The Lusiad Part 17

When Leonardo, whose enamour'd thought In every dream the plighted fair one sought-- "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 n.o.ble theme.

"When Pedro's gallant heir, the valiant John, Gave war's full splendour to the Lusian throne, In haughty England, where the winter spreads His snowy mantle o'er the shining meads,[422]

The seeds of strife the fierce Erynnis sows;[423]

The baleful strife from court dissension rose.

With ev'ry charm adorn'd, and ev'ry grace, That spreads its magic o'er the female face, Twelve ladies shin'd the courtly train among, The first, the fairest of the courtly throng; But, Envy's breath revil'd their injur'd 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.[424]

'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 fam'd, 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-pac'd crystal tears their wrongs bewail.

When down the beauteous face the dew-drop flows, What manly bosom can its force oppose!

His h.o.a.ry curls th' indignant hero shakes, And, all his youthful rage restor'd, 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 laurel crown'd; Had mark'd how bold the Lusian heroes shone, What time he claim'd the proud Castilian throne,[425]

How matchless pour'd the tempest of their might, When, thund'ring at his side, they rul'd the fight: Nor less their ardent pa.s.sion for the fair, Gen'rous and brave, he view'd with wond'ring 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 injur'd 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.'

He spoke; and twelve of Lusian race he names All n.o.ble youths, the champions of the dames.

The dames, by lot, their gallant champions choose,[426]

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' sh.o.r.es 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 n.o.ble 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,[427] a speedy sloop receives The sculptur'd bucklers, and the clasping greaves, The swords of Ebro, spears of lofty size, And breast-plates, flaming with a thousand dyes, Helmets high plum'd, and, pawing for the fight, Bold steeds, whose harness shone with silv'ry light Dazzling the day. And now, the rising gale Invites the heroes, and demands the sail, When brave Magricio thus his peers address'd, 'Oh, friends in arms, of equal powers confess'd, Long have I hop'd 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 unshar'd by me.

Yet, something more than human warms my breast, And sudden whispers,[428] 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 Castile he bends.

On many a field, enrapt, the hero stood, And the proud scenes of Lusian conquest view'd.

Navarre he pa.s.s'd, and pa.s.s'd the dreary wild, Where rocks on rocks o'er yawning glens are pil'd; The wolf's dread range, where, to the ev'ning skies In clouds involv'd, the cold Pyrenians rise.

Through Gallia's flow'ry 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 embroid'ry 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, fix'd 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 glitt'ring to the day: 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 injur'd female name we fight.'

"Beneath a canopy of regal state, High on a throne, the English monarch sat, 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 frothing 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 crystal blaze.

Ah now, the trembling ladies' cheeks how wan!

Cold crept their blood; when, through the tumult ran A shout, loud gath'ring; turn'd was ev'ry 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 glow'd, 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, Quiv'ring the air, the meeting shock resounds Hoa.r.s.e, crashing uproar; griding splinters spring Far round, and bucklers dash'd on bucklers ring.

Their swords flash lightning; darkly reeking o'er The shining mail-plates flows the purple gore.

Torn by the spur, the loosen'd reins at large, Furious, the steeds in thund'ring 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 crowd behold the terrors of the field.

Here, stunn'd and stagg'ring 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.

So, tir'd 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 } Beneath his courser's smiting hoofs: far round } The cloven helms and splinter'd shields resound. } Here, torn and trail'd in dust the harness gay, From the fall'n master springs the steed away; Obscene with dust and gore, slow from the ground Rising, the master rolls his eyes around, Pale as a spectre on the Stygian coast, In all the rage of shame confus'd, and lost: Here, low on earth, and o'er the riders thrown, The wallowing coursers and the riders groan: Before their glimm'ring 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 ign.o.ble 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.

Bold Lancaster the princely feast bestows, The goblet circles, and the music flows; And ev'ry care, the transport of their joy, To tend the knights the lovely dames employ; The green-bough'd 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 ev'ning fall, Loud with the dance resounds the lordly hall: The golden roofs, while Vesper shines, prolong The trembling echoes of the harp and song.

Thus pa.s.s'd the days on England's happy strand, Till the dear mem'ry 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 injur'd lady's knight again.

As Rome's Corvinus[429] o'er the field he strode, And, on the foe's huge cuira.s.s proudly trod.

No more by tyranny's proud tongue revil'd, The Flandrian countess on her hero smil'd.[430]

The Rhine another pa.s.s'd, and prov'd his might,[431]

A fraudful German dar'd him to the fight.

Strain'd in his grasp, the fraudful boaster fell----"

Here sudden stopp'd the youth; the distant yell Of gath'ring tempest sounded in his ears, Unheard, unheeded by his list'ning peers.

Earnest, at full, they urge him to relate Magricio's combat, and the German's fate.

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 rolls the hollow sigh, The storm's dread herald." To the topsails fly The bounding youths, and o'er the yardarms whirl The whizzing ropes, and swift the canvas furl; When, from their grasp the bursting tempests bore The sheets half-gather'd, and in fragments tore.

"Strike, strike the mainsail!" loud again he rears His echoing voice; when, roaring in their ears, As if the starry vault, by thunders riv'n, Rush'd downward to the deep the walls of heav'n, With headlong weight a fiercer blast descends, And, with sharp whirring crash, the mainsail rends; Loud shrieks of horror through the fleet resound; Bursts the torn cordage; rattle far around The splinter'd yardarms; 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: "Oh strain each nerve!" the frantic pilot cries-- "Oh now!"--and instant every nerve applies, Tugging what c.u.mbrous lay, with strainful force; Dash'd by the pond'rous loads, the surges hoa.r.s.e 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 grovelling heaps, the stagger'd soldiers groan: So rolls 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 stagg'ring 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 mainmast, p.r.o.ne, with crashing roar; Their hands, yet grasping their uprooted hair, The sailors lift to heaven in wild despair, The Saviour-G.o.d 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 answ'ring shriek from ship to ship they hear.

Now, on the mountain-billows upward driv'n, The navy mingles with the clouds of heav'n; 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 heav'ns 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 heav'n's high gates the rebel t.i.tans drove; Not such fierce lightnings blaz'd athwart the flood, When, sav'd by Heaven, Deucalion's vessel rode High o'er the delug'd hills. Along the sh.o.r.e The halcyons, mindful of their fate, deplore;[432]

As beating round, on trembling wings they fly, Shrill through the storm their woful clamours die.

So, from the tomb, when midnight veils the plains, With shrill, faint voice, th' untimely ghost complains.[433]

The am'rous dolphins to their deepest caves In vain retreat, to fly the furious waves; 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 p.o.o.p 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 rolls his eyes to heav'n, and spreads his hands, While to the clouds his vessel rides the swell, And now, her black keel strikes the gates of h.e.l.l; "O Thou," he cries, "whom trembling heav'n obeys, Whose will the tempest's furious madness sways, Who, through the wild waves, ledd'st Thy chosen race, While the high billows stood like walls of bra.s.s:[434]

O 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[435]

Safe in Thy care the dreadful billows rode, Oh! save us now, be now the Saviour-G.o.d!

Safe in Thy care, what dangers have we pa.s.s'd!

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 paus'd;--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, pierc'd with Moorish spears, in glorious death Beheld the smiling heav'ns your toils reward, By your brave mates beheld the conquest shar'd; Oh happy you, on every sh.o.r.e renown'd!

Your vows respected, and your wishes crown'd."

He spoke; redoubled rag'd the mingled blasts; Through the torn cordage and the shatter'd masts The winds loud whistled, fiercer lightnings blaz'd, And louder roars the doubled thunders rais'd, 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,[436]

Bright in the east her radiant front she rear'd; Fair, through the horrid storm, the gentle ray Announc'd 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 demon 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 ev'ry brow she bids the rose-buds twine, And ev'ry flower adown the locks to shine, The snow-white lily, and the laurel green, And pink and yellow as at strife be seen.