Moors defies,
Gives to the clanking chains his limbs, and dies
A dreary prison death. Let noisy fame
No more unequall'd hold her Codrus' name;
Her Regulus, her Curtius boast no more,
Nor those the honour'd Decian name who bore.
The splendor of a court, to them unknown,
Exchang'd for deathful Fate's most awful frown
To distant times through every land shall blaze
The self-devoted Lusian's nobler praise.
Now to the tomb the hapless king descends,
His son Alonzo brighter fate attends.

171

Alonzo! dear to Lusus' race the name;
Nor his the meanest in the rolls of fame.
His might resistless prostrate Afric own'd,
Beneath his yoke the Mauritinians groan'd,
And still they groan beneath the Lusian sway.
'Twas his in victor-pomp to bear away
The golden apples from Hesperia's shore,
Which but the son of Jove had snatch'd before.
The palm and laurel round his temples bound,
Display'd his triumphs on the Moorish ground.
When proud Arzilla's strength, Alcazer's towers,
And Tingia, boastful of her numerous powers,
Beheld their adamantine walls o'erturn'd,
Their ramparts levell'd, and their temples burn'd.
Great was the day: the meanest sword that fought
Beneath the Lusian flag such wonders wrought
As from the Muse might challenge endless fame,
Though low their station, and without a name.
Now stung with wild Ambition's madning fires,
To proud Castilia's throne the king aspires.
The Lord of Arragon, from Cadiz' walls,
And hoar Pyrene's sides his legions calls;

172

The numerous legions to his standards throng,
And war, with horrid strides, now stalks along.
With emulation fired, the prince beheld
His warlike sire ambitious of the field;
Scornful of ease, to aid his arms he sped,
Nor sped in vain: The raging combat bled;
Alonzo's ranks with carnage gored, Dismay
Spread her cold wings, and shook his firm array,
To flight she hurried; while with brow serene
The martial boy beheld the deathful scene.
With curving movement o'er the field he rode,
Th' opposing troops his wheeling squadrons mow'd:
The purple dawn and evening sun beheld
His tents encampt assert the conquer'd field.
Thus when the ghost of Julius hover'd o'er
Philippi's plain, appeased with Roman gore,
Octavius' legions left the field in flight,
While happier Marcus triumph'd in the fight.
When endless night had seal'd his mortal eyes,
And brave Alonzo's spirit sought the skies,
The second of the name, the valiant John,
Our thirteenth monarch, now ascends the throne.
To seize immortal fame, his mighty mind,
What man had never dared before, design'd;

173

That glorious labour which I now pursue,
Through seas unsail'd to find the shores that view
The day-star, rising from his watery bed,
The first grey beams of infant morning shed.
Selected messengers his will obey;
Through Spain and France they hold their vent'rous way.
Through Italy they reach the port that gave
The fair Parthenope an honour'd grave;
That shore which oft has felt the servile chain,
But now smiles happy in the care of Spain.
Now from the port the brave advent'rers bore,
And cut the billows of the Rhodian shore;
Now reach the strand where noble Pompey bled;
And now, repair'd with rest, to Memphis sped;
And now, ascending by the vales of Nile,
Whose waves pour fatness o'er the grateful soil,
Through Ethiopia's peaceful dales they stray'd,
Where their glad eyes Messiah's rites survey'd:
And now they pass the famed Arabian flood,
Whose waves of old in wondrous ridges stood,
While Israel's favour'd race the sable bottom trode:
Behind them glistening to the morning skies,
The mountains named from Izmael's offspring rise;

174

Now round their steps the blest Arabia spreads
Her groves of odour, and her balmy meads,
And every breast, inspired with glee, inhales
The grateful fragrance of Sabæa's gales:
Now past the Persian gulph their rout ascends
Where Tygris wave with proud Euphrates blends;
Illustrious streams, where still the native shews
Where Babel's haughty tower unfinish'd rose:
From thence through climes unknown, their daring course
Beyond where Trajan forced his way, they force;
Carmanian hords, and Indian tribes they saw,
And many a barbarous rite, and many a law
Their search explored; but to their native shore,
Enrich'd with knowledge, they return'd no more.
The glad completion of the Fate's decree,
Kind heaven reserved, Emmanuel, for thee.
The crown, and high ambition of thy sires,
To thee descending, waked thy latent fires,
And to command the sea from pole to pole,
With restless wish inflamed thy mighty soul.
Now from the sky the sacred light withdrawn,
O'er heaven's clear azure shone the stars of dawn,

175

Deep Silence spread her gloomy wings around,
And human griefs were wrapt in sleep profound.
The monarch slumber'd on his golden bed,
Yet anxious cares possest his thoughtful head;
His generous soul, intent on public good,
The glorious duties of his birth review'd.
When sent by heaven a sacred dream inspired
His labouring mind, and with its radiance fired:
High to the clouds his towering head was rear'd,
New worlds, and nations fierce and strange appear'd;
The purple dawning o'er the mountains flow'd,
The forest-boughs with yellow splendor glow'd;
High from the steep two copious glassy streams
Roll'd down, and glitter'd in the morning beams;
Here various monsters of the wild were seen,
And birds of plumage, azure, scarlet, green:
Here various herbs, and flowers of various bloom;
There black as night the forest's horrid gloom,
Whose shaggy brakes, by human step untrod,
Darken'd the glaring lion's dread abode.
Here as the monarch fix'd his wondering eyes,
Two hoary fathers from the streams arise;
Their aspect rustic, yet a reverend grace
Appeared majestic on their wrinkled face:
Their tawny beards uncomb'd, and sweepy long,
Adown their knees in shaggy ringlets hung;

176

From every lock the chrystal drops distill,
And bathe their limbs as in a trickling rill;
Gay wreaths of flowers, of fruitage, and of boughs,
Nameless in Europe, crown'd their furrow'd brows,
Bent o'er his staff, more silver'd o'er with years,
Worn with a longer way, the One appears;
Who now slow beckoning with his wither'd hand,
As now advanced before the king they stand;
O thou, whom worlds to Europe yet unknown,
Are doom'd to yield, and dignify thy crown;
To thee our golden shores the Fates decree;
Our necks, unbow'd before, shall bend to thee.
Wide thro' the world resounds our wealthy fame;
Haste, speed thy prows, that fated wealth to claim.
From Paradise my hallowed waters spring;
The sacred Ganges I, my brother king
Th' illustrious author of the Indian name:
Yet toil shall languish, and the fight shall flame;
Our fairest lawns with streaming gore shall smoke,
Ere yet our shoulders bend beneath thy yoke;
But thou shalt conquer: all thine eyes survey,
With all our various tribes shall own thy sway.
He spoke; and melting in a silvery stream
Both disappear'd; when waking from his dream,

177

The wondering monarch thrill'd with awe divine,
Weighs in his lofty thoughts the sacred sign.
Now morning bursting from the eastern sky
Spreads o'er the clouds the blushing rose's dye,
The nations wake, and at the sovereign's call
The Lusian nobles crowd the palace hall.
The vision of his sleep the monarch tells;
Each heaving breast with joyful wonder swells:
Fulfil, they cry, the sacred sign obey,
And spread the canvas for the Indian sea.
Instant My looks with troubled ardour burn'd,
When keen on Me his eyes the monarch turn'd:
What he beheld I know not, but I know,
Big swell'd my bosom with a prophet's glow:
And long my mind, with wondrous bodings fired,
Had to the glorious dreadful toil aspired:
Yet to the king, whate'er my looks betrayed,
My looks the omen of success displayed.
When with that sweetness in his mien exprest,
Which unresisted wins the generous breast,
Great are the dangers, great the toils, he cried,
Ere glorious honours crown the victor's pride.
If in the glorious strife the hero fall,
He proves no danger could his soul appall;

178

And but to dare so great a toil, shall raise
Each age's wonder, and immortal praise.
For this dread toil new oceans to explore,
To spread the sail where sail ne'er flow'd before,
For this dread labour, to your valour due,
From all your peers I chuse, O Vasco, you.
Dread as it is, yet light the task shall be
To you my Gama, as perform'd for Me.—
My heart could bear no more—Let skies on fire,
Let frozen seas, let horrid war conspire,
I dare them all, I cried, and but repine
That one poor life is all I can resign.
Did to my lot Alcides' labours fall,
For you my joyful heart would dare them all;
The ghastly realms of death could man invade
For you my steps should trace the ghastly shade.
While thus with loyal zeal my bosom swell'd,
That panting zeal my Prince with joy beheld:
Honour'd with gifts I stood, but honour'd more
By that esteem my joyful Sovereign bore.
That generous praise which fires the soul of worth,
And gives new virtues unexpected birth,
That praise even now my heaving bosom fires,
Inflames my courage, and each wish inspires.

179

Moved by affection, and allured by fame,
A gallant youth, who bore the dearest name,
Paulus my brother, boldly sued to share
My toils, my dangers, and my fate in war;
And brave Coëllo urged the Hero's claim
To dare each hardship, and to join our fame:
For glory both with restless ardour burn'd,
And silken ease for horrid danger spurn'd;
Alike renown'd in council or in field,
The snare to baffle, or the sword to wield.
Through Lisbon's youth the kindling ardour ran,
And bold ambition thrill'd from man to man;
And each the meanest of the venturous band
With gifts stood honour'd by the Sovereign's hand.
Heavens! what a fury swell'd each warrior's breast,
When each, in turn, the smiling King addrest!
Fired by his words the direst toils they scorn'd,
And with the horrid lust of danger fiercely burn'd.
With such bold rage the youth of Mynia glow'd,
When the first keel the Euxine surges plow'd;
When bravely venturous for the golden fleece
Orac'lous Argo sail'd from wondering Greece.

180

Where Tago's yellow stream the harbour laves,
And slowly mingles with the ocean's waves,
In warlike pride my gallant navy rode,
And proudly o'er the beach my soldiers strode.
Sailors and land-men marshall'd o'er the strand,
In garbs of various hue around me stand;
Each earnest first to plight the sacred vow,
Oceans unknown and gulphs untry'd to plow:
Then turning to the ships their sparkling eyes,
With joy they heard the breathing winds arise;
Elate with joy beheld the flapping sail,
And purple standards floating on the gale:
While each presaged that great as Argo's fame,
Our fleet should give some starry band a name.
Where foaming on the shore the tide appears,
A sacred fane its hoary arches rears:
Dim o'er the sea the evening shades descend,
And at the holy shrine devout we bend:
There, while the tapers o'er the altar blaze,
Our prayers and earnest vows to heaven we raise.
“Safe through the deep, where every yawning wave
“Still to the Sailor's eye displays his grave;
“Through howling tempests, and through gulphs untry'd,
“O! mighty God! be thou our watchful guide.”

181

While kneeling thus before the sacred shrine,
In Holy Faith's most solemn rite we join;
Our peace with heaven the bread of peace confirms,
And meek contrition every bosom warms:
Sudden the lights extinguish'd, all around
Dread silence reigns, and midnight gloom profound:
A sacred horror pants on every breath,
And each firm breast devotes itself to death,
An offer'd sacrifice, sworn to obey
My nod, and follow where I lead the way;
Now prostrate round the hallow'd shrine we lie,
Till rosy morn bespreads the eastern sky;
Then, breathing fixt resolves, my daring mates
March to the ships, while pour'd from Lisbon's gates,
Thousands on thousands crowding, press along,
A woeful, weeping, melancholy throng.
A thousand white-robed priests our steps attend,
And prayers, and holy vows to heaven ascend;
A scene so solemn, and the tender woe
Of parting friends, constrained my tears to flow.

182

To weigh our anchors from our native shore—
To dare new oceans never dared before—
Perhaps to see my native coast no more—
Forgive, O king, if as a man I feel,
I bear no bosom of obdurate steel.
(The godlike hero here supprest the sigh,
And wiped the tear-drop from his manly eye;
Then thus resuming—) All the peopled shore
An awful, silent look of anguish wore;
Affection, friendship, all the kindred ties
Of spouse and parent languish'd in their eyes:
As men they never should again behold,
Self-offer'd victims to destruction sold,
On us they fixt the eager look of woe,
While tears o'er every cheek began to flow;
When thus aloud, Alas! my son, my son,
An hoary Sire exclaims, oh! whither run,
My heart's sole joy, my trembling age's stay,
To yield thy limbs the dread sea-monster's prey!
To seek thy burial in the raging wave,
And leave me cheerless sinking to the grave!
Was it for this I watch'd thy tender years,
And bore each fever of a father's fears!
Alas! my boy!—His voice is heard no more,
The female shriek resounds along the shore:

183

With hair dishevell'd, through the yielding crowd
A lovely bride springs on, and screams aloud;
Oh! where, my husband, where to seas unknown,
Where would'st thou fly me, and my love disown!
And wilt thou, cruel, to the deep consign
That valued life, the joy, the soul of mine:
And must our loves, and all our kindred train
Of rapt endearments, all expire in vain!
All the dear transports of the warm embrace,
When mutual love inspired each raptured face!
Must all, alas! be scatter'd in the wind,
Nor thou bestow one lingering look behind!
Such the lorn parents' and the spouses' woes,
Such o'er the strand the voice of wailing rose;
From breast to breast the soft contagion crept,
Moved by the woeful sound the children wept;
The mountain ecchoes catch the big-swoln sighs,
And through the dales prolong the matron's cries;
The yellow sands with tears are silver'd o'er,
Our fate the mountains and the beach deplore.
Yet firm we march, nor turn one glance aside
On hoary parent, or on lovely bride.
Though glory fired our hearts, too well we knew
What soft affection and what love could do.

184

The last embrace the bravest worst can bear:
The bitter yearnings of the parting tear
Sullen we shun, unable to sustain
The melting passion of such tender pain.
Now on the lofty decks prepared we stand,
When towering o'er the crowd that veil'd the strand,
A reverend figure fixt each wondering eye,
And beckoning thrice he waved his hand on high,
And thrice his hoary curls he sternly shook,
While grief and anger mingled in his look;

185

Then to its height his faultering voice he rear'd,
And through the fleet these awful words were heard:
O frantic thirst of honour and of fame,
The crowd's blind tribute, a fallacious name;
What stings, what plagues, what secret scourges curst,
Torment those bosoms where thy pride is nurst!
What dangers threaten, and what deaths destroy
The hapless youth, whom thy vain gleams decoy!
By thee, dire Tyrant of the noble mind,
What dreadful woes are pour'd on human kind:
Kingdoms and Empires in confusion hurl'd,
What streams of gore have drench'd the hapless world!
Thou dazzling meteor, vain as fleeting air,
What new-dread horror dost thou now prepare!
High sounds thy voice of India's pearly shore,
Of endless triumphs and of countless store:
Of other worlds so tower'd thy swelling boast,
Thy golden dreams when Paradise was lost,
When thy big promise steep'd the world in gore,
And simple innocence was known no more.
And say, has fame so dear, so dazzling charms?
Must brutal fierceness and the trade of arms,
Conquest, and laurels dipt in blood, be prized,
While life is scorn'd, and all its joys despised.
And say, does zeal for holy faith inspire
To spread its mandates, thy avow'd desire?

186

Behold the Hagarene in armour stands,
Treads on thy borders, and the foe demands:
A thousand cities own his lordly sway,
A thousand various shores his nod obey.
Through all these regions, all these cities, scorn'd
Is thy religion, and thine altars sprun'd.
A foe renown'd in arms the brave require;
That high-plumed foe, renown'd for martial fire,
Before thy gates his shining spear displays,
Whilst thou wouldst fondly dare the watery maze,
Enfeebled leave thy native land behind,
On shores unknown a foe unknown to find.
Oh! madness of ambition! thus to dare
Dangers so fruitless, so remote a war!
That Fame's vain flattery may thy name adorn,
And thy proud titles on her flag be borne:
Thee, Lord of Persia, thee, of India Lord,
O'er Ethiopia's vast, and Araby adored!
Curst be the man who first on floating wood,
Forsook the beach, and braved the treacherous flood!
Oh! never, never may the sacred Nine,
To crown his brows, the hallow'd wreath entwine;
Nor may his name to future times resound,
Oblivion be his meed, and hell profound!

187

Curst be the wretch, the fire of heaven who stole,
And with ambition first debauch'd the soul!
What woes, Prometheus, walk the frighten'd earth!
To what dread slaughter has thy pride given birth!
On proud Ambition's pleasing gales upborne,
One boasts to guide the chariot of the morn;
And one on treacherous pinions soaring high,
O'er ocean's waves would sail the liquid sky:
Dash'd from their height they mourn'd their blighted aim;
One gives a river, one a sea the name!
Alas! the poor reward of that gay meteor Fame!
Yet such the fury of the mortal race,
Though Fame's fair promise ends in foul disgrace,
Though conquest still the victor's hope betrays,
The prize a shadow, or a rainbow blaze,
Yet still through fire and raging seas they run
To catch the gilded shade, and sink undone!

The departure of the fleet from the Tagus. —In no circumstance does the judgment and art of Homer appear more conspicuous, than in the constant attention he pays to his proposed subjects, the wrath of Achilles, and the sufferings of Ulysses. He bestows the utmost care on every incident that could possibly impress our minds with high ideas of the determined rage of the injured hero, and of the invincible patience of the πολυτλας διος Οδυσσευς. Virgil throughout the Eneid has followed the same course. Every incident that could possibly tend to magnify the dangers and difficulties of the wanderings of Æneas, in his long search for the promised Italy, is set before us in the fullest magnitude. But, however, this method of ennobling the Epic by paying the utmost attention to give a grandeur to every circumstance of the proposed subject, may have been neglected by Voltaire in his Henriade, (where political declamation seems to have been his principal care,) and by some other moderns, who have attempted the Epopea; it has not been omitted by Camoens. The Portuguese Poet has, with great art, conducted the voyage of Gama. Every circumstance attending it is represented with magnificence and dignity. John II. designs what had never been attempted before. Messengers are sent by land to discover the climate and riches of India. Their rout is described in the manner of Homer. The palm of discovery, however, is reserved for a succeeding monarch. Emmanuel is warned by a dream, which affords another striking instance of the spirit of the Grecian Bard. The enthusiasm which the king beholds on the aspect of Gama is a noble stroke of poetry; the solemnity of the night spent in devotion; the sullen resolution of the Adventurers when going aboard the fleet; the affecting grief of their friends and fellow-citizens, who viewed them as self-devoted victims, whom they were never more to behold; and the angry exclamations of the venerable old man, give a dignity and interesting pathos to the departure of the fleet of Gama, greatly superior to that in the Eneid, where the Trojans leave a colony of Invalids in Sicily. In the Odyssey there is nothing which can be called similar.


188

END OF THE FOURTH BOOK.
 

No circumstance has ever been more ridiculed by the ancient and modern pedants than Alexander's pretensions to divinity. Some of his courtiers expostulating with him one day on the absurdity of such claim, he replied, “I know the truth of what you say, but these,” (pointing to a croud of Persians) “these know no better.” The report that the Grecian army was commanded by a son of Jupiter spread terror through the East, and greatly facilitated the operations of the Conqueror. The miraculous speech of the infant, attested by a few monks, was adapted to the superstition of the age of John I. and as he was a bastard, was of infinite service to his cause. The pretended fact however is differently related. By some thus: When Don John, then regent of Portugal, was going to Coimbra, to assist at an assembly of the states, at a little distance from the city he was met by a great number of children riding upon sticks, who no sooner saw him than they cried out, “Blessed be Don John king of Portugal; the king is coming, Don John shall be king.” Whether this was owing to art or accident, it had a great effect. At the assembly the regent was elected king.

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

Possessed of great beauty and great abilities, this bad woman was a disgrace to her sex, and a curse to the age and country which gave her birth. Her sister, Donna Maria, a lady of unblemished virtue, had been secretly married to the infant Don Juan, the king's brother, who was passionately attached to her. Donna Maria had formerly endeavoured to dissuade her sister from the adulterous marriage with the king. In revenge of this, the queen Leonora persuaded Don Juan that her sister was unfaithful to his bed. The enraged husband hasted to his wife, and without enquiry or expostulation, says Mariana, dispatched her with two strokes of his dagger. He was afterwards convinced of her innocence. Having sacrificed her honour and her first husband to a king, says Faria, Leonora soon sacrificed that king to a wicked gallant, a Castilian nobleman, named Don Juan Fernandez de Andeyro. An unjust war with Castile, wherein the the Portuguese were defeated by sea and hand, was the first fruits of the policy of the new favourite. Andeyro one day being in a great sweat by some military exercise, the queen tore her veil, and publicly gave it him to wipe his face. The grand master of Avis, the king's bastard brother, afterwards John I. and some others, expostulated with her on the indecency of this behaviour. She dissembled her resentment, but soon after they were seized and committed to the castle of Evora, where a forged order for their execution was sent; but the governor suspecting some fraud, shewed it to the king. Yet such was her ascendency over Fernando, that though convinced of her guilt, he ordered his brother to kiss the queen's hand, and thank her for his life. Soon after Fernando died, but not till he was fully convinced of the queen's conjugal infidelity, and had given an order for the assassination of the gallant. Not long after the death of the king, the favourite Andeyro was stabbed in the palace by the grand master of Avis, and Don Ruy de Pereyra. The queen expressed all the transport of grief and rage, and declared she would undergo the trial ordeal in vindication of his and her innocence. But this she never performed: in her vows of revenge, however, she was more punctual. Don Juan king of Castile, who had married her only daughter and heiress, at her earnest entreaties invaded Portugal, and was proclaimed king. Don John, grand master of Avis, was proclaimed by the people protector and regent. A desperate war ensued. Queen Leonora, treated with indifference by her daughter and son-in-law, resolved on the murder of the latter, but the plot was discovered, and she was sent prisoner to Castile. The regent was besieged in Lisbon, and the city reduced to the utmost extremities, when an epidemical distemper broke out in the Castilian army, and made such devastation that the king suddenly raised the siege, and abandoned his views in Portugal. The happy inhabitants ascribed their deliverance to the valour and vigilance of the regent. The regent reproved their ardour, exhorted them to repair to their churches, and return thanks to God, to whose interposition he solely ascribed their safety. This behaviour increased the admiration of the people, the nobility of the first rank joined the regent's party, and many garrisons in the interest of the king of Castile opened their gates to him. An assembly of the states met at Coimbra, where it was proposed to invest the regent with the regal dignity. This he pretended to decline. Don John, son of Pedro the Just, and the beautiful Inez de Castro, was by the people esteemed their lawful sovereign, but was, and had been long detained a prisoner by the king of Castile. If the states would declare the infant Don John their king, the regent professed his willingness to swear allegiance to him, that he would continue to expose himself to every danger, and act as regent, till providence restored to Portugal her lawful sovereign. The states however saw the necessity that the nation should have an head. The regent was unanimously elected king, and some articles in favour of liberty were added to those agreed upon at the coronation of Don Alonzo Enriquez, the first king of Portugal.

Don John I. one of the greatest of the Portuguese monarchs, was the natural son of Pedro the Just, by Donna Teresa Lorenza, a Galician lady, and born some years after the death of Inez. At seven years of age he was made grand master of Avis, where he received an excellent education, which joined to his great parts, produced him early on the political theatre. He was a brave commander, and a deep politician, yet never forfeited the character of candour and honour. To be humble to his friends, and haughty to his enemies, was his leading maxim. His prudence gained him the confidence of the wise, his steadiness and gratitude the friendship of the brave; his liberality the bulk of the people. He was in the twenty-seventh year of his age when declared protector, and in the twenty-eighth when proclaimed king.

The following anecdote is much to the honour of this prince when regent. A Castilian officer having six Portuguese gentlemen prisoners, cut off their noses and hands, and sent them to Don John. Highly incensed, the protector commanded six Castilian gentlemen to be treated in the same manner. But before the officer, to whom he gave the orders, had quitted the room, he relented. “I have given enough to resentment, said he, in giving such a command. It were infamous to put it in execution. See that the Castilian prisoners receive no harm.”

The celebrated hero of Corneille's tragedy of the Cid.

Cadiz; of old a Phœnician colony.

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

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

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

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

The Castilians, so called from one of their ancient kings, named Brix, or Brigus, whom the Monkish fabulists call the grandson of Noah.

These lines marked in the text with turned commas, are not in the common editions of Camoens. They consist of three stanzas in the Portuguese, and are said to have been left out by the author himself in his second edition. The translator, however, as they breathe the true spirit of Virgil, was willing to preserve them with this acknowledgement; in this he he has followed the example of Castera.

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

This, which is almost literal from

Muitos lançaraõ o ultimo suspiro—

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

E sopesando a lança quatro vezes—

are poetical, and in the spirit of Homer. They are omitted, however, by Castera, who substitutes the following in their place, “Il dit, et d'un bras, &c.—He said, and with an arm whose blows are inevitable, he threw his javelin against the fierce Maldonat. Death and the weapon went together. Maldonat fell, pierced with a large wound, and his horse tumbled over him.” Besides Maldonat, Castera has, in this battle, introduced several other names which have no place in Camoens. Carrillo, Robledo, John of Lorca, Salazar of Seville were killed, he tells us: And, “Velasques and Sanches, natives of Toledo, Galbes, surnamed the Soldier without Fear, Montanches, Oropesa, and Mondonedo, all six of proved valour, fell by the hand of young Antony, qui porte dans le combat ou plus d'adresse ou plus de bonheur qu'eux, who brought to the fight either more address or better fortune than these.” Not a word of this is in the Portuguese.

The fate of another hero shall conclude the specimens of the manner of Castera. The following is literally translated: “Guevar, a vain man, nourished in indolence, stained his arms and face with the blood of the dead whom he found stretched on the dust. Under the cover of this frivolous imposture, he pretended to pass himself for a formidable warrior. He published, with a high voice, the number of the enemies he had thrown to the ground. Don Pedro interrupted him with a blow of his sabre: Guevar lost his life; his head, full of the fumes of a ridiculous pride, bounded far away from his body, which remained defiled with its own blood; a just and terrible punishment for the lies he had told.” It is almost unnecessary to add, that there is not one word of this in the original.

This is as literal as the idiom of the two languages would allow. Dryden has a thought like that of this couplet, but which is not in his original:

Their bucklers clash; thick blows descend from high,
And flakes of fire from their hard helmets fly.
Dryd. Virg. En. XII.

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

The last efforts of rage and despair are thus described in Pope's translation of the fifth battle at the ships. Il. XV.

Thou wouldst have thought, so furious was their fire,
No force could tame them, and no toil could tire;
As if new vigour from new fights they won,
And the long battle was but then begun.
Greece yet unconquer'd kept alive the war,
Secure of death, confiding in despair.
Troy in proud hopes already view'd the main,
Bright with the blaze, and red with heroes slain;
Like strength is felt from hope and from despair,
And each contends as his were all the war.

This tyrant, whose unjust pretensions to the crown of Portugal laid his own and that kingdom in blood, was on his final defeat overwhelmed with all the frenzy of grief. In the night after the decisive battle of Aljubarata, he fled upwards of thirty miles upon a mule. Don Laurence, archbishop of Braga, in a letter written in old Portuguese to Don John, abbot of Alcobaza, gives this account of his behaviour. “O condestrabre à me far saber ca o rey de Castella fe viera à Santaren como homen tresvaliado, quem maldezia seu viver, è puxava polas barbas; è à bo fè, hom amigo, melhor e que o faga ca non fagermolo nos, ca homen, quem suas barbas arrepela mao lavor faria das alheas. i. e. The constable has informed me that he saw the king of Castile at Santaren, who behaved as a madman, cursing his existence, and tearing the hairs of his beard. And in good faith, my good friend, it is better that he should do so to himself than to us; the man who thus plucks his own beard, would be much better pleased to do so to others.” The writer of this letter, though a prelate, fought at the battle of Aljubarota, where he received on the face a large wound from a sabre. Castera relates this anecdote of him. The flattery of a sculptor had omitted the deep scar: when the archbishop saw the statue, he laid hold of an attendant's sword, with which he disfigured the face. I have now, said he, supplied what it wanted.

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

Castera's note on this place is literally thus: “They were the daughters of John duke of Lancaster, son of Edward IV. of England, both of great beauty: the eldest, named Catharine, was married to the king of Castile, the youngest, Isabel, to the king of Portugal.” This is all a mistake. John of Portugal, about a year after the battle of Aljubarota, married Philippa, eldest daughter of John of Gaunt, duke of Lancaster, son of Edward III. who assisted the king, his son-in-law, in an irruption into Castile, and at the end of the campaign promised to return with more numerous forces for the next. But this was prevented by the marriage of his youngest daughter Catalina with Don Henry, eldest son of the king of Castile. The king of Portugal on this entered Galicia, and reduced the cities of Tuy and Salvaterra. A truce followed. While the tyrant of Castile meditated a new war, he was killed by a fall from his horse, and leaving no issue by his queen Beatrix, the king of Portugal's daughter, all pretensions on that crown ceased. The truce was now prolonged for fifteen years, and though not strictly kept, yet at last the influence of the English queen Catalina prevailed, and a long peace, happy for both kingdoms, ensued.

The character of this great prince claims a place in these notes, as it affords a comment on the enthusiasm of Camoens, who has made him the hero of his episode. His birth, excellent education, and masterly conduct when regent, have already been mentioned. The same justice, prudence, and heroism always accompanied him when king. He had the art to join the most winning affability with all the manly dignity of the sovereign. To those who were his friends, when a private man, he was particularly attentive. His nobility dined at his table, he frequently made visits to them, and introduced among them the taste for, and the love of letters. As he felt the advantages of education, he took the utmost care of that of his children. He had many sons, and he himself often instructed them in solid and useful knowledge, and was amply repaid. He lived to see them men, men of parts and of action, whose only emulation was to shew affection to his person, and to support his administration by their great abilities. One of his sons, Don Henry, duke of Viseo, was that great prince whose ardent passion for maritime affairs gave birth to all the modern improvements in navigation. The clergy, who had disturbed almost every other reign, were so convinced of the wisdom of his, that they confessed he ought to be supported out of the treasures of the church, and granted him the church plate to be coined. When the Pope ordered a rigorous enquiry to be made into his having brought ecclesiastics before lay tribunals, the clergy had the singular honesty to desert what was stiled the church immunities, and to own that justice had been impartially administered. He died in the seventy-sixth year of his age, and in the forty-eighth of his reign. His affection to his queen Philippa made him fond of the English, whose friendship he cultivated, and by whom he was frequently assisted.

Camoens, in this instance, has raised the character of one brother at the other's expence, to give his poem an air of the old romance. The siege of Tangier was proposed. The king's brothers differed in their opinions: that of Don Fernand, tho' a knight errant adventure, was approved of by the young nobility. The infants Henry and Fernand, at the head of 7000 men, laid siege to Tangier, and were surrounded by a numerous army of Moors, some writers say six hundred thousand. On condition that the Portuguese army should be allowed to return home, the infants promised to deliver Ceuta. The Moors gladly accepted of the terms, but demanded one of the infants as an hostage. Fernand offered himself, and was left. The king was willing to comply with the terms to relieve his brother, but the court considered the value of Ceuta, and would not consent. The Pope also interposed his authority, that Ceuta should be kept as a check on the infidels, and proposed to raise a Crusade for the delivery of Fernand. In the meanwhile large offers were made for his liberty. These were rejected by the Moors, who would accept of nothing but Ceuta, of whose vast importance they were no strangers. When negotiation failed, king Edward assembled a large army to effect his brother's release, but just as he was setting out, he was seized with the plague, and died, leaving orders with his queen to deliver up Ceuta for the release of his brother. This, however, was never performed. Don Fernand remained with the Moors till his death. The magnanimity of his behaviour gained him their esteem and admiration, nor is there good proof that he received any extraordinary rigorous treatment; the contrary is rather to be inferred from the romantic notions of military honour which then prevailed among the Moors. Some, however, whom Castera follows, make his sufferings little inferior to those, without proof likewise, ascribed to Regulus. Don Fernand is to this day esteemed as a saint and martyr in Portugal, and his memory is commemorated on the fifth of June. King Edward reigned only five years and a month. He was the most eloquent man in his dominions, spoke and wrote Latin elegantly, was author of several books, one on horsemanship, in which art he excelled. He was brave in the field, active in business, and rendered his country infinite service by reducing the laws to a regular code. He was knight of the order of the Garter, which honour was conferred upon him by his cousin Henry V. of England. In one instance he gave great offence to the superstitious populace. He despised the advice of a Jew astrologer, who entreated him to delay his coronation, because the stars that day were unfavourable. To this the misfortune of Tangier was ascribed, and the people were always on the alarm, as if some terrible disaster were impending over them.

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

The Prince of Portugal.

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

The coast of Alexandria.

Among the Christians of Prester John, or Abyssynia.

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

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

Qui mores hominum multorum vidit.— Hor.

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

According to fable, the vessel of the Argonauts spoke and prophecied. The ancients, I suppose, by this meant to insinuate, that those who trust their lives to the caprices of the waves have need of a penetrating foresight, that they may not be surprised by sudden tempests. Castera.

This fact is according to history: Aberat Olysippone prope littus quatuor passuum millia templum sanè religiosum et sanctum ab Henrico in honorem sanctissimæ virginis edificatum. . . . . . . In id Gama pridie illius diei, quo erat navem conscensurus, se recepit, ut noctem cum religiosis hominibus qui in ædibus templo conjunctis habitabant, in precibus et votis consumeret. Sequenti die cum multi non illius tantùm gratia, sed aliorum etiam, qui illi comites erant, convenissent, fuit ab omnibus in scaphis deductus. Neque solùm homines religiosi, sed reliqui omnes voce maxima cum lacrymis à Deo precabantur, ut benè & prosperè illa tam periculosa navigatio omnibus eveniret, & universi re benè gesta incolumes in patriam redirent.

By this old man is personified the populace of Portugal. The endeavours to discover the East-Indies by the Southern ocean, for about eighty years had been the favourite topic of complaint; and never was any measure of government more unpopular than the expedition of Gama. Emmanuel's council were almost unanimous against the attempt. Some dreaded the introduction of wealth, and its attendants luxury and effeminacy; while others affirmed, that no adequate advantages could arise from so perilous and remote a navigation. Others, with a foresight peculiar to Politicians, were alarmed, lest the Egyptian Sultan, who was powerful in the East, should signify his displeasure; and others foresaw, that success would combine all the Princes of Christendom in a league for the destruction of Portugal. In short, if glory, interest, or the propagation of the gospel, were desired, Africa and Ethiopia, they said, afforded, both nearer and more advantageous fields. The expressions of the thousands who crouded the shore when Gama gave his sails to the wind, are thus expressed by Osorius, from whom the above facts are selected.— A multis tamen interim is fletus atque lamentatio fiebat, ut funus efferre viderentur. Sic enim dicebant: En quo miseros mortales provexit cupiditas et ambitio? Potuitne gravius supplicium hominibus istis constitui, si in se scelestum aliquod facinus admisissent? Est enim illis immensi maris longitudo peragranda, fluctus immanes difficillima navigatione superandi, vitæ discrimen in locis infinitis obeundum. Non fuit multò tolerabilius, in terra quovis genere mortis absumi, quàm tam procul à patria marinis fluctibus sepeliri. Hæc et alia multa in hanc sententiam dicebant, cùm omnia multò tristiora fingere præ metu cogerentur. —The tender emotion and fixt resolution of Gama, and the earnest passion of the multitudes on the shore, are thus added by the same venerable historian: Gama tamen quamvis lacrymas suorum desiderio funderet, rei tamen benè gerendæ fiducia confirmatus, alacriter in navem faustis ominibus conscendit. . . . . . Qui in littore consistebant, non prius abscedere voluerunt, quàm naves vento secundo plenissimis velis ab omnium conspectu remotæ sunt.

Alluding to the fables of Phaeton and Icarus.


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;

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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,

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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:

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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;

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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,

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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,

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.”

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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.

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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.

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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:

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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;

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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.

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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,

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.


233

BOOK VI.

With heart sincere the royal Pagan joy'd,
And hospitable rites each hour employ'd,
For much the king the Lusian band admired,
And much their friendship and their aid desired;
Each hour the gay festivity prolongs,
Melindian dances, and Arabian songs;
Each hour in mirthful transport steals away,
By night the banquet, and the chace by day;
And now the bosom of the deep invites,
And all the pride of Neptune's festive rites;
Their silken banners waving o'er the tide,
A jovial band, the painted galleys ride;

234

The net and angle various hands employ,
And Moorish timbrels sound the notes of joy.
Such was the pomp, when Egypt's beauteous queen
Bade all the pride of naval shew convene,
In pleasure's downy bosom, to beguile
Her love-sick warrior: o'er the breast of Nile
Dazzling with gold the purple ensigns flow'd,
And to the lute the gilded barges row'd,
While from the wave, of many a shining hue,
The anglers' lines the panting fishes drew.
Now from the West the sounding breezes blow,
And far the hoary flood was yet to plow:
The fountain and the field bestow'd their store,
And friendly pilots from the friendly shore,
Train'd in the Indian deep, were now aboard,
When Gama, parting with Melinda's lord,
The holy vows of lasting peace renew'd,
For still the king for lasting friendship sued;

235

That Lusus' heroes in his port supplied,
And tasted rest, he own'd his dearest pride,
And vow'd that ever while the seas they roam,
The Lusian fleets should find a bounteous home,
And ever from the generous shore receive
Whate'er his port, whate'er his land could give.
Nor less his joy the grateful Chief declared;
And now to seize the valued hours prepared.
Full to the wind the swelling sails he gave,
And his red prows divide the foamy wave:
Full to the rising sun the pilot steers,
And far from shore through middle ocean bears.
The vaulted sky now widens o'er their heads,
Where first the infant morn his radiance sheds.
And now with transport sparkling in his eyes
Keen to behold the Indian mountains rise,
High on the decks each Lusian heroe smiles,
And proudly in his thoughts reviews his toils.
When the stern Dæmon, burning with disdain,
Beheld the fleet triumphant plow the main:
The Powers of heaven, and heaven's dread Lord he knew,
Resolved in Lisbon glorious to renew

236

The Roman honours—raging with despair
From high Olympus' brow he cleaves the air,
On earth new hopes of vengeance to devise,
And sue that aid deny'd him in the skies;
Blaspheming heaven, he pierced the dread abode
Of ocean's Lord, and sought the ocean's God.
Deep where the bases of the hills extend,
And earth's huge ribs of rock enormous bend,
Where roaring through the caverns rowl the waves
Responsive as the aërial tempest raves,
The Ocean's Monarch, by the Nereid train,
And watery Gods encircled, holds his reign.
Wide o'er the deep, which line could ne'er explore,
Shining with hoary sands of silver ore,
Extends the level, where the palace rears
Its chrystal towers, and emulates the spheres;
So starry bright the lofty turrets blaze,
And vie in lustre with the diamond's rays.
Adorn'd with pillars and with roofs of gold,
The golden gates their massy leaves unfold:
Inwrought with pearl the lordly pillars shine,
The sculptured walls confess an hand divine.
Here various colours in confusion lost,
Old Chaos' face and troubled image boast.
Here rising from the mass distinct and clear
Apart the four fair Elements appear.

237

High o'er the rest ascends the blaze of fire,
Nor fed by matter did the rays aspire,
But glow'd ætherial, as the living flame,
Which, stolen from heaven, inspired the vital frame.
Next, all-embracing Air was spread around,
Thin as the light, incapable of wound;
The subtle power the burning south pervades,
And penetrates the depth of polar shades.
Here mother Earth, with mountains crown'd, is seen,
Her trees in blossom, and her lawns in green;
The lowing beeves adorn the clover vales,
The fleecy dams bespread the sloping dales;
Here land from land the silver streams divide;
The sportive fishes through the chrystal tide,
Bedropt with gold their shining sides display:
And here old Ocean rolls his billows gray:
Beneath the moon's pale orb his current flows,
And round the earth his giant arms he throws.
Another scene display'd the dread alarms
Of war in heaven, and mighty Jove in arms;
Here Titan's race their swelling nerves distend
Like knotted oaks, and from their bases rend
And tower the mountains to the thundering sky,
While round their heads the forky lightnings fly;
Beneath huge Etna vanquish'd Typhon lies,
And vomits smoke and fire against the darken'd skies.

238

Here seems the pictured wall possess'd of life;
Two Gods contending in the noble strife,
The choicest boon to human kind to give,
Their toils to lighten, or their wants relieve:
While Pallas here appears to wave her hand,
The peaceful olive's golden boughs expand:
Here, while the Ocean's God indignant frown'd,
And raised his trident from the wounded ground,
As yet intangled in the earth appears
The warrior horse, his ample chest he rears,
His wide red nostrils smoke, his eye-balls glare,
And his fore-hoofs, high pawing, lash the air.
Though wide and various o'er the sculptured stone
The feats of Gods, and godlike heroes shone;

239

On speed the vengeful Dæmon views no more:
Forward he rushes through the golden door,
Where Ocean's king, enclosed with nymphs divine,
In regal state receives the king of Wine:
O Neptune! instant as he came, he cries,
Here let my presence breed no cold surprise,
A friend I come, your friendship to implore
Against the Fates unjust, and Fortune's power;
Beneath whose shafts the great Celestials bow,
Yet ere I more, if more you wish to know,
The watery Gods in awful senate call,
For all should hear the wrong that touches all.
Neptune alarm'd, with instant speed commands
From every shore to call the watery bands:
Triton, who boasts his high Neptunian race,
Sprung from the God by Salace's embrace,
Attendant on his sire the trumpet sounds,
Or through the yielding waves, his herald, bounds:
Huge is his bulk deform'd, and dark his hue;
His bushy beard and hairs that never knew
The smoothing comb, of sea-weed rank and long,
Around his breast and shoulders dangling hung,
And on the matted locks black mussels clung;
A shell of purple on his head he bore,
Around his loins no tangling garb he wore,

240

But all was cover'd with the slimy brood,
The snaily offspring of the unctuous flood;
And now obedient to his dreadful sire,
High o'er the wave his brawny arms aspire;
To his black mouth his crooked shell applied,
The blast rebellows o'er the ocean wide:
Wide o'er their shores, where'er their waters flow,
The watery powers the awful summons know;
And instant darting to the palace hall,
Attend the founder of the Dardan wall;
Old father Ocean, with his numerous race
Of daughters and of sons, was first in place.
Nereus and Doris, from whose nuptials sprung
The lovely Nereid train for ever young,

241

Who people every sea on every strand
Appear'd, attended with their filial band;
And changeful Proteus, whose prophetic mind
The secret cause of Bacchus' rage divined,
Attending, left the flocks, his scaly charge,
To graze the bitter weedy foam at large.
In charms of power the raging waves to tame,
The lovely spouse of Ocean's sovereign came.
From Heaven and Vesta sprung the birth divine,
Her snowy limbs bright through the vestments shine.
Here with the dolphin, who persuasive led
Her modest steps to Neptune's spousal bed,
Fair Amphitrité moved, more sweet, more gay
Than vernal fragrance and the flowers of May;
Together with her sister spouse she came,
The same their wedded Lord, their love the same;
The same the brightness of their sparkling eyes,
Bright as the sun and azure as the skies.
She who the rage of Athamas to shun
Plunged in the billows with her infant son;

242

A Goddess now, a God the smiling boy
Together sped, and Glaucus lost to joy,
Curst in his love by vengeful Circé's hate,
Attending wept his Scylla's hapless fate.
And now assembled in the hall divine,
The ocean Gods in solemn council join;
The Goddesses on pearl embroidery sate,
The Gods on sparkling chrystal chairs of state,
And proudly honour'd on the regal throne,
Beside the ocean's Lord, Thyoneus shone.
High from the roof the living amber glows,
High from the roof the stream of glory flows,
And richer fragrance far around exhales
Than that which breathes on fair Arabia's gales.
Attention now in listening silence waits:
The Power, whose bosom raged against the Fates,

243

Rising, casts round his vengeful eyes, while rage
Spread o'er his brows the wrinkled seams of age;
O thou, he cries, whose birthright sovereign sway,
From pole to pole, the raging waves obey;
Of human race 'tis thine to fix the bounds,
And fence the nations with thy watery mounds:
And thou, dread Power, O father Ocean, hear,
Thou, whose wide arms embrace the world's wide sphere,
'Tis thine the haughtiest victor to restrain,
And bind each nation in its own domain:
And you, ye Gods, to whom the seas are given,
Your just partition with the Gods of heaven;
You who, of old unpunish'd never bore
The daring trespass of a foreign oar;
You who beheld, when Earth's dread offspring strove
To scale the vaulted sky, the seat of Jove:
Indignant Jove deep to the nether world
The rebel band in blazing thunders hurl'd.
Alas! the great monition lost on you,
Supine you slumber, while a roving crew,
With impious search, explore the watery way,
And unresisted through your empire stray:
To seize the sacred treasures of the main
Their fearless prows your ancient laws disdain:
Where far from mortal sight his hoary head
Old Ocean hides, their daring sails they spread,

244

And their glad shouts are ecchoed where the roar
Of mounting billows only howl'd before.
In wonder, silent, ready Boreas sees
Your passive languor, and neglectful ease;
Ready with force auxiliar to restrain
The bold intruders on your awful reign;
Prepared to burst his tempests, as of old,
When his black whirlwinds o'er the ocean roll'd,
And rent the Mynian sails, whose impious pride
First braved their fury, and your power defied.
Nor deem that fraudful I my hope deny;
My darken'd glory sped me from the sky.
How high my honours on the Indian shore!
How soon these honours must avail no more!
Unless these rovers, who with doubled shame
To stain my conquests, bear my vassal's name,
Unless they perish on the billowy way—
Then rouse, ye Gods, and vindicate your sway.
The Powers of heaven in vengeful anguish see
The Tyrant of the skies, and Fate's decree;
The dread decree, that to the Lusian train
Consigns, betrays your empire of the main:
Say, shall your wrong alarm the high abodes,
And men exalted to the rank of gods,

245

O'er you exalted, while in careless ease
You yield the wrested trident of the seas,
Usurp'd your monarchy, your honours stained,
Your birth-right ravish'd, and your waves profaned!
Alike the daring wrong to me, to you,
And shall my lips in vain your vengeance sue!
This, this to sue from high Olympus bore—
More he attempts, but rage permits no more.
Fierce bursting wrath the watery gods inspires,
And their red eye-balls burn with livid fires:
Heaving and panting struggles every breast,
With the fierce billows of hot ire opprest.
Twice from his seat divining Proteus rose,
And twice he shook enraged his sedgy brows:
In vain; the mandate was already given,
From Neptune sent, to loose the winds of heaven:
In vain; though prophecy his lips inspired,
The ocean's queen his silent lips required.
Nor less the storm of headlong rage denies,
Or council to debate, or thought to rise.
And now the God of Tempests swift unbinds
From their dark caves the various rushing winds:
High o'er the storm the Power impetuous rides,
His howling voice the roaring tempest guides;
Right to the dauntless fleet their rage he pours,
And first their headlong outrage tears the shores:

249

A deeper night involves the darken'd air,
And livid flashes through the mountains glare:
Up-rooted oaks, with all their leafy pride,
Rowl thundering down the groaning mountains' side;
And men and herds in clamorous uproar run,
The rocking towers and crashing woods to shun.
While thus the council of the watery state
Enraged decreed the Lusian heroes' fate,
The weary fleet before the gentle gale
With joyful hope displayed the steady sail;
Thro' the smooth deep they plough'd the lengthening way;
Beneath the wave the purple car of day
To sable night the eastern sky resign'd,
And o'er the decks cold breath'd the midnight wind.
All but the watch in warm pavilions slept,
The second watch the wonted vigils kept:
Supine their limbs, the mast supports the head,
And the broad yard sail o'er their shoulders spread
A grateful cover from the chilly gale,
And sleep's soft dews their heavy eyes assail.
Languid against the languid Power they strive,
And sweet discourse preserves their thoughts alive.
When Leonardo, whose enamoured thought
In every dream the plighted fair-one sought,

247

The dews of sleep what better to remove
Than the soft, woful, pleasing tales of love?
Ill timed, alas, the brave Veloso cries,
The tales of love, that melt the heart and eyes.
The dear enchantments of the fair I know,
The fearful transport and the rapturous woe:
But with our state ill suits the grief or joy;
Let war, let gallant war our thoughts employ:
With dangers threaten'd, let the tale inspire
The scorn of danger, and the hero's fire.
His mates with joy the brave Veloso hear,
And on the youth the speaker's toil confer.
The brave Veloso takes the word with joy,
And truth, he cries, shall these slow hours decoy.
The warlike tale adorns our nation's fame,
The twelve of England give the noble theme.
When Pedro's gallant heir, the valiant John,
Gave war's full splendor to the Lusian throne,
In haughty England, where the winter spreads
His snowy mantle o'er the shining meads ,

248

The seeds of strife the fierce Erynnis sows;
The baleful strife from court dissention rose.
With every charm adorn'd, and every grace,
That spreads its magic o'er the female face,
Twelve ladies shined the courtly train among,
The first, the fairest of the courtly throng,
But Envy's breath reviled their injured name,
And stain'd the honour of their virgin fame.
Twelve youthful barons own'd the foul report,
The charge at first, perhaps, a tale of sport.
Ah, base the sport that lightly dares defame
The sacred honour of a lady's name!
What knighthood asks the proud accusers yield,
And dare the damsels' champions to the field.

249

“There let the cause, as honour wills, be tried,
“And let the lance and ruthless sword decide.”
The lovely dames implore the courtly train,
With tears implore them, but implore in vain.
So famed, so dreaded tower'd each boastful knight,
The damsels' lovers shunn'd the proffer'd fight.
Of arm unable to repel the strong,
The heart's each feeling conscious of the wrong,
When robb'd of all the female breast holds dear,
Ah heaven, how bitter flows the female tear!
To Lancaster's bold duke the damsels sue;
Adown their cheeks, now paler than the hue
Of snowdrops trembling to the chilly gale,
The slow-paced chrystal tears their wrongs bewail.
When down the beauteous face the dew-drop flows,
What manly bosom can its force oppose!

250

His hoary curls th' indignant hero shakes,
And all his youthful rage restored awakes:
Though loth, he cries, to plunge my bold compeers
In civil discord, yet appease your tears:
From Lusitania—for on Lusian ground
Brave Lancaster had strode with lawrel crown'd;
Had mark'd how bold the Lusian heroes shone,
What time he claim'd the proud Castilian throne,
How matchless pour'd the tempest of their might,
When thundering at his side they ruled the fight:
Nor less their ardent passion for the fair,
Generous and brave, he view'd with wondering care,
When crown'd with roses to the nuptial bed
The warlike John his lovely daughter led—
From Lusitania's clime, the hero cries,
The gallant champions of your fame shall rise.
Their hearts will burn, for well their hearts I know,
To pour your vengeance on the guilty foe.
Let courtly phrase the heroes' worth admire,
And for your injured names that worth require:
Let all the soft endearments of the fair,
And words that weep your wrongs, your wrongs declare.
Myself the heralds to the chiefs will send,
And to the king my valiant son commend.

251

He spoke; and twelve of Lusian race he names,
All noble youths, the champions of the dames.
The dames by lot their gallant champions chuse,
And each her hero's name exulting views.
Each in a various letter hails her chief,
And earnest for his aid relates her grief:
Each to the king her courtly homage sends,
And valiant Lancaster their cause commends.
Soon as to Tagus' shores the heralds came,
Swift through the palace pours the sprightly flame
Of high-soul'd chivalry; the monarch glows
First on the listed field to dare the foes;
But regal state withheld. Alike their fires
Each courtly noble to the toil aspires:
High on his helm, the envy of his peers,
Each chosen knight the plume of combat wears.
In that proud port half circled by the wave,
Which Portugallia to the nation gave,
A deathless name, a speedy sloop receives
The sculptured bucklers, and the clasping greaves,
The swords of Ebro, spears of lofty size,
And breast-plates flaming with a thousand dyes,

252

Helmets high plumed, and, pawing for the fight,
Bold steeds, whose harness shone with silvery light
Dazzling the day. And now the rising gale
Invites the heroes, and demands the sail,
When brave Magricio thus his peers addrest,
Oh, friends in arms, of equal powers confest,
Long have I hoped through foreign climes to stray,
Where other streams than Douro wind their way;
To note what various shares of bliss and woe
From various laws and various customs flow;
Nor deem that artful I the fight decline;
England shall know the combat shall be mine.
By land I speed, and should dark fate prevent,
For death alone shall blight my firm intent,
Small may the sorrow for my absence be,
For yours were conquest, though unshared by me.
Yet something more than human warms my breast,
And sudden whispers, In our fortunes blest,
Nor envious chance, nor rocks, nor whelmy tide,
Shall our glad meeting at the list divide.
He said; and now the rites of parting friends
Sufficed, through Leon and Casteel he bends.

253

On many a field enrapt the hero stood,
And the proud scenes of Lusian conquest viewed.
Navar he past, and past the dreary wild,
Where rocks on rocks o'er yawning glyns are piled;
The wolf's dread range, where to the evening skies
In clouds involved the cold Pyrenians rise.
Through Gallia's flowery vales and wheaten plains
He strays, and Belgia now his steps detains.
There, as forgetful of his vow'd intent,
In various cares the fleeting days he spent:
His peers the while direct to England's strand,
Plough the chill northern wave; and now at land,
Adorn'd in armour, and embroidery gay,
To lordly London hold the crowded way:
Bold Lancaster receives the knights with joy,
The feast and warlike song each hour employ.
The beauteous dames attending wake their fire,
With tears enrage them, and with smiles inspire.
And now with doubtful blushes rose the day,
Decreed the rites of wounded fame to pay.
The English monarch gives the listed bounds,
And, fixt in rank, with shining spears surrounds.
Before their dames the gallant knights advance,
Each like a Mars, and shake the beamy lance:
The dames, adorn'd in silk and gold, display
A thousand colours glittering to the day;

254

Alone in tears, and doleful mourning, came,
Unhonour'd by her knight, Magricio's dame.
Fear not our prowess, cry the bold Eleven,
In numbers, not in might, we stand uneven.
More could we spare, secure of dauntless might,
When for the injured female name we fight.
Beneath a canopy of regal state,
High on a throne the English monarch sate;
All round the ladies and the barons bold,
Shining in proud array their stations hold.
Now o'er the theatre the champions pour,
And facing three to three, and four to four,
Flourish their arms in prelude. From the bay
Where flows the Tagus to the Indian sea,
The sun beholds not in his annual race
A twelve more sightly, more of manly grace
Than tower'd the English knights. With froathing jaws
Furious each steed the bit restrictive gnaws,
And rearing to approach the rearing foe,
Their wavy manes are dash'd with foamy snow:
Cross-darting to the sun a thousand rays
The champions' helmets as the chrystal blaze.
Ah now, the trembling ladies' cheeks how wan!
Cold crept their blood; when through the tumult ran

255

A shout loud gathering; turn'd was every eye
Where rose the shout, the sudden cause to spy.
And lo, in shining arms a warrior rode,
With conscious pride his snorting courser trod;
Low to the monarch and the dames he bends,
And now the great Magricio joins his friends.
With looks that glowed, exulting rose the fair,
Whose wounded honour claim'd the hero's care.
Aside the doleful weeds of mourning thrown,
In dazzling purple and in gold she shone.
Now loud the signal of the fight rebounds
Quivering the air, the meeting shock resounds
Hoarse uproar; bucklers dashed on bucklers ring,
The splintered lances round their helmets sing.
Their swords flash lightning, darkly reeking o'er
The shining mail-plates flows the purple gore.
Torn by the spur, the loosened reins at large,
Furious the steeds in thundering plunges charge;
Trembles beneath their hoofs the solid ground,
And thick the fiery sparkles flash around,
A dreadful blaze! with pleasing horror thrill'd
The croud behold the terrors of the field.
Here stunn'd and staggering with the forceful blow,
A bending champion grasps the saddle-bow;
Here backward bent a falling knight reclines,
His plumes dishonour'd lash the courser's loins.

256

So tired and stagger'd toil'd the doubtful fight,
When great Magricio kindling all his might
Gave all his rage to burn: with headlong force,
Conscious of victory, his bounding horse
Wheels round and round the foe; the hero's spear
Now on the front, now flaming on the rear,
Mows down their firmest battle; groans the ground,
The splinter'd shields and closen helms resound
Beneath his courser; torn the harness gay
Here from the master springs the steed away;
Obscene with dust and gore, slow from the ground
Rising, the master rowls his eyes around,
Pale as a spectre on the Stygian coast,
In all the rage of shame confused and lost:
Here low on earth, and o'er the riders thrown,
The wallowing coursers and the riders groan:
Before their glimmering vision dies the light,
And deep descends the gloom of death's eternal night.
They now who boasted, “Let the sword decide,”
Alone in flight's ignoble aid confide:
Loud to the skies the shout of joy proclaims
The spotless honour of the ladies' names.
In painted halls of state and rosy bowers,
The twelve brave Lusians crown the festive hours.

257

Bold Lancaster the princely feast bestows,
The goblet circles, and the music flows;
And every care, the transport of their joy,
To tend the knights the lovely dames employ;
The green-boughed forests by the lawns of Thames
Behold the victor-champions and the dames
Rouse the tall roe-buck o'er the dews of morn,
While through the dales of Kent resounds the bugle-horn.
The sultry noon the princely banquet owns,
The minstrel's song of war the banquet crowns;
And when the shades of gentle evening fall,
Loud with the dance resounds the lordly hall:
The golden roofs, while Vesper shines, prolong
The measured cadence, and accomp'nied song.
Thus past the days on England's happy strand,
Till the dear memory of their natal land
Sigh'd for the banks of Tagus. Yet the breast
Of brave Magricio spurns the thoughts of rest.
In Gaul's proud court he sought the listed plain,
In arms an injured lady's knight again.
As Rome's Corvinus o'er the field he strode,
And on the foe's huge cuirass proudly trod.

258

No more by Tyranny's proud tongue reviled,
The Flandrian countess on her hero smiled.
The Rhine another past, and proved his might,
A fraudful German dared him to the fight.
Strain'd in his grasp the fraudful boaster fell—
Here sudden stopt the youth; the distant yell
Of gathering tempest sounded in his ears,
Unheard, unheeded by his listening peers.
Earnest at full they urge him to relate
Magricio's combat, and the German's fate.

259

When shrilly whistling through the decks resounds
The master's call, and loud his voice rebounds:
Instant from converse and from slumber start
Both bands, and instant to their toils they dart.
Aloft, oh speed, down, down the topsails, cries
The Master, sudden from my earnest eyes
Vanish'd the stars, slow rowls the hollow sigh,
The storm's dread herald.—To the topsails fly
The bounding youths, and o'er the yard-arms whirl
The whizzing ropes, and swift the canvas furl;
When from their grasp the bursting tempests bore
The sheets half-gathered, and in fragments tore.
Strike, strike the mainsail, loud again he rears
His ecchoing voice; when roaring in their ears,
As if the starry vault by thunders riven,
Rush'd downward to the deep the walls of heaven,
With headlong weight a fiercer blast descends,
And with sharp whirring crash the main-sail rends;
Loud shrieks of horror through the fleet resound,
Bursts the torn cordage, rattle far around
The splinter'd yard-arms; from each bending mast,
In many a shred, far streaming on the blast
The canvas floats; low sinks the leeward side,
O'er the broad vessels rolls the swelling tide;
O strain each nerve, the frantic Pilot cries,
Oh now—and instant every nerve applies,

260

Tugging what cumbrous lay with strainful force;
Dash'd by the ponderous loads the surges hoarse
Roar in new whirls: the dauntless soldiers ran
To pump, yet ere the groaning pump began
The wave to vomit, o'er the decks o'erthrown
In groveling heaps the stagger'd soldiers groan:
So rowls the vessel, not the boldest Three,
Of arm robustest, and of firmest knee,
Can guide the starting rudder; from their hands
The helm bursts; scarce a cable's strength commands
The staggering fury of its starting bounds,
While to the forceful beating surge resounds
The hollow crazing hulk: with kindling rage
The adverse winds the adverse winds engage,
As from its base of rock their banded power
Strove in the dust to strew some lordly tower,
Whose dented battlements in middle sky
Frown on the tempest and its rage defy;
So roar'd the winds: high o'er the rest upborne
On the wide mountain-wave's slant ridge forlorn,
At times discover'd by the lightnings blue,
Hangs Gama's lofty vessel, to the view
Small as her boat; o'er Paulus' shatter'd prore
Falls the tall main-mast prone with crashing roar;
Their hands, yet grasping their uprooted hair,
The sailors lift to heaven in wild despair,

261

The Saviour God each yelling voice implores,
Nor less from brave Coello's war-ship pours
The shriek shrill rolling on the tempest's wings:
Dire as the bird of death at midnight sings
His dreary howlings in the sick man's ear,
The answering shriek from ship to ship they hear.
Now on the mountain-billows upward driven,
The navy mingles with the clouds of heaven;
Now rushing downward with the sinking waves,
Bare they behold old Ocean's vaulty caves.
The eastern blast against the western pours,
Against the southern storm the northern roars:
From pole to pole the flashy lightnings glare,
One pale blue twinkling sheet enwraps the air,
In swift succession now the volleys fly
Darted in pointed curvings o'er the sky;
And through the horrors of the dreadful night,
O'er the torn waves they shed a ghastly light;
The breaking surges flame with burning red,
Wider and louder still the thunders spread,
As if the solid heavens together crush'd,
Expiring worlds on worlds expiring rush'd,
And dim-brow'd Chaos struggled to regain
The wild confusion of his ancient reign.
Not such the volley when the arm of Jove
From heaven's high gates the rebel Titans drove;

262

Not such fierce lightnings blazed athwart the flood,
When, saved by heaven, Deucalion's vessel rode
High o'er the deluged hills. Along the shore
The Halcyons, mindful of their fate, deplore;
As beating round on trembling wings they fly,
Shrill through the storm their woeful clamours die.
So from the tomb, when midnight veils the plains,
With shrill, faint voice, th' untimely ghost complains.
The amorous dolphins to their deepest caves
In vain retreat to fly the furious waves;

263

High o'er the mountain-capes the ocean flows,
And tears the aged forests from their brows:
The pine and oak's huge sinewy roots uptorn,
And from their beds the dusky sands, upborne
On the rude whirlings of the billowy sweep,
Imbrown the surface of the boiling deep.
High to the poop the valiant Gama springs,
And all the rage of grief his bosom wrings,
Grief to behold, the while fond hope enjoy'd
The meed of all his toils, that hope destroy'd.
In awful horror lost the hero stands,
And rowls his eyes to heaven, and spreads his hands,
While to the clouds his vessel rides the swell,
And now her black keel strikes the gates of hell;

264

Oh thou, he cries, whom trembling heaven obeys,
Whose will the tempest's furious madness sways,
Who, through the wild waves, led'st thy chosen race,
While the high billows stood like walls of brass:
Oh thou, while ocean bursting o'er the world
Roar'd o'er the hills, and from the sky down hurl'd
Rush'd other headlong oceans; oh, as then
The second father of the race of men
Safe in thy care the dreadful billows rode,
Oh! save us now, be now the saviour God!
Safe in thy care, what dangers have we past!
And shalt thou leave us, leave us now at last
To perish here—our dangers and our toils
To spread thy laws unworthy of thy smiles;
Our vows unheard—Heavy with all thy weight,
Oh horror, come! and come, eternal night!
He paused;—then round his eyes and arms he threw
In gesture wild, and thus; Oh happy you!
You, who in Afric fought for holy faith,
And, pierced with Moorish spears, in glorious death
Beheld the smiling heavens your toils reward,
By your brave mates beheld the conquest shared;
Oh happy you, on every shore renown'd!
Your vows respected and your wishes crown'd.

265

He spoke; redoubled raged the mingled blasts;
Through the torn cordage and the shatter'd masts
The winds loud whistled, fiercer lighnings blazed,
And louder roars the doubled thunders raised,
The sky and ocean blending, each on fire,
Seem'd as all Nature struggled to expire.
When now the silver star of Love appear'd,
Bright in her east her radiant front she rear'd;
Fair through the horrid storm the gentle ray
Announced the promise of the cheerful day;
From her bright throne Celestial Love beheld
The tempest burn, and blast on blast impell'd:
And must the furious Dæmon still, she cries,
Still urge his rage, nor all the past suffice!
Yet as the past, shall all his rage be vain—
She spoke, and darted to the roaring main;
Her lovely nymphs she calls, the nymphs obey,
Her nymphs the Virtues who confess her sway;
Round every brow she bids the rose-buds twine,
And every flower adown the locks to shine,
The snow-white lily and the laurel green,
And pink and yellow as at strife be seen.
Instant amidst their golden ringlets strove
Each flowret planted by the hand of Love;
At strife, who first th' enamour'd Powers to gain,
Who rule the tempests and the waves restrain:

266

Bright as a starry band the Nereids shone,
Instant old Eolus' sons their presence own;
The winds die faintly, and in softest sighs
Each at his Fair one's feet desponding lies.
The bright Orithia, threatening, sternly chides
The furious Boreas, and his faith derides;
The furious Boreas owns her powerful bands:
Fair Galatea, with a smile commands
The raging Notus, for his love, how true,
His fervent passion and his faith she knew.
Thus every nymph her various Lover chides;
The silent winds are fetter'd by their brides;
And to the Goddess of Celestial loves,
Mild as her look, and gentle as her doves
In flowery bands are brought. Their amorous flame
The Queen approves, and ever burn the same,
She cries, and joyful on the Nymphs' fair hands,
Th' Eolian race receive the Queen's commands,
And vow, that henceforth her Armada's sails
Should gently swell with fair propitious gales.

267

Now morn arose serene in dappled grey,
Pale gleamed the wave beneath the golden ray;
Blue o'er the silver flood the mountains rose,
Where, crown'd with palm, the murmuring Ganges flows;
The sailors on the main-top's airy round,
With waving hand, Land, land, aloud resound;
Aloud the Pilot of Melinda cries,
Behold, O Chief, the shores of India rise!
Elate the joyful crew on tip-toe trod,
And every breast with swelling raptures glow'd;
Gama's great soul confest the rushing swell,
Prone on his manly knees the Hero fell,

268

Oh bounteous heaven, he cries, and spreads his hands
To bounteous heaven, while boundless joy commands
No farther word to flow. In wonder lost,
As one in horrid dreams through whirlpools tost,
Now snatch'd by Dæmons rides the flaming air,
And howls, and hears the howlings of despair;
Awaked, amazed, confused with transport glows,
And, trembling still, with troubled joy o'erflows;
So yet affected with the sickly weight
Left by the horrors of the dreadful night,
The Hero wakes in raptures to behold
The Indian shores before his prows unfold:
Bounding he rises, and with eyes on fire
Surveys the limits of his proud desire.

269

O glorious chief, while storms and oceans raved,
What hopeless toils thy dauntless valour braved!
By toils like thine the brave ascend to heaven,
By toils like thine immortal fame is given.
Not he, who daily moves in ermine gown,
Who nightly slumbers on the couch of down;
Who proudly boasts through heroes old to trace
The lordly lineage of his titled race;
Proud of the smiles of every courtier lord,
A welcome guest at every courtier's board;
Not he, the feeble son of ease, may claim
Thy wreathe, O Gama, or may hope thy fame.
'Tis he, who nurtured on the tented field,
From whose brown cheek each tint of fear expell'd,
With manly face unmoved, secure, serene,
Amidst the thunders of the deathful scene,
From horror's mouth dares snatch the warrior's crown,
His own his honours, all his fame his own:
Who proudly just to honour's stern commands,
The dogstar's rage on Afric's burning sands,
Or the keen air of midnight polar skies,
Long watchful by the helm, alike defies:
Who on his front, the trophies of the wars,
Bears his proud knighthood's badge, his honest scars;
Who cloath'd in steel, by thirst, by famine worn,
Through raging seas by bold ambition borne,

270

Scornful of gold, by noblest ardour fired,
Each wish by mental dignity inspired,
Prepared each ill to suffer or to dare,
To bless mankind, his great, his only care;
Him whom her son mature Experience owns,
Him, him alone Heroic Glory crowns.

Once more the translator is tempted to confess his opinion, that the contrary practice of Homer and Virgil affords in reality no reasonable objection against the exclamatory exuberances of Camoens. Homer, though the father of the epic poem, has his exuberances, as has been observed in the preface, which violently trespass against the first rule of the Epopea, the unity of the action. A rule which, strictly speaking, is not outraged by the digressive exclamations of Camoens. The one now before us, as the severest critic must allow, is happily adapted to the subject of the book. The great dangers which the hero had hitherto encountered, are particularly described. He is afterwards brought in safety to the Indian shore, the object of his ambition, and of all his toils. The exclamation therefore on the grand hinge of the poem, has its propriety, and discovers the warmth of its author's genius. It must also please, as it is strongly characteristical of the temper of our military poet. The manly contempt with which he speaks of the luxurious inactive courtier, and the delight and honour with which he talks of the toils of the soldier, present his own active life to the reader of sensibility. His campaigns in Africa, where in a gallant attack he lost an eye, his dangerous life at sea, and the military fatigues and the battles in which he bore an honourable share in India, rise to our idea, and possess us with an esteem and admiration of our martial poet, who thus could look back with a gallant enthusiasm, though his modesty does not mention himself, on all the hardships he had endured: who thus could bravely esteem the dangers to which he had been exposed, and by which he had severely suffered, as the most desireable occurrences of his life, and the ornament of his name.

END OF THE SIXTH BOOK.
 

Every display of eastern luxury and magnificence was lavished in the fishing parties on the Nile, with which Cleopatra amused Mark Antony, when at any time he shewed symptoms of uneasiness, or seemed inclined to abandon the effeminate life which he led with his mistress. At one of these parties, Mark Antony having procured Divers to put fishes upon his hooks while under the water, he very gallantly boasted to his mistress of his great dexterity in angling. Cleopatra perceived his art, and as gallantly outwitted him. Some other Divers received her orders, and in a little while Mark Antony's line brought up a fried fish in place of a live one, to the vast entertainment of the queen and all the convivial company. Octavius was at this time on his march to decide who should be master of the world.

The friendship of the Portuguese and Melindians was of long continuance. Alvaro Cabral, the second admiral who made the voyage to India, in an engagement with the Moors off the coast of Zofala, took two ships richly freighted from the mines of that country. On finding that Xeques Fonteyma, the commander, was uncle to the king of Melinda, he restored the valuable prize, and treated him with the utmost courtesy. Their good offices were reciprocal. By the information of the king of Melinda, Cabral escaped the treachery of the king of Calicut. The kings of Mombaze and Quiloa, irritated at the alliance with Portugal, made several depredations on the subjects of Melinda, who in return were effectually revenged by their European allies.

According to fable, Neptune and Minerva disputed the honour of giving a name to the city of Athens. They agreed to determine the contest by a display of their wisdom and power, in conferring the most beneficial gift on mankind. Neptune struck the earth with his trident and produced the horse, whose bounding motions are emblematical of the agitation of the sea. Minerva commanded the olive tree, the symbol of peace and of riches, to spring forth. The victory was adjudged to the goddess, from whom the city was named Athens. As the Egyptians and Mexicans wrote their history in hieroglyphics, the taste of the ancient Grecians cloathed almost every occurrence in mythological allegory. The founders of Athens, it is most probable, disputed whether their new city should be named from the fertility of the soil or from the marine situation of Attica. The former opinion prevailed, and the town received its name in honour of the goddess of the olive tree.

As Neptune struck the earth with his trident, Minerva, says the fable, struck the earth with her lance. That she waved her hand while the olive boughs spread, is a fine poetical attitude, and varies the picture from that of Neptune, which follows.

The description of palaces is a favourite topic several times touched upon by the two great masters of Epic Poetry, in which they have been happily imitated by their three greatest disciples among the moderns, Camoens, Tasso, and Milton. The description of the palace of Neptune has great merit. Nothing can be more in place than the picture of Choas and the four Elements. The war of the Gods, and the contest of Neptune and Minerva are touched with the true boldness of poetical colouring. But perhaps it deserves censure thus to point out what every Reader of taste must perceive. To shew to the mere English Reader that the Portuguese Poet is, in his manner, truly classical, is the intention of many of these notes.

In the Portuguese,

Na cabeça por gorra tinba posta
Huma mui grande casca de lagosta.

Thus rendered by Fanshaw,

He had (for a Montera) on his crown
The shell of a red lobster overgrown.
The description of Triton, who, as Fanshaw says,
Was a great nasty clown—

is in the style of the classics. His parentage is differently related. Hesiod makes him the son of Neptune and Amphitrité. By Triton, in the physical sense of the fable, is meant the noise, and by Salacé, the mother by some ascribed to him, the salt of the ocean. The origin of the fable of Triton, it is probable, was founded on the appearance of a sea animal, which, according to some ancient and modern Naturalists, in the upward parts resembles the human figure. Pausanias relates a wonderful story of a monstrously large one, which often came ashore on the meadows of Boetia. Over his head was a kind of finny cartilage, which, at a distance, appeared like hair, the body covered with brown scales; the nose and ears like the human, the mouth of a dreadful width, jagged with the teeth of a Panther; the eyes of a greenish hue; the hands divided into fingers, the nails of which were crooked, and of a shelly substance. This monster, whose extremities ended in a tail like a dolphin's, devoured both men and beasts as they chanced in his way. The citizens of Tanagra, at last, contrived his destruction. They set a large vessel full of wine on the sea shore. Triton got drunk with it, and fell into a profound sleep, in which condition the Tanagrians beheaded him, and afterwards, with great propriety, hung up his body in the temple of Bacchus; where, says Pausanias, it continued a long time.

Montera, the Spanish word for a huntsman's cap.

Neptune.

The fullest and best account of the fable of Proteus is in the fourth Odyssey.

Thetis.

Castera has a most absurd note on this passage. Neptune, says he, is the vivifying spirit, and Amphitrité the humidity of the sea, which the Dolphin, the Divine Intelligence, unites for the generation and nourishment of fishes. Who, says he, cannot but be struck with admiration to find how consonant this is to the sacred Scripture; Spiritus Domini fertur super aquas; The spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.

Ino, the daughter of Cadmus and Hermione, and second spouse of Athamas, king of Thebes. The fables of her fate are various. That which Camoens follows is the most common. Athamas seized with madness imagined that his spouse was a lioness, and her two sons young lions. In this frenzy he slew Learchus, and drove the mother and her other son Melicertus into the sea. The corpse of the mother was thrown ashore on Megaria, and that of the son at Corinth. They were afterwards deified, the one as a sea Goddess, the other as the God of harbours.

A fisherman, says the fable, who, on eating a certain herb, was turned into a sea God. Circé was enamoured of him, and in revenge of her slighted love, poisoned the fountain where his mistress usually bathed. By the force of the enchantment the favoured Scylla was changed into a hideous monster, whose loins were surrounded with the ever barking heads of dogs and wolves. Scylla, on this, threw herself into the sea, and was metamorphosed into the rock which bears her name. The rock Scylla at a distance appears like the statue of a woman: The furious dashing of the waves in the cavities which are level with the water, resembles the barking of wolves and dogs. Hence the fable.

Thyoneus, a name of Bacchus.

------ From the arched roof,
Pendent by subtle magic, many a row
Of starry lamps, and blazing cressets, fed
With naphtha and asphaltus, yielded light
As from a sky.

Milton.

The sails of the Argonauts, inhabitants of Mynia.

See the first note on the first book of the Lusiad.

In haughty England where the winter spreads
His snowy mantle o'er the shining meads.

In the original,

Là na grande Inglaterra, que de neve
Boreal sempre abunda—

That is, “In illustrious England, always covered with northern snow.” Though the translator was willing to retain the manner of Homer, he thought it proper to correct the error in natural history fallen into by Camoens. Fanshaw seems to have been sensible of the mistake of his author, and has given the following, uncountenanced by the Portuguese, in place of the eternal snows ascribed to his country.

In merry England, which (from cliffs that stand Like hills of snow) once Albion's name did git.

The translator, either by his own researches, or by his application to some gentlemen who were most likely to inform him, has not been able to discover the slightest vestige of this chivalrous adventure in any memoirs of the English history. It is probable, nevertheless, that however adorned with romantic ornament, it is not entirely without foundation in truth. Castera, who unhappily does not cite his authority, gives the names of the twelve Portuguese champions; Alvaro Vaz d'Almada, afterwards count d'Avranches in Normandy; another Alvaro d'Almada, surnamed the Juster, from his dexterity at that warlike exercise; Lopez Fernando Pacheco; Pedro Homen D'Acosta; Juan Augustin Pereyra; Luis Gonsalez de Malafay; the two brothers Alvaro and Rodrigo Mendez de Cerveyra; Ruy Gomex de Sylva; Soueyro d'Acosta, who gave his name to the river Acosta in Africa; Martin Lopez d'Azevedo; and Alvaro Gonsalez de Coutigno, surnamed Magricio. The names of the English champions and of the ladies, he confesses are unknown, nor does history positively explain the injury of which the dames complained. It must however, he adds, have been such as required the atonement of blood; il falloit qu'elle fut sanglante, since two sovereigns allowed to determine it by the sword. “Some critics, says Castera, may perhaps condemn this episode of Camoens; but for my part (he continues) I think the adventure of Olindo and Sophronia, in Tasso, is much more to be blamed. The episode of the Italian poet is totally exuberant, est tout-à-fait postiche, whereas that of the Portuguese has a direct relation to his proposed subject; the wars of his country, a vast field, in which he has admirably succeeded, without prejudice to the first rule of the epopea, the unity of the action.” To this may be added the suffrage of Voltaire, who acknowledges that Camoens artfully interweaves the history of Portugal. And the severest critic must allow that the episode related by Veloso, is happily introduced. To one who has ever been at sea, the scene must be particularly pleasing. The fleet is under sail, they plough the smooth deep,

And o'er the decks cold breath'd the midnight wind.

All but the second watch are asleep in their warm pavilions; the second watch sit by the mast sheltered from the chilly gale by a broad sail-cloth; sleep begins to overpower them, and they tell stories to entertain one another. For beautiful picturesque simplicity there is no sea-scene equal to this in the Odyssey or Eneid. And even the prejudice of a Scaliger must have confessed, that the romantic chivalrous narrative of Veloso,

With dangers threaten'd, let the tale inspire
The scorn of danger, and the hero's fire.

is better adapted to the circumstances of the speaker and his audience, than almost any of the long histories which on all occasions, and sometimes in the heat of battle, the heroes of the Iliad relate to each other. Pope has been already cited, as giving his sanction to the fine effect of variety in the epic poem. The present instance, which has a peculiar advantage, in agreeably suspending the mind of the reader after the storm is raised by the machinations of Bacchus, may be cited as a confirmation of the opinion of that judicious poet. Yet however defensible this episode of Camoens may appear to the translator, he can by no means agree with Castera that the adventure of Olindo and Sophronia, in Tasso, is totally exuberant. Like the episode of Veloso, it is intimately connected with the subject and action of the poem. See the second book of the Gierusalemme Liberata.

John of Gaunt, duke of Lancaster, claimed the crown of Castile in the right of his wife, Donna Constantia, daughter of Don Pedro, the late king. Assisted by his son-in-law, John I. of Portugal, he entered Galicia, and was proclaimed king of Castile at the city of St. Jago de Compostella. He afterwards relinquished his pretensions on the marriage of his daughter Catalina with the infant Don Henry of Castile. See the second note, p. 167.

The ten champions, who in the fifth book of the Jerusalem are sent by Godfrey for the assistance of Armida, are chosen by lot. Tasso, who had read the Lusiád, and admired its author, undoubtedly had the Portuguese poet in his eye.

Oporto, called by the Romans Calle. Hence Portugal.

In the Portuguese,

Mas se a verdade o espirito me adevinha.
Literally, “But if my spirit truly divine.”
Thus rendered by Fanshaw,
But in my aug'ring ear a bird doth sing.

Valerius Maximus, a Roman tribune, who fought and slew a Gaul of enormous stature, in single combat. During the duel a raven perched on the helm of his antagonist, sometimes pecked his face and hand, and sometimes blinded him with the flapping of his wings. The victor was thence named Corvinus. Vid. Liv. l. 7. c. 26.

The princess, for whom Magricio signalized his valour, was Isabella of Portugal, and spouse to Philip the Good, duke of Burgundy, and earl of Flanders. Some Spanish chronicles relate, that Charles VII. of France, having assembled the states of his kingdom, cited Philip to appear with his other vassals. Isabella, who was present, solemnly protested that the earls of Flanders were not obliged to do homage. A dispute arose, on which she offered, according to the custom of that age, to appeal to the fate of arms. The proposal was accepted, and Magricio the champion of Isabella vanquished a French chevalier, appointed by Charles. Though our authors do not mention this adventure, and though Emmanuel de Faria, and the best Portuguese writers treat it with doubt, nothing to the disadvantage of Camoens is thence to be inferred. A poet is not obliged always to follow the truth of history.

This was Alvaro Vaz d'Almada. The chronicle of Garibay relates, that at Basil he received from a German a chalenge to measure swords, on condition that each should fight with the right side unarmed; the German by this hoping to be victorious, for he was left-handed. The Portuguese, suspecting no fraud, accepted. When the combat began he perceived the inequality. His right side unarmed was exposed to the enemy, whose left side, which was nearest to him, was defended with half a cuirass. Notwithstanding all this, the brave Alvaro obtained the victory. He sprung upon the German, seized him, and grasping him forcibly in his arms, stifled and crushed him to death; imitating the conduct of Hercules, who in the same manner slew the cruel Anteus. Here we ought to remark the address of our author; he describes at length the injury and grief of the English ladies, the voyage of the twelve champions to England, and the prowess they there displayed. When Veloso relates these, the sea is calm; but no sooner does it begin to be troubled, than the soldier abridges his recital: we see him follow by degrees the preludes of the storm, we perceive the anxiety of his mind on the view of the approaching danger, hastening his narration to an end. Voilà ce que s'appelle des coups de maître. Behold the strokes of a master. This note, and the one preceding, are from Castera.

Joam Franco Barreto, whose short nomenclater is printed as an index to the Portuguese editions of the Lusiad, informs us, that Magricio was son of the marischal Conçalo Coutinho, and brother to Don Vasco Coutinho, the first count de Marialva.

Ceyx, king of Trachinia, son of Lucifer, married Alcyone, the daughter of Eolus. On a voyage to consult the Delphic Oracle he was shipwrecked. His corpse was thrown ashore in the view of his spouse, who in the agonies of her love and despair, threw herself into the sea. The Gods, in pity of her pious fidelity, metamorphosed them into the birds which bear her name. The Halcyon is a little bird about the size of a thrush, its plumage of a beautiful sky blue, mixed with some traits of white and carnation. It is vulgarly called the King, or Martin Fisher. The Halcyons very seldom appear but in the finest weather, whence they are fabled to build their nests on the waves. The female is no less remarkable than the turtle, for her conjugal affection. She nourishes and attends the male when sick, and survives his death but a few days. When the Halcyons are surprised in a tempest, they fly about as in the utmost terror, with the most lamentable and doleful cries. To introduce them therefore in the picture of a storm, is a proof both of the taste and judgment of Camoens.

It may not perhaps be unentertaining to cite Madam Dacier, and Mr. Pope on the voices of the dead. It will, at least, afford a critical observation, which appears to have escaped them both. “The shades of the suitors, (observes Dacier) when they are summoned by Mercury out of the palace of Ulysses, emit a feeble, plaintive, inarticulate sound, τριζουσι, strident: whereas Agamemnon, and the shades that have been long in the state of the dead, speak articulately. I doubt not but Homer intended to shew, by the former description, that when the soul is separated from the organs of the body, it ceases to act after the same manner as while it was joined to it; but how the dead recover their voices afterwards is not easy to understand. In other respects Virgil paints after Homer:

------ Pars tollere vocem
Exiguam: inceptus clamor frustratur biantes.”

To this Mr. Pope replies, “But why should we suppose with Dacier, that these shades of the suitors (of Penelope) have lost the faculty of speaking; I rather imagine that the sounds they uttered were signs of complaint and discontent, and proceeded not from an inability to speak. After Patroclus was slain, he appears to Achilles, and speaks very articulately to him; yet to express his sorrow at his departure, he acts like these suitors: for Achilles

Like a thin smoke beholds the spirit fly,
And hears a feeble, lamentable cry.

Dacier conjectures, that the power of speech ceases in the dead, till they are admitted into a state of rest; but Patroclus is an instance to the contrary in the Iliad, and Elpenor in the Odyssey, for they both speak before their funereal rites are performed, and consequently before they enter into a state of repose amongst the shades of the happy.”

The Critic, in his search for distant proofs, often omits the most material one immediately at hand. Had Madam Dacier attended to the episode of the souls of the suitors, the world had never seen her ingenuity in these mythological conjectures; nor had Mr. Pope any need to bring the case of Patroclus or Elpenor to overthrow her system. Amphimedon, one of the suitors, in the very episode which gave birth to Dacier's conjecture, tells his story very articulately to the shade of Agamemnon, though he had not received the funereal rites:

Our mangled bodies now deform'd with gore,
Cold and neglected spread the marble floor:
No friend to bathe our wounds! or tears to shed
O'er the pale corse! the honours of the dead.
Odyss. XXIV.

On the whole, the defence of Pope is almost as idle as the conjectures of Dacier. The plain truth is, Poetry delights in Personification; every thing in it, as Aristotle says of the Iliad, has manners; poetry must therefore personify according to our ideas. Thus in Milton:

Tears, such as angels weep, burst forth—

And thus in Homer, while the suitors are conducted to hell;

Trembling the spectres glide, and plaintive vent
Thin, hollow screams, along the deep descent:

and, unfettered with mythological distinctions, either shriek or articulately talk, according to the most poetical view of their supposed circumstances.

For the fable of Eolus see the tenth Odyssey.

In innumerable instances Camoens discovers himself a judicious imitator of the ancients. In the two great masters of the Epic are several prophecies oracular of the fate of different heroes, which give an air of solemn importance to the Poem. The fate of the Armada thus obscurely anticipated resembles in particular the prophecy of the safe return of Ulysses to Ithaca, foretold by the shade of Tiresias, which was afterwards fulfilled by the Phæacians. It remains now to make some observations on the machinery used by Camoens in this book. The necessity of machinery in the Epopea, and the perhaps insurmountable difficulty of finding one unexceptionably adapted to a Poem where the heroes are Christians, or, in other words, to a Poem whose subject is modern, have already been observed in the Preface. The machinery of Camoens has also been proved, in every respect, to be less exceptionable than that of Tasso in his Jerusalem, or that of Voltaire in his Henriade. To imitate the manners of the ancients, was the reigning taste at the revival of letters. If therefore we excuse Camoens for writing in the taste of his age, the executive part of his machinery, it is presumed, will require no apology. The descent of Bacchus to the palace of Neptune in the depths of the sea, and his address to the watery Gods are noble imitations of Virgil's Juno in the first Eneid. The description of the storm is also masterly. In both instances the conduct of the Eneid is joined with the descriptive exuberance of the Odyssey. The appearance of the star of Venus through the storm is finely imagined, the influence of the nymphs of that Goddess over the winds, and their subsequent nuptials, are in the spirit of the promise of Juno to Eolus;

Sunt mihi bis septem præstanti corpore nymphæ:
Quarum, quæ forma pulcherrima, Deïopeiam
Connubio jungam stabili, propriamque dicabo:
Omnes ut tecum meritis pro talibus annos
Exigat, & pulchra faciat te prole parentem.

And the fiction itself is an allegory exactly in the manner of Homer. Orithia, the daughter of Erecteus, and queen of the Amazons, was ravished and carried away by Boreas. Her name derived from ορος, bound or limit, and θυα, violence, implies that she moderated the rage of her husband. In the same manner, Galatea, derived from γαλα, milk, and Θεα, a Goddess, signifies the Goddess of candour or innocence.

“If one would speak poetically, says Bossu, he must imitate Homer. Homer will not say that salt has the virtue to preserve dead bodies, or that the sea presented Achilles a remedy to preserve the corps of Patroclus from putrefaction: He makes the sea a Goddess, and tells us that Thetis, to comfort Achilles, promised to perfume the body with an Ambrosia, which should keep it a whole year from corruption.—All this is told us poetically, the whole is reduced into action, the sea is made a person who speaks and acts, and this prosopopœia is accompanied with passion, tenderness, and affection.”

It has been observed by the critics, that Homer, in the battle of the Gods, has, with great propriety, divided their auxiliary forces. On the side of the Greeks he places all the Gods who preside over the arts and sciences. Mars and Venus favour the adultery of Paris, and Apollo is for the Trojans, as their strength consisted chiefly in the use of the bow. Talking of the battle, “With what art, says Eustathius, as cited by Pope, does the Poet engage the Gods in this conflict! Neptune opposes Apollo, which implies, that things moist and dry are in continual discord. Pallas fights with Mars, which signifies that rashness and wisdom always disagree: Juno is against Diana, that is, nothing more differs from a marriage state than celibacy: Vulcan engages Xanthus, that is, fire and water are in perpetual variance. Thus we have a fine allegory concealed under the veil of excellent poetry, and the Reader conceives a double satisfaction at the same time, from the beautiful verses and an instructive moral.” And again, “The combat of Mars and Pallas is plainly allegorical. Justice and Wisdom demanded, that an end should be put to this terrible war: the God of war opposes this, but is worsted. —No sooner has our reason subdued one temptation, but another succeeds to re-inforce it, thus Venus succours Mars.—Pallas retreated from Mars in order to conquer him; this shews us that the best way to subdue a temptation is to retreat from it.”

These explications of the manner of Homer ought, in justice, to be applied to his imitator; nor is the moral part of the allegory of Camoens less exact than the mythological. In the present instances, his allegory is peculiarly happy. The rage and endeavours of the evil Dæmon to prevent the interests of Christianity are strongly marked. The storm which he raises is the tumult of the human passions; these are most effectually subdued by the influence of the virtues, which more immediately depend upon Celestial Love; and the union which she confirms between the virtues and passions, is the surest pledge of future tranquillity.


271

BOOK VII.

Hail glorious Chief! where never chief before
Forced his bold way, all hail on India's shore!
And hail, ye Lusian heroes, fair and wide
What groves of palm, to haughty Rome deny'd,
For you by Ganges' lengthening banks unfold!
What laurel forests on the shores of gold
For you their honours ever verdant rear,
Proud with their leaves to twine the Lusian spear!
Ah heaven! what fury Europe's sons controuls!
What self-consuming discord fires their souls!
'Gainst her own breast her sword Germania turns,
Through all her states fraternal rancour burns;

272

Some blindly wandering holy Faith disclaim,
And fierce through all wild rages civil flame.
High sound the titles of the English crown,
King of Jerusalem, his own renown!
Alas, delighted with an airy name,
The thin dim shadow of departed fame,
England's stern Monarch, sunk in soft repose,
Luxurious riots mid his northern snows:
Or if the starting burst of rage succeed,
His brethren are his foes, and Christians bleed;
While Hagar's brutal race his titles stain,
In weeping Salem unmolested reign,
And with their rites impure her holy shrines profane.
And thou, O Gaul, with gaudy trophies plumed,
Most Christian named; alas, in vain assumed!
What impious lust of empire steels thy breast
From their just Lords the Christian lands to wrest!

273

While Holy Faith's hereditary foes
Possess the treasures where Cynifio flows;
And all secure, behold their harvests smile
In waving gold along the banks of Nile.
And thou, O lost to glory, lost to fame,
Thou dark oblivion of thy ancient name,
By every vicious luxury debased,
Each noble passion from thy breast erased,
Nerveless in sloth, enfeebling arts thy boast,
Oh! Italy, how fallen, how low, how lost!

274

In vain to thee the call of glory sounds,
Thy sword alone thy own soft bosom wounds.
Ah, Europe's sons, ye brother-powers, in you
The fables old of Cadmus now are true:
Fierce rose the brothers from the dragon teeth,
And each fell crimson'd with a brother's death.
So fall the bravest of the Christian name,
While dogs unclean Messiah's lore blaspheme,

275

And howl their curses o'er the holy tomb,
As to the sword the Christian race they doom.
From age to age, from shore to distant shore,
By various princes led, their legions pour;
United all in one determined aim,
From every land to blot the Christian name.
Then wake, ye brother-powers, combined awake,
And from the foe the great example take.
If empire tempt ye, lo, the east expands,
Fair and immense her summer-garden lands:
Here boastful wealth displays her radiant store,
Pactol and Hermus' stream o'er golden ore,
Rowl their long way; but not for you they flow,
Their treasures blaze on the stern Soldan's brow:
For him Assyria plies the loom of gold,
And Afric's sons their deepest mines unfold
To give his throne to blaze—Ye western powers,
To throw the mimic bolt of Jove is yours,
Yours all the art to wield the arms of fire,
Then bid the thunders of the dreadful tire
Against the walls of dread Byzantium roar,
Till headlong driven from Europe's ravish'd shore
To their cold Scythian wilds, and dreary dens,
By Caspian mountains, and uncultured fens,
Their fathers' seats beyond the Wolgian lake,
The barbarous race of Saracen betake.

276

And hark, to you the woeful Greek exclaims;
The Georgian fathers and th' Armenian dames,
Their fairest offspring from their bosoms torn,
A dreadful tribute, loud imploring mourn.
Alas, in vain! their offspring captive led,
In Hagar's sons unhallow'd temples bred,
To rapine train'd, arise a brutal host,
The Christian terror, and the Turkish boast.
Yet sleep, ye powers of Europe, careless sleep,
To you in vain your eastern brethren weep;
Yet not in vain their woe-wrung tears shall sue,
Though small the Lusian realms, her legions few,
The guardian oft by heaven ordain'd before,
The Lusian race shall guard Messiah's lore.
When heaven decreed to crush the Moorish foe
Heaven gave the Lusian spear to strike the blow.
When heaven's own laws o'er Afric's shores were heard,
The sacred shrines the Lusian heroes rear'd;
Nor shall their zeal in Asia's bounds expire,
Asia subdued shall fume with hallowed fire.
When the red sun the Lusian shore forsakes,
And on the lap of deepest west awakes,

277

O'er the wild plains, beneath unincensed skies
The sun shall view the Lusian altars rise.
And could new worlds by human step be trod,
Those worlds should tremble at the Lusian nod.

278

And now their ensigns blazing o'er the tide
On India's shore the Lusian heroes ride.
High to the fleecy clouds resplendant far
Appear the regal towers of Malabar,

279

Imperial Calicut, the lordly seat
Of the first monarch of the Indian state.
Right to the port the valiant Gama bends,
With joyful shouts a fleet of boats attends:

180

Joyful their nets they leave and finny prey,
And crouding round the Lusians, point the way.
A herald now, by Vasco's high command
Sent to the monarch, treads the Indian strand;
The sacred staff he bears, in gold he shines,
And tells his office by majestic signs.
As to and fro, recumbent to the gale,
The harvest waves along the yellow dale,
So round the herald press the wondering throng,
Recumbent waving as they pour along,
And much his manly port and strange attire,
And much his fair and ruddy hue admire:
When speeding through the crowd with eager haste,
And honest smiles, a son of Afric prest:
Enrapt with joy the wondering herald hears
Castilia's manly tongue salute his ears.
What friendly angel from thy Tago's shore
Has led thee hither? cries the joyful Moor.
Then hand in hand, the pledge of faith, conjoin'd,
O joy beyond the dream of hope to find,
To hear a kindred voice, the Lusian cried,
Beyond unmeasured gulphs and seas untry'd;

281

Untry'd before our daring keels explored
Our fearless way—Oh heaven, what tempests roared,
While round the vast of Afric's southmost land
Our eastward bowsprits sought the Indian strand.
Amazed, o'erpower'd, the friendly stranger stood;
A passage open'd through the boundless flood,
The hope of ages, and the dread despair,
Accomplish'd now, and conquer'd—stiff his hair
Rose thrilling, while his labouring thoughts pursued
The dreadful course by Gama's fate subdued.
Homeward, with generous warmth o'erflow'd, he leads
The Lusian guest, and swift the feast succeeds;
The purple grape and golden fruitage smile;
And each choice viand of the Indian soil
Heapt o'er the board, the master's zeal declare;
The social feast the guest and master share:
The sacred pledge of eastern faith approved,
By wrath unalter'd, and by wrong unmoved.
Now to the fleet the joyful herald bends,
With earnest pace the heaven-sent friend attends:

282

Now down the river's sweepy stream they glide,
And now their pinnace cuts the briny tide:
The Moor, with transport sparkling in his eyes,
The well-known make of Gama's navy spies,
The bending bowsprit, and the mast so tall,
The sides black frowning as a castle wall,
The high-tower'd stern, the lordly nodding prore,
And the broad standard slowly waving o'er
The anchor's moony fangs. The skiff he leaves,
Brave Gama's deck his bounding step receives;
And, Hail, he cries: in transport Gama sprung,
And round his neck with friendly welcome hung;
Enrapt so distant o'er the dreadful main
To hear the music of the tongue of Spain.
And now beneath a painted shade of state
Beside the Ammiral the stranger sate.
Of India's clime, the natives, and the laws,
What monarch sways them, what religion awes?
Why from the tombs devoted to his sires
The son so far? the valiant Chief enquires.
In act to speak the stranger waves his hand,
The joyful crew in silent wonder stand,
Each gently pressing on with greedy ear,
As erst the bending forests stoopt to hear
In Rhodope, when Orpheus' heavenly strain,
Deplored his lost Eurydice in vain;

283

While with a mien that generous friendship won
From every heart, the Stranger thus begun:
Your glorious deeds, ye Lusians, well I know,
To neighbouring earth the vital air I owe;
Yet though my faith the Koran's lore revere;
So taught my sires; my birth at proud Tangier,
An hostile clime to Lisbon's awful name,
I glow enraptured o'er the Lusian fame;
Proud though your nation's warlike glories shine,
These proudest honours yield, O Chief, to thine;
Beneath thy dread atchievements low they fall,
And India's shore, discovered, crowns them all.
Won by your fame, by fond affection sway'd,
A friend I come, and offer friendship's aid.
As on my lips Castilia's language glows,
So from my tongue the speech of India flows:
Mozaide my name, in India's court beloved,
For honest deeds, but time shall speak, approved.
When India's Monarch greets his court again,
For now the banquet on the tented plain

284

And sylvan chace his careless hours employ;
When India's Lord shall hail, with wondering joy,
Your glad arrival on the spacious shore
Through oceans never plough'd by keel before,
Myself shall glad Interpreter attend,
Mine every office of the faithful friend.
Ah! but a stream, the labour of the oar,
Divides my birth-place from your native shore;
On shores unknown, in distant worlds, how sweet
The kindred tongue the kindred face to greet!
Such now my joy; and such, O heaven, be yours!
Yes, bounteous heaven, your glad success secures.
Till now impervious, heaven alone subdued
The various horrors of the trackless flood;
Heaven sent you here for some great work divine,
And heaven inspires my breast your sacred toils to join.
Vast are the shores of India's wealthful soil;
Southward sea-girt she forms a demi-isle:
His cavern'd cliffs with dark-brow'd forests crown'd,
Hemodian Taurus frowns her northern bound:
From Caspia's lake th' enormous mountain spreads,
And bending eastward rears a thousand heads;

285

Far to extremest sea the ridges thrown,
By various names through various tribes are known:
Here down the waste of Taurus' rocky side
Two infant rivers pour the chrystal tide,
Indus the one, and one the Ganges named,
Darkly of old through distant nations famed:
One eastward curving holds his crooked way,
One to the west gives his swoln tide to stray:
Declining southward many a land they lave,
And widely swelling roll the sea-like wave,
Till the twin offspring of the mountain sire
Both in the Indian deep ingulph'd expire:
Between these streams, fair smiling to the day,
The Indian lands their wide domains display,
And many a league, far to the south they bend,
From the broad region where the rivers end,
Till where the shores to Ceylon's isle oppose,
In conic form the Indian regions close.
To various laws the various tribes incline,
And various are the rites esteem'd divine:

286

Some as from heaven receive the Koran's lore,
Some the dread monsters of the wild adore;
Some bend to wood and stone the prostrate head,
And rear unhallow'd altars to the dead.
By Ganges' banks, as wild traditions tell,
Of old the tribes lived healthful by the smell;
No food they knew, such fragrant vapours rose
Rich from the flowery lawns where Ganges flows:
Here now the Delhian, and the fierce Patan
Feed their fair flocks; and here, an heathen clan,
Stern Decam's sons the fertile valleys till,
A clan, whose hope to shun eternal ill,
Whose trust from every stain of guilt to save,
Is fondly placed in Ganges' holy wave;
If to the stream the breathless corpse be given
They deem the spirit wings her way to heaven.
Here by the mouths, where hallowed Ganges ends,
Bengala's beauteous Eden wide extends,
Unrivall'd smile her fair luxurious vales:
And here Cambaya spreads her palmy dales;

287

A warlike realm, where still the martial race
From Porus famed of yore their lineage trace.
Narsinga here displays her spacious line,
In native gold her sons and ruby shine:
Alas, how vain! these gaudy sons of fear,
Trembling, bow down before each hostile spear.

288

And now behold;—and while he spoke he rose,
Now with extended arm the prospect shews,—
Behold these mountain-tops of various size
Blend their dim ridges with the fleecy skies;
Nature's rude wall, against the fierce Canar
They guard the fertile lawns of Malabar.
Here from the mountain to the surgy main,
Fair as a garden spreads the smiling plain:
And lo, the Empress of the Indian powers,
There lofty Calicut resplendent towers;
Her's every fragrance of the spicy shore,
Her's every gem of India's countless store:
Great Samoreem, her Lord's imperial style,
The mighty Lord of India's utmost soil:
To him the kings their duteous tribute pay,
And at his feet confess their borrow'd sway.
Yet higher tower'd the monarchs ancient boast,
Of old one sovereign ruled the spacious coast.

289

A votive train, who brought the Koran's lore,
What time great Perimal the sceptre bore,
From blest Arabia's groves to India came;
Life were their words, their eloquence a flame
Of holy zeal: fired by the powerful strain
The lofty monarch joins the faithful train,
And vows, at fair Medina's shrine, to close
His life's mild eve in prayer and sweet repose.
Gifts he prepares to deck the Prophet's tomb,
The glowing labours of the Indian loom,
Orixa's spices and Golconda's gems;
Yet, ere the fleet th' Arabian ocean stems,
His final care his potent regions claim,
Nor his the transport of a father's name;
His servants now the regal purple wear,
And high enthroned the golden sceptres bear.
Proud Cochim one, and one fair Chalé sways,
The spicy Isle another Lord obeys;
Coulam and Cananoor's luxurious fields,
And Cranganore to various Lords he yields.
While these and others thus the monarch graced,
A noble youth his care unmindful past:
Save Calicut, a city poor and small,
Though lordly now, no more remain'd to fall:

290

Grieved to behold such merit thus repay'd,
The sapient youth the king of kings he made,
And honour'd with the name, great Samoreem,
The lordly titled boast of power supreme.
And now great Perimal resigns his reign,
The blissful bowers of Paradise to gain:
Before the gale his gaudy navy flies,
And India sinks for ever from his eyes.
And soon to Calicut's commodious port
The fleets, deep-edging with the wave, resort:
Wide o'er the shore extend the warlike piles,
And all the landscape round luxurious smiles.
And now her flag to every gale unfurl'd,
She towers the Empress of the eastern world:
Such are the blessings sapient kings bestow,
And from thy stream such gifts, O Commerce, flow.
From that sage youth, who first reign'd king of kings,
He now who sways the tribes of India springs.
Various the tribes, all led by fables vain,
Their rites the dotage of the dreamful brain.
All, save where Nature whispers modest care,
Naked, they blacken in the sultry air.
The haughty nobles and the vulgar race
Never must join the conjugal embrace;

291

Nor may the stripling, nor the blooming maid,
Oh lost to joy, by cruel rites betray'd!
To spouse of other than their father's art,
At Love's connubial shrine unite the heart:
Nor may their sons, the genius and the view
Confined and fetter'd, other art pursue.
Vile were the stain, and deep the foul disgrace,
Should other tribe touch one of noble race;
A thousand rites, and washings o'er and o'er,
Can scarce his tainted purity restore.
Poleas the labouring lower clans are named:
By the proud Nayres the noble rank is claimed;
The toils of culture, and of art they scorn,
The warrior's plumes their haughty brows adorn;
The shining faulchion brandish'd in the right,
Their left arm wields the target in the fight;
Of danger scornful, ever arm'd they stand
Around the king, a stern barbarian band.
Whate'er in India holds the sacred name
Of piety or lore, the Brahmins claim:
In wildest rituals, vain and painful, lost,
Brahma their founder as a God they boast .

292

To crown their meal no meanest life expires,
Pulse, fruit, and herbs alone their board requires:
Alone in lewdness riotous and free,
No spousal ties with-hold, and no degree:

293

Lost to the heart-ties, to his neighbour's arms
The willing husband yields his spouse's charms:
In unendear'd embraces free they blend;
Yet but the husband's kindred may ascend

294

The nuptial couch: alas, too blest, they know
Nor jealousy's suspence, nor burning woe;
The bitter drops which oft from dear affection flow.

295

But should my lips each wond'rous scene unfold,
Which your glad eyes will soon amazed behold,
Oh, long before the various tale could run,
Deep in the west would sink yon eastern sun.

266

In few, all wealth from China to the Nile,
All balsams, fruit, and gold on India's bosom smile.
While thus the Moor his faithful tale reveal'd,
Wide o'er the coast the voice of Rumour swell'd;

297

As first some upland vapour seems to float
Small as the smoke of lonely shepherd cot,
Soon o'er the dales the rolling darkness spreads,
And wraps in hazy clouds the mountain heads,

298

The leafless forest and the utmost lea;
And wide its black wings hover o'er the sea:
The tear-dropt bough hangs weeping in the vale,
And distant navies rear the mist-wet sail.

299

So Fame increasing, loud and louder grew,
And to the sylvan camp resounding flew;
A lordly band, she cries, of warlike mien,
Of face and garb in India never seen,

300

Of tongue unknown, through gulphs undared before,
Unknown their aim, have reach'd the Indian shore.
To hail their Chief the Indian Lord prepares,
And to the fleet he sends his banner'd Nayres:
As to the bay the nobles press along,
The wondering city pours th'unnumber'd throng.
And now brave Gama and his splendid train,
Himself adorn'd in all the pride of Spain,
In gilded barges flowly bend to shore,
While to the lute the gently-falling oar
Now breaks the surges of the briny tide,
And now the strokes the cold fresh stream divide.
Pleased with the splendour of the Lusian band,
On every bank the crowded thousands stand.
Begirt with high-plumed nobles, by the flood
The first great Minister of India stood,

301

The Catual his name in India's tongue:
To Gama swift the lordly Regent sprung;
His open arms the valiant Chief enfold,
And now he lands him on the shore of gold:
With pomp unwonted India's nobles greet
The fearless heroes of the warlike fleet.
A couch on shoulders borne, in India's mode,
With gold the canopy and purple glow'd,
Receives the Lusian captain; equal rides
The lordly Catual, and onward guides,
While Gama's train, and thousands of the throng
Of India's sons, encircling pour along.
To hold discourse in various tongues they try;
In vain; the accents unremembered die
Instant as utter'd. Thus on Babel's plain
Each builder heard his mate, and heard in vain.
Gama the while, and India's second Lord,
Hold glad dialogues, as the various word
The faithful Moor unfolds. The city gate
They past, and onward, towered in sumptuous state,
Before them now the sacred temple rose;
The portals wide the sculptured shrines disclose.
The Chiefs advance, and, entered now, behold
The gods of wood, cold stone, and shining gold;
Various of figure, and of various face,
As the foul Demon will'd the likeness base.

302

Taught to behold the rays of godhead shine
Fair imaged in the human face divine,
With sacred horror thrill'd, the Lusians viewed
The monster forms, Chimera-like, and rude.
Here spreading horns an human visage bore;
So frown'd stern Jove in Lybia's fane of yore.
One body here two various faces rear'd;
So ancient Janus o'er his shrine appear'd.
An hundred arms another brandish'd wide;
So Titan's son the race of heaven defy'd.
And here a dog his snarling tusks display'd;
Anubis thus in Memphis' hallowed shade
Grinn'd horrible. With vile prostrations low
Before these shrines the blinded Indians bow.
And now again the splendid pomp proceeds;
To India's Lord the haughty Regent leads.

303

To view the glorious Leader of the fleet
Increasing thousands swell o'er every street;
High o'er the roofs the struggling youths ascend,
The hoary fathers o'er the portals bend,
The windows sparkle with the female blaze
Of eyes, of rubies, and the diamond's rays.
And now the train with solemn state and slow,
Approach the royal gate, through many a row
Of fragrant wood walks, and of balmy bowers,
Radiant with fruitage, ever gay with flowers.
Spacious the dome its pillar'd grandeur spread,
Nor to the burning day high tower'd the head;
The citron groves around the windows glow'd,
And branching palms their grateful shade bestow'd;
The mellow light a pleasing radiance cast;
The marble walls Dædalian sculpture graced.
Here India's fate, from darkest times of old,
The wondrous artist on the stone inroll'd;

304

Here o'er the meadows, by Hydaspes' stream,
In fair array the marshall'd legions seem:
A youth of gleeful eye the squadrons led,
Smooth was his cheek, and glow'd with purest red;
Around his spear the curling vine-leaves waved;
And by a streamlet of the river laved,
Behind her founder Nysa's walls were rear'd ;
So breathing life the ruddy god appear'd,
Had Semele beheld the smiling boy,
The mother's heart had proudly heav'd with joy.
Unnumber'd here were seen th'Assyrian throng,
That drank whole rivers as they march'd along:
Each eye seem'd earnest on their warrior queen,
High was her port, and furious was her mien;
Her valour only equall'd by her lust;
Fast by her side her courser paw'd the dust,
Her son's vile rival; reeking to the plain
Fell the hot sweat-drops as he champt the rein.
And here display'd, most glorious to behold,
The Grecian banners opening many a fold

305

Seem'd trembling on the gale; at distance far
The Ganges laved the wide-extended war.
Here the blue marble gives the helmets' gleam,
Here from the cuiras shoots the golden beam.
A proud-ey'd youth, with palms unnumber'd gay,
Of the bold veterans led the brown array;
Scornful of mortal birth enshrin'd he rode,
Call'd Jove his father , and assumed the god.
While dauntless Gama and his train survey'd
The sculptured walls, the lofty Regent said;
For nobler wars than these you wondering see
That ample space th' eternal fates decree:
Sacred to these th' unpictured wall remains,
Unconscious yet of vanquish'd India's chains.
Assured we know the awful day shall come,
Big with tremendous fate, and India's doom.
The sons of Brahma, by the god their sire
Taught to illume the dread divining fire,
From the drear mansions of the dark abodes
Awake the dead, or call th' infernal gods;
Then round the flame, while glimmering ghastly blue,
Behold the future scene arise to view.
The sons of Brahma in the magic hour
Beheld the foreign foe tremendous lour;

306

Unknown their tongue, their face, and strange attire,
And their bold eye-balls burn'd with warlike ire:
They saw the chief o'er prostrate India rear
The glittering terrors of his awful spear.
But swift behind these wintery days of woe
A spring of joy arose in liveliest glow,
Such gentle manners leagued with wisdom reign'd
In the dread victors, and their rage restrain'd.
Beneath their sway majestic, wise, and mild,
Proud of her victors' laws thrice happier India smiled.
So to the prophets of the Magi train
The visions rose, that never rose in vain.
The Regent ceased; and now with solemn pace
The Chiefs approach the regal hall of grace.
The tapstried walls with gold were pictured o'er,
And flowery velvet spread the marble floor.
In all the grandeur of the Indian state
High on a blazing couch the Monarch sate,
With starry gems the purple curtains shined,
And ruby flowers and golden foliage twined
Around the silver pillars: High o'er head
The golden canopy its radiance shed:
Of cloth of gold the sovereign's mantle shone,
And his high turban flamed with precious stone.

307

Sublime and awful was his sapient mien,
Lordly his posture, and his brow serene.
An hoary sire submiss on bended knee,
(Low bow'd his head,) in India's luxury,
A leaf , all fragrance to the glowing taste,
Before the king each little while replaced.
The patriarch Brahmin, soft and slow he rose,
Advancing now to lordly Gama bows,
And leads him to the throne; in silent state
The Monarch's nod assigns the Captain's seat;
The Lusian train in humbler distance stand:
Silent the Monarch eyes the foreign band
With awful mien; when valiant Gama broke
The solemn pause, and thus majestic spoke;
From where the crimson sun of evening laves
His blazing chariot in the western waves,
I come, the herald of a mighty King,
And holy vows of lasting friendship bring
To thee, O Monarch, for resounding Fame
Far to the west has borne thy princely name,
All India's sovereign thou! Nor deem I sue,
Great as thou art, the humble suppliant's due.
Whate'er from western Tagus to the Nile,
Inspires the monarch's wish, the merchants' toil,

308

From where the north-star gleams o'er seas of frost,
To Ethiopia's utmost burning coast,
Whate'er the sea, whate'er the land bestows,
In my great Monarch's realm unbounded flows.
Pleased thy high grandeur and renown to hear,
My Sovereign offers friendship's bands sincere:
Mutual he asks them, naked of disguise,
Then every bounty of the smiling skies
Shower'd on his shore and thine, in mutual flow,
Shall joyful Commerce on each shore bestow.
Our might in war, what vanquish'd nations fell,
Beneath our spear, let trembling Afric tell;
Survey my floating towers, and let thine ear,
Dread as it roars, our battle thunder hear.
If friendship then thy honest wish explore,
That dreadful thunder on thy foes shall roar.
Our banners o'er the crimson field shall sweep,
And our tall navies ride the foamy deep,
Till not a foe against thy land shall rear
Th' invading bowsprit, or the hostile spear;
My King, thy brother, thus thy wars shall join,
The glory his, the gainful harvest thine.
Brave Gama spake: the Pagan King replies,
From lands which now behold the morning rise,

309

While eve's dim clouds the Indian sky enfold,
Glorious to us an offer'd league we hold.
Yet shall our will in silence rest unknown,
Till what your laud, and who the King you own,
Our Council deeply weigh. Let joy the while,
And the glad feast the fleeting hours beguile.
Ah! to the wearied mariner, long tost
O'er briny waves, how sweet the long-sought coast!
The night now darkens; on the friendly shore
Let soft repose your wearied strength restore,
Assured an answer from our lips to bear,
Which, not displeased, your Sovereign Lord shall hear.
More now we add not—From the hall of state
Withdrawn, they now approach the Regent's gate;
The sumptuous banquet glows; all India's pride
Heap'd on the board the royal feast supplied.
Now o'er the dew-drops of the eastern lawn
Gleamed the pale radiance of the star of dawn,
The valiant Gama on his couch reposed,
And balmy rest each Lusian eye-lid closed;
When the high Catual, watchful to fulfill
The cautious mandates of his Sovereign's will,
In secret converse with the Moor retires,
And, earnest, much of Lusus' sons enquires;

310

What laws, what holy rites, what monarch sway'd
The warlike race? When thus the just Mozaide;
The land from whence these warriors well I know,
(To neighbouring earth my hapless birth I owe)
Illustrious Spain, along whose western shores
Grey-dappled eve the dying twilight pours.—
A wondrous prophet gave their holy lore,
The godlike Seer a virgin-mother bore,
Th' Eternal Spirit on the human race,
So be they taught, bestow'd such awful grace.
In war unmatch'd they rear the trophied crest:
What terrors oft have thrill'd my infant breast,
When their brave deeds my wondering fathers told;
How from the lawns, where, chrystalline and cold,
The Guadiana rowls his murmuring tide,
And those where purple by the Tago's side,
The lengthening vineyards glisten o'er the field,
Their warlike sires my routed sires expell'd:
Nor paused their rage; the furious seas they braved,
Nor loftiest walls, nor castled mountains saved;
Round Afric's thousand bays their navies rode,
And their proud armies o'er our armies trod.

311

Nor less, let Spain through all her kingdoms own,
O'er other foes their dauntless valour shone:
Let Gaul confess, her mountain ramparts wild,
Nature in vain the hoar Pyrenians piled.
No foreign lance could e'er their rage restrain,
Unconquer'd still the warrior race remain.
More would you hear, secure your care may trust
The answer of their lips, so nobly just,
Conscious of inward worth, of manners plain,
Their manly souls the gilded lye disdain.
Then let thine eyes their lordly might admire,
And mark the thunder of their arms of fire:
The shore with trembling hears the dreadful sound,
And rampired walls lie smoaking on the ground.
Speed to the fleet; their arts, their prudence weigh,
How wise in peace, in war how dread, survey.
With keen desire the craftful Pagan burn'd;
Soon as the morn in orient blaze return'd,
To view the fleet his splendid train prepares;
And now attended by the lordly Nayres,
The shore they cover, now the oarsmen sweep
The foamy surface of the azure deep:
And now brave Paulus gives the friendly hand,
And high on Gama's lofty deck they stand.

312

Bright to the day the purple sail-cloaths glow,
Wide to the gale the silken ensigns flow;
The pictured flags display the warlike strife;
Bold seem the heroes as inspired by life.
Here arm to arm the single combat strains,
Here burns the combat on the tented plains
General and fierce; the meeting lances thrust,
And the black blood seems smoaking on the dust.
With earnest eyes the wondering Regent views
The pictured warriors, and their history sues.
But now the ruddy juice, by Noah found,
In foaming goblets circled swiftly round,
And o'er the deck swift rose the festive board;
Yet, smiling oft, refrains the Indian Lord:
His faith forbade with other tribe to join
The sacred meal, esteem'd a rite divine.

313

In bold vibrations, thrilling on the ear,
The battle sounds the Lusian trumpets rear;
Loud burst the thunders of the arms of fire,
Slow round the sails the clouds of smoke aspire,
And rolling their dark volumes o'er the day
The Lusian war, in dreadful pomp, display.
In deepest thought the careful Regent weigh'd
The pomp and power at Gamas's nod bewray'd,
Yet seem'd alone in wonder to behold
The glorious heroes and the wars half told

314

In silent poesy—Swift from the board
High crown'd with wine, uprose the Indian Lord;
Both the bold Gamas, and their generous Peer,
The brave Coello, rose, prepared to hear
With meet attendance, or the meet reply:
Fixt and enquiring was the Regent's eye:
The warlike image of an hoary sire,
Whose name shall live till earth and time expire,
His wonder fixt; and more than human glow'd
The hero's look; his robes of Grecian mode;
A bough, his ensign, in his right he waved,
A leafy bough—But I, fond man depraved!
Where would I speed, as mad'ning in a dream,
Without your aid, ye Nymphs of Tago's stream!
Or yours, ye Dryads of Mondego's bowers!
Without your aid how vain my wearied powers!
Long yet and various lies my arduous way
Through louring tempests and a boundless sea.
Oh then, propitious hear your son implore,
And guide my vessel to the happy shore.
Ah! see how long what per'lous days, what woes
On many a foreign coast around me rose,
As dragg'd by Fortune's chariot wheels along
I sooth'd my sorrows with the warlike song;

315

Wide ocean's horrors lengthening now around,
And now my footsteps trod the hostile ground;
Yet midst each danger of tumultuous war
Your Lusian heroes ever claim'd my care:
As Canace of old, ere self-destroy'd,
One hand the pen, and one the sword employ'd.
Degraded now, by poverty abhorr'd,
The guest dependent at the Lordling's board:
Now blest with all the wealth fond hope could crave,
Soon I beheld that wealth beneath the wave
For ever lost; myself escaped alone,
On the wild shore all friendless, hopeless, thrown;
My life, like Judah's heaven-doom'd king of yore,
By miracle prolong'd; yet not the more
To end my sorrows: woes succeeding woes
Belied my earnest hopes of sweet repose:
In place of bays around my brows to shed
Their sacred honours, o'er my destined head
Foul Calumny proclaim'd the fraudful tale,
And left me mourning in a dreary jail.

316

Such was the meed, alas! on me bestow'd,
Bestow'd by those for whom my numbers glow'd,
By those who to my toils their laurel honours owed.
Ye gentle Nymphs of Tago's rosy bowers,
Ah, see what letter'd Patron-Lords are yours!
Dull as the herds that graze their flowery dales,
To them in vain the injured Muse bewails:
No fostering care their barb'rous hands bestow,
Though to the Muse their fairest fame they owe.
Ah, cold may prove the future Priest of Fame
Taught by my fate: yet will I not disclaim
Your smiles, ye Muses of Mondego's shade,
Be still my dearest joy your happy aid!
And hear my vow; Nor king, nor loftiest peer
Shall e'er from Me the song of flattery hear;
Nor crafty tyrant, who in office reigns,
Smiles on his king, and binds the land in chains;
His king's worst foe: Nor he whose raging ire,
And raging wants, to shape his course, conspire;
True to the clamours of the blinded crowd,
Their changeful Proteus, insolent and loud:
Nor he whose honest mien secures applause,
Grave though he seem, and father of the laws,
Who, but half-patriot, niggardly denies
Each other's merit, and witholds the prize:

317

Who spurns the Muse, nor feels the raptured strain,
Useless by him esteem'd, and idly vain:
For him, for these, no wreath my hand shall twine;
On other brows th' immortal rays shall shine:

318

He who the path of honour ever trod,
True to his King, his Country, and his God,
On his blest head my hands shall fix the crown
Wove of the deathless laurels of Renown.
END OF THE SEVENTH BOOK.
 

The constitution of Germany, observes Puffendorf, may be said to verify the fable of the Hydra, with this difference, that the heads of the German state bite and devour each other. At the time when Camoens wrote, the German empire was plunged into all the miseries of a religious war, the Catholics using every endeavour to rivet the chains of Popery, the adherents of Luther as strenuously endeavouring to shake them off.

This is a mistake. The title of King of Jerusalem was never assumed by the Kings of England. Robert, Duke of Normandy, son of William the Conqueror, was elected King of Jerusalem by the army in Syria, but declined it in hope of ascending the throne of England, which attempt was defeated. Regnier, Count d'Anjou, father of Margaret, queen of Henry VI. was flattered with the mock royalty of Naples, Cyprus, and Jerusalem, his armorial bearing for the latter, Luna, a cross potent, between four crosses Sol. Hen. VIII. filled the throne of England when our author wrote: his gothic luxury and conjugal brutality amply deserved the censure of the honest Poet.

The French Translator very cordially agrees with the Portuguese Poet in the strictures upon Germany, England, and Italy. But when his own country is touched upon, “Malgré Pestime, says he, que j'ai pour mon auteur, je ne craindrai pas de dire qu'il tombe ici dans une grande injustice: For all the regard I have for my Author, I will not hesitate to say, that here he has committed an enormous injustice.” All Europe besides however will witness the truth of the assertion, which stigmatizes the French politics with the lust of extending their monarchy.

A river in Africa.

However these severe reflections on modern Italy may displease the admirers of Italian manners, the picture on the whole is too just to admit of confutation. Never did the history of any court afford such instances of villainy and all the baseness of intrigue as that of the Popes. The faith and honour of gentlemen banished from the politics of the Vatican, every public virtue must of consequence decline among the higher ranks, while the lower, broken by oppression, sunk into the deepest poverty, and its attendant vices of meanness and pufillanimity. That this view of the lower ranks in the Pope's dominions is just, we have the indubitable testimony of an Addison, confirmed by the miserable depopulation of a province, which was once the finest and most populous of the Roman empire. It has long been the policy of the court of Spain, to encourage the luxury and effeminate dissipation of the Neapolitan nobility; and those of modern Venice resemble their warlike ancestors only in name. That Italy can boast many individuals of a different character, will by no means overthrow these general observations founded on the testimony of the most authentic Writers. Our Poet is besides justifiable, in his censures, for he only follows the severe reflections of the greatest of the Italian Poets. It were easy to give fifty instances, two or three however shall suffice. Dante in his sixth Canto, del Purg.

Abi, serva Italia, di dolore ostello,
Nave senza noccbiero in gran tempesta,
Non donna di provincie, ma bordello—

“Ah, slavish Italy, the Inn of dolour, a ship without a pilot in a horrid tempest, not the mistress of provinces, but a brothel.” Ariosto, Canto 17.

O d'ogni vitio fetida sentina
Dormi Italia imbriac—

“O inebriated Italy, thou sleepest the sink of every filthy vice.” And Petrarch;

Del' empia Babilonia, ond' è fuggita
Ogni vergogna, ond' ogni bene è fuori,
Albergo di dolor, madre d'errori
Son fuggit' io per allungar la vita.

“From the impious Babylon (the Papal court) from whence all shame and all good are fled, the Inn of dolour, the mother of errors, have I hastened away to prolong my life.”

A much admired Sonnet from the same Author shall close these citations.

SONNETTO.
La gola, e'l sonno, e l'otiose piume
Hanno del mondo ogni virtù sbandita;
Ond' è dal corso suo quasi smarrita
Nostra natura vinta dal costume:
Ed è si spento ogni benigno lume
Del ciel, per cui s'informa humana vita
Che per cosa mirabile s'addita
Chi vuol far d'Helicona nascer fiume
Qual vagbezza di lauro, qual di mirto?
Povera e nuda vai Filosofia,
Dice la turba al vil guadagno intesa.
Pochi compagni havrai per l'alta via;
Tanto ti prego più; gentile spirto,
Non lassar la magnanima tua impresa.

Though this elegant little Poem is general, yet as the Author and the friend to whom he addresses it, were Italians, that he had a particular regard to the state of their own country must be allowed. I have thus attempted it in English.

SONNET.
Ah! how, my friend, has foul-gorged Luxurie,
And bloated slumbers on the slothful down,
From the dull world all manly virtue thrown,
And slaved the age to custom's tyrannie!
The blessed lights so lost in darkness be,
Those lights by heaven to guide our minds bestown,
Mad were he deem'd who brought from Helicon
The hallowed water or the laurel tree.
Philosophy, ah! thou art cold and poor,
Exclaim the crowd, on sordid gain intent;
Few will attend thee on thy lofty road:
Yet I, my friend, would fire thy zeal the more;
Ah, gentle spirit, labour on unspent,
Crown thy fair toils, and win the smile of God.

It is supposed that this was addressed to a friend, engaged in some literary undertaking of importance and novelty.

Cadmus having slain the dragon which guarded the fountain of Dirce in Bœotia, sowed the teeth of the monster. A number of armed men immediately sprung up, and surrounded Cadmus in order to kill him. By the counsel of Minerva he threw a precious stone among them, in striving for which they slew one another. Only five survived, who afterwards assisted him to build the city of Thebes. Vid. Ovid. Met. IV.

The foundation of this fable appears to be thus: Cadmus having slain a famous Freebooter, who infested Bœotia, a number of his Banditti, not improperly called his teeth, attempted to revenge his death, but quarrelling about the presents which Cadmus sent them to distribute among themselves, they fell by the swords of each other.

Terrigenæ pereunt per mutua vulnera fratres.

Imitated from this fine passage in Lucan:

Quis furor, O Cives! quæ tanta licentia ferri,
Gentibus invisis Latium præbere cruorem?
Cumque superba foret Babylon spolianda trophæis
Ausoniis, umbraque erraret Crassus inulta,
Belligeri placuit nullos habitura triumphos?
Heu, quantum potuit terræ pelagique parari
Hoc, quem civiles bauserunt, sanguine, dextræ!

The Caspian sea, so called from the large river Volga or Wolga, which empties itself into it.

By this barbarous policy the tyranny of the Ottomans has been long sustained. The troops of the Turkish infantry and cavalry, known by the name of Janizaries and Spahis, are thus supported; and the scribes in office called Mufti, says Sandys, “are the sons of Christians (and those the most completely furnished by nature) taken in their childhood from their miserable parents by a levy made every five years, or oftener or seldomer, as occasion requireth.”

See the note on page 194.

Alludes to the discovery and conquest of the Brazils by the Portuguese.

If our former defences of the exuberant declamations of Camoens are allowed by the critic, we doubt not but the disgression, now concluded, will appear with peculiar propriety. The poet having brought his heroes to the shore of India, indulges himself with a review of the state of the western and eastern worlds; the latter of which is now, by the labour of his heroes, rendered accessible to the former. The purpose of his poem is also strictly kept in view. The West and the East he considers as two great empires, the one of the true religion, the other of a false. The professors of the true, disunited and destroying one another; the professors of the false one all combined to extirpate the other. He upbraids the professors of the true religion for their vices, particularly for their disunion and for deserting the interests of holy faith. His countrymen, however, he boasts, have been its defenders and planters, and, without the assistance of their brother powers, will plant it in Asia. This, as it is the purpose of his hero, is directly to the subject of the poem, and the honour, which heaven he says vouchsafed to his countrymen, in chusing them to defend and propagate its laws, is in the genuine spirit of that religious enthusiasm which breathes through the two great epic poems of Greece and Rome, and which gives an air of the most solemn importance to the Gierusalemme of Tasso.

Yet whatever liberties a poet may be allowed to take when he treats of the fabulous ages, any absurdity of opinion, where authentic history, and the state of modern nations afford the topic, must to the intelligent reader appear ridiculous, and therefore a blemish in a solemn poem. There are many, the translator is aware, to whom a serious and warm exhortation to a general crusade will appear as an absurdity, and a blemish of this kind. “The crusaders,” according to what M. Voltaire calls their true character, des brigands liguès pour venir, &c. “were a band of vagabond thieves who had agreed to ramble from the heart of Europe in order to desolate a country they had no right to, and massacre, in cold blood, a venerable prince more than fourscore years old, and his whole people, against whom they had no pretence of complaint.”

Yet however confidently Voltaire and others may please to talk, it will be no difficult matter to prove that the crusades were neither so unjustifiable, so impolitical, nor so unhappy in their consequences as the superficial readers of history are habituated to view them.

Were the Aborigines of all America to form one general confederacy against the descendants of those Europeans, who under that brutal conqueror Fernando Cortez, massacred upwards of forty millions of Mexicans, and other American natives, and were the confederates totally to dispossess the present possessors of an empire so unjustly acquired, no man, it is presumed, would pronounce that their combination and hostilities were against the law of nature or nations. Yet, whatever Voltaire may please to assert, this supposition is by no means unapplicable to the confederacy of the cross. A party of wandering Arabs are joined by the Turks or Turcomans, who inhabited the frozen wilds of mount Caucasus, and whose name signifies wanderers; these, incorporated with other banditti, from the deserts of Scythia, now called Tartary, overrun the regions of Syria, to which they had no title, whose inhabitants had given them no offence. They profess that they are commissioned by heaven to establish the religion of Mohammed by violence and the sword. In a few ages they subdue the finest countries around the Euphrates, and the Christian inhabitants, the rightful possessors, are treated with the brutal policy and cruelty of a Cortez. Bound by their creed to make war on the Christians, their ambition neglects no opportunity to extend their conquests; and already possessed of immense territory, their acknowledged purpose and their power threaten destruction to the Christian empire of the Greeks.

Having conquered and proselited Africa, from the Nile to the Straits of Gibraltar, the princes of that country, their tributaries and allies, combining in the great design to extirpate Christianity, turn their arms against Europe, and are successful: they establish kingdoms in Spain and Portugal; and France, Italy, and the western islands of the mediterranean, suffer by their excursions; while Hungary, Bohemia, Poland, and Italy itself, from its vicinage to Dalmatia, are immediately concerned in the impending fate of the Grecian empire. To these considerations let it be added, that several eastern Christians fled to Europe, and begging as pilgrims from country to country, implored the assistance of the Christian powers to dispossess the cruel and unjust usurpers of their lands. At this period the crusades commence. To suppose that the princes of Europe were so insensible to the danger which threatened them, as some modern writers who have touched upon that subject, appear to be, is to ascribe a degree of stupidity to them by no means applicable to their military character. Though superstition inflamed the multitude, we may be assured however, that several princes found it their political interest to fan the flames of that superstition; and accordingly we find that the princes of Spain and Portugal often greatly availed themselves of it. The immense resources which the Turks received from Egypt, and the neighbouring countries, which had not been attempted by Godfrey and the first crusaders, determined their successors to alter the plan of their operations. They began their hostilities in Spain and Portugal, and proceeded through Barbary to Egypt. By this new route of the crosses, the Spaniards and Portuguese were enabled not only to drive the Moors from Europe, but to give a fatal blow to their power in Africa. Nor was the safety of the Greek empire less necessary to Italy and the eastern kingdoms of Europe. Injuries, however, offered by the crusaders, who even seized the throne of Constantinople, upon which they placed an earl of Flanders, excited the resentment of the Greeks; and their aversion to the papal supremacy rendered them so jealous of the crusaders, that the successors of Godfrey, for want of auxiliary support, after about ninety years possession, were totally driven from their new-erected kingdom in the Holy Land. By the fall of the Greek empire, an event which followed, and which had been long foreseen, the Venetians, the Austrians, the Poles, and the Russians became the natural enemies of the Turks; and many desperate wars, attended with various success, have been continued to the present time. Not much above fifty years ago, their formidable efforts to possess themselves of the Venetian dominions alarmed all the Christian powers; and had it not been for the repeated defeats they received from prince Eugene, a great part of the Austrian territories must have yielded to their yoke. However overlooked, it requires but little political philosophy to perceive the security which would result to Europe were there a powerful and warlike kingdom on the eastern side of the Turkish empire. The western conquests of that fierce warrior Bajazet I. were interrupted by Tamerlane, and by the enemy they found in Kouli Khan, the enraged Porte was prevented from revenging the triumphs of Eugene. A few years ago we beheld them trample on the law of nations, send an ambassador to prison, and command the Russian empress to desert her allies. A war, which now continues, ensued. And however the foresight of the narrow politician may dread the rising power of the Russ, it is to be wished that the arms of Muscovy may fix such barriers to the Turkish empire as will for ever prevent their long meditated and often attempted design to possess themselves of the Venetian dominions, or to extend their conquests on the West, conquests which would render them the most dangerous power to the peace of Europe.

In a word, the crusades, a combination which tended to support the Greek empire for the security of the eastern, and to drive the enemy from the southern parts of Europe, can by no means deserve to be called a most singular monument of human folly, whatever the superstition of its promoters and conductors might be. And however the inutility and absurdity of their professed aim, to rescue the tomb of Christ, may excite the ridicule of the modern philosopher, it was a motive admirably adapted to the superstition of that age; and where it is necessary that an enemy should be restrained, an able politician will avail himself of the most powerful of all incitements to hostility, the superstitious or religious fervour of his army.

Having entered so far into the history of the crusades, it may not be improper to take a view of the happy consequences which flowed from them. “To these wild expeditions,” says Robertson, “the effect of superstition or folly, we owe the first gleams of light which tended to dispel barbarity and ignorance, and introduce any change in government or manners.” Constantinople, at that time the seat of elegance, of arts and commerce, was the principal rendezvous of the European armies. The Greek writers of that age speak of the Latins as the most ignorant barbarians; the Latins, on the other hand, talk with astonishment of the grandeur, elegance, and commerce of Constantinople. The most stupid barbarians, when they have the opportunity of comparison, are sensible of the superiority of civilized nations, and by an acquaintance with them begin to resemble their manners, and emulate their advantages. The fleets which attended the crosses introduced commerce, and the freedom of commercial cities into their mother countries. This, as Robertson observes, proved destructive to the feudal system, which had now degenerated into the most gloomy oppression, and introduced the plans of regular government. “This acquisition of liberty,” says the same most ingenious historian, “made such a happy change in the condition of all the members of communities as roused them from that stupidity and inaction into which they had been sunk by the wretchedness of their former state. The spirit of industry revived, commerce became an object of attention, and began to flourish. Population increased. Independence was established, and wealth flowed into cities which had long been the seat of poverty and oppression.”

Upon the whole it will be found, that the Portuguese poet talks of the political reasons of a crusade, with an accuracy in the philosophy of history, as superior to that of Voltaire as the poetical merit of the Lusiad surpasses that of the Henriade. And the critic in poetry must allow, that to suppose the discovery of Gama the completion of all the endeavours to overthrow the great enemies of the true religion gives a dignity to the poem, and an importance to the hero, similar to that which Voltaire, on the same supposition, allows to the subject of the Jerusalem of Tasso.

Lisbon itself was taken from the Moors, by the assistance of an English feet of crusaders. See the note, p. 108.

A Patriarch of Constantinople declared publickly to the Pope's legate. “That he would much rather behold the turban than the triple crown upon the great altar of Constantinople.”

This is according to the truth of history. While the messenger sent ashore by Gama was borne here and there, and carried off his feet by the throng, who understood not a word of his language, he was accosted in Spanish by a Moorish merchant, a native of Tunis, who, according to Osorius, had been the chief person with whom king Ferdinand had formerly contracted for military stores. He proved himself an honest agent, and of infinite service to Gama, with whom he returned to Portugal, where, according to Faria, he died in the Christian communion. He was named Monzaida.

To eat together was in the east looked upon as the inviolable pledge of protection. As a Persian nobleman was one day walking in his garden, a wretch in the utmost terror prostrated himself before him, and implored to be protected from the rage of a multitude who were in pursuit of him, to take his life. The nobleman took a peach, eat part of it, and gave the rest to the fugitive, assuring him of safety. As they approached the house, they met a crowd who carried the murdered corse of the nobleman's beloved son. The incensed populace demanded the murderer, who stood beside him, to be delivered to their fury. The father, though overwhelmed with grief and anger, replied, “We have eaten together, and I will not betray him.” He protected the murderer of his son from the fury of his domestics and neighbours, and in the night facilitated his escape.

The well-known fable of the descent of Orpheus to hell, and the second loss of his wife, is thus explained. Aëdoneus, king of Thesprotia, whose cruelty procured him the name of Pluto, tyrant of hell, having seized Eurydice, as she fled from his friend Aristæus, detained her as a captive. Orpheus having charmed the tyrant with his music, his wife was restored, on condition that he should not look upon her, till he had conducted her out of Thesprotia. Orpheus, on his journey, forfeited the condition, and irrecoverably lost his spouse.

The Great Mogul and other eastern sovereigns, attended with their courtiers, spend annually some months of the finest season in encampments in the field, in hunting parties, and military amusements.

Properly an immense chain of mountains, known by various names, Caucasus, Taurus, Hemodus, Paropamissus, Orontes, Imaus, &c. and from Imaus extended through Tartary to the sea of Kamchatka.

One Captain Knox, who published an account of Ceylon, in 1681, has the following curious passage. “This for certain, says he, I can affirm, that oftentimes the Devil doth cry with an audible voice in the night: It is very shrill, almost like the barking of a dog. This I have often heard myself, but never heard that he did any body any harm. Only this observation the inhabitants of the land have made of this voice, and I have made it also, that either just before, or very suddenly after this voice, the king always cuts off people. To believe that this is the voice of the Devil these reasons urge; because there is no creature known to the inhabitants that cries like it, and because it will on a sudden depart from one place, and make a noise in another, quicker than any fowl can fly, and because the very dogs will tremble when they hear it; and it is so counted by all the people.” —Knox, Hist. Ceyl. p. 78.

Pliny, imposed upon by some Greeks, who pretended to have been in India, relates this fable. Vid. Nat. Hist. Lib. 12.

Almost all the Indian nations attribute to the Ganges, the virtue of cleansing the soul from the stains of sin. They have such veneration for this river, that if any one in their presence were to throw any filth into the stream, an instant death would punish his audacity. As St. Thomas preached the faith in the east, it is probable that these ablutions are a gross imitation of that baptism, which he published. Castera.

Now called Gazarate. The inhabitants are ingenious, cultivate letters, and are said to be particularly happy in the agreeable Romance. According to ancient tradition, Porus was sovereign of this country. His memory is still preserved with an eclat, worthy of that valour and generosity which attracted the esteem of the great Alexander. Castera. This country was known to the ancients by the name of Gedrosia.

The laws of Narsinga oblige the women to throw themselves into the funeral pile, to be burnt with their deceased husbands. An infallible secret to prevent the desire of widowhood.

Castera from Barros, Dec. 4.

There are many accounts in different travellers of the performance of this most barbarous ceremony. The following one is selected as the most picturesque of any in the knowledge of the translator.

“At this time (1710) died the Prince of Marata, aged above eighty years. The ceremony of his funeral, where his forty-seven wives were burned with his corpse, was thus: A deep circular pit was digged in a field without the town; in the middle of the trench was erected a pile of wood, on the top of which, on a couch richly ornamented, lay the body of the deceased Prince in his finest robes. After numberless rituals performed by the Bramins, the pile was set on fire, and immediately the unhappy Ladies appeared, sparkling with jewels and adorned with flowers. These victims of this diabolical sacrifice walked several times about the burning pile, the heat whereof was felt at a considerable distance. The principal Lady then, holding the dagger of her late husband, thus addressed herself to the Prince his successor: Here, said she, is the dagger which the King made use of, to triumph over his enemies: beware never to employ it to other purpose, never to embrue it with the blood of your subjects. Govern them as a father, as he has done, and you shall live long and happy, as he did. Since he is no more, nothing can keep me longer in the world; all that remains for me is to follow him. With these words, she resigned the dagger into the Prince's hands, who took it from her without shewing the least sign of grief or compassion. The Princess now appeared agitated. One of her domestics, a Christian woman, had frequently talked with her on religion, and though she never renounced her idols, had made some impressions on her mind. Perhaps these impressions now revived. With a most expressive look she exclaimed, Alas! what is the end of human happiness! I know I shall plunge myself headlong into hell. On these words, a horror was visible on every countenance; when resuming her courage, she boldly turned her face to the burning pile, and calling upon her gods, flung herself into the midst of the flames. The second Lady was the sister of a Prince of the blood, who was present, and assisted at the detestable sacrifice. She advanced to her brother, and gave him the jewels, wherewith she was adorned. His passion gave way, he burst into tears, and fell upon her neck in the most tender embraces. She, however, remained unmoved, and, with a resolute countenance, sometimes viewed the pile, and sometimes the assistants. Then loudly exclaiming, Chiva, Chiva, the name of one of her idols, she precipitated herself into the flames, as the former had done. The other Ladies soon followed after, some decently composed, and some with the most bewildered, down-cast, sorrowful looks. One of them, shocked above the rest, ran to a Christian soldier, whom she beheld among the guards, and hanging about his neck, implored him to save her. The new convert, stunned with surprize, pushed the unfortunate Lady from him; and shrieking aloud she fell into the fiery trench. The soldier, all shivering with terror, immediately retired, and a delirious fever ended his life in the following night. Though many of the unhappy victims, discovered at first the utmost intrepidity, yet no sooner did they feel the flames, than they roared out in the most dreadful manner; and, weltering over each other, strove to gain the brim of the pit; but in vain: the assistants forced them back with their poles, and heaped new fuel upon them. The next day the Bramins gathered the bones, and threw them into the sea. The pit was levelled, a temple built on the spot, and the deceased Prince and his wives were reckoned among the Deities. To conclude, this detestable cruelty has the appearance of the free choice of the women. But that freedom is only specious; it is almost impossible to avoid it. If they do, they must lie under perpetual infamy, and the relations, who esteem themselves highly disgraced, leave no means untried to oblige them to it. Princesses, and Concubines of Princes, however, are the only persons from whom this species of suicide is expected. When women of inferior rank submit to this abominable custom, they are only urged to it by the impulse of a barbarous pride and vanity of ostentation.” Extracted from a letter from Father Martin, on the mission of Coromandel, to Father de Villete, of the Society of Jesus, published at Paris, in 1719.

Whatever Monzaida relates of the people and their manners, is confirmed by the histories of India, according to Barros, Castaneda, Maffeus, and Don Osorius. Our Author, in this, imitates Homer and Virgil, who are fond of every opportunity to introduce any curious custom or vestige of antiquity. Castera.

Antiquity has talked much, but knew little with certainty of the Brahmins, and their philosophy. Porphyry and others esteem them the same as the Gymnosophists of the Greeks, and divide them into several sects, the Samanæi, the Germanes, the Pramnæ, the Gymnetæ, &c. Their terrible penances are often mentioned by heathen authors, and by the earliest of the Christian fathers. The story of Calanus, who burnt himself in the camp of Alexander, is well known. The Brahmin Mandanis, however, deserves more honour: he rejected with scorn the gifts of the conqueror, and ridiculed his pretensions to divinity. Several ambassadors were sent by a king of India, a king of six hundred kings, to Augustus Cæsar. (Sueton. c. 21.) One of these, a Brahmin philosopher, burned himself at Athens. His life had been extremely prosperous, and he took this method, he said, to prevent a reverse of fortune. Amid a great concourse of people he entered the fire, naked, anointed, and laughing. The epitaph which he desired might be inscribed on his tomb, was, “Here rests Zarmanochagas, the Indian of Bargosa, who, according to the custom of his country, made himself immortal.” On the approach of age or disease, according to antiquity, they had recourse to this means, and it was on the advances of a distemper that Calanus amused Alexander with this exhibition of Indian philosophy. The custom of the wife being burned with the corpse of her deceased husband is also very antient. It is mentioned by Hierome, (Adv. Jov. l. i.) and several others. Postellus (de Orig. c. 13. et 15.) fancies that the Brahmins are descended of Abraham by Keturah, and named Brachmanes, quasi Abrahmanes. Pliny, l. vii. c. 2. relates, that the Indian philosophers called Gymnetæ, from the sun rising to his setting, by way of divination, kept their eyes unalterably fixed on the orb of that luminary. Besides these relations, which correspond with later accounts, the antients had innumerable fables. Pliny talks of men in India with dogs heads; others with only one leg, yet Achilleses for swiftness of foot; of a nation of pigmies; of some, (as already observed in these notes) who lived by the smell; of tribes who had only one eye in their forehead; and of some whose ears hung down to the ground. Others talked of fountains, in India, of liquid gold. But enough. Though Pliny, no doubt, had his admirers, these stories were ridiculed by some, and Horace genteely laughs at them in a single expression.

—Quæ loca fabulosus
Lambit Hydaspes.

From the earliest times the Indians have been divided into distinct tribes. The four principal ones are, the Brahmins, (who like the Levites among the Hebrews, are hereditary priests) the soldiers, the mechanics, and the labourers. As these tribes never intermarry, India may properly be said to contain four different nations. They will neither eat together, nor drink out of the same vessel. If they trespass in these or in many other similar points, they are held as polluted, rejected from their tribe, and are obliged to herd with a despised crew, called the Hallachores, who are the lowest of the community, the rabble of India. Among these only, says Scrafton, the popish missionaries have had any success. Urbano Cerri, in his account of the Catholic religion, mentions a Jesuit named Robertus de Nobili, who preached that every one ought to remain in his own tribe, and by that means made many converts. He also proposed to erect a seminary of Christian Brahmins. But the Holy See disapproved of this rational design, and defeated his labours. Jealousy of the secular arts of the Portuguese, was also a powerful preventive of the labours of their priests. A Spaniard being asked by an Indian king, how his Spanish majesty was able to subdue such immense countries as they boasted to belong to him: The Don honestly answered, “that he first sent priests to convert the people, and having thus gained a party of the natives, he sent fleets and soldiers, who with the assistance of the new proselites subdued the rest.” The truth of this confession, which has been often proved, will never be forgotten in the East. But if the bigotted adherence of the Indians to the rites of their tribes, and other causes, have been a bar to the propagation of Christianity among them, the same reasons have also prevented the success of Mohammedism, a religion much more palatable to the luxurious and ignorant. Though the Mogul, and almost all the princes of India, have these many centuries professed the religion of the Koran, Mr. Orme computes that all the Mohammedans of Hindostan do not exceed ten thousand; whereas the Indians, he says, amount to about an hundred millions.

Almost innumerable, and sometimes as whimsically absurd as the Arabian Nights' Entertainments, are the holy legends of India. The accounts of the god Brahma, or Brimha, are more various than those of any fable in the Grecian mythology. According to Father Bohours, in his life of Xavier, the Brahmins hold, that the Great God having a desire to become visible, became man. In this state he produced three sons, Mayso, Visnu, and Brahma; the first, born of his mouth, the second, of his breast, the third, of his belly. Being about to return to his invisibility, he assigned various departments to his three sons. To Brahma he gave the third heaven, with the superintendence of the rites of religion. Brahma having a desire for children, begot the Brahmins, who are the priests of India, and who are believed by the other tribes to be a race of demi-gods, who have the blood of heaven running in their veins. Other accounts say, that Brahma produced the priests from his head, the more ignoble tribes from his breast, thighs, and feet.

According to the learned Kircher's account of the theology of the Brahmins, the sole and supreme god Vistnou, formed the secondary god Brahma, out of a flower that floated on the surface of the great deep before the creation. And afterwards, in reward of the virtue, fidelity, and gratitude of Brahma, gave him power to create the universe.

According to the Danish missionaries , the First Being, say the Brahmins, begat Eternity, Eternity begat Tschinen, Tschinen begat Tschaddy, Tschaddy begat Putady, or the elementary world, Putady begat Sound, Sound begat Nature, Nature begat the great god Tschatatschinen, from whom Brahma was the fourth in a like descent. Brahma produced the soul, the soul produced the visible heaven, the heaven produced the air, the air the fire, the fire the water, and the water the earth. A legend something similar to this appears in Mr. Dow's Dissertation on the Brahmins, prefixed to his ingenious history of Hindostan.

This genealogical nonsense, however, is not confined to India. Hesiod's genealogy of the gods, though refined upon by the schools of Plato, is of the same class. The Jewish fables, foolish questions and genealogies, reproved by saint Paul, (epist. Tit.) were probably of this kind, for the Talmudical legends were not then sprung up. Binah, or Understanding, said the cabalists, begat Cochmah, or Wisdom, &c. till at last comes Milcah, the Kingdom, who begat Shekinah, the Divine Presence. In the same manner the Christian Gnostics, of the sect of Valentinus, held their Πληρωμα, and their thirty ages. Ampsiu and Auraan, they tell us, i. e. Profundity and Silence, begat Bacua and Tharthuu, Mind and Truth; these begat Ubucua and Thardeadie, Word and Life, and these Merexa and Atarbarba, Man and Church. The other conjunctions of their thirty Æones are of similar ingenuity. The prevalence of the same spirit of mythological allegory in such different nations, affords the philosopher a worthy field of speculation.

Almost as innumerable as their legends are the dreadful penances to which the religionists of India submit themselves for the expiation of sins. Some hold the transmigration of souls, and of consequence abstain from all animal food . Yet however austere in other respects, they freely abandon themselves to every species of letchery, some of them esteeming the most unnatural abominations as the privilege of their sanctity. The cow they venerate as sacred. If a dying man can lay hold of a cow's tail , and expire with it in his hands, his soul is sure to be purified, and perhaps will enjoy the signal favour to transmigrate into the body of one of those animals. The temples of India, which are numerous, are filled with innumerable idols of the most horrid figures. Brahma, in particular, appears in many forms: in one as a fat old man, sitting cross-legged, with four faces, and four hands. A species of the antient manicheeism of Persia is mixed with their religion, and the Destroyer, or the Frightful Demon, is worshipped by the authority of their sacred books. The first thing they meet in the morning, be it ass, hog, or dog, they worship during the course of the day. Scarcely more stupid were the Pelusians: Crepitus ventris inflati, says Hierome, Pelusiaca religio est. The Brahmins are allowed to eat nothing but what is cooked by themselves. Astrology is their principal study; yet, though they are mostly a despicable set of fortune-tellers, some of them are excellent moralists, and particularly inculcate the comprehensive virtue of humanity, which is enforced by the opinion, that Divine Beings often assume the habit of mendicants, in order to distinguish the charitable from the inhuman. The Malabrians have several traditions of the virtuous on these happy trials being translated into heaven; the best designed incitement to virtue, perhaps, which their religion contains. Besides the Brahmins, the principal sect of that vast region called India, there are several others, who are divided and subdivided, according to innumerable variations in every province. In Cambaya, the Banians, a sect who strictly abstain from all animal food, are numerous.

Such are the general accounts of the Indian opinions, which till lately have been received in Europe. Accounts much more to the honour of the Indian philosophy have within these few years been laid before the public, by some gentlemen, who, by conversing with some eminent Brahmins, have enjoyed the best opportunities of information. Yet these gentlemen do not agree among themselves. Colonel Dow confesses, that he finds himself obliged to differ from Mr. Holwell almost in every particular concerning the religion of the Hindoos “The Bedang or Shaster, the sacred book of the Brahmins, says Dow, contains various accounts of the creation, one philosophical, the others allegorical. These latter, says he, have afforded ample field for the invention of the Brahmins. From the many allegorical systems of creation contained in the Shasters, many different accounts of the cosmogony of the Hindoos have been promulgated in Europe, some travellers adopting one system, some another.” From this confession we are led to infer, that the different accounts given by our modern travellers, arise from their having conversed with different Brahmins; a circumstance by no means favourable to the opinion of the consistency of the moral and philosophically religious system, which we have been told is contained in the sacred books of India. If we cannot be so warm in our admiration of the religious philosophy of the Hindoos, as some late writers have been, some circumstances of that philosophy, as delivered by themselves, it is hoped, will exculpate our coolness.

The sacred books of the Hindoos are written in a dead language, the Sanscrita, which none but the Brahmins are allowed to study. So strict in this are they, says Mr. Dow, that only one Musselman was ever instructed in it, and his knowledge was obtained by fraud. Mahummud Akbar , emperor of India, though bred a Mohammedan, studied several religions. In the christian he was instructed by a Portuguese. But finding that of the Hindoos inaccessible, he had recourse to art. A boy of parts, named Feizi, was, as the orphan of a Brahmin, put under the care of one of the most eminent of these philosophers, and obtained full knowledge of their hidden religion. But the fraud being discovered, he was laid under the restraint of an oath, and it does not appear that he ever communicated the knowledge thus acquired.

True or false, this story, which is firmly believed in Hindostan, sufficiently shews the great care with which they conceal their tenets, of which even the Mohammedans, their masters, have little or no knowledge. Different from every other sect, the Brahmins admit of no proselites, a circumstance of unparallelled policy. Some may venerate, on this account, the wisdom and sacredness of their doctrines. For our part we cannot help being led, by this very cue, to suspect that there is something extremely absurd, frivolous, and childish, in what is thus religiously enveloped in the veil of darkness. Were analogy allowed us in proof, our suspicion would amount to an assertion. The sacred books, or Shasters, are divided into four Bedas; the first contains principally the science of divination, the second treats of religious and moral duties, the third the rites of religion, sacrifices, penances, &c. and the fourth, the knowledge of the Good Being; and contains, says our author, the whole science of theology and metaphysical philosophy.

Thus, according to Mr. Dow, the Brahmins avow, and their sacred book contains, that most despicable of all pretensions to learning, judicial astrology; that mother of superstition in every country, that engine of villany, by which the priests of India, and the gypsies of England, impose on the credulous and ignorant. Nor can we pass unobserved the rejection of the fourth Beda. By its subject it seems to be the most valuable of the whole, except the second. Yet the Brahmins, says Mr. Dow, have long rejected it, because the Mohammedan religion, they say, is borrowed from it. On the supposition, which they pretend, that their sacred books were dictated by divine authority, the rejection of any part is as unwarrantable as the reason for rejecting the fourth Beda is submissive and ridiculous. Another shrewd suspicion from this also arises. The Brahmins reject a fourth part of their sacred canon, and they have ever kept the whole most carefully concealed from the eyes of every enquirer. Who, that considers these circumstances, can heartily believe the pretended antiquity or the unadulterated text of the sacred records of India?

A philosopher, named Goutam, who lived about 4000 years ago, is acknowledged to have written many of the treatises which are held sacred by the Neadirsen sect; a sect, whose doctrines are professed by the generality of the Brahmins of Bengal, and of the northern provinces. “This philosopher, says Mr. Dow, supposes that the Deity never exerts the power of a providence, but that he remains in eternal rest, taking no concern neither in human affairs, nor in the course of the operations of Nature.” This may be called philosophy, but this article in the creed of Goutam is incompatible with the idea of religion, the philosophical definition of which is certainly thus, A dependence on the Creator, similar to that of a Child on his Father.

“The learned Brahmins says the Colonel, with one voice, deny the existence of inferior divinities. Their polytheism is only a symbolical worship of the divine attributes, and it is much to be doubted, whether the want of revelation and philosophy, those necessary purifiers of religion, ever involved any nation in gross idolatry, as many ignorant zealots have pretended.”..... “Under the name of Brimha, they worship the wisdom and creative power of God; under the appellation of Bishen, his providential and preserving quality; and under that of Shibah, that attribute which tends to destroy.”

“Shibah, says the same author, among many others, is known by the names of Mahoissur, the Great Demon; Bamdebo, the Frightful Spirit; and Mohilla, the Destroyer.”

The same authority also informs us, that they erect temples to Granesh, or Policy, whom they worship at the commencement of any design, represented with the head of an elephant with only one tooth. That they worship Kartic, or Fame; Cobere, or Wealth; Soorage, or the sun; Chunder, or the moon; the deities of water, fire, &c. besides an innumerable herd of local divinities . In another place, our author confesses that the vulgar revere all the elements, and receive as an article of belief every holy legend.

An account of the celebrated sect of the Brahmins, and an enquiry into their philosophy, are undoubtedly requisite in the notes of a Poem which celebrates the discovery of the Eastern World; of a poem where their rites and opinions are necessarily mentioned. To set the subject in the clearest and most just view, as far as his abilities will serve him, is the intention of the translator. The admirers of the Hindoos philosophy will therefore excuse him, should he venture to give his opinion against the apology for the polytheism of the Brahmins. To call it only a symbolical worship of the Divine Attributes, is only to present to us a specious shadow, which will vanish on the slightest touch of examination.

That the polytheism of Egypt, the worship of dogs, crocodiles, and onions, was only a symbolical worship of the divine attributes, has been often said, and with equal justice. For our part we can distinguish no difference between the worship of Janus with two faces, or of Brahma with four. The philosophers of Rome were as able to allegorise as those of India. The apology for the idolatry of the Brahmins is applicable to that of every nation, and, as an argument, falls nothing short of that of a learned Arab, who about the eleventh century wrote a treatise to prove that there never was such a thing as idolatry in the world, for that every man intended to worship some attribute of the divinity, which he believed to reside in his idol.

Nor is a sentiment of Mr. Dow inapplicable to this: “Let us rest assured, says he, that whatever the external ceremonies of religion may be, the self same infinite Being is the object of universal adoration.” Yet whatever the metaphysician may think of this ingenious refinement, the moral philosopher will be little pleased with it, when he considers that the vulgar, that is ninety-nine of every hundred, are utterly incapable of practising their idolatry, according to this philosophical definition. That the learned Brahmins with one voice assert there is but one Supreme God, has been acknowledged by almost all modern travellers. Xavier himself confesses this, and tells us from the authority of a Brahmin, that the ten commandments made a part of their hidden religion. But be their hidden religion what it will, the Brahmins, in public, worship and teach the worship of idols. To give an account both of the popular and what is called the philosophical religion of India, is the purpose of this essay. To abstract our view therefore from the popular practice of the country, and to indulge the spirit of encomium on the enlarged tenets of the learned few, is not here to be expected. To follow this method, a traveller may tell us there is no popery at Rome, or that the divine mission of Mohammed is denied at Constantinople, because at the one he conversed with a deistical Bishop, or at the other with a philosophical Mufti. However pleased therefore the metaphysician may be with ingenious refinement, the moralist will consider, that the question is not, how the philosopher may refine upon any system, but how the people will, of consequence, practise under its influence. And on this view alone, he will pronounce it reprehensible or commendable. That the religion of the Brahmins is highly reprehensible every moralist must allow, when he considers, that the most unworthy ideas of the Divinity, ideas destructive of morality, naturally arise from idol worship; and the vulgar, it is every where confessed, cannot avoid the abuse. What can he think of the piety of a poor superstitious Indian, when he worships the Great Dæmon, the Destroyer, and Frightful Spirit? Does he love what he worships? And can piety exist where the object of adoration is hated? What can the moralist think of the Indian, who, upon religious principles, drowns himself in the Ganges, or throws himself under the wheels of his pagod's chariot, to be crushed to death by the holy load? The duties we owe to our relatives in particular, and to society in general, the Author of Nature has imposed upon us by an indispensible canon. Yet these duties by the pious suicide are refused on the principles of the weakest superstition. Nor can the moralist view the dreadful austerities to which the Brahmin philosophers submit themselves in any other light. He who fixes his eyes on his nose till he can see in no other direction; he who clenches his fist till the nails grow out at the back of his hand; and he who twists his neck about, till his face is fixed unalterably backward; (three modes of penance mentioned by Mr. Dow) and he who drowns himself at once, equally incapacitate themselves for the duties of society Nor ought other parts of the Brahmin superstition, in our examination of their tenets and practises, to be here omitted. From the concurrent accounts of many travellers who understood their language, and conversed with the Brahmins, among many other most absurd rites, we are informed that they pay a superstitious regard, and ascribe great holiness to the ashes of burned cowdung; that they persuade the people that their idols eat and drink, and for this purpose extort contributions from the multitude; and for this purpose too, prostitution is enjoyned, and the price of it received from the hands of poor women. If all this is not gross idolatry, nothing ever transacted on earth can deserve the name.

If we may be allowed to digress a little from the subject of the Brahmins, the futility of our refined apology for idolatry will still appear in a stronger light. What will the definition avail in the ballance of morality, when all the inhuman, impure, and immoral rites of idolatry are laid in the other scale? Palestine, Tyre, and Carthage made their children “pass through the fire unto Moloch;” and human sacrifices have prevailed at one time or other in every land. No philosophers ever entertained sublimer ideas of the Divinity, and of the human soul, than the antient Druids. Yet what shall we think of the Wicker Man! A gigantic figure! the body, each leg and arm was a mast, to which an hundred or more human victims were bound with wicker. When there was a deficiency of malefactors or prisoners of war, the innocent helpless were seized, that the horrid sacrifice might be complete. When all the rites were performed, the sublime Druids gave the hecatomb to the flames, as an offering grateful to their gods, as the assurance of protection . In the most polished ages of antient Greece and Rome, the rites of religion were often highly immoral, basely impure. To mention any particular would be an insult to the scholar. Impurities which make the blood recoil, which, like Swift, make one detest the Yahoo species, are a part of the religious externals of many barbarous tribes. A citation from Baumgarten's travels, as quoted by Mr. Locke, here offers itself. “Insuper sanctum illum, quem eo loco [in Egypt] vidimus, publicitus apprimé commendari, eum esse hominem sanctum, divinum à integritate præcipuum; eo quod, nec fœminarum unquam esset, nec puerorum, sed tantummodo aselarum cuncubitor atque mularum.” Decency will allow no translation of this. In a word, where idolatry is practised, whether in the churches of Rome, or in the temples of Brahma, the consequences are felt, and a remedy is wanted: the vulgar are gross idolators; the wiser part see the cheat, and become almost indifferent to every tie of religion.

To all this let it be added, that as Mr. Holwell's and Mr. Dow's Brahmins did not give the same accounts of their hidden religion to these gentlemen; so it is an observation founded on experience, that the zealot of any sect, in giving an account of his religion to one who knows nothing about it, will give every circumstance the best gloss, and strain every feature, as much as possible, to a conformity to the ideas of his intelligent friend. In this manner Josephus, a man of great abilities, wrote his history of the Jews. He has altered, suppressed, glossed, and falsified, on purpose to adopt the manners and opinions of his countrymen, as much as possible, to the taste of the Greek and Roman philosophers. In the same manner, we believe, it may be asserted, that every jesuit behaves, when he defends popery in conversation with an intelligent dissenter from the church of Rome, who has the art to appear ignorant of the doctrines of the papacy, and of the writers of that communion. One may often meet with a sensible papist, who either from ignorance of the history of his own religion, or from prejudice in its favour, will very confidently deny the horrid cruelties, superstitions, and villanous arts of Holy Church; those intrigues and transactions which form the principal part of the history of Europe during six or seven monkish centuries. Yet what wise man will upon such evidence reject the testimony of ages. The allusion is apt, and the inference is the same. Every one, who is acquainted with the history of the human mind, knows what an alteration in the manners of that most bigotted people the Jews, was introduced by the Babylonian captivity. Before that period amazingly dull and stupid, after their return from Assyria they began to philosophize. The superstition and idolatry of the modern Brahmins have certainly, in the same manner, received great improvement of features from the conversation of Europeans, whose example, however otherwise vicious, could not fail to convince them of the absurdity of such mental weakness. The horrible custom of burning the wives with the corpse of the deceased husband, is now, says Mr. Dow, in disuse. From whence the late alteration? Not surely from any text of their hidden sacred canon, which they pretend to have enjoyed so many thousand years .

By the light of all these considerations it will appear, that the accounts of the superstition and idolatry of the Brahmins, which, till lately were received, were by no means without foundation. And indeed it were an unparallelled circumstance, were the concurrent testimony of the most authentic writers and intelligent travellers of the 16th and 17th centuries, to deserve no credit. The difference of the religious legends, by these writers ascribed to the Indians, is fairly accounted for by Mr. Dow; by whom also, as just cited, every charge of superstition is virtually confirmed.

Two cardinal points of the philosophy of the Brahmins remain to be mentioned. They hold that dissolutions of the universe, and new creations, at certain periods, shall succeed one another to all eternity . Of the human soul they say, that after various transmigrations and purifications, it shall be absorbed in the Deity and consciousness lost in bliss. By this unintelligible sublimity, we are put in mind of some of the reveries of a Shaftesbury or a Malebranche; but wild imaginations are the growth of every country.

Nor must the religious sect of the Fakier be omitted. These, according to Mr. Dow, are a set of sturdy beggars, who admit any ruffian of good parts, to join them; and, under pretence of religious pilgrimages, ramble about in armies of ten or twelve thousand men. The country people fly before them, leaving their goods and their wives, (who esteem it a holiness to be embraced by a Fakier) to the mercy and lust of these villains. The prayers of a Fakier are highly esteemed, and often implored, in cases of sterility. The wife and the Fakier retire together to prayer, a signal is left that the Fakier is with the lady, and a sound drubbing is the reward should the husband dare to interrupt their devotions.

We cannot finish this note, long as it is, without observing the vast similarity which obtains among all barbarous nations. When the Portuguese admiral, Pedro de Cabral, discovered the Brazils, he found a sect of religionists called Pages, who were venerated in the same manner as the Fakiers of India. “Hi quocunque veniunt, says Osorius, summo omnium plausu recipiuntur, &c. Wherever these come, they are received with the loudest acclamations, the ways are crowded, verses sung to the music of the country, and dances are performed before them. The most beautiful women, whether virgins or wives, are submitted to their embraces. Opiniuntur enim miseri, si illos placatos habuerint, omnia sibi feliciter eventura; for these wretched ignorants believe, that if they can please these men, every thing will happen well to them.”

To conclude: The writers who have treated of the mission of Xavier, relate, that there is extant in India the writings of a Malabar poet, who wrote nine hundred epigrams, each consisting of eight verses, in ridicule of the worship of the Brahmins, whom he treats with great asperity and contempt. Would any of our diligent enquirers after oriental learning favour the Public with an authentic account of the works of this poet of Malabar, he would undoubtedly confer a singular favour on the republic of letters.

See Phillips's Collection of their Letters published at London in 1717.

Though from the extracts given by Mr. Dow, the philosopher Goutam appears to have been a very Duns Scotus or Aquinas in metaphysics, the Pythagorean reason why the Brahmins abstain from animal food, is a convincing proof of their ignorance in natural philosophy. Some will let vermin over-run them; some of the Banians cover their mouth with a cloth, least they should suck in a gnat with their breath; and some carefully sweep the floor ere they tread upon it, lest they dislodge the soul of an insect. And yet they do not know that in the water they drink, and in every sallad they eat, they cause the death of innumerable living creatures.

Bohours.

This Akbar chose, as his last and best religion, to worship the sun. While he performed his public devoirs to that bright deity, he himself, by his own order, was worshipped by the crowd below.

See [illeg.]

Perimal, who, according to some of their holy legends, was the son of a cow, was worshipped as a god in the kingdom of Narsinga. Near the city of Preseti was a wood full of apes, esteemed of a divine race, and of the houshold of Perimal, in whom some thousands of the gods had taken refuge. In the city of Cidambaram was a stately temple erected to one of these apes, named Hanimant. Being threatened with some danger, Hanimant put himself at the head of many thousand of his brother gods, and led them to the sea side; where finding no ship, he took a leap into the ocean, and an island immediately rose under his feet. At every leap the miracle was repeated, and in this manner he brought his divine brotherhood all safe to the island of Ceylon. A tooth of Hanimant was kept there as a sacred relick, and many pilgrimages were made to visit it. In 1554, the Portuguese made a descent on that island, and among other things seized the holy tooth. The Indian princes (says Linschoten, c. 44.) offered 700,000 ducats in ransom, but by the persuasion of the archbishop, the Portuguese viceroy burned it in the presence of the Indian ambassadors. A Banian, however, had the art to persuade his countrymen that he was invisibly present when the Portuguese burnt the tooth, that he had secreted the holy one, and put another in its place, which was the one committed to the flames. His story was believed, says our author, and the king of Bisnagar gave him a great sum for a tooth which he produced as the sacred relick. The striking resemblance which this fable of the apes bears to the Egyptian mythology, which tells us that their gods had taken refuge in dogs, crocodiles, onions, frogs, and even in cloacis, is worthy of observation.

Abraham Roger, in particular. He lived fifteen years among the Brahmins, and was in intimate friendship with one of them, named Padmanaba. He returned to Holland in 1647, where he published his writings, which prove him to have been a learned man, and a diligent enquirer. Of his good sense let one sentiment bear testimony. “Can we believe, says he, that there is a generous spirit residing in a people who for two or three thousand years have placed the greatest degree of sanctity and prudence in half starving themselves, and in depriving themselves of the lawful conveniencies of life? Yet such austerities were the chief employments of the ancient Brachmanæ, and are now of the modern Bramines.”

To have represented the Devil on a neighbouring mountain, delighted with the yells and steam of this sacrifice, would have been an incident worthy of the Paradise Lost, and might have come in excellent place, had the great author continued the visions of the eleventh, in place of the far inferior narrative of the twelfth book.

Nay, a text of the sacred Shaster plainly encourages the horrid practice. “The woman who dies with her husband, shall enjoy life eternal with him in heaven.” Feeble minds, says Mr. Dow, misinterpreted this into a precept. To those however who are unskilled in casuistry, no admonition can be more obvious.

According to Joannes Oranus, the Brahmins of Agra say, that the world shall last four ages or worlds, three whereof are past. The first continued one million seven hundred and twenty-eight thousand years. Men in that world lived ten thousand years, were of enormous stature, and of great integrity. Thrice in that period did God visibly appear upon the earth. First in the form of a fish, that he might recover the book of Brahma (for almost the same legend, see Dow) which one Causacar had thrown into the sea. The second time in the form of a snail, (See Dow's account of the symbolical representations of Brahma) that he might make the earth dry and solid. The other time like a hog, to destroy one who called himself God, or as others say, to recover the earth from the sea, which had swallowed it. The second world lasted one million ninety-two thousand and six years, in which period men were as tall as before, but only lived a thousand years. In this, God appeared four times, once as a monstrous lion, with the lower parts of a woman, to repress the wickedness of a pretender to deity. Secondly, like a poor Brahmin, to punish the impiety of a king who had invented a method to fly to heaven. Thirdly, he came in the likeness of a man called Parcaram, to revenge the death of a poor religious man. And lastly in the likeness of one Ram, who slew Parcaram The third continued eight hundred and four thousand years, in which time God appeared twice. The fourth world shall endure four hundred thousand years, whereof only four thousand six hundred and ninety-two are elapsed. In this period God is to appear once, and some hold that he has already appeared in the person of the emperor Echebar, the fame Mahummud Akbar already mentioned. The wiser part of the Brahmins, says Oranus, decry the absurdity of these fables, yet support them before the multitude, lest their influence, their wealth and superstition, should vanish together. That these fables are very antient, we have the authority of Strabo, who tells us that Calanus told Onesicritus of a golden world, where the fountains streamed with milk, honey, wine, and oil, and where the wheat was as plentiful as dust; that God had in punishment of human wickedness altered it, and imposed a life of labour on men. Onesicritus was willing to hear farther, but one of the Brahmin penances being enjoyned as the condition, the Greek philosopher was contented with what he had heard.

Chimera, a monster slain by Bellerophon.

First, dire Chimera's conquest was enjoyn'd,
A mingled monster of no mortal kind;
Behind a dragon's fiery tail was spread,
A goat's rough body bore a lion's head;
Her pitchy nostrils flaky flames expire,
Her gaping throat emits infernal fire.
Pope's Il. vi.

Briareus.

In this instance, Camoens has with great art deviated from the truth of history. As it was the great purpose of his hero to propagate the law of heaven in the East, it would have been highly absurd to have represented Gama and his attendants as on their knees in a Pagan temple. This, however, was the case. “Gama, who had been told, says Osorius, that there were many Christians in India, conjectured that the temple, to which the Catual led him, was a Christian church. At their entrance they were met by four priests, who seemed to make crosses on their foreheads. The walls were painted with many images. In the middle was a little round chapel, in the wall of which, opposite to the entrance, stood an image which could hardly be discovered; Erat enim locus ita ab omni solis radio seclusus, ut vix aliquis malignæ lucis splendor in eum penetraret. The four priests ascending, some entered the chapel by a little brass door, and pointing to the benighted image, cried aloud, Mary, Mary. The Catual and his attendants prostrated themselves on the ground, while the Lusians on their bended knees adored the blessed virgin. Virginemque Dei matrem more nostris usitato venerantur.” Thus Osorius. Another writer says, that a Portuguese having some doubt exclaimed, If this be the Devil's image, I however worship God.

The description of the palace of the Zamorim, situated among aromatic groves, is according to history; the embellishment of the walls is in imitation of Virgil's description of the palace of king Latinus:

Tectum augustum, ingens, centum sublime columnis,
Urbe fuit supima, &c.
The palace built by Picus, vast and proud,
Supported by a hundred pillars stood
And round encompass'd with a rising wood.
The pile o'erlook'd the town, and drew the sight,
Surprised at once with reverence and delight.....
Above the portal, carved in cedar wood,
Placed in their ranks their godlike grandsires stood.
Old Saturn, with his crooked scythe on high;
And Italus, that led the colony:
And ancient Janus with his double face,
And bunch of keys, the porter of the place.
There stood Sabinus, planter of the vines,
On a short pruning hook his head reclines;
And studiously surveys his generous wines.
Then warlike kings who for their country fought,
And honourable wounds from battle brought.
Around the posts hung helmets, darts, and spears;
And captive chariots, axes, shields, and bars;
And broken beaks of ships, the trophies of their wars.
Above the rest, as chief of all the band
Was Picus placed, a buckler in his hand;
His other waved a long divining wand.
Girt in his Gabin gown the hero sate—
Dryd. En. vii.

This is in the perspective manner of the beautiful descriptions of the figures on the shield of Achilles. Il. xviii.

The Theban Bacchus, to whom the Greek fabulists ascribed the Indian expedition of Sesostris or Osiris king of Egypt.

The infamous passion of Semiramis for a horse, has all the air of a fable invented by the Greeks to signify the extreme libidiny of that queen. Her incestuous passion for her son Nynias, however, is confirmed by the testimony of the best authors. Shocked at such an horrid amour, Nynias ordered her to be put to death. Castera.

The bon mot of Olympias on this pretension of her son Alexander, was admired by the ancients. “This hot-headed youth, forsooth, cannot be at rest unless he embroil me in a quarrel with Juno.” Quint. Curt.

According to Osorius.

The Betel.

The tenor of this first conversation between the Zamorim and Gama, is according to the truth of history.

The enthusiasm with which Monzaida, a Moor, talks of the Portuguese, may perhaps to some appear unnatural. Camoens seems to be aware of this by giving a reason for that enthusiasm in the first speech of Mozaida to Gama;

Heaven sent you here for some great work divine,
And heaven inspires my breast your sacred toils to join.

And that this Moor did conceive a great affection to Gama, whose religion he embraced, and to whom he proved of the utmost service, is according to the truth of history.

Gen. ix. 20. And Noah began to be an husbandman, and he planted a vineyard, and he drank of the wine, &c.

The opinion of the sacredness of the table is very ancient in the East. It is plainly to be discovered in the history of Abraham. When Melchizedek, a king and priest, blessed Abraham, it is said, And he brought forth bread and wine and he blessed him. Gen. xiv. 18. The Patriarchs only drank wine, says Dr. Stukely, on their more solemn festivals, when they were said to rejoice before the Lord. Other customs of the Indians are mentioned by Camoens in this book. If a noble should touch a person of another another tribe,

A thousand rites, and washings o'er and o'er
Can scarce his tainted purity restore.

Nothing, says Osorius, but the death of the unhappy commoner can wipe off the pollution. Yet we are told by the same author, that Indian nobility cannot be forfeited, or even tarnished by the basest and greatest of crimes; nor can one of mean birth become great or noble by the most illustrious actions. The noblemen, says the same writer, adopt the children of their sisters, esteeming there can be no other certainty of the relationship of their heirs. But what above all may be called the characteristic of the Indian, is his total insensibility to the passion of Love;

Lost to the heart-ties, to his neighbour's arms
The willing husband yields his spouse's charms.

To some perhaps the feebleness of the constitutions of the Gentoos may account for this apothy; and to several circumstances may their feebleness be attributed. The men marry before fourteen and the women at about ten or eleven. Rice, their principal food, affords but little nourishment, and they are extremely averse to any manly exercise. It is better to sit than to walk, they say, to lie down than to sit, to sleep than to wake, and death is better than all. The unparallelled pusillanimity with which they have long submitted to the oppressions of a few Arabs, their Mohammedan masters, likewise, shews their deadness to every manly resentment. Yet, notwithstanding all this, though incapable of the passion of love, they prove the position, (for which physicians can easily account) that debility and letchery go hand in hand. Montesquieu, in enumerating his reasons why Christianity will never prevail in the East, advances, as one, the prohibition of polygamy, which he mentions as the appointment of nature, and necessary in these climates. Tristram Shandy tells us, that his father was a most excellent system-builder, was sure to make his Theory look well, though no man ever crucified the truth at such an unmerciful rate. With all due deference to the great genius of Montesquieu, his blunder here is rather ludicrous. In every country the births of males and females are nearly proportioned to each other. “Polygamy, says Mr. Dow, is permitted in Hindostan, but seldom practised; for they very rationally think, that one wife is sufficient for one man.” If in any country polygamy is the appointment of nature, the more athletic nations of Europe have the best claim. But the warlike independent spirit of the northern tribes, who viewed their princes as their companions in war, would never allow their leaders to appropriate eight hundred or a thousand of the finest women, each for his own particular luxury. Their natural ideas of liberty forbade it; while on the other hand the slavish Asiatics, who viewed their masters as beings of a superior rank, submitted to the lust of these masters, whose debility prompted the desire of unbounded variety. This history of polygamy will be found to be just. It is not the child of nature, it is the offspring of tyranny, and is only to be found where the most absolute tyranny subsists. Neither to the genial vigour of passion, but to raging, irritated debility, both the philosopher and physician will attribute the unblushing prevalence of some crimes, crimes which disgrace human nature, and which particularly characterise the depraved manners of the enfeebled East.

Though Camoens began his Lusiad in Portugal, almost the whole of it was written while on the ocean, while in Africa, and in India. See his Life.

Daughter of Eolus. Her father having thrown her incestuous child to the dogs, sent her a sword, with which she slew herself. In Ovid she writes an epistle to her husband-brother, where she thus describes herself;

Dextra tenet calamum, strictum tenet altera ferrum.

See the Life of Camoens.

Hezekiah. See Isaiah xxxviii.

This, and the whole paragraph from

Degraded now, by poverty abhorr'd—

Alludes to his fortunes in India. The latter circumstance relates particularly to the base and inhuman treatment he received on his return to Goa, after his unhappy shipwreck. See his Life.

Similarity of condition has produced similarity of sentiment in Camoens and Spenser. Each was the ornament of his country and of his age, and each was cruelly neglected by the Men of Power, who, in truth, were incapable to judge of their merit, or to relish their writings. We have seen several of the strictures of Camoens on the barbarous Nobility of Portugal. The similar complaints of Spenser will shew that neglect of Genius, however, was not confined to the court of Lisbon.

O Grief of griefs! O Gall of all good hearts!
To see that Virtue should despised be
Of such as first were raised for Virtue's parts,
And now broad spreading like an aged tree,
Let none shoot up that nigh them planted be.
O let not those of whom the Muse is scorned,
Alive or dead be by the Muse adorned.
Ruins of Time.

It is thought Lord Burleigh, who withheld the bounty intended by Queen Elisabeth, is here meant. But he is more clearly stigmatized in these remarkable lines, where the misery of dependence on Court-favour is painted in colours which must recal several strokes of the Lusiad to the mind of the Reader.

Full little knowest thou that hast not tried,
What hell it is, in suing long to bide;
To lose good days, that might be better spent,
To waste long nights in pensive discontent;
To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow,
To feed on hope, to pine with fear and sorrow;
To have thy Princess' grace, yet want her peers;
To have thy asking, yet wait many years;
To fret thy soul with crosses and with cares,
To eat thy heart thro' comfortless despairs;
To fawn, to crowch, to wait, to ride, to run,
To spend, to give, to want, to be undone.
Mother Hubberd's Tale.

These lines exasperated still more the inelegant, the illiberal Burleigh. So true is the observation of Mr. Hughes, that, “even the sighs of a miserable man are sometimes resented as an affront by him that is the ocsion of them.”

The arrival of Gama in India—In several parts of the Lusiad the Portuguese Poet has given ample proof that he could catch the genuine spirit of Homer and Virgil. The seventh Lusiad throughout bears a striking resemblance to the seventh and eighth Æneid. Much of the action is naturally the same; Æneas lands it Italy, and Gama in India; but the conduct of Camoens, in his masterly imitation of his great master, particularly demands observation. Had Statius or Ovid described the landing or reception of Æneas, we should undoubtedly have been presented with pictures different from those of the pencil of Virgil. We should have seen much bustle and fire, and perhaps much smoke and false dignity. Yet if we may judge from the Odyssey, Homer, had he written the Æneid, would have written as the Roman Poet wrote, would have presented us with a calm majestic narrative, till every circumstance was explained, and then would have given the concluding books of hurry and fire. In this manner has Virgil written, and in this manner has Camoens followed him, as far as the different nature of his subject would allow. In Virgil, king Latinus is informed by prodigies and prophecy of the fate of his kingdom, and of the newlanded strangers. Æneas enters Latium. The dinner on the grass, and the prophecy of famine turned into a jest. He sends ambassadors to Latinus, whose palace is described. The embassy is received in a friendly manner. Juno, enraged, calls the assistance of the Fiends, and the truce is broken. Æneas, admonished in a dream, seeks the aid of Evander. The voyage up the Tyber, the court of Evander, and the sacrifices in which he was employed are particularly described. In all this there is no blaze of fire, no earnest hurry. These are judiciously reserved for their after and proper place. In the same manner Camoens lands his hero in India, and though in some circumstances the resemblance to Virgil is evident, yet he has followed him as a free imitator, who was conscious of his own strength, and not as a Copyist. He has not deserved that shrewd satire which Mr. Pope, not unjustly, throws on Virgil himself. “Had the galley of Sergestus been broken, says he, if the chariot of Eumelus had not been demolished? Or Mnestheus been cast from the helm, had not the other been thrown from his seat?” In a word, that calm dignity of poetical narrative which breathes through the seventh and eighth Æneid, is judiciously copied, as most proper for the subject; and with the hand of a master characteristically sustained throughout the seventh book of the Poem which celebrates the discovery of the Eastern World.


319

BOOK VIII.

With eye unmoved the silent Catual view'd
The pictured sire with seeming life endued;
A verdant vine-bough waving in his right,
Smooth flowed 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 far
These godlike heroes shined in ancient war.
In that hoar sire, of mien serene, august,
Lusus behold, no robber-chief unjust;

320

His cluster'd bough, the same which Bacchus bore ,
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 humanized the nations as he past.
Lusus, the loved companion of the god,
In Spain's fair bosom fixt his last abode,
Our kingdom founded, and illustrious reign'd
In those fair lawns, the blest Elysium feign'd,

321

Where winding oft the Guadiana roves,
And Douro murmurs through the flowery 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,
Tost 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,
Who fired his lips with eloquence divine,
On Tago's banks he reared the hallowed shrine.
Ulysses he, though fated to destroy
On Asian ground the heaven-built towers of Troy,
On Europe's strand, more grateful to the skies,
He bade th' eternal walls of Lisbon rise.
But who that godlike terror of the plain,
Who strews the smoaking field with heaps of slain?

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What numerous legions fly in dire dismay,
Whose standards wide the eagle's wings display?
The Pagan asks; the brother Chief replies,
Unconquer'd deem'd, proud Rome's dread standard flies.
His crook thrown by, fired by his nation's woes,
The hero shepherd Viriatus rose;
His country saved proclaim'd his warlike fame,
And Rome's wide empire trembled at his name.
That generous pride which Rome to Pyrrhus bore ,
To him they shew'd not; for they fear'd him more.
Not on the field o'ercome by manly force,
Peaceful he slept, and now a murdered corse
By treason slain he lay. How stern, behold,
That other hero, firm, erect, and bold:
The power by which he boasted he devined,
Beside him pictur'd stands, the milk-white hind:
Injured by Rome, the stern Sertorius fled
To Tago's shore, and Lusus' offspring led;
Their worth he knew; in scatter'd flight he drove
The standards painted with the birds of Jove.
And lo, the flag whose shining colours own
The glorious Founder of the Lusian throne!

323

Some deem the warrior of Hungarian race,
Some from Loraine the godlike hero trace.
From Tagus' banks the haughty Moor expell'd,
Galicia's sons, and Leon's warriors quell'd,
To weeping Salem's ever-hallowed meads,
His warlike bands the holy Henry leads,
By holy war to sanctify his crown,
And to his latest race auspicious waft it down.
And who this awful Chief? aloud exclaims
The wondering Regent, o'er the field he flames
In dazzling steel, wheree'r he bends his course
The battle sinks beneath his headlong force;
Against his troops, though few, the numerous foes
In vain their spears and towery walls oppose.
With smoaking 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 round
He rides; his courser's brazen hoofs resound.
In that great chief, the second Gama cries,
The first Alonzo strikes thy wondering eyes.
From Lusus' realm the Pagan Moors he drove;
Heaven, whom he loved, bestow'd on him such love,

324

Beneath him, bleeding of its mortal wound,
The Moorish strength lay prostrate on the ground.
Nor Ammon's son, nor greater Julius dared
With troops so few, with hosts so numerous warr'd:
Fame saw his godlike deeds, and solemn swore,
To boast unmatch'd the Roman name no more.
Nor less shall Fame the subject heroes own:
Behold that hoary warrior's rageful frown!
On his young pupil's flight his burning eyes
He darts, and, Turn thy flying host, he cries,
Back to the field—The Veteran and the Boy
Back 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.
Beneath Castilia's sword his monarch lay;
Homage he vow'd his helpless king should pay;
His haughty king relieved, the treaty spurns,
With conscious pride the noble Egaz burns;

325

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 generous consul boast,
Whose lorn submission saved 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 infold,
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 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:

326

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:
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 hovering blackness. Great and dread
Thus 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 pourtray'd,
A foreign navy brings the pious aid.
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 watery way;

327

Yet first, the cause the same, on Tago's shore
They 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, heaven's gift, gay health redundant flows.
Aloft, unfurl; the valiant Paulus cries,
Instant new wars on new-spread ensigns rise.
In robes of white behold a priest advance!
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 slain

328

The hero rides, and proves by genuine claim
The son of Egas , and his worth the same.
Pierced 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 glides
The dauntless Gerrald; in his left he bears
Two watchmen's heads, his right the faulchion rears;
The gate he opens, swift from ambush rise
His 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 bears
The two cold heads, his right the faulchion rears.
Wrong'd by his king, and burning for revenge,
Behold his arms that proud Castilian change;

329

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.
Resplendant far that holy chief behold!
Aside he throws the sacred staff of gold
And wields the spear of steel. How bold advance
The numerous Moors, and with the rested lance
Hem round the trembling Lusians. Calm and bold
Still towers the priest, and lo, the skies unfold:
Cheer'd by the vision brighter than the day
The Lusians trample down the dread array
Of Hagar's legions: on the reeking plain
Low 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.

310

That chief behold: though proud Castilia's host
He leads, his birth shall Tagus ever boast.
As a pent flood bursts headlong o'er the strand
So pours his fury o'er Algarbia's land:
Nor rampired town, nor castled rock afford
The refuge of defence from Payo's sword.
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 deplore
The seven brave hunters murder'd by the Moor.
These three bold knights how dread! Thro' Spain and France
At just and tournay with the tilted lance
Victors they rode: Castilia's court beheld
Her 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.

331

Prostrate at proud Castilia's monarch's feet
His land lies trembling: lo, the nobles meet:
Softly they seem to breathe, and forward bend
The 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 throne
shall fix its base; my native king alone
Shall 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.
Though fierce as numerous are the hosts that dwell
By Betis' stream, these hosts before him fell.
The fight behold: while absent from his bands,
Prest on the step of flight his army stands,
To call the chief an herald speeds away:
Low on his knees the gallant chief survey!
He pours his soul, with lifted hands implores,
And heaven's assisting arm, inspired, 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,

332

They cry; unmoved the holy king replies,
And I, behold, am offering sacrifice!
Earnest I see thy wondering eyes enquire
Who this illustrious chief, his country's sire?
The Lusian Scipio well might speak his fame,
But nobler Nunio shines a greater name:
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 there command the field;
From Tago's banks they drive the fleecy prey,
And the tired ox lows on his weary way:
When, as the falcon through the forest glade
Darts on the leveret, from the brown-wood shade
Darts Roderic on their rear; in scatter'd flight
They leave the goodly herds the victor's right.

333

Again, behold, in gore he bathes his sword;
His captive friend, 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,
Low groveling in the dust the Traytor dies;
Great Elvas gave the blow: Again, behold,
Chariot and steed in purple slaughter roll'd:
Great Elvas triumphs; wide o'er Xeres' plain
Around him reeks the noblest blood of Spain.
Here Lisbon's spacious harbour meets the view;
How vast the foe's, the Lusian fleet how few!
Casteel's proud war-ships, circling round, enclose
The Lusian galleys; through their thundering rows,
Fierce pressing on, Pereira fearless rides,
His hooked irons grasp the Amm'ral's sides:
Confusion maddens; on the dreadless knight
Castilia's navy pours its gather'd might:

334

Pereira dies, their self-devoted prey,
And safe the Lusian galleys speed away.
Lo, where the lemon-trees from yon green hill
Throw their cool shadows o'er the chrystal rill;
There twice two hundred fierce Castilian foes
Twice eight, forlorn, of Lusian race enclose:
Forlorn they seem; but taintless flow'd their blood
From those three hundred who of old withstood,
Withstood, and from a thousand Romans tore
The victor-wreath, what time the shepherd bore
The leader's staff of Lusus: equal flame
Inspired these few, their victory the same.
Though twenty lances brave each single spear,
Never the foes superior might to fear
Is our inheritance, our native right,
Well tried, well proved in many a dreadful fight.
That dauntless earl behold; on Libya's coast,
Far from the succour of the Lusian host,

335

Twice hard besieged he holds the Ceutan towers
Against the banded might of Afric's powers.
That other earl;—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 glittering to the day
The waining 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 spears
Plunges bold Vian: in the glorious strife
He dies, and dying saves his sovereign's life.
Illustrious, lo, two brother-heroes shine,
Their birth, their deeds, adorn the royal line;
To every king of princely Europe known ,
In every court the gallant Pedro shone.
The glorious Henry—kindling at his name
Behold my sailors' eyes all sparkle flame!

336

Henry the chief, who first, by heaven inspired,
To deeds unknown before, the sailor fired,
The conscious sailor left the sight of shore,
And dared new oceans never ploughed before.

337

The various wealth of every distant land
He 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 spear
Gleams through the smoke; loud shouts astound the ear.
Whose step first trod the dreadful pass? whose sword
Hew'd its dark way, first with the foe begored?
'Twas thine, O glorious Henry, first to dare
The dreadful pass, and thine to close the war.

338

Taught by his might, and humbled in her gore
The boastful pride of Afric tower'd no more.
Numerous though these, more numerous warriors shine
Th' illustrious glory of the Lusian line.
But ah, forlorn, what shame to barbarous pride!
Friendless the master of the pencil died;
Immortal fame his deathless labours gave;
Poor man, He sunk neglected to the grave!
The gallant Paulus faithful thus explain'd
The various deeds the pictured flags contain'd.
Still o'er and o'er, and still again untired,
The wondering Regent of the wars enquired;
Still wondering heard the various pleasing tale,
Till o'er the decks cold sighed the evening gale:
The falling darkness dimm'd the eastern shore,
And twilight hover'd o'er the billows hoar
Far to the west, when with his noble band
The thoughtful Regent sought his native strand.

339

O'er the tall mountain-forest's waving boughs
Aslant the new moon's slender horns arose;
Near her pale chariot shone a twinkling star,
And, save the murmuring of the wave afar,
Deep-brooding silence reign'd; each labour closed,
In sleep's soft arms the sons of toil reposed.
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-swoln sighs the hollow winds bemoan'd;
Borne on the plaintive gale a pattering shower,
Increased the horrors of the evil hour.
Thus when the great Earthshaker 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-voiced howling trembles thro' the air
As passing ghosts were weeping in despair;
In dismal yells the dogs confess their fear,
And shivering 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 threatening look.

340

Then o'er the pillow of a furious priest,
Whose burning zeal the Koran's lore profest,
Revealed 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 deep
Fix 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 slumbering brain
He deem'd the vision; when the Fiend again,
With sterner mien and fiercer accent spoke;
Oh faithless! worthy of the foreign yoke!
And knowest thou not thy prophet sent by heaven,
By whom the Koran's sacred lore was given,
God's chiefest gift to men: And must I leave
The 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 unopposed, my sacred shrines destroy.
Then while kind heaven th' auspicious hour bestows,
Let every nerve their infant strength oppose.

341

When softly ushered by the milky dawn
The sun first rises o'er the daisied lawn
His silver lustre, as the shining dew
Of radiance mild, unhurt the eye may view:
But when on high the noon-tide flaming rays
Give all the force of living fire to blaze,
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 shoot
Of 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 bed
Together with repose, the dæmon fled;

342

Again cold horror shook the zealot's frame,
And all his hatred of Messiah's name
Burn'd in his venom'd heart, while veil'd in night
Right to the palace sped the dæmon'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;
To trace what fates on India's wide domain
Attend the rovers from unheard of Spain,
Prepared in dark futurity to prove
The hell-taught rituals of infernal Jove:
Muttering 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 explore
The entrails throbbing in the living gore.
And lo, permitted by the power divine,
The hovering dæmon gives the dreadful sign.

343

Here furious War her gleamy faulchion draws,
Here lean ribb'd Famine writhes her falling jaws;
Dire as the fiery pestilential star
Darting 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—loud shrieking at the sight
The starting wizards from the altar fly,
And silent horror glares in every eye:
Pale stands the Monarch, lost in cold dismay,
And now impatient waits the lingering day.
With gloomy aspect rose the lingering 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;

344

Appall'd and trembling with ungenerous 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,
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 prevail'd, or boding fear;
Beneath their shady brows their eye-balls roll,
Nor one soft gleam bespeaks the generous soul;
Through quivering lips they draw their panting breath,
While their dark fraud decrees the works of death;
Nor unresolved the power of gold to try
Swift to the lordly Catual's gate they hie—
Ah, what the wisdom, what the sleepless care
Efficient to avoid the traytor's snare!
What human power can give a king to know
The smiling aspect of the lurking foe!
So let the tyrant plead—the patriot king
Knows men, knows whence the patriot virtues spring;
From inward worth, from conscience firm and bold,
Not from the man whose honest name is sold,

345

He hopes that virtue, whose unalter'd weight
Stands fixt, unveering with the storms of state.
Lured 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;
For ages long, from shore to distant shore
For thee our ready keels the traffic bore:

346

For thee we dared 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 tygers of the wold
Bear their proud sway by justice uncontroull'd.
Yet for their crimes, expell'd that bloody home,
These, o'er the deep, rapacious plunderers roam.
Their deeds we know; round Afric's shores they came
And spread, where'er they past, devouring flame;
Mozambic's towers, enroll'd in sheets of fire,
Blazed 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 eyes
Shall 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 dawn
Our fleets, our nation from thy land withdrawn,
In other climes, beneath a kinder reign
Shall fix their port: yet may the threat be vain!
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.

347

While thus the Priest detain'd the Monarch's ear,
His cheeks confest the quivering pulse of fear.
Unconscious of the worth that fires the brave,
In state a monarch, but in heart a slave,
He view'd brave Vasco and his generous train,
As his own passions stamp'd the conscious stain:
Nor less his rage the fraudful Regent fired;
And valiant Gama's fate was now conspired.
Ambassadors from India Gama sought,
And oaths of peace, for oaths of friendship brought;
The glorious tale, 'twas all he wish'd, to tell;
So Ilion's fate was seal'd when Hector fell.
Again convoked 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 sovereign, and the hope were vain,
Through ways unknown, from utmost western shore.
To bid his fleets the utmost east explore.

348

Great is thy monarch, so thy words declare;
But sumptuous gifts the proof of greatness bear:
Kings thus to kings their empire's grandeur shew;
Thus prove thy truth, thus we thy truth allow.
If not, what credence will the wise afford?
What monarch trust the wandering seaman's word?
No sumptuous gift Thou bring'st—Yet, though some crime
Has thrown thee banish'd from thy native clime,
(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 pyrates, 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 fired
Gama's proud bosom, and his lips inspired.

349

Fair Acidalia, Love's celestial queen,
The goddess of the fearless, graceful mien,
Her graceful freedom on his look bestow'd,
And all collected in his bosom glow'd.
Sovereign, he cries, oft witness'd, well I know
The rageful falshood of the Moorish foe,
Their fraudful tales, from hatred bred, believed,
Thine ear is poison'd, and thine eye deceived.
What light, what shade the courtier's mirrour 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,
Mad have I left, to dare the burning zone,
And all the horrors of the gulphs unknown
That 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 dared the rage of every wind,
That now breathed fire, and now came wing'd with frost,
Lured by the plunder of an unknown coast?

350

Not thus the robber leaves his certain prey
For the gay promise of a nameless day.
Dread and stupendous, more than death-doom'd man
Might hope to compas, 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 race
Resolved the limits of the deep to trace,
Beneath the morn to ride the farthest waves,
And pierce the farthest shore old Ocean laves.
Sprung from the Prince, before whose matchless power
The strength of Afric wither'd as a flower
Never to bloom again, great Henry shone,
Each gift of nature and of art his own;
Bold as his sire, by toils on toils untired,
To find the Indian shore his pride aspired.
Beneath the stars that round the Hydra shine,
And where fam'd Argo hangs the heavenly sign,
Where thirst and fever burn on every gale
The dauntless Henry rear'd the Lusian sail.
Embolden'd by the meed that crown'd his toils,
Beyond the wide-spread shores and numerous isles,

351

Where both the tropics pour the burning day,
Succeeding heroes forced th' exploring way;
That race which never view'd the Pleiad's car,
That barbarous race beneath the southern star,
Their eyes beheld—Dread roar'd the blast—the wave
Boils to the sky, the meeting whirlwinds rave
O'er the torn heavens; loud on their awe-struck ear
Great Nature seem'd to call, Approach not here—
At Lisbon's court they told their dread escape,
And from her raging tempests, named the Cape.
“Thou southmost point,” the joyful king exclaimed,
“Cape of Good Hope, be thou for ever named!
“Onward my fleets shall dare the dreadful way,
“And find the regions of the infant day.”
In vain the dark and ever-howling blast
Proclaimed, 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, begun
By other chiefs, beneath the rising sun

352

In 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 bring
The world can boast, the friendship of my King.
And mark the word, his greatness shall appear
When next my course to India's strand I steer,
Such proofs I'll bring as never man before
In deeds of strife or peaceful friendship bore.
Weigh now my words, my truth demands the light,
For truth shall ever boast, at last, resistless might.
Boldly the Hero spake with brow severe,
Of fraud alike unconscious as of fear:
His noble confidence with truth imprest
Sunk deep, unwelcome, in the Monarch's breast,
Nor wanting charms his avarice to gain
Appear'd the commerce of illustrious Spain.
Yet as the sick man loaths 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 wavering passion veer'd,
The Indian Lord the dauntless Gama heard:

353

The Moorish threats yet sounding in his ear,
He acts with caution, and is led by fear.
With solemn pomp he bids his lords prepare
The friendly banquet, to the Regent's care
Commends brave Gama, and with pomp retires:
The Regent's hearths awake the social fires;
Wide o'er the board the royal feast is spread,
And fair embroidered shines De Gama's bed.
The Regent's palace high o'erlook'd the bay
Where Gama's black-ribb'd fleet at anchor lay.
Ah, why the voice of ire and bitter woe
O'er Tago's banks, ye nymphs of Tagus, shew;
The flowery garlands from your ringlets torn,
Why wandering wild with trembling steps forlorn!
The Dæmon's rage you saw, and markt his flight
To the dark mansions of eternal night:
You saw how howling through the shades beneath
He waked new horrors in the realms of death.
What trembling tempests shook the thrones of hell,
And groan'd along her caves, ye Muses, tell.
The rage of baffled fraud, and all the fire
Of powerless hate, with tenfold flames conspire;

354

From every eye the tawney lightnings glare,
And hell, illumined by the ghastly flare,
A drear blue gleam, in tenfold horror shews
Her darkling caverns; from his dungeon rose
Stern Mahomet, pale was his earthy hue,
And from his eye-balls flash'd the lightnings blue;
Convulsed with rage the dreadful Shade demands
The last assistance of th' infernal bands.
As when the whirlwinds, sudden bursting, bear
Th' autumnal leaves high floating through the air;
So rose the legions of th' infernal state,
Dark Fraud, base Art, fierce Rage, and burning Hate:
Wing'd by the Furies to the Indian strand
They bend; the Dæmon leads the dreadful band,
And in the bosoms of the raging Moors
All their collected living strength he pours.
One breast alone against his rage was steel'd,
Secure in spotless Truth's celestial shield.
One evening past, another evening closed,
The Regent still brave Gama's suit opposed;
The Lusian Chief his guarded guest detain'd,
With arts on arts, and vows of friendship feign'd.
His fraudful art, though veil'd in deep disguise,
Shone bright to Gama's manner-piercing eyes.

355

As in the sun's bright beam the gamesome boy
Plays with the shining steel or chrystal toy,
Swift and irregular, by sudden starts,
The living ray with viewless motion darts,
Swift o'er the wall, the floor, the roof, by turns
The sun-beam dances, and the radiance burns.
In quick succession thus a thousand views
The sapient Lusian's lively thought pursues;
Quick as the lightning every view revolves,
And, weighing all, fixt are his dread resolves.
O'er India's shore the sable night descends,
And Gama, now, secluded from his friends,

356

Detain'd a captive in the room of state,
Anticipates in thought to-morrow's fate;
For just Mozaide no generous care delays,
And Vasco's trust with friendly toils repays.
END OF THE EIGHTH BOOK.
 

Camoens immediately before, and in the former book, calls the ensign of Lusus a bough; here he calls it the green thyrsus of Bacchus,

O verde Tyrso foi de Bacco usado.

The thyrsus however was a javelin twisted with ivy-leaves, used in the sacrifices of Bacchus.

In this assertion our author has the authority of Strabo, a foundation sufficient for a poet. Nor are there wanting several Spanish writers, particularly Barbosa, who seriously affirm that Homer drew the fine description of Elysium, in his fourth Odyssey, from the beautiful valleys of Spain, where in one of his voyages, they say, he arrived. Egypt, however, seems to have a better title to this honour. The fable of Charon, and the judges of the poetical hell, are evidently borrowed from the Egyptian rites of burial, and are older than Homer. After a ferryman had conveyed the corpse over a lake, certain judges examined the life of the deceased, particularly his claim to the virtue of loyalty, and, according to the report, decreed or refused the honours of sepulture. The place of the Catacombs, according to Diodorus Siculus, was surrounded with deep canals, beautiful meadows, and a wilderness of groves. And it is universally known the greatest part of the Grecian fables were fabricated from the customs and opinions of Egypt. Several other nations have also claimed the honour of affording the idea of the fields of the Blessed. Even the Scotch challenge it. Many Grecian fables, says an author of that country, are evidently founded on the reports of the Phœnician sailors. That these navigators traded to the coasts of Britain is certain. In the middle of summer, the season when the ancients performed their voyages, for about six weeks there is no night over the Orkney islands; the disk of the sun during that time scarcely sinking below the horizon. This appearance, together with the calm which usually prevails at that season, and the beautiful verdure of the islands, could not fail to excite the admiration of the Tyrians; and their accounts of the place naturally afforded the idea that these islands were inhabited by the spirits of the Just. This, says our author, is countenanced by Homer, who places his islands of the Happy at the extremity of the ocean. That the fables of Scylla, the Gorgades, and several others, were founded on the accounts of navigators, seems probable; and on this supposition the Insulæ Fortunatæ, and Purpuraniæ, now the Canary and Madeira islands, also claim the honour of giving colours to the description of Elysium. The truth however appears to be this; That a place of happiness is reserved for the spirits of the Good is the natural suggestion of that anxiety and hope concerning the future, which animates the human breast. All the barbarous nations of Africa and America agree in placing their heaven in beautiful islands at an immense distance over the ocean. The idea is universal, and is natural to every nation in the state of barbarous simplicity.

Alluding to the fable of Neptune, Apollo, and Laomedon.

For some account of this tradition see the note p. 107. Antient traditions, however fabulous, have a good effect in poetry. Virgil has not scrupled to insert one, which required an apology. —Prisca fides facto, sed fama perennis. Spenser has given us the history of Brute and his descendants at full length in the Faerie Queene; and Milton, it is known, was so fond of that absurd legend, that he intended to write a poem on the subject; and by this fondness was induced to mention it as a truth in his introduction to the history of England.

Paulus de Gama.

When Pyrrhus king of Epirus was at war with the Romans, his physician offered to poison him. The senate rejected the proposal, and acquainted Pyrrhus of the designed treason. Florus remarks on the infamous assassination of Viriatus, that the Roman senate did him great honour; ut videretur aliter vinci non potuisse; it was a confession that they could not otherwise conquer him. Vid. Flor. l. 17. For a fuller account of this great man, see the note on p. 13.

See the note on p. 95.

King of Portugal. See p. 96, &c.

“Some, indeed, most writers say, that the queen (of whom see p. 96.) advancing with her army towards Guimaraez, the king, without waiting till his governor joined him, engaged them and was routed: but that afterwards the remains of his army being joined by the troops under the command of Egaz Munitz, engaged the army of the queen a second time, and gained a complete victory.” Univ. Hist.

See the same story, p. 99. Though history affords no authentic document of this transaction, tradition, the Poet's authority, is not silent. And the monument of Egaz in the monastery of Paco de Souza gives it countenance. Egaz and his family are there represented, in bas relief, in the attitude and garb, says Castera, as described by Camoens.

Sc. Posthumus, who, overpowered by the Samnites, submitted to the indignity of passing under the yoke or gallows.

The Alcaydes, or tributary Governors under the Miramolin or Emperor of Morocco, are often by the Spanish and Portuguese writers stiled kings. He who was surprized and taken prisoner by Don Fuaz Roupinho was named Gama. Fuaz, after having gained the first naval victory of the Portuguese, also experienced their first defeat. With one and twenty sail he attacked fifty-four large gallies of the Moors. The sea, says Brandan, which had lately furnished him with trophies, now supplied him with a tomb.

A navy of crusaders, mostly English. See p. 108.

This Legend is mentioned by some ancient Portuguese chronicles. Homer would have availed himself, as Camoens has done, of a tradition fo enthusiastical, and characteristic of the age. Henry was a native of Bonneville near Cologn. His tomb, says Castera, is still to be seen in the Monastery of St. Vincent, but without the palm.

Theotonius, prior of the regulars of St. Augustine of Conymbra. Some ancient Chronicles relate this circumstance as mentioned by Camoens. Modern writers assert, that he never quitted his breviary. Castera.

He was named Mem Moniz, and was son of Egas Moniz, celebrated for the surrender of himself and family to the king of Castile, as already mentioned.

“He was a man of rank, who, in order to avoid the legal punishment to which several crimes rendered him obnoxious, put himself at the head of a party of Freebooters. Tiring however of that life, he resolved to reconcile himself to his sovereign by some noble action. Full of this idea, one evening he entered Evora, which then belonged to the Moors. In the night he killed the centinels of one of the gates, which he opened to his companions, who soon became masters of the place. This exploit had its desired effect. The king pardoned Gerrald, and made him governor of Evora. A knight with a sword in one hand, and two heads in the other, from that time became the armorial bearing of the city.” Castera.

Don Pedro Fernando de Castro, injured by the family of Lara, and denied redress by the king of Castile, took the infamous revenge of bearing arms against his native country. At the head of a Moorish army he committed several outrages in Spain; but was totally defeated in Portugal.

“According to some ancient Portuguese histories, Don Matthew, Bishop of Lisbon, in the reign of Alonzo I. attempted to reduce Alcazar, then in possession of the Moors. His troops being suddenly surrounded by a numerous party of the enemy, were ready to fly, when, at the prayers of the Bishop, a venerable old man, cloathed in white, with a red cross on his breast, appeared in the air. The miracle dispelled the fears of the Portuguese; the Moors were defeated, and the conquest of Alcazar crowned the victory.” Castera.

“During a truce with the Moors, six cavaliers of the order of St. James were, while on a hunting party, surrounded and killed by a numerous body of the Moors. During the fight, in which the gentlemen sold their lives dear, a common carter, named Garcias Rodrigo, who chanced to pass that way, came generously to their assistance, and lost his life along with them. The Poet, in giving all seven the same title, shews us that virtue constitutes true nobility. Don Payo de Correa, grand master of the order of St. James, revenged the death of these brave unfortunates, by the sack of Tavila, where his just rage put the garrison to the sword.” Castera.

Nothing can give us a stronger picture of the romantic character of their age, than the manners of these champions, who were gentlemen of birth; and who, in the true spirit of knight-errantry, went about from court to court in quest of adventures. Their names were, Gonçalo Ribeiro; Ferdando Martinez de Santarene; and Vasco Anez, foster-brother to Mary, queen of Castile, daughter of Alonzo IV. of Portugal.

This line, the simplicity of which, I think, contains great dignity, is adopted from Fanshaw,

And I, ye see, am offering sacrifice.—

who has here catched the spirit of the original:

A quem lhe a dura nova estava dando,
Pois eu responde estou sacrificando.

i. e. To whom when they told the dreadful tidings, “And I, he replies, am sacrificing.” The piety of Numa was crowned with victory. Vid. Plut. in vit. Num.

Castera justly observes the happiness with which Camoens introduces the name of this truly great man. Il va, says he, le nommer tout à l'heure avec une adresse et une magnificence digne d'un si beau sujet.

These knights were first named knights Hospitallars of St. John of Jerusalem, afterwards knights of Rhodes, from whence they were driven to Messina, ere Malta was assigned to them, where they now remain. By their oath of knighthood they are bound to protect the Holy Sepulchre from the profanation of Infidels; and immediately on taking this oath, they retire to their colleges, where they live on their revenues in all the idleness of monkish luxury. Their original habit was black with a white cross; their arms Gules, a Cross, Argent.

Before John I. mounted the throne of Portugal, one Vasco Porcallo was governor of Villaviciosa. Roderic de Landroal and his friend Alvarez Cuytado, having discovered that he was in the interest of the king of Castile, drove him from his town and fortress. On the establishment of king John, Porcallo had the art to obtain the favour of that prince, but no sooner was he re-instated in the garrison, than he delivered it up to the Castilians; and plundered the house of Cuytado, whom, with his wife, he made prisoner; and under a numerous party, ordered to be sent to Olivença. Roderic de Landroal hearing of this, attacked and defeated the escort, and set his friend at liberty. Castera.

While the kingdom of Portugal was divided, some holding with John the newly elected king, and others with the king of Castile, Roderic Marin, governor of Campo-Major, declared for the latter. Fernando d'Elvas endeavoured to gain him to the interest of his native prince, and a conference, with the usual assurances of safety, was agreed to. Marin, at this meeting, seized upon Elvas, and sent him prisoner to his castle. Elvas having recovered his liberty, a few days after met his enemy in the field, whom in his turn he made captive; and the traiterous Marin, notwithstanding the endeavours of their captain to save his life, met the reward of his treason from the soldiers of Elvas. Partly from Castera.

A numerous fleet of the Castilians being on their way to lay siege to Lisbon, Ruy Pereyra, the Portuguse commander, seeing no possibility of victory, boldly attacked the Spanish admiral. The fury of his onset put the Castilians in disorder, and allowed the Portuguese galleys a safe escape. In this brave piece of service the gallant Pereyra lost his life. Castera.

Viriatus.

The Castilians having laid siege to Almada, a fortress on a mountain near Lisbon, the garrison, in the utmost distress for water, were obliged at times to make sallies to the bottom of the hill in quest of it. Seventeen Portuguese thus employed, were one day attacked by four hundred of the enemy. They made a brave defence and happy retreat into their fortress. Castera.

When Alonzo V. took Ceuta, Don Pedro de Menezes, was the only officer in the army who was willing to become governor of that fortress; which, on account of the uncertainty of succour from Portugal, and the earnest desire of the Moors to regain it, was deemed untenable. He gallantly defended his post in two severe sieges.

He was the natural son of Don Pedro de Menezes. Alonzo V. one day having rode out from Ceuta with a few attendants was attacked by a numerous party of the Moors, when De Vian, and some others under him, at the expence of their own lives, purchased the safe retreat of their sovereign.

The sons of John I. Don Pedro was called the Ulysses of his age, on account both of his eloquence and his voyages. He visited almost every court of Europe, but he principally distinguished himself in Germany, where, under the standards of the emperor Sigismond, he signalised his valour in the war against the Turks. Castera.

In pursuance of the reason assigned in the preface, the translator has here taken the liberty to make a transposition in the order of his author. In Camoens, Don Pedro de Menezes, and his son De Vian, conclude the description of the pictured ensigns. Don Henry, the greatest man perhaps that ever Portugal produced, has certainly the best title to close this procession of the Lusian heroes. And as he was the father of navigation, particularly of the voyage of Gama, to sum up the narrative with his encomium, it may be hoped has even some critical propriety. It remains now to make a few observations on this seeming episode of Camoens. The shield of Achilles has had many imitators, some in one degree, others in another. The imitation of Ariosto, in the XXXIII canto of his Orlando Furioso, is most fancifully ingenious; and on this undoubtedly the Portuguese poet had his eye. Pharamond king of France, having resolved to conquer Italy, desires the friendship of Arthur king of Britain. Arthur sends Merlin the magician to assist him with advice. Merlin by his supernatural art raises a sumptuous hall, on the sides of which all the future wars, unfortunate to the French in their invasions of Italy, are painted in colours exceeding the pencils of the greatest masters. A description of these pictures, an episode much longer than this of Camoens, is given to the heroine Bradamant, by the knight who kept the castle of Sir Tristram, the place where the inchanted hall remained. But though the poetry be pleasing, the whole fiction, unless to amuse the warlike lady, has nothing to do with the action of the poem. Unity of design however, is neither claimed by Ariosto in the exordium of his work, nor attempted in the execution. An examination therefore of the conduct of Homer and Virgil will be more applicable to Camoens. To give a landscape of the face of the country which is the scene of action, or to describe the heroes and their armour, are the becoming ornaments of an epic poem. Milton's beautiful description of Eden, and the admirable painting of the shield of Achilles, are like the embroidery of a suit of cloaths, a part of the subject, and injure not the gracefulness of the make; or in other words, destroy not the unity of the action. Yet let it be observed, that admirable as they are, the pictures on the shield of Achilles, considered by themselves, have no relation to the action of the Iliad. If six of the apartments may be said to rouse the hero to war, the other six may with equal justice be called an obvious admonition or a charge to turn husbandman. In that part of the Eneid where Virgil greatly improves upon his master, in the visions of his future race which Anchises gives to Eneas in Elysium, the business of the poem is admirably sustained, and the hero is inspired to encounter every danger on the view of so great a reward. The description of the shield of Eneas however is less connected with the conduct of the fable. Virgil indeed intended that his poem should contain all the honours of his country, and has therefore charged the shield of his hero with what parts of the Roman history were omitted in the vision of Elysium. But so foreign are these pictures to the war with Turnus, that the poet himself tells us Eneas was ignorant of the history which they contained.

Talia, per clypeum Vulcani, dona parentis
Miratur: rerumque ignarus imagine gaudet.

These observations, which the translator believes have escaped the critics, were suggested to him by the conduct of Camoens, whose design, like that of Virgil, was to write a poem which might contain all the triumphs of his country. As the shield of Eneas supplies what could not be introduced in the vision of Elysium, so the ensigns of Gama complete the purpose of the third and fourth Lusiads. The use of that long episode, the conversation with the king of Melinda, and its connection with the subject, have been already observed. The seeming episode of the pictures, while it fulfils the promise,

And all my country's wars the song adorn—

is also admirably connected with the conduct of the poem. The Indians naturally desire to be informed of the country, the history, and power of their foreign visitors, and Paulus sets it before their eyes. In every progression of the scenery the business of the poem advances. The regent and his attendants are struck with the warlike grandeur and power of the strangers, and to accept of their friendship, or to prevent the forerunners of so martial a nation to carry home the tidings of the discovery of India, becomes the great object of their consideration. And from the passions of the Indians and Moors, thus agitated, the great catastrophe of the Lusiad is both naturally and artfully produced.

As every reader is not a critic in poetry, to some perhaps the expressions

And the tired ox lows on his weary way—
------ loud shouts astound the ear—

And the abrupt speech of an enraged warrior, ascribed to a picture,

------ Here no foreign throne
Shall fix its base, my native king alone
Shall reign—

may appear as unwarrantable. This however, let them be assured, is the language of the genuine spirit of poetry, when the productions of the sister muse are the object of description. Let one very bold instance of this appear in the picture of the dance of the youths and maidens on the shield of Achilles, thus faithfully rendered by Mr. Pope;

Now all at once they rise, at once descend,
With well-taught feet: now shape, in oblique ways,
Confus'dly regular, the moving maze:
Now forth at once, too swift for sight they spring,
And undistinguish'd blend the flying ring:
So whirls a wheel, in giddy circles tost,
And rapid as it runs, the single spokes are lost.
The gazing multitudes admire around:
Two active tumblers in the center bound;
Now high, now low, their pliant limbs they bend:
And gen'ral songs the sprightly revel end.
Il. xviii.

Sometimes when describing a picture, poetry will say, the figures seem to move, to tremble, or to sing. Homer has once or twice, on the shield of his hero, given this hint how to understand him. But often to repeat the qualification were quite opposite to the bold and free spirit of poesy, which delights in personification, and in giving life and passion to every thing it describes. It is owing to the superior force of this spirit, together with the more beautiful colouring of its landscape-views, that the shield of Achilles, in poetical merit, so greatly excels the buckler of Eneas, though the divine workman of the latter, had the former as a pattern before him.

In the original,

Mas faltamlhes pincel, faltamlhes cores,
Honra, premio, favor, que as artes crião.

“But the pencil was wanting, colours were wanting, honour, reward, favour, the nourishers of the arts.” This seemed to the translator as an impropriety, and contrary to the purpose of the whole speech of Paulus, which was to give the Catual a high idea of Portugal. In the fate of the imaginary painter, the Lusian poet gives us the picture of his own, and resentment wrung this impropriety from him. The spirit of the complaint however is preserved in the translation. The couplet,

Immortal fame his deathless labours gave;
Poor man, He sunk neglected to the grave!

is not in the original. It is the sigh of indignation over the unworthy fate of the unhappy Camoens.

Mohammed, by all historians, is described as of a pale livid complexion, and trux aspectus et vox terribilis, of a fierce threatening aspect, voice, and demeanour.

“I deceive myself greatly, says Castera, if this simile is not the most noble and the most natural that can be found in any poem. It has been imitated by the Spanish comedian, the illustrious Lopez de Vega, in his comedy of Orpheus and Eurydice, Act I. Scene I.

Como mirar puede ser
El sol al amanecer,
I quando se enciende, no.”

Castera adds a very loose translation of these Spanish lines in French verse. The literal English is, As the sun may be beheld at its rising, but when illustriously kindled, cannot. Naked however as this is, the imitation of Camoens is evident. As Castera is so very bold in his encomium of this fine simile of the sun, it is but justice to add his translation of it, together with the original Portuguese, and the translation of Fanshaw. Thus the French translator.

Les yeux peuvent soûtenir la clarté du soleil naissant, mais lorsqu'il s'est avancé dans sa carriere lumineuse, & que ses rayons répandent les ardeurs du midi, on tacheroit en vain de l'envisager; un prompt aveuglement seroit le prix de cette audace. Thus elegantly in the original;

Em quanto he fraca a força desta gente,
Ordena como em tudo se resista,
Porque quando o Sol sae, facilmente
Se pode nelle por a aguda vista:
Porem depois que sobe claro, & ardente,
Se a agudeza dos olhos o conquista
Tao cega fica, quando ficareis,
Se raizes criar lhe nao tolheis.

And thus humbled by Fanshaw;

Now whilst this people's strength is not yet knit,
Think how ye may resist them by all ways.
For when the Sun is in his nonage yit,
Upon his morning beauty Men may gaze;
But let him once up to his zenith git,
He strikes them blind with his meridian rays;
So blind will ye be, if ye look not too't,
If ye permit these cedars to take root.

Or the Brahmins, the diviners of India Ammianus Marcellinus, l. 23, says, that the Persian Magi derived their knowledge from the Brachmanes of India. And Arrianus, l. 7. expresly gives the Brahmins the name of Magi. The Magi of India, says he, told Alexander on his pretensions to divinity, that In every thing he was like other men, except that he took less rest, and did more mischief. The Brahmins are never among modern writers called Magi.

This has an allusion to the truth of history. Barros relates, that an Augur being brought before the Zamorim, “Em hum vaso de agua l'he mostrara hunas naos, que vin ham de muy longe para a India, e que a gente d'ellas seria total destruiçam dos Mouros de aquellas partes. In a vessel of water he shewed him some ships which from a great distance came to India, the people of which would effect the utter subversion of the Moors.” Camoens has certainly chosen a more poetical method of describing this divination, a method in the spirit of Virgil; nor in this is he inferior to his great master. The supernatural flame which seizes on Lavinia, while assisting at the sacrifice, alone excepted, every other part of the augury of Latinus, and his dream in the Albunean forest, whither he went to consult his ancestor the god Faunus, in dignity and poetical colouring, cannot come in comparison with the divination of the Magi, and the appearance of the Dæmon in the dream of the Moorish priest.

This picture, it may perhaps be said, is but a bad compliment to the heroes of the Lusiad, and the fruits of their discovery. A little consideration however will vindicate Camoens. It is the Dæmon and the enemies of the Portuguese who procure this divination; every thing in it is dreadful, ón purpose to determine the Zamorim to destroy the fleet of Gama. In a former prophecy of the conquest of India, (when the Catual describes the sculpture of the royal palace) our poet has been careful to ascribe the happiest effects to the discovery of his heroes:

Beneath their sway majestic, wise, and mild,
Proud of her victors' laws thrice happier India smiled.

Would to God this may come to pass! But the prophecy of the Devil has hitherto, alas, been the true one.

In this short declamation, a seeming excrescence, the business of the poem in reality is carried on. The Zamorim, and his prime minister, the Catual, are artfully characterised in it; and the assertion

Lured was the Regent with the Moorish gold,

is happily introduced by the manly declamatory reflections which immediately precede it.

An explanation of the word Moor is here necessary. When the East afforded no more field for the sword of the conqueror, the Saracens, assisted by the Moors, who had embraced their religion, laid the finest countries in Europe in blood and desolation. As their various embarkations were from the empire of Morocco, the Europeans gave the name of Moors to all the professors of the Mohammedan religion. In the same manner the eastern nations blended all the armies of the Crusaders under one appellation, and the Franks, of whom the army of Godfrey was mostly composed, became their common name for all the inhabitants of the West. The appellation even reached China. When the Portuguese first arrived in that Empire, the Chinese softening the r into l, called both them and their cannon, by the name of Flanks, a name which is still retained at Canton, and other parts of the Chinese dominions. Before the arrival of Gama, as already observed, all the traffic of the East, from the Ethiopian side of Africa to China, was in the hands of Arabian Mohammedans, who, without incorporating with the pagan natives, had their colonies established in every country commodious for commerce. These the Portuguese called Moors; and at present the Mohammedans of India, are called the Moors of Hindostan by the latest of our English writers. The intelligence these Moors gave to one another, relative to the actions of Gama, the general terror with which they beheld the appearance of Europeans, whose rivalship they dreaded as the destruction of their power; the various frauds and arts they employed to prevent the return of one man of Gama's fleet to Europe, and their threat to withdraw from the dominions of the Zamorim, are all according to the truth of history. The speeches of the Zamorim and of Gama, which follow, are also founded in truth. They are only poetical paraphrases of the speeches ascribed by Osorius, to the Indian sovereign and the Portuguese admiral. Where the subject was so happily adapted to the epic Muse, to neglect it would have been reprehensible: and Camoens, not unjustly, thought, that the reality of his hero's adventures gave a dignity to his poem. When Gama, in his discourse with the king of Melinda, finishes the description of his voyage, he makes a spirited apostrophe to Homer and Virgil; and asserts, that the adventures which he had actually experienced, greatly exceeded all the wonders of their fables. Camoens also, in other parts of the poem, avails himself of the same assertion.

“As the Portuguese did not expect to find any people but savages beyond the Cape of Good Hope, they only brought with them some preserves and confections, with trinkets of coral, of glass, and other trifles. This opinion however deceived them. In Melinda and in Calicut they found civilized nations, where the arts flourished; who wanted nothing; who were possessed of all the refinements and delicacies on which we value ourselves. The king of Melinda had the generosity to be contented with the present which Gama made; but the Zamorim, with a disdainful eye, beheld the gifts which were offered to him. The present was thus: Four mantles of scarlet, six hats adorned with feathers, four chaplets of coral beads, twelve Turky carpets, seven drinking cups of brass, a chest of sugar, two barrels of oil, and two of honey.” Castera.

Castera derives Acidalia from ακηδης, which, he says, implies to act without fear or restraint. Acidalia, is one of the Names of Venus, in Virgil; derived from Acidalus, a fountain sacred to her in Bœotia.

John I.

Bartholomew Diaz, was the first who discovered the southmost point of Africa. He was driven back by the storms, which on these seas were thought always to continue, and which the learned of former ages, says Osorius, thought impassable. Diaz, when he related his voyage to John II. called the southmost point the Cape of Tempests. The expectation of the king, however, was kindled by the account, and with inexpressible joy, says the same author, he immediately named it the Cape of Good Hope.

Through horrid storms I lead to thee the dance.

Fanshaw.

The resemblance of this couplet to many passages in Homer, must be obvious to the intelligent critic.

Imitated from Virgil, who, by the same similie, describes the fluctuation of the thoughts of Eneas, on the eve of the Latian war:

------ Laomedontius heros
Cuncta videns, magno curarum fluctuat æstu,
Atque animum nunc huc celerem, nunc dividit illuc,
In partesque rapit varias, perque omnia versat.
Sicut aquæ tremulum labris ubi lumen ahenis
Sole repercussum, aut radiantis imagine Lunæ,
Omnia pervolitat late loca: jamque sub auras
Erigitur, summique ferit laquearia tecti.
This way and that he turns his anxious mind,
Thinks, and rejects the counsels he design'd;
Explores himself in vain, in every part,
And gives no rest to his distracted heart:
So when the sun by day or moon by night
Strike on the polish'd brass their trembling light,
The glitt'ring species here and there divide,
And cast their dubious beams from side to side;
Now on the walls, now on the pavement play,
And to the cieling flash the glaring day.

Ariosto has also adopted this similie in the eighth book of his Orlando Furioso:

Qual d'acqua chiara il tremolante lume
Dal Sol percossa, o da' notturni rai,
Per gli ampli tetti và con lango salto
A destra, ed a sinistra, e basso, ed alto.
So from a water clear, the trembling light
Of Phœbus, or the silver ray of night,
Along the spacious rooms with splendor plays,
Now high, now low, and shifts a thousand ways.
Hoole.

But the happiest circumstance belongs to Camoens. The velocity and various shiftings of the sun-beam, reflected from a piece of chrystal or polished steel in the hand of a boy, give a much stronger idea of the violent agitation and sudden shiftings of thought, than the image of the trembling light of the sun or moon reflected from a vessel of water. The brazen vessel however, and not the water, is only mentioned by Dryden. Nor must another inaccuracy pass unobserved. That the reflection of the moon flashed the glaring day is not countenanced by the original. The critic however, who, from the mention of these, will infer any disrespect to the name of Dryden, is, as critics often are, ignorant of the writer's meaning. A very different inference is intended: If so great a master as Dryden has erred, let the critic remember, that other translators are liable to fail, and that a few inaccuracies ought, by no means, to be produced as the specimens of any composition.

We have already seen the warm encomium paid by Tasso to his cotemporary, Camoens. That great poet, the ornament of Italy, has also testified his approbation by several imitations of the Lusiad. Virgil, in no instance, has more closely copied Homer, than Tasso has imitated the appearance of Bacchus, or the evil Dæmon, in the dream of the Moorish priest. The enchanter Ismeno thus appears to the sleeping Solyman:

Soliman' Solimano, i tuoi silenti
Riposi à miglior tempo homai riserva:
Che sotto il giogo de straniere genti
La patria, ove regnasti, ancor' e serva.
In questa terra dormi, e non rammenti,
Ch' insepolte de' tuoi l'ossa conserva?
Ove si gran' vestigio e del tuo scorno,
Tu neghittoso aspetti il novo giorno?

Thus elegantly translated by Mr. Hoole,

Oh! Solyman, regardless Chief, awake!
In happier hours thy grateful slumber take:
Beneath a foreign yoke thy subjects bend,
And strangers o'er thy land their rule extend:
Here dost thou sleep? here close thy careless eyes,
While uninterr'd each lov'd associate lies?
Here where thy fame has felt the hostile scorn,
Canst thou, unthinking, wait the rising morn?

357

BOOK IX.

Red 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 sate;
Then on th' illustrious Captive, bending down
His eyes, stern darken'd with a threatening frown,
Thy truthless tale, he cries, thy art appears,
Confest inglorious by thy cautious fears.
Yet still if friendship, honest, thou implore,
Yet now command thy vessels to the shore:

358

Generous 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:
Such be the test, thy boasted truth to try,
Each other test depised, I fixt deny.
And has my Regent sued two days in vain!
In vain my mandate, and the captive chain!
Yet not in vain, proud Chief, Ourself shall sue
From thee the honour to my friendship due:
Ere force compel thee, let the grace be thine,
Our grace permits it, freely to resign,
Freely to trust our friendship, ere too late
Our injured honour fix thy dreadful fate.
While thus he spake his changeful look declared,
In his proud breast what starting passions warr'd.
No feature mov'd on Gama's face was seen,
Stern he replies, with bold yet anxious mien,
In me my Sovereign represented see,
His state is wounded, and he speaks in me;
Unawed by threats, by dangers uncontroul'd,
The laws of nations bid my tongue be bold.
No more thy justice holds the righteous scale,
The arts of falshood and the Moors prevail;

359

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 Sovereign's fleet I yield not to your sway;
Safe shall my fleet to Lisboa's strand convey
The glorious tale of all the toils I bore,
Afric surrounded, and the Indian shore
Discovered—These I pledged 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 Sovereign 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 murderer's hand.
With lofty mien he spake. In stern disdain,
My threats, the Monarch cries, were never vain:
Swift give the sign—Swift as he spake, appear'd
The dancing streamer o'er the palace rear'd;
Instant another ensign distant rose,
Where, jutting through the flood, the mountain throws

360

A ridge enormous, and on either side
Defends the harbours from the furious tide.
Proud on his couch th' indignant Monarch sate,
And awful silence fill'd the room of state.
With secret joy the Moors, exulting, glow'd,
And bent their eyes where Gama's navy rode,
Then, proudly heaved with panting hope, explore
The wood-crown'd upland of the bending shore.
Soon o'er the palms a mast's tall pendant flows,
Bright to the sun the purple radiance glows;
In martial pomp, far streaming to the skies,
Vanes after vanes in swift succession rise,
And through the opening forest-boughs of green
The sails' white lustre moving on is seen;
When sudden rushing by the point of land
The bowsprits nod, and wide the sails expand;
Full pouring on the sight, in warlike pride,
Extending still the rising squadrons ride:
O'er every deck, beneath the morning rays,
Like melted gold the brazen spear-points blaze;
Each prore surrounded with an hundred oars,
Old Ocean boils around the crowded prores:
And five times now in number Gama's might,
Proudly their boastful shouts provoke the fight;
Far round the shore the ecchoing peal rebounds,
Behind the hill an answering shout resounds:

361

Still by the point new-spreading sails appear,
Till seven times Gama's fleet concludes the rear.
Again the shout triumphant shakes the bay;
Form'd as a crescent, wedg'd in firm array,
Their fleet's wide horns the Lusian ships inclasp,
Prepared to crush them in their iron grasp.
Shouts eccho shouts—with stern disdainful eyes
The Indian King to manly Gama cries,
Not one of thine on Lisboa's shore shall tell
The glorious tale, how bold thy heroes fell.
With alter'd visage, for his eyes flash'd fire,
God sent me here, and God's avengeful ire
Shall smite thy perfidy, great Vasco cried,
And humble in the dust thy withered pride.
A prophet's glow inspired his panting breast,
Indignant smiles the Monarch's scorn confest.
Again deep silence fills the room of state,
And the proud Moors, secure, exulting wait:
And now inclasping Gama's in a ring,
Their fleet nods on—loud whizzing from the string
The black-wing'd arrows float along the sky,
And rising clouds the falling clouds supply.
The lofty crowding spears that bristling stood
Wide o'er the galleys as an upright wood,
Bend sudden, levell'd for the closing fight,
The points wide-waving shed a gleamy light.

362

Elate with joy the king his aspect rears,
And valiant Gama, thrill'd with transport, hears
His drums' bold rattling raise the battle sound;
Eccho deep-toned hoarse vibrates far around;
The shivering trumpets tear the shrill-voiced air,
Quivering the gale, the flashing lightnings flare,
The smoke rolls wide, and sudden bursts the roar,
The lifted waves fall trembling, deep the shore
Groans; quick and quicker blaze embraces blaze
In flashing arms; louder the thunders raise
Their roaring, rolling o'er the bended skies
The burst incessant; awe-struck Eccho dies
Faultering and deafen'd; from the brazen throats,
Cloud after cloud, inroll'd in darkness, floats,
Curling their sulphrous folds of fiery blue,
Till their huge volumes take the fleecy hue,
And rowl wide o'er the sky; wide as the sight
Can measure heaven, slow rowls the cloudy white:
Beneath, the smoky blackness spreads afar
Its hovering wings, and veils the dreadful war
Deep in its horrid breast; the fierce red glare
Chequering the rifted darkness, fires the air,
Each moment lost and kindled, while around,
The mingling thunders swell the lengthen'd sound.
When piercing sudden through the dreadful roar
The yelling shrieks of thousands strike the shore:

363

Presaging horror through the Monarch's breast
Crept cold, and gloomy o'er the distant east,
Through Gata's hills 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,
Resistless swept the black-wing'd night away,
With all the clouds that hover'd o'er the fight,
And o'er the weary combat pour'd the light.
As by an Alpine mountain's pathless side
Some traveller strays, unfriended of a guide;
If o'er the hills the sable night descend,
And gathering tempest with the darkness blend,
Deep from the cavern'd rocks beneath, aghast
He hears the howling of the whirlwind's blast;
Above, resounds the crash, and down the steep
Some rolling weight groans on with foundering sweep;
Aghast he stands amid the shades of night,
And all his soul implores the friendly light:

364

Dire shines the ray, the lightning's quivering blaze
The yawning depth beneath his step betrays,
But one half footstep faithful to the tread;
Torn from the rock, the fragment o'er his head
Nods crashing—lost in horror at the sight,
His knees no more support their sickly weight,
Powerless he sinks, no more his heart-blood flows;
So sunk the Monarch, and his heart-blood froze;
So sunk he down, when o'er the clouded bay
The rushing whirlwind pour'd the sudden day:
Disaster's giant arm in one wide sweep
Appear'd, and ruin blacken'd o'er the deep;
The sheeted masts drove floating o'er the tide,
And the torn hulks rowl'd tumbling on the side;
Some shatter'd plank each heaving billow tost,
And by the hand of heaven dash'd on the coast
Groan'd prores ingulph'd, the lashing surges rave
O'er the black keels upturn'd, the swelling wave
Kisses the lofty mast's reclining head;
And far at sea some few torn galleys fled.
Amid the dreadful scene triumphant rode
The Lusian war-ships, and their aid bestow'd:
Their speedy boats far round assisting ply'd,
Where plunging, struggling, in the rolling tide,
Grasping the shatter'd wrecks, the vanquish'd foes
Rear'd o'er the dashing waves their haggard brows.

365

No word of scorn the lofty Gama spoke,
Nor India's King the dreadful silence broke.
Slow past 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 blackening rainbows o'er the skies;
O'er Calicut's proud domes their rage they pour,
And wrap her temples in a sulphrous shower.
'Tis o'er—In threatening silence rides the fleet:
Wild rage and horror yell in every street;
Ten thousands pouring round the palace gate,
In clamorous uproar wail their wretched fate:
While round the dome with lifted hands they kneel'd,
Give justice, justice to the strangers yield—
Our friends, our husbands, sons, and fathers slain!
Happier, alas, than these that yet remain—
Curst be the counsels, and the arts unjust—
Our friends in chains—our city in the dust—
Yet, yet prevent—
—The silent Vasco saw
The weight of horror and o'erpowering awe

366

That shook the Moors, that shook the Regent's knees,
And sunk the Monarch down—By swift degrees
The popular clamour rises. Lost, unmann'd,
Around the King the trembling Council stand;
While wildly glaring on each other's eyes
Each lip in vain the tremblimg accent tries;
With anguish sicken'd, and of strength bereft,
Earnest each look enquires, What hope is left!
In all the rage of shame and grief aghast,
The Monarch, faultering, takes the word at last:
By whom, great Chief, are these proud war-ships sway'd,
Are there thy mandates honour'd and obey'd?
Forgive, great Chief, let gifts of price restrain
Thy just revenge—Shall India's gifts be vain!—
Oh spare my people and their doom'd abodes—
Prayers, vows, and gifts appease the injured gods:
Shall man deny—Swift are the brave to spare:
The weak, the innocent confess their care—
Helpless as innocent of guile to thee,
Behold these thousands bend the suppliant knee—
Thy navy's thundering sides black to the land
Display their terrors—yet mayst thou command—
O'erpower'd he paused. Majestic and serene
Great Vasco rose, then pointing to the scene.

367

Where bled the war, Thy fleet, proud King, behold
O'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 prepared,
I left my fixt command my navy's guard:
Whate'er from shore my name or seal convey'd
Of other weight, that fixt command forbade;
Thus, ere its birth destroy'd, prevented fell
What 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 controul
These 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:
Let but my Monarch know, I wish no more—
Each, panting while I spoke, impatient cries,
The tear-drop bursting in their manly eyes,

368

In all but one thy mandates we obey,
In one we yield not to thy generous sway:
Without thee never shall our sails return;
India shall bleed, and Calicut shall burn—
Thrice shall the morn arise; a flight of bombs
Shall then speak vengeance to their guilty domes:
Till noon we pause; then shall our thunders roar,
And desolation sweep the treacherous shore—
Behold, proud King, their signal in the sky,
Near his meridian tower the Sun rides high.
O'er Calicut no more the evening shade
Shall 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-lipt 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 faulter'd, Gama catch'd the word,
On terms I talk not, and no truce afford:
Captives enough shall reach the Lusian shore:
Once you deceived me, and I treat no more.
Even now my faithful sailors, pale with rage,
Gnaw their blue lips, impatient to engage;

369

Ranged by their brazen tubes, the thundering band
Watch the first movement of my brother's hand;
E'en now, impatient, o'er the dreadful tire
They wave their eager canes betipt 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 chides
His cold slow lingering, 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 treacherous Moors sunk down in faint dismay,
And speechless at his feet the Council lay:
Abrupt, with outstretch'd arms, the Monarch cries,
What yet—but dared not meet the Hero's eyes,
What yet may save!—Great Vasco stern 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:

370

Instant command—behold the Sun rides high—
He spake, and rapture glow'd in every 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, enraged, withdrew
The vanquish'd Dæmon—Soon in lustre mild,
As April smiles, the Sun auspicious smiled:
Elate with joy, the shouting thousands trod,
And Gama to 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 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 untye,
The flapping sails their widening folds distend,
And measured ecchoing shouts their sweaty toils attend.

371

Nor had the captives lost the Leader's care,
Some to the shore the Indian barges bear;
The noblest few the Chief detains to own
His glorious deeds before the Lusian throne;
To own the conquest of the Indian shore:
Nor wanted every 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 Malucco'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 care
To Gama's eyes unveil'd each treachrous snare:
So burn'd his breast with heaven-illumined flame,
And holy reverence of Messiah's name.
Oh, favour'd African, by heaven's own light
Call'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!

372

Far didst thou from thy friends a stranger roam,
There wast thou call'd to thy celestial home.
Now swell'd on every side 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 lessening 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 prore
Points to the Cape, Great Nature's southmost bound,
The Cape of Tempests, now of Hope renown'd.
Their glorious tale on Lisboa's shore to tell
Inspires each bosom with a rapt'rous swell;
Now through their breasts the chilly tremors glide,
To dare once more the dangers dearly try'd—

373

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 sweet
The father, brother, and the bride to greet!
While listening round the hoary parent's board
The wondering kindred glow at every word,
How sweet to tell what woes, what toils they bore,
The tribes and wonders of each various shore!
These thoughts, the traveller's loved reward, employ,
And swell each bosom with unutter'd joy.
The Queen of Love, by Heaven's eternal grace,
The guardian goddess of the Lusian race;
The Queen of Love, elate with joy, surveys
Her heroes, happy, plow the watry maze:
Their dreary toils revolving in her thought,
And all the woes by vengeful Bacchus wrought;

374

These toils, these woes, her yearning cares employ,
To bathe, to balsom in the streams of joy.
Amid the bosom of the watry waste,
Near where the bowers of Paradise were placed,
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 raptured view to raise
The heaven-topt 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, that sing
Their sweet-toned 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 doves
Form playful circles round her as she moves;
And now their beaks in fondling kisses join,
In amorous nods their fondling necks entwine.
O'er fair Idalia's bowers the goddess rode,
And by her altars sought Idalia's god:

375

The youthful bowyer of the heart was there;
His falling kingdom claim'd his earnest care.
His bands he musters, through the myrtle groves
On 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 controul'd.
A young Actæon, scornful of his lore,
Morn after morn pursues the foamy boar,

376

In desart wilds devoted to the chace;
Each dear enchantment of the female face
Spurn'd and neglected: Him enraged 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,
Coldly his suit, the nymph, unmoved, shall spurn.

377

Of these loved dogs that now his passions sway,
Ah, may he never fall the hapless prey!
Enraged he sees a venal herd, the shame
Of human race, assume the titled name;
And each, for some base interest of his own,
With Flattery's manna'd lips assail the throne.
He sees the men, whom holiest sanctions bind
To poverty, and love of human kind;

378

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 every 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 peoples' cause,
Framed ere the blood of hard-earn'd victory
On their brave fathers' helm-hackt swords was dry.
Nor these alone, each rank, debased 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 hovering 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 relax the bow;
Each chanting as he works the tuneful strain
Of love's dear joys, of love's luxurious pain;

379

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
An arrowy shower the bowyer train bestow'd;
Pierced by the whizzing shafts deep sighs the air,
And answering sighs the wounds of love declare.
Though various featured and of various hue,
Each nymph seems loveliest in her lover's view;
Fired 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 Queen
Now land her chariot on the shore of green;
One knee display'd she treads the flowery 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.

380

The bowyer God whose subtle shafts ne'er fly
Misaim'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 join
Who 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 heaven, 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-e'er, so will th' Eternal Fates, where-e'er
The Lusian race the victor standards rear,
There shall my hymns resound, my altars flame,
And heavenly Love her joyful lore proclaim.
My Lusian heroes, as my Romans, brave,
Long tost, long hopeless on the storm-torn wave,
Wearied and weak, at last on India's shore
Arrived, new toils, repose denied, they bore;
For Bacchus there with tenfold rage pursued
My dauntless sons, but now his might subdued,
Amid these raging seas, the scene of woes,
Theirs shall be now the balm of sweet repose;

381

Theirs every joy the noblest heroes claim,
The raptured 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 amorous 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 chrystal 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 embrace
Resign each hidden charm with dearest grace.
Thus from my native waves a hero line
Shall rise, and o'er the East illustrious shine;
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;

182

His ivory bow, and arrows tipt 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, so will'd the God, before them flew:
A giant goddess, whose ungovern'd tongue
With 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:
An hundred eyes she rolls with ceaseless care,
A thousand tongues what these behold declare:
Fleet is her flight, the lightning's wing she rides,
And though she shifts her colours swift as glides
The April rainbow, still the croud she guides.
And now aloft her wondering voice she rais'd,
And with a thousand glowing tongues she prais'd
The bold Discoverers of the eastern world—
In gentle swells the listening surges curl'd,
And murmur'd to the sounds of plaintive love
Along the grottoes where the Nereids rove.
The drowsy Power on whose smooth easy mein
The smiles of wonder and delight are seen,

183

Whose glossy simpering eye bespeaks her name,
Credulity, attends the goddess Fame.
Fired by the heroes' praise, the watery gods ,
With ardent speed forsake their deep abodes;
Their rage by vengeful Bacchus rais'd of late,
Now stung remorse, and love succeeds to hate.
Ah, where remorse in female bosom bleeds,
The tenderest love in all its glow succeeds.
When fancy glows, how strong, O Love, thy power!
Nor slipt the eager God the happy hour;
Swift fly his arrows o'er the billowy main,
Wing'd with his fires, nor flies a shaft in vain:
Thus, ere the face the lover's breast inspires,
The voice of fame awakes the soft desires.
While from the bow-string start the shafts divine,
His ivory moon's wide horns incessant join,
Swift twinkling to the view; and wide he pours
Omnipotent in love his arrowy showers.
E'en Thetis' self confest the tender smart,
And pour'd the murmurs of the wounded heart:

384

Soft o'er the billows pants the amourous sigh;
With wishful langour melting on each eye
The love-sick nymphs explore the tardy sails
That waft the heroes on the lingering gales.
Give way, ye lofty billows, low subside,
Smooth as the level plain, your swelling pride,
Lo, Venus comes! Oh, soft, ye surges, sleep,
Smooth be the bosom of the azure deep,
Lo, Venus comes! and in her vigorous train
She brings the healing balm of love-sick pain.
White as her swans , and stately as they rear
Their snowy crests when o'er the lake they steer,
Slow moving on, behold, the fleet appears,
And o'er the distant billow onward steers.
The beauteous Nereids flush'd in all their charms
Surround the Goddess of the soft alarms:
Right to the isle she leads the smiling train,
And all her arts her balmy lips explain;
The fearful langour of the asking eye,
The lovely blush of yielding modesty,
The grieving look, the sigh, the favouring smile,
And all th' endearments of the open wile,

385

She taught the nymphs—in willing breasts that heaved
To hear her lore, her lore the nymphs received.
As now triumphant to their native shore
Through the wide deep the joyful navy bore,
Earnest the pilot's eyes sought cape or bay,
For long was yet the various watery way;
Sought cape or isle from whence their boats might bring
The healthful bounty of the chrystal spring:
When sudden, all in nature's pride array'd,
The Isle of Love its glowing breast display'd.
O'er the green bosom of the dewy lawn
Soft blazing flow'd the silver of the dawn,
The gentle waves the glowing lustre share,
Arabia's balm was sprinkled o'er the air.
Before the fleet, to catch the heroes' view,
The floating isle fair Acidalia drew:
Soon as the floating verdure caught their sight,
She fixt, unmov'd, the island of delight.
So when in child-birth of her Jove-sprung load,
The sylvan goddess and the bowyer god,

386

In friendly pity of Latona's woes ,
Amid the waves the Delian isle arose.
And now led smoothly o'er the furrow'd tide,
Right to the isle of joy the vessels glide:
The bay they enter, where on every hand,
Around them clasps the flower-enamell'd land;
A safe retreat, where not a blast may shake
Its fluttering pinions o'er the stilly lake.
With purple shells, transfus'd as marble veins,
The yellow sands celestial Venus stains.
With graceful pride three hills of softest green
Rear their fair bosoms o'er the sylvan scene;
Their sides embroider'd boast the rich array
Of flowery shrubs in all the pride of May;
The purple lotos and the snowy thorn,
And yellow pod-flowers every slope adorn.
From the green summits of the leafy hills
Descend with murmuring lapse three limpid rills;
Beneath the rose-trees loitering slow they glide,
Now tumbles o'er some rock their chrystal pride;
Sonorous now they roll adown the glade,
Now plaintive tinkle in the secret shade,
Now from the darkling grove, beneath the beam
Of ruddy morn, like melted silver stream,

387

Edging the painted margins of the bowers,
And breathing liquid freshness on the flowers.
Where bright reflected in the pool below
The vermil apples tremble on the bough;
Where o'er the yellow sands the waters sleep
The primrosed banks, inverted, dew drops weep;
Where murmuring o'er the pebbles purls the stream
The silver trouts in playful curvings gleam.
Long thus and various every riv'let strays,
Till closing now their long meandring maze,
Where in a smiling vale the mountains end,
Form'd in a chrystal lake the waters blend :
Fring'd was the border with a woodland shade,
In every leaf of various green array'd,
Each yellow-ting'd, each mingling tint between
The dark ash-verdure and the silvery green.
The trees now bending forward slowly shake
Their lofty honours o'er the chrystal lake;
Now from the flood the graceful boughs retire
With coy reserve, and now again admire
Their various liveries by the summer drest,
Smooth-gloss'd and softened in the mirror's breast.

388

So by her glass the wishful virgin stays,
And oft retiring steals the lingering gaze.
A thousand boughs aloft to heaven display
Their fragrant apples shining to the day;
The orange here perfumes the buxom air,
And boasts the golden hue of Daphne's hair.
Near to the ground each spreading bough descends,
Beneath her yellow load the citron bends;
The fragrant lemon scents the cooly grove;
Fair as when ripening for the days of love
The virgin's breasts the gentle swell avow,
So the twin fruitage swell on every bough.
Wild forest trees the mountain sides array'd
With curling foliage and romantic shade:
Here spreads the poplar, to Alcides dear;
And dear to Phœbus, ever verdant here,

389

The laurel joins the bowers for ever green,
The myrtle bowers belov'd of beauty's queen.
To Jove the oak his wide spread branches rears;
And high to heaven the fragrant cedar bears;
Where through the glades appear the cavern'd rocks,
The lofty pine-tree waves her sable locks;
Sacred to Cybele the whispering pine
Loves the wild grottoes where the white cliffs shine;
Here towers the cypress, preacher to the wise,
Less'ning from earth her spiral honours rise,
Till, as a spear-point rear'd, the topmost spray
Points to the Eden of eternal day.
Here round her fostering elm the smiling vine
In fond embraces gives her arms to twine,
The numerous clusters pendant from the boughs,
The green here glistens, here the purple glows;
For here the genial seasons of the year
Danc'd hand in hand, no place for winter here;
His grisly visage from the shore expell'd,
United sway the smiling seasons held.
Around the swelling fruits of deepening red,
Their snowy hues the fragrant blossoms spread;
Between the bursting buds of lucid green
The apple's ripe vermillion blush is seen;
For here each gift Pomona's hand bestows
In cultur'd garden, free, uncultur'd flows,

390

The flavour sweeter, and the hue more fair,
Than e'er was foster'd by the hand of care.
The cherry here in shining crimson glows;
And stain'd with lover's blood , in pendant rows,
The bending boughs the mulberries o'erload;
The bending boughs caress'd by Zephyr nod.
The generous peach, that strengthens in exile
Far from his native earth, the Persian soil,
The velvet peach of sofest glossy blue
Hangs by the pomgranate of orange hue,
Whose open heart a brighter red displays
Than that which sparkles in the ruby's blaze.
Here, trembling with their weight, the branches bear,
Delicious as profuse, the tapering pear.
For thee, fair fruit, the songsters of the grove
With hungry bills from bower to arbour rove.
Ah, if ambitious thou wilt own the care
To grace the feast of heroes and the fair,
Soft let the leaves with grateful umbrage hide
The green-ting'd orange of thy mellow side.
A thousand flowers of gold, of white and red
Far o'er the shadowy vale their carpets spread,

391

Of fairer tapestry, and of richer bloom,
Than ever glow'd in Persia's boasted loom:
As glittering rainbows o'er the verdure thrown,
O'er every woodland walk th' embroidery shone.
Here o'er the watery mirror's lucid bed
Narcissus, self-enamour'd, hangs the head;
And here, bedew'd with love's celestial tears,
The woe-markt flower of slain Adonis rears
Its purple head, prophetic of the reign,
When lost Adonis shall revive again.
At strife appear the lawns and purpled skies,
Which from each other stole the beauteous dyes:

392

The lawn in all Aurora's lustre glows,
Aurora steals the blushes of the rose,
The rose displays the blushes that adorn
The spotless virgin on the nuptial morn.
Zephyr and Flora emulous conspire
To breathe their graces o'er the field's attire;
The one gives healthful freshness, one the hue,
Fairer than e'er creative pencil drew.
Pale as the love-sick hopeless maid they dye
The modest violet; from the curious eye
The modest violet turns her gentle head,
And by the thorn weeps o'er her lowly bed.
Bending beneath the tears of pearly dawn
The snow white lilly glitters o'er the lawn;
Low from the bough reclines the damask rose,
And o'er the lilly's milk white bosom glows.
Fresh in the dew far o'er the painted dales,
Each fragrant herb her sweetest scent exhales.
The hyacinth bewrays the doleful Ai ,
And calls the tribute of Apollo's sigh;
Still on it's bloom the mournful flower retains
The lovely blue that dy'd the stripling's veins.

393

Pomona fir'd with rival envy views
The glaring pride of Flora's darling hues;
Where Flora bids the purple iris spread,
She hangs the wilding's blossom white and red;
Where wild thyme purples, where the daisy snows
The curving slopes, the melon's pride she throws;
Where by the stream the lilly of the vale,
Primrose, and cowslip meek, perfume the gale,
Beneath the lilly and the cowslip's bell
The scarlet strawberries luxurious swell.
Nor these alone the teeming Eden yields,
Each harmless bestial crops the flowery fields;
And birds of every note and every wing
Their loves responsive thro' the branches sing:
In sweet vibrations thrilling o'er the skies,
High pois'd in air the lark his warbling tries;
The swan slow sailing o'er the chrystal lake
Tunes his melodious note; from every brake
The glowing strain the nightingale returns,
And in the bowers of love the turtle mourns.
Pleas'd to behold his branching horns appear,
O'er the bright fountain bends the fearless deer;
The hare starts trembling from the bushy shade,
And swiftly circling, crosses oft the glade.
Where from the rocks the bubbling founts distil,
The milk-white lambs come bleating down the hill;

394

The dappled heifer seeks the vales below,
And from the thicket springs the bounding doe.
To his lov'd nest, on fondly fluttering wings,
In chirping bill the little songster brings
The food untasted; transport thrills his breast;
'Tis nature's touch, 'tis instinct's heav'n-like feast.
Thus bower and lawn were deckt with Eden's flowers,
And song and joy imparadised the bowers.
And soon the fleet their ready anchors threw:
Lifted on eager tip-toe at the view,
On nimble feet that bounded to the strand
The second Argonauts elance to land.
Wide o'er the beauteous isle the lovely Fair
Stray through the distant glades, devoid of care.

395

From lowly valley and from mountain grove
The lovely nymphs renew the strains of love.

396

Here from the bowers that crown the plaintive rill
The solemn harp's melodious warblings thrill;
Here from the shadows of the upland grott
The mellow lute renews the swelling note.
As fair Diana and her virgin train
Some gayly ramble o'er the flowery plain,

397

In feign'd pursuit of hare or bounding roe,
Their graceful mein and beauteous limbs to shew;
Now seeming careless, fearful now and coy,
So taught the goddess of unutter'd joy,
And gliding through the distant glades display
Each limb, each movement, naked as the day.
Some light with glee in careless freedom take
Their playful revels in the chrystal lake;
One trembling stands no deeper than the knee
To plunge reluctant, while in sportful glee
Another o'er her sudden laves the tide;
In pearly drops the wishful waters glide,
Reluctant dropping from her breasts of snow;
Beneath the wave another seems to glow;
The amorous waves her bosom fondly kiss'd,
And rose and fell, as panting, on her breast.
Another swims along with graceful pride,
Her silver arms the glistening waves divide,
Her shining sides the fondling waters lave,
Her glowing cheeks are brighten'd by the wave,
Her hair, of mildest yellow, flows from side
To side, as o'er it plays the wanton tide,
And careless as she turns, her thighs of snow
Their tapering rounds in deeper lustre shew.

398

Where some bold Lusians sought the woodland prey,
And thro' the thickets forc'd the pathless way;
Where some in shades impervious to the beam,
Supinely listen'd to the murmuring stream:
Bright sudden through the boughs the various dyes
Of pink, of scarlet, and of azure rise.
Swift from the verdant banks the loiterers spring,
Down drops the arrow from the half drawn string:
Soon they behold 'twas not the rose's hue,
The jonquil's yellow, nor the pansie's blue:
Dazzling the shades the nymphs appear—the zone
And flowing scarf in gold and azure shone.
Naked as Venus stood in Ida's bower,
Some trust the dazzling charms of native power;
Through the green boughs and darkling shades they shew
The shining lustre of their native snow,
And every tapering, every rounded swell
Of thigh, of bosom, as they glide, reveal.
As visions cloath'd in dazzling white they rise,
Then steal unnoted from the flurried eyes:
Again apparent, and again withdrawn,
They shine and wanton o'er the smiling lawn.
Amazed and lost in rapture of surprize,
All joy, my friends, the brave Veloso cries,
Whate'er of goddesses old fable told,
Or poet sung of sacred groves, behold.

399

Sacred to goddesses divinely bright
These beauteous forests own their guardian might.
From eyes profane, from every age conceal'd,
To us, behold, all Paradise reveal'd!
Swift let us try if phantoms of the air,
Or living charms appear, divinely fair!
Swift at the word the gallant Lusians bound,
Their rapid footsteps scarcely touch the ground;
Through copse, through brake, impatient of their prey,
Swift as the wounded deer they spring away:
Fleet through the winding shades in rapid flight
The nymphs as wing'd with terror fly their sight;
Fleet though they fled the mild reverted eye,
And dimpling smile their seeming fear deny.
Fleet through the shades in parted rout they glide:
If winding path the chosen pairs divide,
Another path by sweet mistake betrays,
And throws the lover on the lover's gaze:
If dark-brow'd bower conceal the lovely fair,
The laugh, the shriek, confess the charmer there.
Luxurious here the wanton zephyrs toy,
And every fondling favouring art employ.
Fleet as the Fair Ones speed, the busy gale
In wanton frolic lifts the trembling veil;

400

White though the veil, in fairer brighter glow,
The lifted robe displays the living snow:
Quick fluttering on the gale the robe conceals,
Then instant to the glance each charm reveals;
Reveals, and covers from the eyes on fire,
Reveals, and with the shade inflames desire.
One as her breathless lover hastens on,
With wily stumble sudden lies o'erthrown;
Confus'd, she rises with a blushing smile;
The lover falls the captive of her guile:
Tript by the Fair he tumbles on the mead,
The joyful victim of his eager speed.
Afar, where sport the wantons in the lake,
Another band of gallant youths betake;
The laugh, the shriek, the revel and the toy,
Bespeak the innocence of youthful joy.
The laugh, the shriek, the gallant Lusians hear
As through the forest glades they chace the deer;
For arm'd to chace the bounding roe they came,
Unhop'd the transport of a nobler game.
The naked wantons, as the youths appear,
Shrill through the woods resound the shriek of fear.
Some feign such terror of the forced embrace,
Their virgin modesty to this gives place,

401

Naked they spring to land and speed away
To deepest shades unpierc'd by glaring day;
Thus yielding freely to the amorous eyes
What to the amorous hands their fear denies.
Some well assume Diana's virgin shame,
When on her naked sports the hunter came
Unwelcome—plunging in the chrystal tide,
In vain they strive their beauteous limbs to hide;
The lucid waves, 'twas all they could, bestow
A milder lustre and a softer glow.
As lost in earnest care of future need,
Some to the banks to snatch their mantles speed,
Of present view regardless; every wile
Was yet, and every net of amorous guile.
Whate'er the terror of the feign'd alarm,
Display'd, in various force, was every charm.
Nor idle stood the gallant youth; the wing
Of rapture lifts them, to the Fair they spring;
Some to the copse pursue their lovely prey;
Some cloath'd and shod, impatient of delay,
Impatient of the stings of fierce desire,
Plunge headlong in the tide to quench their fire.
So when the fowler to his cheek uprears
The hollow steel, and on the mallard bears,
His eager dog, ere bursts the flashing roar,
Fierce for the prey springs headlong from the shore,

402

And barking cuts the wave with furious joy:
So mid the billow springs each eager boy,
Springs to the nymph whose eyes from all the rest
By singling him her secret wish confest.
A son of Mars was there, of generous race,
His every elegance of manly grace;
Amorous and brave, the bloom of April youth
Glow'd on his cheek, his eye spoke simplest truth;
Yet love, capricious to th' accomplish'd boy,
Had ever turn'd to gall each promis'd joy,
Had ever spurn'd his vows; yet still his heart
Would hope, and nourish still the tender smart:
The purest delicacy fann'd his fires,
And proudest honour nurs'd his fond desires.
Not on the first that fair before him glow'd,
Not on the first the youth his love bestow'd.
In all her charms the fair Ephyre came,
And Leonardo's heart was all on flame.
Affection's melting transport o'er him stole,
And Love's all generous glow intranced his soul;
Of selfish joy unconscious, every thought
On sweet delirium's ocean streamed afloat.
Pattern of beauty did Ephyre shine,
Nor less she wish'd these beauties to resign:

403

More than her sisters long'd her heart to yield,
Yet swifter fled she o'er the smiling field.
The youth now panting with the hopeless chace,
Oh turn, he cries, Oh turn thy angel face:
False to themselves can charms like these conceal
The hateful rigour of relentless steel;
And did the stream deceive me when I stood
Amid my peers reflected in the flood?
The easiest port and fairest bloom I bore—
False was the stream—while I in vain deplore,
My peers are happy; lo, in every shade,
In every bower, their love with love repaid!
I, I alone through brakes, through thorns pursue
A cruel Fair—Ah, still my fate proves true,
True to its rigour—who, fair nymph, to thee
Reveal'd, 'twas I that sued! unhappy me!
Born to be spurn'd though honesty inspire—
Alas, I faint, my languid sinews tire;
Oh stay thee—powerless to sustain their weight
My knees sink down, I sink beneath my fate!
He spoke; a rustling urges thro' the trees,
Instant new vigour strings his active knees,
Wildly he glares around, and raging cries,
And must another snatch my lovely prize!
In savage grasp thy beauteous limbs constrain!
I feel, I madden while I feel the pain!

404

Oh lost, thou fly'st the safety of my arms,
My hand shall guard thee, softly seize thy charms,
No brutal rage inflames me, yet I burn!
Die shall thy ravisher—Oh goddess, turn,
And smiling view the error of my fear;
No brutal force, no ravisher is near;
A harmless roebuck gave the rustling sounds,
Lo, from the thicket swift as thee he bounds!
Ah, vain the hope to tire thee in the chace!
I faint, yet hear, yet turn thy lovely face.
Vain are thy fears; were ev'n thy will to yield
The harvest of my hope, that harvest field
My fate would guard, and walls of brass would rear
Between my sickle and the golden ear.
Yet fly me not; so may thy youthful prime
Ne'er fly thy cheek on the grey wings of time.
Yet hear, the last my panting breath can say,
Nor proudest kings, nor mightiest hosts can sway
Fate's dread decrees; yet thou, O nymph, divine,
Yet thou canst more, yet thou canst conquer mine.
Unmoved each other yielding nymph I see;
Joy to their lovers, for they touch not thee!
But thee—Oh, every transport of desire,
That melts to mingle with its kindred fire,
For thee respires—alone I feel for thee
The dear wild rage of longing extacy:

405

By all the flames of sympathy divine
To thee united, thou by right art mine.
From thee, from thee the hallowed transport flows
That severed rages, and for union glows;
Heaven owns the claim—Hah, did the lightning glare:
Yes, I beheld my rival, though the air
Grew dim; even now I heard him softy tread.
Oh rage, he waits thee on the flowery bed!
I see, I see thee rushing to his arms,
And sinking on his bosom, all thy charms
To him resigning in an eager kiss,
All I implor'd, the whelming tide of bliss!
And shall I see him riot on thy charms,
Dissolved in joy exulting in thine arms—
Oh burst, ye lightnings, round my destin'd head,
Oh pour your flashes—madning as he said,
Amid the windings of the bowery wood
His trembling footsteps still the nymph pursued.

406

Wooed to the flight she wing'd her speed to hear
His amorous accents melting on her ear.
And now she turns the wild walk's serpent maze;
A roseate bower its velvet couch displays;
The thickest moss its softest verdure spread,
Crocus and mingling pansie fring'd the bed,
The woodbine dropt its honey from above,
And various roses crown'd the sweet alcove.
Here as she hastens, on the hopeless boy
She turns her face all bathed in smiles of joy;
Then, sinking down, her eyes, sufficed with love
Glowing on his, one moment lost reprove.
Here was no rival, all he wish'd his own;
Lock'd in her arms soft sinks the stripling down—
Ah, what soft murmurs panting thro' the bowers
Sigh'd to the raptures of the paramours;
The wishful sigh and melting smile conspire,
Devouring kisses fan the fiercer fire;
Sweet violence with drearest grace assails,
Soft o'er the purposed frown the smile prevails,
The purposed frown betrays its own deceit,
In well-pleas'd laughter ends the rising threat;
The coy delay glides off in yielding love,
And transport murmurs thro' the sacred grove.
The joy of pleasing adds its sacred zest,
And all is love, embracing and embraced.

407

The golden morn beheld the scenes of joy;
Nor, sultry noon, mayst thou the bowers annoy;
The sultry noon-beam shines the lover's aid,
And sends him glowing to the secret shade.
O'er every shade and every nuptial bower
The love-sick strain the virgin turtles pour;
For nuptial faith and holy rites combin'd,
The Lusian heroes and the nymphs conjoin'd.
With flowery wreaths, and laurel chaplets, bound
With ductile gold, the nymphs the heroes crown'd:
By every spousal holy ritual ty'd,
No chance they vow shall e'er their hands divide,
In life, in death attendant as their fame;
Such was the oath of ocean's sovereign Dame:
The Dame, (from Heaven and holy Vesta sprung,
For ever beauteous and for ever young,)
Enraptured views the Chief whose deathless name
The wondering world and conquer'd seas proclaim.
With stately pomp she holds the Hero's hand,
And gives her empire to his dread command,
By spousal ties confirm'd; nor past untold
What Fate's unalter'd page had will'd of old:
The world's vast globe in radiant sphere she shew'd,
The shores immense, and seas unknown, unplow'd;
The seas, the shores, due to the Lusian keel
And Lusian sword, she hastens to reveal.

408

The glorious Leader by the hand she takes,
And dim below the flowery bowers forsakes.
High on a mountain's starry top divine
Her palace walls of living chrystal shine;
Of gold and chrystal blaze the lofty towers;
Here bathed in joy they pass the blissful hours:
Ingulph'd in tides on tides of joy, the day
On downy pinions glides unknown away.
While thus the sovereigns in the palace reign,
Like transport riots o'er the humbler plain,
Where each in generous triumph o'er his peers
His lovely bride to every bride prefers.
Hence, ye profane—the song melodious rose,
By mildest zephyrs wafted through the boughs,
Unseen the warblers of the holy strain—
Far from these sacred bowers, ye leud profane!
Hence each unhallowed eye, each vulgar ear;
Chaste and divine are all the raptures here.
The nymphs of ocean, and the ocean's Queen.
The isle angelic, every raptured scene

409

The charms of honour and its meed confess,
These are the raptures, these the wedded bliss:
The glorious triumph and the laurel crown,
The ever blossom'd palms of fair renown,
By time unwither'd and untaught to cloy;
These are the transports of the Isle of Joy.
Such was Olympus and the bright abodes;
Renown was heaven, and heroes were the gods.
Thus ancient times, to virtue ever just,
To arts and valour rear'd the worshipp'd bust.
High, steep and rugged, painful to be trod,
With toils on toils immense is virtue's road;
But smooth at last the walks umbrageous smile,
Smooth as our lawns, and cheerful as our isle.
Up the rough road Alcides, Hermes, strove,
All men like you, Apollo, Mars, and Jove:
Like you to bless mankind Minerva toil'd;
Diana bound the tyrants of the wild;
O'er the waste desert Bacchus spread the vine;
And Ceres taught the harvest field to shine.
Fame rear'd her trumpet; to the blest abodes
She raised, and hail'd them gods and sprung of gods.
The love of Fame, by heaven's own hand imprest,
The first and noblest passion of the breast,

410

May yet mislead—Oh guard, ye hero train,
No harlot robes of honours false and vain,
No tinsel yours, be yours all native gold,
Well-earn'd each honour, each respect you hold:
To your loved King return a guardian band,
Return the guardians of your native land;
To tyrant power be dreadful; from the jaws
Of fierce oppression guard the peasant's cause.
If youthful fury pant for shining arms,
Spread o'er the Eastern World the dread alarms;
There bends the Saracen the hostile bow,
The Saracen thy faith, thy nation's foe;
There from his cruel gripe tear empire's reins,
And break his tyrant sceptre o'er his chains.
On adamantine pillars thus shall stand
The throne, the glory of your native land,
And Lusian heroes, an immortal line,
Shall ever with us share our Isle Divine.

414

END OF THE NINTH BOOK.
 

According to History. See the life of Gama in the Preface.

The circumstance of Gama's refusing to put his fleet into the power of the Zamorim, is thus rendered by Fanshaw;

The Malabar protests that he shall rot
In prison, if he send not for the ships.
He (constant, and with noble anger hot)
His haughty menace weighs not at two chips.

The hills of Gata or Gate, mountains which form a natural barrier on the eastern side of the kingdom of Malabar.

Nature's rude wall, against the fierce Canar
They guard the fertile lawns of Malabar.
Lusiad, VII.

For the circumstances of the battle, and the tempest which then happened, see the life of Gama.

See the history in the life of Gama.

See the life of Gama.

This most magnanimous resolution, to sacrifice his own safety or his life for the safe return of the fleet, is strictly true. See the life of Gama.

Gama's declaration, that no message from him to the fleet could alter the orders he had already left, and his rejection of any farther treaty, have a necessary effect in the conduct of the poem. They hasten the catastrophe, and give a verisimilitude to the abrupt and full submission of the Zamorim.

The capstones. —The capstone is a cylindrical windlass, worked with bars, which are moved from hole to hole as it turns round. It is used to weigh the anchors, raise masts, &c. The name roller describes both the machine and its use, and it may be presumed, is a more poetical word than capstone. The versification of this passage in the original affords a most noble example of imitative harmony:

Mas ja nas naos os bons trabalhadores
Volvem o cabrestante, & repartidos
Pello trabalho, huns puxao pella amarra,
Outros quebrao co peito duro a barra.

Had this been mentioned sooner, the interest of the catastrophe of the poem must have languished. Though he is not a warrior, the unexpected friend of Gama, bears a much more considerable part in the action of the Lusiad, than the faithful Achates, the friend of the hero, bears in the business of the Eneid.

This exclamatory address to the Moor Monzaida, however it may appear digressive, has a double propriety. The conversion of the Eastern world is the great purpose of the expedition of Gama, and Monzaida is the first fruits of that conversion. The good characters of the victorious heroes, however neglected by the great genius of Homer, have a fine effect in making an Epic Poem interest us and please. It might have been said, that Monzaida was a traitor to his friends, and who crowned his villany with apostacy. Camoens has therefore wisely drawn him with other features, worthy of the friendship of Gama. Had this been neglected, the hero of the Lusiad might have shared the fate of the wise Ulysses of the Iliad, against whom, as Voltaire justly observes, every reader bears a secret ill will. Nor is the poetical character of Monzaida unsupported by history. He was not an Arab Moor, so he did not desert his countrymen. By force these Moors had determined on the destruction of Gama: Monzaida admired and esteemed him, and therefore generously revealed to him his danger. By his attachment to Gama he lost all his effects in India, a circumstance which his prudence and knowledge of affairs must have certainly foreseen. By the known dangers he encountered, by the loss he thus voluntarily sustained, and by his after constancy, his sincerity is undoubtedly proved.

We are now come to that part of the Lusiad, which, in the conduct of the poem, is parallel to the great catastrophe of the Iliad, when on the death of Hector, Achilles thus addresses the Grecian army,

------ Ye sons of Greece, in triumph bring
The corpse of Hector, and your Pæans sing:
Be this the song, slow moving tow'rd the shore,
Hector is dead, and Ilion is no more.”

Our Portuguese Poet, who in his machinery, and many other instances, has followed the manner of Virgil, now forsakes him. In a very bold and masterly spirit he now models his poem by the steps of Homer. What of the Lusiad yet remains, in poetical conduct, though not in an imitation of circumstances, exactly resembles the latter part of the Iliad. The games at the funeral of Patroclus, and the redemption of the body of Hector, are the completion of the rage of Achilles. In the same manner, the reward of the heroes, and the consequences of their expedition, complete the unity of the Lusiad. I cannot say it appears that Milton ever read our Poet; (though Fanshaw's translation was published in his time) yet no instance can be given of a more striking resemblance of plan and conduct, than may be produced in two principal parts of the poem of Camoens, and of the Paradise Lost. Of this however hereafter in its proper place.

Between the mouths of the Ganges and Euphrates.

This fiction, in poetical conduct, bears a striking resemblance to the digressive histories, with which Homer enriches and adorns his poems, particularly to the beautiful description of the feast of the Gods with the blameless Ethiopians. It also contains a masterly commentary on the machinery of the Lusiad. The Divine Love conducts Gama to India. The same Divine Love is represented as preparing to reform the corrupted world, when its attention is particularly called to bestow a foretaste of immortality on the heroes of the expedition which discovered the Eastern World. Nor do the wild phantastic loves, mentioned in this little episode, afford any objection against this explanation, an explanation which is expressly given in the episode itself. These wild phantastic amours signify, in the allegory, the wild sects of different enthusiasts, which spring up under the wings of the best and most rational institutions; and which, however contrary to each other, all agree in deriving their authority from the same source.

The French translator has the following characteristical note: “This passage is an eternal monument of the freedoms taken by Camoens, and at the same time a proof of the imprudence of Poets; an authentic proof of that prejudice which sometimes blinds them, notwithstanding all the light of their genius. The modern Actæon, of whom he speaks, was king Sebastian. He loved the chace; but that pleasure, which is one of the most innocent, and one of the most noble we can possibly taste, did not at all interrupt his attention to the affairs of state, and did not render him savage as our author pretends. On this point the Historians are rather to be believed. And what would the lot of princes be, were they allowed no relaxation from their toils, while they allow that privilege to their people? Subjects as we are, let us venerate the amusements of our Sovereigns; let us believe that the august cares for our good, which employ them, follow them often even to the very bosom of their pleasures.”

Many are the strokes in the Lusiad which must endear the character of Camoens to every reader of sensibility. The noble freedom and manly indignation with which he mentions the foible of his prince, and the flatterers of his court, would do honour to the greatest names of Greece or Rome. While the shadow of freedom remained in Portugal, the greatest men of that nation, in the days of Lusian heroism, thought and conducted themselves in the spirit of Camoens. A noble anecdote of this brave spirit offers itself. Alonzo IV. surnamed the Brave, ascended the throne of Portugal in the vigour of his age The pleasures of the chace engrossed all his attention. His confidents and favourites encouraged, and allured him to it. His time was spent in the forests of Cintra, while the affairs of government were neglected, or executed by those whose interest it was to keep their sovereign in ignorance. His presence, at last, being necessary at Lisbon, he entered the council with all the brisk impetuosity of a young sportsman, and with great familiarity and gaiety entertained his nobles with the history of a whole month spent in hunting, in fishing, and shooting. When he had finished his narrative, a nobleman of the first rank rose up: Courts and camps, said he, were allotted for kings, not woods and deserts. Even the affairs of private men suffer when recreation is preferred to business. But when the whims of pleasure engross the thoughts of a king, a whole nation is consigned to ruin. We came here for other purposes than to hear the exploits of the chace, exploits which are only intelligible to grooms and falconers. If your majesty will attend to the wants, and remove the grievances of your people, you will find them obedient subjects; if not —The king, starting with rage, interrupted him, If not, what—If not, resumed the nobleman, in a firm tone, they will look for another and a better king. Alonzo, in the highest transport of passion, expressed his resentment, and hasted out of the room. In a little while however he returned, calm and reconciled; I perceive, said he, the truth of what you say. He who will not execute the duties of a king, cannot long have good subjects. Remember, from this day, you have nothing more to do with Alonzo the sportsman, but with Alonzo the king of Portugal. His majesty was as good as his promise, and became as a warriour and politician, one of the greatest of the Portuguese monarchs.

“It is said, that upon the faith of a portrait Don Sebastian fell in love with Margaret of France, daughter of Henry II. and demanded her in marriage, but was refused. The Spaniards treated him no less unfavourably, for they also rejected his proposals for one of the daughters of Philip II. Our author considers these refusals as the punishment of Don Sebastian's excessive attachment to the chace; but this is only a consequence of the prejudice with which he viewed the amusements of his prince. The truth is, these princesses were refused for political reasons, and not with any regard to the manner in which he filled up his moments of leisure.”

Thus Castera, who, with the same spirit of sagacity, starts and answers the following objections: “But here is a difficulty: Camoens wrote during the life of Don Sebastian, but the circumstance he relates (the return of Gama) happened several years before, under the reign of Emmanuel. How therefore could he say that Cupid then saw Don Sebastian at the chace, when that prince was not then born? The answer is easy: Cupid, in the allegory of this work, represents the love of God, the Holy Spirit, who is God himself. Now the Divinity admits of no distinction of time; one glance of his eye beholds the past, the present, and the future; every thing is present before him.”

This defence of the fiction of Actæon, is not more absurd than useless. The free and bold spirit of poetry, and in particular the nature of allegory, defend it. The poet might easily have said, that Cupid foresaw; but had he said so his satire had been much less genteel. As the sentiments of Castera on this passage are extremely characteristical of the French ideas, another note from him will perhaps be agreeable. “Several Portuguese writers have remarked, says he, that the wish

Of these loved dogs that now his passions sway,
Ah! may he never fall the hapless prey!

Had in it an air of prophecy; and Fate in effect, seemed careful to accomplish it, in making the presaged woes to fall upon Don Sebastian. If he did not fall a prey to his pack of hounds, we may however say that he was devoured by his favourites, who misled his youth and his great soul. But at any rate our poet has carried the similitude too far. It was certainly injurious to Don Sebastian, who nevertheless had the bounty not only not to punish this audacity, but to reward the just elogies which the author had bestowed on him in other places. As much as the indiscretion of Camoens ought to surprise us, as much ought we to admire the generosity of his master.”

This foppery, this slavery in thinking, cannot fail to rouse the indignation of every manly breast, when the facts are fairly stated. Don Sebastian, who ascended the throne when a child, was a prince of great abilities and great spirit, but his youth was poisoned with the most romantic ideas of military glory. The affairs of state were left to his ministers, (for whose character see the next note) his other studies were neglected, and military exercises, of which he not unjustly esteemed the chace a principal, were almost his sole employ. Camoens beheld this romantic turn, and in a genteel allegorical satire foreboded its consequences. The wish, that his prince might not fall the prey of his favourite passion, was in vain. In a rash, ill-concerted expedition into Africa, Don Sebastian lost his crown in his twenty-fifth year, an event which soon after produced the fall of the Portuguese empire. Had the nobility possessed the spirit of Camoens, had they, like him, endeavoured to check the Quixotism of a young generous prince, that prince might have reigned long and happy, and Portugal might have escaped the Spanish yoke, which soon followed his defeat at Alcazar; a yoke which sunk Portugal into an abys of misery, from which, in all probability, she will never emerge in her former splendor.

“After having ridiculed all the pleasures of Don Sebastian, the author now proceeds to his courtiers, to whom he has done no injustice. Those who are acquainted with the Portuguese history, will readily acknowledge this.” Castera.

There is an elegance in the original of this line, which the English language will not admit;

Nos duros coraçoens de plebe dura.—

In the hard hearts of the hard vulgar.—

“By the line of heroes to be produced by the union of the Portuguese with the Nereids, is to be understood the other Portuguese, who, following the steps of Gama, established illustrious colonies in India.”— Castera.

This passage affords a striking instance of the judgment of Camoens. Virgil's celebrated description of Fame, (see p. 206.) is in his eye, but he copies it, as Virgil, in his best imitations, copies after Homer. He adopts some circumstances, but by adding others, he makes a new picture, which justly may be called his own.

To mention the gods in the masculine gender, and immediately to apply to them,

O peito feminil, que levemente
Muda quaysquer propositos tomados.—

The ease with which the female breast changes its resolutions, may to the hyper-critic appear reprehensible. The expression however is classical, and therefore retained. Virgil uses it, where Eneas is conducted by Venus through the flames of Troy;

Descendo, ac ducente Deo, flammam inter et hostes
Expedior—

This is in the manner of the Greek Poets, who use the word Θεο for God or Goddess.

A distant fleet compared to swans on a lake is certainly an happy thought. The allusion to the pomp of Venus, whose agency is immediately concerned, gives it besides a peculiar propriety. This similie however is not in the original. It is adopted from an uncommon liberty taken by Fanshaw;

The pregnant sayles on Neptune's surface creep,
Like her own Swans, in gate, out-chest, and fether.

As the departure of Gama from India was abrupt (see his life) he put into one of the beautiful islands of Anchediva for fresh water. While he was here careening his ships, says Faria, a pirate named Timoja, attacked him with eight small vessels, so linked together and covered with boughs, that they formed the appearance of a floating island. This, says Castera, afforded the fiction of the floating island of Venus. “The fictions of Camoens, says he, sont d'autant plus merveilleuses, qu'elles ont toutes leur fondement dans l'histoire, are the more marvellous, because they are all founded in history. It is not difficult to find why he makes his island of Anchediva to wander on the waves; it is in allusion to a singular event related by Barros.” He then proceeds to the story of Timoja, as if the genius of Camoens stood in need of so weak an assistance.

Latona, in pregnancy by Jupiter, was persecuted by Juno, who sent the serpent Python in pursuit of her. Neptune, in pity of her distress, raised the island of Delos for her refuge, where she was delivered of Apollo and Diana. —Ovid. Met.

Castera also attributes this to history. “The Portuguese actually found in this island, says he, a fine piece of water ornamented with hewn stones and magnificent aqueducts; an ancient and superb work, of which no body knew the author.”

In 1505 Don Francisco Almeyda built a fort in this island. In digging among some ancient ruins he found many crucifixes of black and red colour, from whence the Portuguese conjectured, says Osorius, that the Anchedivian islands had in former ages been inhabited by Christians.

Vid. Osor. L. iv.

Frequent allusions to the fables of the antients form a characteristical feature of the poetry of the 16th and 17th centuries. A profusion of it is pedantry; a moderate use of it however in a poem of these times pleases, because it discovers the stages of composition, and has in itself a fine effect, as it illustrates its subject by presenting the classical reader with some little landscapes of that country through which he has travelled. The description of forests is a favourite topic in poetry. Chaucer, Tasso, and Spenser, have been happy in it, but both have copied an admired passage in Statius;

------ Cadit ardua fagus,
Chaoniumque nemus, brumæque illæsa cupressus;
Procumbunt piceæ, flammis alimenta supremis,
Ornique, iliceæque trabes, metuandaque sulco
Taxus, & infandos belli potura cruores
Fraxinus, atque situ non expugnabile robur:
Hinc audax abies, & odoro vulnere pinus
Scinditur, acclinant intonsa cacumina terræ
Alnus amica fretis, nec inhospita vitibus ulmus.

In rural descriptions three things are necessary to render them poetical; the happiness of epithet, of picturesque arrangement, and of little landscape views. Without these, all the names of trees and flowers, though strung together in tolerable numbers, contain no more poetry than a nurseryman or a florist's catalogue. In Statius, in Tasso and Spenser's admired forests, (Gier. Liber. C. 3. St. 75, 76, and F. Queen, B. 1. C. 1. St. 8, 9.) the poetry consists entirely in the happiness of the epithets. In Camoens, all the three requisites are admirably attained, and blended together.

Pyramus and Thisbe:

Arborei fœtus aspergine cædis in atram
Vertuntur faciem: madefactaque sanguine radix
Puniceo tingit pendentia mora colore. . . . .
At tu quo ramis arbor miserabile corpus
Nunc tegis unius, mox es tectura duorum;
Signa tene cædis: pullosque et luctibus aptos
Semper habe fœtus gemini monumenta cruoris.
Ovid. Met.

Literal from the original,—O sombrio valle,— which Fanshaw however has translated, “the gloomy valley,” and thus has given us a funereal, where the author intended a festive landscape. It must be confessed however, that the description of the island of Venus, is infinitely the best part all of Fanshaw's translation. And indeed the dullest prose translation might obscure, but could not possibly throw a total eclipse over so admirable an original.

The Aenemone. “This, says Castera, is applicable to the celestial Venus, for according to mythology, her amour with Adonis had nothing in it impure, but was only the love which nature bears to the sun.” The fables of antiquity have generally a threefold interpretation, an historical allusion, a physical and a metaphysical allegory. In the latter view, the fable of Adonis is only applicable to the celestial Venus. A divine youth is outrageously slain, but shall revive again at the restoration of the golden age. Several nations, it is well known, under different names, celebrated the mysteries, or the death and resurrection of Adonis; among whom were the British Druids, as we are told by Dr. Stukely. In the same manner Cupid, in the fable of Phyche, is interpreted by mythologists, to signify the divine love weeping over the degeneracy of human nature.

On this passage Castera has the following sensible though turgid note: “This thought, says he, is taken from the idyllium of Ausonius on the rose;

Ambigeres raperetne rosis Aurora ruborem,
An daret, & flores tingere torta dies.

Camoens who had a genius rich of itself, still farther enriched it at the expence of the ancients. Behold what makes great authors! Those who pretend to give us nothing but the fruits of their own growth, soon fail, like the little rivulets which dry up in the summer, very different from the floods, who receive in their course the tribute of an hundred and an hundred rivers, and which even in the dog-days carry their waves triumphant to the ocean.”

Hyacinthus, a youth beloved of Apollo, by whom he was accidentally slain, and afterwards turned into a flower:

------Tyrioque nitentior ostro
Flos oritur, formamque capit, quam lilia: si non,
Purpureus color huic, argenteus esset in illis.
Non satis hoc Phæbo est: is enim fuit auctor honoris.
Ipse suos gemitus foliis inscribit; & Ai, Ai,
Flos habet inscriptum: funestaque littera ducta est.
Ovid. Met.

The expedition of the Golden Fleece was esteemed in ancient poetry, one of the most daring adventures, the success of which was accounted miraculous. The allusions of Camoens to this voyage, though in the spirit of his age, are by no means improper.

We now come to the passage condemned by Voltaire as so lascivious, that no nation in Europe, except the Portuguese and Italians could bear it. But the author of the detestable poem La Pucelle d'Orleans, talks of the island of Venus with that same knowledge of his subject with which he made Camoens, who was not then born, a companion to Gama in the expedition which discovered the route to India. Though Voltaire's cavils, I trust, are in general fully answered in the preface, a particular examination of the charge of indecency may not be unnecessary ere the reader enter upon the passage itself. No painter then, let it be remembered, was ever blamed for drawing the graces unveiled or naked. In sculpture, in painting, and poetry, it is not nakedness, it is the expression or manner only that offends decency. It is this which constitutes the difference between a Venus de Medicis and the lascivious paintings in the apartments of a Tiberius. The fate of Camoens has hitherto been very peculiar. The mixture of Pagan and Christian mythology in his machinery has been anathematised, and his island of Love represented as a brothel. Yet both accusations are the arrogant assertions of the most superficial acquaintance with his works, a Hearsay, ecchoed from critic to critic. His poem itself, and a comparison of its parts with the similar conduct of the greatest modern poets, will clearly evince, that in both instances no modern Epic Writer of note has given less offence to true criticism.

Not to mention Ariosto, whose descriptions will often admit of no paliation, Tasso, Spenser, and Milton, have always been esteemed among the chastest of poets, yet in that delicacy of warm description, which Milton has so finely exemplified in the nuptials of our first parents, none of them can boast the continued uniformity of the Portuguese Poet. Though there is a warmth in the colouring of Camoens which even the genius of Tasso has not reached; and though the island of Armida is evidently copied from the Lusiad, yet those who are possessed of the finer feelings, will easily discover an essential difference between the love-scenes of the two poets, a difference greatly in favour of the delicacy of the former. Though the nymphs in Camoens are detected naked in the woods and in the stream, and though desirous to captivate, still their behaviour is that of the virgin who hopes to be the spouse. They act the part of offended modesty; even when they yield they are silent, and behave in every respect like Milton's Eve in the state of innocence, who

------ What was honour knew—
And who displayed
Her virtue, and the conscience of her worth,
That would be wooed, and not unsought be won.

To sum up all, the nuptial sanctity draws its hallowed curtains, and a masterly allegory shuts up the love-scenes of Camoens.

How different from all this is the island of Armida in Tasso, and its translation, the bower of Acrasia, in Spenser! In these virtue is seduced; the scene therefore is less delicate. The nymphs, while they are bathing, in place of the modesty of the bride as in Camoens, employ all the arts of the lascivious wanton. They stay not to be wooed; but, as Spenser gives it,

The amorous sweet spoils to greedy eyes reveal.

One stanza from our English poet, which however is rather fuller than the original, shall here suffice;

Withal she laughed and she blush'd withal,
That blushing to her laughter gave more grace,
And laughter to her blushing, as did fall.
Now when they spy'd the knight to slack his pace,
Them to behold, and in his sparkling face
The secret signs of kindled lust appear,
Their wanton merriments they did encrease,
And to him becken'd to approach more near,
And shew'd him many sights, that courage cold could rear.

This and other descriptions,

Upon a bed of roses she was laid
As faint through heat, or dight to pleasant sin—

present every idea of lascivious voluptuousness. The allurements of speech are also added. Songs, which breathe every persuasive, are heard; and the nymphs boldly call to the beholder;

E' dolce campo di battaglia il letto
Fiavi, e l'herbetta morbida de' prati.—
Tasso. Our field of battle is the downy bed,
Or flowery turf amid the smiling mead.—
Hoole.

These, and the whole scenes in the domains of Armida and Acrasia, are in a turn of manner the reverse of the island of Venus. In these the expression and idea are meretricious. In Camoens, though the colouring is even warmer, yet the modesty of the Venus de Medicis is still preserved. In every thing he describes there is still something strongly similar to the modest attitude of the arms of that celebrated statue. Though prudery, that usual mask of the impurest minds, may condemn him, yet those of the most chaste, though less gloomy turn, will allow, that in comparison with others, he might say,—Virginibus puerisque canto.

Spenser also, where he does not follow Tasso, is often gross; and even in some instances, where the expression is most delicate, the picture is nevertheless indecently lascivious. The third and fourth of the five concluding stanzas, which in his second edition he added to the third book of the Faerie Queene, afford a striking example. The virgin Britomart, the pattern of chastity, stands by, while Sir Scudamore and Amoret,

------With sweet countervaile
Each other of love's bitter fruit despoile—

But this shall not here be cited; only,

That Britomart, half envying their bless,
Was much empassion'd in her gentle sprite,
And to herself oft wish'd like happiness;
In vain she wish'd, that fate n'ould let her yet possess.

Nor is Spenser's wife of Malbecco more indelicate than some lines of the Paradise Lost. The reply of the Angel to Adam's description of his nuptials, contains some strokes intolerably disgustful. And the first effect of the forbidden fruit offers a remarkable contrast to that delicacy of expression which adorns the first loves of Adam and Eve. If there is propriety however in thus representing the amours of guilty intoxication, by which figure Milton calls it, some of the terms of expression are still indefensibly indelicate.

Nor may Thomson, the man

------ who never wrote
One line which, dying, he would wish to blot—

plead a greater delicacy of description than Camoens. Indeed one can scarcely call the adventure of Damon, when he sees his mistress strip and bathe, so handsomely managed as the similar scenes in the island of Venus:

------ desperate youth,
How durst thou risque the soul distracting view—

And,

------Damon drew
Such madning draughts of beauty to the soul,
As for a while o'erwhelm'd his raptur'd thought
With luxury too daring------

not only seem to want some of that dignity which lifts description above the ludicrous, but seem also to have a je ne scai quoi of perturbation not quite delicate. The heroes of the Lusiad indeed do not kiss the trees or write billets doux when they see the nymphs naked before them. But though Thomson with great propriety had made his lovers fly from each other, in modest awe, after having left the means of discovery,

------ But first these lines
Traced by his ready pencil, on the bank
With trembling hand he threw ------

Which she snatched up, and answered on the spreading beech,

------She with the sylvan pen
Of rural lovers this confession carv'd,
Which soon her Damon kiss'd with weeping joy ------
[OMITTED] be still as now
Discreet; the time may come you need not fly.

Yet this difference of conduct in the two poets, affords no objection against either. In each circumstance propriety is preserved. In a word, so unjust is the censure of Voltaire, a censure which never arose from a comparison of Camoens with other poets, so ill grounded is the charge against him, that we cannot but admire his superior delicacy; a delicacy not even understood in England in his age, when the grossest imagery often found a place in the pulpits of the most pious divines; when in the old liturgy itself it was esteemed no indelicacy of expression to enjoin the wife to be buxom in bed and at board. We know what liberties were taken by the politest writers of the Augustan age; and such is the change of manners, that Shakespeare and Spenser might with justice appeal from the judgment of the present, when it condemns them for indecency. Camoens, however, may appeal to the most polished age; let him be heard for himself, let him be compared with others of the first name, and his warmest descriptions need not dread the decision.

Acteon.

At the end of his Homer Mr. Pope has given an index of the instances of imitative and sentimental harmony contained in his translations. He has also often in his notes pointed out the adoption of sound to sense. The Translator of the Lusiad hopes he may for once say, that he has not been inattentive to this great essential of good versification; how he has succeeded the judicious only must determine. The speech of Leonard to the cursory reader may perhaps sometimes appear careless, and sometimes turgid and stiff. That speech, however, is an attempt at the imitative and sentimental harmony, and with the judicious he rests its fate. As the translation in this instance exceeds the original in length, the objection of a foreign critic requires attention. An old pursy Abbé, (and Critics are apt to judge by themselves) may indeed be surprized that a man out of breath with running should be able to talk so long. But had he consulted the experience of others, he would have found it was no wonderful matter for a stout and young Cavalier to talk twice as much, though fatigued with the chace of a couple of miles, provided the supposition is allowed, that he treads on the last steps of his flying mistress.

We have already observed, that in every other poet the love-scenes are generally described as those of guilt and remorse. The contrary character of those of Camoens, not only gives them a delicacy unknown to other moderns; but by the fiction of the spousal rites, the allegory and machinery of the poem are most happily conducted. See the Introduction.

This admonition places the whole design of the poem before us. To extirpate Mohammedism and propagate Christianity were professed as the principal purpose of the discoveries of Prince Henry and King Emmanuel. In the beginning of the Seventh Lusiad, the nations of Europe are upbraided for permitting the Saracens to erect and possess an empire, whose power alike threatened Europe and Christianity. The Portuguese, however, the patriot poet concludes, will themselves overthrow their enormous power: an event which is the proposed subject of the Lusiad, and which is represented as, in effect, compleated in the last book. On this system, adopted by the poet, and which on every occasion was avowed by their Kings, the Portuguese made immense conquests in the East. Yet, let it be remembered, to the honour of Gama and the first commanders who followed his route, that the plots of the Moors, and their various breaches of treaty, gave rise to the first wars which the Portuguese waged in Asia. On finding that all the colonies of the Moors were combined for their destruction, the Portuguese declared war against the eastern Moors and their allies wherever they found them. The course of human things however soon took place, and the sword of victory and power soon became the sword of tyranny and rapine.


415

BOOK X.

Far o'er the western ocean's distant bed
Apollo now his fiery coursers sped,
Far o'er the silver lake of Mexic roll'd
His rapid chariot wheels of burning gold:

416

The eastern sky was left to dusky grey,
And o'er the last hot breath of parting day,
Cool o'er the sultry noon's remaining flame,
On gentle gales the grateful twilight came.
Dimpling the lucid pools the fragrant breeze
Sighs o'er the lawns and whispers thro' the trees;
Refresh'd the lilly rears the silver head,
And opening jesmines o'er the arbours spread.
Fair o'er the wave that gleam'd like distant snow,
Graceful arose the moon, serenely slow;
Not yet full orb'd, in clouded splendor drest,
Her married arms embrace her pregnant breast.
Sweet to his mate, recumbent o'er his young,
The nightingale his spousal anthem sung;
From every bower the holy chorus rose,
From every bower the rival anthem flows.
Translucent twinkling through the upland grove
In all her lustre shines the star of love;
Led by the sacred ray from every bower,
A joyful train, the wedded lovers pour:
Each with the youth above the rest approved,
Each with the nymph above the rest beloved,
They seek the palace of the sovereign dame;
High on a mountain glow'd the wondrous frame:
Of gold the towers, of gold the pillars shone,
The walls were chrystal starr'd with precious stone.

417

Amid the hall arose the festive board
With nature's choicest gifts promiscuous stor'd:
So will'd the Goddess to renew the smile
Of vital strength, long worn by days of toil.
On chrystal chairs that shined as lambent flame
Each gallant youth attends his lovely dame;
Beneath a purple canopy of state
The beauteous goddess and the leader sate:
The banquet glows—Not such the feast, when all
The pride of luxury in Egypt's hall
Before the love-sick Roman spread the boast
Of every teeming sea and fertile coast.
Sacred to noblest worth and Virtue's ear,
Divine as genial was the banquet here;
The wine, the song, by sweet returns inspire,
Now wake the lover's, now the hero's fire.
On gold and silver from th' Atlantic main,
The sumptuous tribute of the sea's wide reign,
Of various savour was the banquet piled;
Amid the fruitage mingling roses smiled.
In cups of gold that shed a yellow light,
In silver shining as the moon of night,
Amid the banquet flow'd the sparkling wine,
Nor gave Falernia's fields the parent vine:
Falernia's vintage nor the fabled power
Of Jove's ambrosia in th' Olympian bower

418

To this compare not; wild nor frantic fires,
Divinest transport this alone inspires.
The beverage foaming o'er the goblet's breast
The chrystal fountain's cooling aid confest;
The while, as circling flow'd the cheerful bowl,
Sapient discourse, the banquet of the soul,
Of richest argument and brightest glow,
Array'd in dimpling smiles, in easiest flow
Pour'd all its graces: nor in silence stood
The powers of music, such as erst subdued
The horrid frown of Hell's profound domains,
And sooth'd the tortur'd ghosts to slumber on their chains.
To music's sweetest chords in loftiest vein,
An angel Syren joins the vocal strain;
The silver roofs resound the living song,
The harp and organ's lofty mood prolong
The hallowed warblings; listening Silence rides
The sky, and o'er the bridled winds presides;

419

In softest murmurs flows the glassy deep,
And each, lull'd in his shade, the bestials sleep.
The lofty song ascends the thrilling skies,
The song of godlike heroes yet to rise;
Jove gave the dream, whose glow the Syren fired,
And present Jove the prophecy inspired.
Not he, the bard of love-sick Dido's board,
Nor he the minstrel of Phæacia's lord,
Though fam'd in song, could touch the warbling string,
Or with a voice so sweet, melodious sing.
And thou, my Muse, O fairest of the train,
Calliope, inspire my closing strain.
No more the summer of my life remains,
My autumn's lengthening evenings chill my veins;
Down the bleak stream of years by woes on woes
Wing'd on, I hasten to the tomb's repose,
The port whose deep dark bottom shall detain
My anchor never to be weigh'd again,
Never on other sea of life to steer
The human course—Yet thou, O goddess, hear,

420

Yet let me live, though round my silver'd head
Misfortune's bitterest rage unpitying shed
Her coldest storms; yet let me live to crown
The song that boasts my nation's proud renown.
Of godlike heroes sung the nymph divine,
Heroes whose deeds on Gama's crest shall shine;
Who through the seas by Gama first explor'd
Shall bear the Lusian standard and the sword,
Till every coast where roars the orient main,
Blest in its sway, shall own the Lusian reign;
Till every Pagan king his neck shall yield,
Or vanquish'd gnaw the dust on battle field.
High Priest of Malabar, the goddess sung,
Thy faith repent not, nor lament thy wrong;
Though for thy faith to Lusus' generous race
The raging Zamoreem thy fields deface:
From Tagus, lo, the great Pacheco sails,
To India wafted on auspicious gales.
Soon as his crooked prow the tide shall press,
A new Achilles shall the tide confess;

421

His ship's strong sides shall groan beneath his weight,
And deeper waves receive the sacred freight.
Soon as on India's strand he shakes his spear,
The burning East shall tremble, chill'd with fear;
Reeking with noble blood Cambalao's stream
Shall blaze impurpled to the evening beam;
Urged on by raging shame the Monarch brings,
Banded with all their powers, his vassal kings:
Narsinga's rocks their cruel thousands pour,
Bipur's stern king attends, and thine, Tanore:
To guard proud Calicut's imperial pride
All the wide North sweeps down its peopled tide:

422

Join'd are the sects that never touch'd before,
By land the Pagan, and by sea the Moor.
O'er land, o'er sea the great Pacheco strews
The prostrate spearmen, and the founder'd proas.
Submis and silent, palsied with amaze
Proud Malabar th' unnumbered slain surveys:
Yet burns the Monarch; to his shrine he speeds;
Dire howl the priests, the groaning victim bleeds;
The ground they stamp, and from the dark abodes
With tears and vows they call th' infernal gods.
Enrag'd with dog-like madness to behold
His temples and his towns in flames enroll'd,
Secure of promised victory, again
He fires the war, the lawns are heapt with slain.
With stern reproach he brands his routed Nayres,
And for the dreadful field Himself prepares;
His harness'd thousands to the fight he leads,
And rides exulting where the combat bleeds:
Amid his pomp his robes are sprinkled o'er,
And his proud face dash'd with his menials' gore:
From his high couch he leaps, and speeds to flight
On foot inglorious, in his army's sight.
Hell then he calls, and all the powers of hell,
The secret poison, and the chanted spell;

423

Vain as the spell the poison's rage is shed,
For Heaven defends the hero's sacred head.
Still fiercer from each wound the Tyrant burns,
Still to the field with heavier force returns;
The seventh dread war he kindles; high in air
The hills dishonour'd lift their shoulders bare;
Their woods roll'd down now strew the river's side,
Now rise in mountain turrets o'er the tide;
Mountains of fire and spires of bickering flame,
While either bank resounds the proud acclaim,
Come floating down, round Lusus' fleet to pour
Their sulphrous entrails in a burning shower.
Oh vain the hope—Let Rome her boast resign;
Her palms, Pacheco, never bloom'd like thine;
Nor Tyber's bridge, nor Marathon's red field,
Nor thine, Thermopylæ, such deeds beheld;
Nor Fabius' arts such rushing storms repell'd.
Swift as repulsed the famished wolf returns
Fierce to the fold, and, wounded, fiercer burns;
So swift, so fierce, seven times, all India's might
Returns unnumber'd to the dreadful fight;

424

One hundred spears, seven times in dreadful stower,
Strews in the dust all India's raging power.
The lofty song, for paleness o'er her spread,
The nymph suspends, and bows the languid head;
Her faultering words are breath'd on plaintive sighs,
Ah, Belisarius, injured Chief, she cries,
Ah, wipe thy tears; in war thy rival see,
Injured Pacheco falls despoil'd like thee;
In him, in thee dishonour'd virtue bleeds,
And valour weeps to view her fairest deeds,
Weeps o'er Pacheco, where, forlorn he lies
Low on an alms-house bed, and friendless dies.
Yet shall the Muses plume his humble bier,
And ever o'er him pour th' immortal tear;
Though by thy king, alone to thee unjust,
Thy head, great Chief, was humbled in the dust,
Loud shall the Muse indignant sound thy praise,
“Thou gavest thy Monarch's throne its proudest blaze.”
While round the world the sun's bright car shall ride,
So bright shall shine thy name's illustrious pride;
Thy Monarch's glory, as the moon's pale beam,
Eclipsed by thine, shall shed a sickly gleam.
Such meed attends when soothing flattery sways,
And blinded State its sacred trust betrays!

425

Again the Nymph exalts her brow, again
Her swelling voice resounds the lofty strain:
Almeyda comes, the kingly name he bears,
Deputed royalty his standard rears:
In all the generous rage of youthful fire
The warlike son attends the warlike sire.
Quiloa's blood-stain'd tyrant now shall feel
The righteous vengeance of the Lusian steel.
Another prince, by Lisbon's throne beloved,
Shall bless the land, for faithful deeds approved.
Mombaze shall now her treason's meed behold,
When curling flames her proudest domes enfold:
Involved in smoak, loud crashing, low shall fall
The mounded temple and the castled wall.
O'er India's seas the young Almeyda pours,
Scorching the wither'd air, his iron showers;
Torn masts and rudders, hulks and canvas riven,
Month after month before his prows are driven;
But Heaven's dread will, where clouds of darkness rest,
That awful will, which knows alone the best,
Now blunts his spear: Cambaya's squadrons joined
With Egypt's fleets, in pagan rage combined,
Engrasp him round; red boils the staggering flood,
Purpled with volleying flames and hot with blood:
Whirl'd by an iron thunder bolt, his thigh
In shivers torn flies hissing o'er the sky:

426

Bound to the mast the godlike hero stands,
Waves his proud sword and cheers his woeful bands.
Though winds and seas their wonted aid deny,
To yield he knows not, but he knows to die:
Another thunder tears his manly breast:
Oh fly, blest spirit, to thy heavenly rest—
Hark, rolling on the groaning storm I hear,
Resistless vengeance thundering on the rear!
I see the transports of the furious sire,
As o'er the mangled corse his eyes flash fire.
Swift to the fight, with stern though weeping eyes,
Fixt rage fierce burning in his breast, he flies;
Fierce as the bull that sees his rival rove
Free with the heifers through the mounded grove,
On oak or beech his madning fury pours;
So pours Almeyda's rage on Dabul's towers.
His vanes wide waving o'er the Indian sky,
Before his prows the fleets of India fly;

427

On Egypt's chief his mortars' dreadful tire
Shall vomit all the rage of prison'd fire:
Heads, limbs and trunks shall choak the struggling tide,
Till every surge with reeking crimson dyed,
Around the young Almeyda's hapless urn
His conquerors' naked ghosts shall howl and mourn.
As meteors flashing through the darken'd air
I see the victors' whirling faulchions glare;
Dark rolls the sulphrous smoke o'er Dio's skies,
And shrieks of death and shouts of conquest rise,
In one wide tumult blended: The rough roar
Shakes the brown tents on Ganges' trembling shore;
The waves of Indus from the banks recoil;
And matrons howling on the strand of Nile,
By the pale moon their absent sons deplore;
Long shall they wail; their sons return no more.
Ah, strike the notes of woe, the Syren cries,
A dreary vision swims before my eyes.
To Tagus' shore triumphant as he bends,
Low in the dust the Hero's glory ends:
Though bended bow, nor thundering engine's hail,
Nor Egypt's sword, nor India's spear prevail,

428

Fall shall the Chief before a naked foe,
Rough clubs and rude hurl'd stones shall strike the blow;
The Cape of Tempests shall his tomb supply,
And in the desert sands his bones shall lie,
No boastful trophy o'er his ashes rear'd:
Such Heaven's dread will, and be that will rever'd!
But lo, resplendent shines another star,
Loud she resounds, in all the blaze of war!
Great Cunia guards Melinda's friendly shore,
And dyes her seas with Oja's hostile gore;
Lamo and Brava's towers his vengeance tell:
Green Madagascar's flowery dales shall swell
His ecchoed fame, till ocean's southmost bound
On isles and shores unknown his name resound.
Another blaze, behold, of fire and arms!
Great Albuquerk awakes the dread alarms:
O'er Ormuz' walls his thundering flames he pours,
While Heaven, the Hero's guide, indignant showers
Their arrows backward on the Persian foe,
Tearing the breasts and arms that twang'd the bow.

429

Mountains of salt and fragrant gums in vain
Were spent untainted to embalm the slain.
Such heaps shall strew the seas and faithless strand
Of Gerum, Mazcate, and Calayat's land,
Till faithless Ormuz own the Lusian sway,
And Barem's pearls her yearly safety pay.
What glorious palms on Goa's isle I see,
Their blossoms spread, great Albuquerk, for thee!
Through castled walls the Hero breaks his way,
And opens with his sword the dread array
Of Moors and Pagans; through their depth he rides,
Through spears and showering fire the battle guides.
As bulls enraged, or lions smear'd with gore,
His bands sweep wide o'er Goa's purpled shore.
Nor eastward far though fair Malacca lie,
Her groves embosom'd in the morning sky;
Though with her amorous sons the valiant line
Of Java's isle in battle rank combine,

430

Though poison'd shafts their ponderous quivers store;
Malacca's spicy groves and golden ore,
Great Albuquerk, thy dauntless toils shall crown!
Yet art thou stain'd—Here with a sighful frown
The Goddess paused, for much remain'd unsung,
But blotted with an humble soldier's wrong.

431

Alas, she cries, when war's dread horrors reign,
And thundering batteries rock the fiery plain,
When ghastly famine on a hostile soil,
When pale disease attends on weary toil,
When patient under all the soldier stands,
Detested be the rage which then demands
The humble soldier's blood, his only crime
The amorous frailty of the youthful prime!
Incest's cold horror here no glow restained,
Nor sacred nuptial bed was here prophaned,
Nor here unwelcome force the virgin seized;
A slave lascivious, in his fondling pleased,
Resigns her breast—Ah, stain to Lusian fame!
('Twas lust of blood, perhaps 'twas jealous flame;)
The Leader's rage, unworthy of the brave,
Consigns the youthful soldier to the grave.
Not Ammon thus Apelles' love repaid,
Great Ammon's bed resign'd the lovely maid;

432

Nor Cyrus thus reproved Araspas' fire;
Nor haughtier Carlo thus assumed the sire,
Though iron Baldwin to his daughter's bower,
An ill-match'd lover, stole in secret hour:
With nobler rage the lofty monarch glow'd,
And Flandria's earldom on the knight bestow'd.
Again the nymph the song of fame resounds;
Lo, sweeping wide o'er Ethiopia's bounds,
Wide o'er Arabia's purple shore on high
The Lusian ensigns blaze along the sky:
Mecca, aghast, beholds the standards shine,
And midnight horror shakes Medina's shrine;

433

Th' unhallowed altar bodes th' approaching foe,
Foredoom'd in dust its prophet's tomb to strew.
Nor Ceylon's isle, brave Soarez, shall with-hold
Its incense, precious as the burnish'd gold,
What time o'er proud Columbo's loftiest spire
Thy flag shall blaze: Nor shall th' immortal lyre
Forget thy praise, Sequeyra! To the shore
Where Sheba's sapient queen the sceptre bore,
Braving the Red Sea's dangers shalt thou force
To Abyssinia's realm thy novel course;
And isles, by jealous nature long conceal'd,
Shall to the wondering world be now reveal'd.
Great Menez next the Lusian sword shall bear;
Menez, the dread of Afric, high shall rear
His victor sword, till deep shall Ormuz groan,
And tribute doubled her revolt atone.
Now shines thy glory in meridian height,
And loud her voice she raised; O matchless Knight,
Thou, thou, illustrious Gama, thou shalt bring
The olive bough of peace, deputed King!

434

The lands by Thee discover'd shall obey
Thy scepter'd power, and bless thy regal sway.
But India's crimes, outrageous to the skies,
A length of these Saturnian days denies:
Snatch'd from thy golden throne the heavens shall claim
Thy deathless soul, the world thy deathless name.
Now o'er the coast of faithless Malabar
Victorious Henry pours the rage of war;
Nor less the youth a nobler strife shall wage,
Great victor of himself though green in age;
No restless slave of wanton amorous fire,
No lust of gold shall taint his generous ire.
While youth's bold pulse beats high, how brave the boy
Whom harlot smiles nor pride of power decoy!
Immortal be his name! Nor less thy praise,
Great Mascarene, shall future ages raise:

435

Though power, unjust, with-hold the splendid ray
That dignifies the crest of sovereign sway,
Thy deeds, great Chief, on Bintam's humbled shore,
Deeds such as Asia never view'd before,
Shall give thy honest fame a brighter blaze
Than tyrant pomp in golden robes displays.
Though bold in war the fierce Usurper shine,
Though Cutial's potent navy o'er the brine
Drive vanquish'd; though the Lusian Hector's sword
For him reap conquest, and confirm him Lord;
Thy deeds, great Peer, the wonder of thy foes,
Thy glorious chains unjust, and generous woes,
Shall dim the fierce Sampayo's fairest fame,
And o'er his honours thine aloud proclaim.
Thy generous woes! Ah gallant injured Chief,
Not thy own sorrows give the sharpest grief.
Thou seest the Lusian name her honours stain,
And lust of gold her heroes' breasts profane;
Thou seest ambition lift the impious head,
Nor God's red arm, nor lingering justice dread;
O'er India's bounds thou seest these vultures prowl,
Full gorged with blood, and dreadless of controul;
Thou seest and weepst thy country's blotted name,
The generous sorrow thine, but not the shame.
Nor long the Lusian ensigns stain'd remain;
Great Nunio comes, and razes every stain.

436

Though lofty Calè's warlike towers he rear;
Though haughty Melic groan beneath his spear;
Though Dio owe her safety to his name,
These are the tinsel of his nobler fame.
Far haughtier foes of Lusian race he braves;
The awful sword of justice high he waves:
Before his bar the injured Indian stands,
And justice boldly on his foe demands,
The Lusian foe; in wonder lost the Moor
Beholds proud Rapine's vulture gripe restore;
Beholds the Lusian hands in fetters bound
By Lusian hands, and wound repay'd for wound.
Oh, more shall thus by Nunio's worth be won,
Than conquest reaps from high plumed hosts o'erthrown.
Long shall the generous Nunio's blissful sway
Command supreme. In Dio's hopeless day
The sovereign toil the brave Noronha takes;
Awed by his fame the fierce-soul'd Rumien shakes,
And Dio's open'd walls in sudden flight forsakes.
A son of thine, O Gama, now shall hold
The helm of empire, prudent, wise and bold:

437

Malacca saved and strengthen'd by his arms,
The banks of Tor shall eccho his alarms;
His worth shall bless the kingdoms of the morn,
For all thy virtues shall his soul adorn.
When fate resigns thy hero to the skies,
A Veteran, famed on Brazil's shore, shall rise:
The wide Atlantic and the Indian main,
By turns shall own the terrors of his reign.
His aid the proud Cambayan king implores,
His potent aid Cambaya's king restores.
The dread Mogul with all his thousands flies,
And Dio's towers are Souza's well-earn'd prize.
Nor less the Zamorim o'er blood-stain'd ground
Shall speed his legions, torn with many a wound,
In headlong rout. Nor shall the boastful pride
Of India's navy, though the shaded tide
Around the squadron'd masts appear the down
Of some wide forest, other fate renown.
Loud rattling through the hills of Cape Camore
I hear the tempest of the battle roar!
Clung to the splinter'd masts I see the dead
Badala's shore with horrid wreck bespread;

438

Baticala inflamed by treachrous hate,
Provokes the horrors of Badala's fate:
Her seas in blood, her skies enwrapt in fire
Confess the sweeping storm of Souza's ire.
No hostile spear now rear'd on sea or strand,
The awful sceptre graces Souza's hand;
Peaceful he reigns, in counsel just and wise;
And glorious Castro now his throne supplies:
Castro, the boast of generous fame, afar
From Dio's strand shall sway the glorious war.
Madning with rage to view the Lusian band,
A troop so few, proud Dio's towers command,
The cruel Ethiop Moor to heaven complains,
And the stern Persian foe his peers arraigns.
The Rumien fierce, who boasts the name of Rome,
With these conspires, and vows the Lusians' doom.
A thousand barbarous nations join their powers
To bathe with Lusian blood the Dion towers.
Dark rolling sheets forth belch'd from brazen wombs,
Bored, as the showering cloud, with hailing bombs,

439

O'er Dio's sky spread the black shades of death,
The mine's dread earthquakes shake the ground beneath.
No hope, bold Mascarene, mayst thou respire,
A glorious fall alone, thy just desire.
When lo, his gallant son brave Castro sends—
Ah heaven, what fate the hapless youth attends!
In vain the terrors of his faulchion glare;
The cavern'd mine bursts, high in pitchy air
Rampire and squadron whirl'd convulsive, borne
To heaven, the hero dies in fragments torn.
His loftiest bough though fall'n, the generous sire
His living hope devotes with Roman ire.
On wings of fury flies the brave Alvar
Through oceans howling with the wintery war,
Through skies of snow his brother's vengeance bears;
And soon in arms the valiant sire appears:
Before him victory spreads her eagle-wing
Wide sweeping o'er Cambaya's haughty king.
In vain his thundering coursers shake the ground,
Cambaya bleeding of his might's last wound
Sinks pale in dust: Fierce Hydal-Kan in vain
Wakes war on war; he bites his iron chain.

440

O'er Indus' banks, o'er Ganges' smiling vales
No more the hind his plunder'd field bewails:
O'er every field, O Peace, thy blossoms glow,
The golden blossoms of thy olive bough;
Firm based on wisest laws great Castro crowns,
And the wide East the Lusian Empire owns.
These warlike Chiefs, the sons of thy renown,
And thousands more, O Vasco, doom'd to crown
Thy glorious toils, shall through these seas unfold
Their victor-standards blazed with Indian gold;
And in the bosom of our flowery isle,
Embathed in joy shall o'er their labours smile.
Their nymphs like your's, their feast divine the same,
The raptured foretaste of immortal fame.
So sung the Goddess, while the sister train
With joyful anthem close the sacred strain;
Though Fortune from her whirling sphere bestow
Her gifts capricious in unconstant flow,

441

Yet laurel'd honour and immortal fame
Shall ever constant grace the Lusian name.
So sung the joyful chorus, while around
The silver roofs the lofty notes resound.
The song prophetic, and the sacred feast,
Now shed the glow of strength through every breast.
When with the grace and majesty divine,
Which round immortals when enamour'd shine,
To crown the banquet of their deathless fame,
To happy Gama thus the sovereign Dame:
O loved of heaven, what never man before,
What wandering science never might explore,
By heaven's high will, with mortal eyes to see
Great Nature's face unveil'd, is given to Thee.
Thou and thy warriors follow where I lead:
Firm be your steps, for arduous to the tread
Through matted brakes of thorn and brier, bestrew'd
With splinter'd flint, winds the steep slippery road.
She spake, and smiling caught the hero's hand,
And on the mountain's summit soon they stand;
A beauteous lawn with pearl enamell'd o'er,
Emerald and ruby, as the gods of yore
Had sported here. Here in the fragrant air
A wondrous globe appear'd, divinely fair!
Through every part the light transparent flow'd,
And in the centre as the surface glow'd.

442

The frame etherial various orbs compose,
In whirling circles now they fell, now rose;
Yet never rose nor fell, for still the same
Was every movement of the wondrous frame;
Each movement still beginning, still compleat,
It's Author's type, self-poised, perfection's seat.
Great Vasco thrill'd with reverential awe,
And rapt with keen desire, the wonder saw.
The Goddess markt the language of his eyes,
And here, she cried, thy largest wish suffice.
Great Nature's fabric thou dost here behold,
Th' etherial pure, and elemental mould
In pattern shewn complete, as Nature's God
Ordain'd the world's great frame, his dread abode;
For every part the power divine pervades,
The sun's bright radiance and the central shades;
Yet let not haughty reason's bounded line
Explore the boundless God, or where define,

443

Where in Himself in uncreated light,
(While all his worlds around seem wrapt in night,)
He holds his loftiest state. By primal laws
Imposed on Nature's birth, Himself the cause,
By her own ministry through every maze
Nature in all her walks unseen he sways.
These spheres behold; the first in wide embrace
Surrounds the lesser orbs of various face;
The Empyrean this, the holiest heaven,
To the pure spirits of the Blest is given:
No mortal eye its splendid rays may bear,
No mortal bosom feel the raptures there.
The earth in all her summer pride array'd
To this might seem a drear sepulchral shade.
Unmoved it stands: within its shining frame,
In motion swifter than the lightning's flame,
Swifter than sight the moving parts may spy,
Another sphere whirls round its rapid sky.
Hence Motion darts its force, impulsive draws,
And on the other orbs impresses laws;
The Sun's bright car attentive to its force
Gives night and day, and shapes his yearly course;

444

Its force stupendous asks a pondrous sphere
To poise its fury and its weight to bear:
Slow moves that pondrous orb; the stiff, slow pace
One step scarce gains, while wide his annual race
Two hundred times the sun triumphant rides;
The Chrystal Heaven is this, whose rigour guides
And binds the starry sphere: That sphere behold,
With diamonds spangled, and emblazed with gold;
What radiant orbs that azure sky adorn,
Fair o'er the night in rapid motion borne!
Swift as they trace the heaven's wide circling line,
Whirl'd on their proper axles bright they shine.

445

Wide o'er this heaven a golden belt displays
Twelve various forms; behold the glittering blaze!
Through these the sun in annual journey towers,
And o'er each clime their various tempers pours;
In gold and silver of celestial mine
How rich far round the constellations shine!
Lo, bright emerging o'er the polar tides
In shining frost the northern chariot rides;
Mid treasured snows here gleams the grisly bear,
And icy flakes incrust his shaggy hair.
Here fair Andromeda of heaven beloved,
Her vengeful sire, and by the gods reproved
Beauteous Cassiope. Here fierce and red
Portending storms Orion lifts his head;
And here the dogs their raging fury shed.
The swan, sweet melodist, in death he sings,
The milder swan here spreads his silver wings,

446

Here Orpheus' lyre, the melancholy hare,
And here the watchful dragon's eye-balls glare;
And Theseus' ship, Oh, less renown'd than thine,
Shall ever o'er these skies illustrious shine.
Beneath this radiant firmament behold
The various Planets in their orbits roll'd:
Here in cold twilight hoary Saturn rides,
Here Jove shines mild, here fiery Mars presides,
Apollo here enthroned in light appears
The eye of heaven, emblazer of the spheres;
Beneath him beauteous glows the Queen of Love,
The proudest hearts her sacred influence prove;
Here Hermes famed for eloquence divine,
And here Diana's various faces shine;
Lowest she rides, and through the shadowy night
Pours on the glistening earth her silver light.
These various orbs, behold, in various speed
Pursue the journeys at their birth decreed.
Now from the centre far impell'd they fly,
Now nearer earth they sail a lower sky,
A shorten'd course: Such are their laws imprest
By God's dread Will, that Will forever best.

447

The yellow earth, the centre of the whole,
There lordly rests sustain'd on either pole.

448

The limpid air enfolds in soft embrace
The ponderous orb, and brightens o'er her face.
Here softly floating o'er th' aerial blue,
Fringed with the purple and the golden hue,
The fleecy clouds their swelling sides display;
From whence fermented by the sulphrous ray
The lightnings blaze, and heat spreads wide and rare;
And now in fierce embrace with frozen air,
Their wombs comprest soon feel parturient throws,
And white wing'd gales bear wide the teeming snows.

449

Thus cold and heat their warring empires hold,
Averse yet mingling, each by each controul'd,
The highest air and ocean's bed they pierce,
And earth's dark centre feels their struggles fierce.
The seat of Man, the Earth's fair breast, behold;
Here wood-crown'd islands wave their locks of gold,
Here spread wide continents their bosoms green,
And hoary ocean heaves his breast between.
Yet not th' inconstant ocean's furious tide
May fix the dreadful bounds of human pride.
What madning seas between these nations roar!
Yet Lusus' race shall visit every shore.
What thousand tribes whom various customs sway,
And various rites, these countless shores display!
Queen of the world supreme in shining arms,
Her's every art, and her's all wisdom's charms,
Each nation's tribute round her foot-stool spread,
Here Christian Europe lifts the regal head.
Afric behold, alas, what alter'd view!
Her lands uncultured, and her sons untrue;
Ungraced with all that sweetens human life,
Savage and fierce they roam in brutal strife;

450

Eager they grasp the gifts which culture yields,
Yet naked roam their own neglected fields.
Lo, here enrich'd with hills of golden ore,
Monomotapa's empire hems the shore,
Where round the Cape, great Afric's dreadful bound
Array'd in storms, by You first compass'd round;
Unnumber'd tribes as bestial grazers stray,
By laws unform'd, unform'd by reason's sway:
Far inward stretch the mournful steril dales,
Where on the parch'd hill side pale Famine wails.
On gold in vain the naked savage treads;
Low clay built huts, behold, and reedy sheds,
Their dreary towns. Gonsalo's zeal shall glow
To these dark minds the path of light to shew:
His toils to humanize the barbarous mind
Shall with the martyr's palms his holy temples bind.
Great Naya too shall glorious here display
His God's dread might: Behold, in black array,
Numerous and thick as when in evil hour,
The feathered race whole harvest fields devour,
So thick, so numerous round Sofala's towers
Her barbarous hords remotest Afric pours,

451

In vain; Heaven's vengeance on their souls imprest,
They fly, wide scatter'd as the driving mist.
Lo, Quama there, and there the fertile Nile,
Curst with that gorging fiend the chrocodile,
Wind their long way: The parent lake behold,
Great Nilus' fount, unseen, unknown of old,
From whence diffusing plenty as he glides,
Wide Abyssinia's realm the stream divides.
In Abyssinia heaven's own altars blaze,
And hallowed anthems chant Messiah's praise.
In Nile's wide breast the isle of Meroe see!
Near these rude shores an Hero sprung from thee,
Thy son, brave Gama, shall his lineage shew
In glorious triumphs o'er the Turkish foe.
There by the rapid Ob, her friendly breast
Melinda spreads, thy place of grateful rest.

452

Cape Aromata there the gulph defends,
Where by the Red Sea wave great Afric ends.
Illustrious Suez, seat of heroes old,
Famed Hierapolis, high-tower'd, behold.
Here Egypt's shelter'd fleets at anchor ride,
And hence in squadrons sweep the eastern tide.
And lo, the waves that aw'd by Moses' rod,
While the dry bottom Israel's armies trod,
On either hand roll'd back their frothy might,
And stood like hoary rocks in cloudy height.
Here Asia, rich in every precious mine,
In realms immense, begins her western line.
Sinai behold, whose trembling cliffs of yore
In fire and darkness, deep pavilion'd, bore
The Hebrews' God, while day with awful brow
Gleam'd pale on Israel's wandering tents below.
The pilgrim now the lonely hill ascends,
And when the evening raven homeward bends,
Before the Virgin-Martyr's tomb he pays
His mournful vespers and his vows of praise.

453

Gidda behold, and Aden's parch'd domain
Girt by Arzira's rock, where never rain
Yet fell from heaven; where never from the dale
The chrystal rivulet murmured to the vale.
The three Arabias here their breasts unfold,
Here breathing incense, here a rocky wold;
O'er Dofar's plain the richest incense breathes,
That round the sacred shrine its vapour wreathes;
Here the proud war-steed glories in his force,
As fleeter than the gale he holds the course.
Here, with his spouse and houshold lodged in wains,
The Arab's camp shifts wandering o'er the plains,
The merchant's dread, what time from eastern soil
His burthen'd camels seek the land of Nile.
Here Rosalgate and Farthac stretch their arms,
And point to Ormuz, famed for war's alarms;
Ormuz, decreed full oft to quake with dread
Beneath the Lusian heroes' hostile tread,
Shall see the Turkish moons with slaughter gor'd
Shrink from the lightning of De Branco's sword
There on the gulph that laves the Persian shore,
Far through the surges bends Cape Asabore.
There Barem's isle; her rocks with diamonds blaze,
And emulate Aurora's glittering rays.

454

From Barem's shore Euphrates' flood is seen,
And Tygris' waters, through the waves of green
In yellowy currents many a league extend,
As with the darker waves averse they blend.
Lo, Persia there her empire wide unfolds!
In tented camp his state the monarch holds:
Her warrior sons disdain the arms of fire,
And with the pointed steel to fame aspire;
Their springy shoulders stretching to the blow,
Their sweepy sabres hew the shrieking foe.
There Gerum's isle the hoary ruin wears
Where Time has trod: there shall the dreadful spears
Of Sousa and Menezes strew the shore
With Persian sabres, and embathe with gore.
Carpella's cape, and sad Carmania's strand,
There parch'd and bare their dreary wastes expand.
A fairer landscape here delights the view;
From these green hills beneath the clouds of blue,
The Indus and the Ganges roll the wave,
And many a smiling field propitious lave.

455

Luxurious here Ulcinda's harvests smile,
And here, disdainful of the seaman's toil,
The whirling tides of Jaquet furious roar;
Alike their rage when swelling to the shore,
Or tumbling backward to the deep, they force
The boiling fury of their gulphy course:
Against their headlong rage nor oars nor sails,
The stemming prow alone, hard toiled, prevails.
Cambaya here begins her wide domain;
A thousand cities here shall own the reign
Of Lisboa's monarchs: He who first shall crown
Thy labours, Gama, here shall boast his own.
The lengthening sea that washes India's strand
And laves the cape that points to Ceylon's land,
(The Taprobanian isle, renown'd of yore)
Shall see his ensigns blaze from shore to shore.
Behold how many a realm array'd in green
The Ganges' shore and Indus' bank between!
Here tribes unnumber'd and of various lore
With woeful penance fiend-like shapes adore;
Some Macon's orgies, all confess the sway
Of rites that shun, like trembling ghosts, the day.
Narsinga's fair domain behold; of yore
Here shone the gilded towers of Meliapore.

456

Here India's angels weeping o'er the tomb
Where Thomas sleeps, implore the day to come,

457

The day foretold when India's utmost shore
Again shall hear Messiah's blissful lore.
By Indus' banks the holy Prophet trod,
And Ganges heard him preach the Saviour-God;
Where pale disease erewhile the cheek consumed,
Health at his word in ruddy fragrance bloom'd;
The grave's dark womb his awful voice obey'd,
And to the cheerful day restored the dead;
By heavenly power he rear'd the sacred shrine,
And gain'd the nations by his life divine.
The priests of Brahma's hidden rites beheld,
And envy's bitterest gall their bosoms swell'd.
A thousand deathful snares in vain they spread;
When now the Chief that wore the Triple Thread,

458

Fired by the rage that gnaws the conscious breast
Of holy fraud, when worth shines forth confest,

459

Hell he invokes, nor hell in vain he sues;
His son's life-gore his wither'd hands imbrews;
Then bold assuming the vindictive ire,
And all the passions of the woful sire,

460

Weeping he bends before the Indian throne,
Arraigns the holy man, and wails his son:
A band of hoary priests attest the deed,
And India's king condemns the Seer to bleed.
Inspired by heaven the holy victim stands,
And o'er the murder'd corse extends his hands,
In God's dread power, thou slaughter'd youth, arise,
And name thy murderer; aloud he cries.
When, dread to view, the deep wounds instant close,
And fresh in life the slaughter'd youth arose,
And named his treachrous sire: The conscious air
Quiver'd, and awful horror raised the hair
On every head. From Thomas India's king
The holy sprinkling of the living spring
Receives, and wide o'er all his regal bounds
The God of Thomas every tongue resounds.
Long taught the holy Seer the words of life;
The priests of Brahma still to deeds of strife,
So boiled their ire, the blinded herd impell'd,
And high to deathful rage their rancour swell'd.
'Twas on a day, when melting on his tongue
Heaven's offer'd mercies glow'd, the impious throng
Rising in madning tempest round him shower'd
The splinter'd flint; in vain the flint was pour'd:
But heaven had now his finish'd labours seal'd;
His angel guards withdraw th' etherial shield;

461

A Bramin's javelin tears his holy breast—
Ah heaven, what woes the widowed land exprest!
Thee, Thomas, thee, the plaintive Ganges mourn'd,
And Indus' banks the murmuring moan return'd;
O'er every valley where thy footstep stray'd,
The hollow winds the gliding sighs convey'd.
What woes the mournful face of India wore,
These woes in living pangs his people bore.
His sons, to whose illumined minds he gave
To view the ray that shines beyond the grave,
His pastoral sons bedew'd his corse with tears,
While high triumphant through the heavenly spheres,
With songs of joy the smiling angels wing
His raptured spirit to th' eternal King.
O you, the followers of the holy Seer,
Foredoom'd the shrines of heavens own lore to rear,
You sent by heaven his labours to renew,
Like him, ye Lusians, simplest Truth pursue.

462

Vain is the impious toil with borrow'd grace,
To deck one feature of her angel face;

463

Behind the veil's broad glare she glides away,
And leaves a rotten form of lifeless painted clay.
Much have you view'd of future Lusian reign;
Broad empires yet and kingdoms wide remain,
Scenes of your future toils and glorious sway—
And lo, how wide expands the Gangic bay.
Narsinga here in numerous legions bold,
And here Oryxa boasts her cloth of gold.
The Ganges here in many a stream divides,
Diffusing plenty from his fattening tides,
As through Bengala's ripening vales he glides;
Nor may the fleetest hawk, untired, explore
Where end the ricey groves that crown the shore.
There view what woes demand your pious aid!
On beds and litters o'er the margin laid
The dying lift their hollow eyes, and crave
Some pitying hand to hurl them in the wave.
Thus heaven they deem, though vilest guilt they bore
Unwept, unchanged, will view that guilt no more.
There, eastward, Arracan her line extends;
And Pegu's mighty empire southward bends:

464

Pegu, whose sons, so held old faith, confest
A dog their sire; their deeds the tale attest.
A pious queen their horrid rage restrain'd;
Yet still their fury Nature's God arraign'd.
Ah, mark the thunders rolling o'er the sky!
Yes, bathed in gore shall rank pollution lie.
Where to the morn the towers of Tava shine,
Begins great Siam's empire's far stretch'd line.
On Queda's fields the genial rays inspire
The richest gust of spicery's fragrant fire.
Malacca's castled harbour here survey,
The wealthful seat foredoom'd of Lusian sway.

465

Here to their port the Lusian fleets shall steer,
From every shore far round assembling here
The fragrant treasures of the eastern world:
Here from the shore by rolling earthquakes hurl'd,
Through waves all foam, Sumatra's isle was riven,
And mid white whirlpools down the ocean driven.
To this fair isle, the golden Chersonese,
Some deem the sapient Monarch plow'd the seas,
Ophir its Tyrian name. In whirling roars
How fierce the tide boils down these clasping shores!
High from the strait the lengthening coast afar,
Its moon-like curve points to the northern star,
Opening its bosom to the silver ray
When fair Aurora pours the infant day.
Patane and Pam, and nameless nations more,
Who rear their tents on Menam's winding shore,
Their vassal tribute yield to Siam's throne;
And thousands more, of laws, of names unknown,
That vast of land inhabit. Proud and bold,
Proud of their numbers here the Laos hold

466

The far spread lawns; the skirting hills obey
The barbarous Avas and the Bramas' sway.
Lo, distant far another mountain chain
Rears its rude cliffs, the Guios' dread domain;
Here brutalized the human form is seen,
The manners fiend-like as the brutal mein:
With frothing jaws they suck the human blood
And gnaw the reeking limbs, their sweetest food;

467

Horrid with figured seams of burning steel
Their wolf-like frowns their ruthless lust reveal.
Cambaya there the blue-tinged Mecon laves,
Mecon the eastern Nile, whose swelling waves,
Captain of rivers named, o'er many a clime
In annual period pour their fattening slime.
The simple natives of these lawns believe
That other worlds the souls of beasts receive;

468

Where the fierce murderer wolf, to pains decreed,
Sees the mild lamb enjoy the heavenly mead.
Oh gentle Mecon, on thy friendly shore
Long shall the Muse her sweetest offerings pour!
When tyrant ire chaff'd by the blended lust
Of Pride outrageous, and Revenge unjust,
Shall on the guiltless Exile burst their rage,
And madning tempests on their side engage,
Preserved by heaven the song of Lusian fame,
The song, O Vasco, sacred to thy name,
Wet from the whelming surge shall triumph o'er
The fate of shipwreck on the Mecon's shore,
Here rest secure as on the Muse's breast!
Happy the deathless song, the Bard, alas, unblest!
Chiampa there her fragrant coast extends,
There Cochinchina's cultured land ascends:
From Ainam bay begins the ancient reign
Of China's beauteous art-adorn'd domain;
Wide from the burning to the frozen skies
O'erflow'd with wealth the potent empire lies.
Here ere the cannon's rage in Europe roar'd,
The cannon's thunder on the foe was pour'd:

469

And here the trembling needle sought the north,
Ere Time in Europe brought the wonder forth.

470

No more let Egypt boast her mountain pyres;
To prouder fame yon bounding wall aspires,

471

A prouder boast of regal power displays
Than all the world beheld in ancient days.

472

Not built, created seems the frowning mound;
O'er loftiest mountain tops and vales profound
Extends the wondrous length, with warlike castles crown'd.
Immense the northern wastes their horrors spread;
In frost and snow the seas and shores are clad.
These shores forsake, to future ages due:
A world of islands claims thy happier view,
Where lavish Nature all her bounty pours,
And flowers and fruits of every fragrance showers.
Japan behold; beneath the globe's broad face
Northward she sinks, the nether seas embrace

473

Her eastern bounds; what glorious fruitage there,
Illustrious Gama, shall thy labours bear!
How bright a silver mine! when heaven's own lore
From Pagan dross shall purify her ore.
Beneath the purple wings of spreading morn,
Behold what isles these glistening seas adorn!
Mid hundreds yet unnamed, Ternate behold!
By day her hills in pitchy clouds inroll'd,
By night like rolling waves the sheets of fire
Blaze o'er the seas, and high to heaven aspire.
For Lusian hands here blooms the fragrant clove,
But Lusian blood shall sprinkle every grove.
The golden birds that ever sail the skies
Here to the sun display their shining dyes,
Each want supplied on air they ever soar;
The ground they touch not till they breathe no more.
Here Banda's isles their fair embroidery spread
Of various fruitage, azure, white, and red;

474

And birds of every beauteous plume display
Their glittering radiance, as from spray to spray,
From bower to bower on busy wings they rove,
To seize the tribute of the spicy grove.
Borneo here expands her ample breast,
By Nature's hand in woods of camphire drest;
The precious liquid weeping from the trees
Glows warm with health, the balsom of disease.
Fair are Timora's dales with groves array'd,
Each rivulet murmurs in the fragrant shade,
And in its chrystal breast displays the bowers
Of Sanders, blest with health-restoring powers.
Where to the south the world's broad surface bends,
Lo, Sunda's realm her spreading arms extends.
From hence the pilgrim brings the wondrous tale,
A river groaning through a dreary dale,
For all is stone around, converts to stone
Whate'er of verdure in its breast is thrown.
Lo, gleaming blue o'er fair Sumatra's skies
Another mountain's trembling flames arise;
Here from the trees the gum all fragrance swells,
And softest oil a wondrous fountain wells.

475

Nor these alone the happy isle bestows,
Fine is her gold, her silk resplendent glows.
Wide forests there beneath Maldivia's tide
From withering air their wondrous fruitage hide.
The green-hair'd Nereids tend the bowery dells,
Whose wondrous fruitage poison's rage expells.
In Ceylon, lo, how high yon mountain's brows!
The sailing clouds its middle height enclose.
Holy the hill is deem'd, the hallowed tread
Of sainted footstep marks its rocky head.
Laved by the Red-sea gulph Socotra's bowers
There boast the tardy aloe's beauteous flowers.
On Afric's strand foredoom'd to Lusian sway
Behold these isles, and rocks of dusky gray;
From cells unknown here bounteous ocean pours
The fragrant amber on the sandy shores.
And lo, the Island of the Moon displays
Her vernal lawns, and numerous peaceful bays;

476

The halcyons hovering o'er the bays are seen,
And lowing herds adorn the vales of green.
Thus from the cape where sail was ne'er unfurl'd
Till thine auspicious sought the Eastern World,
To utmost wave where first the morning star
Sheds the pale lustre of her silver car,
Thine eyes have view'd the empires and the isles,
The world immense that crowns thy glorious toils.
That world where every boon is shower'd from heaven,
Now to the West, by Thee, Great Chief, is given.
And still, oh Blest, thy peerless honours grow,
New opening views the smiling Fates bestow.
With alter'd face the moving globe behold;
There ruddy evening sheds her beams of gold.
While now on Afric's bosom faintly die
The last pale glimpses of the twilight sky,
Bright o'er the wide Atlantic rides the morn,
And dawning rays another world adorn:
To farthest north that world enormous bends,
And cold beneath the sourthern pole-star ends.
Near either pole the barbarous hunter drest
In skins of bears explores the frozen waste:

477

Where smiles the genial sun with kinder rays,
Proud cities tower, and gold-roofed temples blaze.
This golden empire, by the heaven's decree,
Is due, Casteel, O favour'd Power, to Thee!
Even now Columbus o'er the hoary tide
Pursues the evening sun, his navy's guide.
Yet shall the kindred Lusian share the reign,
What time this world shall own the yoke of Spain.
The first bold hero who to India's shores
Through vanquish'd waves thy open'd path explores,
Driven by the winds of heaven from Afric's strand
Shall fix the Holy Cross on yon fair land.
That mighty realm for purple wood renown'd,
Shall stretch the Lusian empire's western bound.
Fired by thy fame, and with his king in ire,
To match thy deeds shall Magalhaens aspire.

478

In all, but loyalty, of Lusian soul,
No fear, no danger shall his toils controul.

479

Along these regions from the burning zone
To deepest south he dares the course unknown.
While to the kingdoms of the rising day,
To rival Thee he holds the western way,
A land of giants shall his eyes behold,
Of camel strength, surpassing human mould:
And onward still, thy fame his proud heart's guide
Haunting him unappeased, the dreary tide
Beneath the southern star's cold gleam he braves,
And stems the whirls of land-surrounded waves.
Forever sacred to the hero's fame
These foaming straits shall bear his deathless name.
Through these dread jaws of rock he presses on,
Another ocean's breast, immense, unknown,
Beneath the south's cold wings, unmeasured, wide,
Receives his vessels; through the dreary tide

480

In darkling shades, where never man before
Heard the waves howl, he dares the nameless shore.
Thus far, O favoured Lusians, bounteous heaven
Your nation's glories to your view has given.
What ensigns, blazing to the morn, pursue
The path of heroes, open'd first by You!
Still be it your's the first in fame to shine:
Thus shall your brides new chaplets still entwine,
With laurels ever new your brows enfold,
And braid your wavy locks with radiant gold.
How calm the waves, how mild the balmy gale!
The halcyons call, ye Lusians, spread the sail!
Old ocean now appeased shall rage no more,
Haste, point the bowsprit to your native shore:
Soon shall the transports of the natal soil
O'erwhelm in bounding joy the thoughts of every toil.
The Goddess spake; and Vasco waved his hand,
And soon the joyful heroes crowd the strand.

481

The lofty ships with deepen'd burthens prove
The various bounties of the Isle of Love.

482

Nor leave the youths their lovely brides behind,
In wedded bands, while time glides on, conjoin'd;
Fair as immortal fame in smiles array'd,
In bridal smiles, attends each lovely maid.
O'er India's Sea, wing'd on by balmy gales
That whisper'd peace, soft swell'd the steady sails:
Smooth as on wing unmoved the eagle flies,
When to his eyrie cliff he sails the skies,
Swift o'er the gentle billows of the tide,
So smooth, so soft, the prows of Gama glide;
And now their native fields, for ever dear,
In all their wild transporting charms appear;
And Tago's bosom, while his banks repeat
The sounding peals of joy, receives the fleet.
With orient titles and immortal fame
The hero band adorn their Monarch's name;
Sceptres and crowns beneath his feet they lay,
And the wide East is doom'd to Lusian sway.

483

Enough, my Muse, thy wearied wing no more
Must to the seat of Jove triumphant soar.
Chill'd by my nation's cold neglect, thy fires
Glow bold no more, and all thy rage expires.
Yet thou, Sebastian, thou, my king, attend;
Behold what glories on thy throne descend!
Shall haughty Gaul or sterner Albion boast
That all the Lusian fame in Thee is lost!
Oh, be it thine these glories to renew,
And John's bold path and Pedro's course pursue:
Snatch from the tyrant Noble's hand the sword,
And be the rights of human-kind restored.
The statesman prelate, to his vows confine,
Alone auspicious at the holy shrine;
The priest, in whose meek heart heaven pours its fires,
Alone to heaven, not earth's vain pomp, aspires.
Nor let the Muse, great King, on Tago's shore,
In dying notes the barbarous age deplore.
The king or hero to the Muse unjust
Sinks as the nameless slave, extinct in dust.
But such the deeds thy radiant morn portends,
Aw'd by thy frown ev'n now old Atlas bends
His hoary head, and Ampeluza's fields
Expect thy sounding steeds and rattling shields.

484

And shall these deeds unsung, unknown, expire!
Oh, would thy smiles relume my fainting ire!
I, then inspired, the wondering world should see
Great Ammon's warlike son revived in Thee;
Revived, unenvious of the Muse's flame
That o'er the world resounds Pelides' name.
 

The city of Mexico is environed with an extensive lake; or, according to Cortez, in his second narration to Charles V. with two lakes, one of fresh, the other of salt water, in circuit about fifty leagues. This situation, said the Mexicans, was appointed by their God Vitziliputzli, who, according to the explanation of their picture-histories, led their fore-fathers a journey of fourscore years, in search of the promised land; the apish Devil, say some Spanish writers, in this imitating the journies of the Israelites. Four of the principal priests carried the Idol in a coffer of reeds. Whenever they halted they built a tabernacle for their God in the midst of their camp, where they placed the coffer and the altar. They then sowed the land, and their stay or departure, without regard to the harvest, was directed by the orders received from their idol, till at last by his command they fixed their abode on the fite of Mexico. The origin of the Mexicans is represented by men coming out of caves, and their different journies and encampments are pourtrayed in their picture-histories; one of which was sent to Charles V. and is said to be still extant in the Escurial. According to the reigns of their kings, their first emigration was about A. D. 720. Vide Boterus, Gomara, Acosta, and other Spanish writers.

Mark Anthony.

It was a custom of the ancients in warm climates to mix the coolest spring water with their wine, immediately before drinking; not, we may suppose, to render it less intoxicating, but on account of the cooling flavour it thereby received. Homer tells us that the wine which Ulysses gave to Polypheme would bear twenty measures of water. Modern luxury has substituted preserved ice, in place of the more ancient mixture.

Alluding to the fable of Orpheus. Fanshaw's translation, as already observed, was published fourteen years before the Paradise Lost. These lines of Milton,

What could it less when spirits immortal sung?
Their song was partial, but the harmony
Suspended Hell, and took with ravishment
The thronging audience—

bear a resemblance to these of Fanshaw,

Musical instruments not wanting, such
As to the damned spirits once gave ease
In the dark vaults of the infernal Hall.—

To slumber amid their punishment, though omitted by Fanshaw, is literal,

Fizerao descançar da eterna pena—

It is not certain when Camoens wrote this. It seems however not long to precede the publication of his poem, at which time he was in his fifty-fifth year. This apostrophe to his Muse may perhaps by some be blamed as another digression; but so little does it require defence, that one need not hesitate to affirm, that had Homer, who often talks to his Muse, introduced, on these favourable opportunities, any little picture or history of himself, these digressions would have been the most interesting parts of his works. Had any such little history of Homer complained like this of Camoens, it would have been bedewed with the tears of ages.

P. Alvarez Cabral, the second Portuguese commander who sailed to India, entered into a treaty of alliance with Trimumpara king of Cochin and high priest of Malabar. The Zamorim raised powerful armies to dethrone him. His fidelity to the Portuguese was unalterable, though his affairs were brought to the lowest ebb. For an account of this war, and the almost incredible atchievements of Pacheco, see the history in the preface.

Thus Virgil;

------ simul accipit alveo
Ingentem Æneam. Gemuit sub pondere cymba
Sutilis, & multam accepit rimosa paludem.

That the visionary boat of Charon groaned under the weight of Eneas is a fine poetical stroke; but that the crazy rents let in the water is certainly lowering the image. The thought however, as managed in Camoens, is much grander than in Virgil, and affords a happy instance, where the hyperbole is truly poetical.

Poetical allusions to, or abridgements of historical events, are either extremely insipid and obscure, or particularly pleasing to the reader. To be pleasing, a previous acquaintance with the history is necessary, and for this reason the poems of Homer and Virgil were peculiarly relished by their countrymen. When a known circumstance is placed in an animated poetical view, and cloathed with the graces of poetical language, a sensible mind must feel the effect. But when the circumstance is unknown, nothing but the most lively imagery and finest colouring can prevent it from being tiresome. The Lusiad affords many instances which must be highly pleasing to the Portuguese, but dry to those who are unacquainted with their history. Nor need one hesitate to assert, that were we not acquainted with the Roman history from our childhood, a great part of the Eneid would appear to us intollerably uninteresting. Sensible of this disadvantage which every version of historical poetry must suffer, the Translator has not only in the notes added every incident which might elucidate the subject, but has also, all along, in the episode in the third and fourth books, in the description of the painted ensigns in the eighth, and in the allusions in the present book, endeavoured to throw every historical incident into that universal language, the picturesque of poetry. The circumstances unsusceptible of imagery are hastened over, and those which can best receive it, presented to the view. When Hector storms the Grecian camp, when Achilles marches to battle, every reader understands and is affected with the bold painting. But when Nestor talks of his exploits at the funereal games of Amarynces, (Iliad. xxiii.) the critics themselves cannot comprehend him, and have vied with each other in inventing explanations.

Proas—or paraos, Indian vessels which lie low on the water, are worked with oars, and carry 100 men and upwards apiece.

See the history in the preface.

How Pacheco avoided this formidable danger, see the history in the preface.

When Porsenna besieged Rome, Horatius Cocles defended the pass of a bridge till the Romans destroyed it behind him. Having thus saved the pass, heavy armed as he was, he swimmed across the river to his companions. The Roman history, however, at this period, is often mixt with fable. Miltiades obtained a great victory over Darius at Marathon. The stand of Leonidas is well known. The battles of Pacheco were in defence of the fords by which the city of Cochin could only be entered. The numbers he withstood by land and sea, and the victories he obtained, are much more astonishing than the stand at Thermopylæ. See the preface.

See the history in the preface.

The English history affords an instance of similar resolution in Admiral Bembo, who was supported in a wooden frame, and continued the engagement after his legs and thighs were shivered in splinters. Contrary to the advice of his officers the young Almeyda refused to bear off, though almost certain to be overpowered, and though both wind and tide were critically against him. His father had sharply upbraided him for a former retreat, where victory was thought impossible. He now fell the victim of his father's ideas of military glory. See the preface.

After having cleared the Indian seas, the Viceroy Almeyda attacked the combined fleets of Egypt, Cambaya, and the Zamorim, in the entrance and harbour of Diu, or Dio. The fleet of the Zamorim almost immediately fled. That of Melique Yaz, Lord of Diu, suffered much; but the greatest slaughter fell upon the Egyptians and Turks, commanded by Mir-Hocem, who had defeated and killed the young Almeyda. Of 800 Mamulucks or Turks, who fought under Mir-Hocem, only 22, says Osorius, survived this engagement. Melique Yaz, says Faria y Sousa, was born in slavery, and descended of the Christians of Roxia. The road to preferment is often a dirty one; but Melique's was much less so than that of many. As the king of Cambaya was one day riding in state, an unlucky kite dunged upon his royal head. His majesty in great wrath swore he would give all he was worth to have the offender killed. Melique, who was an expert archer, immediately dispatched an arrow, which brought the audacious hawk to the ground. For the merit of this eminent service he was made Lord of Diu, or Dio, a considerable city, the strongest and most important fortress at that time in all India. See Faria, L. 2. c. 2.

See the note on page 208.

Tristan de Cunha, or d'Acugna. See the history in the preface.

See the note on page 63. Some writers relate, that when Albuquerque besieged Ormuz, a violent wind drove the arrows of the enemy backward upon their own ranks. Osorius says, that many of the dead Persians and Moors were found to have died by arrows. But as that weapon was not used by the Portuguese, he conjectures, that in their despair of victory many of the enemy had thus killed themselves, rather than survive the defeat.

This important place was made an Archbishoprick, the capital of the Portuguese empire in the East, and the seat of their Viceroys; for which purposes it is advantageously situated on the coast of Decan. It still remains in the possession of the Portuguese.

The conquest of this place was one of the greatest actions of Albuquerque. It became the chief port of the eastern part of Portuguese India, and second only to Goa. Besides a great many pieces of ordnance which were carried away by the Moors who escaped, 3000 large cannon remained the prize of the victors. When Albuquerque was on the way to Malacca, he attacked a large ship, but just as his men were going to board her, she suddenly appeared all in flames, which obliged the Portuguese to bear off. Three days afterward the same vessel sent a boat to Albuquerque, offering an alliance, which was accepted. The flames, says Osorius, were only artificial, and did not the least damage. Another wonderful adventure immediately happened. The admiral soon after sent his long boats to attack a ship commanded by one Nehoada Beeguea. The enemy made an obstinate resistance. Nehoada himself was pierced with several mortal wounds, but lost not one drop of blood, till a bracelet was taken off his arm, when immediately the blood gushed out. According to Osorius, this was said to be occasioned by the virtue of a stone in the bracelet taken out of an animal called Cabrisia, which when worn on the body could prevent the effusion of blood from the most grievous wounds.

A detail of all the great actions of Albuquerque would have been tedious and unpoetical. Camoens has chosen the most brilliant, and has happily suppressed the rest by a display of indignation. The French translator has the following note on this passage, “Behold another instance of our Author's prejudice! The action which he condemns had nothing in it blameable: but as he was of a most amorous constitution, he thought every fault which could plead an amour in its excuse ought to be pardoned; but true heroes, such as Albuquerque, follow other maxims. This great man had in his palace a beautiful Indian slave. He viewed her with the eyes of a father, and the care of her education was his pleasure. A Portuguese soldier, named Ruy Diaz, had the boldness to enter the General's apartment, where he succeeded so well with the girl, that he obtained his desire. When Albuquerque heard of it, he immediately ordered him to the gallows.”

Camoens, however, was no such undistinguishing libertine as this would represent him. In a few pages we find him praising the continence of Don Henry de Meneses, whose victory over his passions he calls the highest excellence of youth. Nor does it appear by what authority the Frenchman assures us of the chaste paternal affection which Albuquerque bore to this Indian girl. It was the great aim of Albuquerque to establish colonies in India, and for that purpose he encouraged his soldiers to marry with the natives. The most sightly girls were selected, and educated in the religion and household arts of Portugal, and portioned at the expence of the General. These he called his daughters, and with great pleasure he used to attend their weddings, several couples being usually joined together at one time. At one of these nuptials, says Faria, the festivity having continued late, and the brides being mixed together, several of the bridegrooms committed a blunder. The mistakes of the night however, as they were all equal in point of honour, were mutually forgiven in the morning, and each man took his proper wife whom he had received at the altar. This delicate anecdote of Albuquerque's sons and daughters, is as bad a commentary on the note of Castera, as it is on the severity which the commander shewed to poor Diaz. Nor does Camoens stand alone in the condemnation of the General. The Historian agrees with the Poet. Mentioning the death of D. Antonio Noronha, “This gentleman, says Faria, used to moderate the violent temper of his uncle Albuquerque, which soon after shewed itself in rigid severity. He ordered a soldier to be hanged for an amour with one of the slaves whom he called daughters, and whom he used to give in marriage. When some of his officers asked him what authority he had to take the poor man's life, he drew his sword, told them that was his commission, and instantly broke them.” To marry his soldiers with the natives was the plan of Albuquerque, his severity therefore seems unaccountable, unless we admit the perhaps of Camoens, ou de cioso, perhaps it was jealousy.—But whatever incensed the General, the execution of the soldier was contrary to the laws of every nation ; and the honest indignation of Camoens against one of the greatest of his countrymen, one who was the grand architect of the Portuguese empire in the East, affords a noble instance of that manly freedom of sentiment which knows no right by which king or peer may do injustice to the meanest subject. Nor can we omit the observation, that the above note of Castera is of a piece with the French devotion we have already seen him pay to the name of king, a devotion which breathes the true spirit of the blessed advice given by Father Paul to the republic of Venice: “When a nobleman commits an offence against a subject, says the Jesuit, let every means be tried to justify him. But if a subject has offended a nobleman, let him be punished with the utmost severity.”

Osorius relates the affair of Diaz with some other circumstances; but with no difference that affects this assertion.

Campaspe, the most beautiful concubine of Alexander, was given by that monarch to Apelles, whom he perceived in love with her. Araspas had strict charge of the fair captive Panthea. His attempt on her virtue was forgiven by Cyrus.

“Baldwin, surnamed Iron-arm, Grand Forester of Flanders, being in love with Judith, the daughter of Charles the Bald and widow of Ethelwolfe, king of England, obtained his desire by force. Charles, though at first he highly resented, afterwards pardoned his crime, and consented to his marriage with the Princess.” Castera.

This digression in the song of the nymph bears, in manner, a striking resemblance to the histories which often, even in the heat of battle, the heroes of Homer relate to each other. That these little episodes have their beauty and propriety in an Epic poem, will strongly appear from a view of M. de la Motte's translation of the Iliad into French verse. The four and twenty books of Homer he has contracted into twelve, and these contain no more lines than about four books of the original. A thousand embelishments which the warm poetical feelings of Homer suggested to him, are thus thrown out by the Frenchman. But what is the consequence of this improvement? The work of la Motte is unread, even by his own countrymen, and despised by every Foreigner who has the least relish for poetry and Homer.

Medina, the city where Mohammed is buried. About six years after Gama's discovery of India, the Sultan of Egypt sent Maurus, the abbot of the monks at Jerusalem, who inhabit Mount Sion, on an embassy to Pope Julius II. The Sultan, with severe threats to the Christians of the East in case of refusal, intreated the Pope to desire Emmanuel king of Portugal to send no more fleets to the Indian seas. The Pope sent Maurus to Emmanuel, who returned a very spirited answer to his Holiness, assuring him that no threats, no dangers could make him alter his resolutions, and lamenting that it had not yet been in his power to fulfil his purpose of demolishing the sepulchre and erazing the memorials of Mohammed from the earth. This, he says, was the first purpose of sending his fleets to India. Nobis enim, cum iter in Indiam classibus nostris aperire, & regiones majoribus nostris incognitas explorare decrevimus, hoc propositum fuit, ut ipsum Mahumetanæ sectæ caput . . . . . extingueremus— It is with great art that Camoens so often reminds us of the grand design of the expedition of his heroes, to subvert Mohammedism and found a Christian empire in the East. But the dignity which this gives his poem is already observed in the preface.

The Abyssinians contend that their country is the Sheba mentioned in the scripture, and that the queen who visited Solomon bore a son to that monarch, from whom their royal family, to the present time, is descended.

Gama only reigned three months Viceroy of India. During his second voyage, the third which the Portuguese made to India, he gave the Zamorim some considerable defeats by sea, besides his victories over the Moors. These, however, are judiciously omitted by Camoens, as the less striking part of his character.

The French Translator is highly pleased with the prediction of Gama's death, delivered to himself at the feast. “The Syren, says he, persuaded that Gama is a hero exempt from weakness, does not hesitate to mention the end of his life. Gama listens without any mark of emotion; the feast and the song continue. If I am not deceived, this is truly great.”

Don Henry de Menezes. He was only twenty-eight when appointed to the government of India. He died in his thirtieth year, a noble example of the most disinterested heroism. See the preface.

Pedro de Mascarenhas. The injustice done to this brave officer, and the usurpation of his governmentship by Lopez Vaz de Sampayo, afford one of the most interesting periods of the history of the Portuguese in India. See the preface.

Nunio de Cunha, one of the most worthy of the Portuguese governors. See the preface.

That brave generous spirit, which prompted Camoens to condemn the great Albuquerque for injustice to a common soldier, has here deserted him. In place of poetical compliment, on the terrors of his name, Noronha deserved infamy. The siege of Dio, it is true, was raised on the report of his approach, but that report was the stratagem of Coje Zofar, one of the general officers of the assaillants. The delays of Noronha were as highly blameable, as his treatment of his predecessor, the excellent Nunio, was unworthy of a gentleman. See the history of the Portuguese Commanders in India, in the preface.

Stephen de Gama. See the preface.

Martin Alonzo de Souza. He was celebrated for clearing the coast of Brazil of several pirates, who were formidable to that infant colony.

This is as near the original as elegance will allow—de sangue cheyo—which Fanshaw has thus punned,

------ with no little loss,
Sending him home again by Weeping-Cross.—

a place near Banbury in Oxfordshire.

When the victories of the Portuguese began to overspread the East, several Indian princes, by the counsels of the Moors, applied for assistance to the Sultan of Egypt and the Grand Signior. The troops of these Mohammedan princes were in the highest reputation for bravery, and though composed of many different nations, were known among the orientals by one common name. Ignorance delights in the marvellous. The history of ancient Rome made the same figure among the Easterns, as that of the fabulous or heroic ages, does with us, with this difference, it was better believed. The Turks of Romania pretended to be the descendants of the Roman Conquerors, and the Indians gave them and their auxiliaries the name of Rumes, or Romans. In the same manner the fame of Godfrey in the East conferred the name of Franks on all the western Christians, who on their part gave the name of Moors to all the Mohammedans of the East.

The commander of Diu, or Dio, during this siege, one of the most memorable in the Portuguese history.

The title of the Lords or Princes of Decan, who in their wars with the Portuguese have sometimes brought 400,000 men into the field. The prince here mentioned, after many revolts, was at last finally subdued by Don John de Castro, the fourth Viceroy of India, with whose reign our Poet judiciously ends the prophetic song. Albuquerque laid the plan, and Castro compleatd the system of the Portuguese empire in the East. (For an account of which, see the preface.) It is with propriety therefore that the prophecy given to Gama is here summed up. Nor is the discretion of Camoens in this instance inferior to his judgment. He is now within a few years of his own times, when he himself was upon the scene in India. But whatever he had said of his cotemporaries would have been liable to misconstruction, and every sentence would have been branded with the epithets of flattery or malice. A little Poet would have been happy in such an opportunity to resent his wrongs. But the silent contempt of Camoens does him true honour.

In this historical song, as already hinted, the Translator has been attentive, as much as he could, to throw it into these universal languages, the picturesque and characteristic. To convey the sublimest instruction to princes, is, according to Aristotle, the peculiar province of the Epic Muse. The striking points of view, in which the different characters of the Governors of India are here placed, are in the most happy conformity to this ingenious canon of the Stageryte.

The motions of the heavenly bodies, in every system, bear, at all times, the same uniform relation to each other; these expressions, therefore, are strictly just. The first relates to the appearance, the second to the reality. Thus while to us the sun appears to go down, to more western inhabitants of the globe he appears to rise, and while he rises to us, he is going down to the more eastern; the difference being entirely relative to the various parts of the earth. And in this the expressions of our Poet are equally applicable to the Ptolemaic and Copernican systems. The ancient hypothesis which made our earth the centre of the Universe, is the system adopted by Camoens, a happiness, in the opinion of the Translator, to the English Lusiad. The new system is so well known, that a poetical description of it would have been no novelty to the English reader. The other has not only that advantage in its favour; but this description is perhaps the finest and fullest that ever was given of it in poetry, that of Lucretius, l. v. being chiefly argumentative, and therefore less picturesque.

Our Author studied at the university of Coimbra, where the ancient system and other doctrines of the Aristotelians then, and long afterward, prevailed.

Called by the old philosophers and school divines the Sensorium of the Deity.

According to the Peripatetics the universe consisted of Eleven Spheres inclosed within each other, as Fanshaw has familiarly expressed it by a similie which he has lent our Author. The first of these spheres, he says,

------ doth (as in a nest
Of boxes) all the other orbs comprize------

In their accounts of this first mentioned, but Eleventh Sphere, which they called the Empyrean or heaven of the Blest, the disciples of Aristotle, and the Arab Moors, gave a loose to all the warmth of imagination. And several of the Christian Fathers applied to it the descriptions of heaven which are found in the Holy Scripture.

This is the Tenth Sphere, the Primum Mobile of the ancient system. To account for the appearances of the heavens, the Peripatetics ascribed double motion to it. While its influence drew the other orbs from east to west, they supposed it had a motion of its own from west to east. To effect this, the ponderous weight and interposition of the Ninth Sphere, or Chrystalline Heaven, was necessary. The ancient Astronomers observed that the stars shifted their places. This they called the motion of the Chrystalline Heaven, expressed by our Poet at the rate of one pace during two hundred solar years. The famous Arab astronomer Abulhasan, in his Meadows of Gold, calculates the revolution of this sphere to consist of 49,000 of our years. But modern discoveries have not only corrected the calculation , but have also ascertained the reason of the apparent motion of the fixt stars. The earth is not a perfect sphere; the quantity of matter is greater at the equator; hence the earth turns on her axis in a rocking motion, revolving round the axis of the ecliptic, which is called the procession of the equinoxes, and makes the stars seem to shift their places at about the rate of a degree in 72 years; according to which all the stars seem to perform one revolution in the space of 25,920 years, after which they return exactly to the same situation as at the beginning of this period. However imperfect in their calculations, the Chaldaic astronomers perceived that the motions of the heavens composed one great revolution. This they called the Annus Magnus, which those who did not understand them mistook for a restoration of all things to their first originals, and that the world was at that period to begin anew in every respect. Hence the old Egyptian notion, that every one was at the end of thirty-nine thousand years to resume every circumstance of his present life, to be exactly the same in every contingency. And hence also the Legends of the Bramins and Mandarins, their periods of fifty thousand years, and the worlds which they tell us are already past and eternally to succeed each other.

However deficient the astronomy of Abulhasan may be, it is nothing to the calculation of his Prophet Mohammed, who tells his disciples, that the stars were each about the bigness of an house, and hung from the sky on chains of gold.

This was called the Firmament or Eighth Heaven. Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, Apollo, Venus, Mercury, and Diana, were the planets which gave name to, and whose orbits composed the other spheres or heavens.

Commonly called Charleswain. Of Calisto, or the Bear, see the note on page 195. Andromeda was the daughter of Cepheus, king of Ethiopia, and of Cassiope. Cassiope boasted that she and her daughter were more beautiful than Juno and the Nereids. Andromeda, to appease the goddess, was, at her father's command, chained to a rock to be devoured by a sea-monster, but was saved by Perseus, who obtained of Jupiter that all the family should be placed among the stars. Orion was a hunter, who, for an attempt on Diana, was stung to death by a serpent. The star of his name portends tempests. The Dogs; Fable gives this honour to those of different hunters. The faithful dog of Erigone, however, that died mad with grief for the death of his mistress, has the best title to preside over the dog-days. The Swan; that whose form Jupiter borrowed to enjoy Leda. The Hare, when pursued by Orion, was saved by Mercury, and placed in heaven, to signify that Mercury presides over melancholy dispositions. The Lyre, with which Orpheus charmed Pluto. The Dragon which guarded the golden apples of the Hesperides, and the ship Argo, compleat the number of the constellations mentioned by Camoens. If our Author has blended the appearances of heaven with those of the painted artificial sphere, it is in the manner of the classics. Ovid, in particular, thus describes the heavens, in the second book of his Metamorphoses.

Though a modern narrative of bawdy-house adventures by no means requires the supposition of a particular Providence, that supposition, however, is absolutely necessary to the grandeur of an Epic Poem. The great examples of Homer and Virgil prove it; and Camoens understood and felt its force. While his fleet combat all the horrors of unplowed oceans, we do not view his heroes as idle wanderers; the care of heaven gives their voyage the greatest importance. When Gama falls on his knees and spreads his hands to heaven on the discovery of India, we are presented with a figure infinitely more noble than that of the most successful Conqueror, who is supposed to act under the influence of fatalism or chance. The human mind is conscious of its own weakness. It expects an elevation in poetry, and demands a degree of importance superior to the caprices of unmeaning accident. The poetical reader cannot admire the hero who is subject to such blind fortuity. He appears to us with an abject uninteresting littleness. Our poetical ideas of permanent greatness demand a Gama, a hero whose enterprises and whose person interest the care of heaven and the happiness of his people. Nor must this supposition be confined merely to the machinery. The reason why it pleases also requires that the supposition should be uniform throughout the whole poem. Virgil, by dismissing Eneas through the ivory gate of Elysium, has hinted that all his pictures of a future state were merely dreams, and has thus destroyed the highest merit of the compliment to his patron Augustus. But Camoens has certainly been more happy. A fair opportunity offered itself to indulge the opinions of Lucretius and the Academic Grove; but Camoens, in ascribing the government of the Universe to the Will of God, has not only preserved the philosophy of his poem perfectly uniform, but has also shewn that the Peripatetic system is, in this instance, exactly conformable to the Newtonian. But this leads us from one defence of our Author to another. We have seen that the supposition of a Providence is certainly allowable in a Poet: nor can we think it is highly to be blamed even in a philosopher. The Principia of Newton offer, what some perhaps may esteem, a demonstration of the truth of this opinion. Matter appeared to Sir Isaac as possessed of no property but one, the vis inertiæ, or dead inactivity. Motion, the centripetal and centrifugal force, appeared therefore to that great man, as added by the agency of something distinct from matter, by a Being of other properties. And from the infinite combinations of the universe united in one great design, he inferred the omnipotence and omniscience of that primary Being.

If we admit, and who can possibly deny it, that man has an idea of right and wrong, and a power of agency in both, he is then a moral, or in other words, a reasonable agent; a Being placed in circumstances, where his agency is infallibly attended with degrees of happiness or misery infinitely more real and durable than any animal sensation. Now to suppose that the Being who has provided for every want of animal nature, who has placed even the meanest insect in its proper line, and has rendered every purpose of its agency or existence complete, to suppose that he has placed the infinitely superior intellectual nature of man in an agency of infinitely greater consequence, but an agency of which he takes no superintendance —to suppose this, is only to suppose that the Author of Nature is a very imperfect Being. For no proposition can be more self-evident, than that an attention to the merest comparative trifles, attended with a neglect of infinitely greater concerns, implies an intellectual imperfection. Yet some philosophers, who tell us there never was an Athiest, some who are not only in raptures with the great machinery of the universe, but are lost in admiration at the admirable adaption of an oyster-shell to the wants of the animal; some of these philosophers, with the utmost contempt of the contrary opinion, make no scruple to exclude the care of the Deity from any concern in the moral world. Dazzled, perhaps, by the mathematics, the case of many a feeble intellect; or bewildered and benighted in metaphysics, the case of many an ingenious philosopher; they erect a standard of truth in their own minds, and utterly forgetting that this standard must be founded on partial views, with the utmost assurance they reject whatever does not agree with the infallibility of their beloved test. There is another cast of philosophers no less ingenious, whose minds, absorbed in the innumerable wonders of natural enquiry, can perceive nothing but a God of cockle-shells, and of grubs turned into butterflies. With all the arrogance of superior knowledge these virtuosi smile at the opinion which interests the Deity in the moral happiness or misery of man. Nay, they will gravely tell you, that such misery or happiness does not exist. At ease themselves in their elbow chairs, they cannot conceive there is such a thing in the world as oppressed innocence feeling its only consolation in an appeal to heaven, and its only hope, a trust in its care. Though the Author of Nature has placed man in a state of moral agency, and made his happiness and misery to depend upon it, and though every page of human history is stained with the tears of injured innocence and the triumphs of guilt, with miseries which must affect a moral or thinking being, yet we have been told, that God perceiveth it not, and that what mortals call moral evil vanishes from before his more perfect fight. Thus the appeal of injured innocence, and the tear of bleeding virtue fall unregarded, unworthy of the attention of the Deity . Yet with what raptures do these enlarged virtuosi behold the infinite wisdom and care of their Beelzebub, their god of flies, in the admirable and various provision he has made for the preservation of the eggs of vermin, and the generation of maggots.

Much more might be said in proof that our Poet's philosophy does not altogether deserve ridicule. And those who allow a general, but deny a particular Providence, will, it is hoped, excuse Camoens, on the consideration, that if we estimate a general moral providence by analogy of that providence which presides over vegetable and animal nature, a more particular one cannot possibly be wanted. If a particular providence, however, is still denied, another consideration obtrudes itself; if one pang of a moral agent is unregarded, one tear of injured innocence left to fall unpitied by the Deity, if Ludit in humanis Divina potentia rebus, the consequence is, that the human conception can form an idea of a much better God: And it may modestly be presumed we may hazard the laugh of the wisest philosopher, and without scruple assert, that it is impossible that a created mind should conceive an idea of perfection, superior to that which is possessed by the Creator and Author of existence.

Perhaps, like Lucretius, some philosophers think this 'would be too much trouble to the Deity. But the idea of trouble to the Divine Nature, is much the same as another argument of the same philosopher, who having asserted, that before the creation the gods could not know what seed would produce, from thence wisely concludes, that the world was made by chance.

Ray, in his wisdom of God in the creation, (though he did not deny the moral providence) has carried this extravagance to the highest pitch. “To give life, says he, is the intention of the creation; and how wonderful does the goodness of God appear in this, that the death and putrefaction of one animal is the life of thousands.” So the misery of a family on the death of a parent is nothing, for ten thousand maggots are made happy by it.—Oh, Philosophy, when wilt thou forget the dreams of thy slumbers in Bedlam!

As Europe is already described in the Third Lusiad, this short account of it has as great propriety, as the manner of it contains dignity.

This just and strongly picturesque description of Africa is finely contrasted with the character of Europe. It contains also a masterly compliment to the expedition of Gama, which is all along represented as the harbinger and diffuser of the blessings of civilization.

Gonsalo de Sylveyra, a Portuguese Jesuit, in 1555 sailed from Lisbon on a mission to Monomotapa. His labours were at first successful; but ere he effected any regular establishment he was murdered by the Barbarians. Castera abridged.

“Don Pedro de Naya . . . . . In 1505 he erected a fort in the kingdom of Sofala, which is subject to Monomotapa. Six thousand Moors and Cafres laid seige to this garrison, which he defended with only thirty-five men. After having several times suffered by unexpected sallies, the Barbarians fled, exclaiming to their king that he had led them to fight against God.” Castera abridged.

Christianity was planted here in the first century, but mixed with many Jewish rites unused by other Christians of the East. This appears to give some countenance to the pretensions of their Emperors, who claim their descent from Solomon and the queen of Sheba, and at least reminds us of Acts 8. 27. where we are told, that the Treasurer of the queen of Ethiopia came to worship at Jerusalem. Innumerable monasteries, we are told, are in this country. But the clergy are very ignorant, and the laity gross barbarians. Much has been said of the hill Amara,

Where Abyssin kings their issue guard—by some supposed,
True Paradise, under the Ethiop line
By Nilus head, inclosed with shining rock,
A whole day's journey high.
—Milton.

and where, according to Urreta, a Spanish Jesuit, is the library founded by the queen of Sheba, and encreased with all those writings, of which we have either possession or only the names. The works of Noah, and the lectures on the mathematics which Abraham read in the plains of Mamre, are here. And so many are the volumes, that 200 monks are employed as librarians. It is needless to add, that Father Urreta is a second Sir John Mandevylle.

When Don Stephen de Gama was governor of India, the Christian Emperor and Empress-mother of Ethiopia, solicited the assistance of the Portuguese against the usurpations of the Pagan king of Zeyla. Don Stephen sent his brother Don Christoval with 500 men. The prodigies of their valour astonished the Ethiopians. But after having twice defeated the Tyrant, and reduced his great army to the last extremity, Don Christoval, urged too far by the impetuosity of his youthful valour, was taken prisoner. He was brought before the Usurper, and put to death in the most cruel manner. Waxed threads were twisted with his beard and afterwards set on fire. He was then dipped in boiling wax, and at last beheaded by the hand of the Tyrant. The Portuguese esteem him a martyr, and say that his torments and death were inflicted because he would not renounce the Faith. See Faria y Sousa.

He must be a dull Reader indeed who cannot perceive and relish the amazing variety which prevails in our poet. In every page it appears. In the historical narrative of wars, where it is most necessary, yet from the sameness of the subject, most difficult to attain, our author always attains it with the most graceful ease. In the description of countries he not only follows the manner of Homer and Virgil, not only distinguishes each region by its most striking characteristic, but he also diversifies his geography with other incidents introduced by the mention of the place. St. Catherine, Virgin and Martyr, according to Romish histories, was buried on Sinai, and a chapel erected over her grave.

Don Pedro de Castel-Branco. He obtained a great victory, near Ormuz, over the combined fleets of the Moors, Turks, and Persians.

The island of Barem is situated in the Persian gulph, near the influx of the Euphrates and Tygris. It is celebrated for the plenty, variety and fineness of its diamonds.

This was the character of the Persians when Gama arrived in the East. Yet though they thought it dishonourable to use the musket, they esteemed it no disgrace to rush from a thicket on an unarmed foe. This reminds one of the spirit of the old romance. Orlando having taken the first invented cannon from the king of Friza, throws it into the sea with the most heroic execrations. Yet the heroes of chivalry think it no disgrace to take every advantage afforded by invulnerable hides, and inchanted armour.

Presuming on the ruins which are found on this island, the natives pretend that the Armuzia of Pliny and Strabo was here situated. But this is a mistake, for that city stood on the continent. The Moors, however, have built a city in this isle, which they call by the ancient name.

Pedro de Cabral, of whom see the preface.

Macon, a name of Mecca, the birth place of Mohammed.

There are, to talk in the Indian style, a cast of gentleman, whose hearts are all impartiality and candour to every religion, except one, the most moral one which ever the world heard. A tale of a Bramin or a priest of Jupiter would to them appear worthy of poetry. But to introduce an Apostle—Common sense, however, will prevail; and the episode of St. Thomas will appear to the true Critic equal in dignity and propriety. In propriety, for

To renew and compleat the labours of the Apostle, the messenger of heaven, is the great design of the hero of the poem, and of the future missions in consequence of the discoveries which are the subject of it.

The Christians of St. Thomas, found in Malabar on the arrival of Gama, we have already mentioned, p. 49. but some farther account of the subject will certainly be agreeable to the curious. The Jesuit missionaries have given most pompous accounts of the Christian antiquities of India and China. When the Portuguese arrived in India, the head of the Malabar Christians, named Jacob, stiled himself Metrapolitan of India and China. And a Chaldaic breviary of the Indian Christians offers praise to God for sending St. Thomas to India and China. In 1625, in digging for a foundation near Siganfu, metropolis of the province of Xensi, was found a stone with a cross on it, full of Chinese, and some Syriac characters, containing the names of bishops, and an account of the Christian religion, “that it was brought from Judea; that having been weakened, it was renewed under the reign of the great Tam,” (cir. A. D. 630.) But the Christians, say the Jesuits, siding with the Tartars, cir. A. D. 1200, were extirpated by the Chinese. In 1543, Fernand Pinto, observing some ruins near Peking, was told by the people, that 200 years before, a holy man, who worshiped Jesus Christ, born of a Virgin, lived there; and being murdered, was thrown into a river, but his body would not sink; and soon after the city was destroyed by earthquake. The same Jesuit found people at Caminam who knew the doctrines of Christianity, which they said was preached to their fathers by John the disciple of Thomas. In 1635, some heathens by night passing through a village in the province of Fokien saw some stones which emitted light, under which were found the figure of crosses. From China St. Thomas returned to Meliapore in Malabar, at a time when a prodigious beam of timber floated on the sea near the coast. The king endeavoured to bring it ashore, but all the force of men and elephants was in vain. St. Thomas desired leave to build a church with it, and immediately dragged it to shore with a single thread. A church was built, and the king baptized. This enraged the Bramins, the chief of whom killed his own son, and accused Thomas of the murder. But the Saint, by restoring the youth to life, discovered the wickedness of his enemies. He was afterwards killed by a lance while kneeling at the altar; after, according to tradition, he had built 3300 stately churches, many of which were rebuilt, cir. 800, by an Armenian, named Thomas Cananeus. In 1523, the body of the Apostle, with the head of the lance beside him, was found in his church by D. Duarte de Meneses; and in 1558 was by D. Constantine de Braganza removed to Goa. To these accounts, selected from Faria y Sousa, let two from Osorius be added. When Martin Alonzo de Souza was viceroy, some brazen tables were brought to him, inscribed with unusual characters, which were explained by a learned Jew, and imported that St. Thomas had built a church in Meliapore. And by an account sent to Cardinal Henrico, by the Bp. of Cochin, in 1562, when the Portuguese repaired the ancient chapel of St. Thomas, there was found a stone cross with several characters on it, which the best antiquarians could not interpret, till at last a Bramin translated it, “That in the reign of Sagam, Thomas was sent by the Son of God, whose disciple he was, to teach the law of heaven in India; that he built a church, and was killed by a Bramin at the altar.”

A view of Portuguese Asia, which must include the labours of the Jesuits, forms a necessary part in the comment on the Lusiad: This note, therefore, and some obvious reflections upon it, are in place. It is as easy to bury an inscription and find it again, as it is to invent a silly tale; but though suspicio of fraud on the one hand, and silly absurdity on the other, lead us to despise the authority of the Jesuits, yet one fact remains indisputable. Christianity had been much better known in the East, several centuries before, than it was at the arrival of Gama. Where the name was unknown, and where the Jesuits were unconcerned, crosses were found. The long existence of the Christians of St. Thomas in the midst of a vast Pagan empire, proves that the learned of that empire must have some knowledge of their doctrines. And these facts give countenance to some material conjectures concerning the religion of the Bramins. For these we shall give scope immediately.

The existence of this breviary is a certain fact. These Christians had the Scripture also in the Chaldaic language.

This was a very ancient building, in the very first style of Christian churches. The Portuguese have now disfigured it with their repairs and new buildings.

Of this, thus Osorius; “Terna fila ab huméro dextero in latus sinistrum gerunt, ut designent trinam in natura divina rationem.” They (the Bramins) wear three threads, which reach from the right shoulder to the left side, as significant of the trinal distinction in the Divine Nature.” That some sects of the Bramins wear a symbolical Tessera of three threads, is acknowledged on all hands; but from whatever the custom arose, it is not to be supposed that the Bramins, who have thousands of ridiculous contradictory legends, should agree in their accounts or explanations of it. Faria says, that according to the sacred books of the Malabrians, the religion of the Bramins proceeded from fishermen, who left the charge of the temples to their successors, on condition they should wear some threads of their nets, in remembrance of their original. They have various accounts of a Divine Person having assumed human nature. And the God Brahma, as observed by Cudworth, is generally mentioned as united in the government of the universe with two others, sometimes of different names. They have also images with three heads rising out of one body, which they say represent the Divine Nature . But are there any traces of these opinions in the accounts which the Greek and Roman writers have given us of the Bramins? And will the wise pay any credit to the authority of those books which the public never saw, and which, by the obligation of their keepers, they are never to see? and some of which, by the confession of their keepers, since the appearance of Mohammed, have been rejected? The Platonic idea of a trinity of divine attributes was well known to the ancients, yet perhaps the Athanasian controversy offers a fairer field to the conjecturist. That controversy for several ages engrossed the conversation of the East. All the subtilty of the Greeks was called forth, and no speculative contest was ever more universally or warmly disputed; so warmly, that it is a certain fact that Mohammed, by inserting into his Koran some declarations in favour of the Arians, gained innumerable proselytes to his new religion. Abyssinia, Egypt, Syria, Persia, and Armenia, were perplexed with this unhappy dispute, and from the earliest times these countries have had a commercial intercourse with India. The number, blasphemy, and absurdity of the Jewish legends of the Talmuds and Targums, bear a striking resemblance to the holy legends of the Bramins. The Jews also assert the great antiquity of their Talmudical legends. Adam, Enoch and Noah are named among their authors; but we know their date; Jerusalem, ere their birth, was destroyed by Titus. We also know that the accounts which the Greek writers give of the Bramins fall infinitely short of those extravagancies which are confessed even by their modern admirers. And Mohammedism is not more different from Christianity, than the account which even these gentlemen give, is from that of Porphyry. That laborious philosopher, though possessed of all the knowledge of his age, though he mentions their metempsicosis and penances, has not a word of any of their idols, or the legends of Brahma or his brothers. On the contrary he represents their worship as extremely pure and simple. Strabo's account of them is similar. And Eusebius has assured us they worshipped no images . Yet on the arrival of the modern Europeans in India, innumerable were their idols, and all the superstition of ancient Egypt in the adoration of animals and vegetables, seemed more than revived by the Bramins. Who that considers this striking alteration in their features, can withhold his contempt when he is told of the religious care with which these philosophers have these four thousand years preserved their sacred rites: An absurdity only equal to that of those who tell us that God instructed Adam in the mysteries of free masonry, and that Noah every new moon held a mason's lodge in the ark.

Ignorant or unmindful of what the Greeks and Romans have related of the Bramins, and unacquainted with the respectable authorities of many modern travellers, some gentlemen have lately assumed to themselves the only knowledge of the true doctrines of the East. Other Enquirers, and their means of intelligence, have been compared to an Indian receiving his knowledge of Christianity from a London car-man. Yet alas, duped by the conversation of a learned Bramin, an adept in Jesuitism, who is sure to give an intelligent stranger the most glossing account, and not only thus ignorant and duped, but also strongly tinctured with the zeal of enthusiasm for their beloved researches, more than one of these gentlemen have contradicted each other, and have gravely pronounced, that every account of the Bramins, prior to his, was grossly erroneous, and that he himself has enjoyed the only means of knowledge, the friendship and instruction of an Indian philosopher—But let these gentlemen read, and be modest; let them learn to excuse those who cannot so warmly admire the wisdom of India; and let them consider how complete is the ridicule, when, on publishing their discoveries in England, they are obliged to confess that they entirely disagree with each other, though each confidently boasts the infallibility of his learned and honest Bramin—But the whole of the matter appears plainly to be this; The philosophy and mythology of the Bramins form such a boundless chaos of confusion and contradictions, that no two of these philosophers, unacquainted with each other, can possibly give the same or a consistent account of their tenets: And whenever one of superior ingenuity vamps up a fine philosophical theory out of the original mass, another, perhaps equally ingenious, puts one in mind of the spider in Swift's battle of the books, when the bee had destroyed her web. “A plague split you, (quoth the spider) for a giddy whoreson, is it you, with a vengeance, have made all this litter . . . . . and do you think I have nothing else to do, in the devil's name, but to mend and repair after your a ------?” In this strain, verily, may the Bramins of some modern discoverers exclaim to each other.

In the dissertation on the religion of the Bramins, (Lusiad VII.) several specimens of their legends are already given. The Translator, however, is tempted to add another, from Faria's account of the sacred books of the Malabrians. They hold an eternal succession of worlds, each to take place after an Annus Magnus. Every thing at the end of these periods is destroyed, except Ixoreta or the Deity, which is then reduced to the size of a dew drop; when, having chirped like a cricket, the divine substance in itself produces the five element, (for what they call the heavenly matter they esteem the fifth) and then dividing itself, the heavens and the earth are formed. In terra, simulac formata est, apparet mons argenteus, cujus in vertice conspiciuntur τα αιδοια, quæ verum Ixoreta sive Numen appellant, et causam causarum. Tum deus Ixora pene suo, insigni magnitudine, terrarum orbem in septem maria, septemque terras arando dividit. Liræ montes sunt, sulci vero valles ac flumina. Exoritur e tergo dei Ixora femina Chati, verbis quibusdam magicis evocata. Hi duo coire concupiunt, sed obstat longitudo membri dei Ixora; ille vero abscindit partes octodecim, ex quibus arma facta sunt, nimirum hasta, arcus, ensis, &c. Deinde nimis arctam in femina Chati digito aperit viam, et sanguinem vulneris in palma receptum, in aerem dispergit, ex quo Sol, luna, stellæ, rosæ, herbæ odoriferæ, et angues, (quod genus animalium apud eos sacrum est) protinus formantur; et impedimento omni jam sublato, coeunt Ixora et Chati, procreantque ad terram incolendam homines, bruta, et dæmones malificos; in cælo autem generant animarum 33,000,000. Besides this, almost infinite are the absurd legends of the god Ixora, and his brothers Vistnu and Brama. One other shall only be added. Vistnu, having metamorphosed himself into his younger brother Siri Christna, overcame the serpent Caliga, of nine leagues in length, which lived in a lake made by its own venom. This, and the origin of Chati, afford some obvious hints to the investigators of mythology.

To these undoubted facts the author will not add the authority of a Xavier, who tells us, that he prevailed upon a Bramin to explain to him some part of their hidden religion; when to his surprize, the Indian, in a low voice, repeated the Ten Commandments.

χιλιαδες πολλαι των λεγομενων Βραχμανων, οιτινες κατα παραδισον των προγονων και κ/μων, ουτε φονευουσιν, ΟΥΤΕ ΞΟΑΝΑ ΣΕΒΟΝΤΑΙ— Euseb. Prep. Evan. Lib. 6. c. 10 p. 275. Ed. Paris. 1628.

The versification of the original is here exceedingly fine. Even those who are unacquainted with the Portuguese may perceive it.

Choraraóte Thomé, o Gange, o Indo,
Choroute toda a terra, que pisaste;
Mas mais te choráo as almas, que vestindo
Se hiáo da Santa Fê, que lhe ensinaste:
Mas os anjos do ceo cantando, & rindo,
Te recebem na gloria—

It is now the time to sum up what has been said of the labours of the Jesuits. Diametrically opposite to this advice was their conduct in every Asiatic country where they pretended to propagate the gospel. Sometimes we find an individual sincere and pious, but the great principle which always actuated them as an united body was the lust of power and secular emolument, the possession of which they thought could not be better secured, than by rendering themselves of the utmost importance to the See of Rome. In consequence of these principles, where ever they came, their first care was to find what were the great objects of the fear and adoration of the people. If the Sun was esteemed the giver of life, Jesus Christ was the son of that luminary, and they were his younger brethren, sent to instruct the ignorant. If the barbarians were in dread of evil spirits, Jesus Christ came on purpose to banish them from the world, had driven them from Europe , and the Jesuits were sent to the East to complete his unfinished mission. If the Indian converts still retained a veneration for the powder of burned cow-dung, the Jesuits made the sign of the cross over it, and the Indian besmeared himself with it as usual. Heaven, or universal matter, they told the Chinese, was the God of the Christians, and the sacrifices of Confucius were solemnized in the churches of the Jesuits. This worship of Confucius, Voltaire (Gen. Hist.) with his wonted accuracy denies. But he ought to have known, that this, with the worship of Tien or Heaven, had been long complained of at the court of Rome, (see, Dupin) and that after the strictest scrutiny the charge was fully proved, and Clement XI. in 1703, sent Cardinal Tournon to the small remains of the Jesuits in the East with a papal decree to reform these abuses. But the Cardinal, soon after his arrival, was poisoned in Siam by the holy fathers. Xavier, and the other Jesuits who succeeded him, by the dextrous use of the great maxims of their master Loyala, Omnibus omnia, et omnia munda mundis, gained innumerable proselytes. They contradicted none of the favourite opinions of their converts, they only baptized, and gave them crucifixes to worship, and all was well. But their zeal in uniting to the See of Rome the Christians found in the East descended to the minutest particulars. And the native Christians of Malabar were so violently persecuted as schismatics, that the heathen princes took arms in their defence in 1570, (see Geddes, Hist. of Malab.) and the Portuguese were almost driven from India. Abyssinia, by the same arts, was steeped in blood, and two or three emperors lost their lives in endeavouring to establish the Pope's supremacy. An order at last was given from the throne, to hang every missionary without trial, wherever apprehended, the Emperor himself complaining that he could not enjoy a day in quiet for the intrigues of the Romish friars. In China also they soon rendered themselves insufferable. Their skill in mathematics and the dependent arts introduced them to great favour at court, but all their cunning could not conceal their villainy. Their unwillingness to ordain the natives raised suspicions against a profession thus monopolized by strangers; their earnest zeal in amassing riches, and their interference with, and deep designs on secular power, the fatal rock on which they have so often been shipwrecked, appeared, and their churches were levelled with the ground. About 90000 of the new converts, together with their teachers, were massacred, and their religion was prohibited. In Japan the rage of government even exceeded that of China, and in allusion to their chief object of adoration, the cross, several of the Jesuit fathers were crucified by the Japonese, and the revival of the Christian name was interdicted by the severest laws. Thus, in a great measure, ended in the East the labours of the society of Ignatius Loyala, a society which might have diffused the greatest blessings to mankind, could honesty have been added to their great learning and abilities. Had that zeal which laboured to promote the interests of their own brotherhood and the Roman See, had that indefatigable zeal been employed in the real interests of humanity and civilization, the great design of diffusing the law of heaven, challenged by its author as the purpose of the Lusiad, would have been amply compleated, and the remotest hords of Tartary and Africa ere now had been happily civilized. But though the Jesuits have failed, they have afforded a noble lesson to mankind,

Though fortified with all the brazen mounds
That art can rear, and watch'd by eagle eyes,
Still will some rotten part betray the structure
That is not based on simple honesty.

This trick, it is said, has been played in America within these twenty years, where the notion of evil spirits gives the poor Indians their greatest misery. The French Jesuits told the six nations, that Jesus Christ was a Frenchman, and had driven all evil dæmons from France; that he had a great love for the Indians, whom he intended also to deliver, but taking England in his way, he was crucified by the wicked Londoners.

The innumerable superstitions performed on the banks of this river, afford a pityable picture of the weakness of humanity. These circumstances here mentioned are literally true. And it is no uncommon scene for the English ships to be surrounded with the corpses which come floating down this hallowed stream.

The tradition of this country boasted this infamous and impossible original. While other nations pretend to be descended of demi-gods, the Pegusians were contented to trace their pedigree from a Chinese woman and a dog, the only living creatures which survived a shipwreck on their coast. See Faria. This infamy, however, they could not deserve. Animals of a different species may generate together, but nature immediately displays her abhorrence, in unvariably depriving the unnatural production of the power of procreation.

Thus in the original:

Aqui soante arame no instrumento
Da géraçáo costumáo, o que usaráo
Por manha da Raynha, que inventando
Tal uso, deitou fóra o error nefando.

Relatum est de Regina quadam terræ Peguensis, quod ad coercendum crimen turpissimum subditorum suorum, legem tulit, ut universi mares orbiculum vel orbiculos quosdam æratos in penem illatos gererent. Ita ut: Cultro penis cuticulam dividunt, eamque in orbiculos hosce superinducunt: statim a prima septimana vulnus conglutinatur. Inseruntur plerumque tres orbiculi: magnitudine infimus ad modum juglandis, primus ferme ad tenerioris gallinæ ovi modum extat. Trium liberorum parens ad libitum onus excutiat. Si horum aliquis a rege dono detur, ut gemma quantivis pretii æstimatur. To this let the testimony of G. Arthus, (Hist. Ind. Orient. p. 313.) be added, Virgines in hoc regno omnino nullas reperire licet: Puellæ enim omnes statim a pueritia sua medicamentum quoddam usurpant, quo muliebria distenduntur & aperta continentur: idque propter globulos quos in virgis viri gestant; illis enim admittendis virgines arctiores nullo modo sufficerent.

According to Balby, and Cæsar Frederic, the empire of Pegu, which the year before sent armies of two millions to the field, was in 1598, by famine and the arms of the neighbouring princes of Ava, Brama, and Siam, reduced to the most miserable state of desolation, the few natives who survived having left their country an habitation for wild beasts.

See the same account of Sicily. Virg. En. III.

Sumatra has been by some esteemed the Ophir of the Holy Scriptures; but the superior fineness of the gold of Sofala, and its situation, favour the claim of that Ethiopian isle. See Bochart. Geog. Sacr.

The extensive countries between India and China, where Ptolemy places his man-eaters, and where Mandevylle found men without heads, who saw and spoke through holes in their breasts, continues still very imperfectly known. The Jesuits have told many extravagant lies of the wealth of these provinces. By the most authentic accounts they seem to have been peopled by colonies from China. The religion and manufactures of the Siamese, in particular, confess the resemblance. In some districts, however, they have greatly degenerated from the civilization of the mother country.

Much has been said on this subject, some denying and others asserting the existence of Anthropophagi, or man-eaters. Porphyry, (de Abstin. l. 4. § 21. ) says that the Massagetæ and Derbices (people of northeastern Asia) esteeming those most miserable who died of sickness, when their parents and relations grew old, killed and eat them, holding it more honourable thus to consume them, than that they should be destroyed by vermin. Hieronymus has adopted this word for word, and has added to it an authority of his own, Quid loquar, says he, (Adv. Jov. l. 2. c. 6.) de cæteris nationibus; cum ipse adolescentulus in Gallia viderim Scotos, gentem Britannicam, humanis vesci carnibus, et cum per sylvas porcorum greges & armentorum, pecudumque reperiant, pastorum nates, et fæminarum papillas solere abscindere, & has solas ciborum delicias arbitrari? Mandevylle ought next to be cited. “Aftirwarde men gon be many yles be see unto a yle that men clepen Milhe: there is a full cursed peple: thei delyten in ne thing more than to fighten and to sle men, and to drynken gladlyest mannes blood, which they clepen Dieu.” p. 235. Yet whatever absurdity may appear on the face of these tales; and what can be more absurd, than to suppose that a few wild Scots or Irish (for the name was then proper to Ireland) should so lord it in Gaul, as to eat the breasts of the women and the hips of the shepherds? Yet whatever absurdities our Mandevylles may have obtruded on the public, the evidence of the fact is not thereby wholly destroyed. Though Dampier and other visiters of barbarous nations have assured us that they never met with any man-eaters, and though Voltaire has ridiculed the opinion, yet one may venture the assertion of their existence, without partaking of a credulity similar to that of those foreigners, who believed that the men of Kent were born with tails like sheep, (see Lambert's Peramb.) the punishment inflicted upon them for the murder of Thomas a Becket. Many are the credible accounts, that different barbarous nations used to eat their prisoners of war. According to the authentic testimony of the best Portuguese writers, the natives of Brazil, on their high festivals, brought forth their captives, and after many barbarous ceremonies, at last roasted and greedily devoured their mangled limbs. During his torture, the unhappy victim prided himself in his manly courage, upbraiding their want of skill in the art of tormenting, and telling his murderers that his belly had been the grave of many of their relations. Thus the fact was certain, long before a late voyage discovered the horrid practice in New Zealand. To drink human blood has been more common. The Gauls and other ancient nations practised it. When Magalhaens proposed Christianity to the King of Subo, a north eastern Asiatic island, and when Francis de Castro discovered Santigana and other islands, an hundred leagues north of the Maluccos, the conversion of their kings was confirmed by each party drinking of the blood of the other. Our poet Spenser tells us, in his View of the State of Ireland, that he has seen the Irish drink human blood, particularly he adds, “at the execution of a notable traitor at Limmerick, called Murrogh O'Brien, I saw an old woman, who was his foster-mother, take up his head whilst he was quartering, and suck up all the blood that run thereout, saying, that the earth was not worthy to drink it, and therewith also steeped her face and breast and tore her hair, crying out and shrieking most terribly.” It is worthy of regard that the custom of marking themselves with hot irons, and tattooing, is the characteristic both of the Guios of Camoens and of the present inhabitants of New Zealand. And if, as its animals indicate, the island of Otaheite was first peopled by a shipwreck, the friendship existing in a small society might easily obliterate the memory of one custom, while the less unfriendly one of tattooing was handed down, a memorial that they owed their origin to the north eastern parts of Asia, where that custom particularly prevails.

Ιστορουνται γαρ Μασσαγεται και Δερβικες αθλεωτατους ηγεισθαι των οικειων τους α[]ματους τελευτησαντας δυο και φθασαντες καταθεουσιν και εστεωνται των φιλτατων τους γεγηρακοτας.

That queen Elizabeth reigned in England, is not more certain than that the most ignorant nations in all ages have had the idea of a state after death. The same faculty which is conscious of existence, whispers the wish for it; and so little acquainted with the deductions of reasoning have some tribes been, that not only their animals, but even the ghosts of their domestic utensils have been believed to accompany them in the islands of the Blessed. Long ere the voice of philosophy was heard, the opinion of an after state was popular in Greece. The works of Homer bear incontestible evidence of this. And there is not a feature in the history of the human mind better ascertained, than that no sooner did speculation seize upon the topic, than belief declined, and as the great Bacon observes, the most learned became the most atheistical ages. The reason of this is obvious. While the human mind is all simplicity, popular opinion is cordially received; but when reasoning begins, proof is expected, and deficiency of demonstration being perceived, doubt and disbelief naturally follow. Yet strange as it may appear, if the writer's memory does not greatly deceive him, these certain facts were denied by Hobbes. If he is not greatly mistaken, that gentleman, who gave a wretched, a most unpoetical translation of Homer, has so grossly misunderstood his author, as to assert that his mention of a future state was not in conformity to the popular opinion of his age, but only his own poetical fiction. He might as well have assured us, that the sacrifices of Homer had never any existence in Greece. But as no absurdity is too gross for some geniuses, our murderer of Homer, our Hobbes, has likewise asserted, that the belief of the immortality of the human mind was the child of pride and speculation, unknown in Greece till long after the appearance of the Iliad.

It was on the mouth of this river that Camoens suffered the unhappy shipwreck which rendered him the sport of fortune during the remainder of his life. Our Poet metions himself and the saving of his Lusiads with the greatest modesty. But though this indifference has its beauty in the original, it is certainly the part of a Translator to add a warmth of colouring to a passage of this nature. For the literal translation of this place and farther particulars, see the Life of Camoens.

According to Le Comte's memoirs of China, and those of other travellers, the mariner's compass, fire-arms, and printing were known in that empire, long ere the invention of these arts in Europe. But the accounts of Du Halde, Le Compte, and the other Jesuits, are by no means to be depended on. It was their interest, in order to gain credit in Europe and at the court of Rome, to magnify the splendor of the empire where their mission lay, and they have magnified it into Romance itself. It is pretended that the Chinese used firearms in their wars with Zenghis Khan, and Tamerlane; but it is also said that the Sogdianians used cannon against Alexander. The mention of any sulphurous composition in an old writer is with some immediately converted into a regular tire of artillery. The Chinese, indeed, on the first arrival of Europeans, had a kind of mortars, which they called fire-pans, but they were utter strangers to the smaller fire-arms. Verbiest, a Jesuit, was the first who taught them to make brass cannon set upon wheels. And even so late as the hostile menance which Anson gave them, they knew not how to level or manage their ordinance to any advantage. Their printing is indeed much more ancient than that of Europe, but it does not deserve the same name, the blocks of wood with which they stamp their sheets being as inferior to the use of, as different from the moveable types of Europe. The Chinese have no idea of the graces of fine writing; here most probably the fault exists in their language; but the total want of nature in their painting and of symetry in their architecture, in both of which they have so long been experienced, afford a heavy accusation against their genius. But in planning gardens, and in the arts of beautifying the face of their country, they are unequalled. Yet even in their boasted gardening their genius stands accused. The art of ingrafting, so long known to Europe, is still unknown to them. And hence their fruits are vastly inferior in flavour to those of the western world. The amazing wall of defence against the Tartars, though 1500 miles in extent, is a labour inferior to the canals, lined on the sides with hewn stone, which every where enrich and adorn their country; some of which reach 1000 miles, and are of depth to carry vessels of burthen. These grand remains of antiquity prove there was a time when the Chinese were a much more accomplished people than at present. Though their princes for these many centuries have discovered no such efforts of genius as these, the industry of the people still remains, in which they rival and resemble the Dutch. In every other respect they are the most unamiable of mankind: Amazingly uninventive, for, though possessed of them, the arts have made no progress among the Chinese these many centuries: Even what they were taught by the Jesuits is almost lost: So false in their dealings, they boast that none but a Chinese can cheat a Chinese: The crime which disgraces human nature, is in this nation of athiests and the most stupid of all idolaters, common as that charter'd libertine, the Air. Destitute even in idea of that elevation of soul, which is expressed by the best sense of the word piety, in the time of calamity whole provinces are desolated by self-murder; an end, as Hume says of some of the admired names of antiquity, not unworthy of so detestable a character: And, as it is always found congenial to baseness of heart, the most dastardly cowardice compleats the description of that of the Chinese.

Unimproved as their arts is their learning. Though their language consists of few words, it is almost impossible for a stranger to attain the art of speaking it. And what an European learns ere he is seven years old, to read, is the labour of the life of a Chinese. In place of our 24 letters, they have more than 60,000 marks, which compose their writings; and their paucity of words, all of which may be attained in a few hours, requires such an infinite variety of tone and action, that the slightest mistake in modulation renders the speaker unintelligible. And in addressing a great man, in place of my Lord, you may call him a beast, the word being the same, all the difference consisting in the tune of it. A language like this must ever be a bar to the progress and accomplishments of literature. Of medicine they are very ignorant. The ginseng, which they pretended was an universal remedy, is found to be a root of no singular virtue. Their books consist of odes without poetry, and of moral maxims, excellent in themselves, but without investigation or reasoning. For to philosophical discussion and the metaphysics they seem utterly strangers, and when taught the mathematics by the Jesuits, their greatest men were lost in astonishment. Whatever their political wisdom has been, at present it is narrow and barbarous. Jealous least strangers steal their arts, arts which are excelled at Dresden and other parts of Europe, they preclude themselves from the great advantages which arise from an intercourse with civilized nations. Yet in the laws which they impose on every foreign ship which enters their ports for traffic, they even exceed the cunning and avarice of the Hollanders. In their internal policy the military government of Rome under the emperors is revived with accumulated barbarism. In every city and province the military are the constables and peace officers. What a picture is this! Nothing but Chinese or Dutch industry could preserve the traffic and population of a country under the controul of armed ruffians. But hence the emperor has leisure to cultivate his gardens, and to write despicable odes to his concubines.

Whatever was their most ancient doctrine, certain it is that the legislators who formed the present system of China presented to their people no other object of worship than Tien Kamti, the material heavens and their influencing power; by which an intelligent principle is excluded. Yet finding that the human mind in the rudest breasts is conscious of its weakness, and prone to believe the occurrences of life under the power of lucky or unlucky observances, they permitted their people the use of sacrifices to these Lucretian Gods of superstitious fear. Nor was the principle of devotion imprinted by heaven in the human heart alone perverted; another unextinguishable passion was also misled. On tables, in ever family, are written the names of the last three of their ancestors, added to each, Here rests his soul; and before these tables they burn incense and pay adoration. Confucius, who, according to their histories, had been in the West about 500 years before the Christian æra, appears to be only the confirmer of their old opinions; but the accounts of him and his doctrine are involved in uncertainty. In their places of worship however, boards are set up, inscribed, This is the seat of the soul of Confucius, and to these and their ancestors they celebrate solemn sacrifices, without seeming to possess any idea of the intellectual existence of the departed mind. The Jesuit Ricci, and his brethren of the Chinese mission, very honestly told their converts, that Tien was the God of the Christians, and that the label of Confucius was the term by which they expressed his divine majesty. But after a long and severe scrutiny at the Court of Rome, Tien was found to signify nothing more than heavenly or universal matter, and the Jesuits of China were ordered to renounce this heresy. Among all the sects who worship different idols in China, there is only one who have any tolerable idea of the immortality of the soul; and among these, says Leland, Christianity at present obtains some footing. But the most interesting particular of China yet remains to be mentioned. Conscious of the obvious tendency, Voltaire and others have triumphed in the great antiquity of the Chinese, and in the distant period they ascribe to the creation. But the bubble cannot bear the touch. If some Chinese accounts fix the æra of creation 40000 years ago, others are contented with no less than 884953. But who knows not that every nation has its Geoffry of Monmouth? And we have already observed the legends which took their rise from the Annus Magnus of the Chaldean and Egyptian astronomers, an apparent revolution of the stars, which in reality has no existence. To the fancyful, who held this Annus Magnus, it seemed hard to suppose that our world was in its first revolution of the great year, and to suppose that many were past was easy. And that this was the case we have absolute proof in the doctrines of the Bramins, (see the note on the VII. Lusiad) who, though they talk of hundreds of thousands of years which are past, yet confess, that this, the fourth world, has not yet attained its 6000th year. And much within this compass are all the credible proofs of Chinese antiquity comprehended. To three heads all these proofs are reduceable. Their form of government, which, till the conquest of the Tartars in 1644, bore the marks of the highest antiquity; their astronomical observations, and their history.

Simply and purely patriarchal every father was the magistrate in his own family, and the emperor, who acted by his substitutes the Mandarines, was venerated and obeyed as the father of all. The most passive submission to authority thus branched out was inculcated by Confucius and their other philosophers as the greatest duty of morality. But if there is an age in sacred or prophane history, where the manners of mankind are thus delineated, no superior antiquity is proved by the form of Chinese government. Their ignorance of the very ancient art of ingrafting fruit-trees, and the state of their language, so like the Hebrew in its paucity of words, a paucity characteristical of the ages when the ideas of men required few syllables to clothe them, prove nothing farther than the early separation of the Chinese colony from the rest of mankind. Nothing farther, except that they have continued till very lately without any material intercouse with the other nations of the world.

A continued succession of astronomical observations, for 4000 years, was claimed by the Chinese, when they were first visited by the Europeans. Voltaire, that son of truth, has often with great triumph mentioned the undubitable proofs of Chinese antiquity; but at these times he must have received his information from the same dream which told him that Camoens accompanied his friend Gama in the voyage which discovered the East Indies. If Voltaire and his disciples will talk of Chinese astronomy and the 4000 years antiquity of its perfection, let them enjoy every consequence which may possibly result from it. But let them allow the same liberty to others. Let them allow others to draw their inferences from a few stubborn facts, facts which demonstrate the ignorance of the Chinese in astronomy. The earth, they imagined, was a great plain, of which their country was the midst; and so ignorant were they of the cause of eclipses, that they believed the sun and moon were assaulted, and in danger of being devoured by a huge dragon. The stars were considered as the directors of human affairs, and thus their boasted astronomy ends in that silly imposition, judicial astrology. Though they had made some observations on the revolutions of the planets, and though in the emperor's palace there was an observatory, the first apparatus of proper instruments ever known in China was introduced by father Verbiest. After this it need scarcely be added, that their astronomical observations which pretend an antiquity of 4000 years, are as false as a Welch genealogy, and that the Chinese themselves, when instructed by the Jesuits, were obliged to own that their calculations were erroneous and impossible. The great credit and admiration which their astronomical and mathematical knowledge procured to the Jesuits, afford an indubitable confirmation of these facts.

Ridiculous as their astronomical, are their historical antiquities. After all Voltaire has said of it, the oldest date to which their history pretends is not much above 4000 years. During this period 236 kings have reigned, of 22 different families. The first king reigned 100 years, then we have the names of some others, but without any detail of actions, or that concatenation of events which distinguishes authentic history. That mark of truth does not begin to appear for upwards of 2000 years of the Chinese legends. Little more than the names of kings, and these often interrupted with wide chasms, compose all the annals of China, till about the period of the Christian æra. Something like a history then commences, but that is again interrupted by a wide chasm, which the Chinese know not how to fill up otherwise, than by asserting that a century or two elapsed in the time, and that at such a period a new family mounted the throne. Such is the history of China, full brother in every family feature to those Monkish tales, which sent a daughter of Pharoah to be queen of Scotland, which sent Brutus to England, and a grandson of Noah to teach school among the mountains in Wales.

The Chinese Colony! Yes, let philosophy smile; let her talk of the different species of men which are found in every country, let her brand as absurd the opinion of Montesquieu, which derives all the human race from one family. Let her enjoy her triumph. Peace to her insolence, peace to her dreams and her reveries. But let common sense be contented with the demonstration (See Whiston, Bentley, &c.) that a Creation in every country is not wanted, and that one family is sufficient in every respect for the purpose. If philosophy will talk of black and white men as different in species, let common sense ask her for a demonstration, that climate and manner of life cannot produce this difference, and let her add, that there is the strongest presumptive experimental proof, that the difference thus happens. If philosophy draw her inferences from the different passions of different tribes; let common sense reply, that stript of every accident of brutalization and urbanity, the human mind in all its faculties, all its motives, hopes and fears, is most wonderfully the same in every age and country. If philosophy talk of the impossibility of peopling distant islands and continents from one family, let common sense tell her to read Bryant's Mythology. If philosophy assert that the Celts where ever they came found Aborigines, let common sense reply, there were tyrants enough almost 2000 years before their emigrations, to drive the wretched survivers of slaughtered hosts to the remotests wilds. She may also add, that many islands have been found which bore not one trace of mankind, and that even Otaheite bears the evident marks of receiving its inhabitants from a shipwreck, its only animals being the hog, the dog, and the rat. In a word, let common sense say to philosophy, “I open my egg with a pen-knife, but you open yours with the blow of a sledge hammer.”

Tartary, Siberia, Samoyada, Kamchatki, &c. A short account of the Grand Lama of Thibet Tartary shall complete our view of the superstitions of the East. While the other Pagans of Asia worship the most ugly monstrous idols, the Tartars of Thibet adore a real living God. He sits cross-legged on his throne in the great Temple, adorned with gold and diamonds. He never speaks, but sometimes elevates his hand in token that he approves of the prayers of his worshippers. He is a ruddy well looking young man, about 25 or 27, and is the most miserable wretch on earth, being the mere puppet of his priests, who dispatch him whenever age or sickness make any alteration in his features; and another, instructed to act his part, is put in his place. Princes of very distant provinces send tribute to this Deity and implore his blessing, and as Voltaire has merrily told us, think themselves secure of benediction, if favoured with something from his Godship, esteemed more sacred than the hallowed cow-dung of the Bramins.

By this beautiful metaphor, omitted by Castera, Camoens alludes to the great success, which in his time attended the Jesuit missionaries in Japan. James I. sent an embassy to the sovereign, and opened a trade with this country, but it was soon suffered to decline. The Dutch are the only Europeans who now traffic with the Japonese, which it is said they obtain by trampling on the cross and by abjuring the Christian name. In religion the Japonese are much the same as their neighbours of China. And in the frequency of self-murder, says Voltaire, they vie with their brother islanders of England.

These are commonly called the birds of Paradise. It was the old erroneous opinion that they always soared in the air, and that the female hatched her young on the back of the male. Their feathers bear a mixture of the most beautiful azure, purple and golden colours, which have a fine effect in the rays of the sun.

Streams of this kind are common in many countries. Castera attributes this quality to the excessive cold of the waters, but this is a mistake. The waters of some springs are impregnated with sparry particles, which adhering to the herbage or the clay on the banks of their channel, harden into stone and incrust the original retainers.

Benjamin, a species of frankincense. The oil mentioned in the next line, is that called the rock oil, a black fœtid mineral oleum, good for bruises and sprains.

A sea plant, resembling the palm, grows in great abundance in the bays about the Maldivian islands. The boughs rise to the top of the water, and bear a kind of apple, called the coco of Maldivia, which is esteemed an antidote against poison.

The imprint of a human foot is found on the high mountain, called the Pic of Adam. Legendary tradition says, that Adam, after he was expelled from Paradise, did penance 300 years on this hill, on which he left the print of his footstep. This tale seems to be Jewish or Mohammedan, for the natives, according to Capt. Knox, who was twenty years a captive in Ceylon, pretend the impression was made by the God Buddow, when he ascended to heaven, after having for the salvation of mankind, appeared on the earth. His priests beg charity for the sake of Buddow, whose worship they perform among groves of the Bogahah-tree, under which, when on earth, they say he usually sat and taught.

Madagascar is thus named by the natives.

The sublimity of this eulogy on the expedition of the Lusiad has been already observed. What follows is a natural completion of the whole; and, the digressive exclamation at the end excepted, is exactly similar to the manner in which Homer has concluded the Iliad.

We are now presented with a beautiful view of the American world. Columbus discovered the West Indies before, but not the Continent till 1498, the year after Gama sailed from Lisbon.

Cabral, the first after Gama who sailed to India, was driven by Tempest to the Brazils, a proof that more ancient voyagers might have met with the same fate. He named the country Santa Cruz, or Holy Cross; it was afterward named Brazil, from the colour of the wood, with which it abounds. It is one of the finest countries in the new world, and still remains subject to the crown of Portugal.

Camoens, though he boasts of the actions of Magalhaens as an honour to Portugal, yet condemns his defection to the king of Spain, and calls him

O Magalhaens, no feito com verdade
Portuguez, porèm naó na lealdade.

“In deeds truly a Portuguese, but not in loyalty.” And others have bestowed upon him the name of Traytor, but perhaps undeservedly. Justice to the name of this great man requires an examination of the charge. Ere he entered into the service of the king of Spain by a solemn act he unnaturalized himself. Osorius is very severe against this unavailing rite, and argues that no injury which a prince may possibly give, can authorize a subject to act the part of a traytor against his native country. This is certainly true, but it is not strictly applicable to the case of Magalhaens. Many eminent services performed in Africa and India entitled him to a certain allowance, which, though inconsiderable in itself, was esteemed as the reward of distinguished merit, and therefore highly valued. For this Magalhaens petitioned in vain. He found, says Faria, that the malicious accusations of some men had more weight with his sovereign than all his services. After this unworthy repulse, what patronage at the court of Lisbon could he hope? And though no injury can vindicate the man who draws his sword against his native country, yet no moral duty requires that he who has some important discovery in meditation should stifle his design, if uncountenanced by his native prince. It has been alledged, that he embroiled his country in disputes with Spain. But neither is this strictly applicable to the neglected Magalhaens. The courts of Spain and Portugal had solemnly settled the limits within which they were to make discoveries and settlements, and within these did Magalhaens and the court of Spain propose that his discoveries should terminate. And allowing that his calculations might mislead him beyond the bounds prescribed to the Spaniards, still his apology is clear, for it would have been injurious to each court, had he supposed that the faith of the boundary treaty would be trampled upon by either power. If it is said that he aggrandised the enemies of his country, the Spaniards, and introduced them to a dangerous rivalship with the Portuguese settlements; let the sentence of Faria on this subject be remembered, “let princes beware, says he, how by neglect or injustice they force into desperate actions the men who have merited rewards.” As to rivalship, the case of Mr. Law, a North Briton, is apposite. This gentleman wrote an excellent treatise on the improvement of the trade and fisheries of his native country, but his proposals were totally neglected by the commissioners, whose office and duty it was to have patronised him. Was Law, therefore, to sit down in obscurity on a barren field, to stifle his genius, lest a foreign power, who might one day be at war with Great Britain, should be aggrandised by his efforts in commercial policy? No, surely. Deprived of the power of raising himself at home, Mr. Law went to France, where he became the founder of the Misissippi and other important schemes of commerce; yet Law was never branded with the name of traytor. The reason is obvious. The government of Great Britain was careless of what they lost in Mr. Law, but the Portuguese perceived their loss in Magalhaens, and their anger was vented in reproaches.

In the end of the 15th and beginning of the 16th centuries, the spirit of discovery broke forth in its greatest vigour. The east and the west had been visited by Gama and Columbus; and the bold idea of sailing to the east by the west was revived by Magalhaens. Revived, for misled by Strabo and Pliny, who place India near to the west of Spain, Columbus expecting to find the India of the ancients when he landed on Hispaniola, thought he had discovered the Ophir of Solomon. And hence the name of Indies was given to that and the neighbouring islands. Though America and the Moluccas were now found to be at a great distance, the genius of Magalhaens still suggested the possibility of a western passage. And accordingly, possessed of his great design, and neglected with contempt at home, he offered his service to the court of Spain, and was accepted. With five ships and 250 men he sailed from Spain in September 1519, and after many difficulties, occasioned by mutiny and the extreme cold, he entered the great Pacific Ocean or South Seas by those straits which bear his Spanish name Magellan. From these straits, in the 52 ½ degree of southern latitude, he traversed that great ocean, till in the 10th degree of North latitude he landed on the island of Subo or Marten. The king of this country was then at war with a neighbouring prince, and Magalhaens, on condition of his conversion to christianity, became his auxiliary. In two battles the Spaniards were victorious, but in the third, Magalhaens, together with one Martinho, a judicial astrologer, whom he usually consulted, was unfortunately killed. Chagrined with the disappointment of promised victory, the new baptized king of Subo made peace with his enemies, and having invited to an entertainment the Spaniards on shore, he treacherously poisoned them all. The wretched remains of the fleet arrived at the Portuguese settlements in the isles of Banda and Ternate, where they were received, says Faria, as friends, and not as intruding strangers; a proof that the boundary treaty was esteemed sufficiently sacred. Several of the adventurers were sent to India, and from thence to Spain, in Portuguese ships, one ship only being in a condition to return to Europe by the Cape of Good Hope. This vessel, named the Victoria, however, had the honour to be the first which ever surrounded the globe; an honour by some ignorantly attributed to the ship of Sir Francis Drake. Thus unhappily ended, says Osorius, the expedition of Magalhaens. But the good Bishop was mistaken, for a few years after he wrote, and somewhat upwards of fifty after the return of the Victoria, Philip II. of Spain availed himself of the discoveries of Magalhaens. And the navigation of the South Seas between Spanish America and the Asian Archipelago, at this day forms the basis of the power of Spain. A basis, however, which is at the mercy of Great Britain, while her ministers are wise enough to preserve her great naval superiority. A Gibraltar in the South Seas is only wanting. But when this is mentioned, who can withold his eyes from the isthmus of Darien? the rendezvous appointed by nature for the fleets which may one day give law to the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans: A settlement which to-day might have owned subjection to Great Britain, if justice and honour had always presided in the cabinet of William the Third.

The Patagonians. Various are the fables of navigators concerning these people. The Spaniards who went with Magalhaens affirmed they were about ten feet in height, since which voyage they have risen and fallen in their stature, according to the different humours of our sea wits.

We are now come to the conclusion of the fiction of the island of Venus, a fiction which is divided into three principal parts. In each of these the poetical merit is obvious, nor need we fear to assert that the happiness of our author, in uniting all these parts together in one great episode, would have excited the admiration of Longinus. The heroes of the Lusiad receive their reward in the island of Love. They are led to the palace of Thetis, where, during a divine feast, they hear the glorious victories and conquests of the heroes who are to succeed them in their Indian expedition, sung by a Syren; and the face of the globe itself, described by the Goddess, discovers the universe, and particularly the extent of the Eastern World, now given to Europe by the success of Gama. Neither in grandeur nor in happiness of completion may the Eneid or Odyssey be mentioned in comparison. The Iliad alone, in Epic conduct (as already observed) bears a strong resemblance. But however great in other views of poetical merit, the games at the funeral of Patroclus and the redemption of the body of Hector, considered as the interesting conclusion of a great whole, can never in propriety and grandeur be brought into competition with the admirable episode which concludes the Poem on the Discovery of India.

Soon after the appearance of the Lusiad, the language of Spain was also enriched with an heroic poem. The author of which has often imitated the Portuguese poet, particularly in the fiction of the globe of the world, which is shewed to Gama. In the Araucana, a globe surrounded with a radiant sphere, is also miraculously supported in the air; and on this an enchanter shews to the Spaniards the extent of their dominions in the new world. But Don Alonzo d'Arcilla is in this, as in every other part of his poem, greatly inferior to the poetical spirit of Camoens. Milton, whose poetical conduct in concluding the action of his Paradise Lost, as already pointed out, seems formed upon the Lusiad, appears to have had this passage particularly in his eye. For though the machinery of a visionary sphere was rather improper for the situation of his personages, he has nevertheless, though at the expence of an impossible supposition, given Adam a view of the terrestial globe. Michael sets the father of mankind on a mountain.

------ From whose top
The hemisphere of earth in clearest ken
Stretch'd out to th' amplest reach of prospect lay . . . . .
His eye might there command wherever stood
City of old or modern fame, the seat
Of mightiest empire, from the destined walls
Of Cambalu ------, &c.
On Europe thence and where Rome was to sway
The world ------

And even the mention of America seems copied by Milton,

------ in spirit perhaps he also saw
Rich Mexico, the seat of Montezume,
And Cusco in Peru, the richer seat
Of Atabalipa, and yet unspoiled
Guiana, whose great city Geryon's sons
Call El Dorado ------

It must also be owned by the warmest admirer of the Paradise Lost, that the description of America in Camoens,

Vedes a grande terra, que contina
Vai de Calisto ao seu contrario polo.
To farthest north that world enormous bends,
And cold beneath the southern pole-star ends—

Conveys a bolder and a grander idea than all the names enumerated by Milton.

Some short account of the Writers, whose authorities have been adduced in the course of these notes, may not now be improper. Fernando Lopez de Castagneda went to India on purpose to do honour to his countrymen, by enabling himself to record their actions and conquests in the East. As he was one of the first writers on that subject, his geography is often imperfect. This defect is remedied in the writings of John de Barros, who was particularly attentive to this head. But the two most eminent, as well as fullest, writers on the transactions of the Portuguese in the East, are Manuel de Faria y Sousa, knight of the order of Christ, and Hieronimus Osorius, bishop of Sylves. Faria, who wrote in Spanish, was a laborious enquirer, and is very full and circumstantial. With honest indignation he reprehends the rapine of commanders and the errors and unworthy resentments of kings. But he is often so dryly particular, that he may rather be called a journalist than an historian. And by this uninteresting minuteness, his style for the greatest part is rendered inelegant. The Bishop of Sylves, however, claims a different character. His latin is elegant, and his manly and sentimental manner entitles him to the name of Historian, even where a Livy, or a Tacitus, are mentioned. But a sentence from himself, unexpected in a Father of the communion of Rome, will characterise the liberality of his mind. Talking of the edict of king Emmanuel, which compelled the Jews to embrace Christianity, under severe persecution; Nec ex lege, nec ex religione factum . . . . . . . tibi assumas, says he, ut libertatem voluntatis impedias, et vincula mentibus effrenatis injicias? At id neque fieri potest, neque Christi sanctissimum numen approbat. Voluntarium enim sacrificium non vi malo coactum ab hominibus expetit: Neque vim mentibus inferri, sed voluntates ad studium veræ religionis allici & invitari jubet.

It is said, in the preface to Osorius, that his writings were highly esteemed by Queen Mary of England, wife of Philip II. What a pity is it, that this manly indignation of the good Bishop against the impiety of religious persecution, made no impression on the mind of that bigotted Princess!

Thus in all the force of ancient simplicity, and the true sublime ends the Poem of Camoens. What follows, is one of those exuberances we have already endeavoured to defend in our Author, nor in the strictest sense is this concluding one without propriety. A part of the proposition of the Poem is artfully addressed to King Sebastian, and he is now called upon in an address, which is an artful second part to the former, to behold and preserve the glories of his throne.

John I. and Pedro the Just, two of the greatest of the Portuguese monarchs.

Thus imitated, or rather translated into Italian by Guarini.

Con si sublime stil' forse cantato
Havrei del mio Signor l'armi e l'honori,
Ch' or non havria de la Meonia tromba
Da invidiar Achille—

Similarity of condition, we have already observed, produced similarity of complaint and sentiment in Spenser and Camoens. Each was unworthily neglected by the Gothic grandees of his age, yet both their names will live, when the remembrance of the courtiers who spurned them shall sink beneath their mountain tombs. Three beautiful stanzas from Phinehas Fletcher on the memory of Spenser, may also serve as an epitaph for Camoens. The unworthy neglect, which was the lot of the Portuguese Bard, but too well appropriates to him the elegy of Spenser. And every Reader of taste, who has perused the Lusiad, will think of the Cardinal Henrico, and feel the indignation of these manly lines.

Witnesse our Colin , whom tho' all the Graces
And all the Muses nurst; whose well taught song
Parnussus self and Glorian embraces,
And all the learn'd and all the shepherds throng;
Yet all his hopes were crost, all suits deni'd;
Discourag'd, scorn'd, his writings vilifi'd:
Poorly (poor man) he liv'd; poorly (poor man) he di'd.
And had not that great hart (whose honour'd head
Ah lies full low) piti'd thy woful plight,
There hadst thou lien unwept, unburied,
Unblest, nor grac'd with any common rite:
Yet shalt thou live, when thy great foe shall sink
Beneath his mountain tombe, whose fame shall stink;
And time his blacker name shall blurre with blackest ink.
O let th' Iambic Muse revenge that wrong
Which cannot slumber in thy sheets of lead;
Let thy abused honour crie as long
As there be quills to write, or eyes to reade:
On his rank name let thine own votes be turn'd,
Oh may that man that hath the Muses scorn'd,
Alive, nor dead, be ever of a Muse adorn'd.

Colin Clout, Spenser.

Glorian, Elizabeth in the Faerie Queen.

The Earl of Essex.

Lord Burleigh.

THE END.
 

The Lusiad; in the original, Os Lusiadas, The Lusiads, from the Latin name of Portugal, derived from Lusus or Lysas, the companion of Bacchus in his travels, and who settled a colony in Lusitania. See Plin. l. iii. c. 1.