The Lusiad Part 13

Thus, when the ghost of Julius[314] hover'd o'er Philippi's plain, appeas'd with Roman gore, Octavius' legions left the field in flight, While happier Marcus triumph'd in the fight.

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 dar'd before), design'd; That glorious labour which I now pursue, Through seas unsail'd to find the sh.o.r.es that view The day-star, rising from his wat'ry 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[315] an honour'd grave;[316]

That sh.o.r.e 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 sh.o.r.e; Now, reach the strand where n.o.ble Pompey[317] bled; And now, repair'd with rest, to Memphis sped; And now, ascending by the vales of Nile, (Whose waves pour fatness o'er the grateful soil), Through Ethiopia's peaceful dales they stray, Where their glad eyes Messiah's rites[318] survey: And now they pa.s.s the fam'd Arabian flood, } Whose waves of old in wondrous ridges stood, } While Israel's favour'd race the sable[319] bottom trod: } Behind them, glist'ning to the morning skies, The mountains nam'd from Ishmael's offspring[320] rise; Now, round their steps the blest Arabia spreads Her groves of odour, and her balmy meads; And every breast, inspir'd with glee, inhales The grateful fragrance of Sabaea's gales: Now, past the Persian gulf their route ascends Where Tigris' wave with proud Euphrates blends; Ill.u.s.trious streams, where still the native shows Where Babel's haughty tower unfinished rose: From thence, through climes unknown, their daring course Beyond where Trajan forced his way, they force;[321]

Carmanian hordes, and Indian tribes they saw, And many a barb'rous rite, and many a law[322]

Their search explor'd; but, to their native sh.o.r.e, Enrich'd with knowledge, they return'd no more.

The glad completion of the fate's decree, Kind Heaven reserv'd, Emmanuel, for thee.

The crown, and high ambition of thy[323] sires, To thee descending, wak'd thy latent fires, And, to command the sea from pole to pole, With restless wish inflam'd thy mighty soul.

Now, from the sky, the sacred light withdrawn, O'er heaven's clear azure shone the stars of dawn, Deep silence spread her gloomy wings around, And human griefs were wrapp'd in sleep profound.

The monarch slumber'd on his golden bed, Yet, anxious cares possess'd his thoughtful head; His gen'rous soul, intent on public good, The glorious duties of his birth review'd.

When, sent by Heaven, a sacred dream inspir'd His lab'ring mind, and with its radiance fir'd: High to the clouds his tow'ring head was rear'd, New worlds, and nations fierce, and strange, appear'd; The purple dawning o'er the mountains flow'd, The forest-boughs with yellow splendour glow'd; High, from the steep, two copious gla.s.sy 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 flow'rs of various bloom; There, black as night, the forest's horrid gloom, Whose s.h.a.ggy brakes, by human step untrod, Darken'd the glaring lion's dread abode.

Here, as the monarch fix'd his wond'ring eyes, Two h.o.a.ry fathers from the streams arise; Their aspect rustic, yet, a reverend grace Appear'd majestic on their wrinkled face: Their tawny beards uncomb'd, and sweepy long, Adown their knees in s.h.a.ggy ringlets hung; From every lock the crystal drops distil, 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 beck'ning with his wither'd hand, As now advanc'd 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 sh.o.r.es the Fates decree; Our necks, unbow'd before, shall bend to thee.

Wide thro' the world resounds our wealthy fame; Haste, speed thy prows, that fated wealth to claim.

From Paradise my hallow'd waters spring; The sacred Ganges I, my brother king Th' ill.u.s.trious author[324] of the Indian name: Yet, toil shall languish, and the fight shall flame; Our fairest lawns with streaming gore shall smoke, Ere yet our shoulders bend beneath the yoke; But, thou shalt conquer: all thine eyes survey, With all our various tribes, shall own thy sway."

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

Now, morning bursting from the eastern sky, Spreads o'er the clouds the blushing rose's dye, The nations wake, and, at the sov'reign's call, The Lusian n.o.bles 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 fir'd, Had to the glorious, dreadful toil aspir'd: Yet, to the king, whate'er my looks betray'd, My looks the omen of success display'd.

When with that sweetness in his mien express'd, Which, unresisted, wins the gen'rous breast, "Great are the dangers, great the toils," he cried, "Ere glorious honours crown the victor's pride.

If in the glorious strife the hero fall, He proves no danger could his soul appal; And, but to dare so great a toil, shall raise Each age's wonder, and immortal praise.

For this dread toil, new oceans to explore, To spread the sail where sail ne'er flow'd before, For this dread labour, to your valour due, From all your peers I name, O VASCO,[325] 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'[326] 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 sov'reign bore.

That gen'rous praise which fires the soul of worth, And gives new virtues unexpected birth, That praise, e'en now, my heaving bosom fires, Inflames my courage, and each wish inspires.

Mov'd by affection, and allur'd by fame, A gallant youth, who bore the dearest name, Paulus, my brother, boldly su'd to share My toils, my dangers, and my fate in war; And, brave Coello urg'd the hero's claim To dare each hardship, and to join our fame: For glory both with restless ardour burn'd, And silken ease for horrid danger spurn'd; Alike renown'd in council, or in field, The snare to baffle, or the sword to wield.

Through Lisbon's youth the kindling ardour ran, And bold ambition thrill'd from man to man; And each, the meanest of the vent'rous band, With gifts stood honour'd by the sov'reign's hand.

Heavens! what a fury swell'd each warrior's breast, When each, in turn, the smiling king address'd!

Fir'd by his words the direst toils they scorn'd, And, with the horrid l.u.s.t of danger fiercely burn'd.

With such bold rage the youth of Mynia glow'd, When the first keel the Euxine surges plough'd; When, bravely vent'rous for the golden fleece, Orac'lous Argo[327] sail'd from wond'ring Greece.

Where Tago's yellow stream the harbour laves, And slowly mingles with the ocean waves, In warlike pride, my gallant navy rode, And, proudly o'er the beach my soldiers strode.

Sailors and landsmen, 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 gulfs untried to plough: 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 presag'd, that great as Argo's fame, Our fleet should give some starry band a name.

Where foaming on the sh.o.r.e the tide appears, A sacred fane its h.o.a.ry arches rears: Dim o'er the sea the ev'ning 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 Heav'n we raise.

"Safe through the deep, where every yawning wave Still to the sailor's eye displays his grave; Thro' howling tempests, and thro' gulfs untried, O mighty G.o.d! be thou our watchful guide."

While kneeling thus, before the sacred shrine, In holy faith's most solemn rite we join; Our peace with Heav'n the bread of peace confirms, And meek contrition ev'ry bosom warms: Sudden, the lights extinguish'd, all around Dread silence reigns, and midnight-gloom profound; A sacred horror pants on every breath, And each firm breast devotes itself to death, An offer'd sacrifice, sworn to obey My nod, and follow where I lead the way.

Now, prostrate round the hallow'd shrine we lie,[328]

Till rosy morn bespreads the eastern sky; Then, breathing fix'd resolves, my daring mates March to the ships, while pour'd from Lisbon's gates, Thousands on thousands crowding, press along, A woful, weeping, melancholy throng.

A thousand white-rob'd priests our steps attend, And prayers, and holy vows to Heav'n ascend; A scene so solemn, and the tender woe Of parting friends, constrain'd my tears to flow.

To weigh our anchors from our native sh.o.r.e-- } To dare new oceans never dar'd 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 G.o.dlike hero here suppress'd the sigh, And wip'd the tear-drop from his manly eye; Then, thus resuming)--All the peopled sh.o.r.e 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 fix'd the eager look of woe, While tears o'er ev'ry cheek began to flow; When thus aloud, "Alas! my son, my son,"

A h.o.a.ry 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 sh.o.r.e: With hair dishevell'd, through the yielding crowd A lovely bride springs on, and screams aloud; "Oh! where, my husband, where to seas unknown, Where wouldst thou fly, me and my love disown!

And wilt thou, cruel, to the deep consign That valued life, the joy, the soul of mine!

And must our loves, and all the kindred train Of rapt endearments, all expire in vain!

All the dear transports of the warm embrace, When mutual love inspir'd each raptur'd face!

Must all, alas! be scatter'd in the wind, Nor thou bestow one ling'ring 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 woful sound the children wept; The mountain-echoes catch the big swoll'n sighs, And, through the dales, prolong the matron's cries; The yellow sands with tears are silver'd o'er, Our fate the mountains and the beach deplore.

Yet, firm we march, nor turn one glance aside On h.o.a.ry parent, or on lovely bride.

Though glory fir'd our hearts, too well we knew What soft affection, and what love could do.

The last embrace the bravest worst can bear: The bitter yearnings of the parting tear Sullen we shun, unable to sustain The melting pa.s.sion of such tender pain.

Now, on the lofty decks, prepar'd, we stand, When, tow'ring o'er the crowd that veil'd the strand, A reverend figure[329] fix'd each wond'ring eye, And, beck'ning thrice, he wav'd his hand on high, And thrice his h.o.a.ry curls he sternly shook, While grief and anger mingled in his look; Then, to its height his falt'ring voice he rear'd, And through the fleet these awful words were heard:[330]

"O frantic thirst of honour and of fame, The crowd's blind tribute, a fallacious name; What stings, what plagues, what secret scourges curs'd, Torment those bosoms where thy pride is nurs'd!

What dangers threaten, and what deaths destroy The hapless youth, whom thy vain gleams decoy!

By thee, dire tyrant of the n.o.ble 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 sh.o.r.e, 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 dipp'd in blood, be priz'd, While life is scorn'd, and all its joys despis'd?

And say, does zeal for holy faith inspire To spread its mandates, thy avow'd desire?

Behold the Hagarene[331] in armour stands, Treads on thy borders, and the foe demands: A thousand cities own his lordly sway, A thousand various sh.o.r.es his nod obey.

Through all these regions, all these cities, scorn'd Is thy religion, and thine altars spurn'd.

A foe renown'd in arms the brave require; That high-plum'd foe, renown'd for martial fire, Before thy gates his shining spear displays, Whilst thou wouldst fondly dare the wat'ry maze, Enfeebled leave thy native land behind, On sh.o.r.es 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 t.i.tles on her flag be borne: Thee, lord of Persia, thee, of India lord, O'er Ethiopia's vast, and Araby ador'd!

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

Oh! never, never may the sacred Nine,[332]

To crown his brows, the hallow'd wreath entwine; Nor may his name to future times resound; Oblivion be his meed, and h.e.l.l profound!

Curs'd be the wretch, the fire of heaven who stole, And with ambition first debauch'd the soul!

What woes, Prometheus,[333] walk the frighten'd earth!

To what dread slaughter has thy pride giv'n birth!

On proud Ambition's pleasing gales upborne, One boasts to guide the chariot of the morn; And one on treach'rous pinions soaring high,[334]

O'er ocean's waves dar'd sail the liquid sky: Dash'd from their height they mourn'd their blighted aim; One gives a river, one a sea the name!

Alas! the poor reward of that gay meteor, fame!

Yet, such the fury of the mortal race, Though fame's fair promise ends in foul disgrace, Though conquest still the victor's hope betrays, The prize a shadow, or a rainbow-blaze, Yet, still through fire and raging seas they run To catch the gilded shade, and sink undone!"

END OF THE FOURTH BOOK.