{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_32528/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_32528","id":"gutenberg_32528","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/32528","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Adventure","Category: Classics of Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Poetry","Epic poetry, Portuguese -- Translations into English","Explorers -- Portugal -- Poetry","Gama, Vasco da, 1469-1524 -- Poetry","India -- Discovery and exploration -- Poetry","Portugal -- Colonies -- Asia -- Poetry","Portuguese poetry -- Classical period, 1500-1700 -- Translations into English"],"text":"Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was\nproduced from scanned images of public domain material\nfrom the Google Print project.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE LUSIAD.\n\n[Illustration: Image of Camo\u00ebns]\n\n\n\n\nTHE LUSIAD;\n\nOR,\n\nTHE DISCOVERY OF INDIA.\n\n_AN EPIC POEM._\n\nTRANSLATED FROM THE PORTUGUESE OF LUIS DE CAMO\u00cbNS.\n\nWITH A LIFE OF THE POET.\n\nBY WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE.\n\n_FIFTH EDITION, REVISED,_\n\nBY E. RICHMOND HODGES, M.C.P.,\n\nHON. LIBRARIAN TO THE SOCIETY OF BIBLICAL ARCH\u00c6OLOGY,\n\n_Editor of \"Cory's Ancient Fragments,\" \"The Principia Hebraica,\" etc., etc._\n\nLONDON: GEORGE BELL AND SONS, YORK STREET,\nCOVENT GARDEN.\n\n1877.\n\n\n\"As the mirror of a heart so full of love, courage, generosity, and\npatriotism as that of Camo\u00ebns, The Lusaid can never fail to please us,\nwhatever place we may assign to it in the records of poetical\ngenius.\"--HALLAM.\n\n\n\n\n[ORIGINAL DEDICATION, 1776.]\n\n\nTO THE DUKE OF BUCCLEUGH.\n\nMY LORD,\n\nThe first idea of offering my LUSIAD to some distinguished personage,\ninspired the earnest wish, that it might be accepted by the illustrious\nrepresentative of that family under which my father, for many years,\ndischarged the duties of a clergyman.\n\nBoth the late Duke of BUCCLEUGH, and the Earl of DALKEITH, distinguished\nhim by particular marks of their favour; and I must have forgotten him,\nif I could have wished to offer the first Dedication of my literary\nlabours to any other than the Duke of BUCCLEUGH.\n\nI am, with the greatest respect,\n  My Lord,\n    Your Grace's most devoted\n      And most obedient humble servant,\n\n        WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE.\n\n\n\n\nEDITOR'S PREFACE.\n\n\nIn undertaking, at the publishers' request, the function of editor of\nMickle's Lusiad, I have compared the translation with the original, and,\nin some places, where another translation seemed preferable to, or more\nliteral than, Mickle's, I have, in addition, given that rendering in a\nfoot-note. Moreover, I have supplied the arguments to the several\ncantos, given a few more explanatory notes, and added a table of\ncontents.\n\n\"The late ingenious translator of the Lusiad,\" says Lord Strangford,[1]\n\"has portrayed the character, and narrated the misfortunes of our poet,\nin a manner more honourable to his feelings as a man than to his\naccuracy in point of biographical detail. It is with diffidence that the\npresent writer essays to correct his errors; but, as the real\ncircumstances of the life of Camo\u00ebns are mostly to be found in his own\nminor compositions, with which Mr. Mickle was unacquainted, he trusts\nthat certain information will atone for his presumption.\"\n\nAs Lord Strangford professes to have better and more recent sources of\ninformation regarding the illustrious, but unfortunate, bard of\nPortugal, I make no apology for presenting to the reader an abstract of\nhis lordship's memoir. Much further information will be found, however,\nin an able article contained in No. 53 of the _Quarterly Review_ for\nJuly, 1822, from the pen, I believe, of the poet Southey. \"The family of\nCamo\u00ebns was illustrious,\" says Lord Strangford, \"and originally Spanish.\nThey were long settled at Cadmon, a castle in Galicia, from which they\nprobably derived their patronymic appellation. However, there are some\nwho maintain that their name alluded to a certain wonderful bird,[2]\nwhose mischievous sagacity discovered and punished the smallest\ndeviation from conjugal fidelity. A lady of the house of Cadmon, whose\nconduct had been rather indiscreet, demanded to be tried by this\nextraordinary judge. Her innocence was proved, and, in gratitude to the\nbeing who had restored him to matrimonial felicity, the contented\nhusband adopted his name.\" It would appear that in a dispute between the\nfamilies of Cadmon and De Castera, a cavalier of the latter family was\nslain. This happened in the fourteenth century. A long train of\npersecution followed, to escape which, Ruy de Camo\u00ebns, having embraced\nthe cause of Ferdinand, removed with his family into Portugal, about\nA.D. 1370. His son, Vasco de Camo\u00ebns, was highly distinguished by royal\nfavour, and had the honour of being the ancestor of our poet, who\ndescended from him in the fourth generation. Luia de Camo\u00ebns, the author\nof the Lusiad, was born at Lisbon about A.D. 1524. His misfortunes began\nwith his birth--he never saw a father's smile--for Simon Vasco de\nCamo\u00ebns perished by shipwreck in the very year which gave being to his\nillustrious son. The future poet was sent to the university of\nCoimbra--then at the height of its fame,--\"and maintained there by the\nprovident care of his surviving parent.\"\n\n\"Love,\" says Lord Strangford, \"is very nearly allied to devotion, and it\nwas in the exercise of the latter, that Camo\u00ebns was introduced to the\nknowledge of the former. In the Church of Christ's Wounds at Lisbon, on\n11th April, 1542, Camo\u00ebns first beheld Do\u00f1a Caterina de Atayde, the\nobject of his purest and earliest attachment ... and it was not long\nbefore Camo\u00ebns enjoyed an opportunity of declaring his affection, with\nall the romantic ardour of eighteen and of a poet.\" The peculiar\nsituation of the lady, as one of the maids of honour to the queen,\nimposed a restraint upon her admirer which soon became intolerable; and\nhe, for having violated the sanctity of the royal precincts, was in\nconsequence banished from the court. Whatever may have been the nature\nof his offence, \"it furnished a pretext to the young lady's relations\nfor terminating an intercourse which worldly considerations rendered\nhighly imprudent.\"\n\nBut Love consoled his votary: his mistress, on the morning of his\ndeparture, confessed the secret of her long-concealed affection, and the\nsighs of grief were soon lost in those of mutual delight. The hour of\nparting was, perhaps, the sweetest of our poet's existence.\n\nCamo\u00ebns removed to Santarem, but speedily returned to Lisbon, was a\nsecond time detected, and again driven into exile.[3]\n\nThe voice of Love inspired our poet \"with the glorious resolution of\nconquering the obstacles which fortune had placed between him and\nfelicity.\" He obtained permission, therefore, to accompany King John\nIII. in an expedition then fitting out against the Moors in Africa. In\none of the engagements with the enemy our hero had the misfortune to\nlose \"his right eye, by some splinters from the deck of the vessel in\nwhich he was stationed. Many of his most pathetic compositions were\nwritten during this campaign, and the toils of a martial life were\nsweetened by the recollection of her for whose sake they were endured.\nHis heroic conduct at length procured his recall to court,\" but to find,\nalas, that his mistress was no more.\n\nDisappointed in his hope of obtaining any recognition of his valiant\ndeeds, he now resolved, under the burning sun of India, to seek that\nindependence which his own country denied. \"The last words I uttered,\"\nsays Camo\u00ebns, \"on board the vessel before leaving, were those of Scipio:\n'Ungrateful country! thou shalt not even possess my bones.'\" \"Some,\"\nsays Lord Strangford, \"attribute his departure to a very different\ncause, and assert that he quitted his native shores on account of an\nintrigue in which he was detected with the beautiful wife of a\nPortuguese gentleman. Perhaps,\" says Lord Strangford, \"this story may\nnot be wholly unfounded.\" On his arrival in India he contributed by his\nbravery to the success of an expedition carried on by the King of\nCochin, and his allies, the Portuguese, against the Pimento Islands; and\nin the following year (1555) he accompanied Manuel de Vasconcelos in an\nexpedition to the Red Sea. Here he explored the wild regions of East\nAfrica, and stored his mind with ideas of scenery, which afterwards\nformed some of the most finished pictures of the Lusiad.\n\nOn his return to Goa, Camo\u00ebns devoted his whole attention to the\ncompletion of his poem; but an unfortunate satire which, under the title\nof _Disparates na India_, or Follies in India, he wrote against the\nvices and corruptions of the Portuguese authorities in Goa, so roused\nthe indignation of the viceroy that the poet was banished to China.\n\nOf his adventures in China, and the temporary prosperity he enjoyed\nthere, while he held the somewhat uncongenial office of _Provedor dos\ndefuntos_, i.e., Trustee for deceased persons, Mickle has given an ample\naccount in the introduction to the Lusiad. During those years Camo\u00ebns\ncompleted his poem, about half of which was written before he left\nEurope. According to a tradition, not improbable in itself, he composed\ngreat part of it in a natural grotto which commands a splendid view of\nthe city and harbour of Macao. An engraving of it may be seen in\nOnseley's Oriental Collections, and another will be found in Sir G.\nStaunton's Account of the Embassy to China.\n\nA little temple, in the Chinese style, has been erected upon the rock,\nand the ground around it has been ornamented by Mr. Fitzhugh, one of our\ncountrymen, from respect to the memory of the poet. The years that he\npassed in Macao were probably the happiest of his life. Of his departure\nfor Europe, and his unfortunate shipwreck at the mouth of the river\nMeekhaun,[4] in Cochin China, Mickle has also given a sufficient\naccount.\n\nLord Strangford has related, on the authority of Sousa, that while our\npoet was languishing in poverty at Lisbon, \"a cavalier, named Ruy de\nCamera, called on him one day, asking him to finish for him a poetical\nversion of the seven penitential psalms. Raising his head from his\nwretched pallet, and pointing to his faithful Javanese attendant, he\nexclaimed, 'Alas, when I was a poet, I was young, and happy, and blest\nwith the love of ladies; but now I am a forlorn, deserted wretch.\nSee--there stands my poor Antonio, vainly supplicating fourpence to\npurchase a little coals--I have them not to give him.' The cavalier, as\nSousa relates, closed both his heart and his purse, and quitted the\nroom. Such were the grandees of Portugal.\" Camo\u00ebns sank under the\npressure of penury and disease, and died in an alms-house, early in\n1579, and was buried in the church of Sta. Anna of the Franciscan\nFriars. Over his grave Gonzalo Coutinho placed the following\ninscription:--\n\n          \"HERE LIES LUIS DE CAMO\u00cbNS.\n      HE EXCELLED ALL THE POETS OF HIS TIME.\n    HE LIVED POOR AND MISERABLE, AND HE DIED SO.\n                      MDLXXIX.\"\n\nThe translator of the Lusiad was born, in 1734, at Langholm, in\nDumfriesshire, where his father, a good French scholar, was the\nPresbyterian minister. At the age of sixteen William Julius Mickle was\nremoved, to his great dislike, from school, and sent into the\ncounting-house of a relation of his mother's, a brewer, where, against\nhis inclination, he remained five years. He subsequently, for family\nreasons, became the head of the firm, and carried on the business. It is\nnot to be wondered at, however, that with his dislike to business in\ngeneral and to this one in particular, he did not succeed; and it is\nquite reasonable to suppose that the cause of his failure, and\nsubsequent pecuniary embarrassments, arose from his having devoted those\nhours to his poetical studies which should have been dedicated to\nbusiness. Mickle obtained afterwards the appointment of corrector of the\nClarendon Press in Oxford, and died at Wheatly, in Oxfordshire, in 1789.\n\nSouthey speaks of Mickle (_Quarterly Review_, liii. p. 29) as a man of\ngenius who had ventured upon the chance of living by his literary\nlabours, and says that he \"did not over-rate the powers which he was\nconscious of possessing, knew that he could rely upon himself for their\ndue exertion, and had sufficient worldly prudence to look out for a\nsubject which was likely to obtain notice and patronage.\" His other\npoems, Pollio, Sir Martyn, etc., with the exception of his Cumnor Hall,\nare not held in high estimation.\n\nDescribing the several poetic versions of the Lusiad, Mr. Musgrave\nsays,[5] of Fanshaw's version, that \"its language is antiquated, and in\nmany instances it travesties the original, and seldom long sustains the\ntone of epic gravity suited to the poem. It is, however,\" says he, \"more\nfaithful than the translation of Mickle, but it would be ungenerous,\" he\nadds, \"to dwell on the paraphrastic licences which abound in Mickle's\nperformance, and on its many interpolations and omissions. Mr. Mickle\nthought, no doubt,\" says Musgrave, \"that by this process he should\nproduce a poem which in its perusal might afford a higher gratification.\nNor am I prepared to say that by all readers this would be deemed a\nmiscalculation. Let it not be supposed, however, that I wish to detract\nfrom the intrinsic merit of his translation. It is but an act of justice\nto admit, that it contains many passages of exquisite beauty, and that\nit is a performance which discovers much genius, a cultivated taste, and\na brilliant imagination. Many parts of the original are rendered with\ngreat facility, elegance, and fidelity. In poetical elegance I presume\nnot to enter into competition with him.\"\n\nFor his own performance Musgrave claims the merit of greater fidelity to\nthe original; but in respect of harmony, in true poetic grace, and\nsublimity of diction, his translation will bear no comparison with\nMickle's version; for even Southey, in the article before quoted, though\nvery hard upon his interpolations, admits that, \"Mickle was a man of\ngenius ... a man whom we admire and respect; whose memory is without a\nspot, and whose name will live among the English poets.\" (_Quarterly\nReview_, liii. p. 29.)\n\nIt only remains for me to say, that in order to place the reader in a\nposition to judge of the merits of this sublime effort of genius, I have\ndistinguished Mickle's longer interpolations by printing them in Bk. i.\np. 24, in _Italics_, and in the first 300 lines of Bk. ix. by calling\nthe attention of the reader to the interpolation by means of a\nfoot-note. The notes are, in general, left as written by the translator,\nexcept in some cases where it seemed advisable to curtail them. Original\nnotes are indicated by the abbreviation \"_Ed._\"\n\nTHE EDITOR.\n\nLONDON, 1877.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LIFE OF CAMO\u00cbNS,\n\nBY WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE.\n\n\nWhen the glory of the arms of Portugal had reached its meridian\nsplendour, Nature, as if in pity of the literary rudeness of that\nnation, produced a great poet to record the numberless actions of high\nspirit performed by his countrymen. Except Osorius, the historians of\nPortugal are little better than dry journalists. But it is not their\ninelegance which rendered the poet necessary. It is the peculiar nature\nof poetry to give a colouring to heroic actions, and to express\nindignation against breaches of honour, in a spirit which at once seizes\nthe heart of the man of feeling, and carries with it instantaneous\nconviction. The brilliant actions of the Portuguese form the great hinge\nwhich opened the door to the most important alterations in the civil\nhistory of mankind. And to place these actions in the light and\nenthusiasm of poetry--that enthusiasm which particularly assimilates the\nyouthful breast to its own fires--was Luis de Camo\u00ebns the poet of\nPortugal, born.\n\nDifferent cities have claimed the honour of his birth. But according to\nN. Antonio, and Manuel Correa, his intimate friend, this event happened\nat Lisbon in 1517.[6] His family was of considerable note, and\noriginally Spanish. In 1370 Vasco Perez de Caamans, disgusted at the\ncourt of Castile, fled to that of Lisbon, where King Ferdinand\nimmediately admitted him into his council, and gave him the lordships of\nSardoal, Punnete, Marano, Amendo, and other considerable lands; a\ncertain proof of the eminence of his rank and abilities. In the war for\nthe succession, which broke out on the death of Ferdinand, Caamans\nsided with the King of Castile, and was killed in the battle of\nAljabarota. But though John I., the victor, seized a great part of his\nestate, his widow, the daughter of Gonsalo Tereyro, grand master of the\nOrder of Christ, and general of the Portuguese army, was not reduced\nbeneath her rank. She had three sons, who took the name of Camo\u00ebns. The\nfamily of the eldest intermarried with the first nobility of Portugal,\nand even, according to Castera, with the blood royal. But the family of\nthe second brother, whose fortune was slender, had the superior honour\nto produce the author of the Lusiad.\n\nEarly in life the misfortunes of the poet began. In his infancy, Simon\nVaz de Camo\u00ebns, his father, commander of a vessel, was shipwrecked at\nGoa, where, with his life, the greatest part of his fortune was lost.\nHis mother, however, Anne de Macedo of Santarem, provided for the\neducation of her son Luis, at the University of Coimbra. What he\nacquired there his works discover; an intimacy with the classics, equal\nto that of a Scaliger, but directed by the taste of a Milton or a Pope.\n\nWhen he left the university he appeared at court. He was a polished\nscholar and very handsome,[7] possessing a most engaging mien and\naddress, with the finest complexion, which, added to the natural ardour\nand gay vivacity of his deposition, rendered him an accomplished\ngentleman. Courts are the scenes of intrigue, and intrigue was\nfashionable at Lisbon. But the particulars of the amours of Camo\u00ebns rest\nunknown. This only appears: he had aspired above his rank, for he was\nbanished from the court; and in several of his sonnets he ascribes this\nmisfortune to love.\n\nHe now retired to his mother's friends at Santarem. Here he renewed his\nstudies, and began his poem on the discovery of India. John III. at this\ntime prepared an armament against Africa. Camo\u00ebns, tired of his\ninactive, obscure life, went to Ceuta in this expedition, and greatly\ndistinguished his valour in several _rencontres_. In a naval engagement\nwith the Moors in the Straits of Gibraltar, Camo\u00ebns, in the conflict of\nboarding, where he was among the foremost, lost his right eye. Yet\nneither the hurry of actual service, nor the dissipation of the camp,\ncould stifle his genius. He continued his _Lusiadas_; and several of his\nmost beautiful sonnets were written in Africa, while, as he expresses\nit,\n\n    \"One hand the pen, and ant the sword employ'd.\"\n\nThe fame of his valour had now reached the Court, and he obtained\npermission to return to Lisbon. But while he solicited an establishment\nwhich he had merited in the ranks of battle, the malignity of evil\ntongues (as he calls it in one of his letters) was injuriously poured\nupon him. Though the bloom of his early youth was effaced by several\nyears residence under the scorching sky of Africa, and though altered by\nthe loss of an eye, his presence gave uneasiness to the gentlemen of\nsome families of the first rank where he had formerly visited. Jealousy\nis the characteristic of the Spanish and Portuguese; its resentment\nknows no bounds, and Camo\u00ebns now found it prudent to banish himself from\nhis native country. Accordingly, in 1553 he hailed for India, with a\nresolution never to return. As the ship left the Tagus he exclaimed, in\nthe words of the sepulchral monument of Scipio Africanus, \"_Ingrata\npatria, non possidebis ossa mea!_\" (Ungrateful country, thou shalt not\npossess my bones!) But he knew not what evils in the East would awaken\nthe remembrance of his native fields.\n\nWhen Camo\u00ebns arrived in India, an expedition was ready to sail to\nrevenge the King of Cochin on the King of Pimenta. Without any rest on\nshore after his long voyage, he joined this armament, and, in the\nconquest of the Alagada Islands, displayed his usual bravery. But his\nmodesty, perhaps, is his greatest praise. In a sonnet he mentions this\nexpedition: \"We went to punish the King of Pimenta,\" says he, \"_e\nsuccedeones bem_\" (and we succeeded well). When it is considered that\nthe poet bore no inconsiderable share in the victory, no ode can\nconclude more elegantly, more happily than this.\n\nIn the year following, he attended Manuel de Vasconcello in an\nexpedition to the Red Sea. Here, says Faria, as Camo\u00ebns had no use for\nhis sword, he employed his pen. Nor was his activity confined to the\nfleet or camp. He visited Mount Felix, and the adjacent inhospitable\nregions of Africa, which he so strongly pictures in the Lusiad, and in\none of his little pieces, where he laments the absence of his mistress.\n\nWhen he returned to Goa, he enjoyed a tranquility which enabled him to\nbestow his attention on his epic poem. But this serenity was\ninterrupted, perhaps by his own imprudence. He wrote some satires which\ngave offence, and by order of the viceroy, Francisco Barreto, he was\nbanished to China.\n\nMen of poor abilities are more conscious of their embarrassment and\nerrors than is commonly believed. When men of this kind are in power,\nthey affect great solemnity; and every expression of the most distant\ntendency to lessen their dignity is held as the greatest of crimes.\nConscious, also, how severely the man of genius can hurt their interest,\nthey bear an instinctive antipathy against him, are uneasy even in his\ncompany, and, on the slightest pretence, are happy to drive him from\nthem. Camo\u00ebns was thus situated at Goa; and never was there a fairer\nfield for satire than the rulers of India at that time afforded. Yet,\nwhatever esteem the prudence of Camo\u00ebns may lose in our idea, the\nnobleness of his disposition will doubly gain. And, so conscious was he\nof his real integrity and innocence, that in one of his sonnets he\nwishes no other revenge on Barreto than that the cruelty of his exile\nshould ever be remembered.[8]\n\nThe accomplishments and manners of Camo\u00ebns soon found him friends,\nthough under the disgrace of banishment. He was appointed Commissary of\nthe estates of deceased persons, in the island of Macao, a Portuguese\nsettlement on the coast of China. Here he continued his Lusiad; and\nhere, also, after five years residence, he acquired a fortune, though\nsmall, yet equal to his wishes. Don Constantine de Braganza was now\nViceroy of India; and Camo\u00ebns, desirous to return to Goa, resigned his\ncharge. In a ship, freighted by himself, he set sail, but was\nshipwrecked in the gulf near the mouth of the river Meekhaun, in Cochin\nChina. All he had acquired was lost in the waves: his poems, which he\nheld in one hand, while he swam with the other, were all he found\nhimself possessed of when he stood friendless on the unknown shore. But\nthe natives gave him a most humane reception; this he has immortalized\nin the prophetic song in the tenth Lusiad;[9] and in the seventh he\ntells us that here he lost the wealth which satisfied his wishes.\n\n     _Agora da esperan\u00e7a ja adquirida, etc._\n\n    \"Now blest with all the wealth fond hope could crave,\n     Soon I beheld that wealth beneath the wave\n     For ever lost;----\n     My life like Judah's Heaven-doom'd king of yore\n     By miracle prolong'd.\"\n\nOn the banks of the Meekhaun, he wrote his beautiful paraphrase of the\n137th Psalm, where the Jews, in the finest strain of poetry, are\nrepresented as hanging their harps on the willows by the rivers of\nBabylon, and weeping their exile from their native country. Here Camo\u00ebns\ncontinued some time, till an opportunity offered to carry him to Goa.\nWhen he arrived at that city, Don Constantine de Braganza, the viceroy,\nwhose characteristic was politeness, admitted him into intimate\nfriendship, and Camo\u00ebns was happy till Count Redondo assumed the\ngovernment. Those who had formerly procured the banishment of the\nsatirist were silent while Constantine was in power. But now they\nexerted all their arts against him. Redondo, when he entered on office,\npretended to be the friend of Camo\u00ebns; yet, with the most unfeeling\nindifference, he suffered the innocent man to be thrown into the common\nprison. After all the delay of bringing witnesses, Camo\u00ebns, in a public\ntrial, fully refuted every accusation against his conduct while\ncommissary at Macao, and his enemies were loaded with ignominy and\nreproach. But Camo\u00ebns had some creditors; and these detained him in\nprison a considerable time, till the gentlemen of Goa began to be\nashamed that a man of his singular merit should experience such\ntreatment among them. He was set at liberty; and again he assumed the\nprofession of arms, and received the allowance of a\ngentleman-volunteer, a character at that time common in Portuguese\nIndia. Soon after, Pedro Barreto (appointed governor of the fort of\nSof\u00e1la), by high promises, allured the poet to attend him thither. The\ngovernor of a distant fort, in a barbarous country, shares in some\nmeasure the fate of an exile. Yet, though the only motive of Barreto\nwas, in this unpleasant situation, to retain the conversation of Camo\u00ebns\nat his table, it was his least care to render the life of his guest\nagreeable. Chagrined with his treatment, and a considerable time having\nelapsed in vain dependence upon Barreto, Camo\u00ebns resolved to return to\nhis native country. A ship, on the homeward voyage, at this time touched\nat Sof\u00e1la, and several gentlemen[10] who were on board were desirous\nthat Camo\u00ebns should accompany them. But this the governor ungenerously\nendeavoured to prevent, and charged him with a debt for board. Anthony\nde Cabral, however, and Hector de Sylveyra, paid the demand, and\nCamo\u00ebns, says Faria, and the honour of Barreto were sold together.\n\nAfter an absence of sixteen years, Camo\u00ebns, in 1569, returned to Lisbon,\nunhappy even in his arrival, for the pestilence then raged in that city,\nand prevented his publishing for three years. At last, in 1572, he\nprinted his Lusiad, which, in the opening of the first book, in a most\nelegant turn of compliment, he addressed to his prince, King Sebastian,\nthen in his eighteenth year. The king, says the French translator, was\nso pleased with his merit, that he gave the author a pension of 4000\nreals, on condition that he should reside at court. But this salary,\nsays the same writer, was withdrawn by Cardinal Henry, who succeeded to\nthe crown of Portugal, lost by Sebastian at the battle of Alcazar.\n\nBut this story of the pension is very doubtful. Correa and other\ncontemporary authors do not mention it, though some late writers have\ngiven credit to it. If Camo\u00ebns, however, had a pension, it is highly\nprobable that Henry deprived him of it. While Sebastian was devoted to\nthe chase, his grand-uncle, the cardinal, presided at the council board,\nand Camo\u00ebns, in his address to the king, which closes the Lusiad,\nadvises him to exclude the clergy from State affairs. It was easy to see\nthat the cardinal was here intended. And Henry, besides, was one of\nthose statesmen who can perceive no benefit resulting to the public\nfrom elegant literature. But it ought also to be added in completion of\nhis character, that under the narrow views and weak hands of this Henry,\nthe kingdom of Portugal fell into utter ruin; and on his death, which\nclosed a short inglorious reign, the crown of Lisbon, after a faint\nstruggle, was annexed to that of Spain. Such was the degeneracy of the\nPortuguese, a degeneracy lamented in vain by Camo\u00ebns, whose observation\nof it was imputed to him as a crime.\n\nThough the great[11] patron of theological literature--a species the\nreverse of that of Camo\u00ebns--certain it is, that the author of the Lusiad\nwas utterly neglected by Henry, under whose inglorious reign he died in\nall the misery of poverty. By some, it is said, he died in an\nalmshouse. It appears, however, that he had not even the certainty of\nsubsistence which these houses provide. He had a black servant, who had\ngrown old with him, and who had long experienced his master's humanity.\nThis grateful dependant, a native of Java, who, according to some\nwriters, saved his master's life in the unhappy shipwreck where he lost\nhis effects, begged in the streets of Lisbon for the only man in\nPortugal on whom God had bestowed those talents which have a tendency to\nerect the spirit of a downward age. To the eye of a careful observer,\nthe fate of Camo\u00ebns throws great light on that of his country, and will\nappear strictly connected with it. The same ignorance, the same\ndegenerate spirit, which suffered Camo\u00ebns to depend on his share of the\nalms begged in the streets by his old hoary servant--the same spirit\nwhich caused this, sank the kingdom of Portugal into the most abject\nvassalage ever experienced by a conquered nation. While the grandees of\nPortugal were blind to the ruin which impended over them, Camo\u00ebns beheld\nit with a pungency of grief which hastened his end. In one of his\nletters he has these remarkable words, \"_Em fim accaberey \u00e0 vida, e\nverr\u00e0m todos que fuy afei\u00e7oada a minho patria_,\" etc.--\"I am ending the\ncourse of my life, the world will witness how I have loved my country. I\nhave returned, not only to die in her bosom, but to die with her.\" In\nanother letter, written a little before his death, he thus, yet with\ndignity, complains, \"Who has seen on so small a theatre as my poor bed,\nsuch a representation of the disappointments of Fortune. And I, as if\nshe could not herself subdue me, I have yielded and become of her party;\nfor it were wild audacity to hope to surmount such accumulated evils.\"\n\nIn this unhappy situation, in 1579, in his sixty-second year, the year\nafter the fatal defeat of Don Sebastian, died Luis de Camo\u00ebns, the\ngreatest literary genius ever produced by Portugal; in martial courage\nand spirit of honour nothing inferior to her greatest heroes. And in a\nmanner suitable to the poverty in which he died was he buried. Soon\nafter, however, many epitaphs honoured his memory; the greatness of his\nmerit was universally confessed, and his Lusiad was translated into\nvarious languages.[12] Nor ought it to be omitted, that the man so\nmiserably neglected by the weak king Henry, was earnestly enquired after\nby Philip of Spain when he assumed the crown of Lisbon. When Philip\nheard that Camo\u00ebns was dead, both his words and his countenance\nexpressed his disappointment and grief.\n\nFrom the whole tenor of his life, and from that spirit which glows\nthroughout the Lusiad, it evidently appears that the courage and manners\nof Camo\u00ebns flowed from true greatness and dignity of soul. Though his\npolished conversation was often courted by the great, he appears so\ndistant from servility that his imprudence in this respect is by some\nhighly blamed. Yet the instances of it by no means deserve that severity\nof censure with which some writers have condemned him. Unconscious of\nthe feelings of a Camo\u00ebns, they knew not that a carelessness in securing\nthe smiles of fortune, and an open honesty of indignation, are almost\ninseparable from the enthusiasm of fine imagination. The truth is, the\nman possessed of true genius feels his greatest happiness in the\npursuits and excursions of the mind, and therefore makes an estimate of\nthings very different from that of him whose unremitting attention is\ndevoted to his external interest. The profusion of Camo\u00ebns is also\ncensured. Had he dissipated the wealth he acquired at Macao, his\nprofusion indeed had been criminal; but it does not appear that he ever\nenjoyed any other opportunity of acquiring independence. But Camo\u00ebns was\nunfortunate, and the unfortunate man is viewed--\n\n            \"Through the dim shade his fate casts o'er him:\n    A shade that spreads its evening darkness o'er\n    His brightest virtues, while it shows his foibles\n    Crowding and obvious as the midnight stars,\n    Which, in the sunshine of prosperity\n    Never had been descried.\"\n\nYet, after the strictest discussion, when all the causes are weighed\ntogether, the misfortunes of Camo\u00ebns will appear the fault and disgrace\nof his age and country, and not of the man. His talents would have\nsecured him an apartment in the palace of Augustus, but such talents are\na curse to their possessor in an illiterate nation. In a beautiful,\ndigressive exclamation at the end of the Lusiad, he affords us a\nstriking view of the neglect which he experienced. Having mentioned how\nthe greatest heroes of antiquity revered and cherished the muse, he thus\ncharacterizes the nobility of his own age and country.\n\n    \"Alas! on Tago's hapless shore alone\n     The muse is slighted, and her charms unknown;\n     For this, no Virgil here attunes the lyre,\n     No Homer here awakes the hero's fire;\n     Unheard, in vain their native poet sings,\n     And cold neglect weighs dawn the muse's wings.\"\n\nIn such an age, and among such a barbarous nobility, what but wretched\nneglect could be the fate of a Camo\u00ebns! After all, however, if he was\nimprudent on his first appearance at the court of John III.; if the\nhonesty of his indignation led him into great imprudence, as certainly\nit did, when at Goa he satirised the viceroy and the first persons in\npower; yet let it also be remembered, that \"The gifts of imagination\nbring the heaviest task upon the vigilance of reason; and to bear those\nfaculties with unerring rectitude, or invariable propriety, requires a\ndegree of firmness and of cool attention, which doth not always attend\nthe higher gifts of the mind. Yet, difficult as nature herself seems to\nhave rendered the task of regularity to genius, it is the supreme\nconsolation of dullness and of folly to point with Gothic triumph to\nthose excesses which are the overflowings of faculties they never\nenjoyed. Perfectly unconscious that they are indebted to their stupidity\nfor the consistency of their conduct, they plume themselves on an\nimaginary virtue which has its origin in what is really their\ndisgrace.--Let such, if such dare approach the shrine of Camo\u00ebns,\nwithdraw to a respectful distance; and should they behold the ruins of\ngenius, or the weakness of an exalted mind, let them be taught to lament\nthat nature has left the noblest of her works imperfect.\"[13]\n\n\n\n\nDISSERTATION ON THE LUSIAD, AND ON EPIC POETRY,\n\nBY THE TRANSLATOR.\n\n\nWhen Voltaire was in England, previous to his publication of his\nHenriade, he published in English an essay on the epic poetry of the\nEuropean nations. In this he both highly praised, and severely attacked,\nthe Lusiad. In his French editions of this essay, he has made various\nalterations, at different times, in the article on Camo\u00ebns. It is not,\nhowever, improper to premise, that some most amazing falsities will be\nhere detected; the gross misrepresentation of every objection refuted;\nand demonstration brought, that when Voltaire wrote his English essay,\nhis knowledge of the Lusiad was entirely borrowed from the bold, harsh,\nunpoetical version of Fanshaw.\n\n\"While Trissino,\" says Voltaire, \"was clearing away the rubbish in\nItaly, which barbarity and ignorance had heaped up for ten centuries in\nthe way of the arts and sciences, Camo\u00ebns, in Portugal, steered a new\ncourse, and acquired a reputation which lasts still among his countrymen\nwho pay as much respect to his memory as the English to Milton.\"\n\nAmong other passages of the Lusiad which he criticises is that where\n\"Adamastor, the giant of the Cape of Storms, appears to them, walking in\nthe depth of the sea; his head reaches to the clouds; the storms, the\nwinds, the thunders, and the lightnings hang about him; his arms are\nextended over the waves. It is the guardian of that foreign ocean,\nunploughed before by any ship. He complains of being obliged to submit\nto fate, and to the audacious undertaking of the Portuguese, and\nforetells them all the misfortunes they must undergo in the Indies. I\nbelieve that such a fiction would be thought noble and proper in all\nages, and in all nations.\n\n\"There is another, which perhaps would have pleased the Italians as well\nas the Portuguese, but no other nation besides: it is the enchanted\nisland, called the Island of Bliss, which the fleet finds in its way\nhome, just rising from the sea, for their comfort, and for their reward.\nCamo\u00ebns describes that place, as Tasso some years after depicted his\nisland of Armida. There a supernatural power brings in all the beauties,\nand presents all the pleasures which nature can afford, and the heart\nmay wish for; a goddess, enamoured with Vasco de Gama, carries him to\nthe top of a high mountain, from whence she shows him all the kingdoms\nof the earth, and foretells the fate of Portugal.\n\n\"After Camo\u00ebns hath given loose to his fancy, in the description of the\npleasures which Gama and his crew enjoyed in the island, he takes care\nto inform the reader that he ought to understand by this fiction nothing\nbut the satisfaction which the virtuous man feels, and the glory which\naccrues to him, by the practice of virtue; but the best excuse for such\nan invention is the charming style in which it is delivered (if we may\nbelieve the Portuguese), for the beauty of the elocution sometimes makes\namends for the faults of the poet, as the colouring of Rubens makes some\ndefects in his figures pass unregarded.\n\n\"There is _another_ kind of machinery continued throughout all the poem,\nwhich nothing can excuse; that is, an injudicious mixture of the heathen\ngods with our religion. Gama in a storm addresses his prayers to Christ,\nbut it is Venus who comes to his relief; the heroes are Christians, and\nthe poet heathen. The main design which the Portuguese are supposed to\nhave (next to promoting their trade) is to propagate Christianity; yet\nJupiter, Bacchus, and Venus, have in their hands all the management of\nthe voyage. So incongruous a machinery casts a blemish upon the whole\npoem; yet it shows at the same time how prevailing are its beauties\nsince the Portuguese like it with all its faults.\"\n\nThe Lusiad, says Voltaire, contains \"a sort of epic poetry unheard of\nbefore. No heroes are wounded a thousand different ways; no woman\nenticed away, and the world overturned for her cause.\" But the very want\nof these, in place of supporting the objection intended by Voltaire,\npoints out the happy judgment and peculiar excellence of Camo\u00ebns. If\nHomer has given us all the fire and hurry of battles, he has also given\nus all the uninteresting, tiresome detail. What reader but must be\ntired with the deaths of a thousand heroes, who are never mentioned\nbefore, nor afterwards, in the poem. Yet, in every battle we are wearied\nout with such _Gazette_-returns of the slain and wounded as--\n\n    \"Hector Priamides when Zeus him glory gave,\n     Ass\u00e6us first, Autono\u00fcs, he slew;\n     Ophites, Dolops, Klytis' son beside;\n     Opheltius also, Agela\u00fcs too,\n     \u00c6symnus, and the battle-bide\n     Hipp\u00f3no\u00fcs, chiefs on Danaian side,\n     And then, the multitude.\"\n\n     HOMER'S Iliad, bk. xi. 299, et seq.,\n     (W. G. T. BARTER'S translation.)\n\nAnd corresponding to it is Virgil's \u00c6neid, bk. x. line 747, et seq.:--\n\n    \"By C\u00e6dicus Alcatho\u00fcs was slain;\n     Sacrator laid Hydaspes on the plain;\n     Ors\u00e8s the strong to greater strength must yield,\n     He, with Parthenius, were by Rapo killed.\n     Then brave Messapus Ericet\u00e8s slew,\n     Who from Lyca\u00f3n's blood his lineage drew.\"\n\n     DRYDEN'S version.\n\nWith, such catalogues is every battle extended; and what can be more\ntiresome than such uninteresting descriptions, and their imitations! If\nthe idea of the battle be raised by such enumeration, still the copy and\noriginal are so near each other that they can never please in two\nseparate poems. Nor are the greater part of the battles of the \u00c6neid\nmuch more distant than those of the Iliad. Though Virgil with great art\nhas introduced a Camilla, a Pallas, and a Lausus, still, in many\nparticulars, and in the action upon the whole, there is such a sameness\nwith the Iliad, that the learned reader of the \u00c6neid is deprived of the\npleasure inspired by originality. If the man of taste, however, will be\npleased to mark how the genius of a Virgil has managed a war after\nHomer, he will certainly be tired with a dozen epic poems in the same\nstyle. Where the siege of a town and battles are the subject of an epic,\nthere will, of necessity, in the characters and circumstances, be a\nresemblance to Homer; and such poem must therefore want originality.\nHappily for Tasso, the variation of manners, and his masterly\nsuperiority over Homer in describing his duels, has given to his\nJerusalem an air of novelty. Yet, with all the difference between\nChristian and pagan heroes, we have a Priam, an Agamemnon, an Achilles,\netc., armies slaughtered, and a city besieged. In a word, we have a\nhandsome copy of the Iliad in the Jerusalem Delivered. If some\nimitations, however, have been successful, how many other epics of\nancient and modern times have hurried down the stream of oblivion! Some\nof their authors had poetical merit, but the fault was in the choice of\ntheir subjects. So fully is the strife of war exhausted by Homer, that\nVirgil and Tasso could add to it but little novelty; no wonder,\ntherefore, that so many epics on battles and sieges have been suffered\nto sink into utter neglect. Camo\u00ebns, perhaps, did not weigh these\ncircumstances, but the strength of his poetical genius directed him. He\ncould not but feel what it was to read Virgil after Homer; and the\noriginal turn and force of his mind led him from the beaten track of\nHelen's and Lavinia's, Achilles's and Hector's sieges and slaughters,\nwhere the hero hews down, and drives to flight, whole armies with his\nown sword. Camo\u00ebns was the first who wooed the modern Epic Muse, and she\ngave him the wreath of a first lover; a sort of epic poetry unheard of\nbefore; or, as Voltaire calls it, _une nouvelle esp\u00e8ce d'epop\u00e9e_; and\nthe grandest subject it is (of profane history) which the world has ever\nbeheld.[14] A voyage esteemed too great for man to dare; the adventures\nof this voyage through unknown oceans deemed unnavigable; the eastern\nworld happily discovered, and for ever indissolubly joined and given to\nthe western; the grand Portuguese empire in the East founded; the\nhumanization of mankind, and universal commerce the consequence! What\nare the adventures of an old, fabulous hero's arrival in Britain, what\nare Greece and Latium in arms for a woman compared to this! Troy is in\nashes, and even the Roman empire is no more. But the effects of the\nvoyage, adventures, and bravery of the hero of the Lusiad will be felt\nand beheld, and perhaps increase in importance, while the world shall\nremain.\n\nHappy in his choice, happy also was the genius of Camo\u00ebns in the method\nof pursuing his subject. He has not, like Tasso, given it a total\nappearance of fiction; nor has he, like Lucan, excluded allegory and\npoetical machinery. Whether he intended it or not (for his genius was\nsufficient to suggest its propriety), the judicious precept of\nPetronius[15] is the model of the Lusiad. That elegant writer proposes a\npoem on the civil war, and no poem, ancient or modern, merits the\ncharacter there sketched out in any degree comparative to the Lusiad. A\ntruth of history is preserved; yet, what is improper for the historian,\nthe ministry of Heaven is employed, and the free spirit of poetry throws\nitself into fictions which makes the whole appear as an effusion of\nprophetic fury, and not like a rigid detail of facts, given under the\nsanction of witnesses. Contrary to Lucan, who, in the above rules, drawn\nfrom the nature of poetry, is severely condemned by Petronius, Camo\u00ebns\nconducts his poem _per ambages Deorumque ministeria_. The apparition,\nwhich in the night hovers athwart the fleet near the Cape of Good Hope,\nis the grandest fiction in human composition; the invention his own! In\nthe Island of Venus, the use of which fiction in an epic poem is also\nhis own, he has given the completest assemblage of all the flowers which\nhave ever adorned the bowers of love. And, never was the _furentis animi\nvaticinatio_ more conspicuously displayed than in the prophetic song,\nthe view of the spheres, and the globe of the earth. Tasso's imitation\nof the Island of Venus is not equal to the original; and, though\n\"Virgil's myrtles[16] dropping blood are nothing to Tasso's enchanted\nforest,\" what are all Ismeno's enchantments to the grandeur and horror\nof the appearance, prophecy, and vanishment of the spectre of\nCamo\u00ebns![17] It has long been agreed among critics, that the solemnity\nof religious observances gives great dignity to the historical narrative\nof epic poetry. Camo\u00ebns, in the embarkation of the fleet, and in several\nother places, is peculiarly happy in the dignity of religious\nallusions. Manners and character are also required in the epic poem. But\nall the epics which have appeared are, except two, mere copies of the\nIliad in these respects. Every one has its Agamemnon, Achilles, Ajax,\nand Ulysses; its calm, furious, gross, and intelligent hero. Camo\u00ebns and\nMilton happily left this beaten track, this exhausted field, and have\ngiven us pictures of manners unknown in the Iliad, the \u00c6neid, and all\nthose poems which may be classed with the Thebaid. The Lusiad abounds\nwith pictures of manners, from those of the highest chivalry to those of\nthe rudest, fiercest, and most innocent barbarism. In the fifth, sixth,\nand ninth books, Leonardo and Veloso are painted in stronger colours\nthan any of the inferior characters in Virgil. But _character_, indeed,\nis not the excellence of the \u00c6neid. That of Monzaida, the friend of\nGama, is much superior to that of Achates. The base, selfish, perfidious\nand cruel character of the Zamorim and the Moors, are painted in the\nstrongest colours; and the character of Gama himself is that of the\nfinished hero. His cool command of his passions, his deep sagacity, his\nfixed intrepidity, his tenderness of heart, his manly piety, and his\nhigh enthusiasm in the love of his country are all displayed in the\nsuperlative degree. Let him who objects the want of character to the\nLusiad, beware lest he stumble upon its praise; lest he only say, it\nwants an Achilles, a Hector, and a Priam. And, to the novelty of the\nmanners of the Lusiad let the novelty of fire-arms also be added. It has\nbeen said that the buckler, the bow, and the spear, must continue the\narms of poetry. Yet, however unsuccessful others may have been, Camo\u00ebns\nhas proved that fire-arms may be introduced with the greatest dignity,\nand the finest effect in the epic poem.\n\nAs the grand interest of commerce and of mankind forms the subject of\nthe Lusiad, so, with great propriety, as necessary accompaniments to the\nvoyage of his hero, the author has given poetical pictures of the four\nparts of the world--in the third book a view of Europe; in the fifth, a\nview of Africa; and in the tenth, a picture of Asia and America. Homer\nand Virgil have been highly praised for their judgment in the choice of\nsubjects which interested their countrymen, and Statius has been as\nseverely condemned for his uninteresting choice. But, though the subject\nof Camo\u00ebns be particularly interesting to his own countrymen, it has\nalso the peculiar happiness to be the poem of every trading nation. It\nis the epic poem of the birth of commerce, and, in a particular manner,\nthe epic poem of whatever country has the control and possession of the\ncommerce of India.[18]\n\nAn unexhausted fertility and variety of poetical description, an\nunexhausted elevation of sentiment, and a constant tenor of the grand\nsimplicity of diction, complete the character of the Lusiad of Camo\u00ebns:\na poem which, though it has hitherto received from the public most\nunmerited neglect, and from the critics most flagrant injustice, was yet\nbetter understood by the greatest poet of Italy. Tasso never did his\njudgment more credit than when he confessed that he dreaded Camo\u00ebns as a\nrival; or his generosity more honour than when he addressed the elegant\nsonnet to the hero of the Lusiad, commencing--\n\n    \"Vasco, le cui felici, ardite antenne\n     In contro al sol, che ne riporta il giorno.\"\n\nIt only remains to give some account of the version of the Lusiad which\nis now offered to the public. Beside the translations mentioned in the\nlife of Camo\u00ebns, M. Duperron De Castera, in 1735, gave, in French prose,\na loose unpoetical paraphrase[19] of the Lusiad. Nor does Sir Richard\nFanshaw's English version, published during the usurpation of Cromwell,\nmerit a better character. Though stanza be rendered for stanza, though\nat first view it has the appearance of being exceedingly literal, this\nversion is nevertheless exceedingly unfaithful. Uncountenanced by his\noriginal, Fanshaw--\n\n    \"Teems with many a dead-born just.\"[20]\n\nNor had he the least idea of the dignity of the epic style,[21] or of\nthe true spirit of poetical translation. For this, indeed, no definite\nrule can be given. The translator's feelings alone must direct him, for\nthe spirit of poetry is sure to evaporate in literal translation.\n\nIndeed, literal translation of poetry is a solecism. You may construe\nyour author, indeed, but, if with some translators you boast that you\nhave left your author to speak for himself, that you have neither added\nnor diminished, you have in reality grossly abused him, and deceived\nyourself. Your literal translation can have no claim to the original\nfelicities of expression; the energy, elegance, and fire of the original\npoetry. It may bear, indeed, a resemblance; but such a one as a corpse\nin the sepulchre bears to the former man when he moved in the bloom and\nvigour of life.\n\n    _Nec verbum verbo curabis reddere, fidus\n    Interpres,_\n\nwas the taste of the Augustan age. None but a poet can translate a poet.\nThe freedom which this precept gives, will, therefore, in a poet's\nhands, not only infuse the energy, elegance, and fire of his author's\npoetry into his own version, but will give it also the spirit of an\noriginal.\n\nHe who can construe may perform all that is claimed by the literal\ntranslator. He who attempts the manner of translation prescribed by\nHorace, ventures upon a task of genius. Yet, however daring the\nundertaking, and however he may have failed in it, the translator\nacknowledges, that in this spirit he has endeavoured to give the Lusiad\nin English. Even farther liberties, in one or two instances, seemed to\nhim advantageous---- But a minuteness[22] in the mention of these will\nnot appear with a good grace in this edition of his work; and besides,\nthe original is in the hands of the world.\n\n\n\n\nMICKLE'S INTRODUCTION TO THE LUSIAD.\n\n\nIf a concatenation of events centred in one great action--events which\ngave birth to the present commercial system of the world--if these be of\nthe first importance in the civil history of mankind, then the Lusiad,\nof all other poems, challenges the attention of the philosopher, the\npolitician, and the gentleman.\n\nIn contradistinction to the Iliad and the \u00c6neid, the Paradise Lost has\nbeen called the Epic Poem of Religion. In the same manner may the Lusiad\nbe named the Epic Poem of Commerce. The happy completion of the most\nimportant designs of Henry, Duke of Viseo, prince of Portugal, to whom\nEurope owes both Gama and Columbus, both the eastern and the western\nworlds, constitutes the subject of this celebrated epic poem. But before\nwe proceed to the historical introduction necessary to elucidate a poem\nfounded on such an important period of history, some attention is due to\nthe opinion of those theorists in political philosophy who lament that\nIndia was ever discovered, and who assert that increase of trade is only\nthe parent of degeneracy, and the nurse of every vice.\n\nMuch, indeed, may be urged on this side of the question; but much, also,\nmay be urged against every institution relative to man. Imperfection, if\nnot necessary to humanity, is at least the certain attendant on\neverything human. Though some part of the traffic with many countries\nresemble Solomon's importation of apes and peacocks; though the\nsuperfluities of life, the baubles of the opulent, and even the luxuries\nwhich enervate the irresolute and administer disease, are introduced by\nthe intercourse of navigation, yet the extent of the benefits which\nattend it are also to be considered before the man of cool reason will\nventure to pronounce that the world is injured, and rendered less\nvirtuous and happy by the increase of commerce.\n\nIf a view of the state of mankind, where commerce opens no intercourse\nbetween nation and nation be neglected, unjust conclusions will\ncertainly follow. Where the state of barbarians, and of countries under\ndifferent degrees of civilization are candidly weighed, we may\nreasonably expect a just decision. As evidently as the appointment of\nnature gives pasture to the herds, so evidently is man born for society.\nAs every other animal is in its natural state when in the situation\nwhich its instinct requires, so man, when his reason is cultivated, is\nthen, and only then, in the state proper to his nature. The life of the\nnaked savage, who feeds on acorns and sleeps like a beast in his den, is\ncommonly called the natural state of man; but, if there be any propriety\nin this assertion, his rational faculties compose no part of his nature,\nand were given not to be used. If the savage, therefore, live in a state\ncontrary to the appointment of nature, it must follow that he is not so\nhappy as nature intended him to be. And a view of his true character\nwill confirm this conclusion. The reveries, the fairy dreams of a\nRousseau, may figure the paradisaical life of a Hottentot, but it is\nonly in such dreams that the superior happiness of the barbarian exists.\nThe savage, it is true, is reluctant to leave his manner of life; but,\nunless we allow that he is a proper judge of the modes of living, his\nattachment to his own by no means proves that he is happier than he\nmight otherwise have been. His attachment only exemplifies the amazing\npower of habit in reconciling the human breast to the most uncomfortable\nsituations. If the intercourse of mankind in some instances be\nintroductive of vice, the want of it as certainly excludes the exertion\nof the noblest virtues; and, if the seeds of virtue are indeed in the\nheart, they often lie dormant, and even unknown to the savage possessor.\nThe most beautiful description of a tribe of savages (which we may be\nassured is from real life) occurs in these words:[23] And the five spies\nof Dan \"came to Laish, and saw the people that were there, how they\ndwelt careless, after the manner of the Zidonians, quiet and secure; and\nthere was no magistrate in the land, that might put them to shame in\nanything....\" And the spies said to their brethren, \"Arise, that we may\ngo up against them; for we have seen the land, and, behold, it is very\ngood.... And they came unto Laish, unto a people that were at quiet and\nsecure: and they smote them with the edge of the sword, and burnt the\ncity with fire. And there was no deliverer, because it was far from\nZidon, and they had no business with any man.\" However the happy\nsimplicity of this society may please the man of fine imagination, the\ntrue philosopher will view the men of Laish with other eyes. However\nvirtuous he may suppose one generation, it requires an alteration of\nhuman nature to preserve the children of the next in the same generous\nestrangement from the selfish passions--from those passions which are\nthe parents of the acts of injustice. When his wants are easily\nsupplied, the manners of the savage will be simple, and often humane,\nfor the human heart is not vicious without objects of temptation. But\nthese will soon occur; he that gathers the greatest quantity of fruit\nwill be envied by the less industrious. The uninformed mind seems\ninsensible of the idea of the right of possession which the labour of\nacquirement gives. When want is pressing, and the supply at hand, the\nonly consideration with such minds is the danger of seizing it; and\nwhere there is no magistrate to put to shame in anything, depredation\nwill soon display all its horrors. Let it even be admitted that the\ninnocence of the men of Laish could secure them from the consequences of\ntheir own unrestrained desires, could even this impossibility be\nsurmounted, still are they a wretched prey to the first invaders, and\nbecause they have no business with any man, they will find no deliverer.\nWhile human nature is the same, the fate of Laish will always be the\nfate of the weak and defenceless; and thus the most amiable description\nof savage life raises in our minds the strongest imagery of the misery\nand impossible continuance of such a state. But if the view of these\ninnocent people terminate in horror, with what contemplation shall we\nbehold the wilds of Africa and America? The tribes of America, it is\ntrue, have degrees of policy greatly superior to anything understood by\nthe men of Laish. Great masters of martial oratory, their popular\nassemblies are schools open to all their youth. In these they not only\nlearn the history of their nation, and what they have to fear from the\nstrength and designs of their enemies, but they also imbibe the most\nardent spirit of war. The arts of stratagem are their study, and the\nmost athletic exercises of the field their employment and delight; and,\nwhat is their greatest praise, they have magistrates \"to put them to\nshame.\" They inflict no corporeal punishment on their countrymen, it is\ntrue; but a reprimand from an elder, delivered in the assembly, is\nesteemed by them a deeper degradation and severer punishment than any of\nthose too often most impolitically adopted by civilized nations. Yet,\nthough possessed of this advantage--an advantage impossible to exist in\na large commercial empire--and though masters of great martial policy,\ntheir condition, upon the whole, is big with the most striking\ndemonstration of the misery and unnatural state of such very imperfect\ncivilization. \"Multiply and replenish the earth\" is an injunction of the\nbest political philosophy ever given to man. Nature has appointed man to\ncultivate the earth, to increase in number by the food which its culture\ngives, and by this increase of brethren to remove some, and to mitigate\nall, the natural miseries of human life. But in direct opposition to\nthis is the political state of the wild aborigines of America. Their\nlands, luxuriant in climate, are often desolate wastes, where thousands\nof miles hardly support a few hundreds of savage hunters. Attachment to\ntheir own tribe constitutes their highest idea of virtue; but this\nvirtue includes the most brutal depravity, makes them esteem the man of\nevery other tribe as an enemy, as one with whom nature had placed them\nin a state of war, and had commanded to destroy.[24] And to this\nprinciple their customs and ideas of honour serve as rituals and\nministers. The cruelties practised by the American savages on their\nprisoners of war (and war is their chief employment) convey every idea\nexpressed by the word diabolical, and give a most shocking view of the\ndegradation of human nature. But what peculiarly completes the character\nof the savage is his horrible superstition. In the most distant nations\nthe savage is, in this respect, the same. The terror of evil spirits\ncontinually haunts him; his God is beheld as a relentless tyrant, and is\nworshipped often with cruel rites, always with a heart full of horror\nand fear. In all the numerous accounts of savage worship, one trace of\nfilial dependence is not to be found. The very reverse of that happy\nidea is the hell of the ignorant mind. Nor is this barbarism confined\nalone to those ignorant tribes whom we call savages. The vulgar of every\ncountry possess it in certain degrees, proportionated to their\nopportunities of conversation with the more enlightened. Sordid\ndisposition and base ferocity, together with the most unhappy\nsuperstition, are everywhere the proportionate attendants of ignorance\nand severe want. And ignorance and want are only removed by intercourse\nand the offices of society. So self-evident are these positions, that it\nrequires an apology for insisting upon them; but the apology is at hand.\nHe who has read knows how many eminent writers,[25] and he who has\nconversed knows how many respectable names, connect the idea of\ninnocence and happiness with the life of the savage and the unimproved\nrustic. To fix the character of the savage is therefore necessary, ere\nwe examine the assertion, that \"it had been happy for both the old and\nthe new worlds if the East and West Indies had never been discovered.\"\nThe bloodshed and the attendant miseries which the unparalleled rapine\nand cruelties of the Spaniards spread over the new world, indeed\ndisgrace human nature. The great and flourishing empires of Mexico and\nPeru, steeped in the blood of forty millions of their sons, present a\nmelancholy prospect, which must excite the indignation of every good\nheart. Yet such desolation is not the certain consequence of discovery.\nAnd, even should we allow that the depravity of human nature is so great\nthat the avarice of the merchant and rapacity of the soldier will\noverwhelm with misery every new-discovered country, still, are there\nother, more comprehensive views, to be taken, ere we decide against the\nintercourse introduced by navigation. When we weigh the happiness of\nEurope in the scale of political philosophy, we are not to confine our\neye to the dreadful ravages of Attila the Hun, or of Alaric the Goth. If\nthe waters of a stagnated lake are disturbed by the spade when led into\nnew channels, we ought not to inveigh against the alteration because the\nwaters are fouled at the first; we are to wait to see the streamlets\nrefine and spread beauty and utility through a thousand vales which they\nnever visited before. Such were the conquests of Alexander, temporary\nevils, but civilization and happiness followed in the bloody track. And,\nthough disgraced with every barbarity, happiness has also followed the\nconquests of the Spaniards in the other hemisphere. Though the villainy\nof the Jesuits defeated their schemes of civilization in many countries,\nthe labours of that society have been crowned with a success in Paraguay\nand in Canada, which reflects upon their industry the greatest honour.\nThe customs and cruelties of many American tribes still disgrace human\nnature, but in Paraguay and Canada the natives have been brought to\nrelish the blessings of society, and the arts of virtuous and civil\nlife. If Mexico is not so populous as it once was, neither is it so\nbarbarous;[26] the shrieks of the human victim do not now resound from\ntemple to temple, nor does the human heart, held up reeking to the sun,\nimprecate the vengeance of Heaven on the guilty empire. And, however\nimpolitically despotic the Spanish governments may be, still do these\ncolonies enjoy the opportunities of improvement, which in every age\narise from the knowledge of commerce and of letters--opportunities which\nwere never enjoyed in South America under the reigns of Montezuma and\nAtabalipa. But if from Spanish, we turn our eyes to British America,\nwhat a glorious prospect! Here, formerly, on the wild lawn, perhaps\ntwice in the year, a few savage hunters kindled their evening fire,\nkindled it more to protect them from evil spirits and beasts of prey,\nthan from the cold, and with their feet pointed to it, slept on the\nground. Here, now, population spreads her thousands, and society appears\nin all its blessings of mutual help, and the mutual lights of\nintellectual improvement. \"What work of art, or power, or public\nutility, has ever equalled the glory of having peopled a continent,\nwithout guilt or bloodshed, with a multitude of free and happy\ncommonwealths; to have given them the best arts of life and government!\"\nTo have given a savage continent an image of the British Constitution\nis, indeed, the greatest glory of the British crown, \"a greater than any\nother nation ever acquired;\" and from the consequences of the genius of\nHenry, Duke of Viseo, did the British American empire arise, an empire\nwhich, unless retarded by the illiberal and inhuman spirit of religious\nfanaticism, will in a few centuries, perhaps, be the glory of the world.\n\nStubborn indeed must be the theorist who will deny the improvement,\nvirtue, and happiness which, in the result, the voyage of Columbus has\nspread over the western world. The happiness which Europe and Asia have\nreceived from the intercourse with each other, cannot hitherto, it must\nbe owned, be compared either with the possession of it, or the source of\nits increase established in America. Yet, let the man of the most\nmelancholy views estimate all the wars and depredations which are\ncharged upon the Portuguese and other European nations, still will the\neastern world appear considerably advantaged by the voyage of Gama. If\nseas of blood have been shed by the Portuguese, nothing new was\nintroduced into India. War and depredation were no unheard-of strangers\non the banks of the Ganges, nor could the nature of the civil\nestablishments of the eastern nations secure a lasting peace. The\nambition of their native princes was only diverted into new channels,\ninto channels which, in the natural course of human affairs, will\ncertainly lead to permanent governments, established on improved laws\nand just dominion. Yet, even ere such governments are formed, is Asia no\nloser by the arrival of Europeans. The horrid massacres and unbounded\nrapine which, according to their own annals, followed the victories of\ntheir Asian conquerors were never equalled by the worst of their\nEuropean vanquishers. Nor is the establishment of improved governments\nin the East the dream of theory. The superiority of the civil and\nmilitary arts of the British, notwithstanding the hateful character of\nsome individuals, is at this day beheld in India with all the\nastonishment of admiration; and admiration is always followed, though\noften with retarded steps, by the strong desire of similar improvement.\nLong after the fall of the Roman empire the Roman laws were adopted by\nnations which ancient Rome esteemed as barbarous. And thus, in the\ncourse of ages, the British laws, according to every test of\nprobability, will have a most important effect, will fulfil the prophecy\nof Camo\u00ebns, and transfer to the British the high compliment he pays to\nhis countrymen--\n\n    \"Beneath their sway majestic, wise, and mild,\n     Proud of her victor's laws thrice happier India smiled.\"\n\nIn former ages, and within these few years, the fertile empire of India\nhas exhibited every scene of human misery, under the undistinguishing\nravages of their Mohammedan and native princes; ravages only equalled\nin European history by those committed under Atilla, surnamed \"the\nscourge of God,\" and \"the destroyer of nations.\" The ideas of patriotism\nand of honour were seldom known in the cabinets of the eastern princes\ntill the arrival of the Europeans. Every species of assassination was\nthe policy of their courts, and every act of unrestrained rapine and\nmassacre followed the path of victory. But some of the Portuguese\ngovernors, and many of the English officers, have taught them that\nhumanity to the conquered is the best, the truest policy. The brutal\nferocity of their own conquerors is now the object of their greatest\ndread; and the superiority of the British in war has convinced their\nprinces,[27] that an alliance with the British is the surest guarantee\nof their national peace and prosperity. While the English East India\nCompany are possessed of their present greatness, it is in their power\nto diffuse over the East every blessing which flows from the wisest and\nmost humane policy. Long ere the Europeans arrived, a failure of the\ncrop of rice, the principal food of India, had spread the devastations\nof famine over the populous plains of Bengal. And never, from the seven\nyears' famine of ancient Egypt to the present day, was there a natural\nscarcity in any country which did not enrich the proprietors of the\ngranaries. The Mohammedan princes, and Moorish traders have often added\nall the horrors of an artificial, to a natural, famine. But, however\nsome Portuguese or other governors may stand accused, much was left for\nthe humanity of the more exalted policy of an Albuquerque, or a Castro.\nAnd under such European governors as these, the distresses of the East\nhave often been alleviated by a generosity of conduct, and a train of\nresources formerly unknown in Asia. Absurd and impracticable were that\nscheme which would introduce the British laws into India without the\ndeepest regard to the manners and circumstances peculiar to the people.\nBut that spirit of liberty upon which they are founded, and that\nsecurity of property which is their leading principle, must in time have\na wide and stupendous effect. The abject spirit of Asiatic submission\nwill be taught to see, and to claim, those rights of nature, of which\nthe dispirited and passive Hindus could, till lately, hardly form an\nidea. From this, as naturally as the noon succeeds the dawn, must the\nother blessings of civilization arise. For, though the four great castes\nof India are almost inaccessible to the introduction of other manners,\nand of other literature than their own, happily there is in human nature\na propensity to change. Nor may the political philosopher be deemed an\nenthusiast who would boldly prophesy, that unless the British be driven\nfrom India the general superiority which they bear will, ere many\ngenerations shall have passed, induce the most intelligent of India to\nbreak the shackles of their absurd superstitions,[28] and lead them to\npartake of those advantages which arise from the free scope and due\ncultivation of the rational powers. In almost every instance the Indian\ninstitutions are contrary to the feelings and wishes of nature. And\nignorance and bigotry, their two chief pillars, can never secure\nunalterable duration. We have certain proof that the horrid custom of\nburning the wives along with the body of the deceased husband has\ncontinued for upwards of fifteen hundred years; we are also certain that\nwithin these twenty years it has begun to fall into disuse. Together\nwith the alteration of this most striking feature of Indian manners,\nother assimilations to European sentiments have already taken place. Nor\ncan the obstinacy even of the conceited Chinese always resist the desire\nof imitating the Europeans, a people who in arts and arms are so greatly\nsuperior to themselves. The use of the twenty-four letters, by which we\ncan express every language, appeared at first as miraculous to the\nChinese. Prejudice cannot always deprive that people, who are not\ndeficient in selfish cunning, of the ease and expedition of an alphabet;\nand it is easy to foresee that, in the course of a few centuries, some\nalphabet will certainly take the place of the 60,000 arbitrary marks\nwhich now render the cultivation of the Chinese literature not only a\nlabour of the utmost difficulty, but even the attainment impossible\nbeyond a very limited degree. And from the introduction of an alphabet,\nwhat improvements may not be expected from the laborious industry of the\nChinese! Though most obstinately attached to their old customs, yet\nthere is a tide in the manners of nations which is sudden and rapid, and\nwhich acts with a kind of instinctive fury against ancient prejudice and\nabsurdity. It was that nation of merchants, the Phoenicians, which\ndiffused the use of letters through the ancient, and commerce will\nundoubtedly diffuse the same blessings through the modern, world.\n\nTo this view of the political happiness which is sure to be introduced\nin proportion to civilization, let the divine add what may be reasonably\nexpected from such opportunity of the increase of religion. A factory of\nmerchants, indeed, has seldom been found to be a school of piety; yet,\nwhen the general manners of a people become assimilated to those of a\nmore rational worship, something more than ever was produced by an\ninfant mission, or the neighbourhood of an infant colony, may then be\nreasonably expected, and even foretold.\n\nIn estimating the political happiness of a people, nothing is of greater\nimportance than their capacity of, and tendency to, improvement. As a\ndead lake, to continue our former illustration, will remain in the same\nstate for ages and ages, so would the bigotry and superstitions of the\nEast continue the same. But if the lake is begun to be opened into a\nthousand rivulets, who knows over what unnumbered fields, barren before,\nthey may diffuse the blessings of fertility, and turn a dreary\nwilderness into a land of society and joy.\n\nIn contrast to this, let the Gold Coast and other immense regions of\nAfrica be contemplated--\n\n    \"Afric behold; alas, what altered view!\n     Her lands uncultured, and her sons untrue;\n     Ungraced with all that sweetens human life,\n     Savage and fierce they roam in brutal strife;\n     Eager they grasp the gifts which culture yields,\n     Yet naked roam their own neglected fields....\n     Unnumber'd tribes as bestial grazers stray,\n     By laws unform'd, unform'd by Reason's sway.\n     Far inward stretch the mournful sterile dales,\n     Where on the parch'd hill-side pale famine wails.\"\n\n     LUSIAD X.\n\nLet us consider how many millions of these unhappy savages are dragged\nfrom their native fields, and cut off for ever from all the hopes and\nall the rights to which human birth entitled them. And who would\nhesitate to pronounce that negro the greatest of patriots, who, by\nteaching his countrymen the arts of society, should teach them to defend\nthemselves in the possession of their fields, their families, and their\nown personal liberties?\n\nEvident, however, as it is, that the voyages of Gama and Columbus have\nalready carried a superior degree of happiness, and the promise of\ninfinitely more, to the eastern and western worlds; yet the advantages\nto Europe from the discovery of these regions may perhaps be denied. But\nlet us view what Europe was, ere the genius of Don Henry gave birth to\nthe spirit of modern discovery.\n\nSeveral ages before this period the feudal system had degenerated into\nthe most absolute tyranny. The barons exercised the most despotic\nauthority over their vassals, and every scheme of public utility was\nrendered impracticable by their continual petty wars with each other; to\nwhich they led their dependents as dogs to the chase. Unable to read, or\nto write his own name, the chieftain was entirely possessed by the most\nromantic opinion of military glory, and the song of his domestic\nminstrel constituted his highest idea of fame. The classic authors slept\non the shelves of the monasteries, their dark but happy asylum, while\nthe life of the monks resembled that of the fattened beeves which loaded\ntheir tables. Real abilities were indeed possessed by a Duns Scotus and\na few others; but these were lost in the most trifling subtleties of a\nsophistry which they dignified with the name of casuistical divinity.\nWhether Adam and Eve were created with navels? and How many thousand\nangels might at the same instant dance upon the point of the finest\nneedle without one jostling another? were two of the several topics of\nlike importance which excited the acumen and engaged the controversies\nof the learned. While every branch of philosophical, of rational\ninvestigation, was thus unpursued and unknown, commerce, which is\nincompatible with the feudal system, was equally neglected and\nunimproved. Where the mind is enlarged and enlightened by learning,\nplans of commerce will rise into action, and these, in return, will from\nevery part of the world bring new acquirements to philosophy and\nscience. The birth of learning and commerce may be different, but their\ngrowth is mutual and dependent upon each other. They not only assist\neach other, but the same enlargement of mind which is necessary for\nperfection in the one is also necessary for perfection in the other; and\nthe same causes impede, and are alike destructive of, both. The\nINTERCOURSE of mankind is the parent of each. According to the\nconfinement or extent of intercourse, barbarity or civilization\nproportionately prevail. In the dark, monkish ages, the intercourse of\nthe learned was as much impeded and confined as that of the merchant. A\nfew unwieldy vessels coasted the shores of Europe, and mendicant friars\nand ignorant pilgrims carried a miserable account of what was passing in\nthe world from monastery to monastery. What doctor had last disputed on\nthe peripatetic philosophy at some university, or what new heresy had\nlast appeared, not only comprised the whole of their literary\nintelligence, but was delivered with little accuracy, and received with\nas little attention. While this thick cloud of mental darkness\noverspread the western world, was Don Henry, prince of Portugal, born;\nborn to set mankind free from the feudal system, and to give to the\nwhole world every advantage, every light that may possibly be diffused\nby the intercourse of unlimited commerce:--\n\n    \"For then from ancient gloom emerg'd\n     The rising world of trade: the genius, then,\n     Of navigation, that in hopeless sloth\n     Had slumber'd on the vast Atlantic deep\n     For idle ages, starting heard at last\n     The Lusitanian prince, who, Heaven-inspir'd,\n     To love of useful glory rous'd mankind,\n     And in unbounded commerce mix'd the world.\"\n\n    THOMSON.\n\nIn contrast to this melancholy view of human nature, sunk in barbarism\nand benighted with ignorance, let the present state of Europe be\nimpartially estimated. Yet, though the great increase of opulence and\nlearning cannot be denied, there are some who assert that virtue and\nhappiness have as greatly declined. And the immense overflow of riches,\nfrom the East in particular, has been pronounced big with destruction to\nthe British empire. Everything human, it is true, has its dark as well\nas its bright side; but let these popular complaints be examined, and it\nwill be found that modern Europe, and the British empire in a very\nparticular manner, have received the greatest and most solid advantages\nfrom the modern, enlarged system of commerce. The magic of the old\nromances, which could make the most withered, deformed hag, appear as\nthe most beautiful virgin, is every day verified in popular declamation.\nAncient days are there painted in the most amiable simplicity, and the\nmodern in the most odious colours. Yet, what man of fortune in England\nlives in that stupendous gross luxury which every day was exhibited in\nthe Gothic castles of the old chieftains! Four or five hundred knights\nand squires in the domestic retinue of a warlike earl was not uncommon,\nnor was the pomp of embroidery inferior to the profuse waste of their\ntables; in both instances unequalled by all the mad excesses of the\npresent age.\n\nWhile the baron thus lived in all the wild glare of Gothic luxury,\nagriculture was almost totally neglected, and his meaner vassals fared\nharder, infinitely less comfortably, than the meanest industrious\nlabourers of England do now; where the lands are uncultivated, the\npeasants, ill-clothed, ill-lodged, and poorly fed, pass their miserable\ndays in sloth and filth, totally ignorant of every advantage, of every\ncomfort which nature lays at their feet. He who passes from the trading\ntowns and cultured fields of England to those remote villages of\nScotland or Ireland which claim this description, is astonished at the\ncomparative wretchedness of their destitute inhabitants; but few\nconsider that these villages only exhibit a view of what Europe was ere\nthe spirit of commerce diffused the blessings which naturally flow from\nher improvements. In the Hebrides the failure of a harvest almost\ndepopulates an island. Having little or no traffic to purchase grain,\nnumbers of the young and hale betake themselves to the continent in\nquest of employment and food, leaving a few, less adventurous, behind,\nto beget a new race, the heir of the same fortune. Yet from the same\ncause, from the want of traffic, the kingdom of England has often felt\nmore dreadful effects than these. Even in the days when her Henries and\nEdwards plumed themselves with the trophies of France, how often has\nfamine spread all her horrors over city and village? Our modern\nhistories neglect this characteristic feature of ancient days; but the\nrude chronicles of these ages inform us, that three or four times in\nalmost every reign was England thus visited. The failure of the crop was\nthen severely felt, and two bad harvests in succession were almost\ninsupportable. But commerce has now opened another scene, has armed\ngovernment with the happiest power that can be exerted by the rulers of\na nation--the power to prevent every extremity[29] which may possibly\narise from bad harvests; extremities, which, in former ages, were\nesteemed more dreadful visitations of the wrath of Heaven than the\npestilence itself. Yet modern London is not so certainly defended\nagainst the latter, its ancient visitor, than the commonwealth by the\nmeans of commerce, under a just and humane government, is secured\nagainst the ravages of the former. If, from these great outlines of the\nhappiness enjoyed by a commercial over an uncommercial nation, we turn\nour eyes to the manners, the advantages will be found no less in favour\nof the civilized.\n\nWhoever is inclined to declaim at the vices of the present age, let him\nread, and be convinced, that the Gothic ages were less virtuous. If the\nspirit of chivalry prevented effeminacy, it was the foster-father of a\nferocity of manners now happily unknown. Rapacity, avarice, and\neffeminacy are the vices ascribed to the increase of commerce; and in\nsome degree, it must be confessed, they follow her steps. Yet infinitely\nmore dreadful, as every palatinate in Europe often felt, were the\neffects of the two first under the feudal lords than can possibly be\nexperienced under any system of trade. The virtues and vices of human\nnature are the same in every age: they only receive different\nmodifications, and are dormant, or awakened into action, under different\ncircumstances. The feudal lord had it infinitely more in his power to be\nrapacious than the merchant. And whatever avarice may attend the trader,\nhis intercourse with the rest of mankind lifts him greatly above that\nbrutish ferocity which actuates the savage, often the rustic, and in\ngeneral characterizes the ignorant part of mankind. The abolition of the\nfeudal system, a system of absolute slavery, and that equality of\nmankind which affords the protection of property, and every other\nincitement to industry, are the glorious gifts which the spirit of\ncommerce, awakened by Prince Henry of Portugal, has bestowed upon Europe\nin general; and, as if directed by the manes of his mother, a daughter\nof England, upon the British empire in particular. In the vice of\neffeminacy alone, perhaps, do we exceed our ancestors; yet, even here we\nhave infinitely the advantage over them. The brutal ferocity of former\nages is now lost, and the general mind is humanized. The savage breast\nis the native soil of revenge; a vice, of all others, peculiarly stamped\nwith the character of hell. But the mention of this was reserved for the\ncharacter of the savages of Europe. The savage of every country is\nimplacable when injured; but among some, revenge has its measure. When\nan American Indian is murdered his kindred pursue the murderer; and, as\nsoon as blood has atoned for blood, the wilds of America hear the\nhostile parties join in their mutual lamentations over the dead, whom,\nas an oblivion of malice, they bury together. But the measure of\nrevenge, never to be full, was left for the demi-savages of Europe. The\nvassals of the feudal lord entered into his quarrels with the most\ninexorable rage. Just or unjust was no consideration of theirs. It was a\nfamily feud; no farther inquiry was made; and from age to age, the\nparties, who never injured each other, breathed nothing but mutual\nrancour and revenge. And actions, suitable to this horrid spirit,\neverywhere confessed its virulent influence. Such were the late days of\nEurope, admired by the ignorant for the innocence of manners. Resentment\nof injury, indeed, is natural; and there is a degree which is honest,\nand though warm, far from inhuman. But if it is the hard task of\nhumanized virtue to preserve the feeling of an injury unmixed with the\nslightest criminal wish of revenge, how impossible is it for the savage\nto attain the dignity of forgiveness, the greatest ornament of human\nnature. As in individuals, a virtue will rise into a vice, generosity\ninto blind profusion, and even mercy into criminal lenity, so civilized\nmanners will lead the opulent into effeminacy. But let it be considered,\nthis consequence is by no means the certain result of civilization.\nCivilization, on the contrary, provides the most effectual preventive of\nthis evil. Where classical literature prevails the manly spirit which it\nbreathes must be diffused; whenever frivolousness predominates, when\nrefinement degenerates into whatever enervates the mind, literary\nignorance is sure to complete the effeminate character. A mediocrity of\nvirtues and of talents is the lot of the great majority of mankind; and\neven this mediocrity, if cultivated by a liberal education, will\ninfallibly secure its possessor against those excesses of effeminacy\nwhich are really culpable. To be of plain manners it is not necessary to\nbe a clown, or to wear coarse clothes; nor is it necessary to lie on the\nground and feed like the savage to be truly manly. The beggar who,\nbehind the hedge, divides his offals with his dog has often more of the\nreal sensualist than he who dines at an elegant table. Nor need we\nhesitate to assert, that he who, unable to preserve a manly elegance of\nmanners, degenerates into the _petit ma\u00eetre_, would have been, in any\nage or condition, equally insignificant and worthless. Some, when they\ntalk of the debauchery of the present age, seem to think that the former\nages were all innocence. But this is ignorance of human nature. The\ndebauchery of a barbarous age is gross and brutal; that of a gloomy,\nsuperstitious one, secret, excessive, and murderous; that of a more\npolished one, much happier for the fair sex,[30] and certainly in no\nsense so big with political unhappiness. If one disease has been\nimported from America,[31] the most valuable medicines have likewise\nbeen brought from those regions; and distempers, which were thought\ninvincible by our forefathers, are now cured. If the luxuries of the\nIndies usher disease to our tables the consequence is not unknown; the\nwise and the temperate receive no injury, and intemperance has been the\ndestroyer of mankind in every age. The opulence of ancient Rome produced\na luxury of manners which proved fatal to that mighty empire. But the\neffeminate sensualists of those ages were not men of intellectual\ncultivation. The enlarged ideas, the generous and manly feelings\ninspired by a liberal education, were utterly unknown to them. Unformed\nby that wisdom which arises from science and true philosophy, they were\ngross barbarians, dressed in the mere outward tinsel of\ncivilization.[32] Where the enthusiasm of military honour characterizes\nthe rank of gentlemen that nation will rise into empire. But no sooner\ndoes conquest give a continued security than the mere soldier\ndegenerates; and the old veterans are soon succeeded by a new\ngeneration, illiterate as their fathers, but destitute of their virtues\nand experience. Polite literature not only humanizes the heart, but also\nwonderfully strengthens and enlarges the mind. Moral and political\nphilosophy are its peculiar provinces, and are never happily cultivated\nwithout its assistance. But, where ignorance characterizes the body of\nthe nobility, the most insipid dissipation and the very idleness and\neffeminacy of luxury are sure to follow. Titles and family are then the\nonly merit, and the few men of business who surround the throne have it\nthen in their power to aggrandize themselves by riveting the chains of\nslavery. A stately grandeur is preserved, but it is only outward; all is\ndecayed within, and on the first storm the weak fabric falls to the\ndust. Thus rose and thus fell the empire of Rome, and the much wider one\nof Portugal. Though the increase of wealth did, indeed, contribute to\nthat corruption of manners which unnerved the Portuguese, certain it is\nthe wisdom of legislature might certainly have prevented every evil\nwhich Spain and Portugal have experienced from their acquisitions in the\ntwo Indies.[33] Every evil which they have suffered from their\nacquirements arose, as shall be hereafter demonstrated, from their\ngeneral ignorance, which rendered them unable to investigate or\napprehend even the first principles of civil and commercial philosophy.\nAnd what other than the total eclipse of their glory could be expected\nfrom a nobility, rude and unlettered as those of Portugal are described\nby the author of the Lusiad--a court and nobility who sealed the truth\nof all his complaints against them by suffering that great man, the\nlight of their age, to die in an almshouse! What but the fall of their\nstate could be expected from barbarians like these! Nor can the annals\nof mankind produce one instance of the fall of empire where the\ncharacter of the nobles was other than that ascribed to his countrymen\nby Camo\u00ebns.\n\n\n\n\nMICKLE'S SKETCH OF THE HISTORY\n\nOF THE\n\nDISCOVERY OF INDIA.\n\n\nNo lesson can be of greater national importance than the history of the\nrise and the fall of a commercial empire. The view of what advantages\nwere acquired, and of what might have been still added; the means by\nwhich such empire might have been continued, and the errors by which it\nwas lost, are as particularly conspicuous in the naval and commercial\nhistory of Portugal as if Providence had intended to give a lasting\nexample to mankind; a chart, where the course of the safe voyage is\npointed out, and where the shelves and rocks, and the seasons of tempest\nare discovered and foretold.\n\nThe history of Portugal, as a naval and commercial power, begins with\nthe designs of Prince Henry. But as the enterprises of this great man,\nand the completion of his designs are intimately connected with the\nstate of Portugal, a short view of the progress of the power, and of the\ncharacter of that kingdom, will be necessary to elucidate the history of\nthe revival of commerce, and the subject of the Lusiad.\n\nDuring the centuries when the effeminated Roman provinces of Europe were\ndesolated by the irruptions of the northern barbarians, the Saracens\nspread the same horrors of brutal conquest over the finest countries of\nthe eastern world. The northern conquerors of the finer provinces of\nEurope embraced the Christian religion as professed by the monks, and,\ncontented with the luxuries of their new settlements, their military\nspirit soon declined. The Saracens, on the other hand, having embraced\nthe religion of Mohammed, their rage for war received every addition\nwhich can possibly be inspired by religious enthusiasm. Not only the\nspoils of the vanquished, but Paradise itself was to be obtained by\ntheir sabres. Strengthened and inspired by a commission which they\nesteemed divine, the rapidity of their conquests far exceeded those of\nthe Goths and Vandals. The majority of the inhabitants of every country\nthey subdued embraced their religion and imbibed their principles; thus,\nthe professors of Mohammedanism became the most formidable combination\never leagued together against the rest of mankind. Morocco and the\nadjacent countries had now received the doctrines of the Koran, and the\narms of the Saracens spread slaughter and desolation from the south of\nSpain to Italy, and the islands of the Mediterranean. All the rapine and\ncarnage committed by the Gothic conquerors were now amply returned on\ntheir less warlike posterity. In Spain, and the province now called\nPortugal, the Mohammedans erected powerful kingdoms, and their lust of\nconquest threatened destruction to every Christian power. But a romantic\nmilitary spirit revived in Europe under the auspices of Charlemagne. The\nMohammedans, during the reign of this sovereign, made a most formidable\nirruption into Europe; France in particular felt the weight of their\nfury. By the invention of new military honours that monarch drew the\nadventurous youth of every Christian power to his standards, which\neventually resulted in the crusades, the beginning of which, in\npropriety, should be dated from his reign. Few indeed are the historians\nof this period, but enough remains to prove, that though the writers of\nthe old romance seized upon it, and added the inexhaustible machinery of\nmagic to the adventures of their heroes, yet the origin of their\nfictions was founded on historical facts.[34] Yet, however this period\nmay thus resemble the fabulous ages of Greece, certain it is, that an\nOrlando, a Rinaldo, a Rugero, and other celebrated names in romance,\nacquired great honour in the wars which were waged against the\nSaracens, the invaders of Europe. In these romantic wars, by which the\npower of the Mohammedans was checked, several centuries elapsed, when\nAlonzo, King of Castile, apprehensive that the whole force of the\nMohammedans of Spain and Morocco was ready to fall upon him, prudently\nimitated the conduct of Charlemagne. He availed himself of the spirit of\nchivalry, and demanded leave of Philip I. of France, and other princes,\nthat volunteers from their dominions might be allowed to distinguish\nthemselves, under his banners, against the Saracens. His desire was no\nsooner known than a brave army of volunteers thronged to his standard,\nand Alonzo was victorious. Honours and endowments were liberally\ndistributed among the champions; and to Henry, a younger son of the Duke\nof Burgundy, he gave his daughter, Teresa, in marriage, with the\nsovereignty of the countries south of Galicia as a dowry, commissioning\nhim to extend his dominions by the expulsion of the Moors. Henry, who\nreigned by the title of Count, improved every advantage which offered.\nThe two rich provinces of Entro Minho e Douro, and Tras os Montes,\nyielded to his arms; great part of Beira also was subdued, and the\nMoorish King of Lamego became his tributary. Many thousands of\nChristians, who had lived in miserable subjection to the Moors, took\nshelter under the generous protection of Count Henry. Great numbers of\nthe Moors also changed their religion, and chose rather to continue in\nthe land where they were born than be exposed to the severities and\ninjustice of their native governors. And thus, one of the most\nbeautiful[35] and fertile spots of the world, with the finest climate,\nin consequence of a crusade[36] against the Mohammedans, became in the\nend the kingdom of Portugal, a sovereignty which in course of time\nspread its influence far over the world.\n\nCount Henry, after a successful reign, was succeeded by his infant son,\nDon Alonzo-Henry, who, having surmounted the dangers which threatened\nhis youth, became the founder of the Portuguese monarchy. In 1139 the\nMoors of Spain and Barbary united their forces to recover the dominions\nfrom which they had been driven by the Christians. According to the\naccounts of the Portuguese writers, the Moorish army amounted to near\n400,000 men; nor is this number incredible when we consider what armies\nthey at other times have brought into the field, and that at this time\nthey came to take possession of lands from which they had been expelled.\nDon Alonzo, however, with a very small army, gave them battle on the\nplains of Ourique, and after a struggle of six hours, obtained a most\nglorious and complete victory, and one which was crowned with an event\nof the utmost importance. On the field of battle Don Alonzo was\nproclaimed King of Portugal by his victorious soldiers, and he in return\nconferred the rank of nobility on the whole army. The constitution of\nthe monarchy, however, was not settled, nor was Alonzo invested with the\nregalia till six years after this memorable victory. The kind of\ngovernment the Portuguese had submitted to under the Spaniards and\nMoors, and the advantages which they saw were derived from their own\nvalour, had taught them the love of liberty, while Alonzo himself\nunderstood the spirit of his subjects too well to make the least attempt\nto set himself up as a despotic monarch. After six years spent in\nfurther victories, he called an assembly of the prelates, nobility, and\ncommons, to meet at Lamego. When the assembly opened, Alonzo appeared\nseated on the throne, but without any other mark of regal dignity.\nBefore he was crowned, the constitution of the state was settled, and\neighteen statutes were solemnly confirmed by oath[37] as the charter of\nking and people; statutes diametrically opposite to the divine right and\narbitrary power of kings, principles which inculcate and demand the\nunlimited passive obedience of the subject.\n\nThe founders of the Portuguese monarchy transmitted to their heirs those\ngenerous principles of liberty which complete and adorn the martial\ncharacter. The ardour of the volunteer, an ardour unknown to the slave\nand the mercenary, added to the most romantic ideas of military glory,\ncharacterized the Portuguese under the reigns of their first monarchs.\nEngaged in almost continual war with the Moors, this spirit rose higher\nand higher; and the desire to extirpate Mohammedanism--the principle\nwhich animated the wish of victory in every battle--seemed to take\ndeeper root in every age. Such were the manners, and such the principles\nof the people who were governed by the successors of Alonzo I.--a\nsuccession of great men who proved themselves worthy to reign over so\nmilitary and enterprising a nation.\n\nBy a continued train of victories the Portuguese had the honour to drive\nthe Moors from Europe. The invasions of European soil by these people\nwere now requited by successful expeditions into Africa. Such was the\nmanly spirit of these ages, that the statutes of Lamego received\nadditional articles in favour of liberty, a convincing proof that the\ngeneral heroism of a people depends upon the principles of freedom.\nAlonzo IV.,[38] though not an amiable character, was perhaps the\ngreatest warrior, politician, and monarch of his age. After a reign of\nmilitary splendour, he left his throne to his son Pedro, surnamed the\nJust. Ideas of equity and literature were now diffused by this great\nprince,[39] who was himself a polite scholar, and a most accomplished\ngentleman. Portugal began to perceive the advantages of cultivated\ntalents, and to feel its superiority over the barbarous politics of the\nignorant Moors. The great Pedro, however, was succeeded by a weak\nprince, and the heroic spirit of the Portuguese seemed to exist no more\nunder his son Fernando, surnamed the Careless.\n\nUnder John I.[40] all the virtues of the Portuguese again shone forth\nwith redoubled lustre. Happily for Portugal, his father had bestowed an\nexcellent education upon this prince, which, added to his great natural\ntalents, rendered him one of the greatest of monarchs. Conscious of the\nsuperiority which his own liberal education gave him, he was assiduous\nto bestow the same advantages upon his children, and he himself often\nbecame their preceptor in science and useful knowledge. Fortunate in all\nhis affairs, he was most of all fortunate in his family. He had many\nsons, and he lived to see them become men of parts and of action, whose\nonly emulation was to show affection to his person and to support his\nadministration by their great abilities.\n\nAll the sons of John excelled in military exercises, and in the\nliterature of their age; Don Edward and Don Pedro[41] were particularly\neducated for the cabinet, and the mathematical genius of Don Henry\nreceived every encouragement which a king and a father could give to\nripen it into perfection and public utility.\n\nHistory was well known to Prince Henry, and his turn of mind peculiarly\nenabled him to make political observations upon it. The history of\nancient Tyre and Carthage showed him what a maritime nation might hope\nto become; and the flourishing colonies of the Greeks were the frequent\ntopic of his conversation. Where Grecian commerce extended its influence\nthe deserts became cultivated fields, cities rose, and men were drawn\nfrom the woods and caverns to unite in society. The Romans, on the other\nhand, when they destroyed Carthage, buried in her ruins the fountain of\ncivilization, improvement and opulence. They extinguished the spirit of\ncommerce, and the agriculture of the conquered nations. And thus, while\nthe luxury of Rome consumed the wealth of her provinces, her\nuncommercial policy dried up the sources of its continuance. Nor were\nthe inestimable advantages of commerce the sole motives of Henry. All\nthe ardour that the love of his country could awaken conspired to\nstimulate the natural turn of his genius for the improvement of\nnavigation.\n\nAs the kingdom of Portugal had been wrested from the Moors, and\nestablished by conquest, so its existence still depended on the\nsuperiority of force of arms; and even before the birth of Henry, the\nsuperiority of the Portuguese navies had been of the utmost consequence\nto the protection of the state. Whatever, therefore, might curb the\npower of the Moors, was of the utmost importance to the existence of\nPortugal. Such were the views and circumstances which united to inspire\nthe designs of Henry, designs which were powerfully enforced by the\nreligion of that prince. Desire to extirpate Mohammedanism was\nsynonymous with patriotism in Portugal. It was the principle which gave\nbirth to, and supported their monarchy. Their kings avowed it; and\nPrince Henry always professed, that to propagate the Gospel and\nextirpate Mohammedanism, was the great purpose of all his enterprises.\nThe same principles, it is certain, inspired King Emmanuel, under whom\nthe eastern world was discovered by Gama.[42]\n\nThe crusades, which had rendered the greatest political service to Spain\nand Portugal, had begun now to have some effect upon the commerce of\nEurope. The Hanse Towns had received charters of liberty, and had united\ntogether for the protection of their trade against the pirates of the\nBaltic. The Lombards had opened a lucrative traffic with the ports of\nEgypt, from whence they imported into Europe the riches of India; and\nBruges, the mart between them and the Hanse Towns, was, in consequence,\nsurrounded with the best agriculture of these ages,[43] a certain proof\nof the dependence of agriculture upon the extent of commerce. The Hanse\nTowns were liable, however, to be buried in the victories of a tyrant,\nand the trade with Egypt was exceedingly insecure and precarious. Europe\nwas still enveloped in the dark mists of ignorance; commerce still\ncrept, in an infant state, along the coasts, nor were the ships adapted\nfor long voyages. A successful tyrant might have overwhelmed the system\nof commerce entirely, for it stood on a much narrower basis than in the\ndays of Phoenician and Greek colonization. A broader and more permanent\nfoundation of commerce than the world had yet seen was wanting to bless\nmankind, and Henry, Duke of Viseo, was born to give it.\n\nIn order to promote his designs, Prince Henry was appointed\nCommander-in-chief of the Portuguese forces in Africa. He had already,\nin 1412, three years before the reduction of Ceuta,[44] sent a ship to\nmake discoveries on the Barbary coast. Cape Nam[45] (as its name\nimplies) was then the _ne plus ultra_ of European navigation; the ship\nsent by Henry, however, passed it sixty leagues, and reached Cape\nBojador. About a league and a half from Cape St. Vincent (supposed to be\nthe Promontorium Sacrum of the Romans), Prince Henry built his town of\nSagrez, the best planned and fortified town in Portugal. Here, where the\nview of the ocean inspired his hopes, he erected his arsenals, and built\nand harboured his ships. And here, leaving the temporary bustle and\ncares of the State to his father and brothers, he retired like a\nphilosopher from the world in order to promote its happiness. Having\nreceived all the information he could obtain in Africa, he continued\nunwearied in his mathematical and geographical studies; the art of\nship-building received amazing improvement under his direction, and the\ncorrectness of his ideas of the structure of the globe is now confirmed.\nHe it was who first suggested the use of the mariner's compass, and of\nlongitude and latitude in navigation, and demonstrated how these might\nbe ascertained by astronomical observations. Naval adventurers were now\ninvited from all parts to the town of Sagrez, and in 1418 Juan Gonsalez\nZarco and Tristran Vaz set sail on an expedition of discovery, the\ncircumstances of which give us a striking picture of the state of\nnavigation ere it was remodelled by the genius of Henry.\n\nCape Bojador, so named from its extent,[46] runs about forty leagues to\nthe westward, and for about six leagues off land there is a most violent\ncurrent, which, dashing upon the shallows, makes a tempestuous sea. This\nwas deemed impassable, for it had not occurred to any one that by\nstanding out to sea the current might be avoided. To pass this\nformidable Cape was the commission of Zarco and Vaz, who were also\nordered to survey the African coast, which, according to the information\ngiven to Henry by the Moors, extended to the Equator. Zarco and Vaz,\nhowever, lost their course in a storm, and were driven to a small\nisland, which, in the joy of their deliverance, they named Puerto Santo,\nor the Holy Haven. Nor was Prince Henry less joyful of their discovery\nthan they had been of their escape: sufficient proof of the miserable\nstate of navigation in those days; for this island is only a few days'\nvoyage from Sagrez.\n\nThe discoverers of Puerto Santo, accompanied by Bartholomew Perestrello,\nwere, with three ships, sent out on farther trial. Perestrello, having\nsown some seeds and left some cattle at Puerto Santo, returned to\nPortugal.[47] Zarco and Vaz directing their course southward, in 1419,\nperceived something like a cloud on the water, and sailing towards it,\ndiscovered an island covered with woods, which from this circumstance\nthey named Madeira.[48] And this rich and beautiful island was the first\nreward of the enterprises of Prince Henry.\n\nNature calls upon Portugal to be a maritime power, and her naval\nsuperiority over the Moors, was, in the time of Henry, the surest\ndefence of her existence as a kingdom. Yet, though all his labours\ntended to establish that naval superiority on the surest basis, though\neven the religion of the age added its authority to the clearest\npolitical principles in favour of Henry, yet were his enterprises and\nhis expected discoveries derided with all the insolence of ignorance,\nand the bitterness of popular clamour. Barren deserts like Lybia, it was\nsaid, were all that could be found, and a thousand disadvantages, drawn\nfrom these data, were foreseen and foretold. The great mind and better\nknowledge of Henry, however, were not thus to be shaken. Twelve years\nhad elapsed since the discovery of Madeira in unsuccessful endeavours to\ncarry navigation farther. At length, one of his captains, named\nGalianez, in 1434 passed the Cape of Bojador, till then invincible; an\naction, says Faria, not inferior to the labours of Hercules.\n\nGalianez, the next year, accompanied by Gonsalez Baldaya, carried his\ndiscoveries many leagues farther. Having put two horsemen on shore to\ndiscover the face of the country, the adventurers, after riding several\nhours, saw nineteen men armed with javelins. The natives fled, and the\ntwo horsemen pursued, till one of the Portuguese, being wounded, lost\nthe first blood that was sacrificed to the new system of commerce. A\nsmall beginning, it soon swelled into oceans, and deluged the eastern\nand western worlds. The cruelties of Hernando Cortez, and that more\nhorrid barbarian, Pizarro,[49] are no more to be charged upon Don Henry\nand Columbus, than the villainies of the Jesuits and the horrors of the\nInquisition are to be ascribed to Him who commands us to do to our\nneighbour as we would wish our neighbour to do to us. But, if it be\nmaintained that he who plans a discovery ought to foresee the miseries\nwhich the vicious will engraft upon his enterprise, let the objector be\ntold that the miseries are uncertain, while the advantages are real and\nsure.\n\nIn 1440 Anthony Gonsalez brought some Moors prisoners to Lisbon. These\nhe took two and forty leagues beyond Cape Bojador, and in 1442 he\nreturned with his captives. One Moor escaped, but ten blacks of Guinea\nand a considerable quantity of gold dust were given in ransom for two\nothers. A rivulet at the place of landing was named by Gonsalez, Rio del\nOro, or the River of Gold. And the islands of Adeget, Arguim, and De las\nGar\u00e7as were now discovered.\n\nThe negroes of Guinea, the first ever seen in Portugal, and the gold\ndust, excited other passions beside admiration. A company was formed at\nLagos, under the auspices of Prince Henry, to carry on a traffic with\nthe newly discovered countries; and, as the Portuguese considered\nthemselves in a state of continual hostility with the Moors, about two\nhundred of these people, inhabitants of the Islands of Nar and Tider, in\n1444, were brought prisoners to Portugal. Next year Gonzalo de Cintra\nwas attacked by the Moors, fourteen leagues beyond Rio del Oro, where,\nwith seven of his men, he was killed.\n\nThis hostile proceeding displeased Prince Henry, and in 1446 Anthony\nGonsalez and two other captains were sent to enter into a treaty of\npeace and traffic with the natives of Rio del Oro, and also to attempt\ntheir conversion. But these proposals were rejected by the barbarians,\none of whom, however, came voluntarily to Portugal, and Juan Fernandez\nremained with the natives, to observe their manners and the products of\nthe country.\n\nIn 1447 upwards of thirty ships followed the route of traffic which was\nnow opened; and John de Castilla obtained the infamy to stand the first\non the list of those names whose villainies have disgraced the spirit of\ncommerce, and afforded the loudest complaints against the progress of\nnavigation. Dissatisfied with the value of his cargo, he seized twenty\nof the natives of Gomera (one of the Canaries), who had assisted him,\nand with whom he was in friendly alliance, and brought them as slaves to\nPortugal. But Prince Henry resented this outrage, and having given them\nsome valuable presents of clothes, restored the captives to freedom and\ntheir native country.\n\nThe reduction of the Canaries was also this year attempted; but Spain\nhaving challenged the discovery of these islands, the expedition was\ndiscontinued. In the Canary Islands a singular feudal custom existed;\ngiving to the chief man, or governor, a temporary right to the person of\nevery bride in his district.\n\nIn 1448 Fernando Alonzo was sent ambassador to the king of Cape Verde\nwith a treaty of trade and conversion, which was defeated at that time\nby the treachery of the natives. In 1449 the Azores were discovered by\nGonsalo Vello; and the coast sixty leagues beyond Cape Verde was visited\nby the fleets of Henry. It is also certain that some of his commanders\npassed the equinoctial line.\n\nPrince Henry had now, with inflexible perseverance, prosecuted his\ndiscoveries for upwards of forty years. His father, John I., concurred\nwith him in his views, and gave him every assistance; his brother, King\nEdward, during his short reign, took the same interest in his\nexpeditions as his father had done; nor was the eleven years' regency\nof his brother Don Pedro less auspicious to him.[50] But the\nmisunderstanding between Pedro and his nephew Alonzo V., who took upon\nhim the reins of government in his seventeenth year, retarded the\ndesigns of Henry, and gave him much unhappiness.[51] At his town of\nSagrez, from whence he had not moved for many years, Don Henry, now in\nhis sixty-seventh year, yielded to the stroke of fate, in the year of\nour Lord 1463, gratified with the certain prospect that the route to the\neastern world would one day crown the enterprises to which he had given\nbirth. He saw with pleasure the naval superiority of his country over\nthe Moors established on the must solid basis, its trade greatly upon\nthe increase, and flattered himself that he had given a mortal wound to\nMohammedanism. To him, as to their primary author, are due all the\ninestimable advantages which ever have flowed, or ever will flow from\nthe discovery of the greatest part of Africa, and of the East and West\nIndies. Every improvement in the state and manners of these countries,\nor whatever country may be yet discovered, is strictly due to him. What\nis an Alexander, crowned with trophies at the head of his army, compared\nwith a Henry contemplating the ocean from his window on the rock of\nSagrez! The one suggests the idea of a destroying demon, the other of a\nbenevolent Deity.\n\nFrom 1448, when Alonzo V. assumed the power of government, till the end\nof his reign in 1471, little progress was made in maritime affairs. Cape\nCatherine alone was added to the former discoveries. But under his son,\nJohn II., the designs of Prince Henry were prosecuted with renewed\nvigour. In 1481 the Portuguese built a fort on the Gold Coast, and the\nKing of Portugal took the title of Lord of Guinea. Bartholomew Diaz, in\n1486, reached the river which he named _dell'Infante_ on the eastern\nside of Africa, but deterred by the storms of that coast from proceeding\nfarther, on his return he had the happiness to be the discoverer of the\npromontory, unknown for many ages, which bounds the south of Africa.\nFrom the storms he there encountered he named it Cape of Storms; but\nJohn, elated with the promise of India, which this discovery, as he\njustly deemed, included, gave it the name of the Cape of Good Hope. The\narts and valour of the Portuguese had now made a great impression on the\nminds of the Africans. The King of Congo sent the sons of some of his\nprincipal officers to Lisbon, to be instructed in arts and religion; and\nambassadors from the King of Benin requested teachers to be sent to his\nkingdom. On the return of his subjects, the King and Queen of Congo,\nwith 100,000 of their people, were baptized. An ambassador also arrived\nfrom the Christian Emperor of Abyssinia, and Pedro de Covillam and\nAlonzo de Payva were sent by land to penetrate into the East, that they\nmight acquire whatever intelligence might facilitate the desired\nnavigation to India. Covillam and Payva parted at Toro in Arabia, and\ntook different routes. The former having visited Conanor, Calicut, and\nGoa in India, returned to Cairo, where he heard of the death of his\ncompanion. Here also he met the Rabbi Abraham of Beja, who was employed\nfor the same purpose by King John. Covillam sent the Rabbi home with an\naccount of what countries he had seen, and he himself proceeded to Ormuz\nand Ethiopia, but, as Camo\u00ebns expresses it--\n\n                      \"To _his_ native shore,\n    Enrich'd with knowledge, _he_ return'd no more.\"\n\nMen, whose genius led them to maritime affairs began now to be possessed\nby an ardent ambition to distinguish themselves; and the famous Columbus\noffered his service to King John, and was rejected. Every one knows the\ndiscoveries of this great adventurer, but his history is generally\nmisunderstood.[52] The simple truth is, Columbus, who acquired his\nskill in navigation among the Portuguese, could be no stranger to the\ndesign, long meditated in that kingdom, of discovering a naval route to\nIndia, which, according to ancient geographers and the opinion of that\nage, was supposed to be the next land to the west of Spain. And that\nIndia and the adjacent islands were the regions sought by Columbus is\nalso certain. John, who esteemed the route to India as almost\ndiscovered, and in the power of his own subjects, rejected the proposals\nof the foreigner. But Columbus met a more favourable reception from\nFerdinand and Isabella, the king and queen of Castile. Columbus,\ntherefore, proposed, as Magalhaens afterwards did, for the same reason,\nto steer a westward course, and having in 1492 discovered some western\nislands, in 1493, on his return to Spain, he put into the Tagus with\ngreat tokens of the riches of his discovery. Some of the Portuguese\ncourtiers (the same ungenerous minds, perhaps, who advised the rejection\nof Columbus because he was a foreigner) proposed the assassination of\nthat great man, thereby to conceal from Spain the advantages of his\nnavigation. But John, though Columbus rather roughly upbraided him,\nlooked upon him now with a generous regret, and dismissed him with\nhonour. The King of Portugal, however, alarmed lest the discoveries of\nColumbus should interfere with those of his crown, gave orders to equip\na war-fleet to protect his rights. But matters were adjusted by\nembassies, and that celebrated treaty was drawn up by which Spain and\nPortugal divided the western and eastern worlds between them. The\neastern half of the world was allotted for the Portuguese, and the\nwestern for the Spanish navigation. A Papal Bull also, which, for\nobvious reasons, prohibited the propagation of the gospel in these\nbounds by the subjects of any other state, confirmed this amicable and\nextraordinary treaty.\n\nSoon after this, however, while the thoughts of King John were intent on\nthe discovery of India, his preparations were interrupted by his death.\nBut his earnest desires and great designs were inherited, together with\nhis crown, by his cousin Emmanuel; and in 1497 (the year before Columbus\nmade the voyage in which he discovered the mouth of the river Oronoko),\nVasco de Gama sailed from the Tagus for the discovery of India.\n\nOf this voyage, the subject of the Lusiad, many particulars are\nnecessarily mentioned in the notes; we shall therefore only allude to\nthese, but be more explicit on the others, which are omitted by Camo\u00ebns\nin obedience to the rules of epic poetry.\n\nNotwithstanding the popular clamour against the undertaking, Emmanuel\nwas determined to prosecute the views of Prince Henry and John II. Three\nsloops of war and a store ship, manned with only 160 men, were fitted\nout; for hostility was not the purpose of this expedition. Vasco de\nGama, a gentleman of good family, who, in a war with the French, had\ngiven signal proofs of his naval skill, was commissioned admiral and\ngeneral, and his brother Paul, with his friend Nicholas Coello, were\nappointed to command under him. It is the greatest honour of kings to\ndistinguish the characters of their officers, and to employ them\naccordingly. Emmanuel in many instances was happy in this talent,\nparticularly in the choice of his admiral for the discovery of India.\nAll the enthusiasm of desire to accomplish his end, joined with the\ngreatest heroism, the quickest penetration, and coolest prudence, united\nto form the character of Gama. On his appointment he confessed to the\nking that his mind had long aspired to this expedition. The king\nexpressed great confidence in his prudence and honour, and gave him,\nwith his own hand, the colours which he was to carry. On this banner,\nwhich bore the cross of the military Order of Christ, Gama, with great\nenthusiasm, took the oath of fidelity.\n\nAbout four miles from Lisbon is a chapel on the sea side. To this, the\nday before their departure, Gama conducted the companions of his\nexpedition. He was to encounter an ocean untried, and dreaded as\nunnavigable, and he knew the power of religion on minds which are not\ninclined to dispute its authority. The whole night was spent in the\nchapel in prayers for success, and in the rites of their devotion. The\nnext day, when the adventurers marched to the fleet, the shore of\nBelem[53] presented one of the most solemn and affecting scenes perhaps\nrecorded in history. The beach was covered with the inhabitants of\nLisbon. A procession of priests, in their robes, sang anthems and\noffered up invocations to heaven. Every one looked on the adventurers as\nbrave men going to a dreadful execution; as rushing upon certain death;\nand the vast multitude caught the fire of devotion, and joined aloud in\nprayers for their success. The relations, friends, and acquaintances of\nthe voyagers wept; all were affected; the sight was general; Gama\nhimself shed manly tears on parting with his friends, but he hurried\nover the tender scene, and hastened on board with all the alacrity of\nhope. He set sail immediately, and so much affected were the thousands\nwho beheld his departure, that they remained immovable on the shore,\ntill the fleet, under full sail, vanished from their sight.\n\nIt was on the 8th of July when Gama left the Tagus. The flag ship was\ncommanded by himself, the second by his brother, the third by Coello,\nand the store ship by Gonsalo Nunio. Several interpreters, skilled in\nArabic, and other oriental languages, went along with them. Ten\nmalefactors (men of abilities, whose sentences of death were reversed,\non condition of their obedience to Gama in whatever embassies or dangers\namong the barbarians he might think proper to employ them), were also on\nboard. The fleet, favoured by the weather, passed the Canary and Cape de\nVerde islands, but had now to encounter other fortune. Sometimes stopped\nby dead calms, but for the most part tossed by tempests, which increased\nin violence as they proceeded to the south. Thus driven far to sea they\nlaboured through that wide ocean which surrounds St. Helena, in seas,\nsays Faria, unknown to the Portuguese discoverers, none of whom had\nsailed so far to the west. From the 28th of July, the day they passed\nthe isle of St. James, they had seen no shore, and now on November the\n4th they were happily relieved by the sight of land. The fleet anchored\nin the large bay,[54] and Coello was sent in search of a river where\nthey might take in wood and fresh water. Having found one, the fleet\nmade towards it, and Gama, whose orders were to acquaint himself with\nthe manners of the people wherever he touched, ordered a party of his\nmen to bring him some of the natives by force, or stratagem. One they\ncaught as he was gathering honey on the side of a mountain, and brought\nhim to the fleet. He expressed the greatest indifference about the gold\nand fine clothes which they showed him, but was greatly delighted with\nsome glasses and little brass bells. These with great joy he accepted,\nand was set on shore; and soon after many of the blacks came for, and\nwere gratified with, the like trifles; in return for which they gave\nplenty of their best provisions. None of Gama's interpreters, however,\ncould understand a word of their language, or obtain any information of\nIndia. The friendly intercourse between the fleet and the natives was,\nhowever, soon interrupted by the imprudence of Veloso, a young\nPortuguese, which occasioned a skirmish wherein Gama's life was\nendangered. Gama and some others were on shore taking the altitude of\nthe sun, when in consequence of Veloso's rashness they were attacked by\nthe blacks with great fury. Gama defended himself with an oar, and\nreceived a dart in his foot. Several others were likewise wounded, and\nthey found safety in retreat. A discharge of cannon from the ships\nfacilitated their escape, and Gama, esteeming it imprudent to waste his\nstrength in attempts entirely foreign to the design of his voyage,\nweighed anchor, and steered in search of the extremity of Africa.\n\nIn this part of the voyage, says Osorius, \"The heroism of Gama was\ngreatly displayed.\" The waves swelled up like mountains, the ships\nseemed at one time heaved up to the clouds, and at another precipitated\nto the bed of the ocean. The winds were piercing cold, and so boisterous\nthat the pilot's voice could seldom be heard, and a dismal darkness,\nwhich at that tempestuous season involves these seas, added all its\nhorrors. Sometimes the storm drove them southward, at other times they\nwere obliged to stand on the tack and yield to its fury, preserving what\nthey had gained with the greatest difficulty.\n\n    \"With such mad seas the daring Gama fought\n     For many a day, and many a dreadful night,\n     Incessant labouring round the stormy Cape,\n     By bold ambition led.\"\n\n    THOMSON.\n\nDuring any interval of the storm, the sailors, wearied out with fatigue,\nand abandoned to despair, surrounded Gama, and implored him not to\nsuffer himself, and those committed to his care, to perish by so\ndreadful a death. The impossibility that men so weakened could endure\nmuch longer, and the opinion that this ocean was torn by eternal\ntempest, and therefore had hitherto been, and was impassable, were\nurged. But Gama's resolution to proceed was unalterable.[55] A\nconspiracy was then formed against his life. But his brother discovered\nit, and the courage and prudence of Gama defeated its design. He put the\nchief conspirators and all the pilots in irons, and he himself, his\nbrother, Coello, and some others, stood night and day at the helm and\ndirected the course. At last, after having many days, with unconquered\nmind, withstood the tempest and mutiny (_molem perfidi\u00e6_) the storm\nsuddenly ceased, and they beheld the Cape of Good Hope.\n\nOn November the 20th all the fleet doubled that promontory, and steering\nnorthward, coasted along a rich and beautiful shore, adorned with large\nforests and numberless herds of cattle. All was now alacrity; the hope\nthat they had surmounted every danger revived their spirits, and the\nadmiral was beloved and admired. Here, and at the bay, which they named\nSt. Blas, they took in provisions, and beheld these beautiful rural\nscenes, described by Camo\u00ebns. And here the store sloop was burnt by\norder of the admiral. On December the 8th a violent tempest drove the\nfleet out of sight of land, and carried them to that dreadful current\nwhich made the Moors deem it impossible to double the Cape. Gama,\nhowever, though unlucky in the time of navigating these seas, was safely\ncarried over the current by the violence of a tempest; and having\nrecovered the sight of land, as his safest course he steered northward\nalong the coast. On the 10th of January they discovered, about 230 miles\nfrom their last watering place, some beautiful islands, with herds of\ncattle frisking in the meadows. It was a profound calm, and Gama stood\nnear to land. The natives were better dressed and more civilized than\nthose they had hitherto seen. An exchange of presents was made, and the\nblack king was so pleased with the politeness of Gama, that he came\naboard his ship to see him. At this place, which he named Terra de\nNatal, Gama left two of the malefactors before mentioned to procure what\ninformation they could against his return. On the 15th of January, in\nthe dusk of the evening, they came to the mouth of a large river, whose\nbanks were shaded with trees laden with fruit. On the return of day they\nsaw several little boats with palm-tree leaves making towards them, and\nthe natives came aboard without hesitation or fear. Gama received them\nkindly, gave them an entertainment, and some silken garments, which they\nreceived with visible joy. Only one of them, however, could speak a\nlittle broken Arabic. From him Fernan Martinho learned that not far\ndistant was a country where ships, in shape and size like Gama's,\nfrequently resorted. This gave the fleet great encouragement, and the\nadmiral named this place \"The River of Good Signs.\"\n\nHere, while Gama refitted his ships, the crews were attacked with a\nviolent scurvy, which carried off several of his men. Having taken in\nfresh provisions, on the 24th of February he set sail, and on the 1st of\nMarch they descried four islands on the coast of Mozambique. From one of\nthese they perceived seven vessels in full sail bearing to the fleet.\nThe R\u00e2is, or captain, knew Gama's ship by the admiral's ensign, and made\nup to her, saluting her with loud huzzas and instruments of music. Gama\nreceived them aboard, and entertained them with great kindness. The\ninterpreters talked with them in Arabic. The island, in which was the\nprincipal harbour and trading town, they said, was governed by a deputy\nof the King of Quiloa; and many Arab merchants, they added, were settled\nhere, who traded with Arabia, India, and other parts of the world. Gama\nwas overjoyed, and the crew, with uplifted hands, returned thanks to\nHeaven.\n\nPleased with the presents which Gama sent him, and imagining that the\nPortuguese were Mohammedans from Morocco, the governor, dressed in rich\nembroidery, came to congratulate the admiral on his arrival in the east.\nAs he approached the fleet in great pomp, Gama removed the sick out of\nsight, and ordered all those in health to attend above deck, armed in\nthe Portuguese manner; for he foresaw what would happen when the\nMohammedans should discover it was a Christian fleet. During the\nentertainment provided for him Zacocia seemed highly pleased, and asked\nseveral questions about the arms and religion of the strangers. Gama\nshowed him his arms, and explained the force of his cannon, but he did\nnot affect to know much about religion; however he frankly promised to\nshow him his books of devotion whenever a few days refreshment should\ngive him a more convenient time. In the meanwhile he entreated Zacocia\nto send him some pilots who might conduct him to India. Two pilots were\nnext day brought by the governor, a treaty of peace was solemnly\nconcluded, and every office of mutual friendship seemed to promise a\nlasting harmony. But it was soon interrupted. Zacocia, as soon as he\nfound the Portuguese were Christians, used every endeavour to destroy\nthe fleet. The life of Gama was attempted. One of the Moorish pilots\ndeserted, and some of the Portuguese who were on shore to get fresh\nwater were attacked by the natives, but were rescued by a timely\nassistance from the ships.\n\nBesides the hatred of the Christian name, inspired by their religion,\nthe Arabs had other reasons to wish the destruction of Gama. Before this\nperiod, they were almost the only merchants of the East; they had\ncolonies in every place convenient for trade, and were the sole masters\nof the Ethiopian, Arabian, and Indian seas. They clearly foresaw the\nconsequences of the arrival of Europeans, and every art was soon exerted\nto prevent such formidable rivals from effecting any footing in the\nEast. To these Mohammedan traders the Portuguese gave the name of Moors.\n\nImmediately after the skirmish at the watering-place, Gama, having one\nMoorish pilot, set sail, but was soon driven back by tempestuous\nweather. He now resolved to take in fresh water by force. The Moors\nperceiving his intention, about two thousand of them rising from ambush,\nattacked the Portuguese detachment. But the prudence of Gama had not\nbeen asleep. His ships were stationed with art, and his artillery not\nonly dispersed the hostile Moors, but reduced their town, which was\nbuilt of wood, into a heap of ashes. Among some prisoners taken by\nPaulus de Gama was a pilot, and Zacocia begging forgiveness for his\ntreachery, sent another, whose skill in navigation he greatly commended.\n\nA war with the Moors was now begun. Gama perceived that their jealousy\nof European rivals gave him nothing to expect but open hostility and\nsecret treachery; and he knew what numerous colonies they had on every\ntrading coast of the East. To impress them, therefore, with the terror\nof his arms on their first act of treachery, was worthy of a great\ncommander. Nor was he remiss in his attention to the chief pilot who had\nbeen last sent. He perceived in him a kind of anxious endeavour to bear\nnear some little islands, and suspecting there were unseen rocks in that\ncourse, he confidently charged the pilot with guilt, and ordered him to\nbe severely whipped. The punishment produced a confession and promises\nof fidelity. And he now advised Gama to stand for Quiloa, which he\nassured him was inhabited by Christians. Three Ethiopian Christians had\ncome aboard the fleet while at Zacocia's island, and the opinions then\ncurrent about Prester John's country inclined Gama to try if he could\nfind a port where he might obtain the assistance of a people of his own\nreligion. A violent storm, however, drove the fleet from Quiloa, and\nbeing now near Mombas, the pilot advised him to enter that harbour,\nwhere, he said, there were also many Christians.\n\nThe city of Mombas is agreeably situated on an island, formed by a river\nwhich empties itself into the sea by two mouths. The buildings are lofty\nand of solid stone, and the country abounds with fruit-trees and cattle.\nGama, happy to find a harbour where everything wore the appearance of\ncivilization, ordered the fleet to cast anchor, which was scarcely done,\nwhen a galley, in which were 100 men in oriental costume, armed with\nbucklers and sabres, rowed up to the flag ship. All of these seemed\ndesirous to come on board, but only four, who by their dress seemed\nofficers, were admitted; nor were these allowed, till stripped of their\narms. When on board they extolled the prudence of Gama in refusing\nadmittance to armed strangers; and by their behaviour, seemed desirous\nto gain the good opinion of the fleet. Their country, they boasted,\ncontained all the riches of India; and their king, they professed, was\nambitious of entering into a friendly treaty with the Portuguese, with\nwhose renown he was well acquainted. And, that a conference with his\nmajesty and the offices of friendship might be rendered more convenient,\nGama was requested to enter the harbour. As no place could be more\ncommodious for the recovery of the sick, Gama resolved to enter the\nport; and in the meanwhile sent two of the pardoned criminals as an\nembassy to the king. These the king treated with the greatest kindness,\nordered his officers to show them the strength and opulence of his city;\nand, on their return to the navy, he sent a present to Gama of the most\nvaluable spices, of which he boasted such abundance, that the\nPortuguese, he said, if they regarded their own interest, would seek for\nno other India.\n\nTo make treaties of commerce was the business of Gama; and one so\nadvantageous was not to be refused. Fully satisfied by the report of his\nspies, he ordered to weigh anchor and enter the harbour. His own ship\nled the way, when a sudden violence of the tide made Gama apprehensive\nof running aground. He therefore ordered the sails to be furled, and the\nanchors to be dropped, and gave a signal for the rest of the fleet to\nfollow his example. This manoeuvre, and the cries of the sailors in\nexecuting it, alarmed the Mozambique pilots. Conscious of their\ntreachery, they thought their design was discovered, and leaped into the\nsea. Some boats of Mombas took them up, and refusing to put them on\nboard, set them safely on shore, though the admiral repeatedly demanded\nthe restoration of the pilots. These proofs of treachery were farther\nconfirmed by the behaviour of the King of Mombas. In the middle of the\nnight Gama thought he heard some noise, and on examination, found his\nfleet surrounded by a great number of Moors, who, with the utmost\nsecrecy, endeavoured to cut his cables. But their scheme was defeated;\nand some Arabs, who remained on board, confessed that no Christians were\nresident either at Quiloa or Mombas. The storm which drove them from the\none place, and their late escape at the other, were now beheld as\nmanifestations of the Divine favour, and Gama, holding up his hands to\nheaven, ascribed his safety to the care of Providence.[56] Two days,\nhowever, elapsed before they could get clear of the rocky bay of Mombas.\nHaving now ventured to hoist their sails, they steered for Melinda, a\nport, they had been told, where many merchants from India resorted. In\ntheir way thither they took a Moorish vessel, out of which Gama selected\nfourteen prisoners, one of whom he perceived by his mien to be a person\nof distinction. By this Saracen, Gama was informed that he was near\nMelinda, that the king was hospitable, and celebrated for his faith, and\nthat four ships from India, commanded by Christian masters, were in that\nharbour. The Saracen also offered to go as Gama's messenger to the king,\nand promised to procure him an able pilot to conduct him to Calicut, the\nchief port of India.\n\nAs the coast of Melinda appeared to be dangerous, Gama anchored at some\ndistance from the city, and, unwilling to risk the safety of any of his\nmen, he landed the Saracen on an island opposite to Melinda. This was\nobserved, and the stranger was brought before the king, to whom he gave\nso favourable an account of the politeness and humanity of Gama, that a\npresent of several sheep, and fruits of all sorts, was sent by his\nmajesty to the admiral, who had the happiness to find the truth of what\nhis prisoner had told him confirmed by the masters of the four ships\nfrom India. These were Christians from Cambaya. They were transported\nwith joy on the arrival of the Portuguese, and gave several useful\ninstructions to the admiral.\n\nThe city of Melinda was situated in a fertile plain, surrounded with\ngardens and groves of orange-trees, whose flowers diffused a most\ngrateful odour. The pastures were covered with herds; and the houses,\nbuilt of square stones, were both elegant and magnificent. Desirous to\nmake an alliance with such a state, Gama requited the civility of the\nking with great generosity. He drew nearer the shore, and urged his\ninstructions as apology for not landing to wait upon his majesty in\nperson. The apology was accepted, and the king, whose age and infirmity\nprevented him going on board, sent his son to congratulate Gama, and\nenter into a treaty of friendship. The prince, who had some time\ngoverned under the direction of his father, came in great pomp. His\ndress was royally magnificent, the nobles who attended him displayed all\nthe riches of silk and embroidery, and the music of Melinda resounded\nall over the bay. Gama, to express his regard, met him in the admiral's\nbarge. The prince, as soon as he came up, leaped into it, and\ndistinguishing the admiral by his habit, embraced him with all the\nintimacy of old friendship. In their conversation, which was long and\nsprightly, he discovered nothing of the barbarian, says Osorius, but in\neverything showed an intelligence and politeness worthy of his high\nrank. He accepted the fourteen Moors, whom Gama gave to him, with great\npleasure. He seemed to view Gama with enthusiasm, and confessed that\nthe build of the Portuguese ships, so much superior to what he had seen,\nconvinced him of the greatness of that people. He gave Gama an able\npilot, named Melemo Cana, to conduct him to Calicut; and requested, that\non his return to Europe, he would carry an ambassador with him to the\ncourt of Lisbon. During the few days the fleet stayed at Melinda, the\nmutual friendship increased, and a treaty of alliance was concluded. And\nnow, on April 22, resigning the helm to his skilful and honest pilot,\nGama hoisted sail and steered to the north. In a few days they passed\nthe line, and the Portuguese with ecstasy beheld the appearance of their\nnative sky. Orion, Ursa Major and Minor, and the other stars about the\nnorth pole, were now a more joyful discovery than the south pole had\nformerly been to them.[57] The pilot now stood out to the east, through\nthe Indian ocean; and after sailing about three weeks, he had the\nhappiness to congratulate Gama on the view of the mountains of Calicut,\nwho, transported with ecstasy, returned thanks to Heaven, and ordered\nall his prisoners to be set at liberty.\n\nAbout two leagues from Calicut, Gama ordered the fleet to anchor, and\nwas soon surrounded by a number of boats. By one of these he sent one of\nthe pardoned criminals to the city. The appearance of an unknown fleet\non their coast brought immense crowds around the stranger, who no sooner\nentered Calicut, than he was lifted from his feet and carried hither and\nthither by the concourse. Though the populace and the stranger were\nalike earnest to be understood, their language was unintelligible to\neach other, till, happily for Gama, a Moorish merchant accosted his\nmessenger in the Spanish tongue. The next day this Moor, who was named\nMonzaida, waited upon Gama on board his ship. He was a native of Tunis,\nand the chief person, he said, with whom John II. had at that port\ncontracted for military stores. He was a man of abilities and great\nintelligence of the world, and an admirer of the Portuguese valour and\nhonour. The engaging behaviour of Gama heightened his esteem into the\nsincerest attachment. Monzaida offered to be interpreter for the\nadmiral, and to serve him in whatever besides he might possibly befriend\nhim. And thus, by one of those unforeseen circumstances which often\ndecide the greatest events, Gama obtained a friend who soon rendered him\nthe most important services.\n\nAt the first interview, Monzaida gave Gama the fullest information of\nthe climate, extent, customs, religion, and riches of India, the\ncommerce of the Arabs, and the character of the sovereign. Calicut was\nnot only the imperial city, but the greatest port. The king, or\nzamorim,[58] who resided here, was acknowledged as emperor by the\nneighbouring princes; and, as his revenue consisted chiefly of duties on\nmerchandise, he had always encouraged the resort of foreigners to his\nports.\n\nPleased with this promising prospect, Gama sent two of his officers with\nMonzaida to wait upon the zamorim at his palace, at Pandarene, a few\nmiles from the city. They were admitted to the royal apartment, and\ndelivered their embassy; to which the zamorim replied, that the arrival\nof the admiral of so great a prince as Emmanuel, gave him inexpressible\npleasure, and that he would willingly embrace the offered alliance. In\nthe meanwhile, as their present station was extremely dangerous, he\nadvised them to bring the ships nearer to Pandarene, and for this\npurpose he sent a pilot to the fleet.\n\nA few days after this, the zamorim sent his first minister, or\ncatual,[59] attended by several of the nayres, or nobility, to conduct\nGama to the royal palace. As an interview with the zamorim was\nabsolutely necessary to complete the purpose of his voyage, Gama\nimmediately agreed to it, though the treachery he had already\nexperienced since his arrival in the eastern seas showed him the\npersonal danger which he thus hazarded. He gave his brother, Paulus, and\nCoello the command of the fleet in his absence.\n\nThe revenue of the zamorim arose chiefly from the traffic of the Moors;\nthe various colonies of these people were combined in one interest, and\nthe jealousy and consternation which his arrival in the eastern seas had\nspread among them, were circumstances well known to Gama: and he knew,\nalso, what he had to expect, both from their force and their fraud. But\nduty and honour required him to complete the purpose of his voyage. He\nleft peremptory command, that if he was detained a prisoner, or any\nattempt made upon his life, they should take no step to save him or to\nreverse his fate; to give ear to no message which might come in his name\nfor such purpose, and to enter into no negotiation on his behalf. They\nwere to keep some boats near the shore, to favour his escape if he\nperceived treachery before being detained by force; yet the moment that\nforce rendered his escape impracticable they were to set sail, and carry\nthe tidings to the king. As this was his only concern, he would suffer\nno risk that might lose a man, or endanger the homeward voyage. Having\nleft these orders, he went ashore with the catual, attended only by\ntwelve of his own men, for he would not weaken his fleet, though he knew\nthe pomp of attendance would in one respect have been greatly in his\nfavour at the first court of India.\n\nAs soon as landed, he and the catual were carried in great pomp, in\npalanquins, upon men's shoulders, to the chief temple, and thence, amid\nimmense crowds, to the royal palace. The apartment and dress of the\nzamorim were such as might be expected from the luxury and wealth of\nIndia. The emperor reclined on a magnificent couch, surrounded with his\nnobility and officers of state. Gama was introduced to him by a\nvenerable old man, the chief brahmin. His majesty, by a gentle nod,\nappointed the admiral to sit on one of the steps of his sofa, and then\ndemanded his embassy. It was against the custom of his country, Gama\nreplied, to deliver his instructions in a public assembly; he therefore\ndesired that the king and a few of his ministers would grant him a\nprivate audience. This was complied with, and Gama, in a manly speech,\nset forth the greatness of his sovereign Emmanuel, the fame he had heard\nof the zamorim, and the desire he had to enter into an alliance with so\ngreat a prince; nor were the mutual advantages of such a treaty omitted\nby the admiral. The zamorim, in reply, professed great esteem for the\nfriendship of the King of Portugal, and declared his readiness to enter\ninto a friendly alliance. He then ordered the catual to provide proper\napartments for Gama in his own house; and having promised another\nconference, he dismissed the admiral with all the appearance of\nsincerity.\n\nThe character of this monarch is strongly marked in the history of\nPortuguese Asia. Avarice was his ruling passion; he was haughty or mean,\nbold or timorous, as his interest rose or fell in the balance of his\njudgment; wavering and irresolute whenever the scales seemed doubtful\nwhich to preponderate. He was pleased with the prospect of bringing the\ncommerce of Europe to his harbours, but he was also influenced by the\nthreats of the Moors.\n\nThree days elapsed ere Gama was again permitted to see the zamorim. At\nthis second audience he presented the letter and presents of Emmanuel.\nThe letter was received with politeness, but the presents were viewed\nwith an eye of contempt. Gama noticed it, and said he only came to\ndiscover the route to India, and therefore was not charged with valuable\ngifts, before the friendship of the state, where they might choose to\ntraffic, was known. Yet, indeed, he brought the most valuable of all\ngifts, the offer of the friendship of his sovereign, and the commerce of\nhis country. He then entreated the king not to reveal the contents of\nEmmanuel's letter to the Moors; and the king, with great apparent\nfriendship, desired Gama to guard against the perfidy of that people. At\nthis time, it is highly probable, the zamorim was sincere.\n\nEvery hour since the arrival of the fleet the Moors had held secret\nconferences. That one man of it might not return was their purpose; and\nevery method to accomplish this was meditated. To influence the king\nagainst the Portuguese, to assassinate Gama, to raise a general\ninsurrection to destroy the foreign navy, and to bribe the catual, were\ndetermined. And the catual (the master of the house where Gama was\nlodged) accepted the bribe, and entered into their interest. Of all\nthese circumstances, however, Gama was apprised by his faithful\ninterpreter, Monzaida, whose affection to the foreign admiral the Moors\nhitherto had not suspected. Thus informed, and having obtained the faith\nof an alliance from the sovereign of the first port of India, Gama\nresolved to elude the plots of the Moors; and accordingly, before the\ndawn, he set out for Pandarene, in hope to get aboard his fleet by some\nof the boats which he had ordered to hover about the shore.\n\nBut the Moors were vigilant. His escape was immediately known, and the\ncatual, by the king's order, pursued and brought him back by force. The\ncatual, however (for it was necessary for their schemes to have the\nships in their power), behaved with politeness to the admiral, and\npromised to use all his interest in his behalf.\n\nThe eagerness of the Moors now contributed to the safety of Gama. Their\nprincipal merchants were admitted to a formal audience, when one of\ntheir orators accused the Portuguese as a nation of faithless\nplunderers: Gama, he said, was an exiled pirate, who had marked his\ncourse with blood and depredation. If he were not a pirate, still there\nwas no excuse for giving such warlike foreigners any footing in a\ncountry already supplied with all that nature and commerce could give.\nHe expatiated on the great services which the Moorish traders had\nrendered to Calicut; and ended with a threat, that all the Moors would\nleave the zamorim's ports and find some other settlement, if he\npermitted these foreigners any share in the commerce of his dominions.\n\nHowever staggered with these arguments and threats, the zamorim was not\nblind to the self-interest and malice of the Moors. He therefore\nordered, that the admiral should once more be brought before him. In the\nmeanwhile the catual tried many stratagems to get the fleet into the\nharbour; and at last, in the name of his master, made an absolute demand\nthat the sails and rudders should be delivered up, as the pledge of\nGama's honesty. But these demands were as absolutely refused by Gama,\nwho sent a letter to his brother by Monzaida, enforcing his former\norders in the strongest manner, declaring that his fate gave him no\nconcern, that he was only unhappy lest the fruits of all their fatigue\nand dangers should be lost. After two days spent in vain altercation\nwith the catual, Gama was brought as a prisoner before the king. The\nking repeated his accusation; upbraided him with non-compliance to the\nrequests of his minister; urged him, if he were an exile or a pirate, to\nconfess freely, in which case he promised to take him into his service,\nand highly promote him on account of his abilities. But Gama, who with\ngreat spirit had baffled all the stratagems of the catual, behaved with\nthe same undaunted bravery before the king. He asserted his innocence,\npointed out the malice of the Moors, and the improbability of his\npiracy; boasted of the safety of his fleet, offered his life rather than\nhis sails and rudders, and concluded with threats in the name of his\nsovereign. The zamorim, during the whole conference, eyed Gama with the\nkeenest attention, and clearly perceived in his unfaltering mien the\ndignity of truth, and the consciousness that he was the admiral of a\ngreat monarch. In their late address, the Moors had treated the zamorim\nas somewhat dependent upon them, and he saw that a commerce with other\nnations would certainly lessen their dangerous importance. His avarice\nstrongly desired the commerce of Portugal; and his pride was flattered\nin humbling the Moors. After many proposals, it was at last agreed, that\nof his twelve attendants he should leave seven as hostages; that what\ngoods were aboard his fleet should be landed; and that Gama should be\nsafely conducted to his ship, after which the treaty of commerce and\nalliance was to be finally settled. And thus, when the assassination of\nGama seemed inevitable, the zamorim suddenly dropped his demand for the\nsails and rudders, rescued him from his determined enemies, and restored\nhim to liberty and the command of his navy.\n\nAs soon as he was aboard[60] the goods were landed, accompanied by a\nletter from Gama to the zamorim, wherein he boldly complained of the\ntreachery of the catual. The zamorim, in answer, promised to make\ninquiry, and punish him, if guilty; but did nothing in the affair. Gama,\nwho had now anchored nearer to the city, every day sent two or three\ndifferent persons on some business to Calicut, that as many of his men\nas possible might be able to give some account of India. The Moors,\nmeanwhile, every day assaulted the ears of the king, who now began to\nwaver; when Gama, who had given every proof of his desire of peace and\nfriendship, sent another letter, in which he requested the zamorim to\npermit him to leave a consul at Calicut to manage the affairs of King\nEmmanuel. But to this request--the most reasonable result of a\ncommercial treaty--the zamorim returned a refusal full of rage and\nindignation. Gama, now fully master of the character of the zamorim,\nresolved to treat a man of such an inconstant, dishonourable disposition\nwith a contemptuous silence. This contempt was felt by the king, who,\nyielding to the advice of the catual and the entreaties of the Moors,\nseized the Portuguese goods, and ordered two of the seven hostages--the\ntwo who had the charge of the cargo--to be put in irons. The admiral\nremonstrated by means of Monzaida, but the king still persisted in his\ntreacherous breach of faith. Repeated solicitations made him more\nhaughty, and it was now the duty and interest of Gama to use force. He\ntook a vessel, in which were six nayres, or noblemen, and nineteen of\ntheir servants. The servants he set ashore to relate the tidings, the\nnoblemen he detained. As soon as the news had time to spread through the\ncity, he hoisted his sails, and, though with a slow motion, seemed to\nproceed on his homeward voyage. The city was now in an uproar; the\nfriends of the captive noblemen surrounded the palace, and loudly\naccused the policy of the Moors. The king, in all the perplexed distress\nof a haughty, avaricious, weak prince, sent after Gama, delivered up all\nthe hostages, and submitted to his proposals; nay, even solicited that\nan agent should be left, and even descended to the meanness of a\npalpable lie. The two factors, he said, he had put in irons, only to\ndetain them till he might write letters to his brother Emmanuel, and the\ngoods he had kept on shore that an agent might be sent to dispose of\nthem. Gama, however, perceived a mysterious trifling, and, previous to\nany treaty, insisted upon the restoration of the goods.\n\nThe day after this altercation Monzaida came aboard the fleet in great\nperturbation. The Moors, he said, had raised great commotions, and had\nenraged the king against the Portuguese. The king's ships were getting\nready, and a numerous Moorish fleet from Mecca was daily expected. To\ndelay Gama till this force arrived was the purpose of the Court and of\nthe Moors, who were now confident of success. To this information\nMonzaida added, that the Moors, suspecting his attachment to Gama, had\ndetermined to assassinate him; that he had narrowly escaped from them;\nthat it was impossible for him to recover his effects, and that his only\nhope was in the protection of Gama. Gama rewarded him with the\nfriendship he merited, took him with him, as he desired, to Lisbon, and\nprocured him a recompense for his services.\n\nAlmost immediately seven boats arrived loaded with the goods, and\ndemanded the restoration of the captive noblemen. Gama took the goods on\nboard, but refused to examine if they were entire, and also refused to\ndeliver the prisoners. He had been promised an ambassador to his\nsovereign, he said, but had been so often deluded he could trust such a\nfaithless people no longer, and would therefore carry away the captives\nto convince the King of Portugal what insults and injustice his\nambassador and admiral had suffered from the Zamorim of Calicut. Having\nthus dismissed the Indians, he fired his cannon and hoisted his sails. A\ncalm, however, detained him on the coast some days; and the zamorim,\nseizing the opportunity, sent what vessels he could fit out (sixty in\nall), full of armed men, to attack him. Though Gama's cannon were well\nhandled, confident of their numbers, they pressed on to board him, when\na sudden tempest arose, which Gama's ships rode out in safety, miserably\ndispersed the Indian fleet, and completed their ruin.\n\nAfter this victory the admiral made a halt at a little island near the\nshore, where he erected a cross,[61] bearing the name and arms of his\nPortuguese majesty. From this place, by the hand of Monzaida, he wrote a\nletter to the zamorim, wherein he gave a full and circumstantial account\nof all the plots of the catual and the Moors. Still, however, he\nprofessed his desire of a commercial treaty, and promised to represent\nthe zamorim in the best light to Emmanuel. The prisoners, he said,\nshould be kindly used, were only kept as ambassadors to his sovereign,\nand should be returned to India when they were enabled from experience\nto give an account of Portugal. The letter he sent by one of the\ncaptives, who by this means obtained his liberty.\n\nThe fame of Gama had now spread over the Indian seas, and the Moors were\neverywhere intent on his destruction. As he was near the shore of\nAnchediva, he beheld the appearance of a floating isle, covered with\ntrees, advance towards him. But his prudence was not to be thus\ndeceived. A bold pirate, named Timoja, by linking together eight vessels\nfull of men and covered with green boughs, thought to board him by\nsurprise. But Gama's cannon made seven of them fly; the eighth, loaded\nwith fruits and provision, he took. The beautiful island of Anchediva\nnow offered a convenient place to careen his ships and refresh his men.\nWhile he stayed here, the first minister of Zabajo, king of Goa, one of\nthe most powerful princes of India, came on board, and, in the name of\nhis master, congratulated the admiral in the Italian tongue. Provisions,\narms, and money were offered to Gama, and he was entreated to accept the\nfriendship of Zabajo. The admiral was struck with admiration; the\naddress and abilities of the minister appeared so conspicuous. He said\nhe was an Italian by birth, but in sailing to Greece, had been taken by\npirates, and after various misfortunes, had been necessitated to enter\ninto the service of a Mohammedan prince, the nobleness of whose\ndisposition he commended in the highest terms. Yet, with all his\nabilities, Gama perceived an artful inquisitiveness--that nameless\nsomething which does not accompany simple honesty. After a long\nconference, Gama abruptly upbraided him as a spy, and ordered him to be\nput to the torture. And this soon brought a confession, that he was a\nPolish Jew by birth, and was sent to examine the strength of the fleet\nby Zabajo, who was mustering all his power to attack the Portuguese.\nGama, on this, immediately set sail, and took the spy along with him,\nwho soon after was baptized, and named Jasper de Gama, the admiral being\nhis godfather. He afterwards became of great service to Emmanuel.\n\nGama now stood westward through the Indian Ocean, and after being long\ndelayed by calms, arrived off Magadoxa, on the coast of Africa. This\nplace was a principal port of the Moors; he therefore levelled the walls\nof the city with his cannon, and burned and destroyed all the ships in\nthe harbour. Soon after this he descried eight Moorish vessels bearing\ndown upon him; his artillery, however, soon made them use their oars in\nflight, nor could Gama overtake any of them for want of wind. The\nhospitable harbour of Melinda was the next place he reached. His men,\nalmost worn out with fatigue and sickness, here received a second time\nevery assistance which an accomplished and generous prince could bestow.\nAnd having taken an ambassador on board, he again set sail, in hope that\nhe might pass the Cape of Good Hope while the favourable weather\ncontinued; for his acquaintance with the eastern seas now suggested to\nhim that the tempestuous season was periodical. Soon after he set sail\nhis brother's ship struck on a sand bank, and was burnt by order of the\nadmiral. His brother and part of the crew he took into his own ship, the\nrest he sent on board of Coello's; nor were more hands now alive than\nwere necessary to man the two vessels which remained. Having taken in\nprovisions at the island of Zanzibar (where they were kindly entertained\nby a Mohammedan prince of the same sect with the King of Melinda), they\nsafely doubled the Cape of Good Hope on April 26, 1499, and continued\ntill they reached the island of St. Iago, in favourable weather. But a\ntempest here separated the two ships, and gave Gama and Coello an\nopportunity to show the goodness of their hearts in a manner which does\nhonour to human nature.\n\nThe admiral was now near the Azores, when Paulus de Gama, long worn with\nfatigue and sickness, was unable to endure the motion of the ship.\nVasco, therefore, put into the island of Tercera, in hope of his\nbrother's recovery. And such was his affection, that rather than leave\nhim he gave the command of his ship to one of his officers. But the hope\nof recovery was vain. John de Sa proceeded to Lisbon with the flag ship,\nwhile the admiral remained behind to soothe the deathbed of his brother,\nand perform his funeral rites. Coello, meanwhile, landed at Lisbon, and\nhearing that Gama had not arrived, imagined he might either be\nshipwrecked or beating about in distress. Without seeing one of his\nfamily he immediately set sail again, on purpose to bring relief to his\nfriend and admiral. But this generous design was prevented by an order\nfrom the king, ere he got out of the Tagus.\n\nThe particulars of the voyage were now diffused by Coello, and the joy\nof the king was only equalled by the admiration of the people. Yet,\nwhile all the nation was fired with zeal to express their esteem of the\nhappy admiral, he himself, the man who was such an enthusiast to the\nsuccess of his voyage that he would willingly have sacrificed his life\nin India to secure that success, was now in the completion of it a\ndejected mourner. The compliments of the Court, and the shouts of the\nstreet, were irksome to him; for his brother, the companion of his toils\nand dangers, was not there to share the joy. As soon as he had waited on\nthe king, he shut himself up in a lonely house near the seaside at\nBelem, from whence it was some time ere he was drawn to mingle in public\nlife.\n\nDuring this important expedition, two years and almost two months\nelapsed. Of 160 men who went out, only 55 returned. These were all\nrewarded by the king. Coello was pensioned with 100 ducats a year, and\nmade a fidalgo, or gentleman of the king's household, a degree of\nnobility in Portugal. The title of Don was annexed to the family of\nVasco de Gama. He was appointed admiral of the eastern seas, with an\nannual salary of 3000 ducats, and a part of the king's arms was added to\nhis. Public thanksgivings to Heaven were celebrated throughout the\nchurches of the kingdom; while feasts, dramatic performances, and\nchivalrous entertainments (or tournaments), according to the taste of\nthat age, demonstrated the joy of Portugal.\n\nPedro Alvarez Cabral was the second Portuguese admiral who sailed for\nIndia. He entered into alliance with Trimumpara, king of Cochin, and\nhigh priest of Malabar. (See Bk. x. p. 302.)\n\nGama, having left six ships for the protection of Cochin and Cananor,\nhad sailed for Portugal with twelve ships, laden with the riches of the\nEast. As soon as his departure was made known, the zamorim made great\npreparations to attack Cochin--a city situated on an island, divided by\nan arm of the sea from the main-land. At one part, however, this creek\nwas fordable at low water. The zamorim having renewed the war, at\nlength, by force of numbers and bribery, took the city; and the King of\nCochin, stripped of his dominions, but still faithful to the Portuguese,\nfled to the island of Viopia. Francisco Albuquerque, with other\ncommanders, having heard of the fate of Cochin, set sail for its relief;\nthe garrison of the zamorim fled, and Trimumpara was restored to his\nthrone. Every precaution by which the passage to the island of Cochin\nmight be secured was now taken by Pacheco. The Portuguese took the\nsacrament, and devoted themselves to death. The King of Cochin's troops\namounted only to 5000 men, while the army of the zamorim numbered\n57,000, provided with brass cannon, and assisted by two Italian\nengineers. Yet this immense army, laying siege to Cochin, was defeated.\nSeven times the zamorim raised new armies; yet they were all vanquished\nat the fords of Cochin, by the intrepidity and stratagems of Pacheco. In\nthe later battles the zamorim exposed himself to the greatest danger,\nand was sometimes sprinkled with the blood of his slain attendants--a\ncircumstance mentioned in the Lusiad, bk. x. p. 304. He then had\nrecourse to fraud and poison; but all his attempts were baffled. At\nlast, in despair, he resigned his throne, and shut himself up for the\nrest of his days in one of the temples.\n\nSoon after the kingdom of Cochin was restored to prosperity Pacheco was\nrecalled. The King of Portugal paid the highest compliments to his\nvalour, and gave him the government of a possession of the crown in\nAfrica. But merit always has enemies: Pacheco was accused and brought to\nLisbon in irons, where he remained for a considerable time chained in a\ndungeon. He was at length tried, and after a full investigation of the\ncharges made against him, was honourably acquitted. His services to his\ncountry were soon forgotten, his merits were no longer thought of, and\nthe unfortunate Pacheco ended his days in an alms-house--a circumstance\nreferred to in the Lusiad, bk. x. p. 305.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\nBOOK I.\n                                                             PAGE\nSubject proposed                                             1, 2\nInvocation to the Muses of the Tagus                            3\nAddress to Don Sebastian                                     3, 4\nAssembly of the gods and goddesses                              8\nThe fleet enters the Indian Ocean                              13\nDiscovers islands there                                        13\nDescription of the natives                                     14\nIntercourse with the ships                                 15, 16\nThe governor visits Gama                                   17, 18\nBacchus determines on obstructing the fleet                    20\nHis stratagem for that purpose                                 21\nAttack by the Portuguese on landing to obtain water            23\nBombardment of the town                                    24, 25\nAnother plot of Bacchus                                    26, 27\nThe poet's reflections                                         29\n\n\nBOOK II.\n\nTreacherous invitation from the King of Mombas for the fleet\n    to enter the harbour                                       31\nMessengers sent on shore by Gama to look at the town       32, 33\nVenus and the Nereids save the fleet from danger           35, 36\nVenus appeals to Jupiter on behalf of the expedition           40\nHis reply                                                      43\nMercury sent to earth                                          46\nHis message to Gama in a dream                                 47\nHow the vessels escaped                                        49\nThey meet two Moorish ships                                    49\nTheir account of Melinda and its king                          50\nHospitable reception by the King of Melinda                    51\nGama's address                                                 52\nThe king's reply                                           53, 54\nNight rejoicings in the ships and on shore                 54, 55\nVisit of the king to the fleet                                 55\nGama's speech                                                  57\nThe king requests Gama to describe his country and relate its\n    history                                                    58\n\n\nBOOK III.\n\nInvocation to Calliope                                         60\nGama commences his story                                       61\nGeographical description of Europe                             62\nAncient history of Portugal commences                          66\nFidelity of Egas Moniz                                     70, 71\nBattle of Ourique                                           72-75\nOrigin of the Portuguese shield and arms                       76\nLeiria, Mafra, Cintra, Lisbon, etc.                         76-78\nPalmella, etc., taken from the Moors                           79\nAlphonso at war with the Leonese                           79, 80\nGathering of the Moors to invest Santarem                      81\nDefeated by the Portuguese                                     83\nDeath of Alphonso                                              83\nDon Sancho besieges Sylves                                     84\nCharacter of Sancho II.                                        85\n   \"      \"  King Dionis                                       87\n   \"      \"  Alphonso IV.                                      87\nThe Moors assemble again to invade Portugal                    88\nThe Queen of Spain asks aid from her father, the King of\n    Portugal                                                   88\nThe two allied sovereigns defeat the Moors                     90\nEpisode of Inez de Castro, or the \"Fair Inez\"               92-96\nCharacter of King Ferdinand                                   100\n\n\nBOOK IV.\n\nState of Portugal on the death of Ferdinand                   103\nKing John succeeds to the throne                              103\nCharacter of Queen Leonora                                    104\nCastitlians assemble in aid of Beatrice, daughter of Leonora  106\nDon Nuno Alvarez's loyalty                                    107\nBattle between the Portuguese and Castilians                  113\nThe latter defeated                                      116, 117\nAlphonso, after defeating the Moors, attacks the King of\nArragon                                                       117\nAlphonso dies, and is succeeded by John II.                   118\nKing John sends to explore the East by land                   122\nEmmanuel succeeds; his dream of the rivers Ganges and Indus   123\nThe king consults his council                                 125\nEntrusts the expedition to Vasco de Gama                      125\nVasco de Gama's preparations                                  127\nParting of the armada with their friends                      129\nThe old man's farewell address                                130\n\n\nBOOK V.\n\nDeparture of the fleet from Lisbon                            133\nMadeira, Coast of Morocco, the Azenegues                      134\nThe river Senegal, Cape Verde, San Jago, Jalofo, Mandinga     135\nDorcades, Sierra Leone, Cape Palmas                           136\nSt. Thomas, Congo, the river Zaire                            137\nA water-spout described                                       139\nThey land near the Tropic of Capricorn                        141\nA native African met with                                     141\nVeloso's adventure on shore                                   142\nGigantic vision of the Cape                                   146\nThe armada lands at Sa\u00f5 Braz                                  153\nCurrents encountered                                          155\nThe armada touches at Natal                                   155\nReaches Sof\u00e1la; description of the inhabitants                157\nThe crews attacked by scurvy                                  158\nVasco de Gama compares his voyage with the narratives of\nancient poets, and concludes his story                        159\nReflections on the subject by the poet                   161, 162\n\n\nBOOK VI.\n\nHospitality of the King of Melinda                            164\nGama takes his leave                                          166\nBacchus descends to Neptune's abode                           166\nDescription thereof                                           167\nThe sea-gods assembled by Neptune. Bacchus' address to\nNeptune and the other sea-gods                                169\nNeptune orders \u00c6olus to let loose the winds on the Portuguese\nfleet                                                         173\nThe fleet on a tranquil sea                                   174\nVeloso, to pass the time away, relates the story of a\ntournament in England                                         175\nA dark cloud comes over, and the storm arises                 183\nVenus, the morning star, appears, and the goddess calls the\nNereids to her aid                                            188\nOrithya, Galatea, and other sea-nymphs persuade Boreas to cease\nhis blustering                                                189\nMorning appears, and with it the mountain-tops of the\nIndian coast                                                  190\nGama returns thanks to God                                    190\nThe poet's reflections                                   190, 191\n\n\nBOOK VII.\n\nThe Portuguese exhorted to the warfare of the cross, other\nnations being reproved                                    193-197\nIndia described                                               198\nThe fleet anchors, and a message is sent on shore             198\nMeeting with Mozaide, who speaks Spanish                      199\nMozaide visits Gama, and describes the country                200\nGama goes on shore                                            209\nEnters with the kotw\u00e2l into an Indian temple                  209\nGama's interview with the Indian king                         213\nHis speech                                                    214\nThe king's reply                                              215\nMozaide's description of the Portuguese                       216\nVisit of the kotw\u00e2l to the ships                              217\nThe poet invokes the nymphs of the Tagus, and briefly\ndescribes his own shipwreck and other misfortunes         218-221\n\n\nBOOK VIII.\n\nDescription of the pictures                                   222\nBacchus appears as Mohammed, to a priest in a dream           238\nThe king consults with the magi and the soothsayers           240\nThe priest consults his friends                               241\nHow evil counsellors mislead kings                            242\nThe king's defiant speech and base accusation                 244\nGama's answer to the king                                 245-247\nGama detained prisoner in the kotw\u00e2l's house                  250\n\n\nBOOK IX.\n\nThe king visits the house of the kotw\u00e2l                       252\nAddresses Gama, detained as a prisoner there                  252\nOn what conditions he may be allowed to return to his fleet   253\nGama's indignant reply                                   253, 254\nThe king orders the signal to be given                        254\nThe Moorish vessels surround the fleet, and attack it with\nclouds of arrows                                              255\nThe drums and trumpets of the fleet call to action            255\nDestruction of the Moorish vessels by the cannon of the ships 256\nBombardment of Calicut by the fleet                           257\nThe terrified multitude implores the king to release\nhis prisoner                                                  258\nThe king implores Gama to spare his city and people           258\nGama's dignified reply                                        258\nThe terms offered by the king rejected by Gama                259\nGama directs the king to hoist the Portuguese flag and\nconvey him to his ships                                       260\nPeace restored. Presents of Indian productions                261\nMozaide had discovered to Gama the intended treachery         261\nConversion to Christianity of Mozaide                         262\nReturn of the fleet to Portugal with the hostages             262\nVenus raises the Island of Love in the sea, to afford\nthe sailors a resting-place. She summons the Nereids,\nand informs them of her intentions. Seeks her son, Cupid      264\nCupid discharges the arrows of love at the sea-nymphs     269-271\nApproach of the Portuguese fleet                              273\nThe Island of Love described                              274-280\nThe sailors land and pursue the nymphs                    280-288\nTethys leads Gama to a palace on a lofty hill                 289\nThe allegory explained                                        290\n\n\nBOOK X.\n\nHappiness of the heroes and nymphs                            299\nThe poet apostrophizes his muse and bewails his own fate 301, 302\nThe siren's prophetic song                                    302\nShe pauses to reflect on the ill-requited bravery of\nPacheco                                                       305\nThe siren resumes her prophetic song                          305\nForetells the needless cruelty of Albuquerque, who puts to\ndeath a soldier for a venial offence                     310, 311\nSoarez, Sequeyra, Menez, Mascarene, Nunio, Noronha, Souza,\nand other heroes                                          312-318\nThe nymph Tethys leads them to the summit of a rugged\nhill, where the globe in miniature is displayed\nbefore them                                                   319\nThe Ptolemean system described                                320\nSketch of the geography of the world                          325\nHistory of St. Thomas, the Apostle of India               331-335\nGeographical description continued                        337-353\nTethys bids the Portuguese farewell                           353\nTheir return home and reception at Lisbon                     356\nThe poet's conclusion, and patriotic exhortation to\nhis sovereign                                            356, 357\n\n\n\n\nTHE LUSIAD.[62]\n\n\n\n\nBOOK I.\n\nARGUMENT.\n\nStatement of the subject. Invocation to the muses of the Tagus. Herald\ncalls an assembly of the gods. Jupiter foretells the future conquests of\nthe Portuguese. Bacchus, apprehensive that the Portuguese may eclipse\nthe glory acquired by himself in the conquest of India, declares against\nthem. Venus, who sees in the Portuguese her ancient Romans, promises to\naid their enterprise. Mars induces Jupiter to support them, and Mercury\nis sent to direct their course. Gama, commander of the expedition, lands\nat Mozambique and Mombas. Opposition of the Moors, instigated by\nBacchus. They grant Gama a pilot who designs treacherously to take them\nto Quiloa to ensure the destruction of the whole expedition.\n\n\n    Arms and the Heroes, who from Lisbon's shore,\n    Thro' seas[63] where sail was never spread before,\n    Beyond where Ceylon lifts her spicy breast,\n    And waves her woods above the wat'ry waste,\n    With prowess more than human forc'd their way\n    To the fair kingdoms of the rising day:\n    What wars they wag'd, what seas, what dangers pass'd,\n    What glorious empire crown'd their toils at last,\n    Vent'rous I sing, on soaring pinions borne,\n    And all my country's wars[64] the song adorn;\n    What kings, what heroes of my native land\n    Thunder'd on Asia's and on Afric's strand:\n    Illustrious shades, who levell'd in the dust\n    The idol-temples and the shrines of lust:\n    And where, erewhile, foul demons were rever'd,\n    To Holy Faith unnumber'd altars rear'd:[65]\n    Illustrious names, with deathless laurels crown'd,\n    While time rolls on in every clime renown'd!\n\n    Let Fame with wonder name the Greek[66] no more,\n    What lands he saw, what toils at sea he bore;\n    Nor more the Trojan's wand'ring[67] voyage boast,\n    What storms he brav'd on many a perilous coast:\n    No more let Rome exult in Trajan's name,\n    Nor Eastern conquests Ammon's[68] pride proclaim;\n    A nobler hero's deeds demand my lays\n    Than e'er adorn'd the song of ancient days,\n    Illustrious GAMA,[69] whom the waves obey'd,\n    And whose dread sword the fate of empire sway'd.\n\n      And you, fair nymphs of Tagus, parent stream,\n    If e'er your meadows were my pastoral theme,\n    While you have listen'd, and by moonshine seen\n    My footsteps wander o'er your banks of green,\n    O come auspicious, and the song inspire\n    With all the boldness of your hero's fire:\n    Deep and majestic let the numbers flow,\n    And, rapt to heaven, with ardent fury glow,\n    Unlike the verse that speaks the lover's grief,\n    When heaving sighs afford their soft relief,\n    And humble reeds bewail the shepherd's pain;\n    But like the warlike trumpet be the strain\n    To rouse the hero's ire, and far around,\n    With equal rage, your warriors' deeds resound.\n\n    And thou,[70] O born the pledge of happier days,\n    To guard our freedom and our glories raise,\n    Given to the world to spread Religion's sway,\n    And pour o'er many a land the mental day,\n    Thy future honours on thy shield behold,\n    The cross and victor's wreath emboss'd in gold:\n    At thy commanding frown we trust to see,\n    The Turk and Arab bend the suppliant knee:\n    Beneath the morn,[71] dread king, thine empire lies,\n    When midnight veils thy Lusitanian[72] skies;\n    And when, descending in the western main,\n    The sun[73] still rises on thy length'ning reign:\n    Thou blooming scion of the noblest stem,\n    Our nation's safety, and our age's gem,\n    O young Sebastian, hasten to the prime\n    Of manly youth, to Fame's high temple climb:\n    Yet now attentive hear the Muse's lay\n    While thy green years to manhood speed away:\n    The youthful terrors of thy brow suspend,\n    And, oh, propitious to the song attend--\n    The num'rous song, by patriot-passion fir'd,\n    And by the glories of thy race inspir'd:\n    To be the herald of my country's fame\n    My first ambition and my dearest aim:\n    Nor conquests fabulous nor actions vain,\n    The Muse's pastime, here adorn the strain:\n    Orlando's fury, and Rugero's rage,\n    And all the heroes of th' Aonian page,[74]\n    The dreams of bards surpass'd the world shall view,\n    And own their boldest fictions may be true;\n    Surpass'd and dimm'd by the superior blaze\n    Of GAMA'S mighty deeds, which here bright Truth displays.\n    Nor more let History boast her heroes old,\n    Their glorious rivals here, dread prince, behold:\n    Here shine the valiant Nunio's deeds unfeign'd,\n    Whose single arm the falling state sustain'd;\n    Here fearless Egas' wars, and, Fuas, thine,\n    To give full ardour to the song combine;\n    But ardour equal to your martial ire\n    Demands the thund'ring sounds of Homer's lyre.\n    To match the Twelve so long by bards renown'd,[75]\n    Here brave Magricio and his peers are crown'd\n    (A glorious Twelve!) with deathless laurels, won\n    In gallant arms before the English throne.\n    Unmatch'd no more the Gallic Charles shall stand,\n    Nor C\u00e6sar's name the first of praise command:\n    Of nobler acts the crown'd Alonzo[76] see,\n    Thy valiant sires, to whom the bended knee\n    Of vanquish'd Afric bow'd. Nor less in fame,\n    He who confin'd the rage of civil flame,\n    The godlike John, beneath whose awful sword\n    Rebellion crouch'd, and trembling own'd him lord\n    Those heroes, too, who thy bold flag unfurl'd,\n    And spread thy banners o'er the Eastern world,\n    Whose spears subdu'd the kingdoms of the morn,\n    Their names and glorious wars the song adorn:\n    The daring GAMA, whose unequall'd name\n    (Proud monarch) shines o'er all of naval fame:\n    Castro the bold, in arms a peerless knight,\n    And stern Pacheco, dreadful in the fight:\n    The two Almeydas, names for ever dear,\n    By Tago's nymphs embalm'd with many a tear;\n    Ah, still their early fate the nymphs shall mourn,\n    And bathe with many a tear their hapless urn:\n    Nor shall the godlike Albuquerque restrain\n    The Muse's fury; o'er the purpled plain\n    The Muse shall lead him in his thund'ring car\n    Amidst his glorious brothers of the war,\n    Whose fame in arms resounds from sky to sky,\n    And bids their deeds the power of death defy.\n    And while, to thee, I tune the duteous lay,\n    Assume, O potent king, thine empire's sway;\n    With thy brave host through Afric march along,\n    And give new triumphs to immortal song:\n    On thee with earnest eyes the nations wait,\n    And, cold with dread, the Moor expects his fate;\n    The barb'rous mountaineer on Taurus' brows\n    To thy expected yoke his shoulder bows;\n    Fair Thetis woos thee with her blue domain,\n    Her nuptial son, and fondly yields her reign,\n    And from the bow'rs of heav'n thy grandsires[77] see\n    Their various virtues bloom afresh in thee;\n    One for the joyful days of peace renown'd,\n    And one with war's triumphant laurels crown'd:\n    With joyful hands, to deck thy manly brow,\n    They twine the laurel and the olive-bough;\n    With joyful eyes a glorious throne they see,\n    In Fame's eternal dome, reserv'd for thee.\n    Yet, while thy youthful hand delays to wield\n    The sceptre'd power, or thunder of the field,\n    Here view thine Argonauts, in seas unknown,\n    And all the terrors of the burning zone,\n    Till their proud standards, rear'd in other skies,\n    And all their conquests meet thy wond'ring[78] eyes.\n\n    Now, far from land, o'er Neptune's dread abode\n    The Lusitanian fleet triumphant rode;\n    Onward they traced the wide and lonesome main,\n    Where changeful Proteus leads his scaly train;\n    The dancing vanes before the zephyrs flow'd,\n    And their bold keels the trackless ocean plough'd;\n    Unplough'd before, the green-ting'd billows rose,\n    And curl'd and whiten'd round the nodding prows.\n    When Jove, the god who with a thought controls\n    The raging seas, and balances the poles,\n    From heav'n beheld, and will'd, in sov'reign state,\n    To fix the Eastern World's depending fate,\n    Swift at his nod th' Olympian herald flies,\n    And calls th' immortal senate of the skies;\n    Where, from the sov'reign throne of earth and heav'n,\n    Th' immutable decrees of fate are given.\n    Instant the regents of the spheres of light,\n    And those who rule the paler orbs of night,\n    With those, the gods whose delegated sway\n    The burning South and frozen North obey;\n    And they whose empires see the day-star rise,\n    And evening Phoebus leave the western skies,\n    All instant pour'd along the milky road,\n    Heaven's crystal pavements glitt'ring as they trod:\n    And now, obedient to the dread command,\n    Before their awful lord in order stand.\n\n    Sublime and dreadful on his regal throne,\n    That glow'd with stars, and bright as lightning shone,\n    Th' immortal Sire, who darts the thunder, sat,\n    The crown and sceptre added solemn state;\n    The crown, of heaven's own pearls, whose ardent rays,\n    Flam'd round his brows, outshone the diamond's blaze:\n    His breath such gales of vital fragrance shed,\n    As might, with sudden life, inspire the dead:\n    Supreme Control thron'd in his awful eyes\n    Appear'd, and mark'd the monarch of the skies.\n    On seats that burn'd with pearl and ruddy gold,\n    The subject gods their sov'reign lord enfold,\n    Each in his rank, when with a voice that shook\n    The tow'rs of heav'n, the world's dread ruler spoke:\n\n    \"Immortal heirs of light, my purpose hear,\n    My counsels ponder, and the Fates revere:\n    Unless Oblivion o'er your minds has thrown\n    Her dark blank shades, to you, ye gods, are known\n    The Fate's decree, and ancient warlike fame\n    Of that bold race which boasts of Lusus' name;\n    That bold advent'rous race, the Fates declare,\n    A potent empire in the East shall rear,\n    Surpassing Babel's or the Persian fame,\n    Proud Grecia's boast, or Rome's illustrious name.\n    Oft from these brilliant seats have you beheld\n    The sons of Lusus on the dusty field,\n    Though few, triumphant o'er the num'rous Moors,\n    Till, from the beauteous lawns on Tagus' shores\n    They drove the cruel foe. And oft has heav'n\n    Before their troops the proud Castilians driv'n;\n    While Victory her eagle-wings display'd\n    Where'er their warriors wav'd the shining blade,\n    Nor rests unknown how Lusus' heroes stood\n    When Rome's ambition dyed the world with blood;\n    What glorious laurels Viriatus[79] gain'd,\n    How oft his sword with Roman gore was stain'd;\n    And what fair palms their martial ardour crown'd,\n    When led to battle by the chief renown'd,\n    Who[80] feign'd a d\u00e6mon, in a deer conceal'd,\n    To him the counsels of the gods reveal'd.\n    And now, ambitious to extend their sway\n    Beyond their conquests on the southmost bay\n    Of Afric's swarthy coast, on floating wood\n    They brave the terrors of the dreary flood,\n    Where only black-wing'd mists have hover'd o'er,\n    Or driving clouds have sail'd the wave before;\n    Beneath new skies they hold their dreadful way\n    To reach the cradle of the new-born day:\n    And Fate, whose mandates unrevok'd remain,\n    Has will'd that long shall Lusus' offspring reign\n    The lords of that wide sea, whose waves behold\n    The sun come forth enthron'd in burning gold.\n    But now, the tedious length of winter past,\n    Distress'd and weak, the heroes faint at last.\n    What gulfs they dar'd, you saw, what storms they brav'd,\n    Beneath what various heav'ns their banners wav'd!\n    Now Mercy pleads, and soon the rising land\n    To their glad eyes shall o'er the waves expand;\n    As welcome friends the natives shall receive,\n    With bounty feast them, and with joy relieve.\n    And, when refreshment shall their strength renew,\n    Thence shall they turn, and their bold route pursue.\"\n\n    So spoke high Jove: the gods in silence heard,\n    Then rising, each by turns his thoughts preferr'd:\n    But chief was Bacchus of the adverse train;\n    Fearful he was, nor fear'd his pride in vain,\n    Should Lusus' race arrive on India's shore,\n    His ancient honours would be known no more;\n    No more in Nysa[81] should the native tell\n    What kings, what mighty hosts before him fell.\n    The fertile vales beneath the rising sun\n    He view'd as his, by right of victory won,\n    And deem'd that ever in immortal song\n    The Conqueror's title should to him belong.\n    Yet Fate, he knew, had will'd, that loos'd from Spain\n    Boldly advent'rous thro' the polar main,\n    A warlike race should come, renown'd in arms,\n    And shake the eastern world with war's alarms,\n    Whose glorious conquests and eternal fame\n    In black Oblivion's waves should whelm his name.\n\n    Urania-Venus,[82] queen of sacred love,\n    Arose and fixed her asking eyes on Jove;\n    Her eyes, well pleas'd, in Lusus' sons could trace\n    A kindred likeness to the Roman race,\n    For whom of old such kind regard she bore;[83]\n    The same their triumphs on Barbaria's shore,\n    The same the ardour of their warlike flame,\n    The manly music of their tongue the same:[84]\n    Affection thus the lovely goddess sway'd,\n    Nor less what Fate's unblotted page display'd,\n    Where'er this people should their empire raise,\n    She knew her altars would unnumber'd blaze,\n    And barb'rous nations at her holy shrine\n    Be humaniz'd and taught her lore divine.\n    Her spreading honours thus the one inspir'd,\n    And one the dread to lose his worship fir'd.\n    Their struggling factions shook th' Olympian state\n    With all the clam'rous tempest of debate.\n    Thus, when the storm with sudden gust invades\n    The ancient forest's deep and lofty shades,\n    The bursting whirlwinds tear their rapid course,\n    The shatter'd oaks crash, and with echoes hoarse\n    The mountains groan, while whirling on the blast\n    The thick'ning leaves a gloomy darkness cast;\n    Such was the tumult in the blest abodes,\n    When Mars, high tow'ring o'er the rival gods,\n    Stepp'd forth: stern sparkles from his eye-balls glanc'd,\n    And now, before the throne of Jove advanc'd,\n    O'er his left shoulder his broad shield he throws,\n    And lifts his helm[85] above his dreadful brows:\n    Bold and enrag'd he stands, and, frowning round,\n    Strikes his tall spear-staff on the sounding ground;\n    Heav'n trembled, and the light turn'd pale[86]--such dread\n    His fierce demeanour o'er Olympus spread--\n    When thus the warrior: \"O Eternal Sire,\n    Thine is the sceptre, thine the thunder's fire,\n    Supreme dominion thine; then, Father, hear,\n    Shall that bold race which once to thee was dear,\n    Who, now fulfilling thy decrees of old,\n    Through these wild waves their fearless journey hold,\n    Shall that bold race no more thy care engage,\n    But sink the victims of unhallow'd rage!\n    Did Bacchus yield to Reason's voice divine,\n    Bacchus the cause of Lusus' sons would join,\n    Lusus, the lov'd companion of his cares,\n    His earthly toils, his dangers, and his wars:\n    But envy still a foe to worth will prove,\n    To worth, though guarded by the arm of Jove.\n\n      \"Then thou, dread Lord of Fate, unmov'd remain,\n    Nor let weak change thine awful counsels stain,\n    For Lusus' race thy promis'd favour show;\n    Swift as the arrow from Apollo's bow\n    Let Maia's[87] son explore the wat'ry way,\n    Where, spent with toil, with weary hopes, they stray;\n    And safe to harbour, through the deep untried,\n    Let him, empower'd, their wand'ring vessels guide;\n    There let them hear of India's wish'd-for shore,\n    And balmy rest their fainting strength restore.\"\n\n      He spoke: high Jove assenting bow'd the head,\n    And floating clouds of nectar'd fragrance shed:\n    Then, lowly bending to th' Eternal Sire,\n    Each in his duteous rank, the gods retire.\n\n      Whilst thus in heaven's bright palace fate was weigh'd\n    Right onward still the brave Armada strayed:\n    Right on they steer by Ethiopia's strand\n    And pastoral Madagascar's[88] verdant land.\n    Before the balmy gales of cheerful spring,\n    With heav'n their friend, they spread the canvas wing,\n    The sky cerulean, and the breathing air,\n    The lasting promise of a calm declare.\n    Behind them now the Cape of Praso[89] bends,\n    Another ocean to their view extends,\n    Where black-topp'd islands, to their longing eyes,\n    Lav'd by the gentle waves,[90] in prospect rise.\n    But GAMA (captain of the vent'rous band,\n    Of bold emprize, and born for high command,\n    Whose martial fires, with prudence close allied,\n    Ensur'd the smiles of fortune on his side)\n    Bears off those shores which waste and wild appear'd,\n    And eastward still for happier climates steer'd:\n    When gath'ring round, and black'ning o'er the tide,\n    A fleet of small canoes the pilot spied;\n    Hoisting their sails of palm-tree leaves, inwove\n    With curious art, a swarming crowd they move:\n    Long were their boats, and sharp to bound along\n    Through the dash'd waters, broad their oars and strong:\n    The bending rowers on their features bore\n    The swarthy marks of Phaeton's[91] fall of yore:\n    When flaming lightnings scorch'd the banks of Po,\n    And nations blacken'd in the dread o'erthrow.\n    Their garb, discover'd as approaching nigh,\n    Was cotton strip'd with many a gaudy dye:\n    'Twas one whole piece beneath one arm confin'd,\n    The rest hung loose and flutter'd on the wind;\n    All, but one breast, above the loins was bare,\n    And swelling turbans bound their jetty hair:\n    Their arms were bearded darts and faulchions broad,\n    And warlike music sounded as they row'd.\n    With joy the sailors saw the boats draw near,\n    With joy beheld the human face appear:\n    What nations these, their wond'ring thoughts explore,\n    What rites they follow, and what God adore!\n    And now with hands and 'kerchiefs wav'd in air\n    The barb'rous race their friendly mind declare.\n    Glad were the crew, and ween'd that happy day\n    Should end their dangers and their toils repay.\n    The lofty masts the nimble youths ascend,\n    The ropes they haul, and o'er the yard-arms bend;\n    And now their bowsprits pointing to the shore,\n    (A safe moon'd bay), with slacken'd sails they bore:\n    With cheerful shouts they furl the gather'd sail\n    That less and less flaps quiv'ring on the gale;\n    The prows, their speed stopp'd, o'er the surges nod,\n    The falling anchors dash the foaming flood;\n    When, sudden as they stopp'd, the swarthy race,\n    With smiles of friendly welcome on each face,\n    The ship's high sides swift by the cordage climb:\n    Illustrious GAMA, with an air sublime,\n    Soften'd by mild humanity, receives,\n    And to their chief the hand of friendship gives,\n    Bids spread the board, and, instant as he said,\n    Along the deck the festive board is spread:\n    The sparkling wine in crystal goblets glows,\n    And round and round with cheerful welcome flows.\n    While thus the vine its sprightly glee inspires,\n    From whence the fleet, the swarthy chief enquires,\n    What seas they past, what 'vantage would attain,\n    And what the shore their purpose hop'd to gain?\n    \"From farthest west,\" the Lusian race reply,\n    \"To reach the golden Eastern shores we try.\n    Through that unbounded sea whose billows roll\n    From the cold northern to the southern pole;\n    And by the wide extent, the dreary vast\n    Of Afric's bays, already have we past;\n    And many a sky have seen, and many a shore,\n    Where but sea monsters cut the waves before.\n    To spread the glories of our monarch's reign,\n    For India's shore we brave the trackless main,\n    Our glorious toil, and at his nod would brave\n    The dismal gulfs of Acheron's[92] black wave.\n    And now, in turn, your race, your country tell,\n    If on your lips fair truth delights to dwell\n    To us, unconscious of the falsehood, show\n    What of these seas and India's site you know.\"\n\n      \"Rude are the natives here,\" the Moor replied;\n    \"Dark are their minds, and brute-desire their guide:\n    But we, of alien blood, and strangers here,\n    Nor hold their customs nor their laws revere.\n    From Abram's race our holy prophet sprung,[93]\n    An angel taught, and heaven inspir'd his tongue;\n    His sacred rites and mandates we obey,\n    And distant empires own his holy sway.\n    From isle to isle our trading vessels roam,\n    Mozambique's harbour our commodious home.\n    If then your sails for India's shore expand,\n    For sultry Ganges or Hydaspes'[94] strand,\n    Here shall you find a pilot skill'd to guide\n    Through all the dangers of the perilous tide,\n    Though wide-spread shelves, and cruel rocks unseen,\n    Lurk in the way, and whirlpools rage between.\n    Accept, meanwhile, what fruits these islands hold,\n    And to the regent let your wish be told.\n    Then may your mates the needful stores provide,\n    And all your various wants be here supplied.\"\n\n      So spake the Moor, and bearing smiles untrue\n    And signs of friendship, with his bands withdrew.\n    O'erpower'd with joy unhop'd the sailors stood,\n    To find such kindness on a shore so rude.\n\n      Now shooting o'er the flood his fervid blaze,\n    The red-brow'd sun withdraws his beamy rays;\n    Safe in the bay the crew forget their cares,\n    And peaceful rest their wearied strength repairs.\n    Calm twilight now[95] his drowsy mantle spreads,\n    And shade on shade, the gloom still deep'ning, sheds.\n    The moon, full orb'd, forsakes her wat'ry cave,\n    And lifts her lovely head above the wave.\n    The snowy splendours of her modest ray\n    Stream o'er the glist'ning waves, and quiv'ring play:\n    Around her, glitt'ring on the heaven's arch'd brow,\n    Unnumber'd stars, enclos'd in azure, glow,\n    Thick as the dew-drops of the April dawn,\n    Or May-flowers crowding o'er the daisy-lawn:\n    The canvas whitens in the silvery beam,\n    And with a mild pale red the pendants gleam:\n    The masts' tall shadows tremble o'er the deep;\n    The peaceful winds a holy silence keep;\n    The watchman's carol, echo'd from the prows,\n    Alone, at times, awakes the still repose.\n\n       Aurora now, with dewy lustre bright,\n    Appears, ascending on the rear of night.\n    With gentle hand, as seeming oft to pause,\n    The purple curtains of the morn she draws;\n    The sun comes forth, and soon the joyful crew,\n    Each aiding each, their joyful tasks pursue.\n    Wide o'er the decks the spreading sails they throw;\n    From each tall mast the waving streamers flow;\n    All seems a festive holiday on board\n    To welcome to the fleet the island's lord.\n    With equal joy the regent sails to meet,\n    And brings fresh cates, his off'rings, to the fleet:\n    For of his kindred race their line he deems,\n    That savage race[96] who rush'd from Caspia's streams,\n    And triumph'd o'er the East, and, Asia won,\n    In proud Byzantium[97] fix'd their haughty throne.\n    Brave VASCO hails the chief with honest smiles,\n    And gift for gift with liberal hand he piles.\n    His gifts, the boast of Europe's heart disclose,\n    And sparkling red the wine of Tagus flows.\n    High on the shrouds the wond'ring sailors hung,\n    To note the Moorish garb, and barb'rous tongue:\n    Nor less the subtle Moor, with wonder fir'd,\n    Their mien, their dress, and lordly ships admir'd:\n    Much he enquires their king's, their country's name,\n    And, if from Turkey's fertile shores they came?\n    What God they worshipp'd, what their sacred lore,\n    What arms they wielded, and what armour wore?\n    To whom brave GAMA: \"Nor of Hagar's blood\n    Am I, nor plough from Ismael's shores the flood;\n    From Europe's strand I trace the foamy way,\n    To find the regions of the infant day.\n    The God we worship stretch'd yon heaven's high bow,\n    And gave these swelling waves to roll below;\n    The hemispheres of night and day He spread,\n    He scoop'd each vale, and rear'd each mountain's head;\n    His Word produc'd the nations of the earth,\n    And gave the spirits of the sky their birth;\n    On earth, by Him, his holy lore was given,\n    On earth He came to raise mankind to heaven.\n    And now behold, what most your eyes desire,\n    Our shining armour, and our arms of fire;\n    For who has once in friendly peace beheld,\n    Will dread to meet them on the battle field.\"\n\n      Straight as he spoke[98] the warlike stores display'd\n    Their glorious show, where, tire on tire inlaid,\n    Appear'd of glitt'ring steel the carabines,\n    There the plum'd helms,[99] and pond'rous brigandines;[100]\n    O'er the broad bucklers sculptur'd orbs emboss'd\n    The crooked faulchions, dreadful blades were cross'd:\n    Here clasping greaves, and plated mail-quilts strong;\n    The long-bows here, and rattling quivers hung,\n    And like a grove the burnish'd spears were seen,\n    With darts and halberts double-edged between;\n    Here dread grenadoes and tremendous bombs,\n    With deaths ten thousand lurking in their wombs,\n    And far around, of brown and dusky red,\n    The pointed piles of iron balls were spread.\n    The bombardiers, now to the regent's view\n    The thund'ring mortars and the cannon drew;\n    Yet, at their leader's nod, the sons of flame\n    (For brave and gen'rous ever are the same)\n    Withheld their hands, nor gave the seeds of fire\n    To rouse the thunders of the dreadful tire.\n    For GAMA'S soul disdain'd the pride of show\n    Which acts the lion o'er the trembling roe.\n\n      His joy and wonder oft the Moor express'd,\n    But rankling hate lay brooding in his breast;\n    With smiles obedient to his will's control,\n    He veils the purpose of his treach'rous soul:\n    For pilots, conscious of the Indian strand,\n    Brave VASCO sues, and bids the Moor command\n    What bounteous gifts shall recompense their toils;\n    The Moor prevents him with assenting smiles,\n    Resolved that deeds of death, not words of air,\n    Shall first the hatred of his soul declare;\n    Such sudden rage his rankling mind possess'd,\n    When GAMA'S lips Messiah's name confess'd.[101]\n    Oh depth of Heaven's dread will, that ranc'rous hate\n    On Heaven's best lov'd in ev'ry clime should wait!\n    Now, smiling round on all the wond'ring crew\n    The Moor, attended by his bands, withdrew;\n    His nimble barges soon approach'd the land,\n    And shouts of joy receiv'd him on the strand.\n\n      From heaven's high dome the vintage-god[102] beheld\n    (Whom nine long months his father's thigh conceal'd);[103]\n    Well pleas'd he mark'd the Moor's determin'd hate\n    And thus his mind revolv'd in self-debate:--\n\n      \"Has Heaven, indeed, such glorious lot ordain'd,\n    By Lusus' race such conquests to be gain'd\n    O'er warlike nations, and on India's shore,\n    Where I, unrivall'd, claim'd the palm before?\n    I, sprung from Jove! And shall these wand'ring few,\n    What Ammon's son[104] unconquer'd left, subdue\n    Ammon's brave son who led the god of war\n    His slave auxiliar at his thund'ring car?\n    Must these possess what Jove to him denied,\n    Possess what never sooth'd the Roman pride?\n    Must these the victor's lordly flag display\n    With hateful blaze beneath the rising day,\n    My name dishonour'd, and my victories stain'd,\n    O'erturn'd my altars, and my shrines profan'd?\n    No; be it mine to fan the Regent's hate;\n    Occasion seiz'd commands the action's fate.\n    'Tis mine--this captain, now my dread no more,\n    Shall never shake his spear on India's shore.\"\n\n      So spake the Power,[105] and with the lightning's flight\n    For Afric darted thro' the fields of light.\n    His form divine he cloth'd in human shape,[106]\n    And rush'd impetuous o'er the rocky cape:\n    In the dark semblance of a Moor he came\n    For art and old experience known to fame:\n    Him all his peers with humble deference heard,\n    And all Mozambique and its prince rever'd:\n    The prince in haste he sought, and thus express'd\n    His guileful hate in friendly counsel dress'd:\n\n      \"And to the regent of this isle alone\n    Are these adventurers and their fraud unknown?\n    Has Fame conceal'd their rapine from his ear?\n    Nor brought the groans of plunder'd nations here?\n    Yet still their hands the peaceful olive bore\n    Whene'er they anchor'd on a foreign shore:\n    But nor their seeming nor their oaths I trust,\n    For Afric knows them bloody and unjust.\n    The nations sink beneath their lawless force,\n    And fire and blood have mark'd their deadly course.\n    We too, unless kind Heav'n and thou prevent,\n    Must fall the victims of their dire intent,\n    And, gasping in the pangs of death, behold\n    Our wives led captive, and our daughters sold.\n    By stealth they come, ere morrow dawn, to bring\n    The healthful bev'rage from the living spring:\n    Arm'd with his troops the captain will appear;\n    For conscious fraud is ever prone to fear.\n    To meet them there select a trusty band,\n    And, in close ambush, take thy silent stand;\n    There wait, and sudden on the heedless foe\n    Rush, and destroy them ere they dread the blow.\n    Or say, should some escape the secret snare,\n    Saved by their fate, their valour, or their care,\n    Yet their dread fall shall celebrate our isle,\n    If Fate consent, and thou approve the guile.\n    Give then a pilot to their wand'ring fleet,\n    Bold in his art, and tutor'd in deceit;\n    Whose hand advent'rous shall their helms misguide,\n    To hostile shores, or whelm them in the tide.\"\n\n      So spoke the god, in semblance of a sage\n    Renown'd for counsel and the craft of age.\n    The prince with transport glowing in his face\n    Approv'd, and caught him in a kind embrace:\n    And instant at the word his bands prepare\n    Their bearded darts and implements of war,\n    That Lusus' sons might purple with their gore\n    The crystal fountain which they sought on shore:\n    And, still regardful of his dire intent,\n    A skilful pilot to the bay he sent,\n    Of honest mien, yet practised in deceit,\n    Who far at distance on the beach should wait,\n    And to the 'scaped, if some should 'scape the snare\n    Should offer friendship and the pilot's care,\n    But when at sea, on rocks should dash their pride,\n    And whelm their lofty vanes beneath the tide.\n\n      Apollo[107] now had left his wat'ry bed,\n    And o'er the mountains of Arabia spread\n    His rays that glow'd with gold; when GAMA rose,\n    And from his bands a trusty squadron chose:\n    Three speedy barges brought their casks to fill\n    From gurgling fountain, or the crystal rill:\n    Full arm'd they came, for brave defence prepar'd,\n    For martial care is ever on the guard:\n    And secret warnings ever are imprest\n    On wisdom such as wak'd in GAMA'S breast.\n\n      And now, as swiftly springing o'er the tide\n    Advanc'd the boats, a troop of Moors they spied;\n    O'er the pale sands the sable warriors crowd,\n    And toss their threat'ning darts, and shout aloud.\n    Yet seeming artless, though they dar'd the fight,\n    Their eager hope they plac'd in artful flight,\n    To lead brave GAMA where, unseen by day,\n    In dark-brow'd shades their silent ambush lay.\n    With scornful gestures o'er the beach they stride,\n    And push their levell'd spears with barb'rous pride,\n    Then fix the arrow to the bended bow,\n    And strike their sounding shields, and dare the foe.\n    With gen'rous rage the Lusian race beheld,\n    And each brave breast with indignation swell'd,\n    To view such foes, like snarling dogs, display\n    Their threat'ning tusks, and brave the sanguine fray:\n    Together with a bound they spring to land,\n    Unknown whose step first trod the hostile strand.\n\n      Thus, when to gain his beauteous charmer's smile,\n    The youthful lover dares the bloody toil,[108]\n    Before the nodding bull's stern front he stands,\n    He leaps, he wheels, he shouts, and waves his hands:\n    The lordly brute disdains the stripling's rage,\n    His nostrils smoke, and, eager to engage,\n    His horn\u00e8d brows he levels with the ground,\n    And shuts his flaming eyes, and wheeling round\n    With dreadful bellowing rushes on the foe,\n    And lays the boastful gaudy champion low.\n    Thus to the sight the sons of Lusus sprung,\n    Nor slow to fall their ample vengeance hung:\n    With sudden roar the carabines resound,\n    And bursting echoes from the hills rebound;\n    The lead flies hissing through the trembling air,\n    And death's fell d\u00e6mons through the flashes glare.\n    Where, up the land, a grove of palms enclose,\n    And cast their shadows where the fountain flows,\n    The lurking ambush from their treach'rous stand\n    Beheld the combat burning on the strand:\n    They see the flash with sudden lightnings flare,\n    And the blue smoke slow rolling on the air:\n    They see their warriors drop, and starting hear\n    The ling'ring thunders bursting on their ear.\n    Amaz'd, appall'd, the treach'rous ambush fled,\n    And rag'd,[109] and curs'd their birth, and quak'd with dread.\n    The bands that vaunting show'd their threaten'd might,\n    With slaughter gor'd, precipitate in flight;\n    Yet oft, though trembling, on the foe they turn\n    Their eyes that red with lust of vengeance burn:\n    Aghast with fear, and stern with desperate rage\n    The flying war with dreadful howls they wage,\n    Flints, clods, and javelins hurling as they fly,\n    As rage[110] and wild despair their hands supply:\n    And, soon dispers'd, their bands attempt no more\n    To guard the fountain or defend the shore:\n    O'er the wide lawns no more their troops appear:\n    Nor sleeps the vengeance of the victor here;\n    To teach the nations what tremendous fate\n    _From his right arm on perjur'd vows should wait,\n    He seized the time to awe the Eastern world,\n    And on the breach of faith his thunders hurl'd.\n    From his black ships the sudden lightnings blaze,\n    And o'er old Ocean flash their dreadful rays:\n    White clouds on clouds inroll'd the smoke ascends,\n    The bursting tumult heaven's wide concave rends:\n    The bays and caverns of the winding shore\n    Repeat the cannon's and the mortar's roar:\n    The bombs, far-flaming, hiss along the sky,\n    And, whirring through the air, the bullets fly;\n    The wounded air, with hollow deafen'd sound,\n    Groans to the direful strife, and trembles round._\n\n      _Now from the Moorish town the sheets of fire,\n    Wide blaze succeeding blaze, to heaven aspire.\n    Black rise the clouds of smoke, and by the gales\n    Borne down, in streams hang hov'ring o'er the vales;\n    And slowly floating round the mountain's head\n    Their pitchy mantle o'er the landscape spread.\n    Unnumber'd sea-fowl rising from the shore,\n    Beat round in whirls at every cannon's roar;\n    Where o'er the smoke the masts' tall heads appear,\n    Hov'ring they scream, then dart with sudden fear;\n    On trembling wings far round and round they fly,\n    And fill with dismal clang their native sky.\n    Thus fled in rout confus'd the treach'rous Moors\n    From field to field_,[111] then, hast'ning to the shores,\n    Some trust in boats their wealth and lives to save,\n    And, wild with dread, they plunge into the wave;\n    Some spread their arms to swim, and some beneath\n    The whelming billows, struggling, pant for breath,\n    Then whirl'd aloft their nostrils spout the brine;\n    While show'ring still from many a carabine\n    The leaden hail their sails and vessels tore,\n    Till, struggling hard, they reach'd the neighb'ring shore:\n    Due vengeance thus their perfidy repaid,\n    And GAMA'S terrors to the East display'd.\n\n      Imbrown'd with dust a beaten pathway shows\n    Where 'midst umbrageous palms the fountain flows;\n    From thence, at will, they bear the liquid health;\n    And now, sole masters of the island's wealth,\n    With costly spoils and eastern robes adorn'd,\n    The joyful victors to the fleet return'd.\n\n      With hell's keen fires still for revenge athirst\n    The regent burns, and weens, by fraud accurst,\n    To strike a surer yet a secret blow,\n    And in one general death to whelm the foe.\n    The promis'd pilot to the fleet he sends\n    And deep repentance for his crime pretends.\n    Sincere the herald seems, and while he speaks,\n    The winning tears steal down his hoary cheeks.\n    Brave GAMA, touch'd with gen'rous woe, believes,\n    And from his hand the pilot's hand receives:\n    A dreadful gift! instructed to decoy,\n    In gulfs to whelm them, or on rocks destroy.\n\n      The valiant chief, impatient of delay,\n    For India now resumes the wat'ry way;\n    Bids weigh the anchor and unfurl the sail,\n    Spread full the canvas to the rising gale.\n    He spoke: and proudly o'er the foaming tide,\n    Borne on the wind, the full-wing'd vessels ride;\n    While as they rode before the bounding prows\n    The lovely forms of sea-born nymphs arose.\n    The while brave VASCO'S unsuspecting mind\n    Yet fear'd not ought the crafty Moor design'd:\n    Much of the coast he asks, and much demands\n    Of Afric's shores and India's spicy lands.\n    The crafty Moor by vengeful Bacchus taught\n    Employ'd on deadly guile his baneful thought;\n    In his dark mind he plann'd, on GAMA'S head\n    Full to revenge Mozambique and the dead.\n    Yet all the chief demanded he reveal'd,\n    Nor aught of truth, that truth he knew, conceal'\n    For thus he ween'd to gain his easy faith,\n    And gain'd, betray to slavery or death.\n    And now, securely trusting to destroy,\n    As erst false Sinon[112] snar'd the sons of Troy,\n    \"Behold, disclosing from the sky,\" he cries,\n    \"Far to the north, yon cloud-like isle arise:\n    From ancient times the natives of the shore\n    The blood-stain'd image on the cross adore.\"\n    Swift at the word, the joyful GAMA cried:\n    \"For that fair island turn the helm aside;\n    O bring my vessels where the Christians dwell,\n    And thy glad lips my gratitude shall tell.\"\n    With sullen joy the treach'rous Moor complied,\n    And for that island turn'd the helm aside.\n    For well Quiloa's[113] swarthy race he knew,\n    Their laws and faith to Hagar's offspring true;\n    Their strength in war, through all the nations round,\n    Above Mozambique and her powers renown'd;\n    He knew what hate the Christian name they bore,\n    And hop'd that hate on VASCO'S bands to pour.\n\n      Right to the land the faithless pilot steers,\n    Right to the land the glad Armada bears;\n    But heavenly Love's fair queen,[114] whose watchful care\n    Had ever been their guide, beheld the snare.\n    A sudden storm she rais'd: loud howl'd the blast,\n    The yard-arms rattled, and each groaning mast\n    Bended beneath the weight. Deep sunk the prows,\n    And creaking ropes the creaking ropes oppose;\n    In vain the pilot would the speed restrain,\n    The captain shouts, the sailors toil in vain;\n    Aslope and gliding on the leeward side,\n    The bounding vessels cut the roaring tide:\n    Soon far they pass'd; and now the slacken'd sail\n    Trembles and bellies to the gentle gale:\n    Now many a league before the tempest toss'd\n    The treach'rous pilot sees his purpose cross'd:\n    Yet vengeful still, and still intent on guile,\n    Behold, he cries, yon dim emerging isle:\n    There live the votaries of Messiah's lore\n    In faithful peace, and friendship with the Moor.\n    Yet all was false, for there Messiah's name,\n    Reviled and scorn'd, was only known by fame.\n    The grovelling natives there, a brutal herd,\n    The sensual lore of Hagar's son[115] preferr'd.\n    With joy brave GAMA hears the artful tale,\n    Bears to the harbour, and bids furl the sail.\n    Yet, watchful still, fair Love's celestial queen\n    Prevents the danger with a hand unseen;\n    Now past the bar his vent'rous vessel guides,\n    And safe at anchor in the road he rides.\n\n      Between the isle and Ethiopia's land\n    A narrow current laves each adverse strand;\n    Close by the margin where the green tide flows,\n    Full to the bay a lordly city rose;\n    With fervid blaze the glowing evening pours\n    Its purple splendours o'er the lofty towers;\n    The lofty towers with milder lustre gleam,\n    And gently tremble in the glassy stream.\n    Here reign'd a hoary king of ancient fame;\n    Mombas the town, Mombas the island's name.\n\n      As when the pilgrim, who with weary pace\n    Thro' lonely wastes untrod by human race,\n    For many a day disconsolate has stray'd,\n    The turf his bed, the wild-wood boughs his shade,\n    O'erjoy'd beholds the cheerful seats of men\n    In grateful prospect rising on his ken:\n    So GAMA joy'd, who many a dreary day\n    Had traced the vast, the lonesome, wat'ry way,\n    Had seen new stars, unknown to Europe, rise,\n    And brav'd the horrors of the polar skies:\n    So joy'd his bounding heart when, proudly rear'd,\n    The splendid city o'er the wave appear'd,\n    Where Heaven's own lore, he trusted, was obey'd,\n    And Holy Faith her sacred rites display'd.\n    And now, swift crowding through the horn\u00e8d bay,\n    The Moorish barges wing'd their foamy way,\n    To GAMA'S fleet with friendly smiles they bore\n    The choicest products of their cultur'd shore.\n    But there fell rancour veil'd its serpent-head,\n    Though festive roses o'er the gifts were spread.\n    For Bacchus, veil'd in human shape, was here,\n    And pour'd his counsel in the sov'reign's ear.\n\n      O piteous lot of man's uncertain state!\n    What woes on Life's unhappy journey wait!\n    When joyful Hope would grasp its fond desire,\n    The long-sought transports in the grasp expire.\n    By sea what treach'rous calms, what rushing storms,\n    And death attendant in a thousand forms!\n    By land what strife, what plots of secret guile,\n    How many a wound from many a treach'rous smile!\n    Oh where shall man escape his num'rous foes,\n    And rest his weary head in safe repose!\n\nEND OF BOOK I.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK II.\n\nTHE ARGUMENT.\n\nArrival of the expedition at Mombas. Bacchus plots their destruction by\nnew artifices. They are deceived into the belief that the natives are,\nlike themselves, Christians: Bacchus assumes the character of a priest,\nand worships the god of the Christians. At the invitation of the king of\nMombas, GAMA enters the port, and reaches the place intended for his\ndestruction. Venus, aided by the Nereids, effects their deliverance; and\nGAMA sails away, fearing treachery. Venus hastens to Olympus to seek\nJove's aid. Jupiter assures her of the future glory of the Portuguese,\nand commands Mercury to conduct the expedition to Melinda. The King of\nMelinda asks from GAMA an historical account of his nation.\n\n\n    The fervent lustre of the evening ray\n    Behind the western hills now died away,\n    And night, ascending from the dim-brow'd east,\n    The twilight gloom with deeper shades increas'd,\n    When GAMA heard the creaking of the oar,\n    And mark'd the white waves length'ning from the shore.\n    In many a skiff the eager natives came,\n    Their semblance friendship, but deceit their aim.\n    And now by GAMA'S anchor'd ships they ride,\n    And \"Hail, illustrious chief!\" their leader cried,\n    \"Your fame already these our regions own,\n    How your bold prows from worlds to us unknown\n    Have brav'd the horrors of the southern main,\n    Where storms and darkness hold their endless reign,\n    Whose whelmy waves our westward prows have barr'd\n    From oldest times, and ne'er before were dar'd\n    By boldest leader: earnest to behold\n    The wondrous hero of a toil so bold,\n    To you the sov'reign of these islands sends\n    The holy vows of peace, and hails you friends.\n    If friendship you accept, whate'er kind Heaven\n    In various bounty to these shores has given,\n    Whate'er your wants, your wants shall here supply,\n    And safe in port your gallant fleet shall lie;\n    Safe from the dangers of the faithless tide,\n    And sudden bursting storms, by you untried;\n    Yours every bounty of the fertile shore,\n    Till balmy rest your wearied strength restore.\n    Or, if your toils and ardent hopes demand\n    The various treasures of the Indian strand,\n    The fragrant cinnamon, the glowing clove,\n    And all the riches of the spicy grove;\n    Or drugs of power the fever's rage to bound,\n    And give soft languor to the smarting wound;\n    Or, if the splendour of the diamond's rays,\n    The sapphire's azure, or the ruby's blaze,\n    Invite your sails to search the Eastern world,\n    Here may these sails in happy hour be furl'd:\n    For here the splendid treasures of the mine,\n    And richest offspring of the field combine\n    To give each boon that human want requires,\n    And every gem that lofty pride desires;\n    Then here, a potent king your gen'rous friend,\n    Here let your perilous toils and wandering searches[116] end.\"\n\n      He said: brave GAMA smiles with heart sincere,\n    And prays the herald to the king to bear\n    The thanks of grateful joy: \"But now,\" he cries,\n    \"The black'ning evening veils the coast and skies,\n    And thro' these rocks unknown forbids to steer;\n    Yet, when the streaks of milky dawn appear,\n    Edging the eastern wave with silver hoar,\n    My ready prows shall gladly point to shore;\n    Assur'd of friendship, and a kind retreat,\n    Assur'd and proffer'd by a king so great.\"\n    Yet, mindful still of what his hopes had cheer'd,\n    That here his nation's holy shrines were rear'd,\n    He asks, if certain, as the pilot told,\n    Messiah's lore had flourish'd there of old,\n    And flourish'd still. The herald mark'd with joy\n    The pious wish, and, watchful to decoy,\n    \"Messiah here,\" he cries, \"has altars more\n    Than all the various shrines of other lore.\"\n    O'erjoy'd, brave VASCO heard the pleasing tale,\n    Yet fear'd that fraud its viper-sting might veil\n    Beneath the glitter of a show so fair.\n    He half believes the tale, and arms against the snare.\n\n      With GAMA sail'd a bold advent'rous band,[117]\n    Whose headlong rage had urg'd the guilty hand:\n    Stern Justice for their crimes had ask'd their blood,\n    And pale, in chains condemn'd to death, they stood;\n    But, sav'd by GAMA from the shameful death,\n    The bread of peace had seal'd their plighted faith[117]\n    The desolate coast, when order'd, to explore,\n    And dare each danger of the hostile shore:\n    From this bold band he chose the subtlest two,\n    The port, the city, and its strength to view,\n    To mark if fraud its secret head betray'd,\n    Or if the rites of Heaven were there display'd.\n    With costly gifts, as of their truth secure,\n    The pledge that GAMA deem'd their faith was pure.\n    These two, his heralds, to the king he sends:\n    The faithless Moors depart as smiling friends.\n    Now, thro' the wave they cut their foamy way,\n    Their cheerful songs resounding through the bay:\n    And now, on shore the wond'ring natives greet,\n    And fondly hail the strangers from the fleet.\n    The prince their gifts with friendly vows receives,\n    And joyful welcome to the Lusians gives;\n    Where'er they pass, the joyful tumult bends,\n    And through the town the glad applause attends.\n    But he whose cheeks with youth immortal shone,\n    The god whose wondrous birth two mothers[118] own,\n    Whose rage had still the wand'ring fleet annoy'd,\n    Now in the town his guileful rage employ'd.\n    A Christian priest he seem'd; a sumptuous[119] shrine\n    He rear'd, and tended with the rites divine:\n    O'er the fair altar wav'd the cross on high,\n    Upheld by angels leaning from the sky;\n    Descending o'er the Virgin's sacred head\n    So white, so pure, the Holy Spirit spread\n    The dove-like pictur'd wings, so pure, so white;\n    And, hov'ring o'er the chosen twelve, alight\n    The tongues of hallow'd fire. Amaz'd, oppress'd,\n    With sacred awe their troubled looks confess'd\n    The inspiring godhead, and the prophet's glow,\n    Which gave each language from their lips to flow\n    Where[120] thus the guileful Power his magic wrought\n    DE GAMA'S heralds by the guides are brought:\n    On bended knees low to the earth they fall,\n    And to the Lord of heaven in transport call,\n    While the feign'd priest awakes the censer's fire,\n    And clouds of incense round the shrine aspire.\n    With cheerful welcome, here caress'd, they stay\n    Till bright Aurora, messenger of day,\n    Walk'd forth; and now the sun's resplendent rays,\n    Yet half emerging o'er the waters, blaze,\n    When to the fleet the Moorish oars again\n    Dash the curl'd waves, and waft the guileful train:\n    The lofty decks they mount. With joy elate,\n    Their friendly welcome at the palace-gate,\n    The king's sincerity, the people's care,\n    And treasures of the coast the spies declare:\n    Nor pass'd untold what most their joys inspir'd,\n    What most to hear the valiant chief desir'd,\n    That their glad eyes had seen the rites divine,\n    Their[121] country's worship, and the sacred shrine.\n    The pleasing tale the joyful GAMA hears;\n    Dark fraud no more his gen'rous bosom fears:\n    As friends sincere, himself sincere, he gives\n    The hand of welcome, and the Moor's receives.\n    And now, as conscious of the destin'd prey,\n    The faithless race, with smiles and gestures gay,\n    Their skiffs forsaking, GAMA'S ships ascend,\n    And deep to strike the treach'rous blow attend.\n    On shore the truthless monarch arms his bands,\n    And for the fleet's approach impatient stands;\n    That, soon as anchor'd in the port they rode\n    Brave GAMA'S decks might reek with Lusian blood:\n    Thus weening to revenge Mozambique's fate,\n    And give full surfeit to the Moorish hate;\n    And now their bowsprits bending to the bay\n    The joyful crew the pond'rous anchors weigh,\n    Their shouts the while resounding. To the gale\n    With eager hands they spread the foremast sail.\n    But LOVE'S fair queen[122] the secret fraud beheld:\n    Swift as an arrow o'er the battle-field,\n    From heav'n she darted to the wat'ry plain,\n    And call'd the sea-born nymphs, a lovely train,\n    From Nereus sprung; the ready nymphs obey,\n    Proud of her kindred birth,[123] and own her sway.\n    She tells what ruin threats her fav'rite race;\n    Unwonted ardour glows on every face;\n    With keen rapidity they bound away;\n    Dash'd by their silver limbs, the billows grey\n    Foam round: Fair Doto, fir'd with rage divine,\n    Darts through the wave; and onward o'er the brine\n    The lovely Nyse and Nerine[124] spring\n    With all the vehemence and speed of wing.\n    The curving billows to their breasts divide\n    And give a yielding passage through the tide.\n    With furious speed the goddess rush'd before,\n    Her beauteous form a joyful Triton bore,\n    Whose eager face with glowing rapture fir'd,\n    Betray'd the pride which such a task inspir'd.\n    And now arriv'd, where to the whistling wind\n    The warlike navy's bending masts reclin'd,\n    As through the billows rush'd the speedy prows,\n    The nymphs dividing, each her station chose.\n    Against the leader's prow, her lovely breast\n    With more than mortal force the goddess press'd;\n    The ship recoiling trembles on the tide,\n    The nymphs, in help, pour round on every side,\n    From the dread bar the threaten'd keels to save;\n    The ship bounds up, half lifted from the wave,\n    And, trembling, hovers o'er the wat'ry grave.\n    As when alarm'd, to save the hoarded grain,\n    The care-earn'd store for winter's dreary reign,\n    So toil, so tug, so pant, the lab'ring emmet train,[125]\n    So toil'd the nymphs, and strain'd their panting force\n    To turn[126] the navy from its fatal course:\n    Back, back the ship recedes; in vain the crew\n    With shouts on shouts their various toils renew;\n    In vain each nerve, each nautic art they strain,\n    And the rough wind distends the sail in vain:\n    Enraged, the sailors see their labours cross'd;\n    From side to side the reeling helm is toss'd:\n    High on the poop the skilful master stands;\n    Sudden he shrieks aloud, and spreads his hands.\n    A lurking rock its dreadful rifts betrays,\n    And right before the prow its ridge displays;\n    Loud shrieks of horror from the yard-arms rise,\n    And a dire general yell invades the skies.\n    The Moors start, fear-struck, at the horrid sound,\n    As if the rage of combat roar'd around.\n    Pale are their lips, each look in wild amaze\n    The horror of detected guilt betrays.\n    Pierc'd by the glance of GAMA'S awful eyes\n    The conscious pilot quits the helm and flies,\n    From the high deck he plunges in the brine;\n    His mates their safety to the waves consign;\n    Dash'd by their plunging falls on every side\n    Foams and boils up around the rolling tide.\n    Thus[127] the hoarse tenants of the sylvan lake,\n    A Lycian race of old, to flight betake,\n    At ev'ry sound they dread Latona's hate,\n    And doubled vengeance of their former fate;\n    All sudden plunging leave the margin green,\n    And but their heads above the pool are seen.\n    So plung'd the Moors, when, horrid to behold!\n    From the bar'd rock's dread jaws the billows roll'd,\n    Opening in instant fate the fleet to whelm,\n    When ready VASCO caught the stagg'ring helm:\n    Swift as his lofty voice resounds aloud,\n    The pond'rous anchors dash the whit'ning flood,\n    And round his vessel, nodding o'er the tide,\n    His other ships, bound by their anchors, ride.\n    And now revolving in his piercing thought\n    These various scenes with hidden import fraught:\n    The boastful pilot's self-accusing flight,\n    The former treason of the Moorish spite;\n    How headlong to the rock the furious wind,\n    The boiling current, and their art combin'd;\n    Yet, though the groaning blast the canvas swell'd,\n    Some wondrous cause, unknown, their speed withheld:\n    Amaz'd, with hands high rais'd, and sparkling eyes,\n    \"A[128] miracle!\" the raptur'd GAMA cries,\n    \"A miracle! O hail, thou sacred sign,\n    Thou pledge illustrious of the care divine!\n    Ah! fraudful malice! how shall wisdom's care\n    Escape the poison of thy gilded snare?\n    The front of honesty, the saintly show,\n    The smile of friendship, and the holy vow\n    All, all conjoin'd our easy faith to gain,\n    To whelm us, shipwreck'd, in the ruthless main;\n    But where our prudence no deceit could spy,\n    There, heavenly Guardian, there thy watchful eye\n    Beheld our danger: still, oh still prevent,\n    Where human foresight fails, the dire intent,\n    The lurking treason of the smiling foe;\n    And let our toils, our days of length'ning woe,\n    Our weary wand'rings end. If still for thee,\n    To spread thy rites, our toils and vows agree,\n    On India's strand thy sacred shrines to rear,\n    Oh let some friendly land of rest appear:\n    If for thine honour we these toils have dar'd,\n    These toils let India's long-sought shore reward.\"\n\n      So spoke the chief: the pious accents move\n    The gentle bosom of celestial Love:\n    The beauteous Queen[129] to heaven now darts away;\n    In vain the weeping nymphs implore her stay:\n    Behind her now the morning star she leaves,\n    And the[130] sixth heaven her lovely form receives.\n    Her radiant eyes such living splendours cast,\n    The sparkling stars were brighten'd as she pass'd;\n    The frozen pole with sudden streamlets flow'd,\n    And, as the burning zone, with fervour glow'd.\n    And now confess'd before the throne of Jove,\n    In all her charms appears the Queen of Love:\n    Flush'd by the ardour of her rapid flight\n    Through fields of \u00e6ther and the realms of light,\n    Bright as the blushes of the roseate morn,\n    New blooming tints her glowing cheeks adorn;\n    And all that pride of beauteous grace she wore,\n    As[131] when in Ida's bower she stood of yore,\n    When every charm and every hope of joy\n    Enraptur'd and allur'd the Trojan boy.\n    Ah![132] had that hunter, whose unhappy fate\n    The human visage lost by Dian's hate,\n    Had he beheld this fairer goddess move\n    Not hounds had slain him, but the fires of love.\n    Adown her neck, more white than virgin snow,\n    Of softest hue the golden tresses flow;\n    Her heaving breasts of purer, softer white\n    Than snow hills glist'ning in the moon's pale light,\n    Except where cover'd by the sash, were bare,\n    And[133] Love, unseen, smil'd soft, and panted there:\n    Nor less the zone the god's fond zeal employs,\n    The zone awakes the flames of secret joys.\n    As ivy-tendrils round her limbs divine\n    Their spreading arms the young desires entwine:\n    Below her waist, and quiv'ring on the gale,\n    Of thinnest texture flows the silken veil:\n    (Ah! where the lucid curtain dimly shows,\n    With doubled fires the roving fancy glows!)\n    The hand of modesty the foldings threw,\n    Nor all conceal'd, nor all was given to view;\n    Yet her deep grief her lovely face betrays,\n    Though on her cheek the soft smile falt'ring plays.\n    All heaven was mov'd--as when some damsel coy,\n    Hurt by the rudeness of the am'rous boy,\n    Offended chides and smiles; with angry mien\n    Thus mixt with smiles, advanc'd the plaintive queen;\n    And[134] thus: \"O Thunderer! O potent Sire!\n    Shall I in vain thy kind regard require?\n    Alas! and cherish still the fond deceit,\n    That yet on me thy kindest smiles await.\n    Ah heaven! and must that valour which I love\n    Awake the vengeance and the rage of Jove?\n    Yet mov'd with pity for my fav'rite race\n    I speak, though frowning on thine awful face,\n    I mark the tenor of the dread decree,\n    That to thy wrath consigns my sons and me.\n    Yes! let stern Bacchus bless thy partial care,\n    His be the triumph, and be mine despair.\n    The bold advent'rous sons of Tago's clime\n    I loved--alas! that love is now their crime:\n    O happy they, and prosp'rous gales their fate,\n    Had I pursued them with relentless hate!\n    Yes! let my woeful sighs in vain implore,\n    Yes! let them perish on some barb'rous shore,\n    For I have lov'd them.\" Here the swelling sigh\n    And pearly tear-drop rushing in her eye,\n    As morning dew hangs trembling on the rose,\n    Though fond to speak, her further speech oppose--\n    Her lips, then moving, as the pause of woe\n    Were now to give the voice of grief to flow;\n    When kindled by those charms, whose woes might move\n    And melt the prowling tiger's rage to love.\n    The thundering-god her weeping sorrows eyed,\n    And sudden threw his awful state aside:\n    With[135] that mild look which stills the driving storm,\n    When black roll'd clouds the face of heaven deform;\n    With that mild visage and benignant mien\n    Which to the sky restores the blue serene,\n    Her snowy neck and glowing cheek he press'd,\n    And wip'd her tears, and clasp'd her to his breast;\n    Yet she, still sighing, dropp'd the trickling tear,\n    As the chid nursling, mov'd with pride and fear,\n    Still sighs and moans, though fondled and caress'd;\n    Till thus great Jove the Fates' decrees confess'd:\n    \"O thou, my daughter, still belov'd as fair,\n    Vain are thy fears, thy heroes claim my care:\n    No power of gods could e'er my heart incline,\n    Like one fond smile, one powerful tear of thine.\n    Wide o'er the eastern shores shalt thou behold\n    Thy flags far streaming, and thy thunders roll'd;\n    Where nobler triumphs shall thy nation crown,\n    Than those of Roman or of Greek renown.\n\n      \"If by mine aid the sapient Greek[136] could brave\n    Th' Ogygian seas, nor sink a deathless slave;[137]\n    If through th' Illyrian shelves Antenor bore,\n    Till safe he landed on Timavus' shore;\n    If, by his fate, the pious Trojan[138] led,\n    Safe through Charybdis'[139] barking whirlpools sped:\n    Shall thy bold heroes, by my care disclaim'd,\n    Be left to perish, who, to worlds unnam'd\n    By vaunting Rome, pursue their dauntless way?\n    No--soon shalt thou with ravish'd eyes survey,\n    From stream to stream their lofty cities spread,\n    And their proud turrets rear the warlike head:\n    The stern-brow'd Turk shall bend the suppliant knee,\n    And Indian monarchs, now secure and free,\n    Beneath thy potent monarch's yoke shall bend,\n    And thy just laws wide o'er the East extend.\n    Thy chief, who now in error's circling maze,\n    For India's shore through shelves and tempests strays;\n    That chief shalt thou behold, with lordly pride,\n    O'er Neptune's trembling realm triumphant ride.\n    O wondrous fate! when not a breathing[140] gale\n    Shall curl the billows, or distend the sail,\n    The waves shall boil and tremble, aw'd with dread,\n    And own the terror o'er their empire spread.\n    That hostile coast, with various streams supplied,\n    Whose treach'rous sons the fountain's gifts denied;\n    That coast shalt thou behold his port supply,\n    Where oft thy weary fleets in rest shall lie.\n    Each shore which weav'd for him the snares of death,\n    To him these shores shall pledge their offer'd faith;\n    To him their haughty lords shall lowly bend,\n    And yield him tribute for the name of friend.\n    The Red-sea wave shall darken in the shade\n    Of thy broad sails, in frequent pomp display'd;\n    Thine eyes shall see the golden Ormuz'[141] shore,\n    Twice thine, twice conquer'd, while the furious Moor,\n    Amaz'd, shall view his arrows backward[142] driven,\n    Shower'd on his legions by the hand of Heaven.\n    Though twice assail'd by many a vengeful band,\n    Unconquer'd still shall Dio's ramparts stand,\n    Such prowess there shall raise the Lusian name\n    That Mars shall tremble for his blighted fame;\n    There shall the Moors, blaspheming, sink in death,\n    And curse their Prophet with their parting breath.\n\n      \"Where Goa's warlike ramparts frown on high,\n    Pleas'd shalt thou see thy Lusian banners fly;\n    The pagan tribes in chains shall crowd her gate,\n    While the sublime shall tower in regal state,\n    The fatal scourge, the dread of all who dare\n    Against thy sons to plan the future war.\n    Though few thy troops who Conanour sustain,\n    The foe, though num'rous, shall assault in vain.\n    Great Calicut,[143] for potent hosts renown'd,\n    By Lisbon's sons assail'd shall strew the ground:\n    What floods on floods of vengeful hosts shall wage\n    On Cochin's walls their swift-repeated rage;\n    In vain: a Lusian hero shall oppose\n    His dauntless bosom and disperse the foes,\n    As high-swelled waves, that thunder'd to the shock,\n    Disperse in feeble streamlets from the rock.\n    When[144] black'ning broad and far o'er Actium's tide\n    Augustus' fleets the slave of love[145] defied,\n    When that fallen warrior to the combat led\n    The bravest troops in Bactrian Scythia bred,\n    With Asian legions, and, his shameful bane,\n    The Egyptian queen, attendant in the train;\n    Though Mars rag'd high, and all his fury pour'd,\n    Till with the storm the boiling surges roar'd,\n    Yet shall thine eyes more dreadful scenes behold,\n    On burning surges burning surges roll'd,\n    The sheets of fire far billowing o'er the brine,\n    While I my thunder to thy sons resign.\n    Thus many a sea shall blaze, and many a shore\n    Resound the horror of the combat's roar,\n    While thy bold prows triumphant ride along\n    By trembling China to the isles unsung\n    By ancient bard, by ancient chief unknown,\n    Till Ocean's utmost shore thy bondage own.\n\n      \"Thus from the Ganges to the Gadian[146] strand,\n    From the most northern wave to southmost land:\n    That land decreed to bear the injur'd name\n    Of Magalhaens, the Lusian pride and shame;[147]\n    From all that vast, though crown'd with heroes old,\n    Who with the gods were demi-gods enroll'd:\n    From all that vast no equal heroes shine\n    To match in arms, O lovely daughter, thine.\"\n\n      So spake the awful ruler of the skies,\n    And Maia's[148] son swift at his mandate flies:\n    His charge, from treason and Mombassa's[149] king\n    The weary fleet in friendly port to bring,\n    And, while in sleep the brave DE GAMA lay,\n    To warn, and fair the shore of rest display.\n    Fleet through the yielding air Cyllenius[150] glides,\n    As to the light the nimble air divides.\n    The mystic helmet[151] on his head he wore,\n    And in his hand the fatal rod[152] he bore;\n    That rod of power[153] to wake the silent dead,\n    Or o'er the lids of care soft slumbers shed.\n    And now, attended by the herald Fame,\n    To fair Melinda's gate, conceal'd, he came;\n    And soon loud rumour echo'd through the town,\n    How from the western world, from waves unknown,\n    A noble band had reach'd the \u00c6thiop shore,\n    Through seas and dangers never dar'd before:\n    The godlike, dread attempt their wonder fires,\n    Their gen'rous wonder fond regard inspires,\n    And all the city glows their aid to give,\n    To view the heroes, and their wants relieve.\n\n      'Twas now the solemn hour when midnight reigns,\n    And dimly twinkling o'er the ethereal plains,\n    The starry host, by gloomy silence led,\n    O'er earth and sea a glimm'ring paleness shed;\n    When to the fleet, which hemm'd with dangers lay,\n    The silver-wing'd Cyllenius[154] darts away.\n    Each care was now in soft oblivion steep'd,\n    The watch alone accustom'd vigils kept;\n    E'en GAMA, wearied by the day's alarms,\n    Forgets his cares, reclin'd in slumber's arms.\n    Scarce had he clos'd his careful eyes in rest,\n    When Maia's son[154] in vision stood confess'd:\n    And \"Fly,\" he cried, \"O Lusitanian, fly;\n    Here guile and treason every nerve apply:\n    An impious king for thee the toil prepares,\n    An impious people weaves a thousand snares:\n    Oh fly these shores, unfurl the gather'd sail,\n    Lo, Heaven, thy guide, commands the rising gale.\n    Hark, loud it rustles; see, the gentle tide\n    Invites thy prows; the winds thy ling'ring chide.\n    Here such dire welcome is for thee prepar'd\n    As[155] Diomed's unhappy strangers shar'd;\n    His hapless guests at silent midnight bled,\n    On their torn limbs his snorting coursers fed.\n    Oh fly, or here with strangers' blood imbru'd\n    Busiris' altars thou shalt find renew'd:\n    Amidst his slaughter'd guests his altars stood\n    Obscene with gore, and bark'd with human blood:\n    Then thou, belov'd of Heaven, my counsel hear;\n    Right by the coast thine onward journey steer,\n    Till where the sun of noon no shade begets,\n    But day with night in equal tenor sets.[156]\n    A sov'reign there, of gen'rous faith unstain'd,\n    With ancient bounty, and with joy unfeign'd\n    Your glad arrival on his shore shall greet,\n    And soothe with every care your weary fleet.\n    And when again for India's golden strand\n    Before the prosp'rous gale your sails expand,\n    A skilful pilot oft in danger tried,\n    Of heart sincere, shall prove your faithful guide.\"\n\n      Thus Hermes[157] spoke; and as his flight he takes\n    Melting in ambient air, DE GAMA wakes.\n    Chill'd with amaze he stood, when through the night\n    With sudden ray appear'd the bursting light;\n    The winds loud whizzing through the cordage sigh'd,\n    \"Spread, spread the sail!\" the raptur'd VASCO cried;\n    \"Aloft, aloft, this, this the gale of heaven,\n    By Heaven our guide, th' auspicious sign is given;\n    Mine eyes beheld the messenger divine,\n    'O fly,' he cried, 'and give the fav'ring sign.\n    Here treason lurks.'\"----Swift as the captain spake\n    The mariners spring bounding to the deck,\n    And now, with shouts far-echoing o'er the sea,\n    Proud of their strength the pond'rous anchors weigh.\n    When[158] Heaven again its guardian care display'd;\n    Above the wave rose many a Moorish head,\n    Conceal'd by night they gently swam along,\n    And with their weapons saw'd the cables strong,\n    That by the swelling currents whirl'd and toss'd,\n    The navy's wrecks might strew the rocky coast.\n    But now discover'd, every nerve they ply,\n    And dive, and swift as frighten'd vermin fly.\n\n      Now through the silver waves that curling rose,\n    And gently murmur'd round the sloping prows,\n    The gallant fleet before the steady wind\n    Sweeps on, and leaves long foamy tracts behind;\n    While as they sail the joyful crew relate\n    Their wondrous safety from impending fate;\n    And every bosom feels how sweet the joy\n    When, dangers past, the grateful tongue employ.\n\n      The sun had now his annual journey run,\n    And blazing forth another course begun,\n    When smoothly gliding o'er the hoary tide\n    Two sloops afar the watchful master spied;\n    Their Moorish make the seaman's art display'd;\n    Here GAMA weens to force the pilot's aid:\n    One, base with fear, to certain shipwreck flew;\n    The keel dash'd on the shore, escap'd the crew.\n    The other bravely trusts the gen'rous foe,\n    And yields, ere slaughter struck the lifted blow,\n    Ere Vulcan's thunders bellow'd. Yet again\n    The captain's prudence and his wish were vain;\n    No pilot here his wand'ring course to guide,\n    No lip to tell where rolls the Indian tide;\n    The voyage calm, or perilous, or afar,\n    Beneath what heaven, or which the guiding star:\n    Yet this they told, that by the neighb'ring bay\n    A potent monarch reign'd, whose pious sway\n    For truth and noblest bounty far renown'd,\n    Still with the stranger's grateful praise was crown'd.\n    O'erjoyed, brave GAMA heard the tale, which seal'd\n    The sacred truth that Maia's[159] son reveal'd;\n    And bids the pilot, warn'd by Heaven his guide,\n    For fair Melinda[160] turn the helm aside.\n\n      'Twas now the jovial season, when the morn\n    From Taurus flames, when Amalthea's horn\n    O'er hill and dale the rose-crown'd Flora pours,\n    And scatters corn and wine, and fruits and flowers.\n    Right to the port their course the fleet pursu'd,\n    And the glad dawn that sacred day[161] renew'd,\n    When, with the spoils of vanquish'd death adorn'd,\n    To heaven the Victor[162] of the tomb return'd.\n    And soon Melinda's shore the sailors spy;\n    From every mast the purple streamers fly;\n    Rich-figur'd tap'stry now supplies the sail.\n    The gold and scarlet tremble in the gale;\n    The standard broad its brilliant hues bewrays,\n    And floating on the wind wide-billowing plays;\n    Shrill through the air the quiv'ring trumpet sounds,\n    And the rough drum the rousing march rebounds.\n    As thus, regardful of the sacred day,\n    The festive navy cut the wat'ry way,\n    Melinda's sons the shore in thousands crowd,\n    And, offering joyful welcome, shout aloud:\n    And truth the voice inspir'd. Unaw'd by fear,\n    With warlike pomp adorn'd, himself sincere,\n    Now in the port the gen'rous GAMA rides;\n    His stately vessels range their pitchy sides\n    Around their chief; the bowsprits nod the head,\n    And the barb'd anchors gripe the harbour's bed.\n    Straight to the king, as friends to gen'rous friends,\n    A captive Moor the valiant GAMA sends.\n    The Lusian fame, the king already knew,\n    What gulfs unknown the fleet had labour'd through,\n    What shelves, what tempests dar'd. His liberal mind\n    Exults the captain's manly trust to find;\n    With that ennobling worth, whose fond employ\n    Befriends the brave, the monarch owns his joy,\n    Entreats the leader and his weary band\n    To taste the dews of sweet repose on land,\n    And all the riches of his cultur'd fields\n    Obedient to the nod of GAMA yields.\n    His care, meanwhile, their present want attends,\n    And various fowl, and various fruits he sends;\n    The oxen low, the fleecy lambkins bleat,\n    And rural sounds are echo'd through the fleet.\n    His gifts with joy the valiant chief receives,\n    And gifts in turn, confirming friendship, gives.\n    Here the proud scarlet darts its ardent rays,\n    And here the purple and the orange blaze;\n    O'er these profuse the branching coral spread,\n    The coral[163] wondrous in its wat'ry bed;\n    Soft there it creeps, in curving branches thrown,\n    In air it hardens to a precious stone.\n    With these a herald, on whose melting tongue\n    The copious rhetoric[164] of Arabia hung,\n    He sends, his wants and purpose to reveal,\n    And holy vows of lasting peace to seal.\n    The monarch sits amid his splendid bands,\n    Before the regal throne the herald stands,\n    And thus, as eloquence his lips inspir'd,\n    \"O king,\" he cries, \"for sacred truth admir'd,\n    Ordain'd by heaven to bend the stubborn knees\n    Of haughtiest nations to thy just decrees;\n    Fear'd as thou art, yet sent by Heaven to prove\n    That empire's strength results from public love:\n    To thee, O king, for friendly aid we come;\n    Nor lawless robbers o'er the deep we roam:\n    No lust of gold could e'er our breasts inflame\n    To scatter fire and slaughter where we came;\n    Nor sword, nor spear our harmless hands employ\n    To seize the careless, or the weak destroy.\n    At our most potent monarch's dread command\n    We spread the sail from lordly Europe's strand;\n    Through seas unknown, through gulfs untried before,\n    We force our journey to the Indian shore.\n\n      \"Alas, what rancour fires the human breast!\n    By what stern tribes are Afric's shores possess'd!\n    How many a wile they tried, how many a snare!\n    Not wisdom sav'd us, 'twas the Heaven's own care:\n    Not harbours only, e'en the barren sands\n    A place of rest denied our weary bands:\n    From us, alas, what harm could prudence fear!\n    From us so few, their num'rous friends so near!\n    While thus, from shore to cruel shore long driven,\n    To thee conducted by a guide from heaven,\n    We come, O monarch, of thy truth assur'd,\n    Of hospitable rites by Heaven secur'd;\n    Such rites[165] as old Alcinous' palace grac'd,\n    When 'lorn Ulysses sat his favour'd guest.\n    Nor deem, O king, that cold Suspicion taints\n    Our valiant leader, or his wish prevents;\n    Great is our monarch, and his dread command\n    To our brave captain interdicts the land\n    Till Indian earth he tread. What nobler cause\n    Than loyal faith can wake thy fond applause,\n    O thou, who knowest the ever-pressing weight\n    Of kingly office,[166] and the cares of state!\n    And hear, ye conscious heavens, if GAMA'S heart\n    Forget thy kindness, or from truth depart,\n    The sacred light shall perish from the sun,\n    And rivers to the sea shall cease to run.\"[167]\n    He spoke; a murmur of applause succeeds,\n    And each with wonder own'd the val'rous deeds\n    Of that bold race, whose flowing vanes had wav'd\n    Beneath so many a sky, so many an ocean brav'd.\n    Nor less the king their loyal faith reveres,\n    And Lisboa's lord in awful state appears,\n    Whose least command on farthest shores obey'd,\n    His sovereign grandeur to the world display'd.\n    Elate with joy, uprose the royal Moor,\n    And smiling thus,--\"O welcome to my shore!\n    If yet in you the fear of treason dwell,\n    Far from your thoughts th' ungen'rous fear expel:\n    Still with the brave, the brave will honour find,\n    And equal ardour will their friendship bind.\n    But those who spurn'd you, men alone in show,\n    Rude as the bestial herd, no worth they know;\n    Such dwell not here: and since your laws require\n    Obedience strict, I yield my fond desire.\n    Though much I wish'd your chief to grace my board,\n    Fair be his duty to his sov'reign Lord:\n    Yet when the morn walks forth with dewy feet\n    My barge shall waft me to the warlike fleet;\n    There shall my longing eyes the heroes view,\n    And holy vows the mutual peace renew.\n    What from the blust'ring winds and length'ning tide\n    Your ships have suffer'd, shall be here supplied.\n    Arms and provisions I myself will send,\n    And, great of skill, a pilot shall attend.\"\n\n      So spoke the king: and now, with purpled ray,\n    Beneath the shining wave the god of day\n    Retiring, left the evening shades to spread;\n    And to the fleet the joyful herald sped:\n    To find such friends each breast with rapture glows,\n    The feast is kindled, and the goblet flows;\n    The trembling comet's imitated rays[168]\n    Bound to the skies, and trail a sparkling blaze:\n    The vaulting bombs awake their sleeping fire,\n    And, like the Cyclops' bolts, to heaven aspire:\n    The bombardiers their roaring engines ply,\n    And earth and ocean thunder to the sky.\n    The trump and fife's shrill clarion far around\n    The glorious music of the fight resound;\n    Nor less the joy Melinda's sons display,\n    The sulphur bursts in many an ardent ray,\n    And to the heaven ascends, in whizzing gyres,\n    And ocean flames with artificial fires.\n    In festive war the sea and land engage,\n    And echoing shouts confess the joyful rage.\n    So pass'd the night: and now, with silv'ry ray,\n    The star of morning ushers in the day.\n    The shadows fly before the roseate hours,\n    And the chill dew hangs glitt'ring on the flowers.\n    The pruning-hook or humble spade to wield,\n    The cheerful lab'rer hastens to the field;\n    When to the fleet, with many a sounding oar,\n    The monarch sails; the natives crowd the shore;\n    Their various robes in one bright splendour join,\n    The purple blazes, and the gold stripes shine;\n    Nor as stern warriors with the quiv'ring lance,\n    Or moon-arch'd bow, Melinda's sons advance;\n    Green boughs of palm with joyful hands they wave,\n    An omen of the meed that crowns the brave:\n    Fair was the show the royal barge display'd,\n    With many a flag of glist'ning silk array'd,\n    Whose various hues, as waving thro' the bay,\n    Return'd the lustre of the rising day:\n    And, onward as they came, in sov'reign state\n    The mighty king amid his princes sat:\n    His robes the pomp of Eastern splendour show,\n    A proud tiara decks his lordly brow:\n    The various tissue shines in every fold,\n    The silken lustre and the rays of gold.\n    His purple mantle boasts the dye of Tyre,[169]\n    And in the sunbeam glows with living fire.\n    A golden chain, the skilful artist's pride,\n    Hung from his neck; and glitt'ring by his side\n    The dagger's hilt of star-bright diamond shone,\n    The girding baldric[170] burns with precious stone;\n    And precious stone in studs of gold enchas'd,\n    The shaggy velvet of his buskins grac'd:\n    Wide o'er his head, of various silks inlaid,\n    A fair umbrella cast a grateful shade.\n    A band of menials, bending o'er the prow,\n    Of horn wreath'd round the crooked trumpets blow;\n    And each attendant barge aloud rebounds\n    A barb'rous discord of rejoicing sounds.\n    With equal pomp the captain leaves the fleet,\n    Melinda's monarch on the tide to greet:\n    His barge nods on amidst a splendid train,\n    Himself adorn'd in[171] all the pride of Spain:\n    With fair embroidery shone his arm\u00e8d breast,\n    For polish'd steel supplied the warrior's vest;\n    His sleeves, beneath, were silk of paly blue,\n    Above, more loose, the purple's brightest hue\n    Hung as a scarf in equal gath'rings roll'd,\n    With golden buttons and with loops of gold:\n    Bright in the sun the polish'd radiance burns,\n    And the dimm'd eyeball from the lustre turns.\n    Of crimson satin, dazzling to behold,\n    His cassock swell'd in many a curving fold;\n    The make was Gallic, but the lively bloom\n    Confess'd the labour of Venetia's loom.\n    Gold was his sword, and warlike trousers lac'd\n    With thongs of gold his manly legs embrac'd.\n    With graceful mien his cap aslant was turn'd.\n    The velvet cap a nodding plume adorn'd.\n    His noble aspect, and the purple's ray,\n    Amidst his train the gallant chief bewray.\n    The various vestments of the warrior train,\n    Like flowers of various colours on the plain,\n    Attract the pleas'd beholder's wond'ring eye,\n    And with the splendour of the rainbow vie.\n    Now GAMA'S bands the quiv'ring trumpet blow,\n    Thick o'er the wave the crowding barges row,\n    The Moorish flags the curling waters sweep,\n    The Lusian mortars thunder o'er the deep;\n    Again the fiery roar heaven's concave tears,\n    The Moors astonished stop their wounded ears;\n    Again loud thunders rattle o'er the bay,\n    And clouds of smoke wide-rolling blot the day;\n    The captain's barge the gen'rous king ascends,\n    His arms the chief enfold, the captain bends,\n    (A rev'rence to the scepter'd grandeur due):\n    In silent awe the monarch's wond'ring view\n    Is fix'd on VASCO'S noble mien;[172] the while\n    His thoughts with wonder weigh the hero's toil.\n    Esteem and friendship with his wonder rise,\n    And free to GAMA all his kingdom lies.\n    Though never son of Lusus' race before\n    Had met his eye, or trod Melinda's shore\n    To him familiar was the mighty name,\n    And much his talk extols the Lusian fame;\n    How through the vast of Afric's wildest bound\n    Their deathless feats in gallant arms resound;\n    When that fair land where Hesper's offspring reign'd,\n    Their valour's prize the Lusian youth obtain'd.\n    Much still he talk'd, enraptur'd of the theme,\n    Though but the faint vibrations of their fame\n    To him had echo'd. Pleas'd his warmth to view,\n    Convinc'd his promise and his heart were true,\n    The illustrious GAMA thus his soul express'd\n    And own'd the joy that labour'd in his breast:\n    \"Oh thou, benign, of all the tribes alone,\n    Who feel the rigour of the burning zone,\n    Whose piety, with Mercy's gentle eye\n    Beholds our wants, and gives the wish'd supply,\n    Our navy driven from many a barb'rous coast,\n    On many a tempest-harrow'd ocean toss'd,\n    At last with thee a kindly refuge finds,\n    Safe from the fury of the howling winds.\n    O gen'rous king, may He whose mandate rolls\n    The circling heavens, and human pride controls,\n    May the Great Spirit to thy breast return\n    That needful aid, bestow'd on us forlorn!\n    And while yon sun emits his rays divine,\n    And while the stars in midnight azure shine,\n    Where'er my sails are stretch'd the world around,\n    Thy praise shall brighten, and thy name resound.\"\n\n      He spoke; the painted barges swept the flood,\n    Where, proudly gay, the anchor'd navy rode;\n    Earnest the king the lordly fleet surveys;\n    The mortars thunder, and the trumpets raise\n    Their martial sounds Melinda's sons to greet,\n    Melinda's sons with timbrels hail the fleet.\n    And now, no more the sulphury tempest roars,\n    The boatmen leaning on the rested oars\n    Breathe short; the barges now at anchor moor'd,\n    The king, while silence listen'd round, implor'd\n    The glories of the Lusian wars to hear,\n    Whose faintest echoes long had pleas'd his ear:\n    Their various triumphs on the Afric shore\n    O'er those who hold the son of Hagar's[173] lore.\n    Fond he demands, and now demands again\n    Their various triumphs on the western main\n    Again, ere readiest answer found a place,\n    He asks the story of the Lusian race;\n    What god was founder of the mighty line,\n    Beneath what heaven their land, what shores adjoin;\n    And what their climate, where the sinking day\n    Gives the last glimpse of twilight's silv'ry ray.\n    \"But most, O chief,\" the zealous monarch cries,\n    \"What raging seas you brav'd, what low'ring skies;\n    What tribes, what rites you saw; what savage hate\n    On our rude Afric prov'd your hapless fate:\n    Oh tell, for lo, the chilly dawning star\n    Yet rides before the morning's purple car;\n    And o'er the wave the sun's bold coursers raise\n    Their flaming fronts, and give the opening blaze;\n    Soft on the glassy wave the zephyrs sleep,\n    And the still billows holy silence keep.\n    Nor less are we, undaunted chief, prepar'd\n    To hear thy nation's gallant deeds declar'd;\n    Nor think, tho' scorch'd beneath the car of day,\n    Our minds too dull the debt of praise to pay;\n    Melinda's sons the test of greatness know,\n    And on the Lusian race the palm bestow.\n\n      \"If Titan's giant brood with impious arms\n    Shook high Olympus' brow with rude alarms;\n    If Theseus and Piritho\u00fcs dar'd invade\n    The dismal horrors of the Stygian shade,\n    Nor less your glory, nor your boldness less\n    That thus exploring Neptune's last recess\n    Contemns his waves and tempests. If the thirst\n    To live in fame, though famed for deeds accurs'd,\n    Could urge the caitiff, who to win a name\n    Gave Dian's temple to the wasting flame:[174]\n    If such the ardour to attain renown,\n    How bright the lustre of the hero's crown,\n    Whose deeds of fair emprize his honours raise,\n    And bind his brows, like thine, with deathless bays!\"\n\n\nEND OF THE SECOND BOOK.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK III.\n\nTHE ARGUMENT.\n\nGama, in reply to the King of Melinda, describes the various countries\nof Europe; narrates the rise of the Portuguese nation. History of\nPortugal. Battle of Guimaraens. Egas offers himself with his wife and\nfamily for the honour of his country. Alonzo pardons him. Battle of\nOurique against the Moors; great slaughter of the Moors. Alonzo\nproclaimed King of Portugal on the battle-field of Ourique. At Badajoz\nhe is wounded and taken prisoner: resigns the kingdom to his son, Don\nSancho. Hearing that thirteen Moorish kings, headed by the Emperor of\nMorocco, were besieging Sancho in Santarem, he hastens to deliver his\nson: gains a great battle, in which the Moorish Emperor is slain.\nVictories of Sancho; capture of Sylves from the Moors, and of Tui from\nthe King of Leon. Conquest of Alcazar de Sul by Alfonso II. Deposition\nof Sancho II. Is succeeded by Alphonso III., the conqueror of Algarve;\nsucceeded by Dionysius, founder of the University of Coimbra. His son,\nAlfonso the Brave. Affecting story of the fair Inez, who is crowned\nQueen of Portugal after her assassination. Don Pedro, her husband,\nrendered desperate by the loss of his mistress, is succeeded by the weak\nand effeminate Ferdinand. His wife Eleonora, torn from the arms of her\nlawful husband, dishonours his reign.\n\n\n    Oh now, Calliope, thy potent aid!\n    What to the king th' illustrious GAMA said\n    Clothe in immortal verse. With sacred fire\n    My breast, If e'er it loved thy lore, inspire:\n    So may the patron[175] of the healing art,\n    The god of day to thee consign his heart;\n    From thee, the mother of his darling son,[176]\n    May never wand'ring thought to Daphne run:\n    May never Clytia, nor Leucotho\u00eb's pride\n    Henceforth with thee his changeful love divide.\n    Then aid, O fairest nymph, my fond desire,\n    And give my verse the Lusian warlike fire:\n    Fir'd by the song, the list'ning world shall know\n    That Aganippe's streams from Tagus flow.\n    Oh, let no more the flowers of Pindus shine\n    On thy fair breast, or round thy temples twine:\n    On Tago's banks a richer chaplet blows,\n    And with the tuneful god my bosom glows:\n    I feel, I feel the mighty power infuse,\n    And bathe my spirit in Aonian[177] dews!\n\n      Now silence woo'd the illustrious chief's reply,\n    And keen attention watch'd on every eye;\n    When slowly turning with a modest grace,\n    The noble VASCO rais'd his manly face;\n    O mighty king (he cries), at thy[178] command\n    The martial story of my native land\n    I tell; but more my doubtful heart had joy'd\n    Had other wars my praiseful lips employ'd.\n    When men the honours of their race commend,\n    The doubts of strangers on the tale attend:\n    Yet, though reluctance falter on my tongue,\n    Though day would fail a narrative so long,\n    Yet, well assur'd no fiction's glare can raise,\n    Or give my country's fame a brighter praise;\n    Though less, far less, whate'er my lips can say,\n    Than truth must give it, I thy will obey.\n\n      Between that zone where endless winter reigns\n    And that where flaming heat consumes the plains;\n    Array'd in green, beneath indulgent skies,\n    The queen of arts and arms, fair Europe lies.\n    Around her northern and her western shores,\n    Throng'd with the finny race old ocean roars;\n    The midland sea,[179] where tide ne'er swell'd the waves,\n    Her richest lawns, the southern border, laves.\n    Against the rising morn, the northmost bound\n    The whirling Tanais[180] parts from Asian ground,\n    As tumbling from the Scythian mountains cold\n    Their crooked way the rapid waters hold\n    To dull M\u00e6otis'[181] lake. Her eastern line\n    More to the south, the Phrygian waves confine:\n    Those waves, which, black with many a navy, bore\n    The Grecian heroes to the Dardan shore;\n    Where now the seaman, rapt in mournful joy,\n    Explores in vain the sad remains of Troy.\n    Wide to the north beneath the pole she spreads;\n    Here piles of mountains rear their rugged heads,\n    Here winds on winds in endless tempests roll,\n    The valleys sigh, the length'ning echoes howl.\n    On the rude cliffs, with frosty spangles grey,\n    Weak as the twilight, gleams the solar ray;\n    Each mountain's breast with snows eternal shines,\n    The streams and seas eternal frost confines.\n    Here dwelt the num'rous Scythian tribes of old,\n    A dreadful race! by victor ne'er controll'd,\n    Whose pride maintain'd that theirs the sacred earth,\n    Not that of Nile, which first gave man his birth.\n    Here dismal Lapland spreads a dreary wild,\n    Here Norway's wastes, where harvest never smil'd,\n    Whose groves of fir in gloomy horror frown,\n    Nod o'er the rocks, and to the tempest groan.\n    Here Scandia's clime her rugged shores extends,\n    And, far projected, through the ocean bends;\n    Whose sons' dread footsteps yet Ausonia[182] wears,\n    And yet proud Rome in mournful ruin bears.\n    When summer bursts stern winter's icy chain,\n    Here the bold Swede, the Prussian, and the Dane\n    Hoist the white sail and plough the foamy way,\n    Cheer'd by whole months of one continual day:\n    Between these shores and Tanais'[183] rushing tide\n    Livonia's sons and Russia's hordes reside.\n    Stern as their clime the tribes, whose sires of yore\n    The name, far dreaded, of Sarmatians bore.\n    Where, fam'd of old, th' Hercynian[184] forest lower'd,\n    Oft seen in arms the Polish troops are pour'd\n    Wide foraging the downs. The Saxon race,\n    The Hungar dext'rous in the wild-boar chase,\n    The various nations whom the Rhine's cold wave\n    The Elbe, Amasis, and the Danube lave,\n    Of various tongues, for various princes known,\n    Their mighty lord the German emperor own.\n    Between the Danube and the lucid tide\n    Where hapless Helle left her name,[185] and died:\n    The dreadful god of battles' kindred race,\n    Degenerate now, possess the hills of Thrace.\n    Mount H\u00e6mus[186] here, and Rhodope renown'd,\n    And proud Byzantium,[187] long with empire crown'd;\n    Their ancient pride, their ancient virtue fled,\n    Low to the Turk now bend the servile head.\n    Here spread the fields of warlike Macedon,\n    And here those happy lands where genius shone\n    In all the arts, in all the Muses' charms,\n    In all the pride of elegance and arms,\n    Which to the heavens resounded Grecia's name,\n    And left in every age a deathless fame.\n    The stern Dalmatians till the neighb'ring ground;\n    And where Antenor anchor'd in the sound\n    Proud Venice, as a queen, majestic towers,\n    And o'er the trembling waves her thunder pours.\n    For learning glorious, glorious for the sword,\n    While Rome's proud monarch reign'd the world's dread lord,\n    Here Italy her beauteous landscapes shows;\n    Around her sides his arms old ocean throws;\n    The dashing waves the ramparts aid supply;\n    The hoary Alps high tow'ring to the sky,\n    From shore to shore a rugged barrier spread,\n    And lower destruction on the hostile tread.\n    But now no more her hostile spirit burns,\n    There now the saint, in humble vespers mourns\n    To Heaven more grateful than the pride of war,\n    And all the triumphs of the victor's car.\n    Onward fair Gallia opens to the view\n    Her groves of olive, and her vineyards blue:\n    Wide spread her harvests o'er the scenes renown'd,\n    Where Julius[188] proudly strode with laurel crown'd.\n    Here Seine, how fair when glist'ning to the moon!\n    Rolls his white wave, and here the cold Garoon;\n    Here the deep Rhine the flow'ry margin laves,\n    And here the rapid Rhone impervious raves.\n    Here the gruff mountains, faithless to the vows\n    Of lost Pyrene[189] rear their cloudy brows;\n    Whence, when of old the flames their woods devour'd,\n    Streams of red gold and melted silver pour'd.\n    And now, as head of all the lordly train\n    Of Europe's realms, appears illustrious Spain.\n    Alas, what various fortunes has she known!\n    Yet ever did her sons her wrongs atone;\n    Short was the triumph of her haughty foes,\n    And still with fairer bloom her honours rose.\n    Where, lock'd with land, the struggling currents boil\n    Fam'd for the godlike Theban's latest toil,[190]\n    Against one coast the Punic strand extends,\n    Around her breast the midland ocean bends,\n    Around her shores two various oceans swell,\n    And various nations in her bosom dwell.\n    Such deeds of valour dignify their names,\n    Each the imperial right of honour claims.\n    Proud Aragon, who twice her standard rear'd\n    In conquer'd Naples; and for art rever'd,\n    Galicia's prudent sons; the fierce Navarre,\n    And he far dreaded in the Moorish war,\n    The bold Asturian; nor Sevilia's race,\n    Nor thine, Granada, claim the second place.\n    Here too the heroes who command the plain\n    By Betis[191] water'd; here the pride of Spain,\n    The brave Castilian pauses o'er his sword,\n    His country's dread deliverer and lord.\n    Proud o'er the rest, with splendid wealth array'd,\n    As crown to this wide empire, Europe's head,\n    Fair Lusitania smiles, the western bound,\n    Whose verdant breast the rolling waves surround,\n    Where gentle evening pours her lambent ray,\n    The last pale gleaming of departing day;\n    This, this, O mighty king, the sacred earth,\n    This the loved parent-soil that gave me birth.\n    And oh, would bounteous Heaven my prayer regard,\n    And fair success my perilous toils reward,\n    May that dear land my latest breath receive,\n    And give my weary bones a peaceful grave.\n\n      Sublime the honours of my native land,\n    And high in Heaven's regard her heroes stand;\n    By Heaven's decree 'twas theirs the first to quell\n    The Moorish tyrants, and from Spain expel;\n    Nor could their burning wilds conceal their flight,\n    Their burning wilds confess'd the Lusian might.\n    From Lusus famed, whose honour'd name we bear,\n    (The son of Bacchus or the bold compeer),\n    The glorious name of Lusitania rose,\n    A name tremendous to the Roman foes,\n    When her bold troops the valiant shepherd[192] led,\n    And foul with rout the Roman eagles fled;\n    When haughty Rome achiev'd the treach'rous blow,\n    That own'd her terror of the matchless foe.[193]\n    But, when no more her Viriatus fought,\n    Age after age her deeper thraldom brought;\n    Her broken sons by ruthless tyrants spurn'd,\n    Her vineyards languish'd, and her pastures mourn'd;\n    Till time revolving rais'd her drooping head,\n    And o'er the wond'ring world her conquests spread.\n    Thus rose her power: the lands of lordly Spain\n    Were now the brave Alonzo's wide domain;\n    Great were his honours in the bloody fight,\n    And Fame proclaim'd him champion of the right.\n    And oft the groaning Saracen's[194] proud crest\n    And shatter'd mail his awful force confess'd.\n    From Calpe's summits to the Caspian shore\n    Loud-tongued renown his godlike actions bore.\n    And many a chief from distant regions[195] came\n    To share the laurels of Alonzo's fame;\n    Yet, more for holy Faith's unspotted cause\n    Their spears they wielded, than for Fame's applause.\n    Great were the deeds their thund'ring arms display'd,\n    And still their foremost swords the battle sway'd.\n    And now to honour with distinguish'd meed\n    Each hero's worth the gen'rous king decreed.\n    The first and bravest of the foreign bands\n    Hungaria's younger son, brave Henry[196] stands.\n\n    To him are given the fields where Tagus flows,\n    And the glad king his daughter's hand bestows;\n    The fair Teresa shines his blooming bride,\n    And owns her father's love, and Henry's pride.\n    With her, besides, the sire confirms in dower\n    Whate'er his sword might rescue from the Moor;\n    And soon on Hagar's race[197] the hero pours\n    His warlike fury--soon the vanquish'd Moors\n    To him far round the neighb'ring lands resign,\n    And Heaven rewards him with a glorious line.\n    To him is born, Heaven's gift, a gallant son,\n    The glorious founder of the Lusian throne.\n    Nor Spain's wide lands alone his deeds attest,\n    Deliver'd Judah Henry's might[198] confess'd\n    On Jordan's bank the victor-hero strode,\n    Whose hallow'd waters bath'd the Saviour-God;\n    And Salem's[199] gate her open folds display'd,\n    When Godfrey[200] conquer'd by the hero's aid.\n    But now no more in tented fields oppos'd,\n    By Tagus' stream his honour'd age he clos'd;\n    Yet still his dauntless worth, his virtue lived,\n    And all the father in the son survived.\n    And soon his worth was prov'd, the parent dame\n    Avow'd a second hymeneal flame.[201]\n    The low-born spouse assumes the monarch's place,\n    And from the throne expels the orphan race.\n    But young Alphonso, like his sires of yore\n    (His grandsire's virtues, as his name, he bore),\n    Arms for the fight, his ravish'd throne to win,\n    And the lac'd helmet grasps his beardless chin.\n    Her fiercest firebrands Civil Discord wav'd,\n    Before her troops the lustful mother rav'd;\n    Lost to maternal love, and lost to shame,\n    Unaw'd she saw Heaven's awful vengeance flame;\n    The brother's sword the brother's bosom tore,\n    And sad Guimaria's[202] meadows blush'd with gore;\n    With Lusian gore the peasant's cot was stain'd,\n    And kindred blood the sacred shrine profan'd.\n\n      Here, cruel Progne, here, O Jason's wife,\n    Yet reeking with your children's purple life,\n    Here glut your eyes with deeper guilt than yours;\n    Here fiercer rage her fiercer rancour pours.\n    Your crime was vengeance on the faithless sires,\n    But here ambition with foul lust conspires.\n    'Twas rage of love, O Scylla, urged the knife[203]\n    That robb'd thy father of his fated life;\n    Here grosser rage the mother's breast inflames,\n    And at her guiltless son the vengeance aims,\n    But aims in vain; her slaughter'd forces yield,\n    And the brave youth rides victor o'er the field.\n    No more his subjects lift the thirsty sword,\n    And the glad realm proclaims the youthful lord.\n    But ah, how wild the noblest tempers run!\n    His filial duty now forsakes the son;\n    Secluded from the day, in clanking chains\n    His rage the parent's ag\u00e8d limbs constrains.\n    Heaven frown'd--Dark vengeance lowering on his brows,\n    And sheath'd in brass, the proud Castilian rose,\n    Resolv'd the rigour to his daughter shown\n    The battle should avenge, and blood atone.\n    A numerous host against the prince he sped,\n    The valiant prince his little army led:\n    Dire was the shock; the deep-riven helms resound,\n    And foes with foes lie grappling on the ground.\n    Yet, though around the stripling's sacred head\n    By angel hands etherial shields were spread;\n    Though glorious triumph on his valour smiled,\n    Soon on his van the baffled foe recoil'd:\n    With bands more num'rous to the field he came,\n    His proud heart burning with the rage of shame.\n    And now in turn Guimaria's[204] lofty wall,\n    That saw his triumph, saw the hero fall;\n    Within the town immured, distress'd he lay,\n    To stern Castilia's sword a certain prey.\n    When now the guardian of his infant years,\n    The valiant Egas, as a god appears;\n    To proud Castile the suppliant noble bows,\n    And faithful homage for his prince he vows.\n    The proud Castile accepts his honour'd faith,\n    And peace succeeds the dreadful scenes of death.\n    Yet well, alas, the generous Egas knew\n    His high-soul'd prince to man would never sue:\n    Would never stoop to brook the servile stain,\n    To hold a borrow'd, a dependent reign.\n    And now with gloomy aspect rose the day,\n    Decreed the plighted servile rights to pay;\n    When Egas, to redeem his faith's disgrace,\n    Devotes himself, his spouse, and infant race.\n    In gowns of white, as sentenced felons clad,\n    When to the stake the sons of guilt are led,\n    With feet unshod they slowly moved along,\n    And from their necks the knotted halters hung.\n    \"And now, O king,\" the kneeling Egas cries,\n    \"Behold my perjured honour's sacrifice:\n    If such mean victims can atone thine ire,\n    Here let my wife, my babes, myself expire.\n    If gen'rous bosoms such revenge can take,\n    Here let them perish for the father's sake:\n    The guilty tongue, the guilty hands are these,\n    Nor let a common death thy wrath appease;\n    For us let all the rage of torture burn,\n    But to my prince, thy son, in friendship turn.\"\n\n      He spoke, and bow'd his prostrate body low,\n    As one who waits the lifted sabre's blow;\n    When o'er the block his languid arms are spread,\n    And death, foretasted, whelms the heart with dread:\n    So great a leader thus in humbled state,\n    So firm his loyalty, his zeal so great,\n    The brave Alonzo's kindled ire subdu'd,\n    And, lost in silent joy, the monarch stood;\n    Then gave the hand, and sheath'd the hostile sword,\n    And, to such honour honour'd peace[205] restor'd.\n\n      Oh Lusian faith! oh zeal beyond compare!\n    What greater danger could the Persian dare,\n    Whose prince in tears, to view his mangled woe,\n    Forgot the joy for Babylon's[206] o'erthrow.\n    And now the youthful hero shines in arms,\n    The banks of Tagus echo war's alarms:\n    O'er Ourique's wide campaign his ensigns wave,\n    And the proud Saracen to combat brave.\n    Though prudence might arraign his fiery rage\n    That dar'd with one, each hundred spears engage,\n    In Heaven's protecting care his courage lies,\n    And Heaven, his friend, superior force supplies.\n    Five Moorish kings against him march along,\n    Ismar the noblest of the arm\u00e8d throng;\n    Yet each brave monarch claim'd the soldier's name,\n    And far o'er many a land was known to fame.\n    In all the beauteous glow of blooming years[207]\n    Beside each king a warrior nymph appears;\n    Each with her sword her valiant lover guards,\n    With smiles inspires him, and with smiles rewards.\n    Such was the valour of the beauteous maid,[208]\n    Whose warlike arm proud Ilion's[209] fate delay'd.\n    Such in the field the virgin warriors[210] shone,\n    Who drank the limpid wave of Thermodon.[211]\n\n      'Twas morn's still hour, before the dawning grey\n    The stars' bright twinkling radiance died away,\n    When lo, resplendent in the heaven serene,\n    High o'er the prince the sacred cross was seen;\n    The godlike prince with Faith's warm glow inflam'd,\n    \"Oh, not to me, my bounteous God!\" exclaim'd,\n    \"Oh, not to me, who well thy grandeur know,\n    But to the pagan herd thy wonders show.\"\n\n      The Lusian host, enraptur'd, mark'd the sign\n    That witness'd to their chief the aid divine:\n    Right on the foe they shake the beamy lance,\n    And with firm strides, and heaving breasts, advance;\n    Then burst the silence, \"Hail, O king!\" they cry;\n    \"Our king, our king!\" the echoing dales reply:\n    Fir'd at the sound, with fiercer ardour glows\n    The Heaven-made monarch; on the wareless foes\n    Rushing, he speeds his ardent bands along:\n    So, when the chase excites the rustic throng,\n    Rous'd to fierce madness by their mingled cries,\n    On the wild bull the red-eyed mastiff flies.\n    The stern-brow'd tyrant roars and tears the ground\n    His watchful horns portend the deathful wound.\n    The nimble mastiff springing on the foe,\n    Avoids the furious sharpness of the blow;\n    Now by the neck, now by the gory sides\n    Hangs fierce, and all his bellowing rage derides:\n    In vain his eye-balls burn with living fire,\n    In vain his nostrils clouds of smoke respire,\n    His gorge torn down, down falls the furious prize\n    With hollow thund'ring sound, and raging dies:[212]\n    Thus, on the Moors the hero rush'd along,\n    Th' astonish'd Moors in wild confusion throng;\n    They snatch their arms, the hasty trumpet sounds,\n    With horrid yell the dread alarm rebounds;\n    The warlike tumult maddens o'er the plain,\n    As when the flame devours the bearded grain:\n    The nightly flames the whistling winds inspire,\n    Fierce through the braky thicket pours the fire:\n    Rous'd by the crackling of the mounting blaze\n    From sleep the shepherds start in wild amaze;\n    They snatch their clothes with many a woeful cry,\n    And, scatter'd, devious to the mountains fly:\n    Such sudden dread the trembling Moors alarms,\n    Wild and confused, they snatch the nearest arms;\n    Yet flight they scorn, and, eager to engage,\n    They spur their foamy steeds, and trust their furious rage:\n    Amidst the horror of the headlong shock,\n    With foot unshaken as the living rock\n    Stands the bold Lusian firm; the purple wounds\n    Gush horrible; deep, groaning rage resounds;\n    Reeking behind the Moorish backs appear\n    The shining point of many a Lusian spear;\n    The mailcoats, hauberks,[213] and the harness steel'd,\n    Bruis'd, hack'd, and torn, lie scatter'd o'er the field;\n    Beneath the Lusian sweepy force o'erthrown,\n    Crush'd by their batter'd mails the wounded groan;\n    Burning with thirst they draw their panting breath,\n    And curse their prophet[214] as they writhe in death.\n    Arms sever'd from the trunks still grasp the steel,[215]\n    Heads gasping roll; the fighting squadrons reel;\n    Fainty and weak with languid arms they close,\n    And stagg'ring, grapple with the stagg'ring foes.\n    So, when an oak falls headlong on the lake,\n    The troubled waters slowly settling shake:\n    So faints the languid combat on the plain,\n    And settling, staggers o'er the heaps of slain.\n    Again the Lusian fury wakes its fires,\n    The terror of the Moors new strength inspires:\n    The scatter'd few in wild confusion fly,\n    And total rout resounds the yelling cry.\n    Defil'd with one wide sheet of reeking gore,\n    The verdure of the lawn appears no more:\n    In bubbling streams the lazy currents run,\n    And shoot red flames beneath the evening sun.\n    With spoils enrich'd, with glorious trophies[216] crown'd,\n    The Heaven-made sov'reign on the battle ground\n    Three days encamp'd, to rest his weary train,\n    Whose dauntless valour drove the Moors from Spain.\n    And now, in honour of the glorious day,\n    When five proud monarchs fell, his vanquish'd prey,\n    On his broad buckler, unadorn'd before,\n    Placed as a cross, five azure shields he wore,\n    In grateful memory of the heav'nly sign,\n    The pledge of conquest by the aid divine.\n\n      Nor long his falchion in the scabbard slept,\n    His warlike arm increasing laurels reap'd:\n    From Leyra's walls the baffled Ismar flies,\n    And strong Arroncha falls his conquer'd prize;\n    That hononr'd town, through whose Elysian groves\n    Thy smooth and limpid wave, O Tagus, roves.\n    Th' illustrious Santarene confess'd his power,\n    And vanquish'd Mafra yields her proudest tower.\n    The Lunar mountains saw his troops display\n    Their marching banners and their brave array:\n    To him submits fair Cintra's cold domain,\n    The soothing refuge of the Naiad train.\n    When Love's sweet snares the pining nymphs would shun:\n    Alas, in vain, from warmer climes they run:\n    The cooling shades awake the young desires,\n    And the cold fountains cherish love's soft fires.\n    And thou, famed Lisbon, whose embattled wall\n    Rose by the hand that wrought proud Ilion's[217] fall;[218]\n    Thou queen of cities, whom the seas obey,\n    Thy dreaded ramparts own'd the hero's sway.\n    Far from the north a warlike navy bore\n    From Elbe, from Rhine, and Albion's misty[219] shore;\n    To rescue Salem's[220] long-polluted shrine\n    Their force to great Alonzo's force they join:\n    Before Ulysses' walls the navy rides,\n    The joyful Tagus laves their pitchy sides.\n    Five times the moon her empty horns conceal'd,\n    Five times her broad effulgence shone reveal'd,\n    When, wrapt in clouds of dust, her mural pride\n    Falls thund'ring,--black the smoking breach yawns wide.\n    As, when th' imprison'd waters burst the mounds,\n    And roar, wide sweeping, o'er the cultur'd grounds;\n    Nor cot nor fold withstand their furious course;\n    So, headlong rush'd along the hero's force.\n    The thirst of vengeance the assailants fires,\n    The madness of despair the Moors inspires;\n    Each lane, each street resounds the conflict's roar,\n    And every threshold reeks with tepid gore.\n\n      Thus fell the city, whose unconquer'd[221] towers\n    Defied of old the banded Gothic powers,\n    Whose harden'd nerves in rig'rous climates train'd\n    The savage courage of their souls sustain'd:\n    Before whose sword the sons of Ebro fled,\n    And Tagus trembled in his oozy bed;\n    Aw'd by whose arms the lawns of Betis' shore\n    The name Vandalia from the Vandals bore.\n\n      When Lisbon's towers before the Lusian fell,\n    What fort, what rampart might his arms repel!\n    Estremadura's region owns him lord,\n    And Torres-vedras bends beneath his sword;\n    Obidos humbles, and Alamquer yields,\n    Alamquer famous for her verdant fields,\n    Whose murm'ring riv'lets cheer the traveller's way,\n    As the chill waters o'er the pebbles stray.\n    Elva the green, and Moura's fertile dales,\n    Fair Serpa's tillage, and Alcazar's vales\n    Not for himself the Moorish peasant sows;\n    For Lusian hands the yellow harvest glows:\n    And you, fair lawns, beyond the Tagus' wave,\n    Your golden burdens for Alonzo save;\n    Soon shall his thund'ring might your wealth reclaim,\n    And your glad valleys hail their monarch's name.\n\n      Nor sleep his captains while the sov'reign wars;\n    The brave Giraldo's sword in conquest shares,\n    Evora's frowning walls, the castled hold\n    Of that proud Roman chief, and rebel bold,\n    Sertorious dread, whose labours still remain;[222]\n    Two hundred arches, stretch'd in length, sustain\n    The marble duct, where, glist'ning to the sun,\n    Of silver hue the shining waters run.\n    Evora's frowning walls now shake with fear,\n    And yield, obedient to Giraldo's spear.\n    Nor rests the monarch while his servants toil,\n    Around him still increasing trophies smile,\n    And deathless fame repays the hapless fate\n    That gives to human life so short a date.\n    Proud Beja's castled walls his fury storms,\n    And one red slaughter every lane deforms.\n    The ghosts, whose mangled limbs, yet scarcely cold,\n    Heap'd, sad Trancoso's streets in carnage roll'd,\n    Appeas'd, the vengeance of their slaughter see,\n    And hail th' indignant king's severe decree.\n    Palmela trembles on her mountain's height,\n    And sea-laved Zambra owns the hero's might.\n    Nor these alone confess'd his happy star,\n    Their fated doom produc'd a nobler war.\n    Badaja's[223] king, a haughty Moor, beheld\n    His towns besieg'd, and hasted to the field.\n    Four thousand coursers in his army neigh'd,\n    Unnumber'd spears his infantry display'd;\n    Proudly they march'd, and glorious to behold,\n    In silver belts they shone, and plates of gold.\n    Along a mountain's side secure they trod,\n    Steep on each hand, and rugged was the road;\n    When, as a bull, whose lustful veins betray\n    The madd'ning tumult of inspiring May;\n    If, when his rage with fiercest ardour glows,\n    When in the shade the fragrant heifer lows,\n    If then, perchance, his jealous burning eye\n    Behold a careless traveller wander by,\n    With dreadful bellowing on the wretch he flies,\n    The wretch defenceless, torn and trampled dies.\n    So rush'd Alonzo on the gaudy train,\n    And pour'd victorious o'er the mangled slain;\n    The royal Moor precipitates in flight,\n    The mountain echoes with the wild affright\n    Of flying squadrons; down their arms they throw,\n    And dash from rock to rock to shun the foe.\n    The foe! what wonders may not virtue dare!\n    But sixty horsemen wag'd the conqu'ring war.[224]\n    The warlike monarch still his toil renews,\n    New conquest still each victory pursues.\n    To him Badaja's lofty gates expand,\n    And the wide region owns his dread command.\n    When, now enraged, proud Leon's king beheld\n    Those walls subdued, which saw his troops expell'd;\n    Enrag'd he saw them own the victor's sway,\n    And hems them round with battailous array.\n    With gen'rous ire the brave Alonzo glows;\n    By Heaven unguarded, on the num'rous foes\n    He rushes, glorying in his wonted force,\n    And spurs, with headlong rage, his furious horse;\n    The combat burns, the snorting courser bounds,\n    And paws impetuous by the iron mounds:\n    O'er gasping foes and sounding bucklers trod\n    The raging steed, and headlong as he rode\n    Dash'd the fierce monarch on a rampire bar--\n    Low grovelling in the dust, the pride of war,\n    The great Alonzo lies. The captive's fate\n    Succeeds, alas, the pomp of regal state.\n    \"Let iron dash his limbs,\" his mother cried,\n    \"And steel revenge my chains:\" she spoke, and died;\n    And Heaven assented--Now the hour was come,\n    And the dire curse was fallen Alonzo's doom.[225]\n\n      No more, O Pompey, of thy fate complain,\n    No more with sorrow view thy glory's stain;\n    Though thy tall standards tower'd with lordly pride\n    Where northern Phasis[226] rolls his icy tide;\n    Though hot Syene,[227] where the sun's fierce ray\n    Begets no shadow, own'd thy conqu'ring sway;\n    Though from the tribes that shiver in the gleam\n    Of cold Bo\u00f6tes' wat'ry glist'ning team;\n    To those who parch'd beneath the burning line,\n    In fragrant shades their feeble limbs recline,\n    The various languages proclaim'd thy fame,\n    And trembling, own'd the terrors of thy name;\n    Though rich Arabia, and Sarmatia bold,\n    And Colchis,[228] famous for the fleece of gold;\n    Though Judah's land, whose sacred rites implor'd\n    The One true God, and, as he taught, ador'd;\n    Though Cappadocia's realm thy mandate sway'd,\n    And base Sophenia's sons thy nod obey'd;\n    Though vex'd Cilicia's pirates wore thy bands,\n    And those who cultur'd fair Armenia's lands,\n    Where from the sacred mount two rivers flow,\n    And what was Eden to the pilgrim show;\n    Though from the vast Atlantic's bounding wave\n    To where the northern tempests howl and rave\n    Round Taurus' lofty brows: though vast and wide\n    The various climes that bended to thy pride;\n    No more with pining anguish of regret\n    Bewail the horrors of Pharsalia's fate:\n    For great Alonzo, whose superior name\n    Unequall'd victories consign to fame,\n    The great Alonzo fell--like thine his woe;\n    From nuptial kindred came the fatal blow.\n\n      When now the hero, humbled in the dust,\n    His crime aton'd, confess'd that Heaven was just,\n    Again in splendour he the throne ascends:\n    Again his bow the Moorish chieftain bends.\n    Wide round th' embattl'd gates of Santareen\n    Their shining spears and banner'd moons are seen.\n    But holy rites the pious king preferr'd;\n    The martyr's bones on Vincent's Cape interr'd\n    (His sainted name the Cape shall ever bear),[229]\n    To Lisbon's walls he brought with votive care.\n    And now the monarch, old and feeble grown,\n    Resigns the falchion to his valiant son.\n    O'er Tagus' waves the youthful hero pass'd,\n    And bleeding hosts before him shrunk aghast.\n    Chok'd with the slain, with Moorish carnage dy'd,\n    Sevilia's river roll'd the purple tide.\n    Burning for victory, the warlike boy\n    Spares not a day to thoughtless rest or joy.\n    Nor long his wish unsatisfied remains:\n    With the besiegers' gore he dyes the plains\n    That circle Beja's wall: yet still untam'd,\n    With all the fierceness of despair inflam'd,\n    The raging Moor collects his distant might;\n    Wide from the shores of Atlas' starry height,\n    From Amphelusia's cape, and Tingia's[230] bay,\n    Where stern Ant\u00e6us held his brutal sway,\n    The Mauritanian trumpet sounds to arms;\n    And Juba's realm returns the hoarse alarms;\n    The swarthy tribes in burnish'd armour shine,\n    Their warlike march Abyla's shepherds join.\n    The great Miramolin[231] on Tagus' shores\n    Far o'er the coast his banner'd thousands pours;\n    Twelve kings and one beneath his ensigns stand,\n    And wield their sabres at his dread command.\n    The plund'ring bands far round the region haste,\n    The mournful region lies a naked waste.\n    And now, enclos'd in Santareen's high towers,\n    The brave Don Sancho shuns th' unequal powers;\n    A thousand arts the furious Moor pursues,\n    And ceaseless, still the fierce assault renews.\n    Huge clefts of rock, from horrid engines whirl'd,\n    In smould'ring volleys on the town are hurl'd;\n    The brazen rams the lofty turrets shake,\n    And, mined beneath, the deep foundations quake;\n    But brave Alonzo's son, as danger grows,\n    His pride inflam'd, with rising courage glows;\n    Each coming storm of missile darts he wards,\n    Each nodding turret, and each port he guards.\n\n      In that fair city, round whose verdant meads\n    The branching river of Mondego[232] spreads,\n    Long worn with warlike toils, and bent with years,\n    The king reposed, when Sancho's fate he hears.\n    His limbs forget the feeble steps of age,\n    And the hoar warrior burns with youthful rage.\n    His daring vet'rans, long to conquest train'd,\n    He leads--the ground with Moorish blood is stain'd;\n    Turbans, and robes of various colours wrought,\n    And shiver'd spears in streaming carnage float.\n    In harness gay lies many a welt'ring steed,\n    And, low in dust, the groaning masters bleed.\n    As proud Miramolin[233] in horror fled,\n    Don Sancho's javelin stretch'd him with the dead.\n    In wild dismay, and torn with gushing wounds,\n    The rout, wide scatter'd, fly the Lusian bounds.\n    Their hands to heaven the joyful victors raise,\n    And every voice resounds the song of praise;\n    \"Nor was it stumbling chance, nor human might;\n    \"'Twas guardian Heaven,\" they sung, \"that ruled the fight.\"\n\n      This blissful day Alonzo's glories crown'd;\n    But pale disease now gave the secret wound;\n    Her icy hand his feeble limbs invades,\n    And pining languor through his vitals spreads.\n    The glorious monarch to the tomb descends,\n    A nation's grief the funeral torch attends.\n    Each winding shore for thee, Alonzo,[234] mourns,\n    Alonzo's name each woeful bay returns;\n    For thee the rivers sigh their groves among,\n    And funeral murmurs wailing, roll along;\n    Their swelling tears o'erflow the wide campaign;\n    With floating heads, for thee, the yellow grain,\n    For thee the willow-bowers and copses weep,\n    As their tall boughs lie trembling on the deep;\n    Adown the streams the tangled vine-leaves flow,\n    And all the landscape wears the look of woe.\n    Thus, o'er the wond'ring world thy glories spread,\n    And thus thy mournful people bow the head;\n    While still, at eve, each dale Alonzo sighs,\n    And, oh, Alonzo! every hill replies;\n    And still the mountain-echoes trill the lay,\n    Till blushing morn brings on the noiseful day.\n\n      The youthful Sancho to the throne succeeds,\n    Already far renown'd for val'rous deeds;\n    Let Betis',[235] ting'd with blood, his prowess tell,\n    And Beja's lawns, where boastful Afric fell.\n    Nor less when king his martial ardour glows,\n    Proud Sylves' royal walls his troops enclose!\n    Fair Sylves' lawns the Moorish peasant plough'd,\n    Her vineyards cultur'd, and her valleys sow'd;\n    But Lisbon's monarch reap'd. The winds of heaven[236]\n    Roar'd high--and headlong by the tempest driven,\n    In Tagus' breast a gallant navy sought\n    The shelt'ring port, and glad assistance brought.\n    The warlike crew, by Frederic the Red,[237]\n    To rescue Judah's prostrate land were led;\n    When Guido's troops, by burning thirst subdu'd,\n    To Saladin, the foe, for mercy su'd.\n    Their vows were holy, and the cause the same,\n    To blot from Europe's shores the Moorish name.\n    In Sancho's cause the gallant navy joins,\n    And royal Sylves to their force resigns.\n    Thus, sent by Heaven, a foreign naval band\n    Gave Lisbon's ramparts to the sire's command.\n\n      Nor Moorish trophies did alone adorn\n    The hero's name; in warlike camps though born,\n    Though fenc'd with mountains, Leon's martial race.\n    Smile at the battle-sign, yet foul disgrace\n    To Leon's haughty sons his sword achiev'd:\n    Proud Tui's neck his servile yoke receiv'd;\n    And, far around, falls many a wealthy town,\n    O valiant Sancho, humbled to thy frown.\n\n      While thus his laurels flourish'd wide and fair\n    He dies: Alonzo reigns, his much-lov'd heir.\n    Alcazar lately conquer'd from the Moor,\n    Reconquer'd, streams with the defenders' gore.\n\n      Alonzo dead, another Sancho reigns:\n    Alas, with many a sigh the land complains!\n    Unlike his sire, a vain unthinking boy,\n    His servants now a jarring sway enjoy.\n    As his the power, his were the crimes of those\n    Whom to dispense that sacred power he chose.\n    By various counsels waver'd, and confus'd\n    By seeming friends, by various arts, abus'd;\n    Long undetermin'd, blindly rash at last,\n    Enrag'd, unmann'd, untutor'd by the past.\n    Yet, not like Nero, cruel and unjust,\n    The slave capricious of unnatural lust.\n    Nor had he smil'd had flames consum'd his Troy;\n    Nor could his people's groans afford him joy;\n    Nor did his woes from female manners spring,\n    Unlike the Syrian,[238] or Sicilia's king.\n    No hundred cooks his costly meal prepar'd,\n    As heap'd the board when Rome's proud tyrant far'd.[239]\n    Nor dar'd the artist hope his ear to[240] gain,\n    By new-form'd arts to point the stings of pain.\n    But, proud and high the Lusian spirit soar'd,\n    And ask'd a godlike hero for their lord.\n    To none accustom'd but a hero's sway,\n    Great must he be whom that bold race obey.\n\n      Complaint, loud murmur'd, every city fills,\n    Complaint, loud echo'd, murmurs through the hills.\n    Alarm'd, Bolonia's warlike Earl[241] awakes,\n    And from his listless brother's minions takes\n    The awful sceptre.--Soon was joy restor'd,\n    And soon, by just succession, Lisbon's lord\n    Beloved, Alonzo, nam'd the Bold, he reigns;\n    Nor may the limits of his sire's domains\n    Confine his mounting spirit. When he led\n    His smiling consort to the bridal bed,\n    \"Algarbia's realm,\" he said, \"shall prove thy dower,\"\n    And, soon Algarbia, conquer'd, own'd his power.\n    The vanquish'd Moor with total rout expell'd,\n    All Lusus' shores his might unrivall'd held.\n    And now brave Diniz reigns, whose noble fire\n    Bespoke the genuine lineage of his sire.\n    Now, heavenly peace wide wav'd her olive bough,\n    Each vale display'd the labours of the plough,\n    And smil'd with joy: the rocks on every shore\n    Resound the dashing of the merchant-oar.\n    Wise laws are form'd, and constitutions weigh'd,\n    And the deep-rooted base of Empire laid.\n    Not Ammon's son[242] with larger heart bestow'd,\n    Nor such the grace to him the Muses owed.\n    From Helicon the Muses wing their way,\n    Mondego's[243] flow'ry banks invite their stay.\n    Now Coimbra shines Minerva's proud abode;\n    And fir'd with joy, Parnassus' bloomy god\n    Beholds another dear-lov'd Athens rise,\n    And spread her laurels in indulgent skies;\n    Her wreath of laurels, ever green, he twines\n    With threads of gold, and baccaris[244] adjoins.\n    Here castle walls in warlike grandeur lower,\n    Here cities swell, and lofty temples tower:\n    In wealth and grandeur each with other vies:\n    When old and lov'd the parent-monarch dies.\n    His son, alas, remiss in filial deeds,\n    But wise in peace, and bold in fight, succeeds,\n    The fourth Alonzo: Ever arm'd for war\n    He views the stern Castile with watchful care.\n    Yet, when the Libyan nations cross'd the main,\n    And spread their thousands o'er the fields of Spain,\n    The brave Alonzo drew his awful steel,\n    And sprung to battle for the proud Castile.\n\n      When Babel's haughty queen[245] unsheath'd the sword,\n    And o'er Hydaspes' lawns her legions pour'd;\n    When dreadful Attila,[246] to whom was given\n    That fearful name, \"the Scourge of angry Heaven,\"\n    The fields of trembling Italy o'erran\n    With many a Gothic tribe, and northern clan;\n    Not such unnumber'd banners then were seen,\n    As now in fair Tartesia's dales convene;\n    Numidia's bow, and Mauritania's spear,\n    And all the might of Hagar's race was here;\n    Granada's mongrels join their num'rous host,\n    To those who dar'd the seas from Libya's coast.\n    Aw'd by the fury of such pond'rous force\n    The proud Castilian tries each hop'd resource;\n    Yet, not by terror for himself inspir'd,\n    For Spain he trembl'd, and for Spain was fir'd.\n    His much-lov'd bride,[247] his messenger, he sends,\n    And, to the hostile Lusian lowly bends.\n    The much-lov'd daughter of the king implor'd,\n    Now sues her father for her wedded lord.\n    The beauteous dame approach'd the palace gate,\n    Where her great sire was thron'd in regal state:\n    On her fair face deep-settled grief appears,\n    And her mild eyes are bath'd in glist'ning tears;\n    Her careless ringlets, as a mourner's, flow\n    Adown her shoulders, and her breasts of snow:\n    A secret transport through the father ran,\n    While thus, in sighs, the royal bride began:--\n\n      \"And know'st thou not, O warlike king,\" she cried,\n    \"That furious Afric pours her peopled tide--\n    Her barb'rous nations, o'er the fields of Spain?\n    Morocco's lord commands the dreadful train.\n    Ne'er since the surges bath'd the circling coast,\n    Beneath one standard march'd so dread a host:\n    Such the dire fierceness of their brutal rage,\n    Pale are our bravest youth as palsied age.\n    By night our fathers' shades confess their fear,[248]\n    Their shrieks of terror from the tombs we hear:\n    To stem the rage of these unnumber'd bands,\n    Alone, O sire, my gallant husband stands;\n    His little host alone their breasts oppose\n    To the barb'd darts of Spain's innum'rous foes:\n    Then haste, O monarch, thou whose conqu'ring spear\n    Has chill'd Malucca's[249] sultry waves with fear:\n    Haste to the rescue of distress'd Castile,\n    (Oh! be that smile thy dear affection's seal!)\n    And speed, my father, ere my husband's fate\n    Be fix'd, and I, deprived of regal state,\n    Be left in captive solitude forlorn,\n    My spouse, my kingdom, and my birth to mourn.\"\n\n      In tears, and trembling, spoke the filial queen.\n    So, lost in grief, was lovely Venus[250] seen,\n    When Jove, her sire, the beauteous mourner pray'd\n    To grant her wand'ring son the promis'd aid.\n    Great Jove was mov'd to hear the fair deplore,\n    Gave all she ask'd, and griev'd she ask'd no more.\n    So griev'd Alonzo's noble heart. And now\n    The warrior binds in steel his awful brow;\n    The glitt'ring squadrons march in proud array,\n    On burnish'd shields the trembling sunbeams play:\n    The blaze of arms the warlike rage inspires,\n    And wakes from slothful peace the hero's fires.\n    With trampling hoofs Evora's plains rebound,\n    And sprightly neighings echo far around;\n    Far on each side the clouds of dust arise,\n    The drum's rough rattling rolls along the skies;\n    The trumpet's shrilly clangor sounds alarms,\n    And each heart burns, and ardent, pants for arms.\n    Where their bright blaze the royal ensigns pour'd,\n    High o'er the rest the great Alonzo tower'd;\n    High o'er the rest was his bold front admir'd,\n    And his keen eyes new warmth, new force inspir'd.\n    Proudly he march'd, and now, in Tarif's plain\n    The two Alonzos join their martial train:\n    Right to the foe, in battle-rank updrawn,\n    They pause--the mountain and the wide-spread lawn\n    Afford not foot-room for the crowded foe:\n    Aw'd with the horrors of the lifted blow\n    Pale look'd our bravest heroes. Swell'd with pride,          }\n    The foes already conquer'd Spain divide,                     }\n    And, lordly o'er the field the promis'd victors stride.      }\n    So, strode in Elah's vale the tow'ring height\n    Of Gath's proud champion;[251] so, with pale affright,\n    The Hebrews trembled, while with impious pride\n    The huge-limb'd foe the shepherd boy[252] defied:\n    The valiant boy advancing, fits the string,\n    And round his head he whirls the sounding sling;\n    The monster staggers with the forceful wound,\n    And his huge bulk lies groaning on the ground.\n    Such impious scorn the Moor's proud bosom swell'd,\n    When our thin squadrons took the battle-field;\n    Unconscious of the Power who led us on,\n    That Power whose nod confounds th' eternal throne;\n    Led by that Power, the brave Castilian bar'd\n    The shining blade, and proud Morocco dar'd\n    His conqu'ring brand the Lusian hero drew,\n    And on Granada's sons resistless flew;\n    The spear-staffs crash, the splinters hiss around,\n    And the broad bucklers rattle on the ground:\n    With piercing shrieks the Moors their prophet's name,\n    And ours, their guardian saint, aloud acclaim.\n    Wounds gush on wounds, and blows resound to blows\n    A lake of blood the level plain o'erflows;\n    The wounded, gasping in the purple tide,\n    Now find the death the sword but half supplied.\n    Though wove[253] and quilted by their ladies' hands,\n    Vain were the mail-plates of Granada's bands.\n    With such dread force the Lusian rush'd along,\n    Steep'd in red carnage lay the boastful throng.\n    Yet now, disdainful of so light a prize,\n    Fierce o'er the field the thund'ring hero flies;\n    And his bold arm the brave Castilian joins\n    In dreadful conflict with the Moorish lines.\n\n      The parting sun now pour'd the ruddy blaze,\n    And twinkling Vesper shot his silv'ry rays\n    Athwart the gloom, and clos'd the glorious day,\n    When, low in dust, the strength of Afric lay.\n    Such dreadful slaughter of the boastful Moor\n    Never on battle-field was heap'd before;\n    Not he whose childhood vow'd[254] eternal hate\n    And desp'rate war against the Roman state:\n    Though three strong coursers bent beneath the weight\n    Of rings of gold (by many a Roman knight,\n    Erewhile, the badge of rank distinguish'd, worn),\n    From their cold hands at Cann\u00e6's[255] slaughter torn;\n    Not his dread sword bespread the reeking plain\n    With such wide streams of gore, and hills of slain;\n    Nor thine, O Titus, swept from Salem's land\n    Such floods of ghosts, rolled down to death's dark strand;\n    Though, ages ere she fell, the prophets old\n    The dreadful scene of Salem's fall foretold,\n    In words that breathe wild horror: nor the shore,\n    When carnage chok'd the stream, so smok'd with gore,\n    When Marius' fainting legions drank the flood,\n    Yet warm, and purpled with Ambronian[256] blood;\n    Not such the heaps as now the plains of Tarif strew'd.\n\n      While glory, thus, Alonzo's name adorn'd,\n    To Lisbon's shores the happy chief return'd,\n    In glorious peace and well-deserv'd repose,\n    His course of fame, and honour'd age to close.\n    When now, O king, a damsel's fate[257] severe,\n    A fate which ever claims the woeful tear,\n    Disgraced his honours----On the nymph's 'lorn head\n    Relentless rage its bitterest rancour shed:\n    Yet, such the zeal her princely lover bore,\n    Her breathless corse the crown of Lisbon wore.\n    'Twas thou, O Love, whose dreaded shafts control\n    The hind's rude heart, and tear the hero's soul;\n    Thou, ruthless power, with bloodshed never cloy'd,\n    'Twas thou thy lovely votary destroy'd.\n    Thy thirst still burning for a deeper woe,\n    In vain to thee the tears of beauty flow;\n    The breast that feels thy purest flames divine,\n    With spouting gore must bathe thy cruel shrine.\n    Such thy dire triumphs!--Thou, O nymph, the while,\n    Prophetic of the god's unpitying guile,\n    In tender scenes by love-sick fancy wrought,\n    By fear oft shifted, as by fancy brought,\n    In sweet Mondego's ever-verdant bowers,\n    Languish'd away the slow and lonely hours:\n    While now, as terror wak'd thy boding fears,\n    The conscious stream receiv'd thy pearly tears;\n    And now, as hope reviv'd the brighter flame,\n    Each echo sigh'd thy princely lover's name.\n    Nor less could absence from thy prince remove\n    The dear remembrance of his distant love:\n    Thy looks, thy smiles, before him ever glow,\n    And o'er his melting heart endearing flow:\n    By night his slumbers bring thee to his arms,\n    By day his thoughts still wander o'er thy charms:\n    By night, by day, each thought thy loves employ,\n    Each thought the memory, or the hope, of joy.\n    Though fairest princely dames invok'd his love,\n    No princely dame his constant faith could move:\n    For thee, alone, his constant passion burn'd,\n    For thee the proffer'd royal maids he scorn'd.\n    Ah, hope of bliss too high--the princely dames\n    Refus'd, dread rage the father's breast inflames;\n    He, with an old man's wintry eye, surveys\n    The youth's fond love, and coldly with it weighs\n    The people's murmurs of his son's delay\n    To bless the nation with his nuptial day.\n    (Alas, the nuptial day was past unknown,\n    Which, but when crown'd, the prince could dare to own.)\n    And, with the fair one's blood, the vengeful sire\n    Resolves to quench his Pedro's faithful fire.\n    Oh, thou dread sword, oft stain'd with heroes' gore,\n    Thou awful terror of the prostrate Moor,\n    What rage could aim thee at a female breast,\n    Unarm'd, by softness and by love possess'd!\n\n      Dragg'd from her bower, by murd'rous ruffian hands,\n    Before the frowning king fair Inez stands;\n    Her tears of artless innocence, her air\n    So mild, so lovely, and her face so fair,\n    Mov'd the stern monarch; when, with eager zeal,\n    Her fierce destroyers urg'd the public weal;\n    Dread rage again the tyrant's soul possess'd,\n    And his dark brow his cruel thoughts confess'd;\n    O'er her fair face a sudden paleness spread,\n    Her throbbing heart with gen'rous anguish bled,\n    Anguish to view her lover's hopeless woes,\n    And all the mother in her bosom rose.\n    Her beauteous eyes, in trembling tear-drops drown'd,\n    To heaven she lifted (for her hands were bound);[258]\n    Then, on her infants turn'd the piteous glance,\n    The look of bleeding woe; the babes advance,\n    Smiling in innocence of infant age,\n    Unaw'd, unconscious of their grandsire's rage;\n    To whom, as bursting sorrow gave the flow,\n    The native heart-sprung eloquence of woe,\n    The lovely captive thus:--\"O monarch, hear,\n    If e'er to thee the name of man was dear,\n    If prowling tigers, or the wolf's wild brood\n    (Inspir'd by nature with the lust of blood),\n    Have yet been mov'd the weeping babe to spare,\n    Nor left, but tended with a nurse's care,\n    As Rome's great founders[259] to the world were given;\n    Shalt thou, who wear'st the sacred stamp of Heaven,\n    The human form divine, shalt thou deny\n    That aid, that pity, which e'en beasts supply!\n    Oh, that thy heart were, as thy looks declare,\n    Of human mould, superfluous were my prayer;\n    Thou couldst not, then, a helpless damsel slay,\n    Whose sole offence in fond affection lay,\n    In faith to him who first his love confess'd,\n    Who first to love allur'd her virgin breast.\n    In these my babes shalt thou thine image see,\n    And, still tremendous, hurl thy rage on me?\n    Me, for their sakes, if yet thou wilt not spare,\n    Oh, let these infants prove thy pious care![260]\n    Yet, Pity's lenient current ever flows\n    From that brave breast where genuine valour glows;\n    That thou art brave, let vanquish'd Afric tell,\n    Then let thy pity o'er mine anguish swell;\n    Ah, let my woes, unconscious of a crime,\n    Procure mine exile to some barb'rous clime:\n    Give me to wander o'er the burning plains\n    Of Libya's deserts, or the wild domains\n    Of Scythia's snow-clad rocks, and frozen shore;\n    There let me, hopeless of return, deplore:\n    Where ghastly horror fills the dreary vale,\n    Where shrieks and howlings die on every gale,\n    The lion's roaring, and the tiger's yell,\n    There, with mine infant race, consign'd to dwell,\n    There let me try that piety to find,\n    In vain by me implor'd from human kind:\n    There, in some dreary cavern's rocky womb,\n    Amid the horrors of sepulchral gloom,\n    For him whose love I mourn, my love shall glow,\n    The sigh shall murmur, and the tear shall flow:\n    All my fond wish, and all my hope, to rear\n    These infant pledges of a love so dear,\n    Amidst my griefs a soothing glad employ,\n    Amidst my fears a woeful, hopeless joy.\"\n\n      In tears she utter'd--as the frozen snow\n    Touch'd by the spring's mild ray, begins to flow,\n    So, just began to melt his stubborn soul,\n    As mild-ray'd Pity o'er the tyrant stole;\n    But destiny forbade: with eager zeal\n    (Again pretended for the public weal),\n    Her fierce accusers urg'd her speedy doom;\n    Again, dark rage diffus'd its horrid gloom\n    O'er stern Alonzo's brow: swift at the sign,\n    Their swords, unsheath'd, around her brandish'd shine.\n    O foul disgrace, of knighthood lasting stain,\n    By men of arms a helpless lady[261] slain!\n\n      Thus Pyrrhus,[262] burning with unmanly ire,\n    Fulfilled the mandate of his furious sire;\n    Disdainful of the frantic matron's[263] prayer,\n    On fair Polyxena, her last fond care,\n    He rush'd, his blade yet warm with Priam's gore,\n    And dash'd the daughter on the sacred floor;\n    While mildly she her raving mother eyed,\n    Resign'd her bosom to the sword, and died.\n    Thus Inez, while her eyes to heaven appeal,\n    Resigns her bosom to the murd'ring steel:\n    That snowy neck, whose matchless form sustain'd\n    The loveliest face where all the graces reign'd,\n    Whose charms so long the gallant prince enflam'd,\n    That her pale corse was Lisbon's queen[264] proclaim'd,\n    That snowy neck was stain'd with spouting gore,\n    Another sword her lovely bosom tore.\n    The flowers that glisten'd with her tears bedew'd,\n    Now shrunk and languish'd with her blood embru'd.\n    As when a rose, ere-while of bloom so gay,\n    Thrown from the careless virgin's breast away,\n    Lies faded on the plain, the living red,\n    The snowy white, and all its fragrance fled;\n    So from her cheeks the roses died away,\n    And pale in death the beauteous Inez lay:\n    With dreadful smiles, and crimson'd with her blood,\n    Round the wan victim the stern murd'rers stood,\n    Unmindful of the sure, though future hour,\n    Sacred to vengeance and her lover's power.\n\n      O Sun, couldst thou so foul a crime behold,\n    Nor veil thine head in darkness, as of old[265]\n    A sudden night unwonted horror cast\n    O'er that dire banquet, where the sire's repast\n    The son's torn limbs supplied!--Yet you, ye vales!\n    Ye distant forests, and ye flow'ry dales!\n    When pale and sinking to the dreadful fall,\n    You heard her quiv'ring lips on Pedro call;\n    Your faithful echoes caught the parting sound,\n    And Pedro! Pedro! mournful, sigh'd around.\n    Nor less the wood-nymphs of Mondego's groves\n    Bewail'd the memory of her hapless loves:\n    Her griefs they wept, and, to a plaintive rill\n    Transform'd their tears, which weeps and murmurs still.\n    To give immortal pity to her woe\n    They taught the riv'let through her bowers to flow,\n    And still, through violet-beds, the fountain pours\n    Its plaintive wailing, and is named Amours.[266]\n    Nor long her blood for vengeance cried in vain:\n    Her gallant lord begins his awful reign,\n    In vain her murd'rers for refuge fly,\n    Spain's wildest hills no place of rest supply.\n    The injur'd lover's and the monarch's ire,\n    And stern-brow'd Justice in their doom conspire:\n    In hissing flames they die, and yield their souls in fire.[267]\n\n      Nor this alone his stedfast soul display'd:\n    Wide o'er the land he wav'd the awful blade\n    Of red-arm'd Justice. From the shades of night\n    He dragg'd the foul adulterer to light:\n    The robber from his dark retreat was led,\n    And he who spilt the blood of murder, bled.\n    Unmov'd he heard the proudest noble plead;\n    Where Justice aim'd her sword, with stubborn speed\n    Fell the dire stroke. Nor cruelty inspir'd,\n    Noblest humanity his bosom fir'd.\n    The caitiff, starting at his thoughts, repress'd\n    The seeds of murder springing in his breast.\n    His outstretch'd arm the lurking thief withheld,\n    For fix'd as fate he knew his doom was seal'd.\n    Safe in his monarch's care the ploughman reap'd,\n    And proud oppression coward distance kept.\n    Pedro the Just[268] the peopled towns proclaim,\n    And every field resounds her monarch's name.\n\n      Of this brave prince the soft degen'rate son,\n    Fernando the Remiss, ascends the throne.\n    With arm unnerv'd the listless soldier lay\n    And own'd the influence of a nerveless sway:\n    The stern Castilian drew the vengeful brand,\n    And strode proud victor o'er the trembling land.\n    How dread the hour, when injur'd heaven, in rage,\n    Thunders its vengeance on a guilty age!\n    Unmanly sloth the king, the nation stain'd;\n    And lewdness, foster'd by the monarch, reign'd:\n    The monarch own'd that first of crimes unjust,\n    The wanton revels of adult'rous lust:\n    Such was his rage for beauteous[269] Leonore,\n    Her from her husband's widow'd arms he tore:\n    Then with unbless'd, unhallow'd nuptials stain'd\n    The sacred altar, and its rites profan'd.\n    Alas! the splendour of a crown, how vain,\n    From Heaven's dread eye to veil the dimmest stain!\n    To conqu'ring Greece, to ruin'd Troy, what woes,\n    What ills on ills, from Helen's rape arose!\n    Let Appius own, let banish'd Tarquin tell\n    On their hot rage what heavy vengeance fell.\n    One female, ravish'd, Gibeah's streets[270] beheld,\n    O'er Gibeah's streets the blood of thousands swell'd\n    In vengeance of the crime; and streams of blood\n    The guilt of Zion's sacred bard[271] pursued.\n      Yet Love, full oft, with wild delirium blinds,\n    And fans his basest fires in noblest minds;\n    The female garb the great Alcides[272] wore,\n    And for his Omph{)a}le the distaff[273] bore.\n    For Cleopatra's frown the world was lost:\n    The Roman terror, and the Punic boast,\n    Cann\u00e6's great victor,[274] for a harlot's smile,\n    Resign'd the harvest of his glorious toil.\n    And who can boast he never felt the fires,\n    The trembling throbbings of the young desires,\n    When he beheld the breathing roses glow,\n    And the soft heavings of the living snow;\n    The waving ringlets of the auburn hair,\n    And all the rapt'rous graces of the fair!\n    Oh! what defence, if fix'd on him, he spy\n    The languid sweetness of the stedfast eye!\n    Ye who have felt the dear, luxurious smart,\n    When angel-charms oppress the powerless heart,\n    In pity here relent the brow severe,\n    And o'er Fernando's weakness drop the tear.\n\nTo conclude the notes on this book, it may not be unnecessary to observe\nthat Camo\u00ebns, in this episode, has happily adhered to a principal rule\nof the Epopea. To paint the manners and characters of the age in which\nthe action is placed, is as requisite in the epic poem as it is to\npreserve the unity of the character of an individual. That gallantry of\nbravery and romantic cast of the military adventures, which\ncharacterised the Spaniards and Portuguese during the Moorish wars, is\nhappily supported by Camo\u00ebns in its most just and striking colours. In\nstorming the citadel of Arzila, the Count de Marialva, a brave old\nofficer, lost his life. The king, leading his only son, the Prince Don\nJuan, to the body of the count, while the blood yet streamed from his\nwounds: \"Behold,\" he cried, \"that great man! May God grant you, my son,\nto imitate his virtues. May your honour, like his, be complete!\"\n\n\n\n\nBOOK IV.\n\nTHE ARGUMENT.\n\nSTATE OF PORTUGAL ON THE DEATH OF DOM FERNANDO.\n\nBeatrice, daughter of Fernando, not acknowledged by the Portuguese, the\nthrone is occupied by Don John, a natural brother of Fernando. A Spanish\nprince having married Beatrice, the Spaniards invade Portugal, which\nthey claim by right of marriage. The Portuguese, divided in council, are\nharangued in an eloquent speech by Don Nu\u00f1o Alvarez Pereyra; he rallies\nthe nobility around the king, who conquers the Castilians on the gory\nfield of Aljubarota. Nu\u00f1o Alvarez, following up his victory, penetrates\nas far as Seville, where he dictates the terms of peace to the haughty\nSpaniards. Don John carries war against the Moors into Africa. His son,\nEdward, renews hostilities with the African Moors: his brother, Don\nFernando, surnamed the Inflexible, taken prisoner, prefers death in\ncaptivity to the surrender of Ceuta to the Moors, as the price of his\nransom. Alfonso V. succeeds to the throne of Portugal; is victorious\nover the Moors, but conquered by the Castilians. John II., the\nthirteenth king of Portugal, sends out adventurers to find a way, by\nland, to India; they perish at the mouth of the Indus. Emmanuel,\nsucceeding to the throne, resolves on continuing the discoveries of his\npredecessors. The rivers Indus and Ganges, personified, appear in a\nvision to Emmanuel, who, in consequence, makes choice of Vasco de Gama\nto command an expedition to the East.\n\n\n    As the toss'd vessel on the ocean rolls,\n    When dark the night, and loud the tempest howls,\n    When the 'lorn mariner in every wave\n    That breaks and gleams, forebodes his wat'ry grave;\n    But when the dawn, all silent and serene,\n    With soft-pac'd ray dispels the shades obscene,\n    With grateful transport sparkling in each eye,\n    The joyful crew the port of safety spy;\n    Such darkling tempests, and portended fate,\n    While weak Fernando liv'd, appall'd the state;\n    Such when he died, the peaceful morning rose,\n    The dawn of joy, and sooth'd the public woes.\n    As blazing glorious o'er the shades of night,\n    Bright in his east breaks forth the lord of light,\n    So, valiant John with dazzling blaze appears,\n    And, from the dust his drooping nation rears.\n    Though sprung from youthful passion's wanton loves,[275]\n    Great Pedro's son in noble soul he proves;\n    And Heaven announc'd him king by right divine;--\n    A cradled infant gave the wondrous sign.[276]\n    Her tongue had never lisp'd the mother's name,\n    No word, no mimic sound her lips could frame,\n    When Heaven the miracle of speech inspir'd:\n    She raised her little hands, with rapture fir'd,\n    \"Let Portugal,\" she cried, \"with joy proclaim\n    The brave Don John, and own her monarch's name.\"\n\n      The burning fever of domestic rage\n    Now wildly rav'd, and mark'd the barb'rous age;\n    Through every rank the headlong fury ran,\n    And first, red slaughter in the court began.\n    Of spousal vows, and widow'd bed defil'd,\n    Loud fame the beauteous Leonore revil'd.\n    The adult'rous noble in her presence bled,\n    And, torn with wounds, his num'rous friends lay dead.\n    No more those ghastly, deathful nights amaze,\n    When Rome wept tears of blood in Scylla's days:\n    More horrid deeds Ulysses' towers[277] beheld:\n    Each cruel breast, where rankling envy swell'd,\n    Accus'd his foe as minion of the queen;\n    Accus'd, and murder closed the dreary scene.\n    All holy ties the frantic transport brav'd,\n    Nor sacred priesthood, nor the altar sav'd.\n    Thrown from a tower, like Hector's son of yore,\n    The mitred head[278] was dash'd with brains and gore.\n    Ghastly with scenes of death, and mangled limbs,\n    And, black with clotted blood, each pavement swims.\n\n      With all the fierceness of the female ire,\n    When rage and grief to tear the breast conspire,\n    The queen beheld her power, her honours lost,[279]\n    And ever, when she slept, th' adult'rer's ghost,\n    All pale, and pointing at his bloody shroud,\n    Seem'd ever for revenge to scream aloud.\n\n      Castile's proud monarch to the nuptial bed,\n    In happier days, her royal daughter[280] led.\n    To him the furious queen for vengeance cries,\n    Implores to vindicate his lawful prize,\n    The Lusian sceptre, his by spousal right;\n    The proud Castilian arms, and dares the fight.\n    To join his standard as it waves along,\n    The warlike troops from various regions throng:\n    Those who possess the lands by Rodrick given,[281]\n    What time the Moor from Turia's banks was driven;\n    That race who joyful smile at war's alarms,\n    And scorn each danger that attends on arms;\n    Whose crooked ploughshares Leon's uplands tear,\n    Now, cas'd in steel, in glitt'ring arms appear,\n    Those arms erewhile so dreadful to the Moor:\n    The Vandals glorying in their might of yore\n    March on; their helms, and moving lances gleam\n    Along the flow'ry vales of Betis' stream:\n    Nor stay'd the Tyrian islanders[282] behind,\n    On whose proud ensigns, floating on the wind,\n    Alcides' pillars[283] tower'd: Nor wonted fear\n    Withheld the base Galician's sordid spear;\n    Though, still, his crimson seamy scars reveal\n    The sure-aimed vengeance of the Lusian steel.\n    Where, tumbling down Cuenca's mountain side,\n    The murm'ring Tagus rolls his foamy tide,\n    Along Toledo's lawns, the pride of Spain,\n    Toledo's warriors join the martial train:\n    Nor less the furious lust of war inspires\n    The Biscayneer,[284] and wakes his barb'rous fires,\n    Which ever burn for vengeance, if the tongue\n    Of hapless stranger give the fancied wrong.\n    Nor bold Asturia, nor Guipuscoa's shore,\n    Famed for their steely wealth, and iron ore,\n    Delay'd their vaunting squadrons; o'er the dales\n    Cas'd in their native steel, and belted mails,\n    Blue gleaming from afar, they march along,\n    And join, with many a spear, the warlike throng.\n    As thus, wide sweeping o'er the trembling coast,\n    The proud Castilian leads his num'rous host;\n    The valiant John for brave defence prepares,\n    And, in himself collected, greatly dares:\n    For such high valour in his bosom glow'd,\n    As Samson's locks[285] by miracle bestow'd:\n    Safe, in himself resolv'd, the hero stands,\n    Yet, calls the leaders of his anxious bands:\n    The council summon'd, some with prudent mien,\n    And words of grave advice their terrors screen.\n    By sloth debas'd, no more the ancient fire\n    Of patriot loyalty can now inspire;\n    And each pale lip seem'd opening to declare\n    For tame submission, and to shun the war;\n    When glorious Nunio, starting from his seat,\n    Claim'd every eye, and clos'd the cold debate:\n    Singling his brothers from the dastard train,\n    His rolling looks, that flash'd with stern disdain,\n    On them he fix'd, then snatch'd his hilt in ire,\n    While his bold speech[286] bewray'd the soldier's fire,\n    Bold and unpolish'd; while his burning eyes\n    Seem'd as he dar'd the ocean, earth, and skies.\n\n      \"Heavens! shall the Lusian nobles tamely yield!\n    Oh, shame! and yield, untried, the martial field!\n    That land whose genius, as the god of war,\n    Was own'd, where'er approach'd her thund'ring car;\n    Shall now her sons their faith, their love deny,\n    And, while their country sinks, ignobly fly;\n    Ye tim'rous herd, are ye the genuine line\n    Of those illustrious shades, whose rage divine,\n    Beneath great Henry's standards aw'd the foe,\n    For whom ye tremble and would stoop so low!\n    That foe, who, boastful now, then basely fled,\n    When your undaunted sires the hero led,\n    When seven bold earls, in chains, the spoil adorn'd,\n    And proud Castile through all her kindreds mourn'd,\n    Castile, your awful dread--yet, conscious, say,\n    When Diniz reign'd, when his bold son bore sway,\n    By whom were trodden down the bravest bands\n    That ever march'd from proud Castilia's lands?\n    'Twas your brave sires--and has one languid reign\n    Fix'd in your tainted souls so deep a stain,\n    That now, degen'rate from your noble sires,\n    The last dim spark of Lusian flame expires?\n    Though weak Fernando reign'd, in war unskill'd,\n    A godlike king now calls you to the field.\n    Oh! could like his, your mounting valour glow,\n    Vain were the threat'nings of the vaunting foe.\n    Not proud Castile, oft by your sires o'erthrown,\n    But ev'ry land your dauntless rage should own.\n    Still, if your hands, benumb'd by female fear,\n    Shun the bold war, hark! on my sword I swear,\n    Myself alone the dreadful war shall wage,\n    Mine be the fight\"--and, trembling with the rage\n    Of val'rous fire, his hand half-drawn display'd\n    The awful terror of his shining blade,--\n    \"I and my vassals dare the dreadful shock;\n    My shoulders never to a foreign yoke\n    Shall bend; and, by my sov'reign's wrath I vow,\n    And, by that loyal faith renounc'd by you,\n    My native land unconquer'd shall remain,\n    And all my monarch's foes shall heap the plain.\"\n\n      The hero paus'd--'Twas thus the youth of Rome,\n    The trembling few who 'scaped the bloody doom\n    That dy'd with slaughter Cann\u00e6's purple field,\n    Assembled stood, and bow'd their necks to yield;\n    When nobly rising, with a like disdain,\n    The young Cornelius rag'd, nor rag'd in vain:[287]\n    On his dread sword his daunted peers he swore,\n    (The reeking blade yet black with Punic gore)\n    While life remain'd their arms for Rome to wield,\n    And, but with life, their conquer'd arms to yield.\n    Such martial rage brave Nunio's mien inspir'd;\n    Fear was no more: with rapt'rous ardour fir'd,\n    \"To horse, to horse!\" the gallant Lusians cried;\n    Rattled the belted mails on every side,\n    The spear-staff trembled; round their necks they wav'd\n    Their shining falchions, and in transport rav'd,\n    \"The king our guardian!\"--loud their shouts rebound,\n    And the fierce commons echo back the sound.\n    The mails, that long in rusting peace had hung,\n    Now on the hammer'd anvils hoarsely rung:\n    Some, soft with wool, the plumy helmets line,\n    And some the breast-plate's scaly belts entwine:\n    The gaudy mantles some, and scarfs prepare,\n    Where various lightsome colours gaily flare;\n    And golden tissue, with the warp enwove,\n    Displays the emblems of their youthful love.\n\n      The valiant John, begirt with warlike state,\n    Now leads his bands from fair Abrantes' gate;\n    Whose lawns of green the infant Tagus laves,\n    As from his spring he rolls his cooly waves.\n    The daring van, in Nunio's care, could boast\n    A general worthy of th' unnumber'd host,\n    Whose gaudy banners trembling Greece defied,\n    When boastful Xerxes lash'd the Sestian[288] tide:\n    Nunio, to proud Castile as dread a name,\n    As erst to Gaul and Italy the fame\n    Of Attila's impending rage. The right\n    Brave Roderic led, a chieftain train'd in fight;\n    Before the left the bold Almada rode;\n    And, proudly waving o'er the centre, nod\n    The royal ensigns, glitt'ring from afar,\n    Where godlike John inspires and leads the war.\n\n      'Twas now the time, when from the stubbly plain\n    The lab'ring hinds had borne the yellow grain;\n    The purple vintage heap'd the foamy tun,\n    And fierce, and red, the sun of August shone;\n    When from the gate the squadrons march along:\n    Crowds press'd on crowds, the walls and ramparts throng.\n    Here the sad mother rends her hoary hair,\n    While hope's fond whispers struggle with despair:\n    The weeping spouse to Heaven extends her hands:\n    And, cold with dread, the modest virgin stands,\n    Her earnest eyes, suffus'd with trembling dew,\n    Far o'er the plain the plighted youth pursue:\n    And prayers, and tears, and all the female wail,\n    And holy vows, the throne of Heaven assail.\n\n      Now each stern host full front to front appears,\n    And one joint shout heaven's airy concave tears:\n    A dreadful pause ensues, while conscious pride\n    Strives on each face the heart-felt doubt to hide.\n    Now wild, and pale, the boldest face is seen;\n    With mouth half open, and disorder'd mien,\n    Each warrior feels his creeping blood to freeze,\n    And languid weakness trembles in the knees.\n    And now, the clangor of the trumpet sounds,\n    And the rough rattling of the drum rebounds:\n    The fife's shrill whistling cuts the gale, on high\n    The flourish'd ensigns shine, with many a dye\n    Of blazing splendour: o'er the ground they wheel\n    And choose their footing, when the proud Castile\n    Bids sound the horrid charge; loud bursts the sound,\n    And loud Artabro's rocky cliffs rebound:\n    The thund'ring roar rolls round on every side,\n    And trembling, sinks Guidana's[289] rapid tide;\n    The slow-pac'd Durius[290] rushes o'er the plain,\n    And fearful Tagus hastens to the main:\n    Such was the tempest of the dread alarms,\n    The babes that prattled in their nurses' arms\n    Shriek'd at the sound: with sudden cold impress'd,\n    The mothers strain'd their infants to the breast,\n    And shook with horror. Now, far round, begin\n    The bow-strings' whizzing, and the brazen[291] din\n    Of arms on armour rattling; either van\n    Are mingled now, and man oppos'd to man:\n    To guard his native fields the one inspires,\n    And one the raging lust of conquest fires:\n    Now with fix'd teeth, their writhing lips of blue,\n    Their eye-balls glaring of the purple hue,\n    Each arm strains swiftest to impel the blow;      }\n    Nor wounds they value now, nor fear they know,    }\n    Their only passion to offend the foe.             }\n    In might and fury, like the warrior god,\n    Before his troops the glorious Nunio rode:\n    That land, the proud invaders claim'd, he sows\n    With their spilt blood, and with their corpses strews;\n    Their forceful volleys now the cross-bows pour,\n    The clouds are darken'd with the arrowy shower;\n    The white foam reeking o'er their wavy mane,\n    The snorting coursers rage, and paw the plain;\n    Beat by their iron hoofs, the plain rebounds,\n    As distant thunder through the mountains sounds:\n    The pond'rous spears crash, splint'ring far around;\n    The horse and horsemen flounder on the ground;\n    The ground groans, with the sudden weight oppress'd,\n    And many a buckler rings on many a crest.\n    Where, wide around, the raging Nunio's sword\n    With furious sway the bravest squadrons gor'd,\n    The raging foes in closer ranks advance,\n    And his own brothers shake the hostile lance.[292]\n    Oh, horrid sight! yet not the ties of blood,\n    Nor yearning memory his rage withstood;\n    With proud disdain his honest eyes behold\n    Whoe'er the traitor, who his king has sold.\n    Nor want there others in the hostile band\n    Who draw their swords against their native land;\n    And, headlong driv'n, by impious rage accurs'd,\n    In rank were foremost, and in fight the first.\n    So, sons and fathers, by each other slain,\n    With horrid slaughter dyed Pharsalia's[293] plain.\n    Ye dreary ghosts, who now for treasons foul,\n    Amidst the gloom of Stygian darkness howl;\n    Thou Catiline, and, stern Sertorius, tell\n    Your brother shades, and soothe the pains of hell;\n    With triumph tell them, some of Lusian race\n    Like you have earn'd the traitor's foul disgrace.\n\n      As waves on waves, the foes' increasing weight\n    Bears down our foremost ranks, and shakes the fight;\n    Yet, firm and undismay'd great Nunio stands,\n    And braves the tumult of surrounding bands.\n    So, from high Ceuta's[294] rocky mountains stray'd,\n    The ranging lion braves the shepherd's shade;\n    The shepherds hast'ning o'er the Tetuan[295] plain,\n    With shouts surround him, and with spears restrain:\n    He stops, with grinning teeth his breath he draws,\n    Nor is it fear, but rage, that makes him pause;\n    His threat'ning eyeballs burn with sparkling fire,\n    And, his stern heart forbids him to retire:\n    Amidst the thickness of the spears he flings,\n    So, midst his foes, the furious Nunio springs:\n    The Lusian grass with foreign gore distain'd,\n    Displays the carnage of the hero's hand.\n\n      [An ample shield the brave Giraldo bore,\n    Which from the vanquish'd Perez' arm he tore;\n    Pierc'd through that shield, cold death invades his eye,\n    And dying Perez saw his victor die.\n    Edward and Pedro, emulous of fame,\n    The same their friendship, and their youth the same,\n    Through the fierce Brigians[296] hew'd their bloody way,\n    Till, in a cold embrace, the striplings lay.\n    Lopez and Vincent rush'd on glorious death,\n    And, midst their slaughter'd foes, resign'd their breath.\n    Alonzo, glorying in his youthful might,\n    Spurr'd his fierce courser through the stagg'ring fight:\n    Shower'd from the dashing hoofs, the spatter'd gore\n    Flies round; but, soon the rider vaunts no more:\n    Five Spanish swords the murm'ring ghosts atone,\n    Of five Castilians by his arm o'erthrown.\n    Transfix'd with three Iberian spears, the gay,\n    The knightly lover, young Hilario lay:\n    Though, like a rose, cut off in op'ning bloom,\n    The hero weeps not for his early doom;\n    Yet, trembling in his swimming eye appears\n    The pearly drop, while his pale cheek he rears;\n    To call his lov'd Antonia's name he tries,\n    The name half utter'd, down he sinks, and dies.][297]\n\n      Now through his shatter'd ranks the monarch strode,\n    And now before his rallied squadrons rode:\n    Brave Nunio's danger from afar he spies,\n    And instant to his aid impetuous flies.\n    So, when returning from the plunder'd folds,\n    The lioness her empty den beholds,\n    Enrag'd she stands, and list'ning to the gale,\n    She hears her whelps low howling in the vale;\n    The living sparkles flashing from her eyes,\n    To the Massylian[298] shepherd-tents she flies;\n    She groans, she roars, and echoing far around\n    The seven twin-mountains tremble at the sound:\n    So, rag'd the king, and, with a chosen train,\n    He pours resistless o'er the heaps of slain.\n    \"Oh, bold companions of my toils,\" he cries,\n    \"Our dear-lov'd freedom on our lances lies;\n    Behold your friend, your monarch leads the way,\n    And dares the thickest of the iron fray.\n    Say, shall the Lusian race forsake their king,\n    Where spears infuriate on the bucklers ring!\"\n\n      He spoke; then four times round his head he whirl'd\n    His pond'rous spear, and midst the foremost hurl'd;\n    Deep through the ranks the forceful weapon pass'd,\n    And many a gasping warrior sigh'd his last.[299]\n    With noble shame inspir'd, and mounting rage,\n    His bands rush on, and foot to foot engage;\n    Thick bursting sparkles from the blows aspire;\n    Such flashes blaze, their swords seem dipp'd in fire;[300]\n    The belts of steel and plates of brass are riv'n,\n    And wound for wound, and death for death is giv'n.\n\n      The first in honour of Saint Jago's band,[301]\n    A naked ghost now sought the gloomy strand;\n    And he of Calatrave, the sov'reign knight,           }\n    Girt with whole troops his arm had slain in fight,   }\n    Descended murm'ring to the shades of night.          }\n    Blaspheming Heaven, and gash'd with many a wound,\n    Brave Nunio's rebel kindred gnaw'd the ground.\n    And curs'd their fate, and died. Ten thousand more\n    Who held no title and no office bore,\n    And nameless nobles who, promiscuous fell,\n    Appeas'd that day the foaming dog of hell.[302]\n    Now, low the proud Castilian standard lies\n    Beneath the Lusian flag; a vanquish'd prize.\n    With furious madness fired, and stern disdain,\n    The fierce Iberians[303] to the fight again\n    Rush headlong; groans and yellings of despair\n    With horrid uproar rend the trembling air.\n    Hot boils the blood, thirst burns, and every breast\n    Pants, every limb, with fainty weight oppress'd,\n    Slow now obeys the will's stern ire, and slow\n    From every sword descends the feeble blow:\n    Till rage grew languid, and tir'd slaughter found\n    No arm to combat, and no breast to wound.\n    Now from the field Castile's proud monarch flies,[304]\n    In wild dismay he rolls his madd'ning eyes,\n    And leads the pale-lipp'd flight, swift wing'd with fear,     }\n    As drifted smoke; at distance disappear,                      }\n    The dusty squadrons of the scatter'd rear;                    }\n    Blaspheming Heaven, they fly, and him who first\n    Forg'd murd'ring arms, and led to horrid wars accurs'd.\n\n      The festive days by heroes old ordain'd[305]\n    The glorious victor on the field remain'd.\n    The funeral rites, and holy vows he paid:\n    Yet, not the while the restless Nunio stay'd;\n    O'er Tago's waves his gallant bands he led,\n    And humbled Spain in every province bled:\n    Sevilia's standard on his spear he bore,\n    And Andalusia's ensigns, steep'd in gore.\n    Low in the dust, distress'd Castilia mourn'd,\n    And, bath'd in tears, each eye to Heav'n was turn'd;\n    The orphan's, widow's, and the hoary sire's;\n    And Heav'n relenting, quench'd the raging fires\n    Of mutual hate: from England's happy shore\n    The peaceful seas two lovely sisters bore.[306]\n    The rival monarchs to the nuptial bed,\n    In joyful hour, the royal virgins led,\n    And holy peace assum'd her blissful reign,\n    Again the peasant joy'd, the landscape smiled again.\n\n      But, John's brave breast to warlike cares inur'd,\n    With conscious shame the sloth of ease endu'rd,\n    When not a foe awak'd his a rage in Spain,\n    The valiant hero brav'd the foamy main;\n    The first, nor meanest, of our kings who bore\n    The Lusian thunders to the Afric shore.\n    O'er the wild waves the victor-banners flow'd,\n    Their silver wings a thousand eagles show'd;\n    And, proudly swelling to the whistling gales,\n    The seas were whiten'd with a thousand sails.\n    Beyond the columns by Alcides[307] plac'd\n    To bound the world, the zealous warrior pass'd.\n    The shrines of Hagar's race, the shrines of lust,\n    And moon-crown'd mosques lay smoking in the dust.\n    O'er Abyla's high steep his lance he rais'd,\n    On Ceuta's lofty towers his standard blaz'd:\n    Ceuta, the refuge of the traitor train,\n    His vassal now, insures the peace of Spain.\n\n      But ah, how soon the blaze of glory dies![308]\n    Illustrious John ascends his native skies.\n    His gallant offspring prove their genuine strain,\n    And added lands increase the Lusian reign.\n\n      Yet, not the first of heroes Edward shone\n    His happiest days long hours of evil own.\n    He saw, secluded from the cheerful day,\n    His sainted brother pine his years away.\n    O glorious youth, in captive chains, to thee\n    What suiting honours may thy land decree![309]\n    Thy nation proffer'd, and the foe with joy,\n    For Ceuta's towers, prepar'd to yield the boy;\n    The princely hostage nobly spurns the thought\n    Of freedom, and of life so dearly bought:\n    The raging vengeance of the Moors defies,\n    Gives to the clanking chains his limbs, and dies\n    A dreary prison-death. Let noisy fame\n    No more unequall'd hold her Codrus' name;\n    Her Regulus, her Curtius boast no more,\n    Nor those the honour'd Decian name who bore.\n    The splendour of a court, to them unknown,\n    Exchang'd for deathful Fate's most awful frown,\n    To distant times, through every land, shall blaze\n    The self-devoted Lusian's nobler praise.\n\n      Now, to the tomb the hapless king descends,\n    His son, Alonzo, brighter fate attends.\n    Alonzo! dear to Lusus' race the name;\n    Nor his the meanest in the rolls of fame.\n    His might resistless, prostrate Afric own'd,\n    Beneath his yoke the Mauritanians[310] groan'd,\n    And, still they groan beneath the Lusian sway.\n    'Twas his, in victor-pomp, to bear away\n    The golden apples from Hesperia's shore,\n    Which but the son of Jove had snatch'd before.\n    The palm, and laurel, round his temples bound,\n    Display'd his triumphs on the Moorish ground.\n    When proud Arzilla's strength, Alcazer's towers,\n    And Tingia, boastful of her num'rous powers,\n    Beheld their adamantine walls o'erturn'd,\n    Their ramparts levell'd, and their temples burn'd.\n    Great was the day: the meanest sword that fought\n    Beneath the Lusian flag such wonders wrought\n    As from the muse might challenge endless fame,\n    Though low their station, and untold their name.\n\n      Now, stung with wild ambition's madd'ning fires,\n    To proud Castilia's throne the king[311] aspires.\n    The Lord of Arragon, from Cadiz' walls,\n    And hoar Pyrene's[312] sides his legions calls;\n    The num'rous legions to his standard throng,\n    And war, with horrid strides, now stalks along.\n    With emulation fir'd, the prince[313] beheld\n    His warlike sire ambitious of the field;\n    Scornful of ease, to aid his arms he sped,\n    Nor sped in vain: The raging combat bled:\n    Alonzo's ranks with carnage gor'd, Dismay\n    Spread her cold wings, and shook his firm array;\n    To flight she hurried; while, with brow serene,\n    The martial boy beheld the deathful scene.\n    With curving movement o'er the field he rode,\n    Th' opposing troops his wheeling squadrons mow'd:\n    The purple dawn, and evening sun beheld\n    His tents encamp'd assert the conquer'd field.\n    Thus, when the ghost of Julius[314] hover'd o'er\n    Philippi's plain, appeas'd with Roman gore,\n    Octavius' legions left the field in flight,\n    While happier Marcus triumph'd in the fight.\n\n      When endless night had seal'd his mortal eyes,\n    And brave Alonzo's spirit sought the skies,\n    The second of the name, the valiant John,\n    Our thirteenth monarch, now ascends the throne.\n    To seize immortal fame, his mighty mind,\n    (What man had never dar'd before), design'd;\n    That glorious labour which I now pursue,\n    Through seas unsail'd to find the shores that view\n    The day-star, rising from his wat'ry bed,\n    The first grey beams of infant morning shed.\n    Selected messengers his will obey;\n    Through Spain and France they hold their vent'rous way.\n    Through Italy they reach the port that gave\n    The fair Parthenope[315] an honour'd grave;[316]\n    That shore which oft has felt the servile chain,\n    But, now smiles happy in the care of Spain.\n    Now, from the port the brave advent'rers bore,\n    And cut the billows of the Rhodian shore;\n    Now, reach the strand where noble Pompey[317] bled;\n    And now, repair'd with rest, to Memphis sped;\n    And now, ascending by the vales of Nile,\n    (Whose waves pour fatness o'er the grateful soil),\n    Through Ethiopia's peaceful dales they stray,\n    Where their glad eyes Messiah's rites[318] survey:\n    And now they pass the fam'd Arabian flood,                  }\n    Whose waves of old in wondrous ridges stood,                }\n    While Israel's favour'd race the sable[319] bottom trod:    }\n    Behind them, glist'ning to the morning skies,\n    The mountains nam'd from Ishmael's offspring[320] rise;\n    Now, round their steps the blest Arabia spreads\n    Her groves of odour, and her balmy meads;\n    And every breast, inspir'd with glee, inhales\n    The grateful fragrance of Sab\u00e6a's gales:\n    Now, past the Persian gulf their route ascends\n    Where Tigris' wave with proud Euphrates blends;\n    Illustrious streams, where still the native shows\n    Where Babel's haughty tower unfinished rose:\n    From thence, through climes unknown, their daring course\n    Beyond where Trajan forced his way, they force;[321]\n    Carmanian hordes, and Indian tribes they saw,\n    And many a barb'rous rite, and many a law[322]\n    Their search explor'd; but, to their native shore,\n    Enrich'd with knowledge, they return'd no more.\n    The glad completion of the fate's decree,\n    Kind Heaven reserv'd, Emmanuel, for thee.\n    The crown, and high ambition of thy[323] sires,\n    To thee descending, wak'd thy latent fires,\n    And, to command the sea from pole to pole,\n    With restless wish inflam'd thy mighty soul.\n\n      Now, from the sky, the sacred light withdrawn,\n    O'er heaven's clear azure shone the stars of dawn,\n    Deep silence spread her gloomy wings around,\n    And human griefs were wrapp'd in sleep profound.\n    The monarch slumber'd on his golden bed,\n    Yet, anxious cares possess'd his thoughtful head;\n    His gen'rous soul, intent on public good,\n    The glorious duties of his birth review'd.\n    When, sent by Heaven, a sacred dream inspir'd\n    His lab'ring mind, and with its radiance fir'd:\n    High to the clouds his tow'ring head was rear'd,\n    New worlds, and nations fierce, and strange, appear'd;\n    The purple dawning o'er the mountains flow'd,\n    The forest-boughs with yellow splendour glow'd;\n    High, from the steep, two copious glassy streams\n    Roll'd down, and glitter'd in the morning beams;\n    Here, various monsters of the wild were seen,\n    And birds of plumage azure, scarlet, green:\n    Here, various herbs, and flow'rs of various bloom;\n    There, black as night, the forest's horrid gloom,\n    Whose shaggy brakes, by human step untrod,\n    Darken'd the glaring lion's dread abode.\n    Here, as the monarch fix'd his wond'ring eyes,\n    Two hoary fathers from the streams arise;\n    Their aspect rustic, yet, a reverend grace\n    Appear'd majestic on their wrinkled face:\n    Their tawny beards uncomb'd, and sweepy long,\n    Adown their knees in shaggy ringlets hung;\n    From every lock the crystal drops distil,\n    And bathe their limbs, as in a trickling rill;\n    Gay wreaths of flowers, of fruitage, and of boughs,\n    (Nameless in Europe), crown'd their furrow'd brows.\n    Bent o'er his staff, more silver'd o'er with years,\n    Worn with a longer way, the one appears;\n    Who now slow beck'ning with his wither'd hand,\n    As now advanc'd before the king they stand:--\n\n      \"O thou, whom worlds to Europe yet unknown,\n    Are doom'd to yield, and dignify thy crown;\n    To thee our golden shores the Fates decree;\n    Our necks, unbow'd before, shall bend to thee.\n    Wide thro' the world resounds our wealthy fame;\n    Haste, speed thy prows, that fated wealth to claim.\n    From Paradise my hallow'd waters spring;\n    The sacred Ganges I, my brother king\n    Th' illustrious author[324] of the Indian name:\n    Yet, toil shall languish, and the fight shall flame;\n    Our fairest lawns with streaming gore shall smoke,\n    Ere yet our shoulders bend beneath the yoke;\n    But, thou shalt conquer: all thine eyes survey,\n    With all our various tribes, shall own thy sway.\"\n\n      He spoke; and, melting in a silv'ry stream,\n    Both disappear'd; when waking from his dream,\n    The wond'ring monarch, thrill'd with awe divine,\n    Weighs in his lofty thoughts the sacred sign.\n\n      Now, morning bursting from the eastern sky,\n    Spreads o'er the clouds the blushing rose's dye,\n    The nations wake, and, at the sov'reign's call,\n    The Lusian nobles crowd the palace hall.\n    The vision of his sleep the monarch tells;\n    Each heaving breast with joyful wonder swells:\n    \"Fulfil,\" they cry: \"the sacred sign obey;\n    And spread the canvas for the Indian sea.\"\n    Instant my looks with troubled ardour burn'd,\n    When, keen on me, his eyes the monarch turn'd:\n    What he beheld I know not, but I know,\n    Big swell'd my bosom with a prophet's glow:\n    And long my mind, with wondrous bodings fir'd,\n    Had to the glorious, dreadful toil aspir'd:\n    Yet, to the king, whate'er my looks betray'd,\n    My looks the omen of success display'd.\n    When with that sweetness in his mien express'd,\n    Which, unresisted, wins the gen'rous breast,\n    \"Great are the dangers, great the toils,\" he cried,\n    \"Ere glorious honours crown the victor's pride.\n    If in the glorious strife the hero fall,\n    He proves no danger could his soul appal;\n    And, but to dare so great a toil, shall raise\n    Each age's wonder, and immortal praise.\n    For this dread toil, new oceans to explore,\n    To spread the sail where sail ne'er flow'd before,\n    For this dread labour, to your valour due,\n    From all your peers I name, O VASCO,[325] you.\n    Dread as it is, yet light the task shall be\n    To you my GAMA, as perform'd for me.\"\n    My heart could bear no more:--\"Let skies on fire,\n    Let frozen seas, let horrid war conspire,\n    I dare them all,\" I cried, \"and, but repine\n    That one poor life is all I can resign.\n    Did to my lot Alcides'[326] labours fall,\n    For you my joyful heart would dare them all;\n    The ghastly realms of death, could man invade,\n    For you my steps should trace the ghastly shade.\"\n\n      While thus, with loyal zeal, my bosom swell'd,\n    That panting zeal my prince with joy beheld:\n    Honour'd with gifts I stood, but, honour'd more\n    By that esteem my joyful sov'reign bore.\n    That gen'rous praise which fires the soul of worth,\n    And gives new virtues unexpected birth,\n    That praise, e'en now, my heaving bosom fires,\n    Inflames my courage, and each wish inspires.\n\n      Mov'd by affection, and allur'd by fame,\n    A gallant youth, who bore the dearest name,\n    Paulus, my brother, boldly su'd to share\n    My toils, my dangers, and my fate in war;\n    And, brave Co\u00ebllo urg'd the hero's claim\n    To dare each hardship, and to join our fame:\n    For glory both with restless ardour burn'd,\n    And silken ease for horrid danger spurn'd;\n    Alike renown'd in council, or in field,\n    The snare to baffle, or the sword to wield.\n    Through Lisbon's youth the kindling ardour ran,\n    And bold ambition thrill'd from man to man;\n    And each, the meanest of the vent'rous band,\n    With gifts stood honour'd by the sov'reign's hand.\n    Heavens! what a fury swell'd each warrior's breast,\n    When each, in turn, the smiling king address'd!\n    Fir'd by his words the direst toils they scorn'd,\n    And, with the horrid lust of danger fiercely burn'd.\n\n      With such bold rage the youth of Mynia glow'd,\n    When the first keel the Euxine surges plough'd;\n    When, bravely vent'rous for the golden fleece,\n    Orac'lous Argo[327] sail'd from wond'ring Greece.\n    Where Tago's yellow stream the harbour laves,\n    And slowly mingles with the ocean waves,\n    In warlike pride, my gallant navy rode,\n    And, proudly o'er the beach my soldiers strode.\n    Sailors and landsmen, marshall'd o'er the strand,\n    In garbs of various hue around me stand;\n    Each earnest, first to plight the sacred vow,\n    Oceans unknown, and gulfs untried to plough:\n    Then, turning to the ships their sparkling eyes,\n    With joy they heard the breathing winds arise;\n    Elate with joy, beheld the flapping sail,\n    And purple standards floating on the gale:\n    While each presag'd, that great as Argo's fame,\n    Our fleet should give some starry band a name.\n\n      Where foaming on the shore the tide appears,\n    A sacred fane its hoary arches rears:\n    Dim o'er the sea the ev'ning shades descend,\n    And, at the holy shrine, devout, we bend:\n    There, while the tapers o'er the altar blaze,\n    Our prayers, and earnest vows to Heav'n we raise.\n    \"Safe through the deep, where every yawning wave\n    Still to the sailor's eye displays his grave;\n    Thro' howling tempests, and thro' gulfs untried,\n    O mighty God! be thou our watchful guide.\"\n    While kneeling thus, before the sacred shrine,\n    In holy faith's most solemn rite we join;\n    Our peace with Heav'n the bread of peace confirms,\n    And meek contrition ev'ry bosom warms:\n    Sudden, the lights extinguish'd, all around\n    Dread silence reigns, and midnight-gloom profound;\n    A sacred horror pants on every breath,\n    And each firm breast devotes itself to death,\n    An offer'd sacrifice, sworn to obey\n    My nod, and follow where I lead the way.\n    Now, prostrate round the hallow'd shrine we lie,[328]\n    Till rosy morn bespreads the eastern sky;\n    Then, breathing fix'd resolves, my daring mates\n    March to the ships, while pour'd from Lisbon's gates,\n    Thousands on thousands crowding, press along,\n    A woful, weeping, melancholy throng.\n    A thousand white-rob'd priests our steps attend,\n    And prayers, and holy vows to Heav'n ascend;\n    A scene so solemn, and the tender woe\n    Of parting friends, constrain'd my tears to flow.\n    To weigh our anchors from our native shore--     }\n    To dare new oceans never dar'd before--          }\n    Perhaps to see my native coast no more--         }\n    Forgive, O king, if as a man I feel,\n    I bear no bosom of obdurate steel.----\n    (The godlike hero here suppress'd the sigh,\n    And wip'd the tear-drop from his manly eye;\n    Then, thus resuming)--All the peopled shore\n    An awful, silent look of anguish wore;\n    Affection, friendship, all the kindred ties\n    Of spouse and parent languish'd in their eyes:\n    As men they never should again behold,\n    Self-offer'd victims to destruction sold,\n    On us they fix'd the eager look of woe,\n    While tears o'er ev'ry cheek began to flow;\n    When thus aloud, \"Alas! my son, my son,\"\n    A hoary sire exclaims, \"oh! whither run,\n    My heart's sole joy, my trembling age's stay,\n    To yield thy limbs the dread sea-monster's prey!\n    To seek thy burial in the raging wave,\n    And leave me cheerless sinking to the grave!\n    Was it for this I watch'd thy tender years,\n    And bore each fever of a father's fears!\n    Alas, my boy!\"--His voice is heard no more,\n    The female shriek resounds along the shore:\n    With hair dishevell'd, through the yielding crowd\n    A lovely bride springs on, and screams aloud;\n    \"Oh! where, my husband, where to seas unknown,\n    Where wouldst thou fly, me and my love disown!\n    And wilt thou, cruel, to the deep consign\n    That valued life, the joy, the soul of mine!\n    And must our loves, and all the kindred train\n    Of rapt endearments, all expire in vain!\n    All the dear transports of the warm embrace,\n    When mutual love inspir'd each raptur'd face!\n    Must all, alas! be scatter'd in the wind,\n    Nor thou bestow one ling'ring look behind!\"\n\n      Such, the 'lorn parents' and the spouses' woes,\n    Such, o'er the strand the voice of wailing rose;\n    From breast to breast the soft contagion crept,\n    Moved by the woful sound the children wept;\n    The mountain-echoes catch the big swoll'n sighs,\n    And, through the dales, prolong the matron's cries;\n    The yellow sands with tears are silver'd o'er,\n    Our fate the mountains and the beach deplore.\n    Yet, firm we march, nor turn one glance aside\n    On hoary parent, or on lovely bride.\n    Though glory fir'd our hearts, too well we knew\n    What soft affection, and what love could do.\n    The last embrace the bravest worst can bear:\n    The bitter yearnings of the parting tear\n    Sullen we shun, unable to sustain\n    The melting passion of such tender pain.\n\n      Now, on the lofty decks, prepar'd, we stand,\n    When, tow'ring o'er the crowd that veil'd the strand,\n    A reverend figure[329] fix'd each wond'ring eye,\n    And, beck'ning thrice, he wav'd his hand on high,\n    And thrice his hoary curls he sternly shook,\n    While grief and anger mingled in his look;\n    Then, to its height his falt'ring voice he rear'd,\n    And through the fleet these awful words were heard:[330]\n\n      \"O frantic thirst of honour and of fame,\n    The crowd's blind tribute, a fallacious name;\n    What stings, what plagues, what secret scourges curs'd,\n    Torment those bosoms where thy pride is nurs'd!\n    What dangers threaten, and what deaths destroy\n    The hapless youth, whom thy vain gleams decoy!\n    By thee, dire tyrant of the noble mind,\n    What dreadful woes are pour'd on human kind:\n    Kingdoms and empires in confusion hurl'd,\n    What streams of gore have drench'd the hapless world!\n    Thou dazzling meteor, vain as fleeting air,\n    What new-dread horror dost thou now prepare!\n    High sounds thy voice of India's pearly shore,\n    Of endless triumphs and of countless store:\n    Of other worlds so tower'd thy swelling boast,\n    Thy golden dreams when Paradise was lost,\n    When thy big promise steep'd the world in gore,\n    And simple innocence was known no more.\n    And say, has fame so dear, so dazzling charms?\n    Must brutal fierceness, and the trade of arms,\n    Conquest, and laurels dipp'd in blood, be priz'd,\n    While life is scorn'd, and all its joys despis'd?\n    And say, does zeal for holy faith inspire\n    To spread its mandates, thy avow'd desire?\n    Behold the Hagarene[331] in armour stands,\n    Treads on thy borders, and the foe demands:\n    A thousand cities own his lordly sway,\n    A thousand various shores his nod obey.\n    Through all these regions, all these cities, scorn'd\n    Is thy religion, and thine altars spurn'd.\n    A foe renown'd in arms the brave require;\n    That high-plum'd foe, renown'd for martial fire,\n    Before thy gates his shining spear displays,\n    Whilst thou wouldst fondly dare the wat'ry maze,\n    Enfeebled leave thy native land behind,\n    On shores unknown a foe unknown to find.\n    Oh! madness of ambition! thus to dare\n    Dangers so fruitless, so remote a war!\n    That Fame's vain flattery may thy name adorn,\n    And thy proud titles on her flag be borne:\n    Thee, lord of Persia, thee, of India lord,\n    O'er Ethiopia's vast, and Araby ador'd!\n\n      \"Curs'd be the man who first on floating wood,\n    Forsook the beach, and braved the treach'rous flood!\n    Oh! never, never may the sacred Nine,[332]\n    To crown his brows, the hallow'd wreath entwine;\n    Nor may his name to future times resound;\n    Oblivion be his meed, and hell profound!\n    Curs'd be the wretch, the fire of heaven who stole,\n    And with ambition first debauch'd the soul!\n    What woes, Prometheus,[333] walk the frighten'd earth!\n    To what dread slaughter has thy pride giv'n birth!\n    On proud Ambition's pleasing gales upborne,\n    One boasts to guide the chariot of the morn;\n    And one on treach'rous pinions soaring high,[334]\n    O'er ocean's waves dar'd sail the liquid sky:\n    Dash'd from their height they mourn'd their blighted aim;\n    One gives a river, one a sea the name!\n    Alas! the poor reward of that gay meteor, fame!\n    Yet, such the fury of the mortal race,\n    Though fame's fair promise ends in foul disgrace,\n    Though conquest still the victor's hope betrays,\n    The prize a shadow, or a rainbow-blaze,\n    Yet, still through fire and raging seas they run\n    To catch the gilded shade, and sink undone!\"\n\n\nEND OF THE FOURTH BOOK.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK V.\n\nTHE ARGUMENT.\n\nDeparture of the expedition under the command of VASCO DE GAMA (A.D.\n1497). Mountains of Portugal, Cintra, Morocco. Madeira; the burning\nshores of the Desert of Zanhagan; passage of the Tropic; cold waters of\nthe dark river Senegal. San Jago; pass the rocky coasts of Sierra Leone,\nthe island of St. Thomas, the kingdom of Congo, watered by the great\nriver Zaire. They cross the line and behold the magnificent\nconstellation of the Southern Cross, not visible in the northern\nhemisphere. After a voyage of five months, with continued storms, they\narrive in the latitude of the Cape. Apparition of Adamastor, the giant\nof the Cape of Storms. His prophecy. The King of Melinda confirms, by\nthe tradition of his people, the weird story of the Cape-giant told him\nby GAMA. Narrative of the voyage continued; arrival of the expedition at\nthe Port of Good Promise; pass by the ports of Mozambique and Mombas,\nand arrive at Melinda.\n\n\n    While on the beach the hoary father stood,\n    And spoke the murmurs of the multitude,\n    We spread the canvas to the rising gales,\n    The gentle winds distend the snowy sails.\n    As from our dear-lov'd native shore we fly\n    Our votive shouts, redoubled, rend the sky;\n    \"Success, success!\" far echoes o'er the tide,\n    While our broad hulks the foamy waves divide.\n    From Leo[335] now, the lordly star of day,\n    Intensely blazing, shot his fiercest ray;\n    When, slowly gliding from our wishful eyes,\n    The Lusian mountains mingled with the skies;\n    Tago's lov'd stream, and Cintra's[336] mountains cold\n    Dim fading now, we now no more behold;\n    And, still with yearning hearts our eyes explore,\n    Till one dim speck of land appears no more.\n    Our native soil now far behind, we ply\n    The lonely dreary waste of seas, and boundless sky\n    Through the wild deep our vent'rous navy bore,\n    Where but our Henry plough'd the wave before;[337]\n    The verdant islands, first by him descried,\n    We pass'd; and, now in prospect op'ning wide,\n    Far to the left, increasing on the view,\n    Rose Mauritania's[338] hills of paly blue:\n    Far to the right the restless ocean roar'd,\n    Whose bounding surges never keel explor'd:\n    If bounding shore (as reason deems) divide\n    The vast Atlantic from the Indian tide.[339]\n\n      Nam'd from her woods,[340] with fragrant bowers adorn'd,\n    From fair Madeira's purple coast we turn'd:[340]\n    Cyprus and Paphos' vales the smiling loves\n    Might leave with joy for fair Madeira's groves;\n    A shore so flow'ry, and so sweet an air,\n    Venus might build her dearest temple there.\n    Onward we pass Massilia's barren strand,\n    A waste of wither'd grass and burning sand;\n    Where his thin herds the meagre native leads,\n    Where not a riv'let laves the doleful meads;\n    Nor herds, nor fruitage deck the woodland maze;\n    O'er the wild waste the stupid ostrich strays,\n    In devious search to pick her scanty meal,\n    Whose fierce digestion gnaws the temper'd steel.\n    From the green verge, where Tigitania ends,\n    To Ethiopia's line the dreary wild extends.\n    Now, past the limit, which his course divides,[341]\n    When to the north the sun's bright chariot rides,\n    We leave the winding bays and swarthy shores,\n    Where Senegal's black wave impetuous roars;\n    A flood, whose course a thousand tribes surveys,\n    The tribes who blacken'd in the fiery blaze\n    When Pha\u00ebton, devious from the solar height,\n    Gave Afric's sons the sable hue of night.\n    And now, from far the Libyan cape is seen,\n    Now by my mandate named the Cape of Green;[342]\n    Where, midst the billows of the ocean, smiles\n    A flow'ry sister-train, the happy isles,[343]\n    Our onward prows the murm'ring surges lave;\n    And now, our vessels plough the gentle wave,\n    Where the blue islands, named of Hesper old,\n    Their fruitful bosoms to the deep unfold.\n    Here, changeful Nature shows her various face,\n    And frolics o'er the slopes with wildest grace:\n    Here, our bold fleet their pond'rous anchors threw,\n    The sickly cherish, and our stores renew.\n    From him, the warlike guardian pow'r of Spain,\n    Whose spear's dread lightning o'er th' embattled plain\n    Has oft o'erwhelm'd the Moors in dire dismay,\n    And fix'd the fortune of the doubtful day;\n    From him we name our station of repair,\n    And Jago's name that isle shall ever bear.\n    The northern winds now curl'd the black'ning main,\n    Our sails unfurl'd, we plough the tide again:\n    Round Afric's coast our winding course we steer,\n    Where, bending to the east, the shores appear.\n    Here Jalofo[344] its wide extent displays,\n    And vast Mandinga shows its num'rous bays;\n    Whose mountains' sides, though parch'd and barren, hold,\n    In copious store, the seeds of beamy gold.[345]\n    The Gambia here his serpent-journey takes,\n    And, thro' the lawns, a thousand windings makes;\n    A thousand swarthy tribes his current laves\n    Ere mix his waters with th' Atlantic waves.\n    The Gorgades we pass'd, that hated shore,[346]\n    Fam'd for its terrors by the bards of yore;\n    Where but one eye by Phorcus' daughters shar'd,\n    The 'lorn beholders into marble star'd;\n    Three dreadful sisters! down whose temples roll'd\n    Their hair of snakes in many a hissing fold,\n    And, scatt'ring horror o'er the dreary strand,\n    With swarms of vipers sow'd the burning sand.\n    Still to the south our pointed keels we guide,\n    And, thro' the austral gulf, still onward ride:\n    Her palmy forests mingling with the skies,\n    Leona's[347] rugg'd steep behind us flies;\n    The Cape of Palms[348] that jutting land we name,\n    Already conscious of our nation's[349] fame.\n    Where the vex'd waves against our bulwarks roar,\n    And Lusian towers o'erlook the bending shore:\n    Our sails wide swelling to the constant blast,\n    Now, by the isle from Thomas nam'd we pass'd;\n    And Congo's spacious realm before us rose,\n    Where copious Layra's limpid billow flows;\n    A flood by ancient hero never seen,\n    Where many a temple o'er the banks of green,[350]\n    Rear'd by the Lusian heroes, through the night\n    Of pagan darkness, pours the mental light.\n\n      O'er the wild waves, as southward thus we stray,\n    Our port unknown, unknown the wat'ry way,\n    Each night we see, impress'd with solemn awe,\n    Our guiding stars, and native skies withdraw,\n    In the wide void we lose their cheering beams,\n    Lower and lower still the pole-star gleams.\n    Till past the limit, where the car of day\n    Roll'd o'er our heads, and pour'd the downward ray:\n    We now disprove the faith of ancient lore;\n    Bo\u00f6tes shining car appears no more.\n    For here we saw Calisto's[351] star retire\n    Beneath the waves, unaw'd by Juno's ire.\n    Here, while the sun his polar journeys takes,\n    His visit doubled, double season makes;\n    Stern winter twice deforms the changeful year,\n    And twice the spring's gay flowers their honours rear.\n    Now, pressing onward, past the burning zone,\n    Beneath another heaven and stars unknown,\n    Unknown to heroes and to sages old,\n    With southward prows our pathless course we hold:\n    Here, gloomy night assumes a darker reign,\n    And fewer stars emblaze the heavenly plain;\n    Fewer than those that gild the northern pole,\n    And o'er our seas their glitt'ring chariots roll:\n    While nightly thus, the lonely seas we brave,\n    Another pole-star[352] rises o'er the wave:\n    Full to the south a shining cross[353] appears,\n    Our heaving breasts the blissful omen cheers:\n    Seven radiant stars compose the hallow'd sign\n    That rose still higher o'er the wavy brine.\n    Beneath this southern axle of the world\n    Never, with daring search, was flag unfurl'd;\n    Nor pilot knows if bounding shores are plac'd,\n    Or, if one dreary sea o'erflow the lonely waste.\n\n      While thus our keels still onward boldly stray'd,\n    Now toss'd by tempests, now by calms delay'd,\n    To tell the terrors of the deep untried,\n    What toils we suffer'd, and what storms defied;\n    What rattling deluges the black clouds pour'd,\n    What dreary weeks of solid darkness lower'd;\n    What mountain-surges mountain-surges lash'd,\n    What sudden hurricanes the canvas dash'd;\n    What bursting lightnings, with incessant flare,\n    Kindled, in one wide flame, the burning air;\n    What roaring thunders bellow'd o'er our head,\n    And seem'd to shake the reeling ocean's bed:\n    To tell each horror on the deep reveal'd,\n    Would ask an iron throat with tenfold vigour steel'd:[354]\n    Those dreadful wonders of the deep I saw,\n    Which fill the sailor's breast with sacred awe;\n    And which the sages, of their learning vain,\n    Esteem the phantoms of the dreamful brain:\n    That living fire, by seamen held divine,[355]\n    Of Heaven's own care in storms the holy sign,\n    Which, midst the horrors of the tempest plays,\n    And, on the blast's dark wings will gaily blaze;\n    These eyes distinct have seen that living fire\n    Glide through the storm, and round my sails aspire.\n    And oft, while wonder thrill'd my breast, mine eyes\n    To heaven have seen the wat'ry columns rise.\n    Slender, at first, the subtle fume appears,\n    And writhing round and round its volume rears:\n    Thick as a mast the vapour swells its size,\n    A curling whirlwind lifts it to the skies;\n    The tube now straightens, now in width extends,\n    And, in a hov'ring cloud, its summit ends:\n    Still, gulp on gulp in sucks the rising tide,\n    And now the cloud, with cumbrous weight supplied,\n    Full-gorg'd, and black'ning, spreads, and moves, more slow,\n    And waving trembles to the waves below.\n    Thus, when to shun the summer's sultry beam\n    The thirsty heifer seeks the cooling stream,\n    The eager horse-leech fixing on her lips,\n    Her blood with ardent throat insatiate sips,\n    Till the gorg'd glutton, swell'd beyond her size,\n    Drops from her wounded hold, and bursting, dies.\n    So, bursts the cloud, o'erloaded with its freight,\n    And the dash'd ocean staggers with the weight.\n    But say, ye sages, who can weigh the cause,\n    And trace the secret springs of nature's laws,\n    Say, why the wave, of bitter brine erewhile,\n    Should to the bosom of the deep recoil\n    Robb'd of its salt, and, from the cloud distil,\n    Sweet as the waters of the limpid[356] rill?\n    Ye sons of boastful wisdom, famed of yore,\n    Whose feet unwearied wander'd many a shore,\n    From nature's wonders to withdraw the veil,\n    Had you with me unfurl'd the daring sail,\n    Had view'd the wondrous scenes mine eyes survey'd,\n    What seeming miracles the deep display'd,\n    What secret virtues various nature show'd,\n    Oh! heaven! with what a fire your page had glow'd!\n\n      And now, since wand'ring o'er the foamy spray,\n    Our brave Armada held her vent'rous way,\n    Five times the changeful empress of the night\n    Had fill'd her shining horns with silver light,\n    When sudden, from the maintop's airy round,\n    \"Land! land!\" is echoed. At the joyful sound,\n    Swift to the crowded decks the bounding crew\n    On wings of hope and flutt'ring transport flew,\n    And each strain'd eye with aching sight explores\n    The wide horizon of the eastern shores:\n    As thin blue clouds the mountain summits rise,\n    And now, the lawns salute our joyful eyes;\n    Loud through the fleet the echoing shouts prevail,\n    We drop the anchor, and restrain the sail;\n    And now, descending in a spacious bay,\n    Wide o'er the coast the vent'rous soldiers stray,\n    To spy the wonders of the savage shore,\n    Where stranger's foot had never trod before.\n    I and my pilots, on the yellow sand,\n    Explore beneath what sky the shores expand.\n    That sage device, whose wondrous use proclaims\n    Th' immortal honour of its authors'[357] names,\n    The sun's height measured, and my compass scann'd,\n    The painted globe of ocean and of land.\n    Here we perceiv'd our vent'rous keels had past\n    Unharm'd the southern tropic's howling blast;\n    And now, approach'd dread Neptune's secret reign,\n    Where the stern power, as o'er the austral main\n    He rides, wide scatters from the polar star\n    Hail, ice, and snow, and all the wintry war.\n    While thus attentive on the beach we stood,\n    My soldiers, hast'ning from the upland wood,\n    Right to the shore a trembling negro brought,\n    Whom, on the forest-height, by force they caught,\n    As, distant wander'd from the cell of home,\n    He suck'd the honey from the porous comb.\n    Horror glar'd in his look, and fear extreme,\n    In mien more wild than brutal Polypheme:\n    No word of rich Arabia's tongue[358] he knew,\n    No sign could answer, nor our gems would view:\n    From garments strip'd with shining gold he turn'd,\n    The starry diamond and the silver spurn'd.\n    Straight at my nod are worthless trinkets brought;\n    Round beads of crystal, as a bracelet wrought,\n    A cap of red, and, dangling on a string,\n    Some little bells of brass before him ring:\n    A wide-mouth'd laugh confess'd his barb'rous joy,\n    And, both his hands he raised to grasp the toy.\n    Pleas'd with these gifts, we set the savage free,\n    Homeward he springs away, and bounds with glee.\n\n      Soon as the gleamy streaks of purple morn\n    The lofty forest's topmost boughs adorn,\n    Down the steep mountain's side, yet hoar with dew,\n    A naked crowd, and black as night their hue,\n    Come tripping to the shore: Their wishful eyes\n    Declare what tawdry trifles most they prize:\n    These to their hopes were given, and, void of fear\n    (Mild seem'd their manners, and their looks sincere),\n    A bold rash youth, ambitious of the fame\n    Of brave adventurer, Velos\u00f3 his name,\n    Through pathless brakes their homeward steps attends,\n    And, on his single arm, for help depends.\n    Long was his stay: my earnest eyes explore,\n    When, rushing down the mountain to the shore\n    I mark'd him; terror urged his rapid strides,\n    And soon Co\u00ebllo's skiff the wave divides.\n    Yet, ere his friends advanc'd, the treach'rous foe\n    Trod on his latest steps, and aim'd the blow.\n    Moved by the danger of a youth so brave,\n    Myself now snatch'd an oar, and sprung to save:\n    When sudden, black'ning down the mountain's height,\n    Another crowd pursu'd his panting flight;\n    And, soon an arrowy, and a flinty shower\n    Thick o'er our heads the fierce barbarians pour.\n    Nor pour'd in vain; a feather'd arrow stood\n    Fix'd[359] in my leg, and drank the gushing blood.\n    Vengeance, as sudden, ev'ry wound repays,\n    Full on their fronts our flashing lightnings blaze;\n    Their shrieks of horror instant pierce the sky,\n    And, wing'd with fear, at fullest speed they fly.\n    Long tracks of gore their scatter'd flight betray'd,\n    And now, Velos\u00f3 to the fleet convey'd,\n    His sportful mates his brave exploits demand,\n    And what the curious wonders of the land:\n    \"Hard was the hill to climb, my valiant friend,\n    But oh! how smooth and easy to descend!\n    Well hast thou prov'd thy swiftness for the chase,\n    And shown thy matchless merit in the race!\"\n    With look unmov'd the gallant youth replied,\n    \"For you, my friends, my fleetest speed was tried;\n    'Twas you the fierce barbarians meant to slay;\n    For you I fear'd the fortune of the day;\n    Your danger great without mine aid I knew,\n    And, swift as lightning, to your rescue flew.\"[360]\n    He now the treason of the foe relates,\n    How, soon as past the mountain's upland straits,\n    They chang'd the colour of their friendly show,\n    And force forbade his steps to tread below:\n    How, down the coverts of the steepy brake\n    Their lurking stand a treach'rous ambush take;\n    On us, when speeding to defend his flight,\n    To rush, and plunge us in the shades of night;\n    Nor, while in friendship, would their lips unfold\n    Where India's ocean laved the orient shores of gold.\n\n      Now, prosp'rous gales the bending canvas swell'd;\n    From these rude shores our fearless course we held:\n    Beneath the glist'ning wave the god of day\n    Had now five times withdrawn the parting ray,\n    When o'er the prow a sudden darkness spread,\n    And, slowly floating o'er the mast's tall head\n    A black cloud hover'd: nor appear'd from far\n    The moon's pale glimpse, nor faintly twinkling star;\n    So deep a gloom the low'ring vapour cast,\n    Transfix'd with awe the bravest stood aghast.\n    Meanwhile, a hollow bursting roar resounds,\n    As when hoarse surges lash their rocky mounds;\n    Nor had the black'ning wave, nor frowning heav'n\n    The wonted signs of gath'ring tempest giv'n.\n    Amaz'd we stood. \"O thou, our fortune's guide,\n    Avert this omen, mighty God!\" I cried;\n    \"Or, through forbidden climes adventurous stray'd,\n    Have we the secrets of the deep survey'd,\n    Which these wide solitudes of seas and sky\n    Were doom'd to hide from man's unhallow'd eye?\n    Whate'er this prodigy, it threatens more                }\n    Than midnight tempests, and the mingled roar,           }\n    When sea and sky combine to rock the marble shore.\"     }\n\n      I spoke, when rising through the darken'd air,\n    Appall'd, we saw a hideous phantom glare;\n    High and enormous o'er the flood he tower'd,\n    And 'thwart our way with sullen aspect lower'd:\n    An earthy paleness o'er his cheeks was spread,\n    Erect uprose his hairs of wither'd red;\n    Writhing to speak, his sable lips disclose,\n    Sharp and disjoin'd, his gnashing teeth's blue rows;\n    His haggard beard flow'd quiv'ring on the wind,\n    Revenge and horror in his mien combin'd;\n    His clouded front, by with'ring lightnings scar'd,\n    The inward anguish of his soul declar'd.\n    His red eyes, glowing from their dusky caves,\n    Shot livid fires: far echoing o'er the waves\n    His voice resounded, as the cavern'd shore\n    With hollow groan repeats the tempest's roar.\n    Cold gliding horrors thrill'd each hero's breast,\n    Our bristling hair and tott'ring knees confess'd\n    Wild dread, the while with visage ghastly wan,\n    His black lips trembling, thus the fiend began:--[361]\n\n      \"O you, the boldest of the nations, fir'd\n    By daring pride, by lust of fame inspir'd,\n    Who, scornful of the bow'rs of sweet repose,\n    Through these my waves advance your fearless prows,\n    Regardless of the length'ning wat'ry way,\n    And all the storms that own my sov'reign sway,\n    Who, mid surrounding rocks and shelves explore\n    Where never hero brav'd my rage before;\n    Ye sons of Lusus, who with eyes profane\n    Have view'd the secrets of my awful reign,\n    Have pass'd the bounds which jealous Nature drew\n    To veil her secret shrine from mortal view;\n    Hear from my lips what direful woes attend,\n    And, bursting soon, shall o'er your race descend.\n\n      \"With every bounding keel that dares my rage,\n    Eternal war my rocks and storms shall wage,\n    The next proud fleet[362] that through my drear domain,\n    With daring search shall hoist the streaming vane,\n    That gallant navy, by my whirlwinds toss'd,\n    And raging seas, shall perish on my coast:\n    Then he, who first my secret reign descried,\n    A naked corpse, wide floating o'er the tide,\n    Shall drive---- Unless my heart's full raptures fail,\n    O Lusus! oft shalt thou thy children wail;\n    Each year thy shipwreck'd sons shalt thou deplore,\n    Each year thy sheeted masts shall strew my shore.\n\n      \"With trophies plum'd behold a hero come,[363]\n    Ye dreary wilds, prepare his yawning tomb.\n    Though smiling fortune bless'd his youthful morn,\n    Though glory's rays his laurell'd brows adorn,\n    Full oft though he beheld with sparkling eye\n    The Turkish moons[364] in wild confusion fly,\n    While he, proud victor, thunder'd in the rear,\n    All, all his mighty fame shall vanish here.\n    Quiloa's sons, and thine, Mombaz, shall see\n    Their conqueror bend his laurell'd head to me;\n    While, proudly mingling with the tempest's sound,\n    Their shouts of joy from every cliff rebound.\n\n      \"The howling blast, ye slumb'ring storms prepare,\n    A youthful lover, and his beauteous fair,\n    Triumphant sail from India's ravag'd land;\n    His evil angel leads him to my strand.\n    Through the torn hulk the dashing waves shall roar,\n    The shatter'd wrecks shall blacken all my shore.\n    Themselves escaped, despoil'd by savage hands,\n    Shall, naked, wander o'er the burning sands,\n    Spar'd by the waves far deeper woes to bear,\n    Woes, e'en by me, acknowledg'd with a tear.\n    Their infant race, the promis'd heirs of joy,\n    Shall now, no more, a hundred hands employ;\n    By cruel want, beneath the parents' eye,\n    In these wide wastes their infant race shall die;\n    Through dreary wilds, where never pilgrim trod,\n    Where caverns yawn, and rocky fragments nod,\n    The hapless lover and his bride shall stray,\n    By night unshelter'd, and forlorn by day.\n    In vain the lover o'er the trackless plain\n    Shall dart his eyes, and cheer his spouse in vain.\n    Her tender limbs, and breast of mountain snow,\n    Where, ne'er before, intruding blast might blow,\n    Parch'd by the sun, and shrivell'd by the cold\n    Of dewy night, shall he, fond man, behold.\n    Thus, wand'ring wide, a thousand ills o'erpast,\n    In fond embraces they shall sink at last;\n    While pitying tears their dying eyes o'erflow,\n    And the last sigh shall wail each other's woe.[365]\n\n      \"Some few, the sad companions of their fate,\n    Shall yet survive, protected by my hate,\n    On Tagus' banks the dismal tale to tell,\n    How, blasted by my frown, your heroes fell.\"\n\n      He paus'd, in act still further to disclose\n    A long, a dreary prophecy of woes:\n    When springing onward, loud my voice resounds,\n    And midst his rage the threat'ning shade confounds.\n    \"What art thou, horrid form, that rid'st the air?\n    By Heaven's eternal light, stern fiend, declare.\"\n    His lips he writhes, his eyes far round he throws,\n    And, from his breast, deep hollow groans arose,\n    Sternly askance he stood: with wounded pride\n    And anguish torn, \"In me, behold,\" he cried,\n    While dark-red sparkles from his eyeballs roll'd,\n    \"In me the Spirit of the Cape behold,\n    That rock, by you the Cape of Tempests nam'd,            }\n    By Neptune's rage, in horrid earthquakes fram'd,         }\n    When Jove's red bolts o'er Titan's offspring flam'd.     }\n    With wide-stretch'd piles I guard the pathless strand,\n    And Afric's southern mound, unmov'd, I stand:\n    Nor Roman prow, nor daring Tyrian oar\n    Ere dash'd the white wave foaming to my shore;\n    Nor Greece, nor Carthage ever spread the sail\n    On these my seas, to catch the trading gale.\n    You, you alone have dar'd to plough my main,\n    And, with the human voice, disturb my lonesome reign.\"\n\n      He spoke, and deep a lengthen'd sigh he drew,\n    A doleful sound, and vanish'd from the view:\n    The frighten'd billows gave a rolling swell,\n    And, distant far, prolong'd the dismal yell,\n    Faint, and more faint the howling echoes die,\n    And the black cloud dispersing, leaves the sky.\n    High to the angel-host, whose guardian care\n    Had ever round us watch'd, my hands I rear,\n    And Heaven's dread King implore: \"As o'er our head\n    The fiend dissolv'd, an empty shadow fled;\n    So may his curses, by the winds of heav'n,\n    Far o'er the deep, their idle sport, be driv'n!\"----\n\n      With sacred horror thrill'd, Melinda's lord\n    Held up the eager hand, and caught the word.\n    \"Oh, wondrous faith of ancient days,\" he cries,\n    \"Conceal'd in mystic lore and dark disguise!\n    Taught by their sires, our hoary fathers tell,\n    On these rude shores a giant-spectre fell,\n    What time, from heaven the rebel band were thrown:[366]\n    And oft the wand'ring swain has heard his moan.\n    While o'er the wave the clouded moon appears\n    To hide her weeping face, his voice he rears\n    O'er the wild storm. Deep in the days of yore,\n    A holy pilgrim trod the nightly shore;\n    Stern groans he heard; by ghostly spells controll'd,\n    His fate, mysterious, thus the spectre told:\n    'By forceful Titan's warm embrace compress'd,\n    The rock-ribb'd mother, Earth, his love confess'd:\n    The hundred-handed giant[367] at a birth,\n    And me, she bore, nor slept my hopes on earth;\n    My heart avow'd, my sire's ethereal flame;\n    Great Adamastor, then, my dreaded name.\n    In my bold brother's glorious toils engaged,\n    Tremendous war against the gods I waged:\n    Yet, not to reach the throne of heaven I try,\n    With mountain pil'd on mountain to the sky;\n    To me the conquest of the seas befel,\n    In his green realm the second Jove to quell.\n    Nor did ambition all my passions hold,\n    'Twas love that prompted an attempt so bold.\n    Ah me, one summer in the cool of day,\n    I saw the Nereids on the sandy bay,\n    With lovely Thetis from the wave, advance\n    In mirthful frolic, and the naked dance.\n    In all her charms reveal'd the goddess trod,\n    With fiercest fires my struggling bosom glow'd;\n    Yet, yet I feel them burning in my heart,\n    And hopeless, languish with the raging smart.\n    For her, each goddess of the heavens I scorn'd,\n    For her alone my fervent ardour burn'd.\n    In vain I woo'd her to the lover's bed,\n    From my grim form, with horror, mute she fled.\n    Madd'ning with love, by force I ween to gain\n    The silver goddess of the blue domain;\n    To the hoar mother of the Nereid band[368]\n    I tell my purpose, and her aid command:\n    By fear impell'd, old Doris tries to move,\n    And, win the spouse of Peleus to my love.\n    The silver goddess with a smile replies,\n    \"What nymph can yield her charms a giant's prize!\n    Yet, from the horrors of a war to save,\n    And guard in peace our empire of the wave,\n    Whate'er with honour he may hope to gain,\n    That, let him hope his wish shall soon attain.\"\n    The promis'd grace infus'd a bolder fire,\n    And shook my mighty limbs with fierce desire.\n    But ah, what error spreads its dreadful night,\n    What phantoms hover o'er the lover's sight!\n    The war resign'd, my steps by Doris led,\n    While gentle eve her shadowy mantle spread,\n    Before my steps the snowy Thetis shone\n    In all her charms, all naked, and alone.\n    Swift as the wind with open arms I sprung,\n    And, round her waist with joy delirious clung:\n    In all the transports of the warm embrace,\n    A hundred kisses on her angel face,\n    On all its various charms my rage bestows,\n    And, on her cheek, my cheek enraptur'd glows.\n    When, oh, what anguish while my shame I tell!\n    What fix'd despair, what rage my bosom swell!\n    Here was no goddess, here no heav'nly charms,\n    A rugged mountain fill'd my eager arms,\n    Whose rocky top, o'erhung with matted brier,\n    Receiv'd the kisses of my am'rous fire.\n    Wak'd from my dream, cold horror freez'd my blood;\n    Fix'd as a rock, before the rock I stood;\n    \"O fairest goddess of the ocean train,\n    Behold the triumph of thy proud disdain;\n    Yet why,\" I cried, \"with all I wish'd decoy,\n    And, when exulting in the dream of joy,\n    A horrid mountain to mine arms convey!\"\n    Madd'ning I spoke, and furious, sprung away.\n    Far to the south I sought the world unknown,\n    Where I, unheard, unscorn'd, might wail alone,\n    My foul dishonour, and my tears to hide,\n    And shun the triumph of the goddess' pride.\n    My brothers, now, by Jove's red arm o'erthrown,\n    Beneath huge mountains, pil'd on mountains groan;\n    And I, who taught each echo to deplore,\n    And tell my sorrows to the desert shore,\n    I felt the hand of Jove my crimes pursue,\n    My stiff'ning flesh to earthy ridges grew,\n    And my huge bones, no more by marrow warm'd,\n    To horrid piles, and ribs of rock transform'd,\n    Yon dark-brow'd cape of monstrous size became,\n    Where, round me still, in triumph o'er my shame,\n    The silv'ry Thetis bids her surges roar,\n    And waft my groans along the dreary shore.'\"----\n\n      Melinda's monarch thus the tale pursu'd,\n    Of ancient faith, and GAMA thus renew'd:--\n\n      Now, from the wave the chariot of the day,\n    Whirl'd by the fiery coursers, springs away,\n    When, full in view, the giant Cape appears,\n    Wide spreads its limbs, and high its shoulders rears;\n    Behind us, now, it curves the bending side,\n    And our bold vessels plough the eastern tide.\n    Nor long excursive off at sea we stand,\n    A cultur'd shore invites us to the land.\n    Here their sweet scenes the rural joys bestow,\n    And give our wearied minds a lively glow.[369]\n    The tenants of the coast, a festive band,\n    With dances meet us on the yellow sand;\n    Their brides on slow-pac'd oxen rode behind;\n    The spreading horns with flow'ry garlands twin'd,\n    Bespoke the dew-lapp'd beeves their proudest boast,\n    Of all their bestial store they valued most.\n    By turns the husbands, and the brides, prolong\n    The various measures of the rural song.\n    Now, to the dance the rustic reeds resound;\n    The dancers' heels, light-quiv'ring, beat the ground;\n    And now, the lambs around them bleating stray,\n    Feed from their hands, or, round them frisking play.\n    Methought I saw the sylvan reign of Pan,\n    And heard the music of the Mantuan swan:[370]\n    With smiles we hail them, and with joy behold\n    The blissful manners of the age of gold.\n    With that mild kindness, by their looks display'd,\n    Fresh stores they bring, with cloth of red repaid;\n    Yet, from their lips no word we knew could flow,\n    Nor sign of India's strand their hands bestow.\n    Fair blow the winds; again with sails unfurl'd\n    We dare the main, and seek the eastern world.\n    Now, round black Afric's coast our navy veer'd,\n    And, to the world's mid circle, northward steer'd:\n    The southern pole low to the wave declin'd,\n    We leave the isle of Holy Cross[371] behind:\n    That isle where erst a Lusian, when he pass'd\n    The tempest-beaten cape, his anchors cast,\n    And own'd his proud ambition to explore\n    The kingdoms of the morn could dare no more.\n    From thence, still on, our daring course we hold\n    Thro' trackless gulfs, whose billows never roll'd\n    Around the vessel's pitchy sides before;\n    Thro' trackless gulfs, where mountain surges roar,\n    For many a night, when not a star appear'd,\n    Nor infant moon's dim horns the darkness cheer'd;\n    For many a dreary night, and cheerless day,                  }\n    In calms now fetter'd, now the whirlwind's play,             }\n    By ardent hope still fir'd, we forc'd our dreadful way.      }\n    Now, smooth as glass the shining waters lie,\n    No cloud, slow moving, sails the azure sky;\n    Slack from their height the sails unmov'd decline,\n    The airy streamers form the downward line;\n    No gentle quiver owns the gentle gale,\n    Nor gentlest swell distends the ready sail;\n    Fix'd as in ice, the slumb'ring prows remain,\n    And silence wide extends her solemn reign.\n    Now to the waves the bursting clouds descend,\n    And heaven and sea in meeting tempests blend;\n    The black-wing'd whirlwinds o'er the ocean sweep,\n    And from his bottom roars the stagg'ring deep.\n    Driv'n by the yelling blast's impetuous sway\n    Stagg'ring we bound, yet onward bound away:\n    And now, escaped the fury of the storm,\n    New danger threatens in a various form;\n    Though fresh the breeze the swelling canvas swell'd,\n    A current's headlong sweep our prows withheld:\n    The rapid force impress'd on every keel,\n    Backward, o'erpower'd, our rolling vessels reel:\n    When from their southern caves the winds, enraged,\n    In horrid conflict with the waves engaged;\n    Beneath the tempest groans each loaded mast,\n    And, o'er the rushing tide our bounding navy pass'd.[372]\n\n    Now shin'd the sacred morn, when from the east\n    Three kings[373] the holy cradled Babe address'd,\n    And hail'd him Lord of heaven: that festive day[374]\n    We drop our anchors in an opening bay;\n    The river from the sacred day we name,[375]\n    And stores, the wand'ring seaman's right, we claim:\n    Stores we receiv'd; our dearest hope in vain,\n    No word they utter'd could our ears retain;\n    Nought to reward our search for India's sound,\n    By word or sign our ardent wishes crown'd.[376]\n\n      Behold, O king, how many a shore we tried!\n    How many a fierce barbarian's rage defied!\n    Yet still, in vain, for India's shore we try,\n    The long-sought shores our anxious search defy.\n    Beneath new heavens, where not a star we knew,\n    Through changing climes, where poison'd air we drew;\n    Wandering new seas, in gulfs unknown, forlorn,\n    By labour weaken'd, and by famine worn;\n    Our food corrupted, pregnant with disease,\n    And pestilence on each expected breeze;\n    Not even a gleam of hope's delusive ray\n    To lead us onward through the devious way--\n    That kind delusion[377] which full oft has cheer'd\n    The bravest minds, till glad success appear'd;\n    Worn as we were, each night with dreary care,\n    Each day, with danger that increas'd despair;\n    Oh ! monarch, judge, what less than Lusian fire\n    Could still the hopeless scorn of fate inspire!\n    What less, O king, than Lusian faith withstand,\n    When dire despair and famine gave command\n    Their chief to murder, and with lawless power\n    Sweep Afric's seas, and every coast devour!\n    What more than men in wild despair still bold!\n    Those, more than men, in these my band behold!\n    Sacred to death, by death alone subdued,\n    These, all the rage of fierce despair withstood;[378]\n    Firm to their faith, though fondest hope no more\n    Could give the promise of their native shore!\n\n      Now, the sweet waters of the stream we leave,\n    And the salt waves our gliding prows receive:\n    Here to the left, between the bending shores,\n    Torn by the winds the whirling billow roars;\n    And boiling raves against the sounding coast,\n    Whose mines of gold Sofala's merchants boast:\n    Full to the gulf the show'ry south-winds howl,\n    Aslant, against the wind, our vessels roll:\n    Far from the land, wide o'er the ocean driv'n,\n    Our helms resigning to the care of heav'n,\n    By hope and fear's keen passions toss'd, we roam,\n    When our glad eyes beheld the surges foam\n    Against the beacons of a cultur'd bay,\n    Where sloops and barges cut the wat'ry way.\n    The river's opening breast some upward plied,\n    And some came gliding down the sweepy tide.\n    Quick throbs of transport heav'd in every heart\n    To view the knowledge of the seaman's art;\n    For here, we hop'd our ardent wish to gain,\n    To hear of India's strand, nor hop'd in vain.\n    Though Ethiopia's sable hue they bore\n    No look of wild surprise the natives wore:\n    Wide o'er their heads the cotton turban swell'd,\n    And cloth of blue the decent loins conceal'd.\n    Their speech, though rude and dissonant of sound,\n    Their speech a mixture of Arabian own'd.\n    Fernando, skill'd in all the copious store\n    Of fair Arabia's speech, and flow'ry lore,\n    In joyful converse heard the pleasing tale,\n    That, o'er these seas, full oft, the frequent sail,\n    And lordly vessels, tall as ours, appear'd,\n    Which, to the regions of the morning steer'd,\n    And, back returning, to the southmost land\n    Convey'd the treasures of the Indian strand;\n    Whose cheerful crews, resembling ours, display\n    The kindred face and colour of the day.[379]\n    Elate with joy we raise the glad acclaim,\n    And, \"River of good signs,\"[380] the port we name:\n    Then, sacred to the angel guide,[381] who led\n    The young Tobiah to the spousal bed,\n    And safe return'd him through the perilous way,\n    We rear a column[382] on the friendly bay.\n\n      Our keels, that now had steer'd through many a clime,\n    By shell-fish roughen'd, and incased with slime,\n    Joyful we clean, while bleating from the field\n    The fleecy dams the smiling natives yield:\n    But while each face an honest welcome shows,\n    And, big with sprightly hope, each bosom glows,\n    (Alas! how vain the bloom of human joy!\n    How soon the blasts of woe that bloom destroy!)\n    A dread disease its rankling horrors shed,\n    And death's dire ravage through mine army spread.\n    Never mine eyes such dreary sight beheld,\n    Ghastly the mouth and gums enormous swell'd;[383]\n    And instant, putrid like a dead man's wound,\n    Poisoned with foetid steams the air around.\n    No sage physician's ever-watchful zeal,\n    No skilful surgeon's gentle hand to heal,\n    Were found: each dreary mournful hour we gave\n    Some brave companion to a foreign grave.\n    A grave, the awful gift of every shore!----\n    Alas! what weary toils with us they bore!\n    Long, long endear'd by fellowship in woe,\n    O'er their cold dust we give the tears to flow;\n    And, in their hapless lot forbode our own,\n    A foreign burial, and a grave unknown!\n\n      Now, deeply yearning o'er our deathful fate,\n    With joyful hope of India's shore elate,\n    We loose the hawsers and the sail expand,\n    And, upward coast the Ethiopian strand.\n    What danger threaten'd at Quiloa's isle,\n    Mozambique's treason, and Mombassa's guile:\n    What miracles kind Heav'n our guardian wrought,\n    Loud fame already to thine ears has brought:\n    Kind Heaven again that guardian care display'd,\n    And, to thy port our weary fleet convey'd,\n    Where thou, O king, Heaven's regent power below,\n    Bidd'st thy full bounty and thy truth to flow;\n    Health to the sick, and to the weary rest,\n    And sprightly hope reviv'd in every breast,\n    Proclaim thy gifts, with grateful joy repaid,\n    The brave man's tribute for the brave man's aid.\n    And now, in honour of thy fond command,\n    The glorious annals of my native land;\n    And what the perils of a route so bold,\n    So dread as ours, my faithful lips have told.\n    Then judge, great monarch, if the world before\n    Ere saw the prow such length of seas explore!\n    Nor sage Ulysses,[384] nor the Trojan[385] pride\n    Such raging gulfs, such whirling storms defied;\n    Nor one poor tenth of my dread course explor'd,\n    Though by the muse as demigods ador'd.\n\n      O thou whose breast all Helicon inflam'd,[386]\n    Whose birth seven vaunting cities proudly claim'd;\n    And thou whose mellow lute and rural song,[387]\n    In softest flow, led Mincio's waves along,\n    Whose warlike numbers, as a storm impell'd,\n    And Tiber's surges o'er his borders swell'd;\n    Let all Parnassus lend creative fire,\n    And all the Nine[388] with all their warmth inspire;\n    Your demigods conduct through every scene\n    Cold fear can paint, or wildest fancy feign;\n    The Syren's guileful lay, dire Circe's spell,[389]\n    And all the horrors of the Cyclop's cell;[390]\n    Bid Scylla's barking waves their mates o'erwhelm\n    And hurl the guardian pilot from the helm,[391]\n    Give sails and oars to fly the purple shore,\n    Where love of absent friend awakes no more;[392]\n    In all their charms display Calypso's smiles,\n    Her flow'ry arbours and her am'rous wiles;\n    In skins confin'd the blust'ring winds control,[393]\n    Or, o'er the feast bid loathsome harpies[394] prowl;\n    And lead your heroes through the dread abodes\n    Of tortur'd spectres and infernal[395] gods;\n    Give ev'ry flow'r that decks Aonia's hill\n    To grace your fables with divinest skill;\n    Beneath the wonders of my tale they fall,\n    Where truth, all unadorn'd and pure, exceeds them all.----\n\n      While thus, illustrious GAMA charm'd their ears,\n    The look of wonder each Melindian wears,\n    And pleased attention witness'd the command\n    Of every movement of his lips, or hand.\n    The king, enraptur'd, own'd the glorious fame\n    Of Lisbon's monarchs and the Lusian name;\n    What warlike rage the victor-kings inspir'd!\n    Nor less their warriors' loyal faith admir'd.\n    Nor less his menial train, in wonder lost,\n    Repeat the gallant deeds that please them most,\n    Each to his mate; while, fix'd in fond amaze,\n    The Lusian features every eye surveys;\n    While, present to the view, by fancy brought,\n    Arise the wonders by the Lusians wrought,\n    And each bold feature to their wond'ring sight\n    Displays the raptur'd ardour of the fight.\n\n      Apollo now withdrew the cheerful day,\n    And left the western sky to twilight grey;\n    Beneath the wave he sought fair Thetis' bed,\n    And, to the shore Melinda's sov'reign sped.\n\n      What boundless joys are thine, O just Renown,\n    Thou hope of Virtue, and her noblest crown!\n    By thee the seeds of conscious worth are fir'd,\n    Hero by hero, fame by fame inspir'd:\n    Without thine aid how soon the hero dies!\n    By thee upborne, his name ascends the skies.\n    This Ammon[396] knew, and own'd his Homer's lyre\n    The noblest glory of Pelides' ire.[397]\n    This knew Augustus, and from Mantua's shade\n    To courtly ease the Roman bard convey'd;[398]\n    And soon exulting flow'd the song divine,\n    The noblest glory of the Roman line.\n    Dear was the Muse to Julius; ever dear\n    To Scipio, though the pond'rous, conquering spear\n    Roughen'd his hand, th' immortal pen he knew,\n    And, to the tented field the gentle Muses drew.\n    Each glorious chief of Greek or Latian line,\n    Or barb'rous race, adorn'd the Aonian shrine;\n    Each glorious name, e'er to the Muse endear'd.\n    Or woo'd the Muses, or, the Muse rever'd.\n    Alas, on Tago's hapless shores alone\n    The Muse is slighted, and her charms unknown;\n    For this, no Virgil here attunes the lyre,\n    No Homer here awakes the hero's fire.\n    On Tago's shores are Scipios, C\u00e6sars born,\n    And Alexanders Lisbon's clime adorn;\n    But, Heaven has stamp'd them in a rougher mould,\n    Nor gave the polish to their genuine gold.\n    Careless and rude, or to be known or know,\n    In vain, to them, the sweetest numbers flow:\n    Unheard, in vain their native poet sings,\n    And cold neglect weighs down the Muse's wings,\n    Ev'n he whose veins the blood of GAMA warms,[399]\n    Walks by, unconscious of the Muse's charms:\n    For him no Muse shall leave her golden loom,\n    No palm shall blossom, and no wreath shall bloom:\n    Yet, shall my labours and my cares be paid\n    By fame immortal, and by GAMA'S shade:\n    Him shall the song on ev'ry shore proclaim,\n    The first of heroes, first of naval fame.\n    Rude, and ungrateful, though my country be,\n    This proud example shall be taught by me--\n    \"Where'er the hero's worth demands the skies,\n    To crown that worth some gen'rous bard shall rise!\"\n\n\nEND OF THE FIFTH BOOK.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK VI.\n\nTHE ARGUMENT.\n\nGama's long recital being concluded, the poet resumes the thread of his\nstory in his own person. The Portuguese admiral enters into an alliance\nwith the King of Melinda, assures him that the vessels of his nation\nwill always in future anchor on his shores. Gama receives from the\nmonarch a faithful pilot to conduct him to India. Bacchus now has\nrecourse to Neptune, at whose palace the divinities of the sea assemble.\nThe gods of the sea consent to let loose the winds and waves against the\ndaring navigators. During the night the sailors on the watch relate to\neach other amusing stories. Veloso urges them to relate some proud feats\nof war. The history of the contest of the twelve knights of England with\nthe twelve of Portugal is then told. A violent tempest assails the\nfleet. Vivid picture of a storm at sea. Gama addresses his prayer to\nGod; and Venus, with her nymphs so captivates the storm-gods that a calm\nensues. The boy at the mast-head raises a joyful cry of Land! re-echoed\nby the whole crew. The pilot informs the Portuguese that they are now\napproaching the kingdom of Calicut. The poet's reflections.\n\n\n    With heart sincere the royal pagan joy'd,\n    And hospitable rites each hour employ'd,\n    For much the king the Lusian band admir'd,\n    And, much their friendship and their aid desir'd;\n    Each hour the gay festivity prolongs,\n    Melindian dances, and Arabian songs;\n    Each hour in mirthful transport steals away,\n    By night the banquet, and the chase by day;\n    And now, the bosom of the deep invites,\n    And all the pride of Neptune's festive rites;\n    Their silken banners waving o'er the tide,\n    A jovial band, the painted galleys ride;\n    The net and angle various hands employ,\n    And Moorish timbrels sound the notes of joy.\n    Such was the pomp, when Egypt's beauteous[400] queen\n    Bade all the pride of naval show convene,\n    In pleasure's downy bosom, to beguile\n    Her love-sick warrior:[401] o'er the breast of Nile,\n    Dazzling with gold, the purple ensigns flow'd,\n    And to the lute the gilded barges row'd;\n    While from the wave, of many a shining hue,\n    The anglers' lines the panting fishes drew.\n\n      Now, from the West the sounding breezes blow,\n    And far the hoary flood was yet to plough:\n    The fountain and the field bestow'd their store,\n    And friendly pilots from the friendly shore,\n    Train'd in the Indian deep, were now aboard,\n    When GAMA, parting from Melinda's lord,\n    The holy vows of lasting peace renew'd,\n    For, still the king for lasting friendship sued;\n    That Lusus' heroes in his port supplied,\n    And tasted rest, he own'd his dearest pride,\n    And vow'd, that ever while the seas they roam,\n    The Lusian fleets should find a bounteous home,\n    And, ever from the gen'rous shore receive\n    Whate'er his port, whate'er his land could give.[402]\n    Nor less his joy the grateful chief declar'd;\n    And now, to seize the valued hours prepar'd.\n    Full to the wind the swelling sails he gave,\n    And, his red prows divide the foamy wave:\n    Full to the rising sun the pilot steers,\n    And, far from shore through middle ocean bears.\n    The vaulted sky now widens o'er their heads,\n    Where first the infant morn his radiance sheds.\n    And now, with transport sparkling in his eyes,\n    Keen to behold the Indian mountains rise,\n    High on the decks each Lusian hero smiles,\n    And, proudly in his thoughts reviews his toils.\n    When the stern demon, burning with disdain,\n    Beheld the fleet triumphant plough the main:\n    The powers of heav'n, and heav'n's dread lord he knew,\n    Resolv'd in Lisbon glorious to renew\n    The Roman honours--raging with despair\n    From high Olympus' brow he cleaves the air,\n    On earth new hopes of vengeance to devise,\n    And sue that aid denied him in the skies;\n    Blaspheming Heav'n, he pierc'd the dread abode\n    Of ocean's lord, and sought the ocean's god.\n    Deep, where the bases of the hills extend,\n    And earth's huge ribs of rock enormous bend,\n    Where, roaring through the caverns, roll the waves\n    Responsive as the a\u00ebrial tempest raves,\n    The ocean's monarch, by the Nereid train,\n    And wat'ry gods encircled, holds his reign.\n    Wide o'er the deep, which line could ne'er explore,\n    Shining with hoary sand of silver ore,\n    Extends the level, where the palace rears\n    Its crystal towers, and emulates the spheres;\n    So, starry bright, the lofty turrets blaze,\n    And, vie in lustre with the diamond's rays.\n    Adorn'd with pillars, and with roofs of gold,\n    The golden gates their massy leaves unfold:\n    Inwrought with pearl the lordly pillars shine,\n    The sculptur'd walls confess a hand divine.\n    Here, various colours in confusion lost,\n    Old Chaos' face and troubled image boast.\n    Here, rising from the mass, distinct and clear,\n    Apart, the four fair elements appear.\n    High o'er the rest ascends the blaze of fire,\n    Nor, fed by matter did the rays aspire,\n    But, glow'd \u00e6therial, as the living flame,\n    Which, stol'n from heav'n, inspir'd the vital frame.\n    Next, all-embracing air was spread around,\n    Thin as the light, incapable of wound;\n    The subtle power the burning south pervades,\n    And penetrates the depth of polar shades.\n    Here, mother Earth, with mountains crown'd, is seen,\n    Her trees in blossom, and her lawns in green;\n    The lowing beeves adorn the clover vales,\n    The fleecy dams bespread the sloping dales;\n    Here, land from land the silver streams divide;\n    The sportive fishes through the crystal tide,\n    Bedropt with gold their shining sides display:\n    And here, old Ocean rolls his billows gray:\n    Beneath the moon's pale orb his current flows,\n    And, round the earth, his giant arms he throws.\n    Another scene display'd the dread alarms\n    Of war in heav'n, and mighty Jove in arms;\n    Here, Titan's race their swelling nerves distend\n    Like knotted oaks, and from their bases rend\n    And tower the mountains to the thund'ring sky,\n    While round their heads the forky lightnings fly;\n    Beneath huge Etna vanquish'd Typhon lies,[403]\n    And vomits smoke and fire against the darken'd skies.\n    Here, seems the pictur'd wall possess'd of life:\n    Two gods contending[404] in the noble strife,\n    The choicest boon to humankind to give,\n    Their toils to lighten, or their wants relieve:\n    While Pallas here appears to wave her hand,[405]\n    The peaceful olive's silver boughs expand:\n    Here, while the ocean's god indignant frown'd,\n    And rais'd his trident from the wounded ground,\n    As yet entangled in the earth, appears\n    The warrior horse; his ample chest he rears,\n    His wide red nostrils smoke, his eye-balls glare,\n    And his fore-hoofs, high pawing, smite the air.\n\n      Though wide, and various, o'er the sculptur'd stone[406]\n    The feats of gods, and godlike heroes shone;\n    On speed the vengeful demon views no more:\n    Forward he rushes through the golden door,\n    Where ocean's king, enclos'd with nymphs divine,\n    In regal state receives the king of wine:[407]\n    \"O Neptune!\" instant as he came, he cries,\n    \"Here let my presence wake no cold surprise.\n    A friend I come, your friendship to implore\n    Against the Fates unjust, and Fortune's power;\n    Beneath whose shafts the great Celestials bow,\n    Yet ere I more, if more you wish to know,\n    The wat'ry gods in awful senate call,\n    For all should hear the wrong that touches all.\"\n    Neptune alarm'd, with instant speed commands\n    From ev'ry shore to call the wat'ry bands:\n    Triton, who boasts his high Neptunian race,\n    Sprung from the god by Salac\u00e9's[408] embrace,\n    Attendant on his sire the trumpet sounds,\n    Or, through the yielding waves, his herald, bounds:\n    Huge is his bulk, deform'd, and dark his hue;\n    His bushy beard, and hairs that never knew\n    The smoothing comb, of seaweed rank and long,       }\n    Around his breast and shoulders dangling hung,      }\n    And, on the matted locks black mussels clung;       }\n    A shell of purple on his head he bore,[409]\n    Around his loins no tangling garb he wore,\n    But all was cover'd with the slimy brood,\n    The snaily offspring of the unctuous flood;\n    And now, obedient to his dreadful sire,\n    High o'er the wave his brawny arms aspire;\n    To his black mouth his crooked shell applied,\n    The blast rebellows o'er the ocean wide:\n    Wide o'er their shores, where'er their waters flow,\n    The wat'ry powers the awful summons know;\n    And instant, darting to the palace hall,\n    Attend the founder of the Dardan wall;[410]\n    Old Father Ocean, with his num'rous race\n    Of daughters and of sons, was first in place.\n    Nereus and Doris, from whose nuptials sprung\n    The lovely Nereid train, for ever young,\n    Who people ev'ry sea on ev'ry strand,\n    Appear'd, attended with their filial band;\n    And changeful Proteus, whose prophetic mind[411]\n    The secret cause of Bacchus' rage divin'd,\n    Attending, left the flocks, his scaly charge,\n    To graze the bitter, weedy foam at large.\n    In charms of power the raging waves to tame,\n    The lovely spouse of ocean's sov'reign came.[412]\n    From Heaven and Vesta sprung the birth divine,\n    Her snowy limbs bright through the vestments shine.\n    Here, with the dolphin, who persuasive led\n    Her modest steps to Neptune's spousal bed,\n    Fair Amphitrit\u00e9 mov'd, more sweet, more gay\n    Than vernal fragrance, and the flowers of May;\n    Together with her sister-spouse she came,\n    The same their wedded lord, their love the same;\n    The same the brightness of their sparkling eyes,\n    Bright as the sun, and azure as the skies.\n    She, who, the rage of Athamas to shun,[414]\n    Plung'd in the billows with her infant son;\n    A goddess now, a god the smiling boy,\n    Together sped; and Glaucus lost to joy,[415]\n    Curs'd in his love by vengeful Circ\u00e9's hate,\n    Attending, wept his Scylla's hapless fate.\n\n      And now, assembled in the hall divine,\n    The ocean gods in solemn council join;\n    The goddesses on pearl embroid'ry sat,\n    The gods, on sparkling crystal chairs of state,\n    And, proudly honour'd, on the regal throne,\n    Beside the ocean's lord, Thyoneus[416] shone.\n    High from the roof the living amber glows,[417]\n    High from the roof the stream of glory flows,\n    And, richer fragrance far around exhales\n    Than that which breathes on fair Arabia's gales.\n\n      Attention now, in list'ning silence waits:\n    The power, whose bosom rag'd against the Fates,\n    Rising, casts round his vengeful eyes, while rage\n    Spread o'er his brows the wrinkled seams of age.\n    \"O thou,\" he cries, \"whose birthright sov'reign sway,\n    From pole to pole, the raging waves obey;\n    Of human race 'tis thine to fix the bounds,\n    And fence the nations with thy wat'ry mounds:\n    And thou, dread power, O Father Ocean, hear,\n    Thou, whose wide arms embrace the world's wide sphere,\n    'Tis thine the haughtiest victor to restrain,\n    And bind each nation in its own domain:\n    And you, ye gods, to whom the seas are giv'n,\n    Your just partition with the gods of heav'n;\n    You who, of old unpunish'd never bore\n    The daring trespass of a foreign oar;\n    You who beheld, when Earth's dread offspring strove[418]\n    To scale the vaulted sky, the seat of Jove:\n    Indignant Jove deep to the nether world\n    The rebel band in blazing thunders hurl'd.\n    Alas! the great monition lost on you,\n    Supine you slumber, while a roving crew,\n    With impious search, explore the wat'ry way,\n    And, unresisted, through your empire stray:\n    To seize the sacred treasures of the main,\n    Their fearless prows your ancient laws disdain:\n    Where, far from mortal sight his hoary head\n    Old Ocean hides, their daring sails they spread,\n    And their glad shouts are echo'd where the roar\n    Of mounting billows only howl'd before.\n    In wonder, silent, ready Boreas[419] sees\n    Your passive languor, and neglectful ease;\n    Ready, with force auxiliar, to restrain\n    The bold intruders on your awful reign;\n    Prepar'd to burst his tempests, as of old,\n    When his black whirlwinds o'er the ocean roll'd,\n    And rent the Mynian[420] sails, whose impious pride\n    First brav'd their fury, and your power defied.\n    Nor deem that, fraudful, I my hope deny;\n    My darken'd glory sped me from the sky.\n    How high my honours on the Indian shore!\n    How soon these honours must avail no more!\n    Unless these rovers, who with doubled shame\n    To stain my conquests, bear my vassal's[421] name,\n    Unless they perish on the billowy way.\n    Then rouse, ye gods, and vindicate your sway.\n    The powers of heaven, in vengeful anguish, see\n    The tyrant of the skies, and Fate's decree;\n    The dread decree, that to the Lusian train\n    Consigns, betrays your empire of the main:\n    Say, shall your wrong alarm the high abodes?\n    Are men exalted to the rank of gods?\n    O'er you exalted, while in careless ease\n    You yield the wrested trident of the seas,\n    Usurp'd your monarchy, your honours stain'd,\n    Your birthright ravish'd, and your waves profan'd!\n    Alike the daring wrong to me, to you,\n    And, shall my lips in vain your vengeance sue!\n    This, this to sue from high Olympus bore----\"\n    More he attempts, but rage permits no more.\n    Fierce, bursting wrath the wat'ry gods inspires,\n    And, their red eye-balls burn with livid fires:\n    Heaving and panting struggles evr'y breast,\n    With the fierce billows of hot ire oppress'd.\n    Twice from his seat divining Proteus rose,\n    And twice he shook, enrag'd, his sedgy brows:\n    In vain; the mandate was already giv'n,\n    From Neptune sent, to loose the winds of heav'n:\n    In vain; though prophecy his lips inspir'd,\n    The ocean's queen his silent lips requir'd.\n    Nor less the storm of headlong rage denies,\n    Or counsel to debate, or thought to rise.\n    And now, the God of Tempests swift unbinds\n    From their dark caves the various rushing winds:\n    High o'er the storm the power impetuous rides,\n    His howling voice the roaring tempest guides;\n    Right to the dauntless fleet their rage he pours,\n    And, first their headlong outrage tears the shores:\n    A deeper night involves the darken'd air,\n    And livid flashes through the mountains glare:\n    Uprooted oaks, with all their leafy pride,\n    Roll thund'ring down the groaning mountain's side;\n    And men and herds in clam'rous uproar run,\n    The rocking towers and crashing woods to shun.\n\n      While, thus, the council of the wat'ry state\n    Enrag'd, decreed the Lusian heroes' fate,\n    The weary fleet before the gentle gale\n    With joyful hope display'd the steady sail;\n    Thro' the smooth deep they plough'd the length'ning way;\n    Beneath the wave the purple car of day\n    To sable night the eastern sky resign'd,\n    And, o'er the decks cold breath'd the midnight wind.\n    All but the watch in warm pavilions slept,\n    The second watch the wonted vigils kept:\n    Supine their limbs, the mast supports the head,\n    And the broad yard-sail o'er their shoulders spread\n    A grateful cover from the chilly gale,\n    And sleep's soft dews their heavy eyes assail.\n    Languid against the languid power they strive,\n    And, sweet discourse preserves their thoughts alive.\n    When Leonardo, whose enamour'd thought\n    In every dream the plighted fair one sought--\n    \"The dews of sleep what better to remove\n    Than the soft, woful, pleasing tales of love?\"\n    \"Ill-timed, alas!\" the brave VELOSO cries,\n    \"The tales of love, that melt the heart and eyes.\n    The dear enchantments of the fair I know,\n    The fearful transport, and the rapturous woe:\n    But, with our state ill suits the grief or joy;\n    Let war, let gallant war our thoughts employ:\n    With dangers threaten'd, let the tale inspire\n    The scorn of danger, and the hero's fire.\"\n    His mates with joy the brave VELOSO hear,\n    And, on the youth the speaker's toil confer.\n    The brave VELOSO takes the word with joy,\n    \"And truth,\" he cries, \"shall these slow hours decoy.\n    The warlike tale adorns our nation's fame,\n    The twelve of England give the noble theme.\n\n      \"When Pedro's gallant heir, the valiant John,\n    Gave war's full splendour to the Lusian throne,\n    In haughty England, where the winter spreads\n    His snowy mantle o'er the shining meads,[422]\n    The seeds of strife the fierce Erynnis sows;[423]\n    The baleful strife from court dissension rose.\n    With ev'ry charm adorn'd, and ev'ry grace,\n    That spreads its magic o'er the female face,\n    Twelve ladies shin'd the courtly train among,\n    The first, the fairest of the courtly throng;\n    But, Envy's breath revil'd their injur'd name,\n    And stain'd the honour of their virgin fame.\n    Twelve youthful barons own'd the foul report,\n    The charge at first, perhaps, a tale of sport.\n    Ah, base the sport that lightly dares defame\n    The sacred honour of a lady's name!\n    What knighthood asks the proud accusers yield,\n    And, dare the damsels' champions to the field.[424]\n    'There let the cause, as honour wills, be tried,\n    And, let the lance and ruthless sword decide.'\n    The lovely dames implore the courtly train,\n    With tears implore them, but implore in vain.\n    So fam'd, so dreaded tower'd each boastful knight,\n    The damsels' lovers shunn'd the proffer'd fight.\n    Of arm unable to repel the strong,\n    The heart's each feeling conscious of the wrong,\n    When, robb'd of all the female breast holds dear,\n    Ah Heaven, how bitter flows the female tear!\n    To Lancaster's bold duke the damsels sue;\n    Adown their cheeks, now paler than the hue\n    Of snowdrops trembling to the chilly gale,\n    The slow-pac'd crystal tears their wrongs bewail.\n    When down the beauteous face the dew-drop flows,\n    What manly bosom can its force oppose!\n    His hoary curls th' indignant hero shakes,\n    And, all his youthful rage restor'd, awakes:\n    'Though loth,' he cries, 'to plunge my bold compeers\n    In civil discord, yet, appease your tears:\n    From Lusitania'--for, on Lusian ground\n    Brave Lancaster had strode with laurel crown'd;\n    Had mark'd how bold the Lusian heroes shone,\n    What time he claim'd the proud Castilian throne,[425]\n    How matchless pour'd the tempest of their might,\n    When, thund'ring at his side, they rul'd the fight:\n    Nor less their ardent passion for the fair,\n    Gen'rous and brave, he view'd with wond'ring care,\n    When, crown'd with roses, to the nuptial bed\n    The warlike John his lovely daughter led--\n    'From Lusitania's clime,' the hero cries,\n    'The gallant champions of your fame shall rise.\n    Their hearts will burn (for well their hearts I know)\n    To pour your vengeance on the guilty foe.\n    Let courtly phrase the heroes' worth admire,\n    And, for your injur'd names, that worth require:\n    Let all the soft endearments of the fair,\n    And words that weep your wrongs, your wrongs declare.\n    Myself the heralds to the chiefs will send,\n    And to the king, my valiant son, commend.'\n    He spoke; and twelve of Lusian race he names\n    All noble youths, the champions of the dames.\n    The dames, by lot, their gallant champions choose,[426]\n    And each her hero's name, exulting, views.\n    Each in a various letter hails her chief,\n    And, earnest for his aid, relates her grief:\n    Each to the king her courtly homage sends,\n    And valiant Lancaster their cause commends.\n    Soon as to Tagus' shores the heralds came,\n    Swift through the palace pours the sprightly flame\n    Of high-soul'd chivalry; the monarch glows\n    First on the listed field to dare the foes;\n    But regal state withheld. Alike their fires,\n    Each courtly noble to the toil aspires:\n    High on his helm, the envy of his peers,\n    Each chosen knight the plume of combat wears.\n    In that proud port, half circled by the wave,\n    Which Portugallia to the nation gave,\n    A deathless name,[427] a speedy sloop receives\n    The sculptur'd bucklers, and the clasping greaves,\n    The swords of Ebro, spears of lofty size,\n    And breast-plates, flaming with a thousand dyes,\n    Helmets high plum'd, and, pawing for the fight,\n    Bold steeds, whose harness shone with silv'ry light\n    Dazzling the day. And now, the rising gale\n    Invites the heroes, and demands the sail,\n    When brave Magricio thus his peers address'd,\n    'Oh, friends in arms, of equal powers confess'd,\n    Long have I hop'd through foreign climes to stray,\n    Where other streams than Douro wind their way;\n    To note what various shares of bliss and woe\n    From various laws and various customs flow;\n    Nor deem that, artful, I the fight decline;\n    England shall know the combat shall be mine.\n    By land I speed, and, should dark fate prevent,\n    (For death alone shall blight my firm intent),\n    Small may the sorrow for my absence be,\n    For yours were conquest, though unshar'd by me.\n    Yet, something more than human warms my breast,\n    And sudden whispers,[428] In our fortunes blest,\n    Nor envious chance, nor rocks, nor whelmy tide,\n    Shall our glad meeting at the list divide.'\n\n      \"He said; and now, the rites of parting friends\n    Sufficed, through Leon and Castile he bends.\n    On many a field, enrapt, the hero stood,\n    And the proud scenes of Lusian conquest view'd.\n    Navarre he pass'd, and pass'd the dreary wild,\n    Where rocks on rocks o'er yawning glens are pil'd;\n    The wolf's dread range, where, to the ev'ning skies\n    In clouds involv'd, the cold Pyrenians rise.\n    Through Gallia's flow'ry vales, and wheaten plains\n    He strays, and Belgia now his steps detains.\n    There, as forgetful of his vow'd intent,\n    In various cares the fleeting days he spent:\n    His peers, the while, direct to England's strand,\n    Plough the chill northern wave; and now, at land,\n    Adorn'd in armour, and embroid'ry gay,\n    To lordly London hold the crowded way:\n    Bold Lancaster receives the knights with joy;\n    The feast, and warlike song each hour employ.\n    The beauteous dames, attending, wake their fire,\n    With tears enrage them, and with smiles inspire.\n    And now, with doubtful blushes rose the day,\n    Decreed the rites of wounded fame to pay.\n    The English monarch gives the listed bounds,\n    And, fix'd in rank, with shining spears surrounds.\n    Before their dames the gallant knights advance,\n    (Each like a Mars), and shake the beamy lance:\n    The dames, adorn'd in silk and gold, display\n    A thousand colours glitt'ring to the day:\n    Alone in tears, and doleful mourning, came,\n    Unhonour'd by her knight, Magricio's dame.\n    'Fear not our prowess,' cry the bold eleven,\n    'In numbers, not in might, we stand uneven.\n    More could we spare, secure of dauntless might,\n    When for the injur'd female name we fight.'\n\n      \"Beneath a canopy of regal state,\n    High on a throne, the English monarch sat,\n    All round, the ladies and the barons bold,\n    Shining in proud array, their stations hold.\n    Now, o'er the theatre the champions pour,\n    And facing three to three, and four to four,\n    Flourish their arms in prelude. From the bay\n    Where flows the Tagus to the Indian sea,\n    The sun beholds not, in his annual race,\n    A twelve more sightly, more of manly grace\n    Than tower'd the English knights. With frothing jaws,\n    Furious, each steed the bit restrictive gnaws,\n    And, rearing to approach the rearing foe,\n    Their wavy manes are dash'd with foamy snow:\n    Cross-darting to the sun a thousand rays,\n    The champions' helmets as the crystal blaze.\n    Ah now, the trembling ladies' cheeks how wan!\n    Cold crept their blood; when, through the tumult ran\n    A shout, loud gath'ring; turn'd was ev'ry eye\n    Where rose the shout, the sudden cause to spy.\n    And lo, in shining arms a warrior rode,\n    With conscious pride his snorting courser trod;\n    Low to the monarch, and the dames he bends,\n    And now, the great Magricio joins his friends.\n    With looks that glow'd, exulting rose the fair,\n    Whose wounded honour claim'd the hero's care.\n    Aside the doleful weeds of mourning thrown,\n    In dazzling purple, and in gold she shone.\n    Now, loud the signal of the fight rebounds,\n    Quiv'ring the air, the meeting shock resounds\n    Hoarse, crashing uproar; griding splinters spring\n    Far round, and bucklers dash'd on bucklers ring.\n    Their swords flash lightning; darkly reeking o'er\n    The shining mail-plates flows the purple gore.\n    Torn by the spur, the loosen'd reins at large,\n    Furious, the steeds in thund'ring plunges charge;\n    Trembles beneath their hoofs the solid ground,\n    And, thick the fiery sparkles flash around,\n    A dreadful blaze! With pleasing horror thrill'd,\n    The crowd behold the terrors of the field.\n    Here, stunn'd and stagg'ring with the forceful blow,\n    A bending champion grasps the saddle-bow;\n    Here, backward bent, a falling knight reclines,\n    His plumes, dishonour'd, lash the courser's loins.\n    So, tir'd and stagger'd toil'd the doubtful fight,\n    When great Magricio, kindling all his might,\n    Gave all his rage to burn: with headlong force,\n    Conscious of victory, his bounding horse\n    Wheels round and round the foe; the hero's spear\n    Now on the front, now flaming on the rear,\n    Mows down their firmest battle; groans the ground      }\n    Beneath his courser's smiting hoofs: far round         }\n    The cloven helms and splinter'd shields resound.       }\n    Here, torn and trail'd in dust the harness gay,\n    From the fall'n master springs the steed away;\n    Obscene with dust and gore, slow from the ground\n    Rising, the master rolls his eyes around,\n    Pale as a spectre on the Stygian coast,\n    In all the rage of shame confus'd, and lost:\n    Here, low on earth, and o'er the riders thrown,\n    The wallowing coursers and the riders groan:\n    Before their glimm'ring vision dies the light,\n    And, deep descends the gloom of death's eternal night.\n    They now who boasted, 'Let the sword decide,'\n    Alone in flight's ignoble aid confide:\n    Loud to the skies the shout of joy proclaims\n    The spotless honour of the ladies' names.\n\n      \"In painted halls of state, and rosy bowers,\n    The twelve brave Lusians crown the festive hours.\n    Bold Lancaster the princely feast bestows,\n    The goblet circles, and the music flows;\n    And ev'ry care, the transport of their joy,\n    To tend the knights the lovely dames employ;\n    The green-bough'd forests by the lawns of Thames\n    Behold the victor-champions, and the dames\n    Rouse the tall roe-buck o'er the dews of morn,\n    While, through the dales of Kent resounds the bugle-horn.\n    The sultry noon the princely banquet owns,\n    The minstrel's song of war the banquet crowns:\n    And, when the shades of gentle ev'ning fall,\n    Loud with the dance resounds the lordly hall:\n    The golden roofs, while Vesper shines, prolong\n    The trembling echoes of the harp and song.\n    Thus pass'd the days on England's happy strand,\n    Till the dear mem'ry of their natal land\n    Sigh'd for the banks of Tagus. Yet, the breast\n    Of brave Magricio spurns the thoughts of rest.\n    In Gaul's proud court he sought the listed plain,\n    In arms, an injur'd lady's knight again.\n    As Rome's Corvinus[429] o'er the field he strode,\n    And, on the foe's huge cuirass proudly trod.\n    No more by tyranny's proud tongue revil'd,\n    The Flandrian countess on her hero smil'd.[430]\n    The Rhine another pass'd, and prov'd his might,[431]\n    A fraudful German dar'd him to the fight.\n    Strain'd in his grasp, the fraudful boaster fell----\"\n    Here sudden stopp'd the youth; the distant yell\n    Of gath'ring tempest sounded in his ears,\n    Unheard, unheeded by his list'ning peers.\n    Earnest, at full, they urge him to relate\n    Magricio's combat, and the German's fate.\n    When, shrilly whistling through the decks, resounds\n    The master's call, and loud his voice rebounds:\n    Instant from converse, and from slumber, start\n    Both bands, and instant to their toils they dart.\n    \"Aloft, oh speed, down, down the topsails!\" cries\n    The master: \"sudden from my earnest eyes\n    Vanish'd the stars; slow rolls the hollow sigh,\n    The storm's dread herald.\" To the topsails fly\n    The bounding youths, and o'er the yardarms whirl\n    The whizzing ropes, and swift the canvas furl;\n    When, from their grasp the bursting tempests bore\n    The sheets half-gather'd, and in fragments tore.\n    \"Strike, strike the mainsail!\" loud again he rears\n    His echoing voice; when, roaring in their ears,\n    As if the starry vault, by thunders riv'n,\n    Rush'd downward to the deep the walls of heav'n,\n    With headlong weight a fiercer blast descends,\n    And, with sharp whirring crash, the mainsail rends;\n    Loud shrieks of horror through the fleet resound;\n    Bursts the torn cordage; rattle far around\n    The splinter'd yardarms; from each bending mast,\n    In many a shred, far streaming on the blast\n    The canvas floats; low sinks the leeward side,\n    O'er the broad vessels rolls the swelling tide:\n    \"Oh strain each nerve!\" the frantic pilot cries--\n    \"Oh now!\"--and instant every nerve applies,\n    Tugging what cumbrous lay, with strainful force;\n    Dash'd by the pond'rous loads, the surges hoarse\n    Roar in new whirls: the dauntless soldiers ran\n    To pump, yet, ere the groaning pump began\n    The wave to vomit, o'er the decks o'erthrown\n    In grovelling heaps, the stagger'd soldiers groan:\n    So rolls the vessel, not the boldest three,\n    Of arm robustest, and of firmest knee,\n    Can guide the starting rudder; from their hands\n    The helm bursts; scarce a cable's strength commands\n    The stagg'ring fury of its starting bounds,\n    While to the forceful, beating surge resounds\n    The hollow crazing hulk: with kindling rage\n    The adverse winds the adverse winds engage,\n    As, from its base of rock their banded power\n    Strove in the dust to strew some lordly tower,\n    Whose dented battlements in middle sky\n    Frown on the tempest and its rage defy;\n    So, roar'd the winds: high o'er the rest upborne\n    On the wide mountain-wave's slant ridge forlorn,\n    At times discover'd by the lightnings blue,\n    Hangs GAMA'S lofty vessel, to the view\n    Small as her boat; o'er Paulus' shatter'd prore\n    Falls the tall mainmast, prone, with crashing roar;\n    Their hands, yet grasping their uprooted hair,\n    The sailors lift to heaven in wild despair,\n    The Saviour-God each yelling voice implores.\n    Nor less from brave Coello's war-ship pours\n    The shriek, shrill rolling on the tempest's wings:\n    Dire as the bird of death at midnight sings\n    His dreary howlings in the sick man's ear,\n    The answ'ring shriek from ship to ship they hear.\n\n      Now, on the mountain-billows upward driv'n,\n    The navy mingles with the clouds of heav'n;\n    Now, rushing downward with the sinking waves,\n    Bare they behold old Ocean's vaulty caves.\n    The eastern blast against the western pours,\n    Against the southern storm the northern roars:\n    From pole to pole the flashy lightnings glare,\n    One pale, blue, twinkling sheet enwraps the air;\n    In swift succession now the volleys fly,\n    Darted in pointed curvings o'er the sky;\n    And, through the horrors of the dreadful night,\n    O'er the torn waves they shed a ghastly light;\n    The breaking surges flame with burning red,\n    Wider, and louder still the thunders spread,\n    As if the solid heav'ns together crush'd,\n    Expiring worlds on worlds expiring rush'd,\n    And dim-brow'd Chaos struggled to regain\n    The wild confusion of his ancient reign.\n    Not such the volley when the arm of Jove\n    From heav'n's high gates the rebel Titans drove;\n    Not such fierce lightnings blaz'd athwart the flood,\n    When, sav'd by Heaven, Deucalion's vessel rode\n    High o'er the delug'd hills. Along the shore\n    The halcyons, mindful of their fate, deplore;[432]\n    As beating round, on trembling wings they fly,\n    Shrill through the storm their woful clamours die.\n    So, from the tomb, when midnight veils the plains,\n    With shrill, faint voice, th' untimely ghost complains.[433]\n    The am'rous dolphins to their deepest caves\n    In vain retreat, to fly the furious waves;\n    High o'er the mountain-capes the ocean flows,\n    And tears the aged forests from their brows:\n    The pine and oak's huge, sinewy roots uptorn,\n    And, from their beds the dusky sands upborne\n    On the rude whirlings of the billowy sweep,\n    Imbrown the surface of the boiling deep.\n    High to the poop the valiant GAMA springs,\n    And all the rage of grief his bosom wrings,\n    Grief to behold, the while fond hope enjoy'd\n    The meed of all his toils, that hope destroy'd.\n    In awful horror lost, the hero stands,\n    And rolls his eyes to heav'n, and spreads his hands,\n    While to the clouds his vessel rides the swell,\n    And now, her black keel strikes the gates of hell;\n    \"O Thou,\" he cries, \"whom trembling heav'n obeys,\n    Whose will the tempest's furious madness sways,\n    Who, through the wild waves, ledd'st Thy chosen race,\n    While the high billows stood like walls of brass:[434]\n    O Thou, while ocean bursting o'er the world\n    Roar'd o'er the hills, and from the sky down hurl'd\n    Rush'd other headlong oceans; oh, as then\n    The second father of the race of men[435]\n    Safe in Thy care the dreadful billows rode,\n    Oh! save us now, be now the Saviour-God!\n    Safe in Thy care, what dangers have we pass'd!\n    And shalt Thou leave us, leave us now at last\n    To perish here--our dangers and our toils\n    To spread Thy laws unworthy of Thy smiles;\n    Our vows unheard? Heavy with all thy weight,\n    Oh horror, come! and come, eternal night!\"\n\n      He paus'd;--then round his eyes and arms he threw\n    In gesture wild, and thus: \"Oh happy you!\n    You, who in Afric fought for holy faith,\n    And, pierc'd with Moorish spears, in glorious death\n    Beheld the smiling heav'ns your toils reward,\n    By your brave mates beheld the conquest shar'd;\n    Oh happy you, on every shore renown'd!\n    Your vows respected, and your wishes crown'd.\"\n\n      He spoke; redoubled rag'd the mingled blasts;\n    Through the torn cordage and the shatter'd masts\n    The winds loud whistled, fiercer lightnings blaz'd,\n    And louder roars the doubled thunders rais'd,\n    The sky and ocean blending, each on fire,\n    Seem'd as all Nature struggled to expire.\n    When now, the silver star of Love appear'd,[436]\n    Bright in the east her radiant front she rear'd;\n    Fair, through the horrid storm, the gentle ray\n    Announc'd the promise of the cheerful day;\n    From her bright throne Celestial Love beheld\n    The tempest burn, and blast on blast impell'd:\n    \"And must the furious demon still,\" she cries,\n    \"Still urge his rage, nor all the past suffice!\n    Yet, as the past, shall all his rage be vain----\"\n    She spoke, and darted to the roaring main;\n    Her lovely nymphs she calls, the nymphs obey,\n    Her nymphs the virtues who confess her sway;\n    Round ev'ry brow she bids the rose-buds twine,\n    And ev'ry flower adown the locks to shine,\n    The snow-white lily, and the laurel green,\n    And pink and yellow as at strife be seen.\n    Instant, amid their golden ringlets strove\n    Each flow'ret, planted by the hand of Love;\n    At strife, who first th' enamour'd powers to gain,\n    Who rule the tempests and the waves restrain:\n    Bright as a starry band the Nereids shone,\n    Instant old Eolus' sons their presence[437] own;\n    The winds die faintly, and, in softest sighs,\n    Each at his fair one's feet desponding lies:\n    The bright Orithia, threatening, sternly chides\n    The furious Boreas, and his faith derides;\n    The furious Boreas owns her powerful bands:\n    Fair Galatea, with a smile commands\n    The raging Notus, for his love, how true,\n    His fervent passion and his faith she knew.\n    Thus, every nymph her various lover chides;\n    The silent winds are fetter'd by their brides;\n    And, to the goddess of celestial loves,\n    Mild as her look, and gentle as her doves,\n    In flow'ry bands are brought. Their am'rous flame\n    The queen approves, and \"ever burn the same,\"\n    She cries, and joyful on the nymphs' fair hands,\n    Th' Eolian race receive the queen's commands,\n    And vow, that henceforth her Armada's sails\n    Should gently swell with fair propitious gales.[438]\n\n      Now, morn, serene, in dappled grey arose\n    O'er the fair lawns where murm'ring Ganges flows;\n    Pale shone the wave beneath the golden beam,\n    Blue, o'er the silver flood, Malabria's mountains gleam;\n    The sailors on the main-top's airy round,\n    \"Land, land!\" aloud with waving hands resound;\n    Aloud the pilot of Melinda cries,\n    \"Behold, O chief, the shores of India rise!\"\n    Elate, the joyful crew on tip-toe trod,\n    And every breast with swelling raptures glow'd;\n    GAMA's great soul confess'd the rushing swell,\n    Prone on his manly knees the hero fell;\n    \"O bounteous heav'n!\" he cries, and spreads his hands\n    To bounteous heav'n, while boundless joy commands\n    No further word to flow. In wonder lost,\n    As one in horrid dreams through whirlpools toss'd,\n    Now, snatch'd by demons, rides the flaming air,\n    And howls, and hears the howlings of despair;\n    Awak'd, amaz'd, confus'd with transport glows,\n    And, trembling still, with troubled joy o'erflows;\n    So, yet affected with the sickly weight\n    Left by the horrors of the dreadful night,\n    The hero wakes, in raptures to behold\n    The Indian shores before his prows unfold:\n    Bounding, he rises, and, with eyes on fire,\n    Surveys the limits of his proud desire.\n\n      O glorious chief, while storms and oceans rav'd,\n    What hopeless toils thy dauntless valour brav'd!\n    By toils like thine the brave ascend to heav'n,\n    By toils like thine immortal fame is giv'n.\n    Not he, who daily moves in ermine gown,\n    Who nightly slumbers on the couch of down;\n    Who proudly boasts through heroes old to trace\n    The lordly lineage of his titled race;\n    Proud of the smiles of every courtier lord,\n    A welcome guest at every courtier's board;\n    Not he, the feeble son of ease, may claim\n    Thy wreath, O GAMA, or may hope thy fame.\n    'Tis he, who nurtur'd on the tented field,\n    From whose brown cheek each tint of fear expell'd,\n    With manly face unmov'd, secure, serene,\n    Amidst the thunders of the deathful scene,\n    From horror's mouth dares snatch the warrior's crown,\n    His own his honours, all his fame his own:\n    Who, proudly just to honour's stern commands,\n    The dogstar's rage on Afric's burning sands,\n    Or the keen air of midnight polar skies,\n    Long watchful by the helm, alike defies:\n    Who, on his front, the trophies of the wars,\n    Bears his proud knighthood's badge, his honest scars;\n    Who, cloth'd in steel, by thirst, by famine worn,\n    Through raging seas by bold ambition borne,\n    Scornful of gold, by noblest ardour fir'd,\n    Each wish by mental dignity inspir'd,\n    Prepar'd each ill to suffer, or to dare,\n    To bless mankind, his great, his only care;\n    Him whom her son mature Experience owns,\n    Him, him alone Heroic Glory crowns.\n\nOnce more the translator is tempted to confess his opinion, that the\ncontrary practice of Homer and Virgil affords, in reality, no reasonable\nobjection against the exclamatory exuberances of Camo\u00ebns. Homer, though\nthe father of the epic poem, has his exuberances, which violently\ntrespass against the first rule of the epopea, the unity of the action.\nA rule which, strictly speaking, is not outraged by the digressive\nexclamations of Camo\u00ebns. The one now before us, as the severest critic\nmust allow, is happily adapted to the subject of the book. The great\ndangers which the hero had hitherto encountered are particularly\ndescribed. He is afterwards brought in safety to the Indian shore, the\nobject of his ambition, and of all his toils. The exclamation,\ntherefore, on the grand hinge of the poem has its propriety, and\ndiscovers the warmth of its author's genius. It must also please, as it\nis strongly characteristic of the temper of our military poet. The manly\ncontempt with which he speaks of the luxurious, inactive courtier, and\nthe delight and honour with which he talks of the toils of the soldier,\npresent his own active life to the reader of sensibility. His campaigns\nin Africa, where in a gallant attack he lost an eye, his dangerous life\nat sea, and the military fatigues, and the battles in which he bore an\nhonourable share in India, rise to our idea, and possess us with an\nesteem and admiration of our martial poet, who thus could look back with\na gallant enthusiasm (though his modesty does not mention himself) on\nall the hardships he had endured; who thus could bravely esteem the\ndangers to which he had been exposed, and by which he had severely\nsuffered, as the most desirable occurrences of his life, and the\nornament of his name.\n\n\nEND OF THE SIXTH BOOK.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK VII.\n\nTHE ARGUMENT.\n\nThe poet, having expatiated on the glorious achievements of the\nPortuguese, describes the Germans, English, French, and Italians,\nreproaching them for their profane wars and luxury, while they ought to\nhave been employed in opposing the enemies of the Christian faith. He\nthen describes the western peninsula of India--the shores of\nMalabar--and Calicut, the capital of the Zamorim, where Gama had landed.\nMonsaide, a Moor of Barbary, is met with, who addresses Gama in Spanish,\nand offers to serve him as interpreter, Monsaide gives him a particular\naccount of everything in India. The Zamorim invites Gama to an audience.\nThe catual, or prime minister, with his officers, visits the ships, and\nembraces the opportunity of asking Gama to relate to him the history of\nPortugal.\n\n\n    Hail glorious chief![439] where never chief before\n    Forc'd his bold way, all hail on India's shore!\n    And hail, Ye Lusian heroes, fair and wide\n    What groves of palm, to haughty Rome denied,\n    For you by Ganges' length'ning banks unfold!\n    What laurel-forests on the shores of gold\n    For you their honours ever verdant rear,\n    Proud, with their leaves, to twine the Lusian spear!\n\n      Ah Heav'n! what fury Europe's sons controls!\n    What self-consuming discord fires their souls!\n    'Gainst her own breast her sword Germania turns,\n    Through all her states fraternal rancour burns;[440]\n    Some, blindly wand'ring, holy faith disclaim,[441]\n    And, fierce through all, wild rages civil flame.\n    High sound the titles of the English crown,\n    \"King of Jerusalem,\"[442] his old renown!\n    Alas, delighted with an airy name,\n    The thin, dim shadow of departed fame,\n    England's stern monarch, sunk in soft repose,\n    Luxurious riots mid his northern snows:\n    Or, if the starting burst of rage succeed,\n    His brethren are his foes, and Christians bleed;\n    While Hagar's brutal race his titles stain,                 }\n    In weeping Salem unmolested reign,                          }\n    And with their rites impure her holy shrines profane.       }\n    And thou, O Gaul,[443] with gaudy trophies plum'd.\n    \"Most Christian\" nam'd; alas, in vain assum'd!\n    What impious lust of empire steels thy breast[444]\n    From their just lords the Christian lands to wrest!\n    While holy faith's hereditary foes[445]\n    Possess the treasures where Cynifio flows;[446]\n    And all secure, behold their harvests smile\n    In waving gold along the banks of Nile.\n    And thou, O lost to glory, lost to fame,\n    Thou dark oblivion of thy ancient name,\n    By every vicious luxury debas'd,\n    Each noble passion from thy breast eras'd,\n    Nerveless in sloth, enfeebling arts thy boast,\n    O Italy, how fall'n, how low, how lost![447]\n    In vain, to thee, the call of glory sounds,\n    Thy sword alone thy own soft bosom wounds.\n\n      Ah, Europe's sons, ye brother-powers, in you\n    The fables old of Cadmus[448] now are true;\n    Fierce rose the brothers from the dragon teeth,\n    And each fell, crimson'd with a brother's death.\n    So, fall the bravest of the Christian name,[449]\n    While dogs unclean[450] Messiah's lore blaspheme,\n    And howl their curses o'er the holy tomb,\n    While to the sword the Christian race they doom.\n    From age to age, from shore to distant shore,\n    By various princes led, their legions pour;\n    United all in one determin'd aim,\n    From ev'ry land to blot the Christian name.\n    Then wake, ye brother-powers, combin'd awake,\n    And, from the foe the great example take.\n    If empire tempt ye, lo, the East expands,\n    Fair and immense, her summer-garden lands:\n    There, boastful Wealth displays her radiant store;\n    Pactol and Hermus' streams, o'er golden ore,\n    Roll their long way; but, not for you they flow,\n    Their treasures blaze on the stern sultan's brow:\n    For him Assyria plies the loom of gold,\n    And Afric's sons their deepest mines unfold\n    To build his haughty throne. Ye western powers,\n    To throw the mimic bolt of Jove is yours,\n    Yours all the art to wield the arms of fire,\n    Then, bid the thunders of the dreadful tire\n    Against the walls of dread Byzantium[451] roar,\n    Till, headlong driven from Europe's ravish'd shore\n    To their cold Scythian wilds, and dreary dens,\n    By Caspian mountains, and uncultur'd fens,\n    (Their fathers' seats beyond the Wolgian Lake,[452])\n    The barb'rous race of Saracen betake.\n    And hark, to you the woful Greek exclaims;\n    The Georgian fathers and th' Armenian dames,\n    Their fairest offspring from their bosoms torn,\n    (A dreadful tribute!)[453] loud imploring mourn.\n    Alas, in vain! their offspring captive led,\n    In Hagar's[454] sons' unhallow'd temples bred,\n    To rapine train'd, arise a brutal host,\n    The Christian terror, and the Turkish boast.\n\n      Yet sleep, ye powers of Europe, careless sleep,\n    To you in vain your eastern brethren weep;\n    Yet, not in vain their woe-wrung tears shall sue,\n    Though small the Lusian realms, her legions few,\n    The guardian oft by Heav'n ordain'd before,\n    The Lusian race shall guard Messiah's lore.\n    When Heav'n decreed to crush the Moorish foe\n    Heav'n gave the Lusian spear to strike the blow.\n    When Heav'n's own laws o'er Afric's shores were heard,\n    The sacred shrines the Lusian heroes rear'd;[455]\n    Nor shall their zeal in Asia's bounds expire,\n    Asia, subdu'd, shall fume with hallow'd fire.\n    When the red sun the Lusian shore forsakes,\n    And on the lap of deepest west[456] awakes,\n    O'er the wild plains, beneath unincens'd skies\n    The sun shall view the Lusian altars rise.\n    And, could new worlds by human step be trod,\n    Those worlds should tremble at the Lusian nod.[457]\n\n      And now, their ensigns blazing o'er the tide,\n    On India's shore the Lusian heroes ride.\n    High to the fleecy clouds resplendent far\n    Appear the regal towers of Malabar,\n    Imperial Calicut,[458] the lordly seat\n    Of the first monarch of the Indian state.\n    Right to the port the valiant GAMA bonds,\n    With joyful shouts, a fleet of boats attends:\n    Joyful, their nets they leave and finny prey,\n    And, crowding round the Lusians, point the way.\n    A herald now, by VASCO'S high command\n    Sent to the monarch, treads the Indian strand;\n    The sacred staff he bears, in gold he shines,\n    And tells his office by majestic signs.\n    As, to and fro, recumbent to the gale,\n    The harvest waves along the yellow dale,\n    So, round the herald press the wond'ring throng,\n    Recumbent waving as they pour along,\n    And much his manly port and strange attire,\n    And much his fair and ruddy hue admire:\n    When, speeding through the crowd, with eager haste,\n    And honest smiles, a son of Afric press'd;\n    Enrapt with joy the wond'ring herald hears\n    Castilia's manly tongue salute his ears.[459]\n    \"What friendly angel from thy Tago's shore\n    Has led thee hither?\" cries the joyful Moor.\n    Then, hand in hand (the pledge of faith) conjoin'd--\n    \"Oh joy beyond the dream of hope to find,\n    To hear a kindred voice,\" the Lusian cried,\n    \"Beyond unmeasur'd gulfs and seas untried;\n    Untried, before our daring keels explor'd\n    Our fearless way! O Heav'n, what tempests roar'd,\n    While, round the vast of Afric's southmost land,\n    Our eastward bowsprits sought the Indian strand!\"\n    Amaz'd, o'erpower'd, the friendly stranger stood--\n    \"A path now open'd through the boundless flood!\n    The hope of ages, and the dread despair,\n    Accomplish'd now, and conquer'd!\"--Stiff his hair\n    Rose thrilling, while his lab'ring thoughts pursued\n    The dreadful course by GAMA'S fate subdued.\n    Homeward, with gen'rous warmth o'erflow'd, he leads\n    The Lusian guest, and swift the feast succeeds;\n    The purple grape, and golden fruitage smile;\n    And each choice viand of the Indian soil\n    Heap'd o'er the board, the master's zeal declare;\n    The social feast the guest and master share:\n    The sacred pledge of eastern faith[460] approv'd,\n    By wrath unalter'd, and by wrong unmov'd.\n    Now, to the fleet the joyful herald bends,\n    With earnest pace the Heav'n-sent friend attends:\n    Now, down the river's sweepy stream they glide,\n    And now, their pinnace cuts the briny tide:\n    The Moor, with transport sparkling in his eyes,\n    The well-known make of GAMA'S navy spies,\n    The bending bowsprit, and the mast so tall,\n    The sides black, frowning as a castle wall,\n    The high-tower'd stern, the lordly nodding prore,\n    And the broad standard slowly waving o'er\n    The anchor's moony[461] fangs. The skiff he leaves,\n    Brave GAMA'S deck his bounding step receives;\n    And, \"Hail!\" he cries: in transport GAMA sprung,\n    And round his neck with friendly welcome hung;\n    Enrapt, so distant o'er the dreadful main,\n    To hear the music of the tongue of Spain.\n    And now, beneath a painted shade of state,\n    Beside the admiral, the stranger sat.\n    Of India's clime, the natives, and the laws,\n    What monarch sways them, what religion awes?\n    Why from the tombs devoted to his sires\n    The son so far? the valiant chief inquires.\n    In act to speak the stranger waves his hand,\n    The joyful crew in silent wonder stand,\n    Each gently pressing on, with greedy ear,\n    As erst the bending forests stoop'd to hear\n    In Rhodope,[462] when Orpheus' heavenly strain,\n    Deplor'd his lost Eurydice in vain;\n    While, with a mien that gen'rous friendship won\n    From ev'ry heart, the stranger thus began:--\n\n      \"Your glorious deeds, ye Lusians, well I know,\n    To neighb'ring earth the vital air I owe;\n    Yet--though my faith the Koran's lore revere;\n    So taught my sires; my birth at proud Tangier,\n    A hostile clime to Lisbon's awful name--\n    I glow, enraptur'd, o'er the Lusian fame;\n    Proud though your nation's warlike glories shine,\n    These proudest honours yield, O chief, to thine;\n    Beneath thy dread achievements low they fall,\n    And India's shore, discover'd, crowns them all.\n    Won by your fame, by fond affection sway'd,\n    A friend I come, and offer friendship's aid.\n    As, on my lips Castilia's language glows,\n    So, from my tongue the speech of India flows:\n    Mozaide my name, in India's court belov'd,\n    For honest deeds (but time shall speak) approv'd.\n    When India's monarch greets his court again,\n    (For now the banquet on the tented plain:\n    And sylvan chase his careless hours employ),[463]\n    When India's mighty lord, with wond'ring joy,\n    Shall hail you welcome on his spacious shore\n    Through oceans never plough'd by keel before,\n    Myself shall glad interpreter attend,\n    Mine ev'ry office of the faithful friend.\n    Ah! but a stream, the labour of the oar,\n    Divides my birthplace from your native shore;\n    On shores unknown, in distant worlds, how sweet\n    The kindred tongue, the kindred face, to greet!\n    Such now my joy; and such, O Heav'n, be yours!\n    Yes, bounteous Heav'n your glad success secures.\n    Till now impervious, Heav'n alone subdued\n    The various horrors of the trackless flood:\n    Heav'n sent you here for some great work divine,\n    And Heav'n inspires my breast your sacred toils to join.\n\n      \"Vast are the shores of India's wealthful soil;\n    Southward sea-girt she forms a demi-isle:\n    His cavern'd cliffs with dark-brow'd forests crown'd,\n    Hemodian Taurus[464] frowns her northern bound:\n    From Caspia's lake th' enormous mountain[464] spreads,\n    And, bending eastward, rears a thousand heads:\n    Far to extremest sea the ridges thrown,\n    By various names, through various tribes are known:\n    Here down the waste of Taurus' rocky side\n    Two infant rivers pour the crystal tide,\n    Indus the one, and one the Ganges nam'd,\n    Darkly of old through distant nations fam'd:\n    One eastward curving holds his crooked way,\n    One to the west gives his swoll'n tide to stray:\n    Declining southward many a land they lave,\n    And, widely swelling, roll the sea-like wave,\n    Till the twin offspring of the mountain sire\n    Both in the Indian deep engulf'd expire:\n    Between these streams, fair smiling to the day,\n    The Indian lands their wide domains display,\n    And many a league, far to the south they bend,\n    From the broad region where the rivers end,\n    Till, where the shores to Ceylon's isle oppose,\n    In conic form the Indian regions close.\n    To various laws the various tribes incline,\n    And various are the rites esteem'd divine:\n    Some, as from Heav'n, receive the Koran's lore,\n    Some the dread monsters of the wild adore;\n    Some bend to wood and stone the prostrate head,\n    And rear unhallow'd altars to the dead.\n    By Ganges' banks, as wild traditions tell,[465]\n    Of old the tribes liv'd healthful by the smell;\n    No food they knew, such fragrant vapours rose\n    Rich from the flow'ry lawns where Ganges flows:\n    Here now the Delhian, and the fierce Path\u00e0n,\n    Feed their fair flocks; and here, a heathen clan,\n    Stern Dekhan's sons the fertile valleys till,\n    A clan, whose hope to shun eternal ill,\n    Whose trust from ev'ry stain of guilt to save,\n    Is fondly plac'd in Ganges' holy wave;[466]\n    If to the stream the breathless corpse be giv'n\n    They deem the spirit wings her way to heav'n.\n    Here by the mouths, where hallow'd Ganges ends,\n    Bengala's beauteous Eden wide extends,\n    Unrivall'd smile her fair luxurious vales:\n    And here Cambaya[467] spreads her palmy dales;\n    A warlike realm, where still the martial race\n    From Porus,[468] fam'd of yore, their lineage trace.\n    Narsinga[469] here displays her spacious line,\n    In native gold her sons and ruby shine:\n    Alas, how vain! these gaudy sons of fear,\n    Trembling, bow down before each hostile spear.\n    And now, behold!\"--and while he spoke he rose,\n    Now, with extended arm, the prospect shows,--\n    \"Behold these mountain tops of various size\n    Blend their dim ridges with the fleecy skies:\n    Nature's rude wall, against the fierce Canar[470]\n    They guard the fertile lawns of Malabar.\n    Here, from the mountain to the surgy main,\n    Fair as a garden, spreads the smiling plain:\n    And lo, the empress of the Indian powers,\n    Their lofty Calicut, resplendent towers;\n    Hers ev'ry fragrance of the spicy shore,\n    Hers ev'ry gem of India's countless store:\n    Great Samoreem, her lord's imperial style,\n    The mighty lord of India's utmost soil:\n    To him the kings their duteous tribute pay,\n    And, at his feet, confess their borrow'd sway.\n    Yet higher tower'd the monarchs ancients boast,\n    Of old one sov'reign rul'd the spacious coast.\n    A votive train, who brought the Koran's lore,\n    (What time great Perimal the sceptre bore),\n    From blest Arabia's groves to India came;\n    Life were their words, their eloquence a flame\n    Of holy zeal: fir'd by the powerful strain,\n    The lofty monarch joins the faithful train,\n    And vows, at fair Medina's[471] shrine, to close\n    His life's mild eve in prayer, and sweet repose.\n    Gifts he prepares to deck the prophet's tomb,\n    The glowing labours of the Indian loom,\n    Orissa's spices, and Golconda's gems;\n    Yet, e'er the fleet th' Arabian ocean stems,\n    His final care his potent regions claim,\n    Nor his the transport of a father's name:\n    His servants, now, the regal purple wear,\n    And, high enthron'd, the golden sceptres bear.\n    Proud Cochim one, and one fair Chal\u00e9 sways,\n    The spicy isle another lord obeys;\n    Coulam and Cananoor's luxurious fields,\n    And Cranganore to various lords he yields.\n    While these, and others thus the monarch grac'd,\n    A noble youth his care unmindful pass'd:\n    Save Calicut, a city poor and small,\n    Though lordly now, no more remain'd to fall:\n    Griev'd to behold such merit thus repaid,\n    The sapient youth the 'king of kings' he made,\n    And, honour'd with the name, great Zamoreem,\n    The lordly, titled boast of power supreme.\n    And now, great Perimal[472] resigns his reign,\n    The blissful bowers of Paradise to gain:\n    Before the gale his gaudy navy flies,\n    And India sinks for ever from his eyes.\n    And soon to Calicut's commodious port\n    The fleets, deep-edging with the wave, resort:\n    Wide o'er the shore extend the warlike piles,\n    And all the landscape round luxurious smiles.\n    And now, her flag to ev'ry gale unfurl'd,\n    She towers, the empress of the eastern world:\n    Such are the blessings sapient kings bestow,\n    And from thy stream such gifts, O Commerce, flow.\n\n      \"From that sage youth, who first reign'd 'king of kings,'\n    He now who sways the tribes of India springs.\n    Various the tribes, all led by fables vain,\n    Their rites the dotage of the dreamful brain.\n    All, save where Nature whispers modest care,\n    Naked, they blacken in the sultry air.\n    The haughty nobles and the vulgar race\n    Never must join the conjugal embrace;\n    Nor may the stripling, nor the blooming maid,\n    (Oh, lost to joy, by cruel rites betray'd!)\n    To spouse of other than their father's art,\n    At Love's connubial shrine unite the heart:\n    Nor may their sons (the genius and the view\n    Confin'd and fetter'd) other art pursue.\n    Vile were the stain, and deep the foul disgrace,\n    Should other tribe touch one of noble race;\n    A thousand rites, and washings o'er and o'er,\n    Can scarce his tainted purity restore.\n    Poleas[473] the lab'ring lower clans are nam'd:\n    By the proud Nayres the noble rank is claim'd;\n    The toils of culture, and of art they scorn,\n    The warrior's plumes their haughty brows adorn;\n    The shining falchion brandish'd in the right,\n    Their left arm wields the target in the fight;\n    Of danger scornful, ever arm'd they stand\n    Around the king, a stern barbarian band.\n    Whate'er in India holds the sacred name\n    Of piety or lore, the Brahmins claim:\n    In wildest rituals, vain and painful, lost,\n    Brahma,[474] their founder, as a god they boast.[475]\n    To crown their meal no meanest life expires,\n    Pulse, fruit, and herbs alone their board requires:\n    Alone, in lewdness riotous and free,\n    No spousal ties withhold, and no degree:\n    Lost to the heart-ties, to his neighbour's arms,\n    The willing husband yields his spouse's charms:\n    In unendear'd embraces free they blend;\n    Yet, but the husband's kindred may ascend\n    The nuptial couch: alas, too blest, they know             }\n    Nor jealousy's suspense, nor burning woe;                 }\n    The bitter drops which oft from dear affection flow.      }\n    But, should my lips each wond'rous scene unfold,\n    Which your glad eyes will soon amaz'd behold,\n    Oh, long before the various tale could run,\n    Deep in the west would sink yon eastern sun.\n    In few, all wealth from China to the Nile,\n    All balsams, fruit, and gold on India's bosom smile.\"\n\n      While thus, the Moor his faithful tale reveal'd,\n    Wide o'er the coast the voice of Rumour swell'd;\n    As, first some upland vapour seems to float\n    Small as the smoke of lonely shepherd cote,\n    Soon o'er the dales the rolling darkness spreads,\n    And wraps in hazy clouds the mountain heads,\n    The leafless forest and the utmost lea;\n    And wide its black wings hover o'er the sea:\n    The tear-dropp'd bough hangs weeping in the vale,\n    And distant navies rear the mist-wet sail.\n    So, Fame increasing, loud and louder grew,\n    And to the sylvan camp resounding flew:\n    \"A lordly band,\" she cries, \"of warlike mien,\n    Of face and garb in India never seen,\n    Of tongue unknown, through gulfs undar'd before,\n    Unknown their aim, have reach'd the Indian shore.\"\n    To hail their chief the Indian lord prepares,\n    And to the fleet he sends his banner'd Nayres:\n    As to the bay the nobles press along,\n    The wond'ring city pours th' unnumber'd throng.\n    And now brave GAMA, and his splendid train,\n    Himself adorn'd in all the pride of Spain,\n    In gilded barges slowly bend to shore,\n    While to the lute the gently falling oar\n    Now, breaks the surges of the briny tide,\n    And now, the strokes the cold fresh stream divide.\n    Pleas'd with the splendour of the Lusian band,\n    On every bank the crowded thousands stand.\n    Begirt with, high-plum'd nobles, by the flood\n    The first great minister of India stood,\n    The Catual[476] his name in India's tongue:\n    To GAMA swift the lordly regent sprung;\n    His open arms the valiant chief enfold,\n    And now he lands him on the shore of gold:\n    With pomp unwonted India's nobles greet\n    The fearless heroes of the warlike fleet.\n    A couch on shoulders borne, in India's mode,\n    (With gold the canopy and purple glow'd),\n    Receives the Lusian captain; equal rides\n    The lordly catual, and onward guides,\n    While GAMA'S train, and thousands of the throng\n    Of India's sons, encircling, pour along.\n    To hold discourse in various tongues they try;\n    In vain; the accents unremember'd die,\n    Instant as utter'd. Thus, on Babel's plain\n    Each builder heard his mate, and heard in vain.\n    GAMA the while, and India's second lord,\n    Hold glad responses, as the various word\n    The faithful Moor unfolds. The city gate\n    They pass'd, and onward, tower'd in sumptuous state,\n    Before them now the sacred temple rose;\n    The portals wide the sculptur'd shrines disclose.\n    The chiefs advance, and, enter'd now, behold\n    The gods of wood, cold stone, and shining gold;\n    Various of figure, and of various face,\n    As the foul demon will'd the likeness base.\n    Taught to behold the rays of godhead shine\n    Fair imag'd in the human face divine,\n    With sacred horror thrill'd, the Lusians view'd\n    The monster forms, Chimera-like, and rude.[477]\n    Here, spreading horns a human visage bore,\n    So, frown'd stern Jove in Lybia's fane of yore.\n    One body here two various faces rear'd;\n    So, ancient Janus o'er his shrine appear'd.\n    A hundred arms another brandish'd wide;\n    So, Titan's son[478] the race of heaven defied.\n    And here, a dog his snarling tusks display'd;\n    Anubis, thus in Memphis' hallow'd shade\n    Grinn'd horrible. With vile prostrations low\n    Before these shrines the blinded Indians bow.[479]\n    And now, again the splendid pomp proceeds;\n    To India's lord the haughty regent leads.\n    To view the glorious leader of the fleet\n    Increasing thousands swell o'er every street;\n    High o'er the roofs the struggling youths ascend,\n    The hoary fathers o'er the portals bend,\n    The windows sparkle with the glowing blaze\n    Of female eyes, and mingling diamond's rays.\n    And now, the train with solemn state and slow,\n    Approach the royal gate, through many a row\n    Of fragrant wood-walks, and of balmy bowers,\n    Radiant with fruitage, ever gay with flowers.\n    Spacious the dome its pillar'd grandeur spread,\n    Nor to the burning day high tower'd the head;\n    The citron groves around the windows glow'd,\n    And branching palms their grateful shade bestow'd;\n    The mellow light a pleasing radiance cast;\n    The marble walls D\u00e6dalian sculpture grac'd\n    Here India's fate,[480] from darkest times of old,\n    The wondrous artist on the stone enroll'd;\n    Here, o'er the meadows, by Hydaspes' stream,\n    In fair array the marshall'd legions seem:\n    A youth of gleeful eye the squadrons led,\n    Smooth was his cheek, and glow'd with purest red:\n    Around his spear the curling vine-leaves wav'd;\n    And, by a streamlet of the river lav'd,\n    Behind her founder, Nysa's walls were rear'd;[481]\n    So breathing life the ruddy god appear'd,\n    Had Semele beheld the smiling boy,[482]\n    The mother's heart had proudly heav'd with joy.\n    Unnumber'd here, were seen th' Assyrian throng,\n    That drank whole rivers as they march'd along:\n    Each eye seem'd earnest on their warrior queen,[483]\n    High was her port, and furious was her mien;\n    Her valour only equall'd by her lust;\n    Fast by her side her courser paw'd the dust,\n    Her son's vile rival; reeking to the plain\n    Fell the hot sweat-drops as he champ'd the rein.\n    And here display'd, most glorious to behold,\n    The Grecian banners, op'ning many a fold,\n    Seem'd trembling on the gale; at distance far\n    The Ganges lav'd the wide-extended war.\n    Here, the blue marble gives the helmets' gleam;\n    Here, from the cuirass shoots the golden beam.\n    A proud-eyed youth, with palms unnumber'd gay,\n    Of the bold veterans led the brown array;\n    Scornful of mortal birth enshrin'd he rode,\n    Call'd Jove his father,[484] and assum'd the god.\n\n      While dauntless GAMA and his train survey'd\n    The sculptur'd walls, the lofty regent said:\n    \"For nobler wars than these you wond'ring see\n    That ample space th' eternal fates decree:\n    Sacred to these th' unpictur'd wall remains,\n    Unconscious yet of vanquish'd India's chains.\n    Assur'd we know the awful day shall come,\n    Big with tremendous fate, and India's doom.\n    The sons of Brahma, by the god their sire\n    Taught to illume the dread divining fire,\n    From the drear mansions of the dark abodes\n    Awake the dead, or call th' infernal gods;\n    Then, round the flame, while glimm'ring ghastly blue,\n    Behold the future scene arise to view.\n    The sons of Brahma, in the magic hour,\n    Beheld the foreign foe tremendous lower;\n    Unknown their tongue, their face, and strange attire,\n    And their bold eye-balls burn'd with warlike ire:\n    They saw the chief o'er prostrate India rear\n    The glitt'ring terrors of his awful spear.\n    But, swift behind these wint'ry days of woe\n    A spring of joy arose in liveliest glow,\n    Such gentle manners, leagued with wisdom, reign'd\n    In the dread victors, and their rage restrain'd.\n    Beneath their sway majestic, wise, and mild,\n    Proud of her victors' laws, thrice happier India smil'd.\n    So, to the prophets of the Brahmin train\n    The visions rose, that never rose in vain.\"\n\n      The regent ceas'd; and now, with solemn pace,\n    The chiefs approach the regal hall of grace.\n    The tap'stried walls with gold were pictur'd o'er,\n    And flow'ry velvet spread the marble floor.[485]\n    In all the grandeur of the Indian state,\n    High on a blazing couch, the monarch sat,\n    With starry gems the purple curtains shin'd,\n    And ruby flowers and golden foliage twin'd\n    Around the silver pillars: high o'er head\n    The golden canopy its radiance shed:\n    Of cloth of gold the sov'reign's mantle shone,\n    And, his high turban flam'd with precious stone\n    Sublime and awful was his sapient mien,\n    Lordly his posture, and his brow serene.\n    A hoary sire, submiss on bended knee,\n    (Low bow'd his head), in India's luxury,\n    A leaf,[486] all fragrance to the glowing taste,\n    Before the king each little while replac'd.\n    The patriarch Brahmin (soft and slow he rose),\n    Advancing now, to lordly GAMA bows,\n    And leads him to the throne; in silent state\n    The monarch's nod assigns the captain's seat;\n    The Lusian train in humbler distance stand:\n    Silent, the monarch eyes the foreign band\n    With awful mien; when valiant GAMA broke\n    The solemn pause, and thus majestic spoke:--\n\n      \"From where the crimson sun of ev'ning laves\n    His blazing chariot in the western waves,\n    I come, the herald of a mighty king,\n    And, holy vows of lasting friendship bring\n    To thee, O monarch, for resounding Fame\n    Far to the west has borne thy princely name;\n    All India's sov'reign thou! Nor deem I sue,\n    Great as thou art, the humble suppliant's due.\n    Whate'er from western Tagus to the Nile,\n    Inspires the monarch's wish, the merchant's toil,\n    From where the north-star gleams o'er seas of frost,\n    To Ethiopia's utmost burning coast,\n    Whate'er the sea, whate'er the land bestows,\n    In my great monarch's realm unbounded flows.\n    Pleas'd thy high grandeur and renown to hear,\n    My sov'reign offers friendship's bands sincere:\n    Mutual he asks them, naked of disguise,\n    Then, every bounty of the smiling skies\n    Shower'd on his shore and thine, in mutual flow,\n    Shall joyful Commerce on each shore bestow.\n    Our might in war, what vanquish'd nations fell\n    Beneath our spear, let trembling Afric tell;\n    Survey my floating towers, and let thine ear,\n    Dread as it roars, our battle-thunder hear.\n    If friendship then thy honest wish explore,\n    That dreadful thunder on thy foes shall roar.\n    Our banners o'er the crimson field shall sweep,\n    And our tall navies ride the foamy deep,\n    Till not a foe against thy land shall rear\n    Th' invading bowsprit, or the hostile spear:\n    My king, thy brother, thus thy wars shall join,\n    The glory his, the gainful harvest thine.\"\n\n      Brave GAMA spake; the pagan king replies,\n    \"From lands which now behold the morning rise,\n    While eve's dim clouds the Indian sky enfold,\n    Glorious to us an offer'd league we hold.\n    Yet shall our will in silence rest unknown,\n    Till what your land, and who the king you own,\n    Our council deeply weigh. Let joy the while,\n    And the glad feast, the fleeting hours beguile.\n    Ah! to the wearied mariner, long toss'd\n    O'er briny waves, how sweet the long-sought coast!\n    The night now darkens; on the friendly shore\n    Let soft repose your wearied strength restore,\n    Assur'd an answer from our lips to bear,\n    Which, not displeas'd, your sov'reign lord shall hear.\n    More now we add not.\"[487] From the hall of state\n    Withdrawn, they now approach the regent's gate;\n    The sumptuous banquet glows; all India's pride\n    Heap'd on the board the royal feast supplied.\n    Now, o'er the dew-drops of the eastern lawn\n    Gleam'd the pale radiance of the star of dawn,\n    The valiant GAMA on his couch repos'd,\n    And balmy rest each Lusian eye-lid clos'd:\n    When the high catual, watchful to fulfil\n    The cautious mandates of his sov'reign's will,\n    In secret converse with the Moor retires;\n    And, earnest, much of Lusus' sons inquires;\n    What laws, what holy rites, what monarch sway'd\n    The warlike race? When thus the just Mozaide:--\n\n      \"The land from whence these warriors well I know,\n    (To neighb'ring earth my hapless birth I owe)\n    Illustrious Spain, along whose western shores\n    Grey-dappled eve the dying twilight pours.--\n    A wondrous prophet gave their holy lore,\n    The godlike seer a virgin mother bore,\n    Th' Eternal Spirit on the human race\n    (So be they taught) bestow'd such awful grace.\n    In war unmatch'd, they rear the trophied crest:\n    What terrors oft have thrill'd my infant breast[488]\n    When their brave deeds my wond'ring fathers told;\n    How from the lawns, where, crystalline and cold,\n    The Guadiana rolls his murm'ring tide,\n    And those where, purple by the Tago's side,\n    The length'ning vineyards glisten o'er the field,\n    Their warlike sires my routed sires expell'd:\n    Nor paus'd their rage; the furious seas they brav'd,\n    Nor loftiest walls, nor castled mountains saved;\n    Round Afric's thousand bays their navies rode,\n    And their proud armies o'er our armies trod.\n    Nor less, let Spain through all her kingdoms own,\n    O'er other foes their dauntless valour shone:\n    Let Gaul confess, her mountain-ramparts wild,\n    Nature in vain the hoar Pyrenians pil'd.\n    No foreign lance could e'er their rage restrain,\n    Unconquer'd still the warrior race remain.\n    More would you hear, secure your care may trust\n    The answer of their lips, so nobly just,\n    Conscious of inward worth, of manners plain,\n    Their manly souls the gilded lie disdain.\n    Then, let thine eyes their lordly might admire,\n    And mark the thunder of their arms of fire:\n    The shore, with trembling, hears the dreadful sound,\n    And rampir'd walls lie smoking on the ground.\n    Speed to the fleet; their arts, their prudence weigh,\n    How wise in peace, in war how dread, survey.\"\n\n      With keen desire the craftful pagan burn'd\n    Soon as the morn in orient blaze return'd,\n    To view the fleet his splendid train prepares;\n    And now, attended by the lordly Nayres,\n    The shore they cover, now the oarsmen sweep\n    The foamy surface of the azure deep:\n    And now, brave Paulus gives the friendly hand,\n    And high on GAMA'S lofty deck they stand.\n    Bright to the day the purple sail-cloths glow,\n    Wide to the gale the silken ensigns flow;\n    The pictur'd flags display the warlike strife;\n    Bold seem the heroes, as inspir'd by life.\n    Here, arm to arm, the single combat strains,\n    Here, burns the combat on the tented plains\n    General and fierce; the meeting lances thrust,\n    And the black blood seems smoking on the dust.\n    With earnest eyes the wond'ring regent views\n    The pictur'd warriors, and their history sues.\n    But now the ruddy juice, by Noah found,[489]\n    In foaming goblets circled swiftly round,\n    And o'er the deck swift rose the festive board;\n    Yet, smiling oft, refrains the Indian lord:\n    His faith forbade with other tribe to join\n    The sacred meal, esteem'd a rite divine.[490]\n    In bold vibrations, thrilling on the ear,\n    The battle sounds the Lusian trumpets rear;\n    Loud burst the thunders of the arms of fire,\n    Slow round the sails the clouds of smoke aspire,\n    And rolling their dark volumes o'er the day\n    The Lusian war, in dreadful pomp, display.\n    In deepest thought the careful regent weigh'd\n    The pomp and power at GAMA'S nod bewray'd;\n    Yet, seem'd alone in wonder to behold\n    The glorious heroes, and the wars half told\n    In silent poesy.--Swift from the board\n    High crown'd with wine, uprose the Indian lord;\n    Both the bold GAMAS, and their gen'rous peer,\n    The brave Coello, rose, prepar'd to hear\n    Or, ever courteous, give the meet reply:\n    Fix'd and inquiring was the regent's eye:\n    The warlike image of a hoary sire,\n    Whose name shall live till earth and time expire,\n    His wonder fix'd, and more than human glow'd\n    The hero's look; his robes of Grecian mode;\n    A bough, his ensign, in his right he wav'd,\n    A leafy bough.--But I, fond man depraved!\n    Where would I speed, as madd'ning in a dream,\n    Without your aid, ye Nymphs of Tago's stream!\n    Or yours, ye Dryads of Mondego's bowers!\n    Without your aid how vain my wearied powers!\n    Long yet, and various lies my arduous way\n    Through low'ring tempests and a boundless sea.\n    Oh then, propitious hear your son implore,\n    And guide my vessel to the happy shore.\n    Ah! see how long what perilous days, what woes\n    On many a foreign coast around me rose,\n    As, dragg'd by Fortune's chariot-wheels along,\n    I sooth'd my sorrows with the warlike song:[491]\n    Wide ocean's horrors length'ning now around,\n    And, now my footsteps trod the hostile ground;\n    Yet, mid each danger of tumultuous war\n    Your Lusian heroes ever claim'd my care:\n    As Canace[492] of old, ere self-destroy'd,\n    One hand the pen, and one the sword employ'd,\n    Degraded now, by poverty abhorr'd,\n    The guest dependent at the lordling's board:\n    Now blest with all the wealth fond hope could crave,\n    Soon I beheld that wealth beneath the wave\n    For ever lost;[493] myself escap'd alone,\n    On the wild shore all friendless, hopeless, thrown;\n    My life, like Judah's heaven-doom'd king of yore,[494]\n    By miracle prolong'd; yet not the more\n    To end my sorrows: woes succeeding woes\n    Belied my earnest hopes of sweet repose:\n    In place of bays around my brows to shed\n    Their sacred honours, o'er my destin'd head\n    Foul Calumny proclaim'd the fraudful tale,\n    And left me mourning in a dreary jail.[495]\n    Such was the meed, alas! on me bestow'd,                 }\n    Bestow'd by those for whom my numbers glow'd,            }\n    By those who to my toils their laurel honours ow'd.      }\n\n      Ye gentle nymphs of Tago's rosy bowers,\n    Ah, see what letter'd patron-lords are yours!\n    Dull as the herds that graze their flow'ry dales,\n    To them in vain the injur'd muse bewails:\n    No fost'ring care their barb'rous hands bestow,\n    Though to the muse their fairest fame they owe.\n    Ah, cold may prove the future priest of fame\n    Taught by my fate: yet, will I not disclaim\n    Your smiles, ye muses of Mondego's shade;\n    Be still my dearest joy your happy aid!\n    And hear my vow: Nor king, nor loftiest peer\n    Shall e'er from me the song of flatt'ry hear;\n    Nor crafty tyrant, who in office reigns,\n    Smiles on his king, and binds the land in chains;\n    His king's worst foe: nor he whose raging ire,\n    And raging wants, to shape his course, conspire;\n    True to the clamours of the blinded crowd,\n    Their changeful Proteus, insolent and loud:\n    Nor he whose honest mien secures applause,\n    Grave though he seem, and father of the laws,\n    Who, but half-patriot, niggardly denies\n    Each other's merit, and withholds the prize:\n    Who spurns the muse,[496] nor feels the raptur'd strain,\n    Useless by him esteem'd, and idly vain:\n    For him, for these, no wreath my hand shall twine;\n    On other brows th' immortal rays shall shine:\n    He who the path of honour ever trod,\n    True to his king, his country, and his God,\n    On his blest head my hands shall fix the crown\n    Wove of the deathless laurels of renown.\n\n\n\n\nEND OF THE SEVENTH BOOK.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK VIII.\n\nTHE ARGUMENT.\n\nDescription of the pictures, given by Paulus. The heroes of Portugal,\nfrom Lusus, one of the companions of Bacchus (who gave his name to\nPortugal), and Ulysses, the founder of Lisbon, down to Don Pedro and Don\nHenrique (Henry), the conquerors of Ceuta, are all represented in the\nportraits of Gama, and are characterized by appropriate verses.\nMeanwhile the zamorim has recourse to the oracles of his false gods, who\nmake him acquainted with the future dominion of the Portuguese over\nIndia, and the consequent ruin of his empire. The Mohammedan Arabs\nconspire against the Portuguese. The zamorim questions the truth of\nGama's statement, and charges him with being captain of a band of\npirates. Gama is obliged to give up to the Indians the whole of his\nmerchandise as ransom, when he obtains permission to re-embark. He\nseizes several merchants of Calicut, whom he detains on board his ship\nas hostages for his two factors, who were on land to sell his\nmerchandise. He afterwards liberates the natives, whom he exchanges for\nhis two companions. In Mickle's translation this portion of the original\nis omitted, and the factors are released in consequence of a victory\ngained by Gama.\n\n\n    With eye unmov'd the silent CATUAL[497] view'd\n    The pictur'd sire[498] with seeming life endu'd;\n    A verdant vine-bough waving in his right,\n    Smooth flow'd his sweepy beard of glossy white,\n    When thus, as swift the Moor unfolds the word,\n    The valiant Paulus to the Indian lord:--\n\n      \"Bold though these figures frown, yet bolder far\n    These godlike heroes shin'd in ancient war.\n    In that hoar sire, of mien serene, august,\n    Lusus behold, no robber-chief unjust;\n    His cluster'd bough--the same which Bacchus bore[499]--\n    He waves, the emblem of his care of yore;\n    The friend of savage man, to Bacchus dear,\n    The son of Bacchus, or the bold compeer,\n    What time his yellow locks with vine-leaves curl'd,\n    The youthful god subdued the savage world,\n    Bade vineyards glisten o'er the dreary waste,\n    And humaniz'd the nations as he pass'd.\n    Lusus, the lov'd companion of the god,\n    In Spain's fair bosom fix'd his last abode,\n    Our kingdom founded, and illustrious reign'd\n    In those fair lawns, the bless'd Elysium feign'd,[500]\n    Where, winding oft, the Guadiana roves,\n    And Douro murmurs through, the flow'ry groves.\n    Here, with his bones, he left his deathless fame,\n    And Lusitania's clime shall ever bear his name.\n    That other chief th' embroider'd silk displays,\n    Toss'd o'er the deep whole years of weary days,\n    On Tago's banks, at last, his vows he paid:\n    To wisdom's godlike power, the Jove-born maid,[501]\n    Who fir'd his lips with eloquence divine,\n    On Tago's banks he rear'd the hallow'd shrine.\n    Ulysses he, though fated to destroy,\n    On Asian ground, the heav'n-built towers of Troy,[502]\n    On Europe's strand, more grateful to the skies,\n    He bade th' eternal walls of Lisbon rise.\"[503]\n\n      \"But who that godlike terror of the plain,\n    Who strews the smoking field with heaps of slain?\n    What num'rous legions fly in dire dismay,\n    Whose standards wide the eagle's wings display?\"\n    The pagan asks: the brother chief[504] replies:--\n    \"Unconquer'd deem'd, proud Rome's dread standard flies,\n    His crook thrown by, fir'd by his nation's woes,\n    The hero-shepherd Viriatus rose;\n    His country sav'd proclaim'd his warlike fame,\n    And Rome's wide empire trembled at his name.\n    That gen'rous pride which Rome to Pyrrhus bore,[505]\n    To him they show'd not; for they fear'd him more.\n    Not on the field o'ercome by manly force,\n    Peaceful he slept; and now, a murder'd corse,\n    By treason slain, he lay. How stern, behold,\n    That other hero, firm, erect, and bold:\n    The power by which he boasted he divin'd,\n    Beside him pictur'd stands, the milk-white hind:\n    Injur'd by Rome, the stern Sertorius fled\n    To Tago's shore, and Lusus' offspring led;\n    Their worth he knew; in scatter'd flight he drove\n    The standards painted with the birds of Jove.\n    And lo, the flag whose shining colours own\n    The glorious founder of the Lusian throne!\n    Some deem the warrior of Hungarian race,[506]\n    Some from Lorraine the godlike hero trace.\n    From Tagus' banks the haughty Moor expell'd,\n    Galicia's sons, and and Leon's warriors quell'd,\n    To weeping Salem's[507] ever-hallow'd meads,\n    His warlike bands the holy Henry leads;\n    By holy war to sanctify his crown,\n    And, to his latest race, auspicious waft it down.\"\n\n      \"And who this awful chief?\" aloud exclaims\n    The wond'ring regent. \"O'er the field he flames\n    In dazzling steel; where'er he bends his course\n    The battle sinks beneath his headlong force:\n    Against his troops, though few, the num'rous foes\n    In vain their spears and tow'ry walls oppose.\n    With smoking blood his armour sprinkled o'er,\n    High to the knees his courser paws in gore:\n    O'er crowns and blood-stain'd ensigns scatter'd round\n    He rides; his courser's brazen hoofs resound.\"\n    \"In that great chief,\" the second GAMA cries,\n    \"The first Alonzo[508] strikes thy wond'ring eyes.\n    From Lusus' realm the pagan Moors he drove;\n    Heav'n, whom he lov'd, bestow'd on him such love,\n    Beneath him, bleeding of its mortal wound,\n    The Moorish strength lay prostrate on the ground.\n    Nor Ammon's son, nor greater Julius dar'd\n    With troops so few, with hosts so num'rous warr'd:\n    Nor less shall Fame the subject heroes own:\n    Behold that hoary warrior's rageful frown!\n    On his young pupil's flight[509] his burning eyes\n    He darts, and, 'Turn thy flying host,' he cries,\n    'Back to the field!' The vet'ran and the boy\n    Back to the field exult with furious joy:\n    Their ranks mow'd down, the boastful foe recedes,\n    The vanquish'd triumph, and the victor bleeds.\n    Again, that mirror of unshaken faith,\n    Egaz behold, a chief self-doom'd to death.[510]\n    Beneath Castilia's sword his monarch lay;\n    Homage he vow'd his helpless king should pay;\n    His haughty king reliev'd, the treaty spurns,\n    With conscious pride the noble Egaz burns;\n    His comely spouse and infant race he leads,\n    Himself the same, in sentenced felons' weeds,\n    Around their necks the knotted halters bound,\n    With naked feet they tread the flinty ground;\n    And, prostrate now before Castilia's throne,\n    Their offer'd lives their monarch's pride atone.\n    Ah Rome! no more thy gen'rous consul boast.[511]\n    Whose 'lorn submission sav'd his ruin'd host:\n    No father's woes assail'd his stedfast mind;\n    The dearest ties the Lusian chief resign'd.\n\n      \"There, by the stream, a town besieged behold,\n    The Moorish tents the shatter'd walls enfold.\n    Fierce as the lion from the covert springs,\n    When hunger gives his rage the whirlwind's wings;\n    From ambush, lo, the valiant Fuaz pours,\n    And whelms in sudden rout th'astonish'd Moors.\n    The Moorish king[512] in captive chains he sends;\n    And, low at Lisbon's throne, the royal captive bends.\n    Fuaz again the artist's skill displays;\n    Far o'er the ocean shine his ensign's rays:\n    In crackling flames the Moorish galleys fly,\n    And the red blaze ascends the blushing sky:\n    O'er Avila's high steep the flames aspire,\n    And wrap the forests in a sheet of fire:\n    There seem the waves beneath the prows to boil;\n    And distant, far around for many a mile,\n    The glassy deep reflects the ruddy blaze;\n    Far on the edge the yellow light decays,\n    And blends with hov'ring blackness. Great and dread\n    Thus shone the day when first the combat bled,\n    The first our heroes battled on the main,\n    The glorious prelude of our naval reign,\n    Which, now the waves beyond the burning zone,\n    And northern Greenland's frost-bound billows own.\n    Again behold brave Fuaz dares the fight!\n    O'erpower'd he sinks beneath the Moorish might;\n    Smiling in death the martyr-hero lies,\n    And lo, his soul triumphant mounts the skies.\n    Here now, behold, in warlike pomp portray'd,\n    A foreign navy brings the pious aid.[513]\n    Lo, marching from the decks the squadrons spread,\n    Strange their attire, their aspect firm and dread.\n    The holy cross their ensigns bold display,\n    To Salem's aid they plough'd the wat'ry way:\n    Yet first, the cause the same, on Tago's shore\n    They dye their maiden swords in pagan gore.\n    Proud stood the Moor on Lisbon's warlike towers,\n    From Lisbon's walls they drive the Moorish powers:\n    Amid the thickest of the glorious fight,\n    Lo, Henry falls, a gallant German knight,\n    A martyr falls: that holy tomb behold,\n    There waves the blossom'd palm, the boughs of gold:\n    O'er Henry's grave the sacred plant arose,\n    And from the leaves,[514] Heav'n's gift, gay health redundant flows.\n\n      \"Aloft, unfurl!\" the valiant Paulus cries.\n    Instant, new wars on new-spread ensigns rise\n    \"In robes of white behold a priest advance![515]\n    His sword in splinters smites the Moorish lance:\n    Arronchez won revenges Lira's fall:\n    And lo, on fair Savilia's batter'd wall,\n    How boldly calm, amid the crashing spears,\n    That hero-form the Lusian standard rears.\n    There bleeds the war on fair Vandalia's plain:\n    Lo, rushing through the Moors, o'er hills of slain\n    The hero rides, and proves by genuine claim\n    The son of Egas,[516] and his worth the same.\n    Pierc'd by his dart the standard-bearer dies;\n    Beneath his feet the Moorish standard lies:\n    High o'er the field, behold the glorious blaze!\n    The victor-youth the Lusian flag displays.\n    Lo, while the moon through midnight azure rides,\n    From the high wall adown his spear-staff glides\n    The dauntless Gerald:[517] in his left he bears\n    Two watchmen's heads, his right the falchion rears:\n    The gate he opens, swift from ambush rise\n    His ready bands, the city falls his prize:\n    Evora still the grateful honour pays,\n    Her banner'd flag the mighty deed displays:\n    There frowns the hero; in his left he bears\n    The two cold heads, his right the falchion rears.\n    Wrong'd by his king,[518] and burning for revenge,\n    Behold his arms that proud Castilian change;\n    The Moorish buckler on his breast he bears,\n    And leads the fiercest of the pagan spears.\n    Abrantes falls beneath his raging force,\n    And now to Tagus bends his furious course.\n    Another fate he met on Tagus' shore,\n    Brave Lopez from his brows the laurels tore;\n    His bleeding army strew'd the thirsty ground,\n    And captive chains the rageful leader bound.\n    Resplendent far that holy chief behold!\n    Aside he throws the sacred staff of gold,\n    And wields the spear of steel. How bold advance\n    The num'rous Moors, and with the rested lance\n    Hem round the trembling Lusians. Calm and bold\n    Still towers the priest, and lo, the skies unfold:[519]\n    Cheer'd by the vision, brighter than the day,\n    The Lusians trample down the dread array\n    Of Hagar's legions: on the reeking plain\n    Low, with their slaves, four haughty kings lie slain.\n    In vain Alcazar rears her brazen walls,\n    Before his rushing host Alcazar falls.\n    There, by his altar, now the hero shines,\n    And, with the warrior's palm, his mitre twines.\n    That chief behold: though proud Castilia's host\n    He leads, his birth shall Tagus ever boast.\n    As a pent flood bursts headlong o'er the strand\n    So pours his fury o'er Algarbia's land:\n    Nor rampir'd town, nor castled rock afford\n    The refuge of defence from Payo's sword.\n    By night-veil'd art proud Sylves falls his prey,\n    And Tavila's high, walls, at middle day,\n    Fearless he scales: her streets in blood deplore\n    The seven brave hunters murder'd by the Moor.[520]\n    These three bold knights how dread![521] Thro' Spain and France\n    At joust and tourney with the tilted lance\n    Victors they rode: Castilia's court beheld\n    Her peers o'erthrown; the peers with rancour swell'd:\n    The bravest of the three their swords surround;\n    Brave Ribeir strews them vanquish'd o'er the ground.\n    Now let thy thoughts, all wonder and on fire,\n    That darling son of warlike Fame admire.\n    Prostrate at proud Castilia's monarch's feet\n    His land lies trembling: lo, the nobles meet:\n    Softly they seem to breathe, and forward bend\n    The servile neck; each eye distrusts his friend;\n    Fearful each tongue to speak; each bosom cold:\n    When, colour'd with stern rage, erect and bold,\n    The hero rises: 'Here no foreign throne\n    Shall fix its base; my native king alone\n    Shall reign.' Then, rushing to the fight, he leads;\n    Low, vanquish'd in the dust, Castilia bleeds.\n    Where proudest hope might deem it vain to dare,\n    God led him on, and crown'd the glorious war.\n    Though fierce, as num'rous, are the hosts that dwell\n    By Betis' stream, these hosts before him fell.\n    The fight behold: while absent from his bands,\n    Press'd on the step of flight his army stands,\n    To call the chief a herald speeds away:\n    Low, on his knees, the gallant chief survey!\n    He pours his soul, with lifted hands implores,\n    And Heav'n's assisting arm, inspir'd, adores.\n    Panting, and pale, the herald urges speed:\n    With holy trust of victory decreed,\n    Careless he answers, 'Nothing urgent calls:'\n    And soon the bleeding foe before him falls.\n    To Numa, thus, the pale patricians fled--\n    'The hostile squadrons o'er the kingdom spread!'\n    They cry; unmov'd, the holy king replies--\n    'And I, behold, am off'ring sacrifice!'[522]\n    Earnest, I see thy wond'ring eyes inquire\n    Who this illustrious chief, his country's sire?\n    The Lusian Scipio well might speak his fame,\n    But nobler Nunio shines a greater name:[523]\n    On earth's green bosom, or on ocean grey,\n    A greater never shall the sun survey.\n\n      \"Known by the silver cross, and sable shield,\n    Two Knights of Malta[524] there command the field;\n    From Tago's banks they drive the fleecy prey,\n    And the tir'd ox lows on his weary way:\n    When, as the falcon through the forest glade\n    Darts on the lev'ret, from the brown-wood shade\n    Darts Roderic on their rear; in scatter'd flight\n    They leave the goodly herds the victor's right.\n    Again, behold, in gore he bathes his sword;\n    His captive friend,[525] to liberty restor'd,\n    Glows to review the cause that wrought his woe,\n    The cause, his loyalty, as taintless snow.\n    Here treason's well-earn'd meed allures thine eyes,[526]\n    Low, grovelling in the dust, the traitor dies;\n    Great Elvas gave the blow. Again, behold,\n    Chariot and steed in purple slaughter roll'd:\n    Great Elvas triumphs; wide o'er Xeres' plain\n    Around him reeks the noblest blood of Spain.\n\n      \"Here Lisbon's spacious harbour meets the view:\n    How vast the foe's, the Lusian fleet how few!\n    Castile's proud war-ships, circling round, enclose\n    The Lusian galleys; through their thund'ring rows,\n    Fierce pressing on, Pereira fearless rides,\n    His hook'd irons grasp the adm'ral's sides:\n    Confusion maddens: on the dreadless knight\n    Castilia's navy pours its gather'd might:\n    Pereira dies, their self-devoted prey,\n    And safe the Lusian galleys speed away.[527]\n\n      \"Lo, where the lemon-trees from yon green hill\n    Throw their cool shadows o'er the crystal rill;\n    There twice two hundred fierce Castilian foes\n    Twice eight, forlorn, of Lusian race enclose;\n    Forlorn they seem; but taintless flow'd their blood\n    From those three hundred who of old withstood;\n    Withstood, and from a thousand Romans tore\n    The victor-wreath, what time the shepherd[528] bore\n    The leader's staff of Lusus: equal flame\n    Inspir'd these few,[529] their victory the same.\n    Though twenty lances brave each single spear,\n    Never the foes superior might to fear\n    Is our inheritance, our native right,\n    Well tried, well prov'd in many a dreadful fight.\n\n      \"That dauntless earl behold; on Libya's coast,\n    Far from the succour of the Lusian host,[530]\n    Twice hard besieg'd, he holds the Ceutan towers\n    Against the banded might of Afric's powers.\n    That other earl;[531]--behold the port he bore,\n    So, trod stern Mars on Thracia's hills of yore.\n    What groves of spears Alcazar's gates surround!\n    There Afric's nations blacken o'er the ground.\n    A thousand ensigns, glitt'ring to the day,\n    The waning moon's slant silver horns display.\n    In vain their rage; no gate, no turret falls,\n    The brave De Vian guards Alcazar's walls.\n    In hopeless conflict lost his king appears;\n    Amid the thickest of the Moorish spears\n    Plunges bold Vian: in the glorious strife\n    He dies, and dying saves his sov'reign's life.\n\n      \"Illustrious, lo, two brother-heroes shine,[532]\n    Their birth, their deeds, adorn the royal line;\n    To ev'ry king of princely Europe known,\n    In ev'ry court the gallant Pedro shone.\n    The glorious Henry[533]--kindling at his name\n    Behold my sailors' eyes all sparkle flame!\n    Henry the chief, who first, by Heav'n inspir'd,\n    To deeds unknown before, the sailor fir'd,\n    The conscious sailor left the sight of shore,\n    And dar'd new oceans, never plough'd before.\n    The various wealth of ev'ry distant land\n    He bade his fleets explore, his fleets command.\n    The ocean's great discoverer he shines;\n    Nor less his honours in the martial lines:\n    The painted flag the cloud-wrapt siege displays,\n    There Ceuta's rocking wall its trust betrays.\n    Black yawns the breach; the point of many a spear\n    Gleams through the smoke; loud shouts astound the ear.\n    Whose step first trod the dreadful pass? Whose sword\n    Hew'd its dark way, first with the foe begor'd?\n    'Twas thine, O glorious Henry, first to dare\n    The dreadful pass, and thine to close the war.\n    Taught by his might, and humbled in her gore,\n    The boastful pride of Afric tower'd no more.\n\n      \"Num'rous though these, more num'rous warriors shine\n    Th' illustrious glory of the Lusian line.\n    But ah, forlorn, what shame to barb'rous pride![534]\n    Friendless the master of the pencil died;\n    Immortal fame his deathless labours gave;\n    Poor man, he sunk neglected to the grave!\"\n\n      The gallant Paulus faithful thus explain'd\n    The various deeds the pictur'd flags contain'd.\n    Still o'er and o'er, and still again untir'd,\n    The wond'ring regent of the wars inquir'd:\n    Still wond'ring, heard the various pleasing tale,\n    Till o'er the decks cold sigh'd the ev'ning gale:\n    The falling darkness dimm'd the eastern shore,\n    And twilight hover'd o'er the billows hoar\n    Far to the west, when, with his noble band,\n    The thoughtful regent sought his native strand.\n\n      O'er the tall mountain-forest's waving boughs\n    Aslant, the new moon's slender horns arose;\n    Near her pale chariot shone a twinkling star,\n    And, save the murm'ring of the wave afar,\n    Deep-brooding silence reign'd; each labour clos'd,\n    In sleep's soft arms the sons of toil repos'd.\n    And now, no more the moon her glimpses shed,\n    A sudden, black-wing'd cloud the sky o'erspread,\n    A sullen murmur through the woodland groan'd,\n    In woe-swoll'n sighs the hollow winds bemoan'd:\n    Borne on the plaintive gale, a patt'ring shower\n    Increas'd the horrors of the evil hour.\n    Thus, when the God of earthquakes rocks the ground,\n    He gives the prelude in a dreary sound;\n    O'er nature's face a horrid gloom he throws,\n    With dismal note the cock unusual crows,\n    A shrill-voic'd howling trembles thro' the air,\n    As passing ghosts were weeping in despair;\n    In dismal yells the dogs confess their fear,\n    And shiv'ring, own some dreadful presence near.\n    So, lower'd the night, the sullen howl the same,\n    And, 'mid the black-wing'd gloom, stern Bacchus came;\n    The form, and garb of Hagar's son he took,\n    The ghost-like aspect, and the threat'ning look.[535]\n    Then, o'er the pillow of a furious priest,\n    Whose burning zeal the Koran's lore profess'd,\n    Reveal'd he stood, conspicuous in a dream,\n    His semblance shining, as the moon's pale gleam:\n    \"And guard,\" he cries, \"my son, O timely guard,\n    Timely defeat the dreadful snare prepar'd:\n    And canst thou, careless, unaffected, sleep,\n    While these stern, lawless rovers of the deep\n    Fix on thy native shore a foreign throne,\n    Before whose steps thy latest race shall groan!\"\n    He spoke; cold horror shook the Moorish priest;\n    He wakes, but soon reclines in wonted rest:\n    An airy phantom of the slumb'ring brain\n    He deem'd the vision; when the fiend again,\n    With sterner mien, and fiercer accent spoke:\n    \"Oh faithless! worthy of the foreign yoke!\n    And know'st thou not thy prophet sent by Heav'n,\n    By whom the Koran's sacred lore was giv'n,\n    God's chiefest gift to men: and must I leave\n    The bowers of Paradise, for you to grieve,\n    For you to watch, while, thoughtless of your woe,\n    Ye sleep, the careless victims of the foe;\n    The foe, whose rage will soon with cruel joy,\n    If unoppos'd, my sacred shrines destroy?\n    Then, while kind Heav'n th'auspicious hour bestows,\n    Let ev'ry nerve their infant strength oppose.\n    When, softly usher'd by the milky dawn,\n    The sun first rises[536] o'er the daisied lawn,\n    His silver lustre, as the shining dew\n    Of radiance mild, unhurt the eye may view:\n    But, when on high the noon-tide flaming rays\n    Give all the force of living fire to blaze,\n    A giddy darkness strikes the conquer'd sight,\n    That dares, in all his glow, the lord of light.\n    Such, if on India's soil the tender shoot\n    Of these proud cedars fix the stubborn root,\n    Such, shall your power before them sink decay'd.\n    And India's strength shall wither in their shade.\"\n\n      He spoke; and, instant from his vot'ry's bed\n    Together with repose, the demon fled;\n    Again cold horror shook the zealot's frame,\n    And all his hatred of Messiah's name\n    Burn'd in his venom'd heart, while, veil'd in night,\n    Right to the palace sped the demon's flight.\n    Sleepless the king he found, in dubious thought;\n    His conscious fraud a thousand terrors brought:\n    All gloomy as the hour, around him stand,\n    With haggard looks, the hoary Magi band:[537]\n    To trace what fates on India's wide domain\n    Attend the rovers from unheard-of Spain,\n    Prepar'd, in dark futurity, to prove\n    The hell-taught rituals of infernal Jove:\n    Mutt'ring their charms, and spells of dreary sound,\n    With naked feet they beat the hollow ground;\n    Blue gleams the altar's flame along the walls,\n    With dismal, hollow groans the victim falls;\n    With earnest eyes the priestly band explore\n    The entrails, throbbing in the living gore.\n    And lo, permitted by the power divine,\n    The hov'ring demon gives the dreadful sign.[538]\n    Here furious War her gleamy falchion draws,\n    Here lean-ribb'd Famine writhes her falling jaws;\n    Dire as the fiery pestilential star\n    Darting his eyes, high on his trophied car,\n    Stern Tyranny sweeps wide o'er India's ground;\n    On vulture-wings fierce Rapine hovers round;\n    Ills after ills, and India's fetter'd might,\n    Th'eternal yoke.[539] Loud shrieking at the sight,\n    The starting wizards from the altar fly,\n    And silent horror glares in ev'ry eye:\n    Pale stands the monarch, lost in cold dismay,\n    And, now impatient, waits the ling'ring day.\n\n      With gloomy aspect rose the ling'ring dawn,\n    And dropping tears flow'd slowly o'er the lawn;\n    The Moorish priest, with fear and vengeance fraught,\n    Soon as the light appear'd his kindred sought;\n    Appall'd, and trembling with ungen'rous fear,\n    In secret council met, his tale they hear;\n    As, check'd by terror or impell'd by hate,\n    Of various means they ponder and debate,\n    Against the Lusian train what arts employ,\n    By force to slaughter, or by fraud destroy;\n    Now black, now pale, their bearded cheeks appear,\n    As boiling rage prevails, or boding fear;\n    Beneath their shady brows, their eye-balls roll,\n    Nor one soft gleam bespeaks the gen'rous soul;\n    Through quiv'ring lips they draw their panting breath.\n    While their dark fraud decrees the works of death;\n    Nor unresolv'd the power of gold to try\n    Swift to the lordly catual's gate they hie.--\n    Ah, what the wisdom, what the sleepless care\n    Efficient to avoid the traitor's snare;\n    What human power can give a king to know\n    The smiling aspect of the lurking foe!\n    So let the tyrant plead.[540]--The patriot king\n    Knows men, knows whence the patriot virtues spring;\n    From inward worth, from conscience firm and bold,\n    (Not from the man whose honest name is sold),\n    He hopes that virtue, whose unalter'd weight\n    Stands fix'd, unveering with the storms of state.\n\n      Lur'd was the regent with the Moorish gold,\n    And now agreed their fraudful course to hold,\n    Swift to the king the regent's steps they tread;\n    The king they found o'erwhelm'd in sacred dread.\n    The word they take, their ancient deeds relate,\n    Their ever faithful service of the state;[541]\n    \"For ages long, from shore to distant shore\n    For thee our ready keels the traffic bore:\n    For thee we dar'd each horror of the wave;\n    Whate'er thy treasures boast our labours gave.\n    And wilt thou now confer our long-earn'd due,\n    Confer thy favour on a lawless crew?\n    The race they boast, as tigers of the wold\n    Bear that proud sway, by justice uncontroll'd.\n    Yet, for their crimes, expell'd that bloody home,\n    These, o'er the deep, rapacious plund'rers roam.\n    Their deeds we know; round Afric's shores they came,\n    And spread, where'er they pass'd, devouring flame;\n    Mozambique's towers, enroll'd in sheets of fire,\n    Blaz'd to the sky, her own funereal pyre.\n    Imperial Calicut shall feel the same,\n    And these proud state-rooms feed the funeral flame;\n    While many a league far round, their joyful eyes\n    Shall mark old ocean reddening to the skies.\n    Such dreadful fates, o'er thee, O king, depend,\n    Yet, with thy fall our fate shall never blend:\n    Ere o'er the east arise the second dawn\n    Our fleets, our nation from thy land withdrawn,\n    In other climes, beneath a kinder reign\n    Shall fix their port: yet may the threat be vain!\n    If wiser thou with us thy powers employ,\n    Soon shall our powers the robber-crew destroy.\n    By their own arts and secret deeds o'ercome,\n    Here shall they meet the fate escaped at home.\"\n\n      While thus the priest detain'd the monarch's ear,\n    His cheeks confess'd the quiv'ring pulse of fear.\n    Unconscious of the worth that fires the brave,\n    In state a monarch, but in heart a slave,\n    He view'd brave VASCO, and his gen'rous train,\n    As his own passions stamp'd the conscious stain:\n    Nor less his rage the fraudful regent fir'd;\n    And valiant GAMA'S fate was now conspir'd.\n\n      Ambassadors from India GAMA sought,\n    And oaths of peace, for oaths of friendship brought;\n    The glorious tale, 'twas all he wish'd, to tell;\n    So Ilion's[542] fate was seal'd when Hector fell.\n\n      Again convok'd before the Indian throne,\n    The monarch meets him with a rageful frown;\n    \"And own,\" he cries, \"the naked truth reveal,\n    Then shall my bounteous grace thy pardon seal.\n    Feign'd is the treaty thou pretend'st to bring:\n    No country owns thee, and thou own'st no king.\n    Thy life, long roving o'er the deep, I know--\n    A lawless robber, every man thy foe.\n    And think'st thou credit to thy tale to gain?\n    Mad were the sov'reign, and the hope were vain,\n    Through ways unknown, from utmost western shore,\n    To bid his fleets the utmost east explore.\n    Great is thy monarch, so thy words declare;\n    But sumptuous gifts the proof of greatness bear:\n    Kings thus to kings their empire's grandeur show;\n    Thus prove thy truth, thus we thy truth allow.\n    If not, what credence will the wise afford?\n    What monarch trust the wand'ring seaman's word?\n    No sumptuous gift thou bring'st.[543]--Yet, though some crime\n    Has thrown thee, banish'd from thy native clime,\n    (Such oft of old the hero's fate has been),\n    Here end thy toils, nor tempt new fates unseen:\n    Each land the brave man nobly calls his home:\n    Or if, bold pirates, o'er the deep you roam,\n    Skill'd the dread storm to brave, O welcome here!\n    Fearless of death, or shame, confess sincere:\n    My name shall then thy dread protection be,\n    My captain thou, unrivall'd on the sea.\"\n\n      Oh now, ye Muses, sing what goddess fir'd\n    GAMA'S proud bosom, and his lips inspir'd.\n    Fair Acidalia, love's celestial queen,[544]\n    The graceful goddess of the fearless mien,\n    Her graceful freedom on his look bestow'd,\n    And all collected in his bosom glow'd.\n    \"Sov'reign,\" he cries, \"oft witness'd, well I know\n    The rageful falsehood of the Moorish foe:\n    Their fraudful tales, from hatred bred, believ'd,\n    Thine ear is poison'd, and thine eye deceiv'd.\n    What light, what shade the courtier's mirror gives,\n    That light, that shade the guarded king receives.\n    Me hast thou view'd in colours not mine own,\n    Yet, bold I promise shall my truth be known.\n    If o'er the seas a lawless pest I roam,\n    A blood-stain'd exile from my native home,\n    How many a fertile shore and beauteous isle,\n    Where Nature's gifts, unclaim'd, unbounded, smile,\n    Mad have I left, to dare the burning zone,\n    And all the horrors of the gulfs unknown\n    That roar beneath the axle of the world.\n    Where ne'er before was daring sail unfurl'd!\n    And have I left these beauteous shores behind,\n    And have I dar'd the rage of ev'ry wind,\n    That now breath'd fire, and now came wing'd with frost,\n    Lur'd by the plunder of an unknown coast?\n    Not thus the robber leaves his certain prey\n    For the gay promise of a nameless day.\n    Dread and stupendous, more than death-doom'd man\n    Might hope to compass, more than wisdom plan,\n    To thee my toils, to thee my dangers rise:\n    Ah! Lisbon's kings behold with other eyes.\n    Where virtue calls, where glory leads the way,\n    No dangers move them, and no toils dismay.\n    Long have the kings of Lusus' daring race\n    Resolv'd the limits of the deep to trace,\n    Beneath the morn to ride the furthest waves,\n    And pierce the farthest shore old Ocean laves.\n    Sprung from the prince,[545] before whose matchless power\n    The strength of Afric wither'd as a flower\n    Never to bloom again, great Henry shone,\n    Each gift of nature and of art his own;\n    Bold as his sire, by toils on toils untir'd,\n    To find the Indian shore his pride aspir'd.\n    Beneath the stars that round the Hydra shine,\n    And where fam'd Argo hangs the heav'nly sign,\n    Where thirst and fever burn on ev'ry gale\n    The dauntless Henry rear'd the Lusian sail.\n    Embolden'd by the meed that crown'd his toils,\n    Beyond the wide-spread shores and num'rous isles,\n    Where both the tropics pour the burning day,\n    Succeeding heroes forc'd th' exploring way;\n    That race which never view'd the Pleiad's car,\n    That barb'rous race beneath the southern star,\n    Their eyes beheld.--Dread roar'd the blast--the wave\n    Boils to the sky, the meeting whirlwinds rave\n    O'er the torn heav'ns; loud on their awe-struck ear\n    Great Nature seem'd to call, 'Approach not here!'\n    At Lisbon's court they told their dread escape,\n    And from her raging tempests, nam'd the Cape.[546]\n    'Thou southmost point,' the joyful king exclaim'd,\n    'Cape of Good Hope, be thou for ever nam'd!\n    Onward my fleets shall dare the dreadful way,\n    And find the regions of the infant day.'\n    In vain the dark and ever-howling blast\n    Proclaim'd, 'This ocean never shall be past;'\n    Through that dread ocean, and the tempests' roar,\n    My king commanded, and my course I bore.\n    The pillar thus of deathless fame, begun\n    By other chiefs,[547] beneath the rising sun\n    In thy great realm, now to the skies I raise,\n    The deathless pillar of my nation's praise.\n    Through these wild seas no costly gift I brought;\n    Thy shore alone and friendly peace I sought.\n    And yet to thee the noblest gift I bring\n    The world can boast--the friendship of my king.\n    And mark the word, his greatness shall appear\n    When next my course to India's strand I steer,\n    Such proofs I'll bring as never man before\n    In deeds of strife, or peaceful friendship bore.\n    Weigh now my words, my truth demands the light,\n    For truth shall ever boast, at last, resistless might.\"\n\n      Boldly the hero spake with brow severe,\n    Of fraud alike unconscious, as of fear:\n    His noble confidence with truth impressed\n    Sunk deep, unwelcome, in the monarch's breast,\n    Nor wanting charms his avarice to gain\n    Appear'd the commerce of illustrious Spain.\n    Yet, as the sick man loathes the bitter draught,\n    Though rich with health he knows the cup comes fraught;\n    His health without it, self-deceiv'd, he weighs,\n    Now hastes to quaff the drug, and now delays;\n    Reluctant thus, as wav'ring passion veer'd,\n    The Indian lord the dauntless GAMA heard:\n    The Moorish threats yet sounding in his ear,\n    He acts with caution, and is led by fear.\n    With solemn pomp he bids his lords prepare\n    The friendly banquet; to the regent's care\n    Commends brave GAMA, and with pomp retires:\n    The regent's hearths awake the social fires;\n    Wide o'er the board the royal feast is spread,\n    And, fair embroidered, shines DE GAMA'S bed.\n    The regent's palace high o'erlook'd the bay\n    Where GAMA'S black-ribb'd fleet at anchor lay.[548]\n\n      Ah, why the voice of ire and bitter woe\n    O'er Tago's banks, ye nymphs of Tagus, show?\n    The flow'ry garlands from your ringlets torn,\n    Why wand'ring wild with trembling steps forlorn?\n    The demon's rage you saw, and mark'd his flight\n    To the dark mansions of eternal night:\n    You saw how, howling through the shades beneath,\n    He wak'd new horrors in the realms of death.\n    What trembling tempests shook the thrones of hell,\n    And groan'd along her caves, ye muses, tell.\n    The rage of baffled fraud, and all the fire\n    Of powerless hate, with tenfold flames conspire;\n    From ev'ry eye the tawny lightnings glare,\n    And hell, illumin'd by the ghastly flare,\n    (A drear blue gleam), in tenfold horror shows\n    Her darkling caverns; from his dungeon rose\n    Hagar's stern son: pale was his earthy hue,\n    And from his eye-balls flash'd the lightnings blue;\n    Convuls'd with rage the dreadful shade demands\n    The last assistance of th' infernal bands.\n    As when the whirlwinds, sudden bursting, bear\n    Th' autumnal leaves high floating through the air;\n    So, rose the legions of th' infernal state,\n    Dark Fraud, base Art, fierce Rage, and burning Hate:\n    Wing'd by the Furies to the Indian strand\n    They bend; the demon leads the dreadful band,\n    And, in the bosoms of the raging Moors\n    All their collected, living strength he pours.\n    One breast alone against his rage was steel'd,\n    Secure in spotless Truth's celestial shield.\n\n      One evening past, another evening clos'd,\n    The regent still brave GAMA'S suit oppos'd;\n    The Lusian chief his guarded guest detain'd,\n    With arts on arts, and vows of friendship feign'd.\n    His fraudful art, though veil'd in deep disguise,\n    Shone bright to GAMA'S manner-piercing eyes.\n    As in the sun's bright[549] beam the gamesome boy\n    Plays with the shining steel or crystal toy,\n    Swift and irregular, by sudden starts,\n    The living ray with viewless motion darts,\n    Swift o'er the wall, the floor, the roof, by turns\n    The sun-beam dances, and the radiance burns:\n    In quick succession, thus, a thousand views\n    The sapient Lusian's lively thought pursues;\n    Quick as the lightning ev'ry view revolves,\n    And, weighing all, fix'd are his dread resolves.\n    O'er India's shore the sable night descends,\n    And GAMA, now, secluded from his friends,\n    Detain'd a captive in the room of state,\n    Anticipates in thought to-morrow's fate;\n    For just Mozaide no gen'rous care delays,\n    And VASCO'S trust with friendly toils repays.\n\n\nEND OF THE EIGHTH BOOK.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK IX.\n\nTHE ARGUMENT.\n\nThe liberation of Gama's factors is effected by a great victory over the\nMoorish fleet, and by the bombardment of Calicut. Gama returns in\nconsequence to his ships, and weighs anchor to return to Europe with the\nnews of his great discoveries. Camo\u00ebns then introduces a very singular,\nbut agreeable episode, recounting the love adventures of his heroes in\none of the islands of the ocean. Venus, in search of her son, journeys\nthrough all his realms to implore his aid, and at length arrives at the\nspot where Love's artillery and arms are forged. Venus intercedes with\nher son in favour of the Portuguese. The island of Love, like that of\nDelos, floats on the ocean. It is then explained by the poet that these\nseeming realities are only allegorical.\n\n\n    Red[550] rose the dawn; roll'd o'er the low'ring sky,\n    The scattering clouds of tawny purple fly.\n    While yet the day-spring struggled with the gloom,\n    The Indian monarch sought the regent's dome.\n    In all the luxury of Asian state,\n    High on a star-gemm'd couch the monarch sat:\n    Then on th' illustrious captive, bending down\n    His eyes, stern darken'd with a threat'ning frown,\n    \"Thy truthless tale,\" he cries, \"thy art appears,\n    Confess'd inglorious by thy cautious fears.\n    Yet, still if friendship, honest, thou implore,\n    Yet now command thy vessels to the shore:\n    Gen'rous, as to thy friends, thy sails resign,\n    My will commands it, and the power is mine:\n    In vain thy art, in vain thy might withstands,\n    Thy sails, and rudders too, my will demands:[551]\n    Such be the test, thy boasted truth to try,\n    Each other test despis'd, I fix'd deny.\n    And has my regent sued two days in vain!\n    In vain my mandate, and the captive chain!\n    Yet not in vain, proud chief, ourself shall sue\n    From thee the honour to my friendship due:\n    Ere force compel thee, let the grace be thine,\n    Our grace permits it, freely to resign,\n    Freely to trust our friendship, ere too late\n    Our injur'd honour fix thy dreadful fate.\"\n\n      While thus he spake, his changeful look declar'd\n    In his proud breast what starting passions warr'd.\n    No feature mov'd on GAMA'S face was seen;\n    Stern he replies, with bold yet anxious mien,\n    \"In me my sov'reign represented see,\n    His state is wounded, and he speaks in me;\n    Unaw'd by threats, by dangers uncontroll'd,\n    The laws of nations bid my tongue be bold.\n    No more thy justice holds the righteous scale,\n    The arts of falsehood and the Moors prevail;\n    I see the doom my favour'd foes decree,\n    Yet, though in chains I stand, my fleet is free.\n    The bitter taunts of scorn the brave disdain;\n    Few be my words, your arts, your threats are vain.\n    My sov'reign's fleet I yield not to your sway;[552]\n    Safe shall my fleet to Lisboa's strand convey\n    The glorious tale of all the toils I bore,\n    Afric surrounded, and the Indian shore\n    Discover'd. These I pledg'd my life to gain,\n    These to my country shall my life maintain.\n    One wish alone my earnest heart desires,\n    The sole impassion'd hope my breast respires;\n    My finish'd labours may my sov'reign hear!\n    Besides that wish, nor hope I know, nor fear.\n    And lo, the victim of your rage I stand,\n    And bare my bosom to the murd'rer's hand.\"\n\n      With lofty mien he spake. In stern disdain,\n    \"My threats,\" the monarch cries, \"were never vain:\n    Swift give the sign.\"--Swift as he spake, appear'd\n    The dancing streamer o'er the palace rear'd;\n    Instant another ensign distant rose,\n    Where, jutting through the flood, the mountain throws\n    A ridge enormous, and on either side\n    Defends the harbours from the furious tide.\n    Proud on his couch th' indignant monarch sat,\n    And awful silence fill'd the room of state.\n    With secret joy the Moors, exulting, glow'd,\n    And bent their eyes where GAMA'S navy rode,\n    Then, proudly heav'd with panting hope, explore\n    The wood-crown'd upland of the bending shore.\n    Soon o'er the palms a mast's tall pendant flows,\n    Bright to the sun the purple radiance glows;\n    In martial pomp, far streaming to the skies,\n    Vanes after vanes in swift succession rise,\n    And, through the opening forest-boughs of green,\n    The sails' white lustre moving on is seen;\n    When sudden, rushing by the point of land\n    The bowsprits nod, and wide the sails expand;\n    Full pouring on the sight, in warlike pride,\n    Extending still the rising squadrons ride:\n    O'er every deck, beneath the morning rays,\n    Like melted gold, the brazen spear-points blaze;\n    Each prore surrounded with a hundred oars,\n    Old Ocean boils around the crowded prores:\n    And, five times now in number GAMA'S might,\n    Proudly their boastful shouts provoke the fight;\n    Far round the shore the echoing peal rebounds,\n    Behind the hill an answ'ring shout resounds:\n    Still by the point new-spreading sails appear,\n    Till seven times GAMA'S fleet concludes the rear.\n    Again the shout triumphant shakes the bay;\n    Form'd as a crescent, wedg'd in firm array,\n    Their fleet's wide horns the Lusian ships enclasp,\n    Prepar'd to crush them in their iron grasp.\n    Shouts echo shouts.--With stern, disdainful eyes\n    The Indian king to manly GAMA cries,\n    \"Not one of thine on Lisboa's shore shall tell\n    The glorious tale, how bold thy heroes fell.\"\n    With alter'd visage, for his eyes flash'd fire,\n    \"God sent me here, and God's avengeful ire\n    Shall blast thy perfidy,\" great VASCO cried,\n    \"And humble in the dust thy wither'd pride.\"\n    A prophet's glow inspir'd his panting breast,\n    Indignant smiles the monarch's scorn confess'd.\n    Again deep silence fills the room of state,\n    And the proud Moors, secure, exulting wait:\n    And now inclasping GAMA'S in a ring,\n    Their fleet sweeps on.--Loud whizzing from the string\n    The black-wing'd arrows float along the sky,\n    And rising clouds the falling clouds supply.\n    The lofty crowding spears that bristling stood\n    Wide o'er the galleys as an upright wood,\n    Bend sudden, levell'd for the closing fight,\n    The points, wide-waving, shed a gleamy light.\n    Elate with joy the king his aspect rears,\n    And valiant GAMA, thrill'd with transport, hears\n    His drums' bold rattling raise the battle sound;\n    Echo, deep-ton'd, hoarse, vibrates far around;\n    The shiv'ring trumpets tear the shrill-voic'd air,\n    Quiv'ring the gale, the flashing lightnings flare,\n    The smoke rolls wide, and sudden bursts the roar,\n    The lifted waves fall trembling, deep the shore\n    Groans; quick and quicker blaze embraces blaze\n    In flashing arms; louder the thunders raise\n    Their roaring, rolling o'er the bended skies\n    The burst incessant; awe-struck Echo dies\n    Falt'ring and deafen'd; from the brazen throats,\n    Cloud after cloud, enroll'd in darkness, floats,\n    Curling their sulph'rous folds of fiery blue,\n    Till their huge volumes take the fleecy hue,\n    And roll wide o'er the sky; wide as the sight\n    Can measure heav'n, slow rolls the cloudy white:\n    Beneath, the smoky blackness spreads afar\n    Its hov'ring wings, and veils the dreadful war\n    Deep in its horrid breast; the fierce red glare,\n    Cheq'ring the rifted darkness, fires the air,\n    Each moment lost and kindled, while around,\n    The mingling thunders swell the lengthen'd sound.\n    When piercing sudden through the dreadful roar\n    The yelling shrieks of thousands strike the shore:\n    Presaging horror through the monarch's breast\n    Crept cold; and gloomy o'er the distant east,\n    Through Gata's hills[553] the whirling tempest sigh'd,\n    And westward sweeping to the blacken'd tide,\n    Howl'd o'er the trembling palace as it past,\n    And o'er the gilded walls a gloomy twilight cast;\n    Then, furious, rushing to the darken'd bay,[554]\n    Resistless swept the black-wing'd night away,\n    With all the clouds that hover'd o'er the fight,\n    And o'er the weary combat pour'd the light.\n\n      As by an Alpine mountain's pathless side\n    Some traveller strays, unfriended of a guide;\n    If o'er the hills the sable night descend,\n    And gath'ring tempest with the darkness blend,\n    Deep from the cavern'd rocks beneath, aghast\n    He hears the howling of the whirlwind's blast;\n    Above, resounds the crash, and down the steep\n    Some rolling weight groans on with found'ring sweep;\n    Aghast he stands, amid the shades of night,\n    And all his soul implores the friendly light:\n    It comes; the dreadful lightning's quiv'ring blaze\n    The yawning depth beneath his lifted step betrays;\n    Instant unmann'd, aghast in horrid pain,\n    his knees no more their sickly weight sustain;\n    Powerless he sinks, no more his heart-blood flows;\n    So sunk the monarch, and his heart-blood froze;\n    So sunk he down, when o'er the clouded bay\n    The rushing whirlwind pour'd the sudden day:\n    Disaster's giant arm in one wide sweep\n    Appear'd, and ruin blacken'd o'er the deep;\n    The sheeted masts drove floating o'er the tide,\n    And the torn hulks roll'd tumbling on the side;\n    Some shatter'd plank each heaving billow toss'd,\n    And, by the hand of Heav'n, dash'd on the coast\n    Groan'd prores ingulf'd; the lashing surges rave\n    O'er the black keels upturn'd, the swelling wave\n    Kisses the lofty mast's reclining head;\n    And, far at sea, some few torn galleys fled.\n    Amid the dreadful scene triumphant rode\n    The Lusian war-ships, and their aid bestow'd:\n    Their speedy boats far round assisting ply'd,\n    Where plunging, struggling, in the rolling tide,\n    Grasping the shatter'd wrecks, the vanquish'd foes\n    Rear'd o'er the dashing waves their haggard brows.\n    No word of scorn the lofty GAMA spoke,\n    Nor India's king the dreadful silence broke.\n    Slow pass'd the hour, when to the trembling shore,\n    In awful pomp, the victor-navy bore:\n    Terrific, nodding on, the bowsprits bend,\n    And the red streamers other war portend:\n    Soon bursts the roar; the bombs tremendous rise,\n    And trail their black'ning rainbows o'er the skies;\n    O'er Calicut's proud domes their rage they pour,\n    And wrap her temples in a sulph'rous shower.\n    'Tis o'er----In threat'ning silence rides the fleet:\n    Wild rage, and horror yell in ev'ry street;\n    Ten thousands pouring round the palace gate,\n    In clam'rous uproar wail their wretch'd fate:\n    While round the dome, with lifted hands, they kneel'd,\n    \"Give justice, justice to the strangers yield--\n    Our friends, our husbands, sons, and fathers slain!\n    Happier, alas, than these that yet remain--\n    Curs'd be the counsels, and the arts unjust--\n    Our friends in chains--our city in the dust--\n    Yet, yet prevent----\"\n                            The silent VASCO saw\n    The weight of horror, and o'erpowering awe\n    That shook the Moors, that shook the regent's knees,\n    And sunk the monarch down. By swift degrees\n    The popular clamour rises. Lost, unmann'd,\n    Around the king the trembling council stand;\n    While, wildly glaring on each other's eyes,\n    Each lip in vain the trembling accent tries;\n    With anguish sicken'd, and of strength bereft,\n    Earnest each look inquires, What hope is left!\n    In all the rage of shame and grief aghast,\n    The monarch, falt'ring, takes the word at last:\n    \"By whom, great chief, are these proud war-ships sway'd,\n    Are there thy mandates honour'd and obey'd?\n    Forgive, great chief, let gifts of price restrain\n    Thy just revenge. Shall India's gifts be vain!--\n    Oh spare my people and their doom'd abodes--\n    Prayers, vows, and gifts appease the injur'd gods:\n    Shall man deny? Swift are the brave to spare:\n    The weak, the innocent confess their care--\n    Helpless, as innocent of guile, to thee\n    Behold these thousands bend the suppliant knee--\n    Thy navy's thund'ring sides black to the land\n    Display their terrors--yet mayst thou command----\"\n\n      O'erpower'd he paus'd. Majestic and serene\n    Great VASCO rose, then, pointing to the scene\n    Where bled the war, \"Thy fleet, proud king, behold\n    O'er ocean and the strand in carnage roll'd!\n    So, shall this palace, smoking in the dust,\n    And yon proud city, weep thy arts unjust.\n    The Moors I knew, and, for their fraud prepar'd,\n    I left my fix'd command my navy's guard:[555]\n    Whate'er from shore my name or seal convey'd\n    Of other weight, that fix'd command forbade;\n    Thus, ere its birth destroy'd, prevented fell\n    What fraud might dictate, or what force compel.\n    This morn the sacrifice of Fraud I stood,\n    But hark, there lives the brother of my blood,\n    And lives the friend, whose cares conjoin'd control\n    These floating towers, both brothers of my soul.\n    'If thrice,' I said, 'arise the golden morn,\n    Ere to my fleet you mark my glad return,\n    Dark Fraud with all her Moorish arts withstands,\n    And force, or death withholds me from my bands:\n    Thus judge, and swift unfurl the homeward sail,\n    Catch the first breathing of the eastern gale,\n    Unmindful of my fate on India's shore:[556]\n    Let but my monarch know, I wish no more.'\n    Each, panting while I spoke, impatient cries,\n    The tear-drop bursting in their manly eyes,\n    'In all but one thy mandates we obey,\n    In one we yield not to thy gen'rous sway:\n    Without thee, never shall our sails return;\n    India shall bleed, and Calicut shall burn--\n    Thrice shall the morn arise; a flight of bombs\n    Shall then speak vengeance to their guilty domes:\n    Till noon we pause; then, shall our thunders roar,\n    And desolation sweep the treach'rous shore.'\n    Behold, proud king, their signal in the sky,\n    Near his meridian tower the sun rides high.\n    O'er Calicut no more the ev'ning shade\n    Shall spread her peaceful wings, my wrath unstaid;\n    Dire through the night her smoking dust shall gleam,\n    Dire thro' the night shall shriek the female scream.\"\n\n      \"Thy worth, great chief,\" the pale-lipp'd regent cries,\n    \"Thy worth we own: oh, may these woes suffice!\n    To thee each proof of India's wealth we send;\n    Ambassadors, of noblest race, attend----\"\n    Slow as he falter'd, GAMA caught the word,\n    \"On terms I talk not, and no truce afford:\n    Captives enough shall reach the Lusian shore:\n    Once you deceiv'd me, and I treat no more.\n    E'en now my faithful sailors, pale with rage,\n    Gnaw their blue lips, impatient to engage;\n    Rang'd by their brazen tubes, the thund'ring band\n    Watch the first movement of my brother's hand;\n    E'en now, impatient, o'er the dreadful tire\n    They wave their eager canes betipp'd with fire;\n    Methinks my brother's anguish'd look I see,\n    The panting nostril and the trembling knee,\n    While keen he eyes the sun. On hasty strides,\n    Hurried along the deck, Coello chides\n    His cold, slow ling'ring, and impatient cries,\n    'Oh, give the sign, illume the sacrifice,\n    A brother's vengeance for a brother's blood----\"\n\n      He spake; and stern the dreadful warrior stood;\n    So seem'd the terrors of his awful nod,\n    The monarch trembled as before a god;\n    The treach'rous Moors sank down in faint dismay,\n    And speechless at his feet the council lay:\n    Abrupt, with outstretched arms, the monarch cries,\n    \"What yet----\" but dar'd not meet the hero's eyes,\n    \"What yet may save!\"[557]--Great VASCO stern rejoins,\n    \"Swift, undisputing, give th' appointed signs:\n    High o'er thy loftiest tower my flag display,\n    Me and my train swift to my fleet convey:\n    Instant command--behold the sun rides high----\"\n    He spake, and rapture glow'd in ev'ry eye;\n    The Lusian standard o'er the palace flow'd,\n    Swift o'er the bay the royal barges row'd.\n    A dreary gloom a sudden whirlwind threw;\n    Amid the howling blast, enrag'd, withdrew\n    The vanquish'd demon. Soon, in lustre mild\n    As April smiles, the sun auspicious smil'd:\n    Elate with joy, the shouting thousands trod,\n    And GAMA to his fleet triumphant rode.\n\n      Soft came the eastern gale on balmy wings:\n    Each joyful sailor to his labour springs;\n    Some o'er the bars their breasts robust recline,\n    And, with firm tugs, the rollers[558] from the brine,\n    Reluctant dragg'd, the slime-brown'd anchors raise;\n    Each gliding rope some nimble hand obeys;\n    Some bending o'er the yard-arm's length, on high,\n    With nimble hands, the canvas wings untie;\n    The flapping sails their wid'ning folds distend,\n    And measur'd, echoing shouts their sweaty toils attend.\n    Nor had the captives lost the leader's care,\n    Some to the shore the Indian barges bear;\n    The noblest few the chief detains, to own\n    His glorious deeds before the Lusian throne;\n    To own the conquest of the Indian shore:\n    Nor wanted ev'ry proof of India's store.\n    What fruits in Ceylon's fragrant woods abound,\n    With woods of cinnamon her hills are crown'd:\n    Dry'd in its flower, the nut of Banda's grove,\n    The burning pepper, and the sable clove;\n    The clove, whose odour on the breathing gale,\n    Far to the sea, Molucca's plains exhale;\n    All these, provided by the faithful Moor,\n    All these, and India's gems, the navy bore:\n    The Moor attends, Mozaide, whose zealous care\n    To GAMA'S eyes unveil'd each treach'rous snare:[559]\n    So burn'd his breast with Heav'n-illumin'd flame,\n    And holy rev'rence of Messiah's name.\n    O, favour'd African, by Heaven's own light\n    Call'd from the dreary shades of error's night!\n    What man may dare his seeming ills arraign,\n    Or what the grace of Heaven's designs explain!\n    Far didst thou from thy friends a stranger roam,\n    There wast thou call'd to thy celestial home.[560]\n\n      With rustling sound now swell'd the steady sail;\n    The lofty masts reclining to the gale,\n    On full-spread wings the navy springs away,\n    And, far behind them, foams the ocean grey:\n    Afar the less'ning hills of Gata fly,\n    And mix their dim blue summits with the sky:\n    Beneath the wave low sinks the spicy shore,\n    And, roaring through the tide, each nodding prore\n    Points to the Cape, great Nature's southmost bound,\n    The Cape of Tempests, now of Hope renown'd.\n    Their glorious tale on Lisboa's shore to tell\n    Inspires each bosom with a rapt'rous swell;\n    Now through their breasts the chilly tremors glide,\n    To dare once more the dangers dearly tried.--\n    Soon to the winds are these cold fears resign'd,\n    And all their country rushes on the mind;\n    How sweet to view their native land, how sweet\n    The father, brother, and the bride to greet!\n    While list'ning round the hoary parent's board\n    The wond'ring kindred glow at ev'ry word;\n    How sweet to tell what woes, what toils they bore,\n    The tribes, and wonders of each various shore!\n    These thoughts, the traveller's lov'd reward, employ,\n    And swell each bosom with unutter'd joy.[561]\n\n      The queen of love, by Heaven's eternal grace,\n    The guardian goddess of the Lusian race;\n    The queen of love, elate with joy, surveys\n    Her heroes, happy, plough the wat'ry maze:\n    Their dreary toils revolving in her thought,\n    And all the woes by vengeful Bacchus wrought;\n    These toils, these woes, her yearning cares employ,\n    To bathe, and balsam in the streams of joy.\n    Amid the bosom of the wat'ry waste,\n    Near where the bowers of Paradise were plac'd,[562]\n    An isle, array'd in all the pride of flowers,\n    Of fruits, of fountains, and of fragrant bowers,\n    She means to offer to their homeward prows,\n    The place of glad repast and sweet repose;\n    And there, before their raptur'd view, to raise\n    The heav'n-topp'd column of their deathless praise.\n\n      The goddess now ascends her silver car,\n    (Bright was its hue as love's translucent star);\n    Beneath the reins the stately birds,[563] that sing\n    Their sweet-ton'd death-song spread the snowy wing;\n    The gentle winds beneath her chariot sigh,\n    And virgin blushes purple o'er the sky:\n    On milk-white pinions borne, her cooing doves\n    Form playful circles round her as she moves;\n    And now their beaks in fondling kisses join,\n    In am'rous nods their fondling necks entwine.\n    O'er fair Idalia's bowers the goddess rode,\n    And by her altars sought Idalia's god:\n    The youthful bowyer of the heart was there;\n    His falling kingdom claim'd his earnest care.[564]\n    His bands he musters, through the myrtle groves\n    On buxom wings he trains the little loves.\n    Against the world, rebellious and astray,\n    He means to lead them, and resume his sway:\n    For base-born passions, at his shrine, 'twas told,\n    Each nobler transport of the breast controll'd.\n    A young Act\u00e6on,[565] scornful of his lore,\n    Morn after morn pursues the foamy boar,\n    In desert wilds, devoted to the chase;\n    Each dear enchantment of the female face\n    Spurn'd, and neglected. Him, enrag'd, he sees,\n    And sweet, and dread his punishment decrees.\n    Before his ravish'd sight, in sweet surprise,\n    Naked in all her charms, shall Dian rise;\n    With love's fierce flames his frozen heart shall burn,[566]\n    Coldly his suit, the nymph, unmov'd, shall spurn.\n    Of these lov'd dogs that now his passions sway,\n    Ah, may he never fall the hapless prey!\n\n      Enrag'd, he sees a venal herd, the shame\n    Of human race, assume the titled name;[567]\n    And each, for some base interest of his own,\n    With Flatt'ry's manna'd lips assail the throne.\n    He sees the men, whom holiest sanctions bind\n    To poverty, and love of human kind;\n    While, soft as drop the dews of balmy May,\n    Their words preach virtue, and her charms display,\n    He sees with lust of gold their eyes on fire,\n    And ev'ry wish to lordly state aspire;\n    He sees them trim the lamp at night's mid hour,\n    To plan new laws to arm the regal power;\n    Sleepless, at night's mid hour, to raze the laws,\n    The sacred bulwarks of the people's cause,\n    Fram'd ere the blood of hard-earn'd victory\n    On their brave fathers' helm-hack'd swords was dry.\n\n      Nor these alone; each rank, debas'd and rude,\n    Mean objects, worthless of their love, pursued:\n    Their passions thus rebellious to his lore,\n    The god decrees to punish and restore.\n    The little loves, light hov'ring in the air,\n    Twang their silk bow-strings, and their aims prepare:\n    Some on th' immortal anvils point the dart,\n    With power resistless to inflame the heart;\n    Their arrow heads they tip with soft desires,\n    And all the warmth of love's celestial fires;\n    Some sprinkle o'er the shafts the tears of woe,\n    Some store the quiver, some steel-spring the bow;\n    Each chanting as he works the tuneful strain\n    Of love's dear joys, of love's luxurious pain;\n    Charm'd was the lay to conquer and refine,\n    Divine the melody, the song divine.\n\n      Already, now, began the vengeful war,\n    The witness of the god's benignant care;\n    On the hard bosoms of the stubborn crowd[568]\n    An arrowy shower the bowyer train bestow'd;\n    Pierced by the whizzing shafts, deep sighs the air,\n    And answering sighs the wounds of love declare.\n    Though various featur'd, and of various hue,\n    Each nymph seems loveliest in her lover's view;\n    Fir'd by the darts, by novice archers sped,\n    Ten thousand wild, fantastic loves are bred:\n    In wildest dreams the rustic hind aspires,\n    And haughtiest lords confess the humblest fires.\n\n      The snowy swans of love's celestial queen\n    Now land her chariot on the shore of green;\n    One knee display'd, she treads the flow'ry strand,\n    The gather'd robe falls loosely from her hand;\n    Half-seen her bosom heaves the living snow,\n    And on her smiles the living roses glow.\n    The bowyer god,[569] whose subtle shafts ne'er fly\n    Misaim'd, in vain, in vain on earth or sky,\n    With rosy smiles the mother power receives;\n    Around her climbing, thick as ivy leaves,\n    The vassal loves in fond contention join\n    Who, first and most, shall kiss her hand divine.\n    Swift in her arms she caught her wanton boy,\n    And, \"Oh, my son,\" she cries, \"my pride, my joy!\n    Against thy might the dreadful Typhon fail'd,\n    Against thy shaft nor heav'n, nor Jove prevail'd;\n    Unless thine arrow wake the young desires,\n    My strength, my power, in vain each charm expires:\n    My son, my hope, I claim thy powerful aid,\n    Nor be the boon thy mother sues delay'd:\n    Where'er--so will th' eternal fates--where'er\n    The Lusian race the victor standards rear,\n    There shall my hymns resound, my altars flame,\n    And heav'nly Love her joyful lore proclaim.\n    My Lusian heroes, as my Romans, brave,\n    Long toss'd, long hopeless on the storm-torn wave,\n    Wearied and weak, at last on India's shore\n    Arriv'd, new toils, repose denied, they bore;\n    For Bacchus there with tenfold rage pursued\n    My dauntless sons, but now his might subdued,\n    Amid these raging seas, the scene of woes,\n    Theirs shall be now the balm of sweet repose;\n    Theirs ev'ry joy the noblest heroes claim,\n    The raptur'd foretaste of immortal fame.\n    Then, bend thy bow and wound the Nereid train,\n    The lovely daughters of the azure main;\n    And lead them, while they pant with am'rous fire,\n    Right to the isle which all my smiles inspire:\n    Soon shall my care that beauteous isle supply,\n    Where Zephyr, breathing love, on Flora's lap shall sigh.\n    There let the nymphs the gallant heroes meet,\n    And strew the pink and rose beneath their feet:\n    In crystal halls the feast divine prolong,\n    With wine nectareous and immortal song:\n    Let every nymph the snow-white bed prepare,\n    And, fairer far, resign her bosom there;\n    There, to the greedy riotous embrace\n    Resign each hidden charm with dearest grace.\n    Thus, from my native waves a hero line\n    Shall rise, and o'er the East illustrious shine;[570]\n    Thus, shall the rebel world thy prowess know,\n    And what the boundless joys our friendly powers bestow.\"\n\n    She said; and smiling view'd her mighty boy;\n    Swift to the chariot springs the god of joy;\n    His ivory bow, and arrows tipp'd with gold,\n    Blaz'd to the sun-beam as the chariot roll'd:\n    Their silver harness shining to the day,\n    The swans, on milk-white pinions, spring away,\n    Smooth gliding o'er the clouds of lovely blue;\n    And Fame[571] (so will'd the god) before them flew:\n    A giant goddess, whose ungovern'd tongue\n    With equal zeal proclaims or right or wrong;\n    Oft had her lips the god of love blasphem'd,\n    And oft with tenfold praise his conquests nam'd:\n    A hundred eyes she rolls with ceaseless care,\n    A thousand tongues what these behold declare:\n    Fleet is her flight, the lightning's wing she rides,      }\n    And, though she shifts her colours swift as glides        }\n    The April rainbow, still the crowd she guides.            }\n    And now, aloft her wond'ring voice she rais'd,\n    And, with a thousand glowing tongues, she prais'd\n    The bold discoverers of the eastern world--\n    In gentle swells the list'ning surges curl'd,\n    And murmur'd to the sounds of plaintive love\n    Along the grottoes where the Nereids rove.\n    The drowsy power on whose smooth easy mien\n    The smiles of wonder and delight are seen,\n    Whose glossy, simp'ring eye bespeaks her name,\n    Credulity, attends the goddess Fame.\n    Fir'd by the heroes' praise, the wat'ry gods,[572]\n    With ardent speed forsake their deep abodes;\n    Their rage by vengeful Bacchus rais'd of late,\n    Now stung remorse, and love succeeds to hate.\n    Ah, where remorse in female bosom bleeds,\n    The tend'rest love in all its glow succeeds.\n    When fancy glows, how strong, O Love, thy power!\n    Nor slipp'd the eager god the happy hour;\n    Swift fly his arrows o'er the billowy main,\n    Wing'd with his fires, nor flies a shaft in vain:\n    Thus, ere the face the lover's breast inspires,\n    The voice of fame awakes the soft desires.\n    While from the bow-string start the shafts divine,\n    His ivory moon's wide horns incessant join,\n    Swift twinkling to the view: and wide he pours,\n    Omnipotent in love, his arrowy showers.\n    E'en Thetis' self confess'd the tender smart,\n    And pour'd the murmurs of the wounded heart:\n    Soft o'er the billows pants the am'rous sigh;\n    With wishful languor melting on each eye\n    The love-sick nymphs explore the tardy sails\n    That waft the heroes on the ling'ring gales.\n\n      Give way, ye lofty billows, low subside,\n    Smooth as the level plain, your swelling pride,\n    Lo, Venus comes! Oh, soft, ye surges, sleep,\n    Smooth be the bosom of the azure deep,\n    Lo, Venus comes! and in her vig'rous train\n    She brings the healing balm of love-sick pain.\n    White as her swans,[573] and stately as they rear\n    Their snowy crests when o'er the lake they steer,\n    Slow moving on, behold, the fleet appears,\n    And o'er the distant billow onward steers.\n    The beauteous Nereids, flush'd in all their charms,\n    Surround the goddess of the soft alarms:\n    Right to the isle she leads the smiling train,\n    And all her arts her balmy lips explain;\n    The fearful languor of the asking eye,\n    The lovely blush of yielding modesty,\n    The grieving look, the sigh, the fav'ring smile,\n    And all th' endearments of the open wile,\n    She taught the nymphs--in willing breasts that heav'd\n    To hear her lore, her lore the nymphs receiv'd.\n\n      As now triumphant to their native shore\n    Through the wide deep the joyful navy bore,\n    Earnest the pilot's eyes sought cape or bay,\n    For long was yet the various wat'ry way;\n    Sought cape or isle, from whence their boats might bring\n    The healthful bounty of the crystal spring:\n    When sudden, all in nature's pride array'd,\n    The Isle of Love its glowing breast display'd.\n    O'er the green bosom of the dewy lawn\n    Soft blazing flow'd the silver of the dawn,\n    The gentle waves the glowing lustre share,\n    Arabia's balm was sprinkled o'er the air.\n    Before the fleet, to catch the heroes' view,\n    The floating isle fair Acidalia drew:\n    Soon as the floating verdure caught their sight,[574]\n    She fix'd, unmov'd, the island of delight.\n    So when in child-birth of her Jove-sprung load,\n    The sylvan goddess and the bowyer god,\n    In friendly pity of Latona's woes,[575]\n    Amid the waves the Delian isle arose.\n    And now, led smoothly o'er the furrow'd tide,\n    Right to the isle of joy the vessels glide:\n    The bay they enter, where on ev'ry hand,\n    Around them clasps the flower-enamell'd land;\n    A safe retreat, where not a blast may shake\n    Its flutt'ring pinions o'er the stilly lake.\n    With purple shells, transfus'd as marble veins,\n    The yellow sands celestial Venus stains.\n    With graceful pride three hills of softest green\n    Rear their fair bosoms o'er the sylvan scene;\n    Their sides embroider'd boast the rich array\n    Of flow'ry shrubs in all the pride of May;\n    The purple lotus and the snowy thorn,\n    And yellow pod-flowers ev'ry slope adorn.\n    From the green summits of the leafy hills\n    Descend, with murm'ring lapse, three limpid rills:\n    Beneath the rose-trees loit'ring, slow they glide,\n    Now, tumbles o'er some rock their crystal pride;\n    Sonorous now, they roll adown the glade,\n    Now, plaintive tinkle in the secret shade,\n    Now, from the darkling grove, beneath the beam\n    Of ruddy morn, like melted silver stream,\n    Edging the painted margins of the bowers,\n    And breathing liquid freshness on the flowers.\n    Here, bright reflected in the pool below,\n    The vermeil apples tremble on the bough;\n    Where o'er the yellow sands the waters sleep\n    The primros'd banks, inverted, dew-drops weep;\n    Where murm'ring o'er the pebbles purls the stream\n    The silver trouts in playful curvings gleam.\n    Long thus, and various, ev'ry riv'let strays,\n    Till closing, now, their long meand'ring maze,\n    Where in a smiling vale the mountains end,\n    Form'd in a crystal lake the waters blend:[576]\n    Fring'd was the border with a woodland shade,\n    In ev'ry leaf of various green array'd,\n    Each yellow-ting'd, each mingling tint between\n    The dark ash-verdure and the silv'ry green.\n    The trees, now bending forward, slowly shake\n    Their lofty honours o'er the crystal lake;\n    Now, from the flood the graceful boughs retire\n    With coy reserve, and now again admire\n    Their various liv'ries, by the summer dress'd,\n    Smooth-gloss'd and soften'd in the mirror's breast.\n    So, by her glass the wishful virgin stays,\n    And, oft retiring, steals the ling'ring gaze.\n    A thousand boughs aloft to heav'n display\n    Their fragrant apples, shining to the day;\n    The orange here perfumes the buxom air,\n    And boasts the golden hue of Daphne's hair.[577]\n    Near to the ground each spreading bough descends,\n    Beneath her yellow load the citron bends;\n    The fragrant lemon scents the cooly grove;\n    Fair as (when rip'ning for the days of love)\n    The virgin's breasts the gentle swell avow,\n    So, the twin fruitage swell on every bough.\n    Wild forest-trees the mountain sides array'd\n    With curling foliage and romantic shade:\n    Here spreads the poplar, to Alcides dear;\n    And dear to Phoebus, ever verdant here,\n    The laurel joins the bowers for ever green,\n    The myrtle bowers belov'd of beauty's queen.\n    To Jove the oak his wide-spread branches rears;\n    And high to heav'n the fragrant cedar bears;\n    Where through the glades appear the cavern'd rocks,\n    The lofty pine-tree waves her sable locks;\n    Sacred to Cyb{)e}l{=e} the whisp'ring pine\n    Loves the wild grottoes where the white cliffs shine;\n    Here towers the cypress, preacher to the wise,\n    Less'ning from earth her spiral honours rise,\n    Till, as a spear-point rear'd, the topmost spray\n    Points to the Eden of eternal day.\n    Here round her fost'ring elm the smiling vine,\n    In fond embraces, gives her arms to twine,\n    The num'rous clusters pendant from the boughs,\n    The green here glistens, here the purple glows;\n    For, here the genial seasons of the year\n    Danc'd hand in hand, no place for winter here;\n    His grisly visage from the shore expell'd,\n    United sway the smiling seasons held.\n    Around the swelling fruits of deep'ning red,\n    Their snowy hues the fragrant blossoms spread;\n    Between the bursting buds of lucid green\n    The apple's ripe vermilion blush is seen;\n    For here each gift Pomona's hand bestows\n    In cultur'd garden, free, uncultur'd flows,\n    The flavour sweeter, and the hue more fair,\n    Than e'er was foster'd by the hand of care.\n    The cherry here in shining crimson glows;\n    And, stain'd with lover's blood,[578] in pendent rows,\n    The bending boughs the mulberries o'erload;\n    The bending boughs caress'd by Zephyr nod.\n    The gen'rous peach, that strengthens in exile\n    Far from his native earth, the Persian soil,\n    The velvet peach, of softest glossy blue,\n    Hangs by the pomegranate of orange hue,\n    Whose open heart a brighter red displays\n    Than that which sparkles in the ruby's blaze.\n    Here, trembling with their weight, the branches bear,\n    Delicious as profuse, the tap'ring pear.\n    For thee, fair fruit, the songsters of the grove\n    With hungry bills from bower to arbour rove.\n    Ah, if ambitious thou wilt own the care\n    To grace the feast of heroes and the fair,\n    Soft let the leaves, with grateful umbrage, hide\n    The green-tinged orange of thy mellow side.\n    A thousand flowers of gold, of white and red,\n    Far o'er the shadowy vale[579] their carpets spread,\n    Of fairer tap'stry, and of richer bloom,\n    Than ever glow'd in Persia's boasted loom:\n    As glitt'ring rainbows o'er the verdure thrown,\n    O'er every woodland walk th' embroid'ry shone.\n    Here o'er the wat'ry mirror's lucid bed\n    Narcissus, self-enamour'd, hangs the head;\n    And here, bedew'd with love's celestial tears,\n    The woe-mark'd flower of slain Adonis rears[580]\n    Its purple head, prophetic of the reign\n    When lost Adonis shall revive again.\n    At strife appear the lawns and purpled skies,\n    Which from each other stole the beauteous dyes:[581]\n    The lawn in all Aurora's lustre glows,\n    Aurora steals the blushes of the rose,\n    The rose displays the blushes that adorn\n    The spotless virgin on the nuptial morn.\n    Zephyr and Flora emulous conspire\n    To breathe their graces o'er the field's attire;\n    The one gives healthful freshness, one the hue\n    Fairer than e'er creative pencil drew.\n    Pale as the love-sick hopeless maid they dye\n    The modest violet; from the curious eye\n    The modest violet turns her gentle head,\n    And, by the thorn, weeps o'er her lowly bed.\n    Bending beneath the tears of pearly dawn\n    The snow-white lily glitters o'er the lawn;\n    Low from the bough reclines the damask rose,\n    And o'er the lily's milk-white bosom glows.\n    Fresh in the dew, far o'er the painted dales,\n    Each fragrant herb her sweetest scent exhales.\n    The hyacinth bewrays the doleful _Ai_,[582]\n    And calls the tribute of Apollo's sigh;\n    Still on its bloom the mournful flower retains\n    The lovely blue that dy'd the stripling's veins.\n    Pomona, fir'd with rival envy, views\n    The glaring pride of Flora's darling hues;\n    Where Flora bids the purple iris spread,\n    She hangs the wilding's blossom white and red;\n    Where wild-thyme purples, where the daisy snows\n    The curving slopes, the melon's pride she throws;\n    Where by the stream the lily of the vale,\n    Primrose, and cowslip meek, perfume the gale,\n    Beneath the lily, and the cowslip's bell,\n    The scarlet strawberries luxurious swell.\n    Nor these alone the teeming Eden yields,\n    Each harmless bestial crops the flow'ry fields;\n    And birds of ev'ry note, and ev'ry wing,\n    Their loves responsive thro' the branches sing:\n    In sweet vibrations thrilling o'er the skies,\n    High pois'd in air, the lark his warbling tries;\n    The swan, slow sailing o'er the crystal lake,\n    Tunes his melodious note; from ev'ry brake\n    The glowing strain the nightingale returns,\n    And, in the bowers of love, the turtle mourns.\n    Pleas'd to behold his branching horns appear,\n    O'er the bright fountain bends the fearless deer;\n    The hare starts trembling from the bushy shade,\n    And, swiftly circling, crosses oft the glade.\n    Where from the rocks the bubbling founts distil,\n    The milk-white lambs come bleating down the hill;\n    The dappled heifer seeks the vales below,\n    And from the thicket springs the bounding doe.\n    To his lov'd nest, on fondly flutt'ring wings,\n    In chirping bill the little songster brings\n    The food untasted; transport thrills his breast;\n    'Tis nature's touch, 'tis instinct's heav'n-like feast.\n    Thus bower and lawn were deck'd with Eden's flowers,\n    And song and joy imparadis'd the bowers.\n\n      And soon the fleet their ready anchors threw:\n    Lifted on eager tip-toe at the view,\n    On nimble feet that bounded to the strand\n    The second Argonauts[583] elance to land.\n    Wide o'er the beauteous isle[584] the lovely fair\n    Stray through the distant glades, devoid of care.\n    From lowly valley and from mountain grove\n    The lovely nymphs renew the strains of love.\n    Here from the bowers that crown the plaintive rill\n    The solemn harp's melodious warblings thrill;\n    Here from the shadows of the upland grot\n    The mellow lute renews the swelling note.\n    As fair Diana, and her virgin train,\n    Some gaily ramble o'er the flow'ry plain,\n    In feign'd pursuit of hare or bounding roe,\n    Their graceful mien and beauteous limbs to show;\n    Now seeming careless, fearful now and coy,\n    (So, taught the goddess of unutter'd joy),\n    And, gliding through the distant glades, display\n    Each limb, each movement, naked as the day.\n    Some, light with glee, in careless freedom take\n    Their playful revels in the crystal lake;\n    One trembling stands no deeper than the knee\n    To plunge reluctant, while in sportful glee\n    Another o'er her sudden laves the tide;\n    In pearly drops the wishful waters glide,\n    Reluctant dropping from her breasts of snow;\n    Beneath the wave another seems to glow;\n    The am'rous waves her bosom fondly kiss'd,\n    And rose and fell, as panting, on her breast.\n    Another swims along with graceful pride,\n    Her silver arms the glist'ning waves divide,\n    Her shining sides the fondling waters lave,\n    Her glowing cheeks are brighten'd by the wave,\n    Her hair, of mildest yellow, flows from side\n    To side, as o'er it plays the wanton tide,\n    And, careless as she turns, her thighs of snow\n    Their tap'ring rounds in deeper lustre show.\n\n      Some gallant Lusians sought the woodland prey,\n    And, thro' the thickets, forc'd the pathless way;\n    Where some, in shades impervious to the beam,\n    Supinely listen'd to the murm'ring stream:\n    When sudden, through the boughs, the various dyes\n    Of pink, of scarlet, and of azure rise,\n    Swift from the verdant banks the loit'rers spring,\n    Down drops the arrow from the half-drawn string:\n    Soon they behold 'twas not the rose's hue,\n    The jonquil's yellow, nor the pansy's blue:\n    Dazzling the shades the nymphs appear--the zone\n    And flowing scarf in gold and azure shone.\n    Naked as Venus stood in Ida's bower,\n    Some trust the dazzling charms of native power;\n    Through the green boughs and darkling shades they show\n    The shining lustre of their native snow,\n    And every tap'ring, every rounded swell\n    Of thigh, of bosom, as they glide, reveal.\n    As visions, cloth'd in dazzling white, they rise,\n    Then steal unnoted from the flurried eyes:\n    Again apparent, and again, withdrawn,\n    They shine and wanton o'er the smiling lawn.\n    Amaz'd and lost in rapture of surprise,\n    \"All joy, my friends!\" the brave VELOSO cries,\n    \"Whate'er of goddesses old fable told,\n    Or poet sung of sacred groves, behold.\n    Sacred to goddesses divinely bright\n    These beauteous forests own their guardian might.\n    From eyes profane, from ev'ry age conceal'd,\n    To us, behold, all Paradise reveal'd!\n    Swift let us try if phantoms of the air,\n    Or living charms, appear divinely fair!\"\n    Swift at the word the gallant Lusians bound,\n    Their rapid footsteps scarcely touch the ground;\n    Through copse, through brake, impatient of their prey,\n    Swift as the wounded deer, they spring away:\n    Fleet through the winding shades, in rapid flight,\n    The nymphs, as wing'd with terror, fly their sight;\n    Fleet though they fled, the mild reverted eye\n    And dimpling smile their seeming fear deny.\n    Fleet through the shades in parted rout they glide:\n    If winding path the chosen pairs divide,\n    Another path by sweet mistake betrays,\n    And throws the lover on the lover's gaze:\n    If dark-brow'd bower conceal the lovely fair,\n    The laugh, the shriek, confess the charmer there.\n\n      Luxurious here the wanton zephyrs toy,\n    And ev'ry fondling fav'ring art employ.\n    Fleet as the fair ones speed, the busy gale\n    In wanton frolic lifts the trembling veil;\n    White though the veil, in fairer brighter glow,\n    The lifted robe displays the living snow:\n    Quick flutt'ring on the gale the robe conceals,\n    Then instant to the glance each charm reveals;\n    Reveals, and covers from the eyes on fire,\n    Reveals, and with the shade inflames desire.\n    One, as her breathless lover hastens on,\n    With wily stumble sudden lies o'erthrown;\n    Confus'd, she rises with a blushing smile;\n    The lover falls the captive of her guile:\n    Tripp'd by the fair, he tumbles on the mead,\n    The joyful victim of his eager speed.\n\n      Afar, where sport the wantons in the lake,\n    Another band of gallant youths betake;\n    The laugh, the shriek, the revel and the toy,\n    Bespeak the innocence of youthful joy.\n    The laugh, the shriek, the gallant Lusians hear\n    As through the forest glades they chase the deer;\n    For, arm'd, to chase the bounding roe they came,\n    Unhop'd the transport of a nobler game.\n    The naked wantons, as the youths appear,\n    Shrill through the woods resound the shriek of fear.\n    Some feign such terror of the forc'd embrace,\n    Their virgin modesty to this gives place,\n    Naked they spring to land, and speed away\n    To deepest shades unpierc'd by glaring day;\n    Thus, yielding freely to the am'rous eyes\n    What to the am'rous hands their fear denies.\n    Some well assume Diana's virgin shame,\n    When on her naked sports the hunter[585] came\n    Unwelcome--plunging in the crystal tide,\n    In vain they strive their beauteous limbs to hide;\n    The lucid waves ('twas all they could) bestow\n    A milder lustre and a softer glow.\n    As, lost in earnest care of future need,\n    Some to the banks, to snatch their mantles, speed,\n    Of present view regardless; ev'ry wile\n    Was yet, and ev'ry net of am'rous guile.\n    Whate'er the terror of the feign'd alarm,\n    Display'd, in various force, was ev'ry charm.\n    Nor idle stood the gallant youth; the wing\n    Of rapture lifts them, to the fair they spring;\n    Some to the copse pursue their lovely prey;\n    Some, cloth'd and shod, impatient of delay,\n    Impatient of the stings of fierce desire,\n    Plunge headlong in the tide to quench the fire.\n    So, when the fowler to his cheek uprears\n    The hollow steel, and on the mallard bears,\n    His eager dog, ere bursts the flashing roar,\n    Fierce for the prey, springs headlong from the shore,\n    And barking, cuts the wave with furious joy:\n    So, mid the billow springs each eager boy,\n    Springs to the nymph whose eyes from all the rest\n    By singling him her secret wish confess'd.\n\n      A son of Mars was there, of gen'rous race,\n    His ev'ry elegance of manly grace;\n    Am'rous and brave, the bloom of April youth\n    Glow'd on his cheek, his eye spoke simplest truth;\n    Yet love, capricious to th' accomplish'd boy,\n    Had ever turn'd to gall each promis'd joy,\n    Had ever spurn'd his vows; yet still his heart\n    Would hope, and nourish still the tender smart:\n    The purest delicacy fann'd his fires,\n    And proudest honour nurs'd his fond desires.\n    Not on the first that fair before him glow'd,\n    Not on the first the youth his love bestow'd.\n    In all her charms the fair Ephyre came,\n    And Leonardo's heart was all on flame.\n    Affection's melting transport o'er him stole,\n    And love's all gen'rous glow entranced his soul;\n    Of selfish joy unconscious, ev'ry thought\n    On sweet delirium's ocean stream'd afloat.\n    Pattern of beauty did Ephyre shine,\n    Nor less she wish'd these beauties to resign:\n    More than her sisters long'd her heart to yield,\n    Yet, swifter fled she o'er the smiling field.\n    The youth now panting with the hopeless chase,\n    \"Oh turn,\" he cries, \"oh turn thy angel face:\n    False to themselves, can charms like these conceal\n    The hateful rigour of relentless steel?\n    And, did the stream deceive me, when I stood\n    Amid my peers reflected in the flood?\n    The easiest port and fairest bloom I bore--\n    False was the stream--while I in vain deplore,\n    My peers are happy; lo, in ev'ry shade,\n    In ev'ry bower, their love with love repaid!\n    I, I alone through brakes, through thorns pursue\n    A cruel fair. Ah, still my fate proves true,\n    True to its rigour--who, fair nymph, to thee\n    Reveal'd 'twas I that sued! unhappy me!\n    Born to be spurn'd though honesty inspire.\n    Alas, I faint, my languid sinews tire;\n    Oh stay thee--powerless to sustain their weight\n    My knees sink down, I sink beneath my fate!\"\n    He spoke; a rustling urges thro' the trees,\n    Instant new vigour strings his active knees,\n    Wildly he glares around, and raging cries,\n    \"And must another snatch my lovely prize!\n    In savage grasp thy beauteous limbs constrain!\n    I feel, I madden while I feel the pain!\n    Oh lost, thou fli'st the safety of my arms,\n    My hand shall guard thee, softly seize thy charms,\n    No brutal rage inflames me, yet I burn!\n    Die shall thy ravisher. O goddess, turn,\n    And smiling view the error of my fear;\n    No brutal force, no ravisher is near;\n    A harmless roebuck gave the rustling sounds,\n    Lo, from the thicket swift as thee he bounds!\n    Ah, vain the hope to tire thee in the chase!\n    I faint, yet hear, yet turn thy lovely face.\n    Vain are thy fears; were ev'n thy will to yield\n    The harvest of my hope, that harvest field\n    My fate would guard, and walls of brass would rear\n    Between my sickle and the golden ear.\n    Yet fly me not; so may thy youthful prime\n    Ne'er fly thy cheek on the grey wing of time.\n    Yet hear, the last my panting breath can say,\n    Nor proudest kings, nor mightiest hosts can sway\n    Fate's dread decrees; yet thou, O nymph, divine,\n    Yet thou canst more, yet thou canst conquer mine.\n    Unmov'd each other yielding nymph I see;\n    Joy to their lovers, for they touch not thee!\n    But thee!--oh, every transport of desire,\n    That melts to mingle with its kindred fire,\n    For thee respires--alone I feel for thee\n    The dear wild rage of longing ecstasy:\n    By all the flames of sympathy divine\n    To thee united, thou by right art mine.\n    From thee, from thee the hallow'd transport flows\n    That sever'd rages, and for union glows:\n    Heav'n owns the claim. Hah, did the lightning glare:\n    Yes, I beheld my rival, though the air\n    Grew dim; ev'n now I heard him softly tread.\n    Oh rage, he waits thee on the flow'ry bed!\n    I see, I see thee rushing to his arms,\n    And sinking on his bosom, all thy charms\n    To him resigning in an eager kiss,\n    All I implor'd, the whelming tide of bliss!\n    And shall I see him riot on thy charms,\n    Dissolv'd in joy, exulting in thine arms?\n    Oh burst, ye lightnings, round my destin'd head,\n    Oh pour your flashes----\" Madd'ning as he said,[586]\n    Amid the windings of the bow'ry wood\n    His trembling footsteps still the nymph pursued.\n    Woo'd to the flight she wing'd her speed to hear\n    His am'rous accents melting on her ear.\n    And now, she turns the wild walk's serpent maze;\n    A roseate bower its velvet couch displays;\n    The thickest moss its softest verdure spread,\n    Crocus and mingling pansy fring'd the bed,\n    The woodbine dropp'd its honey from above,\n    And various roses crown'd the sweet alcove.\n    Here, as she hastens, on the hopeless boy\n    She turns her face, all bath'd in smiles of joy;\n    Then, sinking down, her eyes suffused with love\n    Glowing on his, one moment lost reprove.\n    Here was no rival, all he wish'd his own;\n    Lock'd in her arms soft sinks the stripling down.\n    Ah, what soft murmurs panting thro' the bowers\n    Sigh'd to the raptures of the paramours!\n    The wishful sigh, and melting smile conspire,\n    Devouring kisses fan the fiercer fire;\n    Sweet violence, with dearest grace, assails,\n    Soft o'er the purpos'd frown the smile prevails,\n    The purpos'd frown betrays its own deceit,\n    In well-pleas'd laughter ends the rising threat;\n    The coy delay glides off in yielding love,\n    And transport murmurs thro' the sacred grove.\n    The joy of pleasing adds its sacred zest,\n    And all is love, embracing and embraced.\n\n      The golden morn beheld the scenes of joy;\n    Nor, sultry noon, mayst thou the bowers annoy;\n    The sultry noon-beam shines the lover's aid,\n    And sends him glowing to the secret shade.\n    O'er evr'y shade, and ev'ry nuptial bower\n    The love-sick strain the virgin turtles pour;\n    For nuptial faith and holy rites combin'd,\n    The Lusian heroes and the nymphs conjoin'd.\n    With flow'ry wreaths, and laurel chaplets, bound\n    With ductile gold, the nymphs the heroes crown'd:\n    By ev'ry spousal holy ritual tied,\n    No chance, they vow, shall e'er their hands divide,\n    In life, in death, attendant as their fame;\n    Such was the oath of ocean's sov'reign dame:\n    The dame (from heav'n and holy Vesta sprung,\n    For ever beauteous and for ever young),\n    Enraptur'd, views the chief whose deathless name\n    The wond'ring world and conquer'd seas proclaim.\n    With stately pomp she holds the hero's hand,\n    And gives her empire to his dread command,\n    By spousal ties confirm'd; nor pass'd untold\n    What Fate's unalter'd page had will'd of old:\n    The world's vast globe in radiant sphere she show'd,\n    The shores immense, and seas unknown, unplough'd;\n    The seas, the shores, due to the Lusian keel\n    And Lusian sword, she hastens to reveal.\n    The glorious leader by the hand she takes,\n    And, dim below, the flow'ry bower forsakes.\n    High on a mountain's starry top divine\n    Her palace walls of living crystal shine;\n    Of gold and crystal blaze the lofty towers;\n    Here, bath'd in joy, they pass the blissful hours:\n    Engulf'd in tides on tides of joy, the day\n    On downy pinions glides unknown away.\n    While thus the sov'reigns in the palace reign,\n    Like transport riots o'er the humbler plain,\n    Where each, in gen'rous triumph o'er his peers,\n    His lovely bride to ev'ry bride prefers.\n\n      \"Hence, ye profane!\"[587]--the song melodious rose,\n    By mildest zephyrs wafted through the boughs,\n    Unseen the warblers of the holy strain--\n    \"Far from these sacred bowers, ye lewd profane!\n    Hence each unhallow'd eye, each vulgar ear;\n    Chaste and divine are all the raptures here.\n    The nymphs of ocean, and the ocean's queen,\n    The isle angelic, ev'ry raptur'd scene,\n    The charms of honour and its meed confess,\n    These are the raptures, these the wedded bliss:\n    The glorious triumph and the laurel crown,\n    The ever blossom'd palms of fair renown,\n    By time unwither'd, and untaught to cloy;\n    These are the transports of the Isle of Joy.\n    Such was Olympus and the bright abodes;\n    Renown was heav'n, and heroes were the gods.\n    Thus, ancient times, to virtue ever just,\n    To arts and valour rear'd the worshipp'd bust.\n    High, steep, and rugged, painful to be trod,\n    With toils on toils immense is virtue's road;\n    But smooth at last the walks umbrageous smile,\n    Smooth as our lawns, and cheerful as our isle.\n    Up the rough road Alcides, Hermes, strove,\n    All men like you, Apollo, Mars, and Jove:\n    Like you to bless mankind Minerva toil'd;\n    Diana bound the tyrants of the wild;\n    O'er the waste desert Bacchus spread the vine;\n    And Ceres taught the harvest-field to shine.\n    Fame rear'd her trumpet; to the blest abodes\n    She rais'd, and hail'd them gods, and sprung of gods.\n\n      \"The love of fame, by heav'n's own hand impress'd,\n    The first, and noblest passion of the breast,\n    May yet mislead.--Oh guard, ye hero train,\n    No harlot robes of honours false and vain,\n    No tinsel yours, be yours all native gold,\n    Well-earn'd each honour, each respect you hold:\n    To your lov'd king return a guardian band,\n    Return the guardians of your native land;\n    To tyrant power be dreadful; from the jaws\n    Of fierce oppression guard the peasant's cause.\n    If youthful fury pant for shining arms,\n    Spread o'er the eastern world the dread alarms;[588]\n    There bends the Saracen the hostile bow,\n    The Saracen thy faith, thy nation's foe;\n    There from his cruel gripe tear empire's reins,\n    And break his tyrant-sceptre o'er his chains.\n    On adamantine pillars thus shall stand\n    The throne, the glory of your native land;\n    And Lusian heroes, an immortal line,\n    Shall ever with us share our isle divine.\"\n\n\n\n\nDISSERTATION\n\nON THE\n\nFICTION OF THE ISLAND OF VENUS.\n\n\nFrom the earliest ages, and in the most distant nations, palaces,\nforests and gardens, have been the favourite themes of poets. And\nthough, as in Homer's island of Rhadamanthus, the description is\nsometimes only cursory; at other times they have lavished all their\npowers, and have vied with each other in adorning their edifices and\nlandscapes. The gardens of Alcinous in the Odyssey, and Elysium in the\n\u00c6neid, have excited the ambition of many imitators. Many instances of\nthese occur in the later writers. These subjects, however, it must be\nowned, are so natural to the genius of poetry, that it is scarcely fair\nto attribute to an imitation of the classics, the innumerable\ndescriptions of this kind which abound in the old romances. In these,\nunder different allegorical names, every passion, every virtue and vice,\nhad its palace, its enchanted bower, or its dreary cave. Among the\nItalians, on the revival of letters, Pulci, Boiardo, and others,\nborrowed these fictions from the Gothic romancers; Ariosto borrowed from\nthem, and Spenser has copied Ariosto and Tasso. In the sixth and seventh\nbooks of the Orlando Furioso, there is a fine description of the island\nand palace of Alcina, or Vice; and in the tenth book (but inferior to\nthe other in poetical colouring), we have a view of the country of\nLogistilla, or Virtue. The passage, of this kind, however, where Ariosto\nhas displayed the richest poetical painting, is in the xxxiv. book, in\nthe description of Paradise, whither he sends Astolpho, the English\nduke, to ask the help of St. John to recover the wits of Orlando. The\nwhole is most admirably fanciful. Astolpho mounts the clouds on the\nwinged horse, sees Paradise, and, accompanied by the Evangelist, visits\nthe moon; the adventures in which orb are almost literally translated in\nMilton's Limbo. But the passage which may be said to bear the nearest\nresemblance to the descriptive part of the island of Venus, is the\nlandscape of Paradise, of which the ingenious Mr. Hoole, to whose many\nacts of friendship I am proud to acknowledge myself indebted, has\nobliged me with this translation, though only ten books of his Ariosto\nare yet published.\n\n    \"O'er the glad earth the blissful season pours\n    The vernal beauties of a thousand flowers\n    In varied tints: there show'd the ruby's hue,\n    The yellow topaz, and the sapphire blue.\n    The mead appears one intermingled blaze\n    Where pearls and diamonds dart their trembling rays.\n    Not emerald here so bright a verdure yields\n    As the fair turf of those celestial fields.\n    On ev'ry tree the leaves unfading grow,\n    The fruitage ripens and the flow'rets blow!\n    The frolic birds, gay-plum'd, of various wing\n    Amid the boughs their notes melodious sing:\n    Still lakes, and murm'ring streams, with waters clear,\n    Charm the fix'd eye, and lull the list'ning ear.\n    A soft'ning genial air, that ever seems\n    In even tenor, cools the solar beams\n    With fanning breeze; while from the enamell'd field,\n    Whate'er the fruits, the plants, the blossoms yield\n    Of grateful scent, the stealing gales dispense\n    The blended sweets to feed th' immortal sense.\n\n      \"Amid the plain a palace dazzling bright,\n    Like living flame, emits a streamy light,\n    And, wrapp'd in splendour of refulgent day,\n    Outshines the strength of ev'ry mortal ray.\n\n      \"Astolpho gently now directs his speed\n    To where the spacious pile enfolds the mead\n    In circuit wide, and views with eager eyes\n    Each nameless charm that happy soil supplies.\n    With this compar'd, he deems the world below\n    A dreary desert and a seat of woe!\n    By Heaven and Nature, in their wrath bestow'd,\n    In evil hour, for man's unblest abode.\n\n      \"Near and more near the stately walls he drew,\n    In steadfast gaze transported at the view:\n    They seem'd one gem entire, of purer red\n    Than deep'ning gleams transparent rubies shed.\n    Stupendous work! by art D\u00e6dalian rais'd,\n    Transcending all by feeble mortals prais'd!\n    No more henceforth let boasting tongues proclaim\n    Those wonders of the world, so chronicled by fame!\"\n\nCamo\u00ebns read and admired Ariosto; but it by no means follows that he\nborrowed the hint of his island of Venus from that poet. The luxury of\nflowery description is as common in poetry as are the tales of love. The\nheroes of Ariosto meet beautiful women in the palace of Alcina:--\n\n    \"Before the threshold wanton damsels wait,\n    Or, sport between the pillars of the gate:\n    But, beauty more had brighten'd in their face\n    Had modesty attemper'd ev'ry grace;\n    In vestures green each damsel swept the ground,\n    Their temples fair, with leafy garlands crown'd.\n    These, with a courteous welcome, led the knight\n    To this sweet Paradise of soft delight....\n    Enamour'd youths and tender damsels seem\n    To chant their loves beside a purling stream.\n    Some by a branching tree, or mountain's shade,\n    In sports and dances press the downy glade,\n    While one discloses to his friend, apart,\n    The secret transport of his am'rous heart.\"--BOOK vi.\n\nBut these descriptions also, which bring the homes of knight-errantry\ninto the way of beautiful wantons, are as common in the old romance as\nthe use of the alphabet: and indeed the greatest part of these\nlove-adventures are evidently borrowed from the fable of Circe.\nAstolpho, who was transformed into a myrtle by Alcina, thus informs\nRogero:--\n\n      \"Her former lovers she esteem'd no more,\n    For many lovers she possess'd before;\n    I was her joy----\n    Too late, alas, I found her wav'ring mind\n    In love inconstant as the changing wind!\n    Scarce had I held two months the fairy's grace,\n    When a new youth was taken to my place:\n    Rejected, then, I join'd the banish'd herd\n    That lost her love, as others were preferr'd ...\n    Some here, some there, her potent charms retain,\n    In diverse forms imprison'd to remain;\n    In beeches, olives, palms, or cedars clos'd,\n    Or, such as me, you here behold expos'd;\n    In fountains some, and some in beasts confin'd,\n    As suits the wayward fairy's cruel mind.\"\n\n    HOOLE, Ar. bk. vi.\n\nWhen incidents, character, and conduct confess the resemblance, we may,\nwith certainty, pronounce from whence the copy is taken. Where only a\nsimilar stroke of passion or description occurs, it belongs alone to the\narrogance of dulness, to tell us on what passage the poet had his eye.\nEvery great poet has been persecuted in this manner: Milton in\nparticular. His commentators have not left him a flower of his own\ngrowth. Yet, like the creed of the atheist, their system is involved in\nthe deepest absurdity. It is easy to suppose that men of poetical\nfeelings, in describing the same thing, should give us the same picture.\nBut, that the Paradise Lost, which forms one animated whole of the\nnoblest poetry, is a mere cento, compiled from innumerable authors,\nancient and modern, is a supposition which gives Milton a cast of\ntalents infinitely more extraordinary and inexplicable than the greatest\npoetical genius. When Gaspar Poussin painted clouds and trees in his\nlandscapes, he did not borrow the green and the blue of the leaf and\nthe sky from Claude Lorraine. Neither did Camo\u00ebns, when he painted his\nisland of Venus, spend the half of his life in collecting his colours\nfrom all his predecessors who had described the beauties of the vernal\nyear, or the stages of passion. Camo\u00ebns knew how others had painted the\nflowery bowers of love; these formed his taste, and corrected his\njudgment. He viewed the beauties of nature with poetical eyes, from\nthence he drew his landscapes; he had felt all the allurements of love,\nand from thence he describes the agitations of that passion.\n\nNor is the description of fairy bowers and palaces, though most\nfavourite topics, peculiar to the romances of chivalry. The poetry of\nthe orientals also abounds with them, yet, with some characteristic\ndifferences. Like the constitutions and dress of the Asiatics, the\nlandscapes of the eastern muse are warm and feeble, brilliant and\nslight, and, like the manners of the people, wear an eternal sameness.\nThe western muse, on the contrary, is nervous as her heroes, sometimes\nflowery as her Italian or English fields, sometimes majestically great\nas her Runic forests of oak and pine; and always various, as the\ncharacter of her inhabitants. Yet, with all those differences of\nfeature, several oriental fictions greatly resemble the island of Circe,\nand the flowery dominions of Alcina. In particular, the adventures of\nPrince Agib, or the third Calender, in the Arabian Tales, afford a\nstriking likeness of painting and catastrophe.\n\nIf Ariosto's, however, seem to resemble any eastern fiction, the island\nof Venus in Camo\u00ebns bears a more striking resemblance to a passage in\nChaucer. The following beautiful piece of poetical painting occurs in\nthe Assembly of the Fowles:--\n\n    \"The bildir oak, and eke the hardie ashe,\n    The pillir elme, the coffir unto caraine,\n    The boxe pipetre, the holme to whippis lasshe,\n    The sailing firre, the cypres deth to plaine,\n    The shortir ewe, the aspe for shaftis plaine,\n    The olive of pece, and eke the dronkin vine,\n    The victor palme, the laurir to divine.\n    A gardein sawe I full of blossomed bowis,\n    Upon a river, in a gren\u00e9 mede\n    There as sweetness evirmore inough is,\n    With flouris white, and blewe, yelowe, and rede,\n    And colde and clere wellestremis, nothing dede,\n    That swommin full of smale fishis light,\n    With finnis rede, and scalis silver bright.\n\n    On every bough the birdis herd I syng\n    With voice of angell, in ther harmonie\n    That busied 'hem, ther birdis forthe to bryng,\n    And little pretie conies to ther plaie gan hie;\n    And furthir all about I gan espie\n    The dredful roe, the buck, the hart and hind,\n    Squirils, and bestis smal of gentle kind.\n    Of instrumentes of stringis, in accorde\n    Herd I so plaie a ravishyng swetnesse,\n    That God, that makir is of all and Lorde,\n    Ne herd nevir a better, as I gesse,\n    There with a winde, unneth it might be lesse,\n    Made in the levis grene a nois\u00e9 soft\n    Accordant to the foulis song en loft.\n\n    The aire of the place so attempre was,\n    That ner was there grevaunce of hot ne cold--\n\n    * * *\n\n    Under a tre beside a well I seye\n    Cupid our lorde his arrowes forge and file,\n    And at his fete his bowe all redie laye,\n    And well his doughtir temprid all the while\n    The heddis in the well, and with her wile\n    She couchid 'hem aftir as thei should serve,\n    Some for to flea, and some to wound and carve.\n\n    * * *\n\n    And upon pillirs grete of Jaspir long\n    I saw a temple of Brasse ifoundid strong.\n\n    And about the temple dauncid alwaie\n    Women inow, of which some there ywere\n    Faire of 'hemself, and some of 'hem were gaie,\n    In kirtils all disheveled went thei there,\n    That was ther office or from yere to yere,\n    And on the temple sawe I white and faire\n    Of dovis sittyng many a thousande paire.\"\n\nHere we have Cupid forging his arrows, the woodland, the streams, the\nmusic of instruments and birds, the frolics of deer and other animals;\nand _women enow_. In a word, the island of Venus is here sketched out,\nyet Chaucer was never translated into Latin or any language of the\ncontinent, nor did Camo\u00ebns understand a line of English. The subject was\ncommon, and the same poetical feelings in Chaucer and Camo\u00ebns pointed\nout to each what were the beauties of landscapes and of bowers devoted\nto pleasure.\n\nYet, though the fiction of bowers, of islands, and palaces, was no\nnovelty in poetry, much, however, remains to be attributed to the\npoetical powers and invention of Camo\u00ebns. The island of Venus contains,\nof all others, by much the completest gradation, and fullest assemblage\nof that species of luxuriant painting. Nothing in the older writers is\nequal to it in fulness. Nor can the island of Armida, in Tasso, be\ncompared to it, in poetical embroidery or passionate expression; though\nTasso as undoubtedly built upon the model of Camo\u00ebns, as Spenser\nappropriated the imagery of Tasso when he described the bower of\nAcrasia, part of which he has literally translated from the Italian\npoet. The beautiful fictions of Armida and Acrasia, however, are much\ntoo long to be here inserted, and they are well known to every reader of\ntaste.\n\nBut the chief praise of our poet is yet unmentioned. The introduction of\nso beautiful a fiction as an essential part of the conduct and machinery\nof an epic poem, does the greatest honour to the invention of Camo\u00ebns.\nThe machinery of the former part of the poem not only acquires dignity,\nbut is completed by it. And the conduct of Homer and Virgil has, in\nthis, not only received a fine imitation, but a masterly contrast. In\nthe finest allegory the heroes of the Lusiad receive their reward: and,\nby means of this allegory, our poet gives a noble imitation of the\nnoblest part of the \u00c6neid. In the tenth Lusiad, GAMA and his heroes hear\nthe nymphs in the divine palace of Thetis sing the triumphs of their\ncountrymen in the conquest of India: after this the goddess shows GAMA a\nview of the eastern world, from the Cape of Good Hope to the furthest\nislands of Japan. She poetically describes every region, and the\nprincipal islands, and concludes, \"All these are given to the western\nworld by you.\" It is impossible any poem can be summed up with greater\nsublimity. The Fall of Troy is nothing to this. Nor is this all: the\nmost masterly fiction, finest compliment, and ultimate purpose of the\n\u00c6neid is not only nobly imitated, but the conduct of Homer, in\nconcluding the Iliad, as already observed, is paralleled, without one\ncircumstance being borrowed. Poetical conduct cannot possibly bear a\nstronger resemblance, than the reward of the heroes of the Lusiad, the\nprophetic song, and the vision shown to GAMA bear to the games at the\nfuneral of Patroclus and the redemption of the body of Hector,\nconsidered as the completion of the anger of Achilles, the subject of\nthe Iliad. Nor is it a greater honour to resemble a Homer and a Virgil,\nthan it is to be resembled by a Milton. Milton certainly heard of\nFanshaw's translation of the Lusiad, though he might never have seen the\noriginal, for it was published fourteen years before he gave his\nParadise Lost to the world. But, whatever he knew of it, had the last\nbook of the Lusiad been two thousand years known to the learned, every\none would have owned that the two last boots of the Paradise Lost were\nevidently formed upon it. But whether Milton borrowed any hint from\nCamo\u00ebns is of little consequence. That the genius of the great Milton\nsuggested the conclusion of his immortal poem in the manner and with the\nmachinery of the Lusiad, is enough. It is enough that the part of\nMichael and Adam in the two last books of the Paradise Lost are, in\npoint of conduct, exactly the same with the part of Thetis and GAMA in\nthe conclusion of the Lusiad. Yet, this difference must be observed; in\nthe narrative of his last book, Milton has flagged, as Addison calls it,\nand fallen infinitely short of the untired spirit of the Portuguese\npoet.\n\n\nEND OF THE NINTH BOOK.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK X.\n\nTHE ARGUMENT.\n\nIn the opening of this, the last canto, the poet resumes the allegory of\nthe Isle of Joy, or of Venus: the fair nymphs conduct their lovers to\ntheir radiant palaces, where delicious wines sparkle in every cup.\nBefore the poet describes the song of a prophetic siren, who celebrates\nthe praise of the heroes who are destined in ennoble the name of their\ncountry, he addresses himself to his muse in a tone of sorrow, which\ntouches us the more deeply when we reflect upon the unhappy situation to\nwhich this great poet was at last reduced. In the song of the siren,\nwhich follows, is afforded a prophetic view from the period of Gama's\nexpedition down to Camo\u00ebns' own times, in which Pacheco, and other\nheroes of Portugal, pass in review before the eye of the reader. When\nthe siren has concluded her prophetic song, Thetis conducts Gama to the\ntop of a mountain and addresses him in a set speech. The poem concludes\nwith the poet's apostrophe to King Sebastian.\n\n\n    Far o'er the western ocean's distant bed\n    Apollo now his fiery coursers sped;\n    Far o'er the silver lake of Mexic[589] roll'd\n    His rapid chariot wheels of burning gold:\n    The eastern sky was left to dusky grey,\n    And o'er the last hot breath of parting day,\n    Cool o'er the sultry noon's remaining flame,\n    On gentle gales the grateful twilight came.\n    Dimpling the lucid pools, the fragrant breeze\n    Sighs o'er the lawns, and whispers thro' the trees;\n    Refresh'd, the lily rears the silver head,\n    And opening jasmines o'er the arbours spread.\n    Fair o'er the wave that gleam'd like distant snow,\n    Graceful arose the moon, serenely slow;\n    Not yet full orb'd, in clouded splendour dress'd,\n    Her married arms embrace her pregnant breast.\n    Sweet to his mate, recumbent o'er his young,\n    The nightingale his spousal anthem sung;\n    From ev'ry bower the holy chorus rose,\n    From ev'ry bower the rival anthem flows.\n    Translucent, twinkling through the upland grove,\n    In all her lustre shines the star of love;\n    Led by the sacred ray from ev'ry bower,\n    A joyful train, the wedded lovers pour:\n    Each with the youth above the rest approv'd,\n    Each with the nymph above the rest belov'd,\n    They seek the palace of the sov'reign dame;\n    High on a mountain glow'd the wondrous frame:\n    Of gold the towers, of gold the pillars shone,\n    The walls were crystal, starr'd with precious stone.\n    Amid the hall arose the festive board,\n    With nature's choicest gifts promiscuous stor'd:\n    So will'd the goddess to renew the smile\n    Of vital strength, long worn by days of toil.\n    On crystal chairs, that shin'd as lambent flame,\n    Each gallant youth attends his lovely dame;\n    Beneath a purple canopy of state\n    The beauteous goddess and the leader sat:\n    The banquet glows-- Not such the feast, when all\n    The pride of luxury in Egypt's hall\n    Before the love-sick Roman[590] spread the boast\n    Of ev'ry teeming sea and fertile coast.\n    Sacred to noblest worth and Virtue's ear,\n    Divine, as genial, was the banquet here;\n    The wine, the song, by sweet returns inspire,\n    Now wake the lover's, now the hero's fire.\n    On gold and silver from th' Atlantic main,\n    The sumptuous tribute of the sea's wide reign,\n    Of various savour, was the banquet pil'd;\n    Amid the fruitage mingling roses smil'd.\n    In cups of gold that shed a yellow light,\n    In silver, shining as the moon of night,\n    Amid the banquet flow'd the sparkling wine,\n    Nor gave Falernia's fields the parent vine:\n    Falernia's vintage, nor the fabled power\n    Of Jove's ambrosia in th' Olympian bower\n    To this compare not; wild, nor frantic fires,\n    Divinest transport this alone inspires.\n    The bev'rage, foaming o'er the goblet's breast,\n    The crystal fountain's cooling aid confess'd;[591]\n    The while, as circling flow'd the cheerful bowl,\n    Sapient discourse, the banquet of the soul,\n    Of richest argument and brightest glow,\n    Array'd in dimpling smiles, in easiest flow\n    Pour'd all its graces: nor in silence stood\n    The powers of music, such as erst subdued\n    The horrid frown of hell's profound domains,[592]\n    And sooth'd the tortur'd ghosts to slumber on their chains.\n    To music's sweetest chords, in loftiest vein,\n    An angel siren joins the vocal strain;\n    The silver roofs resound the living song,\n    The harp and organ's lofty mood prolong\n    The hallow'd warblings; list'ning Silence rides\n    The sky, and o'er the bridled winds presides;\n    In softest murmurs flows the glassy deep,\n    And each, lull'd in his shade, the bestials sleep.\n    The lofty song ascends the thrilling skies,\n    The song of godlike heroes yet to rise;\n    Jove gave the dream, whose glow the siren fir'd,\n    And present Jove the prophecy inspir'd.\n    Not he, the bard of love-sick Dido's board,\n    Nor he, the minstrel of Ph\u00e6acia's lord,\n    Though fam'd in song, could touch the warbling string,\n    Or, with a voice so sweet, melodious sing.\n    And thou, my muse, O fairest of the train,\n    Calliope, inspire my closing strain.\n    No more the summer of my life remains,[593]\n    My autumn's length'ning ev'nings chill my veins;\n    Down the black stream of years by woes on woes\n    Wing'd on, I hasten to the tomb's repose,\n    The port whose deep, dark bottom shall detain\n    My anchor, never to be weigh'd again,\n    Never on other sea of life to steer\n    The human course.--Yet thou, O goddess, hear,\n    Yet let me live, though round my silver'd head\n    Misfortune's bitt'rest rage unpitying shed\n    Her coldest storms; yet, let me live to crown\n    The song that boasts my nation's proud renown.\n\n      Of godlike heroes sung the nymph divine,\n    Heroes whose deeds on GAMA'S crest shall shine;\n    Who through the seas, by GAMA first explor'd,\n    Shall bear the Lusian standard and the sword,\n    Till ev'ry coast where roars the orient main,\n    Blest in its sway, shall own the Lusian reign;\n    Till ev'ry pagan king his neck shall yield,\n    Or vanquish'd, gnaw the dust on battle-field.\n\n      \"High Priest of Malabar,\" the goddess sung,\n    \"Thy faith repent not, nor lament thy wrong;[594]\n    Though, for thy faith to Lusus' gen'rous race,\n    The raging zamoreem thy fields deface:\n    From Tagus, lo, the great Pacheco sails\n    To India, wafted on auspicious gales.\n    Soon as his crooked prow the tide shall press,\n    A new Achilles shall the tide confess;\n    His ship's strong sides shall groan beneath his weight,\n    And deeper waves receive the sacred freight.[595]\n    Soon as on India's strand he shakes his spear,\n    The burning east shall tremble, chill'd with fear;\n    Reeking with noble blood, Cambalao's stream\n    Shall blaze impurpled on the ev'ning beam;\n    Urg'd on by raging shame, the monarch brings,\n    Banded with all their powers, his vassal kings:\n    Narsinga's rocks their cruel thousands pour,\n    Bipur's stern king attends, and thine, Tanore:\n    To guard proud Calicut's imperial pride\n    All the wide North sweeps down its peopled tide:\n    Join'd are the sects that never touch'd before,\n    By land the pagan, and by sea the Moor.\n    O'er land, o'er sea the great Pacheco strews\n    The prostrate spearmen, and the founder'd proas.[596]\n    Submiss and silent, palsied with amaze,\n    Proud Malabar th' unnumber'd slain surveys:\n    Yet burns the monarch; to his shrine he speeds;\n    Dire howl the priests, the groaning victim bleeds;\n    The ground they stamp, and, from the dark abodes,\n    With tears and vows, they call th' infernal gods.\n    Enrag'd with dog-like madness, to behold\n    His temples and his towns in flames enroll'd,\n    Secure of promis'd victory, again\n    He fires the war, the lawns are heap'd with slain.\n    With stern reproach he brands his routed Nayres,\n    And for the dreadful field himself prepares;\n    His harness'd thousands to the fight he leads;\n    And rides exulting where the combat bleeds:\n    Amid his pomp his robes are sprinkled o'er,\n    And his proud face dash'd, with his menials' gore:[597]\n    From his high couch he leaps, and speeds to flight\n    On foot inglorious, in his army's sight.\n    Hell then he calls, and all the powers of hell,\n    The secret poison, and the chanted spell;\n    Vain as the spell the poison'd rage is shed,\n    For Heav'n defends the hero's sacred head.\n    Still fiercer from each wound the tyrant burns,\n    Still to the field with heavier force returns;\n    The seventh dread war he kindles; high in air\n    The hills dishonour'd lift their shoulders bare;\n    Their woods, roll'd down, now strew the river's side,\n    Now rise in mountain turrets o'er the tide;\n    Mountains of fire, and spires of bick'ring flame,\n    While either bank resounds the proud acclaim,\n    Come floating down, round Lusus' fleet to pour\n    Their sulph'rous entrails[598] in a burning shower.\n    Oh, vain the hope.--Let Rome her boast resign;\n    Her palms, Pacheco, never bloom'd like thine;\n    Nor Tiber's bridge,[599] nor Marathon's red field,    }\n    Nor thine, Thermopyl\u00e6, such deeds beheld;             }\n    Nor Fabius' arts such rushing storms repell'd.        }\n    Swift as, repuls'd, the famish'd wolf returns\n    Fierce to the fold, and, wounded, fiercer burns;\n    So swift, so fierce, seven times, all India's might\n    Returns unnumber'd to the dreadful fight;\n    One hundred spears, seven times in dreadful stower,\n    Strews in the dust all India's raging power.\"\n\n      The lofty song (for paleness o'er her spread)\n    The nymph suspends, and bows the languid head;\n    Her falt'ring words are breathed on plaintive sighs:\n    \"Ah, Belisarius, injur'd chief,\" she cries,\n    \"Ah, wipe thy tears; in war thy rival see,\n    Injur'd Pacheco falls despoil'd like thee;\n    In him, in thee dishonour'd Virtue bleeds,\n    And Valour weeps to view her fairest deeds,--\n    Weeps o'er Pacheco, where, forlorn he lies\n    Low on an alms-house bed, and friendless dies.\n    Yet shall the muses plume his humble bier,\n    And ever o'er him pour th' immortal tear;\n    Though by the king, alone to thee unjust,\n    Thy head, great chief, was humbled in the dust,\n    Loud shall the muse indignant sound thy praise--\n    'Thou gav'st thy monarch's throne its proudest blaze.'\n    While round the world the sun's bright car shall ride,\n    So bright shall shine thy name's illustrious pride;\n    Thy monarch's glory, as the moon's pale beam,\n    Eclips'd by thine, shall shed a sickly gleam.\n    Such meed attends when soothing flatt'ry sways,\n    And blinded State its sacred trust betrays!\"\n\n      Again the nymph exalts her brow, again\n    Her swelling voice resounds the lofty strain:\n    \"Almeyda comes, the kingly name he bears,\n    Deputed royalty his standard rears:\n    In all the gen'rous rage of youthful fire\n    The warlike son attends the warlike sire.\n    Quiloa's blood-stain'd tyrant now shall feel\n    The righteous vengeance of the Lusian steel.\n    Another prince, by Lisbon's throne belov'd,\n    Shall bless the land, for faithful deeds approv'd.\n    Mombaz shall now her treason's meed behold,\n    When curling flames her proudest domes enfold:\n    Involv'd in smoke, loud crashing, low shall fall\n    The mounded temple and the castled wall.\n    O'er India's seas the young Almeyda pours,\n    Scorching the wither'd air, his iron show'rs;\n    Torn masts and rudders, hulks and canvas riv'n,\n    Month after month before his prows are driv'n;\n    But Heav'n's dread will, where clouds of darkness rest,\n    That awful will, which knows alone the best,\n    Now blunts his spear: Cambaya's squadrons join'd\n    With Egypt's fleets, in pagan rage combin'd,\n    Engrasp him round; red boils the stagg'ring flood,\n    Purpled with volleying flames and hot with blood:\n    Whirl'd by the cannon's rage, in shivers torn,\n    His thigh, far scattered, o'er the wave is borne.\n    Bound to the mast the godlike hero stands,[600]\n    Waves his proud sword, and cheers his woful bands.\n    Though winds and seas their wonted aid deny,\n    To yield he knows not, but he knows to die:\n    Another thunder tears his manly breast:\n    Oh fly, blest spirit, to thy heav'nly rest!\n    Hark! rolling on the groaning storm I hear,\n    Resistless vengeance thund'ring on the rear.\n    I see the transports of the furious sire,\n    As o'er the mangled corse his eyes flash fire.\n    Swift to the fight, with stern though weeping eyes,\n    Fix'd rage fierce burning in his breast, he flies;\n    Fierce as the bull that sees his rival rove\n    Free with the heifers through the mounded grove,\n    On oak or beech his madd'ning fury pours;\n    So pours Almeyda's rage on Dabul's towers.\n    His vanes wide waving o'er the Indian sky,\n    Before his prows the fleets of India fly;[601]\n    On Egypt's chief his mortars' dreadful tire\n    Shall vomit all the rage of prison'd fire:\n    Heads, limbs, and trunks shall choke the struggling tide,\n    Till, ev'ry surge with reeking crimson dy'd,\n    Around the young Almeyda's hapless urn\n    His conqueror's naked ghosts shall howl and mourn.\n    As meteors flashing through the darken'd air\n    I see the victors' whirling falchions glare;\n    Dark rolls the sulph'rous smoke o'er Dio's skies,\n    And shrieks of death, and shouts of conquest rise,\n    In one wide tumult blended. The rough roar\n    Shakes the brown tents on Ganges' trembling shore;\n    The waves of Indus from the banks recoil;\n    And matrons, howling on the strand of Nile,\n    By the pale moon, their absent sons deplore:\n    Long shall they wail; their sons return no more.\n\n      \"Ah, strike the notes of woe!\" the siren cries;\n    \"A dreary vision swims before my eyes.\n    To Tagus' shore triumphant as he bends,\n    Low in the dust the hero's glory ends:\n    Though bended bow, nor thund'ring engine's hail,\n    Nor Egypt's sword, nor India's spear prevail,\n    Fall shall the chief before a naked foe,\n    Rough clubs and rude-hurl'ed stones shall strike the blow;\n    The Cape of Tempests shall his tomb supply,\n    And in the desert sands his bones shall lie,\n    No boastful trophy o'er his ashes rear'd:\n    Such Heav'n's dread will, and be that will rever'd!\n\n      \"But lo, resplendent shines another star,\"\n    Loud she resounds, \"in all the blaze of war!\n    Great Cunia[602] guards Melinda's friendly shore,\n    And dyes her seas with Oja's hostile gore;\n    Lamo and Brava's tow'rs his vengeance tell:\n    Green Madagascar's flow'ry dales shall swell\n    His echo'd fame, till ocean's southmost bound\n    On isles and shores unknown his name resound.\n\n      \"Another blaze, behold, of fire and arms!\n    Great Albuquerque awakes the dread alarms:\n    O'er Ormuz' walls his thund'ring flames he pours,\n    While Heav'n, the hero's guide, indignant show'rs\n    Their arrows backwards[603] on the Persian foe,\n    Tearing the breasts and arms that twang'd the bow.\n    Mountains of salt and fragrant gums in vain\n    Were spent untainted to embalm the slain.\n    Such heaps shall strew the seas and faithless strand\n    Of Gerum, Mazcate,[604] and Calayat's land,\n    Till faithless Ormuz own the Lusian sway,\n    And Barem's[605] pearls her yearly safety pay.\n\n      \"What glorious palms on Goa's isle I see,[606]\n    Their blossoms spread, great Albuquerque, for thee!\n    Through castled walls the hero breaks his way,\n    And opens with his sword the dread array\n    Of Moors and pagans; through their depth he rides,\n    Through spears and show'ring fire the battle guides.\n    As bulls enrag'd, or lions smear'd with gore,\n    His bands sweep wide o'er Goa's purpled shore.\n    Nor eastward far though fair Malacca[607] lie,\n    Her groves embosom'd in the morning sky;\n    Though with her am'rous sons the valiant line\n    Of Java's isle in battle rank combine,\n    Though poison'd shafts their pond'rous quivers store;\n    Malacca's spicy groves and golden ore,\n    Great Albuquerque, thy dauntless toils shall crown!\n    Yet art thou stain'd.\"[608] Here, with a sighful frown,\n    The goddess paus'd, for much remain'd unsung,\n    But blotted with a humble soldier's wrong.\n    \"Alas,\" she cries, \"when war's dread horrors reign,\n    And thund'ring batteries rock the fiery plain,\n    When ghastly famine on a hostile soil,\n    When pale disease attends on weary toil,\n    When patient under all the soldier stands,\n    Detested be the rage which then demands\n    The humble soldier's blood, his only crime\n    The am'rous frailty of the youthful prime!\n    Incest's cold horror here no glow restrain'd,\n    Nor sacred nuptial bed was here profan'd,\n    Nor here unwelcome force the virgin seiz'd;\n    A slave, lascivious, in his fondling pleas'd,\n    Resigns her breast. Ah, stain to Lusian fame!\n    ('Twas lust of blood, perhaps 'twas jealous flame;)\n    The leader's rage, unworthy of the brave,\n    Consigns the youthful soldier to the grave.\n    Not Ammon[609] thus Apelles' love repaid,\n    Great Ammon's bed resign'd the lovely maid;\n    Nor Cyrus thus reprov'd Araspas' fire;\n    Nor haughtier Carlo thus assum'd the sire,\n    Though iron Baldwin to his daughter's bower,\n    An ill-match'd lover, stole in secret hour:\n    With nobler rage the lofty monarch glow'd,\n    And Flandria's earldom on the knight bestow'd.\"[610]\n\n      Again the nymph the song of fame resounds:\n    \"Lo, sweeping wide o'er Ethiopia's bounds,\n    Wide o'er Arabia's purple shore, on high\n    The Lusian ensigns blaze along the sky:\n    Mecca, aghast, beholds the standards shine,\n    And midnight horror shakes Medina's shrine;[611]\n    Th' unhallow'd altar bodes th' approaching foe,\n    Foredoom'd in dust its prophet's tomb to strew.\n    Nor Ceylon's isle, brave Soarez, shall withhold\n    Its incense, precious as the burnish'd gold,\n    What time o'er proud Columbo's loftiest spire\n    Thy flag shall blaze: Nor shall th' immortal lyre\n    Forget thy praise, Sequeyra! To the shore\n    Where Sheba's sapient queen the sceptre bore,[612]\n    Braving the Red Sea's dangers shalt thou force\n    To Abyssinia's realm thy novel course;\n    And isles, by jealous Nature long conceal'd,\n    Shall to the wond'ring world be now reveal'd.\n    Great Menez next the Lusian sword shall bear;\n    Menez, the dread of Afric, high shall rear\n    His victor lance, till deep shall Ormuz groan,\n    And tribute doubled her revolt atone.\n\n      \"Now shines thy glory in meridian height\"--\n    And loud her voice she rais'd--\"O matchless knight!\n    Thou, thou, illustrious GAMA, thou shalt bring\n    The olive bough of peace, deputed king!\n    The lands by thee discover'd shall obey\n    Thy sceptred power, and bless thy regal sway.\n    But India's crimes, outrageous to the skies,\n    A length of these Saturnian days denies:\n    Snatch'd from thy golden throne,[613] the heav'ns shall claim\n    Thy deathless soul, the world thy deathless name.\n\n      \"Now o'er the coast of faithless Malabar\n    Victorious Henry[614] pours the rage of war;\n    Nor less the youth a nobler strife shall wage,\n    Great victor of himself though green in age;\n    No restless slave of wanton am'rous fire,\n    No lust of gold shall taint his gen'rous ire.\n    While youth's bold pulse beats high, how brave the boy\n    Whom harlot-smiles nor pride of power decoy!\n    Immortal be his name! Nor less thy praise,\n    Great Mascarene,[615] shall future ages raise:\n    Though power, unjust, withhold the splendid ray\n    That dignifies the crest of sov'reign sway,\n    Thy deeds, great chief, on Bintam's humbled shore\n    (Deeds such as Asia never view'd before)\n    Shall give thy honest fame a brighter blaze\n    Than tyrant pomp in golden robes displays.\n    Though bold in war the fierce usurper shine,\n    Though Cutial's potent navy o'er the brine\n    Drive vanquish'd: though the Lusian Hector's sword\n    For him reap conquest, and confirm him lord;\n    Thy deeds, great peer, the wonder of thy foes,\n    Thy glorious chains unjust, and gen'rous woes,\n    Shall dim the fierce Sampayo's fairest fame,\n    And o'er his honours thine aloud proclaim.\n    Thy gen'rous woes! Ah gallant injur'd chief,\n    Not thy own sorrows give the sharpest grief.\n    Thou seest the Lusian name her honours stain,\n    And lust of gold her heroes' breasts profane;\n    Thou seest ambition lift the impious head,\n    Nor God's red arm, nor ling'ring justice dread;\n    O'er India's bounds thou seest these vultures prowl,\n    Full gorged with blood, and dreadless of control;\n    Thou seest and weepst thy country's blotted name,\n    The gen'rous sorrow thine, but not the shame.\n    Nor long the Lusian ensigns stain'd remain:\n    Great Nunio[616] comes, and razes every stain.\n    Though lofty Cal\u00e8's warlike towers he rear;\n    Though haughty Melic groan beneath his spear;\n    All these, and Diu yielded to his name,\n    Are but th' embroid'ry of his nobler fame.\n    Far haughtier foes of Lusian race he braves;\n    The awful sword of justice high he waves:\n    Before his bar the injur'd Indian stands,\n    And justice boldly on his foe demands,\n    The Lusian foe; in wonder lost, the Moor\n    Beholds proud rapine's vulture grip restore;\n    Beholds the Lusian hands in fetters bound\n    By Lusian hands, and wound repaid for wound.\n    Oh, more shall thus by Nunio's worth be won,\n    Than conquest reaps from high-plum'd hosts o'erthrown.\n    Long shall the gen'rous Nunio's blissful sway\n    Command supreme. In Dio's hopeless day\n    The sov'reign toil the brave Noronha takes;               }\n    Awed by his fame[617] the fierce-soul'd Rumien shakes,    }\n    And Dio's open'd walls in sudden flight forsakes.         }\n    A son of thine, O GAMA,[618] now shall hold\n    The helm of empire, prudent, wise, and bold:\n    Malacca sav'd and strengthen'd by his arms,\n    The banks of Tor shall echo his alarms;\n    His worth shall bless the kingdoms of the morn,\n    For all thy virtues shall his soul adorn.\n    When fate resigns thy hero to the skies,\n    A vet'ran, fam'd on Brazil's shore[619] shall rise:\n    The wide Atlantic and the Indian main,\n    By turns, shall own the terrors of his reign.\n    His aid the proud Cambayan king implores,\n    His potent aid Cambaya's king restores.\n    The dread Mogul with all his thousands flies,\n    And Dio's towers are Souza's well-earn'd prize.\n    Nor less the zamorim o'er blood-stain'd ground[620]\n    Shall speed his legions, torn with many a wound,\n    In headlong rout. Nor shall the boastful pride\n    Of India's navy, though the shaded tide\n    Around the squadron'd masts appear the down\n    Of some wide forest, other fate renown.\n    Loud rattling through the hills of Cape Camore[621]\n    I hear the tempest of the battle roar!\n    Clung to the splinter'd masts I see the dead\n    Badala's shore with horrid wreck bespread;\n    Baticala inflam'd by treach'rous hate,\n    Provokes the horrors of Badala's fate:\n    Her seas in blood, her skies enwrapt in fire,\n    Confess the sweeping storm of Souza's ire.\n    No hostile spear now rear'd on sea or strand,\n    The awful sceptre graces Souza's hand;\n    Peaceful he reigns, in counsel just and wise;\n    And glorious Castro now his throne supplies:\n    Castro, the boast of gen'rous fame, afar\n    From Dio's strand shall sway the glorious war.\n    Madd'ning with rage to view the Lusian band,\n    A troop so few, proud Dio's towers command,\n    The cruel Ethiop Moor to heav'n complains,\n    And the proud Persian's languid zeal arraigns.\n    The Rumien fierce, who boasts the name of Rome,[622]\n    With these conspires, and vows the Lusians' doom.\n    A thousand barb'rous nations join their powers\n    To bathe with Lusian blood the Dion towers.\n    Dark rolling sheets, forth belch'd from brazen wombs,\n    And bor'd, like show'ring clouds, with hailing bombs,\n    O'er Dio's sky spread the black shades of death;\n    The mine's dread earthquakes shake the ground beneath.\n    No hope, bold Mascarene,[623] mayst thou respire,\n    A glorious fall alone, thy just desire.\n    When lo, his gallant son brave Castro sends--\n    Ah heav'n, what fate the hapless youth attends!\n    In vain the terrors of his falchion glare:\n    The cavern'd mine bursts, high in pitchy air\n    Rampire and squadron whirl'd convulsive, borne\n    To heav'n, the hero dies in fragments torn.\n    His loftiest bough though fall'n, the gen'rous sire\n    His living hope devotes with Roman ire.\n    On wings of fury flies the brave Alvar\n    Through oceans howling with the wintry war,\n    Through skies of snow his brother's vengeance bears;\n    And, soon in arms, the valiant sire appears:\n    Before him vict'ry spreads her eagle wing\n    Wide sweeping o'er Cambaya's haughty king.\n    In vain his thund'ring coursers shake the ground,\n    Cambaya bleeding of his might's last wound\n    Sinks pale in dust: fierce Hydal-Kan[624] in vain\n    Wakes war on war; he bites his iron chain.\n    O'er Indus' banks, o'er Ganges' smiling vales,\n    No more the hind his plunder'd field bewails:\n    O'er ev'ry field, O Peace, thy blossoms glow,\n    The golden blossoms of thy olive bough;\n    Firm bas'd on wisest laws great Castro crowns,\n    And the wide East the Lusian empire owns.\n\n      \"These warlike chiefs, the sons of thy renown,\n    And thousands more, O VASCO, doom'd to crown\n    Thy glorious toils, shall through these seas unfold\n    Their victor-standards blaz'd with Indian gold;\n    And in the bosom of our flow'ry isle,\n    Embath'd in joy shall o'er their labours smile.\n    Their nymphs like yours, their feast divine the same,\n    The raptur'd foretaste of immortal fame.\"\n\n      So sang the goddess, while the sister train\n    With joyful anthem close the sacred strain:\n    \"Though Fortune from her whirling sphere bestow\n    Her gifts capricious in unconstant flow,\n    Yet laurell'd honour and immortal fame\n    Shall ever constant grace the Lusian name.\"\n    So sung the joyful chorus, while around\n    The silver roofs the lofty notes resound.\n    The song prophetic, and the sacred feast,\n    Now shed the glow of strength through ev'ry breast.\n    When with the grace and majesty divine,\n    Which round immortals when enamour'd shine,\n    To crown the banquet of their deathless fame,\n    To happy GAMA thus the sov'reign dame:\n    \"O lov'd of Heav'n, what never man before,\n    What wand'ring science never might explore,\n    By Heav'n's high will, with mortal eyes to see\n    Great nature's face unveil'd, is given to thee.\n    Thou and thy warriors follow where I lead:\n    Firm be your steps, for arduous to the tread,\n    Through matted brakes of thorn and brier, bestrew'd\n    With splinter'd flint, winds the steep slipp'ry road.\"\n    She spake, and smiling caught the hero's hand,\n    And on the mountain's summit soon they stand;\n    A beauteous lawn with pearl enamell'd o'er,\n    Emerald and ruby, as the gods of yore\n    Had sported here. Here in the fragrant air\n    A wondrous globe appear'd, divinely fair!\n    Through ev'ry part the light transparent flow'd,\n    And in the centre, as the surface, glow'd.\n    The frame ethereal various orbs compose,\n    In whirling circles now they fell, now rose;\n    Yet never rose nor fell,[625] for still the same\n    Was ev'ry movement of the wondrous frame;\n    Each movement still beginning, still complete,\n    Its author's type, self-pois'd, perfection's seat.\n\n      Great VASCO, thrill'd with reverential awe,\n    And rapt with keen desire, the wonder saw.\n    The goddess mark'd the language of his eyes,\n    \"And here,\" she cried, \"thy largest wish suffice.\"\n    Great nature's fabric thou dost here behold,\n    Th' ethereal, pure, and elemental mould\n    In pattern shown complete, as nature's God\n    Ordain'd the world's great frame, His dread abode;\n    For ev'ry part the Power Divine pervades,\n    The sun's bright radiance, and the central shades;\n    Yet, let not haughty reason's bounded line\n    Explore the boundless God, or where define,\n    Where in Himself, in uncreated light\n    (While all His worlds around seem wrapp'd in night),\n    He holds His loftiest state.[626] By primal laws\n    Impos'd on Nature's birth (Himself the cause),\n    By her own ministry, through ev'ry maze,\n    Nature in all her walks, unseen, He sways.\n    These spheres behold;[627] the first in wide embrace\n    Surrounds the lesser orbs of various face;\n    The Empyrean this, the holiest heav'n\n    To the pure spirits of the bless'd is giv'n:\n    No mortal eye its splendid rays may bear,\n    No mortal bosom feel the raptures there.\n    The earth, in all her summer pride array'd,\n    To this might seem a drear sepulchral shade.\n    Unmov'd it stands; within its shining frame,\n    In motion swifter than the lightning's flame,\n    Swifter than sight the moving parts may spy,\n    Another sphere whirls round its rapid sky.\n    Hence motion darts its force,[628] impulsive draws,\n    And on the other orbs impresses laws;\n    The sun's bright car attentive to its force\n    Gives night and day, and shapes his yearly course;\n    Its force stupendous asks a pond'rous sphere\n    To poise its fury, and its weight to bear:\n    Slow moves that pond'rous orb; the stiff, slow pace\n    One step scarce gains, while wide his annual race\n    Two hundred times the sun triumphant rides;\n    The crystal heav'n is this, whose rigour guides\n    And binds the starry sphere:[629] That sphere behold,\n    With diamonds spangled, and emblaz'd with gold!\n    What radiant orbs that azure sky adorn,\n    Fair o'er the night in rapid motion borne!\n    Swift as they trace the heav'n's wide circling line,\n    Whirl'd on their proper axles, bright they shine.\n    Wide o'er this heav'n a golden belt displays\n    Twelve various forms; behold the glitt'ring blaze!\n    Through these the sun in annual journey towers,\n    And o'er each clime their various tempers pours;\n    In gold and silver of celestial mine\n    How rich far round the constellations shine!\n    Lo, bright emerging o'er the polar tides,\n    In shining frost the Northern Chariot rides;[630]\n    Mid treasur'd snows here gleams the grisly Bear,\n    And icy flakes incrust his shaggy hair.\n    Here fair Andromeda, of heav'n belov'd;\n    Her vengeful sire, and, by the gods reprov'd,\n    Beauteous Cassiope. Here, fierce and red,      }\n    Portending storms, Orion lifts his head;       }\n    And here the Dogs their raging fury shed.      }\n    The Swan, sweet melodist, in death he sings,\n    The milder Swan here spreads his silver wings.\n    Here Orpheus' Lyre, the melancholy Hare,\n    And here the watchful Dragon's eye-balls glare;\n    And Theseus' ship, oh, less renown'd than thine,\n    Shall ever o'er these skies illustrious shine.\n    Beneath this radiant firmament behold\n    The various planets in their orbits roll'd:\n    Here, in cold twilight, hoary Saturn rides;\n    Here Jove shines mild, here fiery Mars presides;\n    Apollo here, enthron'd in light, appears\n    The eye of heav'n, emblazer of the spheres;\n    Beneath him beauteous glows the Queen of Love--\n    The proudest hearts her sacred influence prove;\n    Here Hermes, fam'd for eloquence divine,\n    And here Diana's various faces shine;\n    Lowest she rides, and, through the shadowy night,\n    Pours on the glist'ning earth her silver light.\n    These various orbs, behold, in various speed\n    Pursue the journeys at their birth decreed.\n    Now, from the centre far impell'd they fly,\n    Now, nearer earth they sail a lower sky,\n    A shorten'd course: Such are their laws impress'd\n    By God's dread will,[631] that will for ever best.\n\n      \"The yellow earth, the centre of the whole,\n    There lordly rests sustain'd on either pole.\n    The limpid air enfolds in soft embrace\n    The pond'rous orb, and brightens o'er her face.\n    Here, softly floating o'er th' a\u00ebrial blue,\n    Fringed with the purple and the golden hue,\n    The fleecy clouds their swelling sides display;\n    From whence, fermented by the sulph'rous ray,\n    The lightnings blaze, and heat spreads wide and rare;\n    And now, in fierce embrace with frozen air,\n    Their wombs, compress'd, soon feel parturient throws,\n    And white wing'd gales bear wide the teeming snows.\n    Thus, cold and heat their warring empires hold,\n    Averse yet mingling, each by each controll'd,\n    The highest air and ocean's bed they pierce,\n    And earth's dark centre feels their struggles fierce.\n\n      \"The seat of man, the earth's fair breast, behold;\n    Here wood-crown'd islands wave their locks of gold.\n    Here spread wide continents their bosoms green,\n    And hoary Ocean heaves his breast between.\n    Yet, not th' inconstant ocean's furious tide\n    May fix the dreadful bounds of human pride.\n    What madd'ning seas between these nations roar!\n    Yet Lusus' hero-race shall visit ev'ry shore.\n    What thousand tribes, whom various customs sway,\n    And various rites, these countless shores display!\n    Queen of the world, supreme in shining arms,\n    Hers ev'ry art, and hers all wisdom's charms,\n    Each nation's tribute round her foot-stool spread,\n    Here Christian Europe[632] lifts the regal head.\n    Afric behold,[633] alas, what alter'd view!\n    Her lands uncultur'd, and her son's untrue;\n    Ungraced with all that sweetens human life,\n    Savage and fierce they roam in brutal strife;\n    Eager they grasp the gifts which culture yields,\n    Yet, naked roam their own neglected fields.\n    Lo, here enrich'd with hills of golden ore,\n    Monomotapa's empire hems the shore.\n    There round the Cape, great Afric's dreadful bound,\n    Array'd in storms (by you first compass'd round),\n    Unnumber'd tribes as bestial grazers stray,\n    By laws unform'd, unform'd by reason's sway:\n    Far inward stretch the mournful sterile dales,\n    Where, on the parch'd hill-side, pale Famine wails.\n    On gold in vain the naked savage treads;\n    Low, clay-built huts, behold, and reedy sheds,\n    Their dreary towns. Gonzalo's zeal shall glow[634]\n    To these dark minds the path of light to show:\n    His toils to humanize the barb'rous mind\n    Shall, with the martyr's palms, his holy temples bind.\n    Great Naya,[635] too, shall glorious here display\n    His God's dread might: behold, in black array,\n    Num'rous and thick as when in evil hour\n    The feather'd race whole harvest fields devour,\n    So thick, so num'rous round Sof\u00e1la's towers\n    Her barb'rous hordes remotest Africa pours:\n    In vain; Heav'n's vengeance on their souls impress'd,\n    They fly, wide scatter'd as the driving mist.\n    Lo, Quama there, and there the fertile Nile\n    Curs'd with that gorging fiend, the crocodile,\n    Wind their long way: the parent lake behold,\n    Great Nilus' fount, unseen, unknown of old,\n    From whence, diffusing plenty as he glides,\n    Wide Abyssinia's realm the stream divides.\n    In Abyssinia Heav'n's own altars blaze,[636]\n    And hallow'd anthems chant Messiah's praise.\n    In Nile's wide breast the isle of M{)e}r{)o}{=e} see!\n    Near these rude shores a hero sprung from thee,\n    Thy son, brave GAMA,[637] shall his lineage show\n    In glorious triumphs o'er the paynim[638] foe.\n    There by the rapid Ob her friendly breast\n    Melinda spreads, thy place of grateful rest.\n    Cape Aromata there the gulf defends,\n    Where by the Red Sea wave great Afric ends.\n    Illustrious Suez, seat of heroes old,\n    Fam'd Hierapolis, high-tower'd, behold.\n    Here Egypt's shelter'd fleets at anchor ride,\n    And hence, in squadrons, sweep the eastern tide.\n    And lo, the waves that aw'd by Moses' rod,\n    While the dry bottom Israel's armies trod,\n    On either hand roll'd back their frothy might,\n    And stood, like hoary rocks, in cloudy height.\n    Here Asia, rich in ev'ry precious mine,\n    In realms immense, begins her western line.\n    Sinai behold, whose trembling cliffs of yore\n    In fire and darkness, deep pavilion'd, bore\n    The Hebrews' God, while day, with awful brow,\n    Gleam'd pale on Israel's wand'ring tents below.\n    The pilgrim now the lonely hill ascends,\n    And, when the ev'ning raven homeward bends,\n    Before the virgin-martyr's tomb[639] he pays\n    His mournful vespers, and his vows of praise.\n    Jidda behold, and Aden's parch'd domain\n    Girt by Arzira's rock, where never rain\n    Yet fell from heav'n; where never from the dale\n    The crystal riv'let murmur'd to the vale.\n    The three Arabias here their breasts unfold,\n    Here breathing incense, here a rocky wold;\n    O'er Dofar's plain the richest incense breathes,\n    That round the sacred shrine its vapour wreathes;\n    Here the proud war-steed glories in his force,\n    As, fleeter than the gale, he holds the course.\n    Here, with his spouse and household lodg'd in wains,\n    The Arab's camp shifts, wand'ring o'er the plains,\n    The merchant's dread, what time from eastern soil\n    His burthen'd camels seek the land of Nile.\n    Here Rosalgate and Farthac stretch their arms,\n    And point to Ormuz, fam'd for war's alarms;\n    Ormuz, decreed full oft to quake with dread\n    Beneath the Lusian heroes' hostile tread,\n    Shall see the Turkish moons,[640] with slaughter gor'd,\n    Shrink from the lightning of De Branco's sword.[641]\n    There on the gulf that laves the Persian shore,\n    Far through the surges bends Cape Asabore.\n    There Barem's isle;[642] her rocks with diamonds blaze,\n    And emulate Aurora's glitt'ring rays.\n    From Barem's shore Euphrates' flood is seen,\n    And Tigris' waters, through the waves of green\n    In yellowy currents many a league extend,\n    As with the darker waves averse they blend.\n    Lo, Persia there her empire wide unfolds!\n    In tented camp his state the monarch holds:\n    Her warrior sons disdain the arms of fire,[643]\n    And, with the pointed steel, to fame aspire;\n    Their springy shoulders stretching to the blow,\n    Their sweepy sabres hew the shrieking foe.\n    There Gerum's isle the hoary ruin wears\n    Where Time has trod:[644] there shall the dreadful spears\n    Of Sousa and Menezes strew the shore\n    With Persian sabres, and embathe with gore.\n    Carpella's cape, and sad Carmania's strand,\n    There, parch'd and bare, their dreary wastes expand.\n    A fairer landscape here delights the view;\n    From these green hills beneath the clouds of blue,\n    The Indus and the Ganges roll the wave,\n    And many a smiling field propitious lave.\n    Luxurious here, Ulcinda's harvests smile,\n    And here, disdainful of the seaman's toil,\n    The whirling tides of Jaquet furious roar;\n    Alike their rage when swelling to the shore,\n    Or, tumbling backward to the deep, they force\n    The boiling fury of their gulfy course:\n    Against their headlong rage nor oars nor sails,\n    The stemming prow alone, hard toil'd, prevails.\n    Cambaya here begins her wide domain;\n    A thousand cities here shall own the reign\n    Of Lisboa's monarchs. He who first shall crown\n    Thy labours, GAMA,[645] here shall boast his own.\n    The length'ning sea that washes India's strand\n    And laves the cape that points to Ceylon's land\n    (The Taprobanian isle,[646] renown'd of yore),\n    Shall see his ensigns blaze from shore to shore.\n    Behold how many a realm, array'd in green,\n    The Ganges' shore and Indus' bank between!\n    Here tribes unnumber'd, and of various lore,\n    With woful penance fiend-like shapes adore;\n    Some Macon's orgies;[647] all confess the sway\n    Of rites that shun, like trembling ghosts, the day.\n    Narsinga's fair domain behold; of yore\n    Here shone the gilded towers of Meliapore.\n    Here India's angels, weeping o'er the tomb\n    Where Thomas sleeps,[648] implore the day to come,\n    The day foretold, when India's utmost shore\n    Again shall hear Messiah's blissful lore.\n    By Indus' banks the holy prophet trod,\n    And Ganges heard him preach the Saviour-God;\n    Where pale disease erewhile the cheek consum'd,\n    Health, at his word, in ruddy fragrance bloom'd;\n    The grave's dark womb his awful voice obey'd,\n    And to the cheerful day restor'd the dead;\n    By heavenly power he rear'd the sacred shrine,\n    And gain'd the nations by his life divine.\n    The priests of Brahma's hidden rites beheld,\n    And envy's bitt'rest gall their bosom's swell'd.\n    A thousand deathful snares in vain they spread;\n    When now the chief who wore the triple thread,[649]\n    Fir'd by the rage that gnaws the conscious breast\n    Of holy fraud, when worth shines forth confess'd,\n    Hell he invokes, nor hell in vain he sues;\n    His son's life-gore his wither'd hands imbrues;\n    Then, bold assuming the vindictive ire,\n    And all the passions of the woful sire,\n    Weeping, he bends before the Indian throne,\n    Arraigns the holy man, and wails his son:\n    A band of hoary priests attest the deed,\n    And India's king condemns the seer to bleed.\n    Inspir'd by Heav'n the holy victim stands,\n    And o'er the murder'd corse extends his hands:\n    'In God's dread power, thou slaughter'd youth, arise,\n    And name,thy murderer,' aloud he cries.\n    When, dread to view, the deep wounds instant close,\n    And, fresh in life, the slaughter'd youth arose,\n    And nam'd his treach'rous sire. The conscious air\n    Quiver'd, and awful horror raised the hair\n    On ev'ry head. From Thomas India's king\n    The holy sprinkling of the living spring\n    Receives, and wide o'er all his regal bounds\n    The God of Thomas ev'ry tongue resounds.\n    Long taught the holy seer the words of life;\n    The priests of Brahma still to deeds of strife\n    (So boil'd their ire) the blinded herd impell'd,\n    And high, to deathful rage, their rancour swell'd.\n    'Twas on a day, when melting on his tongue\n    Heav'n's offer'd mercies glow'd, the impious throng,\n    Rising in madd'ning tempest, round him shower'd\n    The splinter'd flint; in vain the flint was pour'd:\n    But Heav'n had now his finish'd labours seal'd;\n    His angel guards withdraw the etherial shield;\n    A Brahmin's javelin tears his holy breast----\n    Ah Heav'n, what woes the widow'd land express'd!\n    Thee, Thomas, thee, the plaintive Ganges mourn'd,[650]\n    And Indus' banks the murm'ring moan return'd;\n    O'er ev'ry valley where thy footsteps stray'd,\n    The hollow winds the gliding sighs convey'd.\n    What woes the mournful face of India wore,\n    These woes in living pangs his people bore.\n    His sons, to whose illumin'd minds he gave\n    To view the ray that shines beyond the grave,\n    His pastoral sons bedew'd his corse with tears,\n    While high triumphant through the heav'nly spheres,\n    With songs of joy, the smiling angels wing\n    His raptur'd spirit to the eternal King.\n    O you, the followers of the holy seer,\n    Foredoom'd the shrines of Heav'n's own lore to rear,\n    You, sent by Heav'n his labours to renew,\n    Like him, ye Lusians, simplest Truth pursue.[651]\n    Vain is the impious toil, with borrow'd grace,\n    To deck one feature of her angel face;\n    Behind the veil's broad glare she glides away,\n    And leaves a rotten form, of lifeless, painted clay.\n\n      \"Much have you view'd of future Lusian reign;\n    Broad empires yet, and kingdoms wide, remain,\n    Scenes of your future toils and glorious sway--\n    And lo, how wide expands the Gangic bay!\n    Narsinga here in num'rous legions bold,\n    And here Oryxa boasts her cloth of gold.\n    The Ganges here in many a stream divides,            }\n    Diffusing plenty from his fatt'ning tides,           }\n    As through Bengala's rip'ning vales he glides;       }\n    Nor may the fleetest hawk, untir'd, explore\n    Where end the ricy groves that crown the shore.\n    There view what woes demand your pious aid!\n    On beds and litters, o'er the margin laid,\n    The dying[652] lift their hollow eyes, and crave\n    Some pitying hand to hurl them in the wave.\n    Thus Heav'n (they deem), though vilest guilt they bore\n    Unwept, unchanged, will view that guilt no more.\n    There, eastward, Arracan her line extends;\n    And Pegu's mighty empire southward bends:\n    Pegu, whose sons (so held old faith) confess'd\n    A dog their sire;[653] their deeds the tale attest.\n    A pious queen their horrid rage restrain'd;[654]\n    Yet, still their fury Nature's God arraign'd.\n    Ah, mark the thunders rolling o'er the sky;\n    Yes, bath'd in gore, shall rank pollution lie.\n\n      \"Where to the morn the towers of Tava shine,\n    Begins great Siam's empire's far-stretch'd line.\n    On Queda's fields the genial rays inspire\n    The richest gust of spicery's fragrant fire.\n    Malacca's castled harbour here survey,\n    The wealthful seat foredoom'd of Lusian sway.\n    Here to their port the Lusian fleets shall steer,\n    From ev'ry shore far round assembling here\n    The fragrant treasures of the eastern world:\n    Here from the shore by rolling earthquakes hurl'd,\n    Through waves all foam, Sumatra's isle was riv'n,\n    And, mid white whirlpools, down the ocean driv'n.[655]\n    To this fair isle, the golden Chersonese,\n    Some deem the sapient monarch plough'd the seas;\n    Ophir its Tyrian name.[656] In whirling roars\n    How fierce the tide boils down these clasping shores!\n    High from the strait the length'ning coast afar\n    Its moonlike curve points to the northern star,\n    Opening its bosom to the silver ray\n    When fair Aurora pours the infant day.\n    Patane and Pam, and nameless nations more,\n    Who rear their tents on Menam's winding shore,\n    Their vassal tribute yield to Siam's throne;\n    And thousands more,[657] of laws, of names unknown,\n    That vast of land inhabit. Proud and bold,\n    Proud of their numbers, here the Laos hold\n    The far-spread lawns; the skirting hills obey\n    The barb'rous Avas', and the Brahma's sway.\n    Lo, distant far, another mountain chain\n    Rears its rude cliffs, the Guio's dread domain;\n    Here brutaliz'd the human form is seen,\n    The manners fiend-like as the brutal mien:\n    With frothing jaws they suck the human blood,\n    And gnaw the reeking limbs,[658] their sweetest food;\n    Horrid, with figur'd seams of burning steel,\n    Their wolf-like frowns their ruthless lust reveal.\n    Cambaya there the blue-tinged Mecon laves,\n    Mecon the eastern Nile, whose swelling waves,\n    'Captain of rivers' nam'd, o'er many a clime,\n    In annual period, pour their fatt'ning slime.\n    The simple natives of these lawns believe\n    That other worlds the souls of beasts receive;[659]\n    Where the fierce murd'rer-wolf, to pains decreed,\n    Sees the mild lamb enjoy the heav'nly mead.\n    Oh gentle Mecon,[660] on thy friendly shore\n    Long shall the muse her sweetest off'rings pour!\n    When tyrant ire, chaf'd by the blended lust\n    Of pride outrageous, and revenge unjust,\n    Shall on the guiltless exile burst their rage,\n    And madd'ning tempests on their side engage,\n    Preserv'd by Heav'n the song of Lusian fame,\n    The song, O VASCO, sacred to thy name,\n    Wet from the whelming surge, shall triumph o'er\n    The fate of shipwreck on the Mecon's shore,\n    Here rest secure as on the muse's breast!\n    Happy the deathless song, the bard, alas, unblest!\n\n      \"Chiampa there her fragrant coast extends,\n    There Cochin-China's cultur'd land ascends:\n    From Anam Bay begins the ancient reign\n    Of China's beauteous art-adorn'd domain;\n    Wide from the burning to the frozen skies,\n    O'erflow'd with wealth, the potent empire lies.\n    Here, ere the cannon's rage in Europe roar'd,[661]\n    The cannon's thunder on the foe was pour'd:\n    And here the trembling needle sought the north,\n    Ere Time in Europe brought the wonder forth.\n    No more let Egypt boast her mountain pyres;\n    To prouder fame yon bounding wall aspires,\n    A prouder boast of regal power displays\n    Than all the world beheld in ancient days.\n    Not built, created seems the frowning mound;                    }\n    O'er loftiest mountain tops, and vales profound                 }\n    Extends the wondrous length, with warlike castles crown'd.      }\n    Immense the northern wastes their horrors spread;[662]\n    In frost and snow the seas and shores are clad.\n    These shores forsake, to future ages due:\n    A world of islands claims thy happier view,\n    Where lavish Nature all her bounty pours,\n    And flowers and fruits of ev'ry fragrance showers.\n    Japan behold; beneath the globe's broad face\n    Northward she sinks, the nether seas embrace\n    Her eastern bounds; what glorious fruitage there,\n    Illustrious GAMA, shall thy labours bear!\n    How bright a silver mine![663] when Heav'n's own lore\n    From pagan dross shall purify her ore.\n\n      \"Beneath the spreading wings of purple morn,\n    Behold what isles these glist'ning seas adorn!\n    'Mid hundreds yet unnam'd, Ternate behold!\n    By day, her hills in pitchy clouds inroll'd,\n    By night, like rolling waves, the sheets of fire\n    Blaze o'er the seas, and high to heav'n aspire.\n    For Lusian hands here blooms the fragrant clove,\n    But Lusian blood shall sprinkle ev'ry grove.\n    The golden birds that ever sail the skies\n    Here to the sun display their shining dyes,\n    Each want supplied, on air they ever soar;\n    The ground they touch not[664] till they breathe no more.\n    Here Banda's isles their fair embroid'ry spread\n    Of various fruitage, azure, white, and red;\n    And birds of ev'ry beauteous plume display\n    Their glitt'ring radiance, as, from spray to spray,\n    From bower to bower, on busy wings they rove,\n    To seize the tribute of the spicy grove.\n    Borneo here expands her ample breast,\n    By Nature's hand in woods of camphor dress'd;\n    The precious liquid, weeping from the trees,\n    Glows warm with health, the balsam of disease.\n    Fair are Timora's dales with groves array'd,\n    Each riv'let murmurs in the fragrant shade,\n    And, in its crystal breast, displays the bowers\n    Of Sanders, blest with health-restoring powers.\n    Where to the south the world's broad surface bends,\n    Lo, Sunda's realm her spreading arms extends.\n    From hence the pilgrim brings the wondrous tale,[665]\n    A river groaning through a dreary dale\n    (For all is stone around) converts to stone\n    Whate'er of verdure in its breast is thrown.\n    Lo, gleaming blue, o'er fair Sumatra's skies,\n    Another mountain's trembling flames arise;\n    Here from the trees the gum[666] all fragrance swells,\n    And softest oil a wondrous fountain wells.\n    Nor these alone the happy isle bestows,\n    Fine is her gold, her silk resplendent glows.\n    Wide forests there beneath Maldivia's tide[667]\n    From with'ring air their wondrous fruitage hide.\n    The green-hair'd Nereids, tend the bow'ry dells,\n    Whose wondrous fruitage poison's rage expels.\n    In Ceylon, lo, how high yon mountain's brows!\n    The sailing clouds its middle height enclose.\n    Holy the hill is deem'd, the hallow'd tread\n    Of sainted footstep[668] marks its rocky head.\n    Lav'd by the Red Sea gulf, Socotra's bowers\n    There boast the tardy aloe's beauteous flowers.\n    On Afric's strand, foredoom'd to Lusian sway,\n    Behold these isles, and rocks of dusky gray;\n    From cells unknown here bounteous ocean pours\n    The fragrant amber on the sandy shores.\n    And lo, the Island of the Moon[669] displays\n    Her vernal lawns, and num'rous peaceful bays:\n    The halcyons[670] hov'ring o'er the bays are seen,\n    And lowing herds adorn the vales of green.\n\n      \"Thus, from the cape where sail was ne'er unfurl'd,\n    Till thine, auspicious, sought the eastern world,\n    To utmost wave, where first the morning star\n    Sheds the pale lustre of her silver car,\n    Thine eyes have view'd the empires and the isles,\n    The world immense, that crowns thy glorious toils--\n    That world where ev'ry boon is shower'd from Heav'n,\n    Now to the West, by thee, great chief, is giv'n.[671]\n\n      \"And still, O blest, thy peerless honours grow,\n    New op'ning views the smiling fates bestow.\n    With alter'd face the moving globe behold;\n    There ruddy ev'ning sheds her beams of gold.\n    While now, on Afric's bosom faintly die\n    The last pale glimpses of the twilight sky,\n    Bright o'er the wide Atlantic rides the morn,\n    And dawning rays another world adorn:\n    To farthest north that world enormous bends,\n    And cold, beneath the southern pole-star ends.\n    Near either pole[672] the barb'rous hunter, dress'd\n    In skins of bears, explores the frozen waste:\n    Where smiles the genial sun with kinder rays,\n    Proud cities tower, and gold-roof'd temples blaze.\n    This golden empire, by the heav'n's decree,\n    Is due, Castile, O favour'd power, to thee!\n    Even now, Columbus o'er the hoary tide\n    Pursues the ev'ning sun, his navy's guide.\n    Yet, shall the kindred Lusian share the reign,\n    What time this world shall own the yoke of Spain.\n    The first bold hero[673] who to India's shores\n    Through vanquish'd waves thy open'd path explores,\n    Driv'n by the winds of heav'n from Afric's strand,\n    Shall fix the holy cross on yon fair land.\n    That mighty realm, for purple wood renown'd,\n    Shall stretch the Lusian empire's western bound.\n    Fir'd by thy fame, and with his king in ire,\n    To match thy deeds shall Magalhaens aspire.[674]\n    In all but loyalty, of Lusian soul,\n    No fear, no danger shall his toils control.\n    Along these regions, from the burning zone\n    To deepest south, he dares the course unknown.\n    While, to the kingdoms of the rising day,\n    To rival thee he holds the western way,\n    A land of giants[675] shall his eyes behold,\n    Of camel strength, surpassing human mould:\n    And, onward still, thy fame his proud heart's guide\n    Haunting him unappeas'd, the dreary tide\n    Beneath the southern star's cold gleam he braves,\n    And stems the whirls of land-surrounded waves.\n    For ever sacred to the hero's fame,\n    These foaming straits shall bear his deathless name.\n    Through these dread jaws of rock he presses on,\n    Another ocean's breast, immense, unknown,\n    Beneath the south's cold wings, unmeasur'd, wide,\n    Receives his vessels; through the dreary tide\n    In darkling shades, where never man before\n    Heard the waves howl, he dares the nameless shore.\n\n      \"Thus far, O favour'd Lusians, bounteous Heav'n\n    Your nation's glories to your view has giv'n.\n    What ensigns, blazing to the morn, pursue\n    The path of heroes, open'd first by you!\n    Still be it yours the first in fame to shine:\n    Thus shall your brides new chaplets still entwine,\n    With laurels ever new your brows enfold,\n    And braid your wavy locks with radiant gold.\n\n      \"How calm the waves, how mild the balmy gale!\n    The halcyons call; ye Lusians, spread the sail;\n    Old ocean, now appeas'd, shall rage no more.\n    Haste, point the bowsprit to your native shore:\n    Soon shall the transports of the natal soil\n    O'erwhelm, in bounding joy, the thoughts of ev'ry toil.\"\n\n      The goddess spake[676]; and VASCO wav'd his hand,\n    And soon the joyful heroes crowd the strand.\n    The lofty ships with deepen'd burthens prove\n    The various bounties of the Isle of Love.\n    Nor leave the youths their lovely brides behind,\n    In wedded bands, while time glides on, conjoin'd;\n    Fair as immortal fame in smiles array'd,\n    In bridal smiles, attends each lovely maid.\n    O'er India's sea, wing'd on by balmy gales\n    That whisper'd peace, soft swell'd the steady sails:\n    Smooth as on wing unmov'd the eagle flies,\n    When to his eyrie cliff he sails the skies,\n    Swift o'er the gentle billows of the tide,\n    So smooth, so soft, the prows of GAMA glide;\n    And now their native fields, for ever dear,\n    In all their wild transporting charms appear;\n    And Tago's bosom, while his banks repeat\n    The sounding peals of joy, receives the fleet.\n    With orient titles and immortal fame\n    The hero band adorn their monarch's name;\n    Sceptres and crowns beneath his feet they lay,\n    And the wide East is doom'd to Lusian sway.[677]\n\n      Enough, my muse, thy wearied wing no more\n    Must to the seat of Jove triumphant soar.\n    Chill'd by my nation's cold neglect, thy fires\n    Glow bold no more, and all thy rage expires.\n    Yet thou, Sebastian, thou, my king, attend;\n    Behold what glories on thy throne descend!\n    Shall haughty Gaul or sterner Albion boast\n    That all the Lusian fame in thee is lost!\n    Oh, be it thine these glories to renew,\n    And John's bold path and Pedro's course pursue:[678]\n    Snatch from the tyrant-noble's hand the sword,\n    And be the rights of humankind restor'd.\n    The statesman prelate to his vows confine,\n    Alone auspicious at the holy shrine;\n    The priest, in whose meek heart Heav'n pours its fires,\n    Alone to Heav'n, not earth's vain pomp, aspires.\n    Nor let the muse, great king, on Tago's shore,\n    In dying notes the barb'rous age deplore.\n    The king or hero to the muse unjust\n    Sinks as the nameless slave, extinct in dust.\n    But such the deeds thy radiant morn portends,\n    Aw'd by thy frown ev'n now old Atlas bends\n    His hoary head, and Ampeluza's fields\n    Expect thy sounding steeds and rattling shields.\n    And shall these deeds unsung, unknown, expire!\n    Oh, would thy smiles relume my fainting ire!\n    I, then inspir'd, the wond'ring world should see\n    Great Ammon's warlike son reviv'd in thee;\n    Reviv'd, unenvied[679] of the muse's flame\n    That o'er the world resounds Pelides'[680] name.\n    \"O let th' Iambic Muse revenge that wrong\n    Which cannot slumber in thy sheets of lead;\n    Let thy abused honour crie as long\n    As there be quills to write, or eyes to reade:\n    On his rank name let thine own votes be turn'd,\n    _Oh may that man that hath the Muses scorn'd\n    Alive, nor dead, be ever of a Muse adorn'd_.\"\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\nLONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING\nCROSS.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] _Poems of Luis de Camo\u00ebns, with Remarks on his Life and Writings._\nBy Lord Viscount Strangford. Fifth edition. London, 1808.\n\n[2] The Cama{=o \u00f5}. Formerly every well-regulated family in Spain\nretained one of these terrible attendants. The infidelity of its\nmistress was the only circumstance which could deprive it of life. This\nodious distrust of female honour is ever characteristic of a barbarous\nage.\n\n[3] The laws of Portugal were peculiarly severe against those who\ncarried on a love-intrigue within the palace: they punished the offence\nwith death. Joam I. suffered one of his favourites to be burnt alive for\nit.--_Ed._\n\n[4] The Maekhaun, or Camboja.--_Ed._\n\n[5] Thomas Moore Musgrave's translation of The Lusiad is in blank verse,\nand is dedicated to the Earl of Chichester. I vol. 8vo. Murray; 1826.\n\n[6] A document in the archives of the Portuguese India House, on which\nLord Strangford relies, places it in 1524, or the following year.--_Ed._\n\n[7] The French translator gives us so fine a description of the person\nof Camo\u00ebns, that it seems borrowed from the Fairy Tales. It is\nuniversally agreed, however, that he was handsome, and had a most\nengaging mien and address. He is thus described by Nicolas Antonio\n\"_Mediocri statura fuit, et carne plena, capillis usque ad croci colorem\nflavescentibus, maxime in juventute. Eminebat ei frons, et medius nasus,\nc\u00e6tera longus, et in fine crassiusculus._\"\n\n[8] Castera tells us, \"that posterity by no means enters into the\nresentment of our poet, and that the Portuguese historians make glorious\nmention of Barreto, who was a man of true merit.\" The Portuguese\nhistorians, however, knew not what true merit was. The brutal,\nuncommercial wars of Sampayo are by them mentioned as much more glorious\nthan the less bloody campaigns of a Nunio, which established commerce\nand empire.\n\n[9] Having named the Mecon, or Meekhaun, a river of Cochin China, he\nsays--\n\n    _Este recebera placido, e brando,\n    No seu rega\u00e7o o Canto, que molhado_, etc.\n\nLiterally thus: \"On his gentle hospitable bosom (_sic_ brando _poetic\u00e9_)\nshall he receive the song, wet from woful unhappy shipwreck, escaped\nfrom destroying tempests, from ravenous dangers, the effect of the\nunjust sentence upon him, whose lyre shall be more renowned than\nenriched.\" When Camo\u00ebns was commissary, he visited the islands of\nTernate, Timor, etc., described in the Lusiad.\n\n[10] According to the Portuguese Life of Camo\u00ebns, prefixed to Gedron's\nthe best edition of his works, Diogo de Couto, the historian, one of the\ncompany in this homeward voyage, wrote annotations upon the Lusiad,\nunder the eye of its author. But these, unhappily, have never appeared\nin public.\n\n[11] Cardinal Henry's patronage of learning and learned men is mentioned\nwith cordial esteem by the Portuguese writers. Happily they also tell us\nwhat that learning was. It was to him the Romish Friars of the East\ntransmitted their childish forgeries of inscriptions and miracles. He\ncorresponded with them, directed their labours, and received the first\naccounts of their success. Under his patronage it was discovered, that\nSt. Thomas ordered the Indians to worship the cross; and that the\nMoorish tradition of Perimal (who, having embraced Mohammedanism,\ndivided his kingdom among his officers, whom he rendered tributary to\nthe Zamorim) was a malicious misrepresentation, for that Perimal, having\nturned Christian, resigned his kingdom and became a monk. Such was the\nlearning patronized by Henry, under whose auspices that horrid tribunal,\nthe Inquisition, was erected at Lisbon, where he himself long presided\nas Inquisitor-General. Nor was he content with this: he established an\nInquisition, also, at Goa, and sent a whole apparatus of holy fathers to\nform a court of inquisitors, to suppress the Jews and reduce the native\nChristians to the see of Rome. Nor must the treatment experienced by\nBuchanan at Lisbon be here omitted. John III., earnest to promote the\ncultivation of polite literature among his subjects, engaged Buchanan,\nthe most elegant Latinist, perhaps, of modern times, to teach philosophy\nand the _belles lettres_ at Lisbon. But the design of the monarch was\nsoon frustrated by the clergy, at the head of whom was Henry, afterwards\nking. Buchanan was committed to prison, because it was alleged that he\nhad eaten flesh in Lent, and because in his early youth, at St. Andrew's\nin Scotland, he had written a satire against the Franciscans; for which,\nhowever, ere he would venture to Lisbon, John had promised absolute\nindemnity. John, with much difficulty, procured his release from a\nloathsome jail, but could not effect his restoration as a teacher. No,\nhe only changed his prison, for Buchanan was sent to a monastery \"to be\ninstructed by the monks,\" of the men of letters patronized by Henry.\nThese are thus characterized by their pupil Buchanan,--_nec inhumanis,\nnec malis, sed omnis religionis ignaris_: \"Not uncivilized, not\nflagitious, but ignorant of every religion.\"\n\n[12] According to Gedron, a second edition of the Lusiad appeared in the\nsame year with the first. There are two Italian and four Spanish\ntranslations of it. A hundred years before Castera's version it appeared\nin French. Thomas de Faria, Bp. of Targa in Africa, translated it into\nLatin. Le P. Niceron says there were two other Latin translations. It is\ntranslated, also, into Hebrew, with great elegance and spirit, by one\nLuzzatto, a learned and ingenious Jew, author of several poems in that\nlanguage, who died in the Holy Land.\n\n[13] This passage in inverted commas is cited, with the alteration of\nthe name only, from Langhorne's account of the life of William Collins.\n\n[14] The drama and the epopoeia are in nothing so different as in\nthis--the subjects of the drama are inexhaustible, those of the epopoeia\nare perhaps exhausted. He who chooses war, and warlike characters,\ncannot appear as an original. It was well for the memory of Pope that he\ndid not write the epic poem he intended. It would have been only a copy\nof Virgil. Camo\u00ebns and Milton have been happy in the novelty of their\nsubjects, and these they have exhausted. There cannot possibly be so\nimportant a voyage as that which gave the eastern world to the western.\nAnd, did even the story of Columbus afford materials equal to that of\nGama, the adventures of the hero, and the view of the extent of his\ndiscoveries must now appear as servile copies of the Lusiad.\n\n[15] See his Satyricon.--_Ed._\n\n[16] See letters on Chivalry and Romance.\n\n[17] The Lusiad is also rendered poetical by other fictions. The elegant\nsatire on King Sebastian, under the name of Acteon; and the prosopopoeia\nof the populace of Portugal venting their murmurs upon the beach when\nGama sets sail, display the richness of our author's poetical genius,\nand are not inferior to anything of the kind in the classics.\n\n[18] Hence the great interest which we as Britons either do, or ought\nto, feel in this noble epic. We are the successors of the Portuguese in\nthe possession and government of India; and therefore what interested\nthem must have for us, as the actual possessors, a double\ninterest.--_Ed._\n\n[19] Castera was every way unequal to his task. He did not perceive his\nauthor's beauties. He either suppresses or lowers the most poetical\npassages, and substitutes French tinsel and impertinence in their place.\n\n[20] Pope, Odyss. XX.\n\n[21] Richard Fanshaw, Esq., afterwards Sir Richard, was English\nAmbassador both at Madrid and Lisbon. He had a taste for literature, and\ntranslated from the Italian several pieces which were of service in the\nrefinement of our poetry. Though his Lusiad, by the dedication of it to\nWilliam, Earl of Strafford, dated May 1, 1655, seems as if published by\nhimself, we are told by the editor of his Letters, that \"during the\nunsettled times of our anarchy, some of his MSS., falling by misfortune\ninto unskilful hands, were printed and published without his knowledge\nor consent, and before he could give them his last finishing strokes:\nsuch was his translation of the Lusiad.\" He can never have enough of\nconceits, low allusions, and expressions. When gathering of flowers is\nsimply mentioned (C. 9, st. 24) he gives it, \"gather'd flowers by\npecks;\" and the Indian Regent is avaricious (C. 8, st. 95)--\n\n    _Meaning a better penny thence to get._\n\nBut enough of these have already appeared in the notes. It may be\nnecessary to add, that the version of Fanshaw, though the Lusiad very\nparticularly requires them, was given to the public without one note.\n\n[22] Some liberties of a less poetical kind, however, require to be\nmentioned. In Homer and Virgil's lists of slain warriors, Dryden and\nPope have omitted several names which would have rendered English\nversification dull and tiresome. Several allusions to ancient history\nand fable have for this reason been abridged; e.g. in the prayer of GAMA\n(Book 6) the mention of Paul, \"thou who deliveredst Paul and defendest\nhim from quicksands and wild waves--\n\n    _Das scyrtes arenosas e ondas feas_--\"\n\nis omitted. However excellent in the original, the prayer in English\nwould lose both its dignity and ardour. Nor let the critic, if he find\nthe meaning of Camo\u00ebns in some instances altered, imagine that he has\nfound a blunder in the translator. He who chooses to see a slight\nalteration of this kind will find an instance, which will give him an\nidea of others, in Canto 8, st. 48, and another in Canto 7, st. 41. It\nwas not to gratify the dull few, whose greatest pleasure in reading a\ntranslation is to see what the author exactly says; it was to give a\npoem that might live in the English language, which was the ambition of\nthe translator. And, for the same reason, he has not confined himself to\nthe Portuguese or Spanish pronunciation of proper names. Regardless,\ntherefore, of Spanish pronunciation, the translator has accented\nGran\u00e1da, Ev\u00f3ra, etc. in the manner which seemed to him to give most\ndignity to English versification. In the word Sofala he has even\nrejected the authority of Milton, and followed the more sonorous usage\nof Fanshaw. Thus Sir Richard: \"Against Sof\u00e1la's batter'd fort.\" Which is\nthe more sonorous there can be no dispute.\n\n[23] Judges xviii. 7, 9, 27, 28.\n\n[24] This ferocity of savage manners affords a philosophical account how\nthe most distant and inhospitable climes were first peopled. When a\nRomulus erects a monarchy and makes war on his neighbours, some\nnaturally fly to the wilds. As their families increase, the stronger\ncommit depredations on the weaker; and thus from generation to\ngeneration, they who either dread just punishment or unjust oppression,\nfly farther and farther in search of that protection which is only to be\nfound in civilized society.\n\n[25] The author of that voluminous work, _Histoire Philosophique et\nPolitique des Etablissements et du Commerce des Europ\u00e9ens dans les deux\nIndes_, is one of the many who assert that savage life is happier than\ncivil. His reasons are thus abridged: The savage has no care or fear for\nthe future; his hunting and fishing give him a certain subsistence. He\nsleeps sound, and knows not the diseases of cities. He cannot want what\nhe does not desire, nor desire that which he does not know, and vexation\nor grief do not enter his soul. He is not under the control of a\nsuperior in his actions; in a word, says our author, the savage only\nsuffers the evils of nature.\n\nIf the civilized, he adds, enjoy the elegancies of life, have better\nfood, and are more comfortably defended against the change of seasons,\nit is use which makes these things necessary, and they are purchased by\nthe painful labours of the multitude who are the basis of society. To\nwhat outrages is not the man of civil life exposed? if he has property,\nit is in danger; and government or authority is, according to our\nauthor, the greatest of all evils. If there is a famine in North\nAmerica, the savage, led by the wind and the sun, can go to a better\nclime; but in the horrors of famine, war, or pestilence, the ports and\nbarriers of civilized states place the subjects in a prison, where they\nmust perish. There still remains an infinite difference between the lot\nof the civilized and the savage; a difference, all entirely to the\ndisadvantage of society, that injustice which reigns in the inequality\nof fortunes and conditions.\n\n[26] The innocent simplicity of the Americans in their conferences with\nthe Spaniards, and the horrid cruelties they suffered from them, divert\nour view from their complete character. Almost everything was horrid in\ntheir civil customs and religious rites. In some tribes, to cohabit with\ntheir mothers, sisters, and daughters was esteemed the means of domestic\npeace. In others, catamites were maintained in every village; they went\nfrom house to house as they pleased, and it was unlawful to refuse them\nwhat victuals they chose. In every tribe, the captives taken in war were\nmurdered with the most wanton cruelty, and afterwards devoured by the\nvictors. Their religious rites were, if possible, still more horrid. The\nabominations of ancient Moloch were here outnumbered; children, virgins,\nslaves, and captives bled on different altars, to appease their various\ngods. If there was a scarcity of human victims, the priests announced\nthat the gods were dying of thirst for human blood. And, to prevent a\nthreatened famine, the kings of Mexico were obliged to make war on the\nneighbouring states. The prisoners of either side died by the hand of\nthe priest. But the number of the Mexican sacrifices so greatly exceeded\nthose of other nations, that the Tlascalans, who were hunted down for\nthis purpose, readily joined Cortez with about 200,000 men, and enabled\nhim to make one great sacrifice of the Mexican nation. Who that views\nMexico, steeped in her own blood, can restrain the emotion which\nwhispers to him, This is the hand of Heaven!--By the number of these\nsacred butcheries, one would think that cruelty was the greatest\namusement of Mexico. At the dedication of the temple of Vitzliputzli,\nA.D. 1486, no less than 64,080 human victims were sacrificed in four\ndays. And, according to the best accounts, the annual sacrifices of\nMexico required several thousands. The skulls of the victims sometimes\nwere hung on strings which reached from tree to tree around their\ntemples, and sometimes were built up in towers and cemented with lime.\nIn some of these towers Andrew de Tapia one day counted 136,000 skulls.\nDuring the war with Cortez they increased their usual sacrifices, till\npriest and people were tired of their bloody religion.--See, for ample\njustification of these statements, the _Histories of the Conquest of\nMexico and Peru_, by Prescott.--_Ed._\n\n[27] Mahommed Ali Khan, Nawab of the Carnatic, declared, \"I met the\nBritish with that freedom of openness which they love, and I esteem it\nmy honour as well as security to be the ally of such a nation of\nprinces.\"\n\n[28] Every man must follow his father's trade, and must marry a daughter\nof the same occupation. Innumerable are their other barbarous\nrestrictions of genius and inclination.\n\n[29] Extremity; for it were both highly unjust and impolitic in\ngovernment to allow importation in such a degree as might be destructive\nof domestic agriculture.\n\n[30] Even that warm admirer of savage happiness, the author of _Histoire\nPhilosophique et Politique des Etablissements_, confesses that the wild\nAmericans seem destitute of the feeling of love. When the heat of\npassion, says he, is gratified, they lose all affection and attachment\nfor their women, whom they degrade to the most servile offices.--A\ntender remembrance of the first endearments, a generous participation of\ncare and hope, the compassionate sentiments of honour; all these\ndelicate feelings, which arise into affection, and bind attachment, are\nindeed, incompatible with the ferocious and gross sensations of\nbarbarians.\n\n[31] It is a question still debated among medical writers, and by no\nmeans yet decided, whether the disease referred to is of American\norigin. We do not read, it is true, of any such disease in the pages of\nthe ancient classic writers; it has hence been inferred that it was\nunknown to them.--_Ed._\n\n[32] The degeneracy of the Roman literature preceded the fate of the\nstate, and the reason is obvious. The men of fortune grew frivolous, and\nsuperficial in every branch of knowledge, and were therefore unable to\nhold the reigns of empire. The degeneracy of literary taste is,\ntherefore, the surest proof of the general ignorance.\n\n[33] The soldiers and navigators were the only considerable gainers by\ntheir acquirements in the Indies. Agriculture and manufactures are the\nnatural strength of a nation; these received little or no increase in\nSpain and Portugal by the great acquisitions of these crowns.\n\n[34] Ariosto, who adopted the legends of the old romance, chose this\nperiod for the subject of his Orlando Furioso. Paris besieged by the\nSaracens, Orlando and the other Christian knights assemble in aid of\nCharlemagne, who are opposed in their amours and in battle by Rodomont,\nFerraw, and other Saracen knights. That there was a noted Moorish\nSpaniard, named Ferraw, a redoubted champion of that age, we have the\ntestimony of Marcus Antonius Sabellicus, a writer of note of the\nfifteenth century.\n\n[35] Small indeed in extent, but so rich in fertility, that it was\ncalled _Medulla Hispanica_, \"The marrow of Spain.\"--Vid. Resandii Antiq.\nLusit. l. iii.\n\n[36] In propriety most certainly a crusade, though that term has never\nbefore been applied to this war.\n\n[37] The power of deposing, and of electing their kings, under certain\ncircumstances, is vested in the people by the statutes of Lamego.\n\n[38] For the character of this prince, see the note, Bk. iii. p. 96.\n\n[39] For anecdotes of this monarch, see the notes, Bk. iii. p. 99.\n\n[40] This great prince was the natural son of Pedro the Just. Some years\nafter the murder of his beloved spouse, Inez de Castro (see Lusiad, Bk.\niii. p. 96), lest his father, whose severe temper he too well knew,\nshould force him into a disagreeable marriage, Don Pedro commenced an\namour with a Galician lady, who became the mother of John I., the\npreserver of the Portuguese monarchy.\n\n[41] The sons of John, who figure in history, were Edward, Juan,\nFernando, Pedro and Henry. Edward succeeded his father. Juan,\ndistinguished both in the camp and cabinet, in the reign of his brother\nEdward had the honour to oppose the expedition against Tangier, which\nwas proposed by his brother Fernando, in whose perpetual captivity it\nended.\n\n[42] The dominion of the Portuguese in the Indian seas cut the sinews of\nthe Egyptian and other Mohammedan powers.\n\n[43] Flanders has been the school-mistress of husbandry to Europe. Sir\nCharles Lisle, a royalist, resided in this country several years during\nthe Commonwealth; and after the Restoration, rendered England the\ngreatest service, by introducing the present system of agriculture.\nWhere trade increases, men's thoughts are set in action; hence the\nincrease of food which is wanted is supplied by a redoubled attention to\nhusbandry; and hence it was that agriculture was of old improved and\ndiffused by the Phoenician colonies.\n\n[44] At the reduction of Ceuta in Africa, and in other engagements,\nPrince Henry displayed military genius and valour of the first\nmagnitude. The important fortress of Ceuta was in a manner won by his\nown sword.\n\n[45] Nam, in Portuguese, a negative. It is now called by corruption Cape\nNun.\n\n[46] Cape Bojador, from the Spanish, _bojar_, to compass or go about.\n\n[47] Unluckily, he also left on this island two rabbits, whose young so\nincreased that in a few years it was found not habitable, every\nvegetable being destroyed by the great increase of these animals.\n\n[48] Madeira in Portuguese signifies timber.--_Ed._\n\n[49] If one would trace the true character of Cortez and the Americans,\nhe must have recourse to the numerous Spanish writers, who were either\nwitnesses of the first wars, or soon after travelled in these countries.\n[The reader cannot do better than refer to Prescott's _History of the\nConquest of Mexico and Peru_ for information on these points.--_Ed._] In\nthese he will find many anecdotes which afford a light not to be found\nin our modern histories. Cortez set out to take gold by force, and not\nby establishing any system of commerce with the natives, the only just\nreason for effecting a settlement in a foreign country. He was asked by\nvarious states, what commodities or drugs he wanted, and was promised\nabundant supply. He and his Spaniards, he answered, had a disease at\ntheir hearts, which nothing but gold could cure; and he received\nintelligence that Mexico abounded with it. Under pretence of a friendly\nconference, he made the Mexican emperor, Montezuma, his prisoner, and\nordered him to pay tribute to Charles V. Immense sums were paid, but the\ndemand was boundless. Tumults ensued. Cortez displayed amazing\ngeneralship, and some millions of those who boasted of the greatness of\nMontezuma were sacrificed to the disease of Cortez's heart. Pizarro,\nhowever, in the barbarity of his character, far exceeded him. There is a\nbright side to the character of Cortez, if we can forget that his\navarice was the cause of a most unjust and most bloody war; but Pizarro\nis a character completely detestable, destitute of every spark of\ngenerosity. He massacred the Peruvians because they were barbarians, and\nhe himself could not read. Atabalipa, the Peruvian Inca, amazed at the\nart of reading, got a Spaniard to write the word Dios (God) on his\nfinger. On trying if the Spaniards agreed in what it signified, he\ndiscovered that Pizarro could not read. And Pizarro, in revenge of the\ncontempt he perceived in the face of Atabalipa, ordered that prince to\nbe tried for his life, for having concubines, and being an idolater.\nAtabalipa was condemned to be burned; but on submitting to baptism, he\nwas only hanged. See Prescott's _Conquest of Peru_.\n\n[50] The difficulties he surmounted, and the assistance he received, are\nsufficient proofs that an adventurer of inferior birth could never have\ncarried his designs into execution.\n\n[51] Don Pedro was villainously accused of treacherous designs by his\nillegitimate brother, the first Duke of Braganza. Henry left his town of\nSagrez to defend his brother at court, but in vain. Pedro, finding the\nyoung king in the power of Braganza, fled, and soon after was killed in\ndefending himself against a party who were sent to seize him. His\ninnocence, after his death, was fully proved, and his nephew, Alonzo V.,\ngave him an honourable burial.\n\n[52] Henry, who undertook to extend the boundaries which ignorance had\ngiven to the world, had extended them much beyond the sensible horizon\nlong ere Columbus appeared. Columbus indeed taught the Spaniards the use\nof longitude and latitude in navigation, but that great mathematician,\nHenry, was the author of that grand discovery, and of the _use_ of the\ncompass. Every alteration ascribed to Columbus, had almost fifty years\nbefore been effected by Henry. Even Henry's idea of sailing to India was\nadopted by Columbus. It was everywhere his proposal. When he arrived in\nthe West Indies he thought he had found the Ophir of Solomon, and thence\nthese islands received their general name, and on his return he told\nJohn II. that he had been at the islands of India. To find the Spice\nIslands of the East was his proposal at the court of Spain; and even on\nhis fourth and last voyage in 1502, three years after Gama's return, he\npromised the King of Spain to find India by a westward passage. But\nthough great discoveries rewarded his toils, his first and last purpose\nhe never completed. It was reserved for Magalhaens to discover the\nwestward route to the Eastern world.\n\nGomara and other Spanish writers relate, that while Columbus lived in\nMadeira, a pilot, the only survivor of a ship's crew, died at his house.\nThis pilot, they say, had been driven to the West Indies, or America, by\ntempest, and on his death-bed communicated the journal of his voyage to\nColumbus.\n\n[53] Or Bethlehem, so named from the chapel.\n\n[54] Now called St. Helen's.\n\n[55] The voyage of Gama has been called merely a coasting one, and\ntherefore regarded as much less dangerous and heroical than that of\nColumbus, or of Magalhaens. But this is one of the opinions hastily\ntaken up, and founded on ignorance. Columbus and Magalhaens undertook to\nnavigate unknown oceans, and so did Gama; with this difference, that the\nocean around the Cape of Good Hope, which Gama was to encounter, was\nbelieved to be, and had been avoided by Diaz, as impassable. Prince\nHenry suggested that the current of Cape Bojador might be avoided by\nstanding out to sea, and thus that Cape was first passed. Gama for this\nreason did not coast, but stood out to sea for upwards of three months\nof tempestuous weather. The tempests which afflicted Columbus and\nMagalhaens are by their different historians described with\ncircumstances of less horror and danger than those which attacked Gama.\nAll the three commanders were endangered by mutiny; but none of their\ncrews, save Gama's, could urge the opinion of ages, and the example of a\nliving captain, that the dreadful ocean which they attempted was\nimpassable. Columbus and Magalhaens always found means, after detecting\na conspiracy, to keep the rest in hope; but Gama's men, when he put the\npilots in irons, continued in the utmost despair. Columbus was indeed\nill obeyed; Magalhaens sometimes little better; but nothing, save the\nwonderful authority of Gama's command, could have led his crew through\nthe tempest which he surmounted ere he doubled the Cape of Good Hope.\nColumbus, with _his_ crew, must have returned. The expedients which he\nused to soothe them, would, under _his_ authority, have had no avail in\nthe tempest which Gama rode through. From every circumstance it is\nevident that Gama had determined not to return, unless he found India.\nNothing less than such resolution to perish or attain his point could\nhave led him on.\n\n[56] It afterwards appeared that the Moorish King of Mombas had been\ninformed of what happened at Mozambique, and intended to revenge it by\nthe total destruction of the fleet.\n\n[57] Amerigo Vespucci, describing his voyage to America, says, \"Having\npassed the line, _e come desideroso d'essere autore che segnassi la\nstella_--desirous to be the namer and discoverer of the Pole-star of the\nother hemisphere, I lost my sleep many nights in contemplating the stars\nof the other pole.\" He then laments, that as his instruments could not\ndiscover any star of less motion then ten degrees, he had not the\nsatisfaction of giving a name to any one. But as he observed four stars,\nin form of an almond, which had but little motion, he hoped in his next\nvoyage he should be able to mark them out.--All this is curious, and\naffords a good comment on the temper of the man who had the art to\ndefraud Columbus, by giving his own name to America; of which he\nchallenged the discovery. Near fifty years before the voyage of Amerigo\nVespucci, the Portuguese had crossed the line; and Diaz fourteen, and\nGama nearly three years before, had doubled the Cape of Good Hope; had\ndiscovered seven stars in the constellation of the south pole, and from\nthe appearance of the four most luminous, had given it the name of \"The\nCross,\" a figure which it better resembles than that of an almond.\n\n[58] Properly \"Samudra-Rajah,\" King of the Sea, corrupted into\nZamorim.--_Ed._\n\n[59] \"Kotw\u00e2l\" signifies Superintendent of the Police.--_Ed._\n\n[60] Faria y Sousa.\n\n[61] It was the custom of the first discoverers to erect crosses at\nvarious places remarkable in their voyage. Gama erected six: one,\ndedicated to St. Raphael, at the river of Good Signs; one to St. George,\nat Mozambique; one to St. Stephen, at Melinda; one to St. Gabriel, at\nCalicut; and one to St. Mary, at the island thence named, near\nAnchediva.\n\n[62] _The Lusiad_; in the original, Os Lusiadas, The Lusiads, from the\nLatin name (_Lusitania_) of Portugal, derived from Lusus or Lysas, the\ncompanion of Bacchus in his travels, who settled a colony in Lusitania,\nSee Plin. 1, iii. c. i.\n\n[63] _Thro' seas where sail was never spread before._--M. Duperron de\nCastera, who has given a French prose translation, or rather paraphrase,\nof the Lusiad, has a long note on this passage, which, he tells us, must\nnot be understood literally. Our author, he says, could not be ignorant\nthat the African and Indian Oceans had been navigated before the times\nof the Portuguese. The Phoenicians, whose fleets passed the straits of\nGibraltar, made frequent voyages in these seas, though they carefully\nconcealed the course of their navigation that other nations might not\nbecome partakers of their lucrative traffic.--See the Periplus of Hanno,\nin Cory's Ancient Fragments.--_Ed._\n\n[64] _And all my country's wars._--He interweaves artfully the history\nof Portugal.--VOLTAIRE.\n\n[65] _To Holy Faith unnumber'd altars rear'd._--In no period of history\ndoes human nature appear with more shocking, more diabolical features\nthan in the wars of Cortez, and the Spanish conquerors of South America.\nZeal for the Christian religion was esteemed, at the time of the\nPortuguese grandeur, as the most cardinal virtue, and to propagate\nChristianity and extirpate Mohammedanism were the most certain proofs of\nthat zeal. In all their expeditions this was professedly a principal\nmotive of the Lusitanian monarchs, and Camo\u00ebns understood the nature of\nepic poetry too well to omit it.\n\n[66] Ulysses, who is the subject of the Odyssey.\n\n[67] The voyage of \u00c6neas, described in the \u00c6neid of Virgil.\n\n[68] Alexander the Great, who claimed to be the son of Jupiter Ammon.\n\n[69] Vasco de Gama is, in a great measure, though not exclusively, the\nhero of the Lusiad.\n\n[70] King Sebastian, who came to the throne in his minority. Though the\nwarm imagination of Camo\u00ebns anticipated the praises of the future hero,\nthe young monarch, like Virgil's Pollio, had not the happiness to fulfil\nthe prophecy. His endowments and enterprising genius promised, indeed, a\nglorious reign. Ambitious of military laurels, he led a powerful army\ninto Africa, on purpose to replace Muley Hamet on the throne of Morocco,\nfrom which he had been deposed by Muley Molucco. On the 4th of August,\n1578, in the twenty-fifth year of his age, he gave battle to the usurper\non the plains of Alcazar. This was that memorable engagement, to which\nthe Moorish Emperor, extremely weakened by sickness, was carried in his\nlitter. By the impetuosity of the attack, the first line of the Moorish\ninfantry was broken, and the second disordered. Muley Molucco on this\nmounted his horse, drew his sabre, and would have put himself at the\nhead of his troops, but was prevented by his attendants. His emotion of\nmind was so great that he fell from his horse, and one of his guards\nhaving caught him in his arms, conveyed him to his litter, where,\nputting his finger on his lips to enjoin them silence, he immediately\nexpired. Hamet Taba stood by the curtains of the carriage, opened them\nfrom time to time, and gave out orders as if he had received them from\nthe Emperor. Victory declared for the Moors, and the defeat of the\nPortuguese was so total, that not above fifty of their whole army\nescaped. Hieron de Mendo\u00e7a and Sebastian de Mesa relate, that Don\nSebastian, after having two horses killed under him, was surrounded and\ntaken; but the party who had secured him, quarrelling among themselves\nwhose prisoner he was, a Moorish officer rode up and struck the king a\nblow over the right eye, which brought him to the ground; when,\ndespairing of ransom, the others killed him. About twenty years after\nthis fatal defeat there appeared a stranger at Venice, who called\nhimself Sebastian, King of Portugal, whom he so perfectly resembled,\nthat the Portuguese of that city acknowledged him for their sovereign.\nHe underwent twenty-eight examinations before a committee of the nobles,\nin which he gave a distinct account of the manner in which he had passed\nhis time from the fatal defeat at Alcazar. It was objected, that the\nsuccessor of Muley Molucco sent a corpse to Portugal which had been\nowned as that of the king by the Portuguese nobility who survived the\nbattle. To this he replied, that his _valet de chambre_ had produced\nthat body to facilitate his escape, and that the nobility acted upon the\nsame motive, and Mesa and Baena confess, that some of this nobility,\nafter their return to Portugal acknowledged that the corpse was so\ndisfigured with wounds that it was impossible to know it. He showed\nnatural marks on his body, which many remembered on the person of the\nking whose name he assumed. He entered into a minute detail of the\ntransactions that had passed between himself and the republic, and\nmentioned the secrets of several conversations with the Venetian\nambassadors in the palace of Lisbon. He fell into the hands of the\nSpaniards, who conducted him to Naples, where they treated him with the\nmost barbarous indignities. After they had often exposed him, mounted on\nan ass, to the cruel insults of the brutal mob, he was shipped on board\na galley, as a slave. He was then carried to St. Lucar, from thence to a\ncastle in the heart of Castile, and never was heard of more. The\nfirmness of his behaviour, his singular modesty and heroical patience,\nare mentioned with admiration by Le Clede. To the last he maintained the\ntruth of his assertions: a word never slipped from his lips which might\ncountenance the charge of imposture, or justify the cruelty of his\npersecutors.\n\n[71] Portugal, when Camo\u00ebns wrote his Lusiad, was at the zenith of its\npower and splendour. The glorious successes which had attended the arms\nof the Portuguese in Africa, had gained them the highest military\nreputation. Their fleets covered the ocean. Their dominions and\nsettlements extended along the western and eastern sides of the vast\nAfrican continent. From the Red Sea to China and Japan, they were sole\nmasters of the riches of the East; and in America, the fertile and\nextensive regions of Brazil completed their empire.\n\n[72] Lusitania is the Latin name of a Roman province which comprised the\ngreater part of the modern kingdom of Portugal, besides a considerable\nportion of Leon and Spanish Estremadura.--_Ed._\n\n[73] _The sun._--Imitated, perhaps, from Rutilius, speaking of the Roman\nEmpire--\n\n    _Volvitur ipse tibi, qui conspicit omnia, Phoebus,\n    Atque tuis ortos in tua condit equos;_\n\nor, more probably, from these lines of Buchanan, addressed to John III.\nKing of Portugal, the grandfather of Sebastian--\n\n    _Inque tuis Phoebus regnis oriensque cadensque\n      Vix longum fesso conderet axe diem.\n    Et qu\u00e6cunque vago se circumvolvit Olympo\n      Affulget ratibus flamma ministra tuis._\n\n\n[74] _i.e._ poetic. Aonia was the ancient name of Boeotia, in which\ncountry was a fountain sacred to the Muses, whence Juvenal sings of a\npoet--\n\n    \"Enamoured of the woods, and fitted for drinking\n      At the fountains of the Aonides.\"\n\n    JUV. Sat. vii. 58.--_Ed._\n\n\n[75] _To match the Twelve so long by bards renown'd._--The Twelve Peers\nof France, often mentioned in the old romances. For the episode of\nMagricio and his eleven companions, see the sixth Lusiad.\n\n[76] Afonso in Portuguese. In the first edition Mickle had Alfonso,\nwhich he altered to Alonzo in the second edition.\n\n[77] _Thy grandsires._--John III. King of Portugal, celebrated for a\nlong and peaceful reign; and the Emperor Charles V., who was engaged in\nalmost continual wars.\n\n[78] Some critics have condemned Virgil for stopping his narrative to\nintroduce even a short observation of his own. Milton's beautiful\ncomplaint of his blindness has been blamed for the same reason, as being\nno part of the subject of his poem. The address of Camo\u00ebns to Don\nSebastian at the conclusion of the tenth Lusiad has not escaped the same\ncensure; though in some measure undeservedly, as the poet has had the\nart to interweave therein some part of the general argument of his poem.\n\n[79] This brave Lusitanian, who was first a shepherd and a famous\nhunter, and afterwards a captain of banditti, exasperated at the tyranny\nof the Romans, encouraged his countrymen to revolt and shake off the\nyoke. Being appointed general, he defeated Vetilius the pr\u00e6tor, who\ncommanded in Lusitania, or farther Spain. After this he defeated, in\nthree pitched battles, the pr\u00e6tors, C. Plautius Hyps\u00e6us and Claudius\nUnimanus, though they led against him very numerous armies. For six\nyears he continued victorious, putting the Romans to flight wherever he\nmet them, and laying waste the countries of their allies. Having\nobtained such advantages over the proconsul, Servilianus, that the only\nchoice which was left to the Roman army was death or slavery, the brave\nViriatus, instead of putting them all to the sword, as he could easily\nhave done, sent a deputation to the general, offering to conclude a\npeace with him on this single condition, _That he should continue master\nof the country now in his power, and that the Romans should remain\npossessed of the rest of Spain_.\n\nThe proconsul, who expected nothing but death or slavery, thought these\nvery favourable and moderate terms, and without hesitation concluded a\npeace, which was soon after ratified by the Roman senate and people.\nViriatus, by this treaty, completed the glorious design he had always in\nview, which was to erect a kingdom in the vast country he had conquered\nfrom the republic. And, had it not been for the treachery of the Romans,\nhe would have become, as Florus calls him, the Romulus of Spain.\n\nThe senate, desirous to revenge their late defeat, soon after this\npeace, ordered Q. Servilius C\u00e6pio to exasperate Viriatus, and force him,\nby repeated affronts, to commit the first acts of hostility. But this\nmean artifice did not succeed: Viriatus would not be provoked to a\nbreach of the peace. On this the Conscript Fathers, to the eternal\ndisgrace of their republic, ordered C\u00e6pio to declare war, and to\nproclaim Viriatus, who had given no provocation, an enemy to Rome. To\nthis baseness C\u00e6pio added one still greater; he corrupted the\nambassadors whom Viriatus had sent to negotiate with him, who, at the\ninstigation of the Roman, treacherously murdered their protector and\ngeneral while he slept.--UNIV. HISTORY.\n\n[80] Sertorius, who was invited by the Lusitanians to defend them\nagainst the Romans. He had a tame white hind, which he had accustomed to\nfollow him, and from which he pretended to receive the instructions of\nDiana. By this artifice he imposed upon the superstition of that people.\n\n[81] _No more in Nysa._--An ancient city in India sacred to Bacchus.\n\n[82] _Urania-Venus._--An Italian poet has given the following\ndescription of the celestial Venus--\n\n    _Questa \u00e8 vaga di Dio Venere bella\n    Vicina al Sole, e sopra ogni altra estella\n    Questa \u00e8 quella beata, a cui s'inchina,\n    A cui si volge desiando amore,\n    Chiamata cui del Ciel rara e divina\n    Belt\u00e0 che vien tra noi per nostro honore,\n    Per far le menti desiando al Cielo\n    Obliare l'altrui col proprio velo._--MARTEL.\n\n\n[83] See the note in the Second Book on the following passage--\n\n    _As when in Ida's bower she stood of yore, etc._\n\n\n[84] _The manly music of their tongue the same._--Camo\u00ebns says:\n\n    _E na lingoa, na qual quando imagina,\n    Com pouca corrup\u00e7ao cr\u00e9 que he Latina._\n\nQualifications are never elegant in poetry. Fanshaw's translation and\nthe original both prove this:\n\n    ----_their tongue\n    Which she thinks Latin, with small dross among._\n\n\n[85] _i.e._ helmet.\n\n[86]---- _and the light turn'd pale._--The thought in the original has\nsomething in it wildly great, though it is not expressed in the happiest\nmanner of Camo\u00ebns--\n\n    _O ceo tremeo, e Apollo detorvado\n    Hum pauco a luz perdeo, como infiado._\n\n\n[87] Mercury, the messenger of the gods.--_Ed._\n\n[88] _And pastoral Madagascar._--Called by the ancient geographers,\nMenuthia and Cerna Ethiopica; by the natives, the Island of the Moon;\nand by the Portuguese, the Isle of St. Laurence, on whose festival they\ndiscovered it.\n\n[89] _Praso._--Name of a promontory near the Red Sea.--_Ed._\n\n[90] _Lav'd by the gentle waves._--The original says, the sea showed\nthem new islands, which it encircled and laved. Thus rendered by\nFanshaw--\n\n    _Neptune disclos'd new isles which he did play\n    About, and with his billows danc't the hay._\n\n\n[91] The historical foundation of the fable of Phaeton is this. Phaeton\nwas a young enterprising prince of Libya. Crossing the Mediterranean in\nquest of adventures, he landed at Epirus, from whence he went to Italy\nto see his intimate friend Cygnus. Phaeton was skilled in astrology,\nfrom whence he arrogated to himself the title of the son of Apollo. One\nday in the heat of summer, as he was riding along the banks of the Po,\nhis horses took fright at a clap of thunder, and plunged into the river,\nwhere, together with their master, they perished. Cygnus, who was a\npoet, celebrated the death of his friend in verse, from whence the\nfable.--Vid. Plutarch, in Vit. Pyrr.\n\n[92] _Acheron._--The river of Hades, or hell.--_Ed._\n\n[93] _From Abram's race our holy prophet sprung._--Mohammed, who was\ndescended from Ishmael, the son of Abraham by Hagar.\n\n[94] The Hydaspes was a tributary of the river Indus.--_Ed._\n\n[95] _Calm twilight now._--Camo\u00ebns, in this passage, has imitated Homer\nin the manner of Virgil: by diversifying the scene he has made the\ndescription his own. The passage alluded to is in the eighth Iliad--\n\n    [Greek: \u00d4s d' hot' en ouran\u00f4 astra phaein\u00ean amphi amphi sel\u00ean\u00ean\n    Phainet' ariprepea], etc.\n\nThus elegantly translated by Pope:--\n\n    _As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night,\n    O'er heaven's clear azure spreads her sacred light,\n    When not a breath disturbs the deep serene,\n    And not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene;\n    Around her throne the vivid planets roll,\n    And stars unnumber'd gild the glowing pole,\n    O'er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed,\n    And tip with silver every mountain's head;\n    Then shine the vales, the rocks in prospect rise,\n    A flood of glory bursts from all the skies:\n    The conscious swains, rejoicing in the sight,\n    Eye the blue vault, and bless the useful light._\n\n\n[96] The Turks, or Osmanli Turcomans.--_Ed._\n\n[97] Constantinople.\n\n[98] _Straight as he spoke._--The description of the armoury, and\naccount which Vasco de Gama gives of his religion, consists, in the\noriginal, of thirty-two lines, which M. Castera has reduced into the\nfollowing sentence: _Leur Governeur fait differentes questions au\nCapitaine, qui pour le satisfaire lui explique en peu des mots la\nReligion que les Portugais suivent, l'usage des armes dont ils se\nservent dans la guerre, et le dessein qui les am\u00e8ne._\n\n[99] _i.e._, helmets.\n\n[100] Coats of mail.\n\n[101] _When Gama's lips Messiah's name confess'd._--This, and the reason\nof the Moor's hate, is entirely omitted by Castera. The original is, the\nMoor conceived hatred, \"knowing they were followers of the truth which\nthe Son of David taught.\" Thus rendered by Fanshaw:--\n\n    _Knowing they follow that unerring light,\n    The Son of David holds out in his Book._\n\nZacocia (governor of Mozambique) made no doubt but our people were of\nsome Mohammedan country. The mutual exchange of good offices between our\npeople and these islanders promised a long continuance of friendship,\nbut it proved otherwise. No sooner did Zacocia understand they were\nChristians, than all his kindness was turned into the most bitter\nhatred; he began to meditate their ruin, and sought to destroy the\nfleet.--OSORIO, Bp. of Sylves, Hist. of the Portug. Discov.\n\n[102] Bacchus, god of wine.\n\n[103] _Whom nine long months his father's thigh conceal'd._--Bacchus was\nnourished during his infancy in a cave of mount Meros, which in Greek\nsignifies a _thigh_. Hence the fable.\n\n[104] Alexander the Great, who on visiting the temple of Jupiter Ammon,\nwas hailed as son of that deity by his priests.--_Ed._\n\n[105] Bacchus.\n\n[106] _His form divine he cloth'd in human shape_--\n\n    _Alecto torvam faciem et furialia membra\n    Exuit: in vultus sese transformat aniles,\n    Et frontem obsc\u00e6num rugis arat._\n\n    VIR. \u00c6n. vii.\n\n\n[107] To be identified with the Sun, in the opinion of later\nmythologists; but not so in Homer, with whom Helios (the Sun) is himself\na deity.--_Ed._\n\n[108]\n\n    _Thus, when to gain his beauteous charmer's smile,\n    The youthful lover dares the bloody toil._\n\nThis simile is taken from a favourite exercise in Spain, where it is\nusual to see young gentlemen of the best families entering the lists to\nfight with a bull, adorned with ribbons, and armed with a javelin or\nkind of cutlass, which the Spaniards call _Machete_.\n\n[109]\n\n     ------------_e maldizia\n    O velho inerte, e a m{=a}y, que o filho cria._\n\nThus translated by Fanshaw--\n\n     ------------_curst their ill luck,\n    Th' old Devil and the Dam that gave them suck._\n\n\n[110]\n\n    _Flints, clods, and javelins hurling as they fly,\n    As rage, &c.--\n\n      Jamque faces et saxa volant, furor arma ministrat._\n\n    VIRG. \u00c6n. i.\n\nThe Spanish commentator on this place relates a very extraordinary\ninstance of the _furor arma ministrans_. A Portuguese soldier at the\nsiege of Diu in the Indies, being surrounded by the enemy, and having no\nball to charge his musket, pulled out one of his teeth, and with it\nsupplied the place of a bullet.\n\n[111] The italics indicate that there is nothing in the original\ncorresponding to these lines.--_Ed._\n\n[112] See Virgil's \u00c6neid, bk. ii.--_Ed._\n\n[113] Quiloa is an island, with a town of the same name, on the east\ncoast of Africa.--_Ed._\n\n[114] _But heavenly Love's fair queen._--When GAMA arrived in the East,\nthe Moors were the only people who engrossed the trade of those parts.\nJealous of such formidable rivals as the Portuguese, they employed every\nartifice to accomplish the destruction of GAMA'S fleet. As the Moors\nwere acquainted with these seas and spoke the Arabic language, GAMA was\nobliged to employ them both as pilots and interpreters. The circumstance\nnow mentioned by Camo\u00ebns is an historical fact. \"The Moorish pilot,\"\nsays De Barros, \"intended to conduct the Portuguese into Quiloa, telling\nthem that place was inhabited by Christians; but a sudden storm arising,\ndrove the fleet from that shore, where death or slavery would have been\nthe certain fate of GAMA and his companions. The villainy of the pilot\nwas afterwards discovered. As GAMA was endeavouring to enter the port of\nMombaz his ship struck on a sand-bank, and finding their purpose of\nbringing him into the harbour defeated, two of the Moorish pilots leaped\ninto the sea and swam ashore. Alarmed at this tacit acknowledgment of\nguilt, GAMA ordered two other Moorish pilots who remained on board to be\nexamined by whipping, who, after some time, made a full confession of\ntheir intended villainy. This discovery greatly encouraged GAMA and his\nmen, who now interpreted the sudden storm which had driven them from\nQuiloa as a miraculous interposition of Divine Providence in their\nfavour.\n\n[115] _i.e._ Mohammed.--_Ed._\n\n[116] After GAMA had been driven from Quiloa by a sudden storm, the\nassurances of the Mozambique pilot, that the city was chiefly inhabited\nby Christians, strongly inclined him to enter the harbour of Mombas.\n\n[117] \"There were,\" says Osorius, \"ten men in the fleet under sentence\nof death, whose lives had been spared on condition that, wherever they\nmight be landed, they should explore the country and make themselves\nacquainted with the manners and laws of the people.\"\n\nDuring the reign of Emmanuel, and his predecessor John II., few\ncriminals were executed in Portugal. These great and political princes\nemployed the lives which were forfeited to the public in the most\ndangerous undertakings of public utility. In their foreign expeditions\nthe condemned criminals were sent upon the most hazardous undertakings.\nIf death was their fate, it was the punishment they had merited: if\nsuccessful in what was required, their crimes were expiated; and often\nthey rendered their country the greatest atonement for their guilt which\nmen in their circumstances could possibly make. What multitudes every\nyear, in the prime of their life, end their days in Great Britain by the\nhands of the executioner! That the legislature _might_ devise means to\nmake the greatest part of these lives useful to society is a fact, which\nsurely cannot be disputed; though, perhaps, the remedy of an evil so\nshocking to humanity may be at some distance.\n\n[118] Semele was the mother of Bacchus, but, as he was prematurely born,\nJupiter, his father, sewed him up in his thigh until he came to\nmaturity.--_Ed._\n\n[119]\n\n    _On it, the picture of that shape he placed,\n      In which the Holy Spirit did alight,\n    The picture of the dove, so white, so chaste,\n      On the blest Virgin's head, so chaste, so white._\n\nIn these lines, the best of all Fanshaw's, the happy repetition \"so\nchaste, so white,\" is a beauty which, though not contained in the\noriginal, the present translator was unwilling to lose.\n\n[120] See the Preface.\n\n[121] When GAMA lay at anchor among the islands of St. George, near\nMozambique, \"there came three Ethiopians on board (says Faria y Sousa)\nwho, seeing St. Gabriel painted on the poop, fell on their knees in\ntoken of their Christianity, which had been preached to them in the\nprimitive times, though now corrupted.\" Barros, c. 4, and Castaneda, l.\ni. c. 9, report, that the Portuguese found two or three Abyssinian\nChristians in the city of Mombas, who had an oratory in their house. The\nfollowing short account of the Christians of the East may perhaps be\nacceptable. In the south parts of Malabar, about 200,000 of the\ninhabitants professed Christianity before the arrival of the Portuguese.\nThey use the Syriac language in their services, and read the Scriptures\nin that tongue, and call themselves Christians of St. Thomas, by which\napostle their ancestors had been converted. For 1300 years they had been\nunder the Patriarch of Babylon, who appointed their _Mutran_, or\narchbishop. Dr. Geddes, in his History of the Church of Malabar, relates\nthat Francisco Roz, a Jesuit missionary, complained to Menezes, the\nPortuguese archbishop of Goa, that when he showed these people an image\nof the Virgin Mary, they cried out, \"Away with that filthiness, we are\nChristians, and do not adore idols.\"\n\nDom Frey Aleixo de Menezes, archbishop of Goa, \"endeavoured to thrust\nupon the church of Malabar the whole mass of popery, which they were\nbefore unacquainted with.\"--Millar's History of the Propag. of\nChristianity.\n\n[122] Venus.\n\n[123] _Proud of her kindred birth._--The French translator has the\nfollowing note on this place:--\"This is one of the places which discover\nour author's intimate acquaintance with mythology, and at the same time\nhow much attention his allegory requires. Many readers, on finding that\nthe protectress of the Lusians sprung from the sea, would be apt to\nexclaim, Behold, the birth of the terrestrial Venus! How can a nativity\nso infamous be ascribed to the celestial Venus, who represents Religion?\nI answer, that Camo\u00ebns had not his eye on those fables, which derive the\nbirth of Venus from the foam of the waves, mixed with the blood which\nflowed from the dishonest wound of Saturn: he carries his views higher;\nhis Venus is from a fable more noble. Nigidius relates that two fishes\none day conveyed an egg to the seashore. This egg was hatched by two\npigeons whiter than snow, and gave birth to the Assyrian Venus, which,\nin the pagan theology, is the same with the celestial. She instructed\nmankind in religion, gave them the lessons of virtue and the laws of\nequity. Jupiter, in reward of her labours, promised to grant her\nwhatever she desired. She prayed him to give immortality to the two\nfishes, who had been instrumental in her birth, and the fishes were\naccordingly placed in the Zodiac, the sign Pisces.... This fable agrees\nperfectly with Religion, as I could clearly show; but I think it more\nproper to leave to the ingenious reader the pleasure of tracing the\nallegory.\"\n\n[124] _Doto, Nyse, and Nerine._--Cloto, or Clotho, as Castera observes,\nhas by some error crept into almost all the Portuguese editions of the\nLusiad. Clotho was one of the Fates, and neither Hesiod, Homer, nor\nVirgil has given such a name to any of the Nereids; but in the ninth\n\u00c6neid Doto is mentioned--\n\n            ----_magnique jubebo\n    \u00c6quoris esse Deas, qualis Nere\u00efa Doto\n    Et Galatea secant spumantem pectore pontum._\n\nThe Nereids, in the Lusiad, says Castera, are the virtues divine and\nhuman. In the first book they accompany the Portuguese fleet--\n\n        ----_before the bounding prows\n    The lovely forms of sea-born nymphs arose._\n\n\n[125] The ants are a people not strong, yet they prepare their meat in\nthe summer.--PROVERBS xxx. 25.--_Ed._\n\n[126] Imitated from Virgil--\n\n    _Cymotho\u00eb simul, et Triton adnixus acuto\n    Detrudunt naves scopulo._--VIRG. \u00c6n. i.\n\n\n[127] Latona, says the fable, flying from the serpent Python, and faint\nwith thirst, came to a pond, where some Lycian peasants were cutting the\nbulrushes. In revenge of the insults which they offered her in\npreventing her to drink, she changed them into frogs. This fable, says\nCastera, like almost all the rest, is drawn from history. Philocorus, as\ncited by Boccace, relates, that the Rhodians having declared war against\nthe Lycians, were assisted by some troops from Delos, who carried the\nimage of Latona on their standards. A detachment of these going to drink\nat a lake in Lycia, a crowd of peasants endeavoured to prevent them. An\nencounter ensued; the peasants fled to the lake for shelter, and were\nthere slain. Some months afterwards their companions came in search of\ntheir corpses, and finding an unusual quantity of frogs, imagined,\naccording to the superstition of their age, that the souls of their\nfriends appeared to them under that metamorphosis.\n\nTo some it may, perhaps, appear needless to vindicate Camo\u00ebns, in a\npoint wherein he is supported by the authority of Homer and Virgil. Yet,\nas many readers are infected with the _sang froid_ of a Bossu or a\nPerrault, an observation in defence of our poet cannot be thought\nimpertinent. If we examine the finest effusions of genius, we shall find\nthat the most genuine poetical feeling has often dictated those similes\nwhich are drawn from familiar and low objects. The sacred writers, and\nthe greatest poets of every nation, have used them. We may, therefore,\nconclude that the criticism which condemns them is a refinement not\nfounded on nature. But, allowing them admissible, it must be observed,\nthat to render them pleasing requires a peculiar happiness and delicacy\nof management. When the poet attains this indispensable point, he gives\na striking proof of his elegance, and of his mastership in his art. That\nthe similes of the emmets and of the frogs in Camo\u00ebns are happily\nexpressed and applied, is indisputable. In that of the frogs there is a\npeculiar propriety, both in the comparison itself, and in the allusion\nto the fable, as it was the intent of the poet to represent not only the\nflight, but the baseness of the Moors. The simile he seems to have\ncopied from Dante, Inf. Cant. 9--\n\n    _Come le rane innanzi a la nemica\n    Biscia per l'acqua si dileguan tutte\n    Fin che a la terra ciascuna s'abbica. _\n\nAnd Cant. 22--\n\n    _E come a l'orlo de l'acqua d'un fosso\n    Stan li ranocchi pur col muso fuori\n    S\u00ec che celano i piedi, e l'altro grosso. _\n\n\n[128] Barros and Castaneda, in relating this part of the voyage of Gama,\nsay that the fleet, just as they were entering the port of Mombas, were\ndriven back as it were by an invisible hand. By a subsequent note it\nwill appear that the safety of the Armada depended upon this\ncircumstance.\n\n[129] Venus.\n\n[130] As the planet of Jupiter is in the sixth heaven, the author has\nwith propriety there placed the throne of that god.--CASTERA.\n\n[131] \"I am aware of the objection, that this passage is by no means\napplicable to the celestial Venus. I answer once for all, that the names\nand adventures of the pagan divinities are so blended and uncertain in\nmythology, that a poet is at great liberty to adapt them to his allegory\nas he pleases. Even the fables, which may appear as profane, even these\ncontain historical, physical, and moral truths, which fully atone for\nthe seeming licentiousness of the letter. I could prove this in many\ninstances, but let the present suffice. Paris, son of Priam, king of\nTroy, spent his first years as a shepherd in the country. At this time\nJuno, Minerva, and Venus disputed for the apple of gold, which was\ndestined to be given to the most beautiful goddess. They consented that\nParis should be their judge. His equity claimed this honour. He saw them\nall naked. Juno promised him riches, Minerva the sciences, but he\ndecided in favour of Venus, who promised him the possession of the most\nbeautiful woman. What a ray of light is contained in this philosophical\nfable! Paris represents a studious man, who, in the silence of solitude,\nseeks the supreme good. Juno is the emblem of riches and dignities;\nMinerva, that of the sciences purely human; Venus is that of religion,\nwhich contains the sciences both human and divine; the charming female,\nwhich she promises to the Trojan shepherd, is that divine wisdom which\ngives tranquillity of heart. A judge so philosophical as Paris would not\nhesitate a moment to whom to give the apple of gold.\"--CASTERA.\n\n[132] \"The allegory of Camo\u00ebns is here obvious. If Acteon, and the\nslaves of their violent passions, could discover the beauties of true\nreligion, they would be astonished and reclaimed: according to the\nexpression of Seneca, 'Si virtus cerni posset oculis corporeis, omnes ad\namorem suum pelliceret.'\"--CASTERA.\n\n[133] \"That is Divine love, which always accompanies religion. Behold\nhow our author insinuates the excellence of his moral!\"--CASTERA.\n\nAs the French translator has acknowledged, there is no doubt but several\nreaders will be apt to decry this allegorical interpretation of the\nmachinery of Camo\u00ebns. Indeed there is nothing more easy than to discover\na system of allegory in the simplest narrative. The reign of Henry VIII.\nis as susceptible of it as any fable in the heathen mythology. Nay,\nperhaps, more so. Under the names of Henry, More, Wolsey, Cromwell,\nPole, Cranmer, etc., all the war of the passions, with their different\ncatastrophes, might be delineated. Though it may be difficult to\ndetermine how far, yet one may venture to affirm that Homer and Virgil\nsometimes allegorised. The poets, however, who wrote on the revival of\nletters have left us in no doubt; we have their own authority for it\nthat their machinery is allegorical. Not only the pagan deities, but the\nmore modern adventures of enchantment were used by them to delineate the\naffections, and the trials and rewards of the virtues and vices. Tasso\npublished a treatise to prove that his _Gerusalemme Liberata_ is no\nother than the Christian spiritual warfare. And Camo\u00ebns, as observed in\nthe preface, has twice asserted that his machinery is allegorical. The\npoet's assertion, and the taste of the age in which he wrote,\nsufficiently vindicate and explain the allegory of the Lusiad.\n\n[134] The following speech of Venus and the reply of Jupiter, are a fine\nimitation from the first \u00c6neid, and do great honour to the classical\ntaste of the Portuguese poet.\n\n[135] Imitated from Virg. \u00c6n. i.--\n\n    _Olli subridens hominum sator atque Deorum,\n    Vultu, quo coelum tempestatesque serenat,\n    Oscula libavit nat\u00e6_----\n\n\n[136] Ulysses, king of Ithaka.--_Ed._\n\n[137] _i.e._, the slave of Calypso, who offered Ulysses immortality on\ncondition that he would live with her.\n\n[138] \u00c6neas.--_Ed._\n\n[139]\n\n    \"Far on the right her dogs foul Scylla hides,\n    Charybdis roaring on the left presides,\n    And in her greedy whirlpool sucks the tides.\"\n\n    DRYDEN'S Virg. \u00c6n. iii.--_Ed._\n\n\n[140] After the Portuguese had made great conquests in India, GAMA had\nthe honour to be appointed Viceroy. In 1524, when sailing thither to\ntake possession of his government, his fleet was so becalmed on the\ncoast of Cambaya that the ships stood motionless on the water, when in\nan instant, without the least change of the weather, the waves were\nshaken with a violent agitation, like trembling. The ships were tossed\nabout, the sailors were terrified, and in the utmost confusion, thinking\nthemselves lost. Gama, perceiving it to be the effect of an earthquake,\nwith his wonted heroism and prudence, exclaimed, \"_Of what are you\nafraid? Do you not see how the ocean trembles under its sovereigns!_\"\nBarros, l. 9, c. 1, and Faria, c. 9, say, that such as lay sick of\nfevers were cured by the fright.\n\n[141] Ormuz, or Hormuz, an island at the entrance of the Persian Gulf,\nonce a great commercial d\u00e9p\u00f4t.--_Ed._\n\n[142] Both Barros and Castaneda relate this fact. Albuquerque, during\nthe war of Ormuz, having given battle to the Persians and Moors, by the\nviolence of a sudden wind the arrows of the latter were driven back upon\nthemselves, whereby many of their troops were wounded.\n\n[143] Calicut was a seaport town of Malabar, more properly _Colicodu_.\n\n[144]\n\n    _Hinc ope barbarica, variisque Antonius armis,\n    Victor ab Auror\u00e6 populis et littore rubro,\n    \u00c6gyptum, viresque Orientis, et ultima secum\n    Bactra vehit: sequiturque nefas! \u00c6gyptia conjux.\n    Una omnes ruere, ac totum spumare, reductis\n    Convulsum remis rostrisque tridentibus, \u00e6quor.\n    Alta petunt: pelago credas innare revulsas\n    Cycladas, aut montes concurrere montibus altos:\n    Tanta mole viri turritis puppibus instant.\n    Stuppea flamma manu telisque volatile ferrum\n    Spargitur: arva nova Neptunia c\u00e6de rubescunt.\n    ----S\u00e6vit medio in certamine Maxors._\n\n    VIRG. \u00c6n. viii.\n\n\n[145] Antony.\n\n[146] Gades, now Cadiz, an ancient and still flourishing seaport of\nSpain.--_Ed._\n\n[147] _The Lusian pride, etc._--Magalhaens, a most celebrated navigator,\nneglected by Emmanuel, king of Portugal, offered his service to the king\nof Spain, under whom he made most important discoveries round the\nStraits which bear his name, and in parts of South America. Of this hero\nsee further, Lusiad X., in the notes.\n\n[148] Mercury.\n\n[149] Mombas, a seaport town on an island of the same name off the coast\nof Zanguebar, East Africa.--_Ed._\n\n[150] Mercury, so called from Cyll{=e}n{=e}, the highest mountain in the\nPeloponnesus, where he had a temple, and on which spot he is said to\nhave been born.--_Ed._\n\n[151] Petasus.\n\n[152] The caduceus, twined with serpents.--_Ed._\n\n[153]\n\n    \"But first he grasps within his awful hand\n    The mark of sovereign power, the magic wand:\n    With this he draws the ghosts from hollow graves,\n    With this he drives them down the Stygian waves,\n    With this he seals in sleep the wakeful sight,\n    And eyes, though closed in death, restores to light.\"\n\n    \u00c6NEID, iv. 242. (Dryden's Trans.)\n\n\n[154] Mercury.\n\n[155] Diomede, a tyrant of Thrace, who fed his horses with human flesh;\na thing, says the grave Castera, almost incredible. Busiris was a king\nof Egypt, who sacrificed strangers.\n\n    _Quis ... illaudati nescit Busiridis aras?_\n\n    VIRG. Geor. iii.\n\nHercules vanquished both these tyrants, and put them to the same\npunishments which their cruelty had inflicted on others. Isocrates\ncomposed an oration in honour of Busiris; a masterly example of Attic\nraillery and satire.\n\n[156] _i.e._ the equator.\n\n[157] Hermes is the Greek name for the god Mercury.\n\n[158] Having mentioned the escape of the Moorish pilots, Osorius\nproceeds: Rex deinde homines magno cum silentio scaphis et lintribus\nsubmittebat, qui securibus anchoralia nocte pr\u00e6ciderent. Quod nisi\nfuisset \u00e0 nostris singulari Gam\u00e6 industria vigilatum, et insidiis\nscelerati illius regis occursum, nostri in summum vit\u00e6 discrimen\nincidissent.\n\n[159] Mercury.\n\n[160] A city and kingdom of the same name on the east coast of Africa.\n\n[161] Ascension Day.\n\n[162] Jesus Christ.\n\n[163]\n\n    _Vimen erat dum stagna subit, processerat undis\n    Gemma fuit._\n\n    CLAUD.\n\n    _Sic et coralium, quo primum contigit auras,\n    Tempore durescit, mollis fuit herba sub undis._\n\n    OVID.\n\n\n[164] There were on board Gama's fleet several persons skilled in the\nOriental languages.--OSOR.\n\n[165] See the Eighth Odyssey, etc.\n\n[166] Castera's note on this place is so characteristic of a Frenchman,\nthat the reader will perhaps be pleased to see it transcribed. In his\ntext he says, \"_Toi qui occupes si dignement le rang supreme._\" \"_Le\nPoete dit_,\" says he, in the note, \"_Tens de Rey o officio, Toi qui sais\nle metier de Roi_. (The poet says, _thou who holdest the business of a\nking_.) I confess,\" he adds, \"I found a strong inclination to translate\nthis sentence literally. I find much nobleness in it. However, I\nsubmitted to the opinion of some friends, who were afraid that the ears\nof Frenchmen would be shocked at the word _business_ applied to a king.\nIt is true, nevertheless, that Royalty is a _business_. Philip II. of\nSpain was convinced of it, as we may discern from one of his letters.\n_Hallo_, says he, _me muy embara\u00e7ado_, &c. _I am so entangled and\nencumbered with the multiplicity of business, that I have not a moment\nto myself. In truth, we kings hold a laborious office_ (or trade);\n_there is little reason to envy us._\"\n\n[167] The propriety and artfulness of Homer's speeches have been often\nand justly admired. Camo\u00ebns is peculiarly happy in the same department\nof the Epop\u00e6a. The speech of Gama's herald to the King of Melinda is a\nstriking instance of it. The compliments with which it begins have a\ndirect tendency to the favours afterwards to be asked. The assurances of\nthe innocence, the purpose of the voyagers, and the greatness of their\nking, are happily touched. The exclamation on the barbarous treatment\nthey had experienced--\"Not wisdom saved us, but Heaven's own care\"--are\nmasterly insinuations. Their barbarous treatment is again repeated in a\nmanner to move compassion: Alas! what could they fear? etc., is\nreasoning joined with pathos. That they were conducted to the King of\nMelinda by Heaven, and were by Heaven assured of his truth, is a most\ndelicate compliment, and in the true spirit of the epic poem. The\napology for Gama's refusal to come on shore is exceeding artful. It\nconveys a proof of the greatness of the Portuguese sovereign, and\naffords a compliment to loyalty, which could not fail to be acceptable\nto a monarch.\n\n[168] Rockets.\n\n[169] The Tyrian purple, obtained from the _murex_, a species of\nshell-fish, was very famous among the ancients.--_Ed._\n\n[170] A girdle, or ornamented belt, worn over one shoulder and across\nthe breast.--_Ed._\n\n[171] Camo\u00ebns seems to have his eye on the picture of Gama, which is\nthus described by _Faria y Sousa_: \"He is painted with a black cap,\ncloak, and breeches edged with velvet, all slashed, through which\nappears the crimson lining, the doublet of crimson satin, and over it\nhis armour inlaid with gold.\"\n\n[172] The admiration and friendship of the King of Melinda, so much\ninsisted on by Camo\u00ebns, is a judicious imitation of Virgil's Dido. In\nboth cases such preparation was necessary to introduce the long episodes\nwhich follow.\n\n[173] The Moors, who are Mohammedans, disciples of the Arabian prophet,\nwho was descended from Abraham through the line of Hagar.--_Ed._\n\n[174] The famous temple of the goddess Diana at Ephesus.--_Ed._\n\n[175] Apollo.\n\n[176] _Calliope._--The Muse of epic poesy, and mother of Orpheus.\nDaphne, daughter of the river Peneus, flying from Apollo, was turned\ninto the laurel. Clytia was metamorphosed into the sun-flower, and\nLeucotho\u00eb, who was buried alive by her father for yielding to the\nsolicitations of Apollo, was by her lover changed into an incense tree.\n\n[177] A fountain of Boeotia sacred to the Muses.--_Ed._\n\n[178] The preface to the speech of Gama, and the description of Europe\nwhich follows, are happy imitations of the manner of Homer. When Camo\u00ebns\ndescribes countries, or musters an army, it is after the example of the\ngreat models of antiquity: by adding some characteristical feature of\nthe climate or people, he renders his narrative pleasing, picturesque,\nand poetical.\n\n[179] The Mediterranean.\n\n[180] The Don.--_Ed._\n\n[181] The Sea of Azof.--_Ed._\n\n[182] Italy. In the year 409 the city of Rome was sacked, and Italy laid\ndesolate by Alaric, king of the Gothic tribes. In mentioning this\ncircumstance Camo\u00ebns has not fallen into the common error of little\npoets, who on every occasion bewail the outrage which the Goths and\nVandals did to the arts and sciences. A complaint founded on ignorance.\nThe Southern nations of Europe were sunk into the most contemptible\ndegeneracy. The sciences, with every branch of manly literature, were\nalmost unknown. For near two centuries no poet of note had adorned the\nRoman empire. Those arts only, the abuse of which have a certain and\nfatal tendency to enervate the mind, the arts of music and cookery, were\npassionately cultivated in all the refinement of effeminate abuse. The\nart of war was too laborious for their delicacy, and the generous warmth\nof heroism and patriotism was incompatible with their effeminacy. On\nthese despicable Sybarites{*} the North poured her brave and hardy sons,\nwho, though ignorant of polite literature, were possessed of all the\nmanly virtues in a high degree. Under their conquests Europe wore a new\nface, which, however rude, was infinitely preferable to that which it\nhad lately worn. And, however ignorance may talk of their barbarity, it\nis to them that England owes her constitution, which, as Montesquieu\nobserves, they brought from the woods of Saxony.\n\n{*} _Sybaris_, a city in Magna Grecia (South Italy), whose inhabitants\nwere so effeminate, that they ordered all the cocks to be killed, that\nthey might not be disturbed by their early crowing.\n\n[183] The river Don.\n\n[184] This was the name of an extensive forest in Germany. It exists now\nunder different names, as the _Black Forest_, the Bohemian and the\nThuringian Forest, the Hartz, etc.--_Ed._\n\n[185] The Hellespont, or Straits of the Dardanelles.--_Ed._\n\n[186] The Balkan Mountains separating Greece and Macedonia from the\nbasin of the Danube, and extending from the Adriatic to the Black\nSea.--_Ed._\n\n[187] Now Constantinople.\n\n[188] Julius C\u00e6sar, the conqueror of Gaul, or France.--_Ed._\n\n[189] _Faithless to the vows of lost Pyrene_, etc.--She was daughter to\nBebryx, a king of Spain, and concubine to Hercules. Having wandered one\nday from her lover, she was destroyed by wild beasts, on one of the\nmountains which bear her name.\n\n[190] Hercules, says the fable, to crown his labours, separated the two\nmountains Calpe and Abyla, the one in Spain, the other in Africa, in\norder to open a canal for the benefit of commerce; on which the ocean\nrushed in, and formed the Mediterranean, the \u00c6gean, and Euxine seas. The\ntwin mountains Abyla and Calpe were known to the ancients by the name of\nthe Pillars of Hercules.--See Cory's _Ancient Fragments_.\n\n[191] The river Guadalquivir; _i.e._, in Arabic, _the great\nriver_.--_Ed._\n\n[192] Viriatus.--See the note on Book I. p. 9.\n\n[193] The assassination of Viriatus.--See the note on Book I. p. 9.\n\n[194] The name of _Saracen_ is derived from the Arabic _Es-shurk_, _the\nEast_, and designates the Arabs who followed the banner of\nMohammed.--_Ed._\n\n[195] Don Alonzo, king of Spain, apprehensive of the superior number of\nthe Moors, with whom he was at war, demanded assistance from Philip I.\nof France, and the Duke of Burgundy. According to the military spirit of\nthe nobility of that age, no sooner was his desire known than numerous\nbodies of troops thronged to his standard. These, in the course of a few\nyears, having shown signal proofs of their courage, the king\ndistinguished the leaders with different marks of his regard. To Henry,\na younger son of the Duke of Burgundy, he gave his daughter Teresa in\nmarriage, with the sovereignty of the countries to the south of Galicia,\ncommissioning him to enlarge his boundaries by the expulsion of the\nMoors. Under the government of this great man, who reigned by the title\nof Count, his dominion was greatly enlarged, and became more rich and\npopulous than before. The two provinces of Entre Minho e Douro, and Tras\nos Montes, were subdued, with that part of Beira which was held by the\nMoorish king of Lamego, whom he constrained to pay tribute. Many\nthousands of Christians, who had either lived in miserable subjection to\nthe Moors, or in desolate independency in the mountains, took shelter\nunder the protection of Count Henry. Great multitudes of the Moors also\nchose rather to submit, than be exposed to the severities and the\ncontinual feuds and seditions of their own governors. These advantages,\nadded to the great fertility of the soil of Henry's dominions, will\naccount for the numerous armies, and the frequent wars of the first\nsovereigns of Portugal.\n\n[196] Camo\u00ebns, in making the founder of the Portuguese monarchy a\nyounger son of the King of Hungary, has followed the old chronologist\nGalvan. The Spanish and Portuguese historians differ widely in their\naccounts of the parentage of this gallant stranger. Some bring him from\nConstantinople, and others from the house of Lorraine. But the clearest\nand most probable account of him is in the chronicle of Fleury, wherein\nis preserved a fragment of French history, written by a Benedictine monk\nin the beginning of the twelfth century, and in the time of Count Henry.\nBy this it appears, that he was a younger son of Henry, the only son of\nRobert, the first duke of Burgundy, who was a younger brother of Henry\nI. of France. Fanshaw having an eye to this history, has taken the\nunwarrantable liberty to alter the fact as mentioned by his author.\n\n    _Amongst these Henry, saith the history,\n    A younger son of France, and a brave prince,\n    Had Portugal in lot.----\n    And the same king did his own daughter tie\n    To him in wedlock, to infer from thence\n    His firmer love._\n\nNor are the historians agreed on the birth of Donna Teresa, the spouse\nof Count Henry. Brandam, and other Portuguese historians, are at great\npains to prove she was the legitimate daughter of Alonzo and the\nbeautiful Ximena de Guzman. But it appears from the more authentic\nchronicle of Fleury, that Ximena was only his concubine. And it is\nevident from all the historians, that Donna Urraca, the heiress of her\nfather's kingdom, was younger than her half-sister, the wife of Count\nHenry.\n\n[197] The Mohammedan Arabs.\n\n[198] _Deliver'd Judah Henry's might confess'd_.--His expedition to the\nHoly Land is mentioned by some monkish writers, but from the other parts\nof his history it is highly improbable.\n\n[199] Jerusalem.\n\n[200] Godfrey of Bouillon.\n\n[201] Don Alonzo Enriquez, son of Count Henry, had only entered into his\nthird year when his father died. His mother assumed the reins of\ngovernment, and appointed Don Fernando Perez de Traba to be her\nminister. When the young prince was in his eighteenth year, some of the\nnobility, who either envied the power of Don Perez, or suspected his\nintention to marry the queen, and exclude the lawful heir, easily\npersuaded the young Count to take arms, and assume the sovereignty. A\nbattle ensued, in which the prince was victorious. Teresa, it is said,\nretired into the castle of Legonaso, where she was taken prisoner by her\nson, who condemned her to perpetual imprisonment, and ordered chains to\nbe put upon her legs. That Don Alonso made war against his mother,\nvanquished her party, and that she died in prison about two years after,\nA.D. 1130, are certain. But the cause of the war, that his mother was\nmarried to, or intended to marry, Don Perez, and that she was put in\nchains, are uncertain.\n\n[202] Guimaraens was the scene of a very sanguinary battle.--_Ed._\n\n[203] The Scylla here alluded to was, according to fable, the daughter\nof Nisus, king of Megara, who had a purple lock, in which lay the fate\nof his kingdom. Minos of Crete made war against him, for whom Scylla\nconceived so violent a passion, that she cut off the fatal lock while\nher father slept. Minos on this was victorious, but rejected the love of\nthe unnatural daughter, who in despair flung herself from a rock, and in\nthe fall was changed into a lark.\n\n[204] Guimaraens, the scene of a famous battle.--_Ed._\n\n[205] Some historians having related this story of Egas, add, \"All this\nis very pleasant and entertaining, but we see no sufficient reason to\naffirm that there is one syllable of it true.\"\n\n[206] When Darius laid siege to Babylon, one of his lords, named\nZopyrus, having cut off his own nose and ears, persuaded the enemy that\nhe had received these indignities from the cruelty of his master. Being\nappointed to a chief command in Babylon, he betrayed the city to\nDarius.--Vid. Justin's History.\n\n[207] Spanish and Portuguese histories afford several instances of the\nMoorish chiefs being attended in the field of battle by their\nmistresses, and of the romantic gallantry and Amazonian courage of these\nladies.\n\n[208] Penthesilea, queen of the Amazons, who, after having signalized\nher valour at the siege of Troy, was killed by Achilles.\n\n[209] The Greek name of Troy.--_Ed._\n\n[210] The Amazons.\n\n[211] Thermodon, a river of Scythia in the country of the Amazons.\n\n    _Quales Thre\u00efci\u00e6 cum flumina Thermodontis\n    Pulsant et pictis bellantur Amazones armis:\n    Seu circum Hippolyten, seu cum se Martia curru\n    Penthesilea refert: magnoque ululante tumultu\n    Foeminea exsultant lunatis agmina peltis._ VIRG. \u00c6n. xi. 659.\n\n\n[212] It may, perhaps, be agreeable to the reader, to see the\ndescription of a bull-fight as given by Homer.\n\n    _As when a lion, rushing from his den,\n    Amidst the plain of some wide-water'd fen,_\n    (_Where num'rous oxen, as at ease they feed,\n    At large expatiate o'er the ranker mead_;)\n    _Leaps on the herds before the herdsman's eyes:\n    The trembling herdsman far to distance flies:\n    Some lordly bull_ (_the rest dispers'd and fled_)\n    _He singles out, arrests, and lays him dead.\n    Thus from the rage of Jove-like Hector flew\n    All Greece in heaps; but one he seiz'd, and slew\n    Mycenian Periphas.----_\n\n    POPE, II. xv.\n\n\n[213] A shirt of mail, formed of small iron rings.\n\n[214] Mohammed.\n\n[215] There is a passage in Xenophon, upon which perhaps Camo\u00ebns had his\neye. [Greek: Epei de el\u00eaxen h\u00ea mach\u00ea, par\u00ean idein, t\u00ean men g\u00ean haimati\npephyrmen\u00ean], &c. \"When the battle was over, one might behold through\nthe whole extent of the field the ground purpled with blood; the bodies\nof friends and enemies stretched over each other, the shields pierced,\nthe spears broken, and the drawn swords, some scattered on the earth,\nsome plunged in the bosoms of the slain, and some yet grasped in the\nhands of the dead soldiers.\"\n\n[216] This memorable battle was fought in the plains of _Ourique_, in\n1139. The engagement lasted six hours; the Moors were totally routed\nwith incredible slaughter. On the field of battle Alonzo was proclaimed\nKing of Portugal. The Portuguese writers have given many fabulous\naccounts of this victory. Some affirm that the Moorish army amounted to\n380,000, others, 480,000, and others swell it to 600,000, whereas Don\nAlonzo's did not exceed 13,000. Miracles must also be added. Alonzo,\nthey tell us, being in great perplexity, sat down to comfort his mind by\nthe perusal of the Holy Scriptures. Having read the story of Gideon, he\nsunk into a deep sleep, in which he saw a very old man in a remarkable\ndress come into his tent, and assure him of victory. His chamberlain\ncoming in, awoke him, and told him there was an old man very importunate\nto speak with him. Don Alonzo ordered him to be brought in, and no\nsooner saw him than he knew him to be the old man whom he had seen in\nhis dream. This venerable person acquainted him that he was a fisherman,\nand had led a life of penance for sixty years on an adjacent rock, where\nit had been revealed to him, that if the count marched his army the next\nmorning, as soon as he heard a certain bell ring, he should receive the\nstrongest assurance of victory. Accordingly, at the ringing of the bell,\nthe count put his army in motion, and suddenly beheld in the eastern sky\nthe figure of the cross, and Christ upon it, who promised him a complete\nvictory, and commanded him to accept the title of king, if it were\noffered him by the army. The same writers add, that as a standing\nmemorial of this miraculous event, Don Alonzo changed the arms which his\nfather had given, of a cross azure in a field argent, for five\nescutcheons, each charged with five bezants, in memory of the wounds of\nChrist. Others assert, that he gave, in a field argent, five escutcheons\nazure in the form of a cross, each charged with five bezants argent,\nplaced saltierwise, with a point sable, in memory of five wounds he\nhimself received, and of five Moorish kings slain in the battle. There\nis an old record, said to be written by Don Alonzo, in which the story\nof the vision is related upon his majesty's oath. The Spanish critics,\nhowever, have discovered many inconsistencies in it. They find the\nlanguage intermixed with phrases not then in use: and it bears the date\nof the year of our Lord, at a time when that era had not been introduced\ninto Spain.\n\n[217] Troy.\n\n[218] The tradition, that Lisbon was built by Ulysses, and thence called\n_Olyssipolis_, is as common as, and of equal authority with, that which\nsays, that Brute landed a colony of Trojans in England, and gave the\nname of Britannia to the island.\n\n[219] The conquest of Lisbon was of the utmost importance to the infant\nmonarchy. It is one of the finest ports in the world, and before the\ninvention of cannon, was of great strength. The old Moorish wall was\nflanked by seventy-seven towers, was about six miles in length, and\nfourteen in circumference. When besieged by Don Alonzo, according to\nsome, it was garrisoned by an army of 200,000 men. This is highly\nincredible. However, that it was strong and well garrisoned is certain,\nas also that Alonzo owed the conquest of it to a fleet of adventurers,\nwho were going to the Holy Land, the greater part of whom were English.\nOne Udal op Rhys, in his tour through Portugal, says, that Alonzo gave\nthem Almada, on the side of the Tagus opposite to Lisbon, and that Villa\nFranca was peopled by them, which they called Cornualla, either in\nhonour of their native country, or from the rich meadows in its\nneighbourhood, where immense herds of cattle are kept, as in the English\nCornwall.\n\n[220] Jerusalem.\n\n[221] _Unconquer'd towers._--This assertion of Camo\u00ebns is not without\nfoundation, for it was by treachery that Herimeneric, the Goth, got\npossession of Lisbon.\n\n[222] The aqueduct of Sertorius, here mentioned, is one of the grandest\nremains of antiquity. It was repaired by John III. of Portugal about\nA.D. 1540.\n\n[223] Badajoz.\n\n[224] The history of this battle wants authenticity.\n\n[225] As already observed, there is no authentic proof that Don Alonzo\nused such severity to his mother as to put her in chains. Brandan says\nit was reported that Don Alonzo was born with both his legs growing\ntogether, and that he was cured by the prayers of his tutor, Egas Nunio.\nLegendary as this may appear, this however is deducible from it, that\nfrom his birth there was something amiss about his legs. When he was\nprisoner to his son-in-law, Don Fernando, king of Leon, he recovered his\nliberty ere his leg, which was fractured in the battle, was restored, on\ncondition that as soon as he was able to mount on horseback, he should\ncome to Leon, and in person do homage for his dominions. This condition,\nso contrary to his coronation agreement, he found means to avoid. He\never after affected to drive in a calash, and would never mount on\nhorseback more. The superstitious of those days ascribed this infirmity\nto the curses of his mother.\n\n[226] _Phasis._--A river of Colchis.\n\n[227] A frontier town on the Nile, bordering on Nubia.\n\n[228] _Colchis._--A country of Asia Minor bordering on the Black\nSea.--_Ed._\n\n[229]\n\n_Tu quoque littoribus nostris, \u00c6neia nutrix, \u00c6ternam moriens famam,\nCaieta, dedisti._ VIRG. \u00c6n. vii.\n\n[230] _i.e._ Tangiers, opposite to Gibraltar.--_Ed._\n\n[231] This should be _Emir el Moumeneen_, _i.e._, Commander of the\nFaithful.--_Ed._\n\n[232] The Mondego is the largest river having its rise within the\nkingdom of Portugal and entering no other state.--_Ed._\n\n[233] _Miramolin._--Not the name of a person, but a title, _quasi\nSultan_; _the Emperor of the Faithful_.\n\n[234] In this poetical exclamation, expressive of the sorrow of Portugal\non the death of Alonzo, Camo\u00ebns has happily imitated some passages of\nVirgil.\n\n        ----_Ips\u00e6 te, Tityre, pinus,\n    Ipsi te fontes, ipsa h\u00e6c arbusta vocabant._\n\n    ECL. i.\n\n        ----_Eurydicen vox ipsa et frigida lingua,\n    Ah miseram Eurydicen, anima fugiente, vocabat:\n    Eurydicen toto referebant flumine rip\u00e6._\n\n    GEORG. iv.\n\n    ----_littus, Hyla, Hyla, omne sonaret._\n\n    ECL. vi.\n\n\n[235] The Guadalquiver, the largest river in Spain.--_Ed._\n\n[236] The Portuguese, in their wars with the Moors, were several times\nassisted by the English and German crusaders. In the present instance\nthe fleet was mostly English, the troops of which nation were, according\nto agreement, rewarded with the plunder, which was exceeding rich, of\nthe city of Silves. _Nuniz de Leon as cronicas dos Reis de Port_, A.D.\n1189.--_Ed._\n\n[237] Barbarossa, A.D. 1189.--_Ed._\n\n[238] _Unlike the Syrian_ (rather _Assyrian_).--Sardanapalus.\n\n[239] _When Rome's proud tyrant far'd._--Heliogabalus, infamous for his\ngluttony.\n\n[240] Alluding to the history of Phalaris.\n\n[241] Camo\u00ebns, who was quite an enthusiast for the honour of his\ncountry, has in this instance disguised the truth of history. Don Sancho\nwas by no means the weak prince here represented, nor did the miseries\nof his reign proceed from himself. The clergy were the sole authors of\nhis, and the public, calamities. The Roman See was then in the height of\nits power, which it exerted in the most tyrannical manner. The\necclesiastical courts had long claimed the sole right to try an\necclesiastic: and, to prohibit a priest to say mass for a twelve-month,\nwas by the brethren, his judges, esteemed a sufficient punishment for\nmurder, or any other capital crime. Alonzo II., the father of Don\nSancho, attempted to establish the authority of the king's courts of\njustice over the offending clergy. For this the Archbishop of Braga\nexcommunicated Gonzalo Mendez, the chancellor; and Honorius, the pope,\nexcommunicated the king, and put his dominions under an interdict. The\nexterior offices of religion were suspended, the people fell into the\nutmost dissoluteness of manners; Mohammedanism made great advances, and\npublic confusion everywhere prevailed. By this policy the Church\nconstrained the nobility to urge the king to a full submission to the\npapal chair. While a negotiation for this purpose was on foot Alonzo\ndied, and left his son to struggle with an enraged and powerful clergy.\nDon Sancho was just, affable, brave, and an enamoured husband. On this\nlast virtue faction first fixed its envenomed fangs. The queen was\naccused of arbitrary influence over her husband; and, according to the\nsuperstition of that age, she was believed to have disturbed his senses\nby an enchanted draught. Such of the nobility as declared in the king's\nfavour were stigmatized, and rendered odious, as the creatures of the\nqueen. The confusions which ensued were fomented by Alonso, Earl of\nBologna, the king's brother, by whom the king was accused as the author\nof them. In short, by the assistance of the clergy and Pope Innocent\nIV., Sancho was deposed, and soon after died at Toledo. The beautiful\nqueen, Donna Mencia, was seized upon, and conveyed away by one Raymond\nPortocarrero, and was never heard of more. Such are the triumphs of\nfaction!\n\n[242] Alexander the Great.\n\n[243] Mondego, the largest exclusively Portuguese river.--_Ed._\n\n[244] The _baccaris_, or Lady's glove, a herb to which the Druids and\nancient poets ascribed magical virtues.\n\n    ----_Baccare frontem\n    Cingite, ne vati noceat mala lingua futuro._\n\n    VIRG. Ecl. vii.\n\n\n[245] Semiramis, who is said to have invaded India.--_Ed._\n\n[246] Attila, a king of the Huns, surnamed \"The Scourge of God.\" He\nlived in the fifth century. He may be reckoned among the greatest of\nconquerors.\n\n[247] _His much-lov'd bride._--The Princess Mary. She was a lady of\ngreat beauty and virtue, but was exceedingly ill used by her husband,\nwho was violently attached to his mistresses, though he owed his crown\nto the assistance of his father-in-law, the King of Portugal.\n\n[248]\n\n    _By night our fathers' shades confess their fear,\n    Their shrieks of terror from the tombs we hear.--_\n\nCamo\u00ebns says, \"A mortos faz espanto;\" to give this elegance in English\nrequired a paraphrase. There is something wildly great, and agreeable to\nthe superstition of that age, to suppose that the dead were troubled in\ntheir graves on the approach of so terrible an army. The French\ntranslator, contrary to the original, ascribes this terror to the ghost\nof only one prince, by which this stroke of Camo\u00ebns, in the spirit of\nShakespeare, is reduced to a piece of unmeaning frippery.\n\n[249] The Muliya, a river of Morocco.--_Ed._\n\n[250] See the first \u00c6neid.\n\n[251] Goliath, the Philistine champion.--_Ed._\n\n[252] David, afterwards king of Israel.--_Ed._\n\n[253] _Though wove._--It may perhaps be objected that this is\nungrammatical. But--\n\n         ----Usus\n    Quem penes arbitrium est, et jus et norma loquendi.\n\nand Dryden, Pope, etc., often use _wove_ as a participle in place of the\nharsh-sounding _woven_, a word almost incompatible with the elegance of\nversification.\n\n[254] Hannibal, who, as a child, was compelled to swear perpetual\nhostility to the Romans.--_Ed._\n\n[255] Where the last great battle between Hannibal and the Romans took\nplace, in which the Romans sustained a crushing defeat.--_Ed._\n\n[256] When the soldiers of Marius complained of thirst, he pointed to a\nriver near the camp of the Ambrones. \"There,\" says he, \"you may drink,\nbut it must be purchased with blood.\" \"Lead us on,\" they replied, \"that\nwe may have something liquid, though it be blood.\" The Romans, forcing\ntheir way to the river, the channel was filled with the dead bodies of\nthe slain.--Vid. Plutarch's Lives.\n\n[257] This unfortunate lady, Donna Inez de Castro, was the daughter of a\nCastilian gentleman, who had taken refuge in the court of Portugal. Her\nbeauty and accomplishments attracted the regard of Don Pedro, the king's\neldest son, a prince of a brave and noble disposition. La Neufville, Le\nClede, and other historians, assert that she was privately married to\nthe prince ere she had any share in his bed. Nor was his conjugal\nfidelity less remarkable than the ardour of his passion. Afraid,\nhowever, of his father's resentment, the severity of whose temper he\nknew, his intercourse with Donna Inez passed at the court as an intrigue\nof gallantry. On the accession of Don Pedro the Cruel to the throne of\nCastile many of the disgusted nobility were kindly received by Don\nPedro, through the interest of his beloved Inez. The favour shown to\nthese Castilians gave great uneasiness to the politicians. A thousand\nevils were foreseen from the prince's attachment to his Castilian\nmistress: even the murder of his children by his deceased spouse, the\nprincess Constantia, was surmised; and the enemies of Donna Inez,\nfinding the king willing to listen, omitted no opportunity to increase\nhis resentment against the unfortunate lady. The prince was about his\ntwenty-eighth year when his amour with his beloved Inez commenced.\n\n[258]\n\n    _Ad coelum tendens ardentia lumina frustra,\n    Lumina nam teneras arcebant vincula palmas._\n\n    VIRG. \u00c6n. ii.\n\n\n[259] Romulus and Remus, who were said to have been suckled by a\nwolf.--_Ed._\n\n[260] It has been observed by some critics, that Milton on every\noccasion is fond of expressing his admiration of music, particularly of\nthe song of the nightingale, and the full woodland choir. If in the same\nmanner we are to judge of the favourite taste of Homer, we shall find it\nof a less delicate kind. He is continually describing the feast, the\nhuge chine, the savoury viands on the glowing coals, and the foaming\nbowl. The ruling passion of Camo\u00ebns is also strongly marked in his\nwritings. One may venture to affirm, that there is no poem of equal\nlength that abounds with so many impassioned encomiums on the fair sex\nas the Lusiad. The genius of Camo\u00ebns seems never so pleased as when he\nis painting the variety of female charms; he feels all the magic of\ntheir allurements, and riots in his descriptions of the happiness and\nmiseries attendant on the passion of love. As he wrote from his\nfeelings, these parts of his works have been particularly honoured with\nthe attention of the world.\n\n[261] To give the character of Alphonso IV. will throw light on this\ninhuman transaction. He was an undutiful son, an unnatural brother, and\na cruel father, a great and fortunate warrior, diligent in the execution\nof the laws, and a Macchiavellian politician. His maxim was that of the\nJesuits; so that a contemplated good might be attained, he cared not how\nvillainous might be the means employed. When the enemies of Inez had\npersuaded him that her death was necessary to the welfare of the state,\nhe took a journey to Coimbra, that he might see the lady, when the\nprince, his son, was absent on a hunting party. Donna Inez, with her\nchildren, threw herself at his feet. The king was moved with the\ndistress of the beautiful suppliant, when his three counsellors, Alvaro\nGonsalez, Diego Lopez Pacheco, and Pedro Coello, reproaching him for his\ndisregard to the state, he relapsed to his former resolution. She was\nthen dragged from his presence, and brutally murdered by the hands of\nhis three counsellors, who immediately returned to the king with their\ndaggers reeking with the innocent blood of his daughter-in-law. Alonzo,\nsays La Neufville, avowed the horrid assassination, as if he had done\nnothing of which he ought to be ashamed.\n\n[262] Pyrrhus, son of Achilles: he was also called Neoptolemus. He\nsacrificed Polyxena, daughter of Priam king of Troy, to the manes of his\nfather. Euripides and Sophocles each wrote a tragedy having the\nsacrifice of Polyxena for the subject. Both have unfortunately\nperished.--_Ed._\n\n[263] Hecuba, mother of Polyxena, and wife of Priam.--_Ed._\n\n[264] The fair Inez was crowned Queen of Portugal after her interment.\n\n[265] Atreus, having slain the sons of Thyestes, cut them in pieces, and\nserved them up for a repast to their own father. The sun, it is said,\nhid his face rather than shine on so barbarous a deed.--Ed.\n\n[266] At an old royal castle near Mondego, there is a rivulet called the\nfountain of Amours. According to tradition, it was here that Don Pedro\nresided with his beloved Inez. The fiction of Camo\u00ebns, founded on the\npopular name of the rivulet, is in the spirit of Homer.\n\n[267] When the prince was informed of the death of his beloved Inez, he\nwas transported into the most violent fury. He took arms against his\nfather. The country between the rivers Minho and Doura was laid\ndesolate: but, by the interposition of the queen and the Archbishop of\nBraga, the prince relented, and the further horrors of a civil war were\nprevented. Don Alonzo was not only reconciled to his son, but laboured\nby every means to oblige him, and to efface from his memory the injury\nand insult he had received. The prince, however, still continued to\ndiscover the strongest marks of affection and grief. When he succeeded\nto the crown, one of his first acts was a treaty with the King of\nCastile, whereby each monarch engaged to give up such malcontents as\nshould take refuge in each other's dominions. In consequence of this,\nPedro Coello and Alvaro Gonsalez, who, on the death of Alonzo had fled\nto Castile, were sent prisoners to Don Pedro. Diego Pacheco, the third\nmurderer, made his escape. The other two were put to death with the most\nexquisite tortures, and most justly merited, if torture is in any\ninstance to be allowed. After this the king, Don Pedro, summoned an\nassembly of the states at Cantanedes. Here, in the presence of the\nPope's nuncio, he solemnly swore on the holy Gospels, that having\nobtained a dispensation from Rome, he had secretly, at Braganza,\nespoused the Lady Inez de Castro, in the presence of the Bishop of\nGuarda, and of his master of the wardrobe; both of whom confirmed the\ntruth of the oath. The Pope's Bull, containing the dispensation, was\npublished; the body of Inez was lifted from the grave, was placed on a\nmagnificent throne, and with the proper regalia, crowned Queen of\nPortugal. The nobility did homage to her skeleton, and kissed the bones\nof her hand. The corpse was then interred at the royal monastery of\nAlcobaca, with a pomp before unknown in Portugal, and with all the\nhonours due to a queen. Her monument is still extant, where her statue\nis adorned with the diadem and the royal robe. This, with the\nlegitimation of her children, and the care he took of all who had been\nin her service, consoled him in some degree, and rendered him more\nconversable than he had hitherto been; but the cloud which the death of\nInez brought over the natural cheerfulness of his temper, was never\ntotally dispersed.---- A circumstance strongly characteristic of the\nrage of his resentment must not be omitted. When the murderers were\nbrought before him, he was so transported with indignation, that he\nstruck Pedro Coello several blows on the face with the shaft of his\nwhip.\n\n[268] _Pedro the Just._--History cannot afford an instance of any prince\nwho has a more eminent claim to the title of just than Pedro I. His\ndiligence to correct every abuse was indefatigable, and when guilt was\nproved his justice was inexorable. He was dreadful to the evil, and\nbeloved by the good, for he respected no persons, and his inflexible\nseverity never digressed from the line of strict justice. An anecdote or\ntwo will throw some light on his character. A priest having killed a\nmason, the king dissembled his knowledge of the crime, and left the\nissue to the ecclesiastical court, where the priest was punished by one\nyear's suspension from saying mass. The king on this privately ordered\nthe mason's son to revenge the murder of his father. The young man\nobeyed, was apprehended, and condemned to death. When his sentence was\nto be confirmed by the king, Pedro enquired, what was the young man's\ntrade. He was answered, that he followed his father's. \"Well then,\" said\nthe king, \"I shall commute his punishment, and interdict him from\nmeddling with stone or mortar for a twelve-month.\" After this he fully\nestablished the authority of the king's courts over the clergy, whom he\npunished with death when their crimes were capital. When solicited to\nrefer the causes of such criminals to a higher tribunal, he would answer\nvery calmly, \"That is what I intend to do: I will send them to the\nhighest of all tribunals, to that of their Maker and mine.\" Against\nadulterers he was particularly severe, often declaring it as his\nopinion, that conjugal infidelity was the source of the greatest evils,\nand that therefore to restrain it was the interest and duty of the\nsovereign. Though the fate of his beloved Inez chagrined and soured his\ntemper, he was so far from being naturally sullen or passionate, that he\nwas rather of a gay and sprightly disposition; he was affable and easy\nof access; delighted in music and dancing; was a lover of learning, a\nman of letters, and an elegant poet.--Vide Le Clede, Mariana, Faria.\n\n[269] This lady, named Leonora de Tellez, was the wife of Don Juan\nLorenzo Acugna, a nobleman of one of the most distinguished families in\nPortugal. After a sham process this marriage was dissolved, and the king\nprivately espoused to her, though, at this time, he was publicly married\nby proxy to Donna Leonora of Arragon. A dangerous insurrection, headed\nby one Velasquez, a tailor, drove the king and his adulterous bride from\nLisbon. Soon after, he caused his marriage to be publicly celebrated in\nthe province of Entre Douro e Minho. Henry, king of Castile, being\ninformed of the general discontent that reigned in Portugal, marched a\nformidable army into that kingdom, to revenge the injury offered to some\nof his subjects, whose ships had been unjustly seized at Lisbon. The\ndesolation hinted at by Camo\u00ebns ensued. After the subjects of both\nkingdoms had severely suffered, the two kings ended the war, much to\ntheir mutual satisfaction, by an intermarriage of their illegitimate\nchildren.\n\n[270] Judges, chap. xix. and xx.\n\n[271] Samuel, chap. xii. 10, \"The sword shall never depart from thine\nhouse.\"\n\n[272] Hercules.\n\n[273] Love compelled Hercules to spin wool.--OVID.\n\n[274] Hannibal.\n\n[275] Dom John was a natural brother of Fernando, being an illegitimate\nson of Pedro.--_Ed._\n\n[276] _A cradled infant gave the wondrous sign._--No circumstance has\never been more ridiculed by the ancient and modern pedants than\nAlexander's pretensions to divinity. Some of his courtiers expostulating\nwith him one day on the absurdity of such claim, he replied, \"I know the\ntruth of what you say, but these,\" (pointing to a crowd of Persians)\n\"these know no better.\" The report that the Grecian army was commanded\nby a son of Jupiter spread terror through the East, and greatly\nfacilitated the operations of the conqueror. The miraculous speech of\nthe infant, attested by a few monks, was adapted to the superstition of\nthe age of John I. and, as he was illegitimate, was of infinite service\nto his cause. The pretended fact, however, is differently related.\n\n[277] Lisbon, or Ulyssipolis, supposed to be founded by Ulysses.--_Ed._\n\n[278] _The mitred head._--Don Martin, bishop of Lisbon, a man of\nexemplary life. He was by birth a Castilian, which was esteemed a\nsufficient reason to murder him, as of the queen's party. He was thrown\nfrom the tower of his own cathedral, whither he had fled to avoid the\npopular fury.\n\n[279] _The queen beheld her power, her honours lost._--Possessed of\ngreat beauty and great abilities, this bad woman was a disgrace to her\nsex, and a curse to the age and country which gave her birth. Her\nsister, Donna Maria, a lady of unblemished virtue, had been secretly\nmarried to the infant, Don Juan, the king's brother, who was\npassionately attached to her. Donna Maria had formerly endeavoured to\ndissuade her sister from the adulterous marriage with the king. In\nrevenge of this, the queen, Leonora, persuaded Don Juan that her sister\nwas unfaithful to his bed. The enraged husband hastened to his wife,\nand, without enquiry or expostulation, says Mariana, dispatched her with\ntwo strokes of his dagger. He was afterwards convinced of her innocence.\nHaving sacrificed her honour, and her first husband, to a king, (says\nFaria), Leonora soon sacrificed that king to a wicked gallant, a\nCastilian nobleman, named Don Juan Fernandez de Andeyro. An unjust war\nwith Castile, wherein the Portuguese were defeated by sea and land, was\nthe first fruits of the policy of the new favourite. Andeyro one day\nbeing in a great perspiration, by some military exercise, the queen tore\nher veil, and publicly gave it him to wipe his face. The grand master of\nAvis, the king's illegitimate brother, afterwards John I., and some\nothers, expostulated with her on the indecency of this behaviour. She\ndissembled her resentment, but, soon after, they were seized and\ncommitted to the castle of Evora, where a forged order for their\nexecution was sent; but the governor suspecting some fraud, showed it to\nthe king. Yet, such was her ascendancy over Fernando, that though\nconvinced of her guilt, he ordered his brother to kiss the queen's hand,\nand thank her for his life. Soon after, Fernando died, but not till he\nwas fully convinced of the queen's conjugal infidelity, and had given an\norder for the assassination of the gallant. Not long after the death of\nthe king, the favourite Andeyro was stabbed in the palace by the\ngrandmaster of Avis, and Don Ruy de Pereyra. The queen expressed all the\ntransport of grief and rage, and declared she would undergo the\ntrial-ordeal in vindication of his, and her, innocence. But this she\nnever performed: in her vows of revenge, however, she was more punctual.\nDon Juan, king of Castile, who had married her only daughter and\nheiress, at her earnest entreaties invaded Portugal, and was proclaimed\nking. Don John, grand master of Avis, was proclaimed by the people\nprotector and regent. A desperate war ensued. Queen Leonora, treated\nwith indifference by her daughter and son-in-law, resolved on the murder\nof the latter, but the plot was discovered, and she was sent prisoner to\nCastile. The regent was besieged in Lisbon, and the city reduced to the\nutmost extremities, when an epidemic broke out in the Castilian army,\nand made such devastation, that the king suddenly raised the siege, and\nabandoned his views on Portugal. The happy inhabitants ascribed their\ndeliverance to the valour and vigilance of the regent. The regent\nreproved their ardour, exhorted them to repair to their churches, and\nreturn thanks to God, to whose interposition he solely ascribed their\nsafety. This behaviour increased the admiration of the people; the\nnobility of the first rank joined the regent's party, and many garrisons\nin the interest of the king of Castile opened their gates to him. An\nassembly of the states met at Coimbra, where it was proposed to invest\nthe regent with the regal dignity. This he pretended to decline. Don\nJohn, son of Pedro the Just and the beautiful Inez de Castro, was by the\npeople esteemed their lawful sovereign, but was, and had been long,\ndetained a prisoner by the King of Castile. If the states would declare\nthe infant, Don John, their king, the regent professed his willingness\nto swear allegiance to him, that he would continue to expose himself to\nevery danger, and act as regent, till Providence restored to Portugal\nher lawful sovereign. The states, however, saw the necessity that the\nnation should have a head. The regent was unanimously elected king, and\nsome articles in favour of liberty were added to those agreed upon at\nthe coronation of Don Alonzo Enriquez, the first king of Portugal.\n\nDon John I., one of the greatest of the Portuguese monarchs, was the\nnatural son of Pedro the Just, by Donna Teresa Lorenza, a Galician lady,\nand was born some years after the death of Inez. At seven years of age\nhe was made grand master of Avis, where he received an excellent\neducation, which, joined to his great parts, brought him out early on\nthe political theatre. He was a brave commander, and a deep politician,\nyet never forfeited the character of candour and honour. To be humble to\nhis friends, and haughty to his enemies, was his leading maxim. His\nprudence gained him the confidence of the wise; his steadiness and\ngratitude the friendship of the brave; his liberality the bulk of the\npeople. He was in the twenty-seventh year of his age when declared\nprotector, and in his twenty-eighth when proclaimed king.\n\nThe following anecdote is much to the honour of this prince when regent.\nA Castilian officer, having six Portuguese gentleman prisoners, cut off\ntheir noses and hands, and sent them to Don John. Highly incensed, the\nprotector commanded six Castilian gentlemen to be treated in the same\nmanner. But, before the officer, to whom he gave the orders, had quitted\nthe room, he relented. \"I have given enough to resentment,\" said he, \"in\ngiving such a command. It were infamous to put it in execution. See that\nthe Castilian prisoners receive no harm.\"\n\n[280] Beatrice.\n\n[281] _By Rodrick given._--The celebrated hero of Corneille's tragedy of\nthe Cid.\n\n[282] [283] Cadiz: in ancient times a Phoenician colony, whose coins\nbear the emblem of two pillars--the pillars of Hercules\n(Alcides).--_Ed._\n\n[284] The Gascons or Basques, a very ancient and singular people. Their\nlanguage has no relation to that of any other people. They are regarded\nas the earliest inhabitants of the Spanish peninsula.--_Ed._\n\n[285] See Judges xvi. 17-19.\n\n[286] This speech in the original has been much admired by foreign\ncritics, as a model of military eloquence. The critic, it is hoped, will\nperceive that the translator has endeavoured to support the character of\nthe speaker.\n\n[287] This was the famous P. Corn. Scipio Africanus. The fact, somewhat\ndifferently related by Livy, is this. After the defeat at Cann\u00e6, a\nconsiderable body of Romans fled to Canusium, and appointed Scipio and\nAp. Claudius their commanders. While they remained there, it was told\nScipio, that some of his chief officers, at the head of whom was\nC\u00e6cilius Metellus, were taking measures to transport themselves out of\nItaly. He went immediately to their assembly; and drawing his sword,\nsaid, _I swear that I will not desert the Commonwealth of Rome, nor\nsuffer any other citizen to do it. The same oath I require of you,\nC\u00e6cilius, and of all present; whoever refuses, let him know that this\nsword is drawn against him._ The historian adds, that they were as\nterrified by this, as if they had beheld the face of their conqueror,\nHannibal. They all swore, and submitted themselves to Scipio.--Vid.\nLivy, bk. 22. c. 53.\n\n[288] Sestos was a city of Thrace, on the Dardanelles, opposite\nAbydos.--_Ed._\n\n[289] The Guadiana, one of the two great rivers of Spain.--_Ed._\n\n[290] The Douro.\n\n[291] Homer and Virgil have, with great art, gradually heightened the\nfury of every battle, till the last efforts of their genius were\nlavished in describing the superior prowess of the hero in the decisive\nengagement. Camo\u00ebns, in like manner, has bestowed his utmost attention\non this his principal battle. The circumstances preparatory to the\nengagement are happily imagined, and solemnly conducted, and the fury of\nthe combat is supported with a poetical heat, and a variety of imagery,\nwhich, one need not hesitate to affirm, would do honour to an ancient\nclassic author.\n\n[292] _And his own brothers shake the hostile lance._--The just\nindignation with which Camo\u00ebns treats the kindred of the brave Nunio\nAlvaro de Pereyra, is condemned by the French translator. \"The\nPereyras,\" says he, \"deserve no stain on their memory for joining the\nKing of Castile, whose title to the crown of Portugal was infinitely\nmore just and solid than that of Don John.\" Castera, however, is grossly\nmistaken. Don Alonzo Enriquez, the first King of Portugal, was elected\nby the people, who had recovered their liberties at the glorious battle\nof Ourique. At the election the constitution of the kingdom was settled\nin eighteen short statutes, wherein it is expressly provided, that none\nbut a Portuguese can be king of Portugal; that if an infanta marry a\nforeign prince, he shall not, in her right, become King of Portugal, and\na new election of a king, in case of the failure of the male line, is,\nby these statutes, supposed legal. By the treaty of marriage between the\nKing of Castile and Donna Beatrix, the heiress of Fernando of Portugal,\nit was agreed, that only their children should succeed to the Portuguese\ncrown; and that, in case the throne became vacant ere such children were\nborn, the Queen-dowager, Leonora, should govern with the title of\nRegent. Thus, neither by the original constitution, nor by the treaty of\nmarriage, could the King of Castile succeed to the throne of Portugal.\nAnd any pretence he might found on the marriage contract was already\nforfeited; for he caused himself and his queen to be proclaimed, added\nPortugal to his titles, coined Portuguese money with his bust, deposed\nthe queen regent, and afterwards sent her prisoner to Castile. The\nlawful heir, Don Juan, the son of Inez de Castro, was kept in prison by\nhis rival, the King of Castile; and, as before observed, a new election\nwas, by the original statutes, supposed legal in cases of emergency.\nThese facts, added to the consideration of the tyranny of the King of\nCastile, and the great services which Don John had rendered his country,\nfully vindicate the indignation of Camo\u00ebns against the traitorous\nPereyras.\n\n[293] Near Pharsalus was fought the decisive battle between C\u00e6sar and\nPompey, B.C. 48.--_Ed._\n\n[294] Ceuta, a small Spanish possession on the Mediterranean coast of\nMorocco.--_Ed._\n\n[295] Tetuan, a city of Morocco.--_Ed._\n\n[296] _Through the fierce Brigians._--The Castilians, so called from one\nof their ancient kings, named Brix, or Brigus, whom the monkish writers\ncall the grandson of Noah.\n\n[297] These lines are not in the common editions of Camo\u00ebns. They\nconsist of three stanzas in the Portuguese, and are said to have been\nleft out by the author himself in his second edition. The translator,\nhowever, as they breathe the true spirit of Virgil, was willing to\npreserve them with this acknowledgment.\n\n[298] Massylia, a province in Numidia, greatly infested with lions,\nparticularly that part of it called _Os sete montes irma\u00f5s_, the seven\nbrother mountains.\n\n[299] _And many a gasping warrior sigh'd his last._--This, which is\nalmost literal from--\n\n    _Muitos lan\u00e7ara\u00f5 o ultimo suspiro,--_\n\nand the preceding circumstance of Don John's brandishing his lance four\ntimes--\n\n    _E sopesando a lan\u00e7a quatro vezes,_\n\nare poetical, and in the spirit of Homer. Besides Maldonat, Castera has,\nin this battle, introduced several other names which have no place in\nCamo\u00ebns. Carrillo, Robledo, John of Lorca, Salazar of Seville were\nkilled, he tells us: And, \"Velasques and Sanches, natives of Toledo,\nGalbes, surnamed the 'Soldier without Fear,' Montanches, Oropesa, and\nMondonedo, all six of proved valour, fell by the hand of young Antony,\nwho brought to the fight either more address, or better fortune than\nthese.\" Not a word of this is in the Portuguese.\n\n[300] _Their swords seem dipp'd in fire._--This is as literal as the\nidiom of the two languages would allow. Dryden has a thought like that\nof this couplet, but which is not in his original:--\n\n    \"Their bucklers clash; thick blows descend from high,\n    And flakes of fire from their hard helmets fly.\"\n\n    DRYD. Virg. \u00c6n. xii.\n\n\n[301] Grand master of the order of St. James, named Don Pedro Nunio. He\nwas not killed, however, in this battle, which was fought on the plains\nof Aljubarota, but in that of Valverda, which immediately followed. The\nreader may, perhaps, be surprised to find that every soldier mentioned\nin these notes is a Don, a _Lord_. The following piece of history will\naccount for the number of the Portuguese nobles. Don Alonzo Enriquez,\nCount of Portugal, was saluted king by his army at the battle of\nOurique; in return, his majesty dignified every man in his army with the\nrank of nobility.--Vide the 9th of the Statutes of Lamego.\n\n[302] Cerberus.\n\n[303] The Spaniards.\n\n[304] This tyrant, whose unjust pretensions to the crown of Portugal\nlaid his own, and that, kingdom in blood, was on his final defeat\noverwhelmed with all the frenzy of grief. In the night after the\ndecisive battle of Aljubarota, he fled upwards of thirty miles upon a\nmule. Don Laurence, archbishop of Braga, in a letter written in old\nPortuguese to Don John, abbot of Alcobaza, gives this account of his\nbehaviour: \"The constable has informed me that he saw the King of\nCastile at Santaren, who behaved as a madman, cursing his existence, and\ntearing the hairs of his beard. And, in good faith, my good friend, it\nis better that he should do so to himself than to us; the man who thus\nplucks his own beard, would be much better pleased to do so to others.\"\nThe writer of this letter, though a prelate, fought at the battle of\nAljubarota, where he received on the face a large wound from a sabre.\n\n[305] _The festive days by heroes old ordain'd._--As a certain proof of\nthe victory, it was required, by the honour of these ages, that the\nvictor should encamp three days on the field of battle. By this\nknight-errantry the advantages which ought to have been pursued were\nfrequently lost. Don John, however, though he complied with the reigning\nideas of honour, sent Don Nunio, with a proper army, to reap the fruits\nof his victory.\n\n[306] John of Portugal, about a year after the battle of Aljubarota,\nmarried Philippa, eldest daughter of John of Gaunt, duke of Lancaster,\nson of Edward III. who assisted the king, his son-in-law, in an\nirruption into Castile, and, at the end of the campaign, promised to\nreturn with more numerous forces for the next. But this was prevented by\nthe marriage of his youngest daughter, Catalina, with Don Henry, eldest\nson of the King of Castile. The King of Portugal on this entered\nGalicia, and reduced the cities of Tui and Salvaterra. A truce followed.\nWhile the tyrant of Castile meditated a new war, he was killed by a fall\nfrom his horse, and, leaving no issue by his queen, Beatrix (the King of\nPortugal's daughter), all pretension to that crown ceased. The truce was\nnow prolonged for fifteen years, and, though not strictly kept, yet, at\nlast the influence of the English queen, Catalina, prevailed, and a long\npeace, happy for both kingdoms, ensued.\n\n[307] The Pillars of Hercules, or Straits of Gibraltar.--_Ed._\n\n[308] The character of this great prince claims a place in these notes,\nas it affords a comment on the enthusiasm of Camo\u00ebns, who has made him\nthe hero of his episode. His birth, excellent education, and masterly\nconduct when regent, have already been mentioned. The same justice,\nprudence, and heroism always accompanied him when king. He had the art\nto join the most winning affability with all the manly dignity of the\nsovereign. To those who were his friends, when a private man, he was\nparticularly attentive. His nobility dined at his table, he frequently\nmade visits to them, and introduced among them the taste for, and the\nlove of, letters. As he felt the advantages of education, he took the\nutmost care of that of his children. He had many sons, and he himself\noften instructed them in solid and useful knowledge, and was amply\nrepaid. He lived to see them men, men of parts and of action, whose only\nemulation was to show affection to his person, and to support his\nadministration by their great abilities. One of his sons, Don Henry,\nduke of Viseo, was that great prince whose ardent passion for maritime\naffairs gave birth to all the modern improvements in navigation. The\nclergy, who had disturbed almost every other reign, were so convinced of\nthe wisdom of his, that they confessed he ought to be supported out of\nthe treasures of the church, and granted him the church plate to be\ncoined. When the pope ordered a rigorous inquiry to be made into his\nhaving brought ecclesiastics before lay tribunals, the clergy had the\nsingular honesty to desert what was styled the church immunities, and to\nown that justice had been impartially administered. He died in the\nseventy-sixth year of his age, and in the forty-eighth of his reign. His\naffection to his queen, Philippa, made him fond of the English, whose\nfriendship he cultivated, and by whom he was frequently assisted.\n\n[309] Camo\u00ebns, in this instance, has raised the character of one brother\nat the other's expense, to give his poem an air of solemnity. The siege\nof Tangier was proposed. The king's brothers differed in their opinions:\nthat of Don Fernand, though a knight-errant adventure, was approved of\nby the young nobility. The infants, Henry and Fernand, at the head of\n7000 men, laid siege to Tangier, and were surrounded by a numerous army\nof Moors, some writers say six hundred thousand. On condition that the\nPortuguese army should be allowed to return home, the infants promised\nto surrender Ceuta. The Moors gladly accepted of the terms, but demanded\none of the infants as a hostage. Fernand offered himself, and was left.\nThe king was willing to comply with the terms to relieve his brother,\nbut the court considered the value of Ceuta, and would not consent. The\npope also interposed his authority, that Ceuta should be kept as a check\non the infidels, and proposed to raise a crusade for the delivery of\nFernand. In the meanwhile large offers were made for his liberty. These\nwere rejected by the Moors, who would accept of nothing but Ceuta, to\nwhose vast importance they were no strangers. When negotiations failed,\nKing Edward assembled a large army to effect his brother's release, but,\njust as he was setting out, he was seized with the plague, and died,\nleaving orders with his queen to deliver up Ceuta for the release of his\nbrother. This, however, was never performed. Don Fernand remained with\nthe Moors till his death. The magnanimity of his behaviour gained him\ntheir esteem and admiration, nor is there good proof that he received\nany very rigorous treatment; the contrary is rather to be inferred from\nthe romantic notions of military honour which then prevailed among the\nMoors. Don Fernand is to this day esteemed as a saint and martyr in\nPortugal, and his memory is commemorated on the fifth of June. King\nEdward reigned only five years and a month. He was the most eloquent man\nin his dominions, spoke and wrote Latin elegantly, was author of several\nbooks, one on horsemanship, in which art he excelled. He was brave in\nthe field, active in business, and rendered his country infinite service\nby reducing the laws to a regular code. He was knight of the Order of\nthe Garter, which honour was conferred upon him by his cousin, Henry V.\nof England. In one instance he gave great offence to the superstitious\npopulace. He despised the advice of a Jew astrologer, who entreated him\nto delay his coronation because the stars that day were unfavourable. To\nthis the misfortune of Tangier was ascribed, and the people were always\non the alarm, as if some terrible disaster were impending over them.\n\n[310] The Moors.\n\n[311] When Henry IV. of Castile died, he declared that the infanta\nJoanna, was his heiress, in preference to his sister, Donna Isabella,\nmarried to Don Ferdinand, son to the King of Arragon. In hopes to attain\nthe kingdom of Castile, Don Alonzo, king of Portugal, obtained a\ndispensation from the pope to marry his niece, Donna Joanna. After a\nbloody war, the ambitious views of Alonzo and his courtiers were\ndefeated.\n\n[312] The Pyrenees which separate France from Spain.--_Ed._\n\n[313] The Prince of Portugal.\n\n[314] Julius C\u00e6sar.\n\n[315] Naples.\n\n[316] Parthenope was one of the Syrens. Enraged because she could not\nallure Ulysses, she threw herself into the sea. Her corpse was thrown\nashore, and buried where Naples now stands.\n\n[317] The coast of Alexandria.\n\n[318] Among the Christians of Abyssinia.\n\n[319] Sandy, the French sable = sand.--_Ed._\n\n[320] The Nabathean mountains; so named from Nabaoth, the son of\nIshmael.\n\n[321] _Beyond where Trajan._--The Emperor Trajan extended the bounds of\nthe Roman Empire in the East far beyond any of his predecessors. His\nconquests reached to the river Tigris, near which stood the city of\nCtesiphon, which he subdued. The Roman historians boasted that India was\nentirely conquered by him; but they could only mean Arabia Felix.--Vid.\nDion. Cass. Euseb. Chron. p. 206.\n\n[322] _Qui mores hominum multorum vidit._--HOR.\n\n[323] Emmanuel was cousin to the late king, John II. and grandson to\nking Edward, son of John I.\n\n[324] The river Indus, which gave name to India.\n\n[325] Vasco de Gama, who is, in a certain sense, the hero of the Lusiad,\nwas born in 1469, at Sines, a fishing town on the Atlantic, midway\nbetween Lisbon and Cape St. Vincent, where, in a small church on a\ncliff, built by the great navigator after his appointment as Viceroy of\nIndia, is an inscription to his memory.--_Ed._\n\n[326] Hercules.\n\n[327] _Orac'lous Argo._--According to the fable, the vessel of the\nArgonauts spoke and prophesied. See _The Argonautics_ of Apollonius\nRhodius.--_Ed._\n\n[328] This fact is according to history: Aberat Olysippone prope littus\nquatuor passuum millia templum san\u00e8 religiosum et sanctum ab Henrico in\nhonorem Sanctissim\u00e6 Virginis edificatum.... In id Gama pridie illius\ndiei, quo erat navem conscensurus, se recepit, ut noctem cum religiosis\nhominibus qui in \u00e6dibus templo conjunctis habitabant, in precibus et\nvotis consumeret. Sequenti die cum multi non illius tant\u00f9m gratia, sed\naliorum etiam, qui illi comites erant, convenissent, fuit ab omnibus in\nscaphis deductus. Neque sol\u00f9m homines religiosi, sed reliqui omnes voce\nmaxima cum lacrymis \u00e0 Deo precabantur, ut ben\u00e8 et prosper\u00e8 illa tam\npericulosa navigatio omnibus eveniret, et universi re ben\u00e8 gesta,\nincolumes in patriam redirent.\n\n[329] By this old man is personified the populace of Portugal. The\nendeavours to discover the East Indies by the Southern Ocean, for about\neighty years had been the favourite topic of complaint, and never was\nany measure of government more unpopular than the expedition of GAMA.\nEmmanuel's council were almost unanimous against the attempt. Some\ndreaded the introduction of wealth, and its attendants, luxury and\neffeminacy; while others affirmed, that no adequate advantages could\narise from so perilous and remote a navigation. The expressions of the\nthousands who crowded the shore when GAMA gave his sails to the wind,\nare thus expressed by Osorius: \"A multis tamen interim is fletus atque\nlamentatio fiebat, un funus efferre viderentur. Sic enim dicebant: En\nquo miseros mortales provexit cupiditas et ambitio? Potuitne gravius\nsupplicium hominibus istis constitui, si in se scelestum aliquod facinus\nadmisissent? Est enim illis immensi maris longitudo peragranda, fluctus\nimmanes difficillima navigatione superandi, vit\u00e6 discrimen in locis\ninfinitis obeundum. Non fuit mult\u00f2 tolerabilius, in terra quovis genere\nmortis absumi, qu\u00e0m tam procul \u00e0 patria marinis fluctibus sepeliri. H\u00e6c\net alia multa in hanc sententiam dicebant, c\u00f9m omnia mult\u00f2 tristiora\nfingere pr\u00e6 metu cogerentur.\" The tender emotion and fixed resolution of\nGAMA, and the earnest passion of the multitudes on the shore, are thus\nadded by the same venerable historian: \"Gama tamen quamvis lacrymas\nsuorum desiderio funderet, rei tamen ben\u00e8 gerend\u00e6 fiducia confirmatus,\nalacriter in navem faustis ominibus conscendit.... Qui in littore\nconsistebant, non prius abscedere voluerunt, qu\u00e0m naves vento secundo\nplenissimis velis ab omnium conspectu remot\u00e6 sunt.\"\n\n[330] More literally rendered by Capt. R. Burton:--\n\n    \"----He spoke\n    From a full heart, and skill'd in worldly lore,\n    In deep, slow tones this solemn warning, fraught\n    With wisdom, by long-suffering only taught:\n    'O passion of dominion! O fond lust\n    Of that poor vanity which men call fame!\n    O treach'rous appetite, whose highest gust\n    Is vulgar breath that taketh honour's name!\n    O fell ambition, terrible but just\n    Art thou to breasts that cherish most thy flame!\n    Brief life for them in peril, storm, and rage;\n    This world a hell, and death their heritage.\n\n    \"'Shrewd prodigal! whose riot is the dearth\n    Of states and principalities oppress'd,\n    Plunder and rape are of thy loathly birth,\n    Thou art alike of life and soul the pest.\n    High titles greet thee on this slavish earth,\n    Yet, none so vile but they would fit thee best.\n    But Fame, forsooth, and Glory thou art styl'd,\n    And the blind herd is by a sound beguil'd.'\"\n\n\n[331] The Moor.--_Ed._\n\n[332] The Muses.--_Ed._\n\n[333] Prometheus is said to have stolen fire from heaven.--_Ed._\n\n[334] Alluding to the fables of Phaeton and Icarus; the former having\nobtained from Helios, his father, permission to guide the chariot of the\nsun for one day, nearly set the world on fire. He perished in the river\nEridanus (the Po.) Icarus, the sun having melted the wax with which his\nwings were cemented, fell into that part of the \u00c6gean which, from his\nmisfortune, was called the _Icarian Sea_.--_Ed._\n\n[335] The sun is in the constellation Leo in July.--_Ed._\n\n[336] The Serra de Cintra, situated about 15 miles N.W. of\nLisbon.--_Ed._\n\n[337] See the life of Don Henry, prince of Portugal, in the preface.\n\n[338] Morocco.\n\n[339] The discovery of some of the West Indian islands by Columbus was\nmade in 1492 and 1493. His discovery of the continent of America was not\ntill 1498. The fleet of GAMA sailed from the Tagus in 1497.\n\n[340] Called by the ancients _Insul\u00e6 Purpurari\u00e6_. Now Madeira, and Porto\nSanto. The former was so named by Juan Gonzales, and Tristan Vaz, from\nthe Spanish word _madera_, wood. These discoverers wens sent out by the\ngreat Don Henry.\n\n[341] The Tropic of Cancer.--_Ed._\n\n[342] Called by Ptolemy _Caput Assinarium_, now Cape Verde.\n\n[343] The Canaries, called by the ancients _Insul\u00e6 Fortunat\u00e6_.\n\n[344] The province of Jalofo lies between the two rivers, the Gambia and\nthe Zanago. The latter has other names in the several countries through\nwhich it runs. In its course it makes many islands, inhabited only by\nwild beasts. It is navigable for 150 leagues, at the end of which it is\ncrossed by a stupendous ridge of perpendicular rocks, over which the\nriver rushes with such violence, that travellers pass under it without\nany other inconvenience than the prodigious noise. The Gambia, or _Rio\nGrande_, runs 180 leagues, but is not so far navigable. It carries more\nwater, and runs with less noise than the other, though filled with many\nrivers which water the country of Mandinga. Both rivers are branches of\nthe Niger. Their waters have this remarkable quality; when mixed\ntogether they operate as an emetic, but when separate do not. They\nabound with great variety of fishes, and their banks are covered with\nhorses, crocodiles, winged serpents, elephants, ounces, wild boars, with\ngreat numbers of others, wonderful for the variety of their nature and\ndifferent forms.--FARIA Y SOUSA.\n\n[345] _Timbuctu_, the mart of Mandinga gold, was greatly resorted to by\nthe merchants of Grand Cairo, Tunis, Oran, Tlemicen, Fez, Morocco, etc.\n\n[346] Contra hoc promontorium (Hesperionceras) Gorgades insul\u00e6\nnarrantur, Gorgonum quondam domus, bidui navigatione distantes a\ncontinente, ut tradit Xenophon Lampsacenus. Penetravit in eas Hanno\nPoenorum imperator, prodiditque hirta foeminarum corpora viros\npernicitate evasisse, duarumque Gorgonum cutes argumenti et miraculi\ngratia in Junonis templo posuit, spectatas usque ad Carthaginem\ncaptam.--PLIN. Hist. Nat. l. 6. c. 31.\n\n[347] Sierra Leone.\n\n[348] Cape Palmas.--_Ed._\n\n[349] During the reign of John II. the Portuguese erected several forts,\nand acquired great power in the extensive regions of Guinea. Azambuja, a\nPortuguese captain, having obtained leave from Caramansa, a negro\nprince, to erect a fort on his territories, an unlucky accident had\nalmost proved fatal to the discoverers. A huge rock lay very commodious\nfor a quarry; the workmen began on it; but this rock, as the devil would\nhave it, happened to be a negro god. The Portuguese were driven away by\nthe enraged worshippers, who were afterwards with difficulty pacified by\na profusion of such presents as they most esteemed.\n\n[350] The Portuguese, having brought an ambassador from Congo to Lisbon,\nsent him back instructed in the faith. By this means the king, queen,\nand about 100,000 of the people were baptized; the idols were destroyed\nand churches built. Soon after, the prince, who was then absent at war,\nwas baptized by the name of _Alonzo_. His younger brother, Aquitimo,\nhowever, would not receive the faith, and the father, because allowed\nonly one wife, turned apostate, and left the crown to his pagan son,\nwho, with a great army, surrounded his brother, when only attended by\nsome Portuguese and Christian blacks, in all only thirty-seven. By the\nbravery of these, however, Aquitimo was defeated, taken, and slain. One\nof Aquitimo's officers declared, they were not defeated by the\nthirty-seven Christians, but by a glorious army who fought under a\nshining cross. The idols were again destroyed, and Alonzo sent his sons,\ngrandsons, and nephews to Portugal to study; two of whom were afterwards\nbishops in Congo.--_Extracted from_ Faria y Sousa.\n\n[351] According to fable, Calisto was a nymph of Diana. Jupiter having\nassumed the figure of that goddess, completed his amorous desires. On\nthe discovery of her pregnancy, Diana drove her from her train. She fled\nto the woods, where she was delivered of a son. Juno changed them into\nbears, and Jupiter placed them in heaven, where they form the\nconstellations of Ursa Major and Minor. Juno, still enraged, entreated\nThetis never to suffer Calisto to bathe in the sea. This is founded on\nthe appearance of the northern pole-star, to the inhabitants of our\nhemisphere; but, when GAMA approached the austral pole, the northern, of\nconsequence, disappeared under the waves.\n\n[352] The Southern Cross.\n\n[353] The constellation of the southern pole was called _The Cross_ by\nthe Portuguese sailors, from the appearance of that figure formed by\nseven stars. In the southern hemisphere, as Camo\u00ebns observes, the nights\nare darker than in the northern, the skies being adorned with much fewer\nstars.\n\n[354]\n\n    _Non, mihi si lingu\u00e6 centum sunt, oraque\n    centum, Ferrea vox, omnes scelerum comprendere formas._--\u00c6N. vi.\n\n\n[355] _That living fire, by seamen held divine._--The sulphureous\nvapours of the air, after being violently agitated by a tempest, unite,\nand when the humidity begins to subside, as is the case when the storm\nis almost exhausted, by the agitation of their atoms they take fire, and\nare attracted by the masts and cordage of the ship. Being thus,\nnaturally, the pledges of the approaching calm, it is no wonder that the\nsuperstition of sailors should in all ages have esteemed them divine,\nand--\n\n    _Of heaven's own care in storms the holy sign._\n\nIn the expedition of the Golden Fleece, in a violent tempest these fires\nwere seen to hover over the heads of Castor and Pollux, who were two of\nthe Argonauts, and a calm immediately ensued. After the apotheoses of\nthese heroes, the Grecian sailors invoked these fires by the names of\nCastor and Pollux, or _the sons of Jupiter_. The Athenians called them\n[Greek: S\u00f4t\u00eares], _Saviours_.\n\n[356] In this book, particularly in the description of Massilia, the\nGorgades, the fires called Castor and Pollux, and the water-spout,\nCamo\u00ebns has happily imitated the manner of Lucan. It is probable that\nCamo\u00ebns, in his voyage to the East Indies, was an eye witness of the\nphenomena of the fires and water-spout. The latter is thus described by\nPliny, l. 2. c. 51. _Fit et caligo, bellu\u00e6 similis nubes dira\nnavigantibus vocatur et columna, cum spissatus humor rigensque ipse se\nsustinet, et in longam veluti fistulam nubes aquam trahit._ When the\nviolent heat attracts the waters to rise in the form of a tube, the\nmarine salts are left behind, by the action of rarefaction, being too\ngross and fixed to ascend. It is thus, when the overloaded vapour\nbursts, that it descends--\n\n    _Sweet as the waters of the limpid rill._\n\n\n[357] _That sage device._--The astrolabe, an instrument of infinite\nservice in navigation, by which the altitude of the sun, and distance of\nthe stars is taken. It was invented in Portugal during the reign of John\nII. by two Jewish physicians, named Roderic and Joseph. It is asserted\nby some that they were assisted by Martin of Bohemia, a celebrated\nmathematician.--_Partly from_ Castera. Vid. Barros, Dec. 1. lib. iv. c.\n2.\n\n[358] Arabic, one of the most copious and wide-spoken of\nlanguages.--_Ed._\n\n[359] Camo\u00ebns, in describing the adventure of Fernando Velos\u00f3, by\ndeparting from the truth of history, has shown his judgment as a poet.\nThe place where the Portuguese landed they named the Bay of St. Helen.\nThey caught one of two negroes, says Faria, who were busied in gathering\nhoney on a mountain. Their behaviour to this savage, whom they gratified\nwith a red cap, some glasses and bells, induced him to bring a number of\nhis companions for the like trifles. Though some who accompanied GAMA\nwere skilled in the various African languages, not one of the natives\ncould understand them. A commerce, however, was commenced by signs and\ngestures. GAMA behaved to them with great civility; the fleet was\ncheerfully supplied with fresh provisions, for which the natives\nreceived cloths and trinkets. But this friendship was soon interrupted\nby a young, rash Portuguese. Having contracted an intimacy with some of\nthe negroes, he obtained leave to penetrate into the country along with\nthem, to observe their habitations and strength. They conducted him to\ntheir huts with great good nature, and placed before him, what they\nesteemed an elegant repast, a sea-calf dressed in the way of their\ncountry. This so much disgusted the delicate Portuguese, that he\ninstantly got up and abruptly left them. Nor did they oppose his\ndeparture, but accompanied him with the greatest innocence. As fear,\nhowever, is always jealous, he imagined they were leading him as a\nvictim to slaughter. No sooner did he come near the ships, than he\ncalled aloud for assistance. Co\u00ebllo's boat immediately set off for his\nrescue. The Africans fled to the woods; and now esteeming the Portuguese\nas a band of lawless plunderers, they provided themselves with arms, and\nlay in ambush. Their weapons were javelins, headed with short pieces of\nhorn, which they throw with great dexterity. Soon after, while GAMA and\nsome of his officers were on the shore taking the altitude of the sun by\nthe astrolabe, they were suddenly and with great fury attacked by the\nambush from the woods. Several were much wounded, _multos convulnerant,\ninter quos Gama in pede vulnus accepit_, and GAMA received a wound in\nthe foot. The admiral made a speedy retreat to the fleet, prudently\nchoosing rather to leave the negroes the honour of the victory, than to\nrisk the life of one man in a quarrel so foreign to the destination of\nhis expedition, and where, to impress the terror of his arms could be of\nno service to his interest. When he came nearer to the East Indies he\nacted in a different manner. He then made himself dreaded whenever the\ntreachery of the natives provoked his resentment.--_Collected from_\nFaria and Osorius.\n\n[360] The critics have vehemently declaimed against the least mixture of\nthe comic, with the dignity of the epic poem. It is needless to enter\ninto any defence of this passage of Camo\u00ebns, farther than to observe\nthat Homer, Virgil, and Milton have offended the critics in the same\nmanner, and that this piece of raillery in the Lusiad is by much the\npolitest, and the least reprehensible, of anything of the kind in the\nfour poets. In Homer are several strokes of low raillery. Patroclus\nhaving killed Hector's charioteer, puns thus on his sudden fall: _It is\na pity he is not nearer the sea! He would soon catch abundance of\noysters, nor would the storms frighten him. See how he dives from his\nchariot down to the sand! What excellent divers are the Trojans!_\nVirgil, the most judicious of all poets, descends even to burlesque,\nwhere the commander of a galley tumbles the pilot into the sea:--\n\n          ----_Segnemque Menoeten\n    In mare pr\u00e6cipitem puppi deturbat ab alta.\n    At gravis ut sundo vix tandem redditus imo est\n    Jam senior, madidaque fluens in veste Menoetes,\n    Summa petit scopuli siccaque in rupe resedit.\n    Illum et labentem Teucri, et risere natantem;\n    Et salsos rident revomentem pectore fluctus._\n\nAnd, though the character of the speakers, the ingenious defence which\nhas been offered for Milton, may, in some measure, vindicate the\nraillery which he puts into the mouths of Satan and Belial, the lowness\nof it, when compared with that of Camo\u00ebns, must still be acknowledged.\nTalking of the execution of the diabolical artillery among the good\nangels, they, says Satan--\n\n    \"Flew off, and into strange vagaries fell\n    As they would dance, yet for a dance they seem'd\n    Somewhat extravagant and wild, perhaps\n    For joy of offer'd peace.----\n    To whom thus Belial, in like gamesome mood.\n    Leader, the terms we sent were terms of weight,\n    Of hard contents, and full of force urg'd home,\n    Such as we might perceive amus'd them all,\n    And stumbled many----\n    ----this gift they have beside,\n    They show us when our foes walk not upright.\"\n\n\n[361] The translator in reply to the critics will venture the assertion,\nthat the fiction of the apparition of the Cape of Tempests, in sublimity\nand awful grandeur of imagination, stands unsurpassed in human\ncomposition.\n\n[362] _The next proud fleet._--On the return of GAMA to Portugal, a\nfleet of thirteen sail, under the command of Pedro Alvarez Cabral, was\nsent out on the second voyage to India, where the admiral with only six\nships arrived. The rest were mostly destroyed by a terrible tempest at\nthe Cape of Good Hope, which lasted twenty days. \"The daytime,\" says\nFaria, \"was so dark that the sailors could scarcely see each other, or\nhear what was said for the horrid noise of the winds.\" Among those who\nperished was the celebrated Bartholomew Diaz, who was the first modern\ndiscoverer of the Cape of Good Hope, which he named the Cape of\nTempests.\n\n[363] _Behold a hero come._--Don Francisco de Almeyda. He was the first\nPortuguese viceroy of India, in which country he obtained several great\nvictories over the Mohammedans and pagans. He was the first who\nconquered Quiloa and Mombas, or Mombaz. On his return to Portugal he put\ninto the bay of Saldanha, near the Cape of Good Hope, to take in water\nand provisions. The rudeness of one of his servants produced a quarrel\nwith the Caffres, or Hottentots. His attendants, much against his will,\nforced him to march against the blacks. \"Ah, whither,\" he exclaimed,\n\"will you carry the infirm man of sixty years?\" After plundering a\nmiserable village, on the return to their ships they were attacked by a\nsuperior number of Caffres, who fought with such fury in rescue of their\nchildren, whom the Portuguese had seized, that the viceroy and fifty of\nhis attendants were slain.\n\n[364] The crescent, the symbol of Mohammedanism.--_Ed._\n\n[365] This poetical description of the miserable catastrophe of Don\nEmmanuel de Souza, and his beautiful spouse, Leonora de S\u00e0, is by no\nmeans exaggerated. He was several years governor of Diu in India, where\nhe amassed immense wealth. On his return to his native country, the ship\nin which was his lady, all his riches, and five hundred men, his sailors\nand domestics, was dashed to pieces on the rocks at the Cape of Good\nHope. Don Emmanuel, his lady, and three children, with four hundred of\nthe crew escaped, having only saved a few arms and provisions. As they\nmarched through the wild uncultivated deserts, some died of famine, of\nthirst, and fatigue; others, who wandered from the main body in search\nof water, were murdered by the savages, or destroyed by the wild beasts.\nThey arrived, at last, at a village inhabited by African banditti. At\nfirst they were courteously received, but the barbarians, having\nunexpectedly seized their arms, stripped the whole company naked, and\nleft them destitute to the mercy of the desert. The wretchedness of the\ndelicate and exposed Leonora was increased by the brutal insults of the\nnegroes. Her husband, unable to relieve, beheld her miseries. After\nhaving travelled about 300 leagues, her legs swelled, her feet bleeding\nat every step, and her strength exhausted, she sunk down, and with the\nsand covered herself to the neck, to conceal her nakedness. In this\ndreadful situation, she beheld two of her children expire. Her own death\nsoon followed. Her husband, who had been long enamoured of her beauty,\nreceived her last breath in a distracted embrace. Immediately, he\nsnatched his third child in his arms, and uttering the most lamentable\ncries, he ran into the thickest of the wood, where the wild beasts were\nsoon heard to growl over their prey. Of the whole four hundred who\nescaped the waves, only six and twenty arrived at another village, whose\ninhabitants were more civilized, and traded with the merchants of the\nRed Sea, from whence they found a passage to Europe, and brought the\ntidings of the unhappy fate of their companions. Jerome de Cortereal, a\nPortuguese poet, has written an affecting poem on the shipwreck, and\ndeplorable catastrophe of Don Emmanuel, and his beloved spouse.--_Partly\nfrom_ Castera.\n\n[366] The giants or Titans; called \"sons of God\" in Gen. vi. 2.--_Ed._\n\n[367] Briareus.\n\n[368] Doris, the sister and spouse of Nereus, and mother of the\nNereides. By Nereus, in the physical sense of the fable, is understood\nthe water of the sea, and by Doris, the bitterness or salt, the supposed\ncause of its prolific quality in the generation of fishes.\n\n[369] _And give our wearied minds a lively glow._--Variety is no less\ndelightful to the reader than to the traveller, and the imagination of\nCamo\u00ebns gave an abundant supply. The insertion of this pastoral\nlandscape, between the terrific scenes which precede and follow, has a\nfine effect. \"Variety,\" says Pope, in one of his notes on the Odyssey,\n\"gives life and delight; and it is much more necessary in epic, than in\ncomic or tragic, poetry, sometimes to shift the scenes, to diversify and\nembellish the story.\"\n\nThe Portuguese, sailing upon the Atlantic Ocean, discovered the most\nsouthern point of Africa: here they found an immense sea, which carried\nthem to the East Indies. The dangers they encountered in the voyage, the\ndiscovery of Mozambique, of Melinda, and of Calecut, have been sung by\nCamo\u00ebns, whose poem recalls to our minds the charms of the Odyssey, and\nthe magnificence of the \u00c6neid.--MONTESQUIEU, Spirit of Laws, bk. xxi. c.\n21.\n\n[370] Virgil.\n\n[371] A small island, named _Santa Cruz_ by Bartholomew Diaz, who\ndiscovered it. According to Faria y Sousa, he went twenty-five leagues\nfurther, to the river Del Infante, which, till passed by GAMA, was the\nutmost extent of the Portuguese discoveries.\n\n[372] It was the force of this rushing current which retarded the\nfurther discoveries of Diaz. GAMA got over it by the assistance of a\ntempest. The seasons when these seas are safely navigable, are now\nperfectly known.\n\n[373] The wise men of the East, or magi, whom the Roman Catholic writers\nwill have to have been kings.--_Ed._\n\n[374] The Epiphany.--_Ed._\n\n[375] Dos Reis, _i.e._, of the kings.--_Ed._\n\n[376] The frequent disappointments of the Portuguese, when they expect\nto hear some account of India, is a judicious imitation of several parts\nof Virgil; who, in the same manner, magnifies the distresses of the\nTrojans in their search for the fated seat of Empire:--\n\n          ----_O gens\n    Infelix! cui to exitio fortuna reservat?\n    Septima post Troj\u00e6 excidium jam vertitur \u00e6stas;\n    Cum freta, cum terras omnes, tot inhospita saxa\n    Sideraque emens\u00e6 ferimur: dum per mare magnum\n    Italiam sequimur fugientem, et volvimur undis._ \u00c6N. v. 625.\n\n\n[377] Hop.\n\n[378] It had been extremely impolitic in GAMA to mention the mutiny of\nhis followers to the King of Melinda. The boast of their loyalty,\nbesides, has a good effect in the poem, as it elevates the heroes, and\ngives uniformity to the character of bravery, which the dignity of the\nepopea required to be ascribed to them. History relates the matter\ndifferently. In standing for the Cape of Good Hope, GAMA gave the\nhighest proofs of his resolution. The fleet seemed now tossed to the\nclouds, _ut modo nubes contingere_, and now sunk to the lowest\nwhirlpools of the abyss. The winds were insufferably cold, and, to the\nrage of the tempest was added the horror of an almost continual\ndarkness. The crew expected every moment to be swallowed up in the deep.\nAt every interval of the storm, they came round GAMA, asserting the\nimpossibility to proceed further, and imploring him to return. This he\nresolutely refused. A conspiracy against his life was formed, but was\ndiscovered by his brother. He guarded against it with the greatest\ncourage and prudence; put all the pilots in chains, and he himself, with\nsome others, took the management of the helms. At last, after having\nmany days withstood the tempest, and a perfidious conspiracy, _invicto\nanimo_, with an unconquered mind, a favourable change of weather revived\nthe spirits of the fleet, and allowed them to double the Cape of Good\nHope.--_Extr. from_ Osorius's Historia.\n\n[379] GAMA and his followers were, from the darkness of the Portuguese\ncomplexion, thought to be Moors. When GAMA arrived in the East, a\nconsiderable commerce was carried on between the Indies and the Red Sea\nby the Moorish traders, by whom the gold mines of Sofala, and the riches\nof East Africa were enjoyed. The traffic was brought by land to Cairo,\nfrom whence Europe was supplied by the Venetian and Antwerpian\nmerchants.\n\n[380] \"O nome lhe ficou dos Bons-Signais.\"\n\n[381] Raphael. See Tobit, ch. v. and xii.--_Ed._\n\n[382] It was the custom of the Portuguese navigators to erect crosses on\nthe shores of new-discovered countries. GAMA carried materials for\npillars of stone with him, and erected six crosses during his\nexpedition. They bore the name and arms of the king of Portugal, and\nwere intended as proofs of the title which accrues from first discovery.\n\n[383] This poetical description of the scurvy is by no means\nexaggerated. It is what sometimes really happens in the course of a long\nvoyage.\n\n[384] King of Ithaca.\n\n[385] \u00c6neas.\n\n[386] Homer.\n\n[387] Virgil.\n\n[388] The Muses.\n\n[389] Homer's Odyssey, bk. x. 460.\n\n[390] See the Odyssey, bk. ix.\n\n[391] See \u00c6n. v. 833\n\n[392] The Lotophagi, so named from the lotus, are thus described by\nHomer:--\n\n    \"Not prone to ill, nor strange to foreign guest,\n    They eat, they drink, and Nature gives the feast;\n    The trees around them all their fruit produce;\n    Lotos the name; divine, nectareous juice;\n    (Thence call'd Lotophagi) which whoso tastes,\n    Insatiate, riots in the sweet repasts,\n    Nor other home, nor other care intends,\n    But quits his home, his country, and his friends:\n    The three we sent, from off th' enchanting ground\n    We dragg'd reluctant, and by force we bound:\n    The rest in haste forsook the pleasing shore,\n    Or, the charm tasted, had return'd no more.\"\n\n    POPE, Odyss. ix. 103.\n\nThe Libyan lotus is a shrub like a bramble, the berries like the myrtle,\npurple when ripe, and about the size of an olive. Mixed with bread-corn,\nit was used as food for slaves. They also made an agreeable wine of it,\nbut which would not keep above ten days. See Pope's note _in loco_.\n\n[393] _In skins confin'd the blust'ring winds control._--The gift of\n\u00c6olus to Ulysses.\n\n    \"The adverse winds in leathern bags he brac'd,\n    Compress'd their force, and lock'd each struggling blast:\n    For him the mighty sire of gods assign'd,\n    The tempest's lord, the tyrant of the wind;\n    His word alone the list'ning storms obey,\n    To smooth the deep, or swell the foamy sea.\n    These, in my hollow ship the monarch hung,\n    Securely fetter'd by a silver thong;\n    But Zephyrus exempt, with friendly gales              }\n    He charg'd to fill, and guide the swelling sails:     }\n    Rare gift! but oh, what gift to fools avails?\"        }\n\n    POPE, Odyss. x. 20.\n\nThe companions of Ulysses imagined that these bags contained some\nvaluable treasure, and opened them while their leader slept. The\ntempests bursting out, drove the fleet from Ithaca, which was then in\nsight, and was the cause of a new train of miseries.\n\n[394] See the third \u00c6neid.\n\n[395] See the sixth \u00c6neid, and the eleventh Odyssey.\n\n[396] Alexander the Great.--_Ed._\n\n[397] Achilles, son of Peleus.--_Ed._\n\n[398] Virgil, born at Mantua.--_Ed._\n\n[399] Don Francisco de Gama, grandson of Vasco de Gama, the hero of the\nLusiad.--_Ed._\n\n[400] Cleopatra.\n\n[401] Every display of eastern luxury and magnificence was lavished in\nthe fishing parties on the Nile, with which Cleopatra amused Mark\nAntony, when at any time he showed symptoms of uneasiness, or seemed\ninclined to abandon the effeminate life which he led with his mistress.\nAt one of these parties, Mark Antony, having procured divers to put\nfishes upon his hooks while under the water, he very gallantly boasted\nto his mistress of his great dexterity in angling. Cleopatra perceived\nhis art, and as gallantly outwitted him. Some other divers received her\norders, and in a little while Mark Antony's line brought up a fried fish\nin place of a live one, to the vast entertainment of the queen, and all\nthe convivial company. Octavius was at this time on his march to decide\nwho should be master of the world.\n\n[402] The friendship of the Portuguese and Melindians was of long\ncontinuance. Alvaro Cabral, the second admiral who made the voyage to\nIndia, in an engagement with the Moors off the coast of Sofala, took two\nships richly freighted from the mines of that country. On finding that\nXeques Fonteyma, the commander, was uncle to the King of Melinda, he\nrestored the valuable prize, and treated him with the utmost courtesy.\nTheir good offices were reciprocal. By the information of the King of\nMelinda, Cabral escaped the treachery of the King of Calicut. The Kings\nof Mombaz and Quiloa, irritated at the alliance with Portugal, made\nseveral depredations on the subjects of Melinda, who in return were\neffectually revenged by their European allies.\n\n[403] A giant.\n\n[404] _Two gods contending._--According to the fable, Neptune and\nMinerva disputed the honour of giving a name to the city of Athens. They\nagreed to determine the contest by a display of their wisdom and power,\nin conferring the most beneficial gift on mankind. Neptune struck the\nearth with his trident and produced the horse, whose bounding motions\nare emblematical of the agitation of the sea. Pallas commanded the\nolive-tree, the symbol of peace, and of riches, to spring forth. The\nvictory was adjudged to the goddess, from whom the city was named\nAthens. The taste of the ancient Grecians clothed almost every\noccurrence in mythological allegory. The founders of Athens, it is most\nprobable, disputed whether their new city should be named from the\nfertility of the soil or from the marine situation of Attica. The former\nopinion prevailed, and the town received its name in honour of the\ngoddess of the olive-tree--_Ath{=e}n{=e}_.\n\n[405] _While Pallas here appears to wave her hand._--As Neptune struck\nthe earth with his trident, Minerva, says the fable, struck the earth\nwith her lance. That she waved her hand while the olive boughs spread,\nis a fine poetical attitude, and varies the picture from that of\nNeptune, which follows.\n\n[406] _Though wide, and various, o'er the sculptur'd stone._--The\ndescription of palaces is a favourite topic several times touched upon\nby the two great masters of epic poetry, in which they have been happily\nimitated by their three greatest disciples among the moderns, Camo\u00ebns,\nTasso, and Milton. The description of the palace of Neptune has great\nmerit. Nothing can be more in place than the picture of chaos and the\nfour elements. The war of the gods, and the contest of Neptune and\nMinerva are touched with the true boldness of poetical colouring. To\nshow to the English reader that the Portuguese poet is, in his manner,\ntruly classical, is the intention of many of these notes.\n\n[407] Bacchus.\n\n[408] The description of Triton, who, as Fanshaw says--\n\n    \"Was a great nasty clown,\"\n\nis in the style of the classics. His parentage is differently related.\nHesiod makes him the son of Neptune and Amphitrit\u00e9. By Triton, in the\nphysical sense of the fable, is meant the noise, and by Salac\u00e9, the\nmother by some ascribed to him, the salt of the ocean. The origin of the\nfable of Triton, it is probable, was founded on the appearance of a sea\nanimal, which, according to some ancient naturalists, in the upward\nparts resembles the human figure. Pausanias relates a wonderful story of\na monstrously large one, which often came ashore on the meadows of\nBoeotia. Over his head was a kind of finny cartilage, which, at a\ndistance, appeared like hair; the body covered with brown scales; the\nnose and ears like the human; the mouth of a dreadful width, jagged with\nthe teeth of a panther; the eyes of a greenish hue; the hands divided\ninto fingers, the nails of which were crooked, and of a shelly\nsubstance. This monster, whose extremities ended in a tail like a\ndolphin's, devoured both men and beasts as they chanced in his way. The\ncitizens of Tanagra, at last, contrived his destruction. They set a\nlarge vessel full of wine on the sea shore. Triton got drunk with it,\nand fell into a profound sleep, in which condition the Tanagrians\nbeheaded him, and afterwards, with great propriety, hung up his body in\nthe temple of Bacchus; where, says Pausanias, it continued a long time.\n\n[409] _A shell of purple on his head he bore._--In the Portuguese--\n\n    _Na cabe\u00e7a por gorra tinha posta\n    Huma mui grand\u00e9 casco de lagosta._\n\nThus rendered by Fanshaw--\n\n    \"He had (for a montera[413]) on his crown\n    The shell of a red lobster overgrown.\"\n\n\n[410] Neptune.\n\n[411] _And changeful Proteus, whose prophetic mind._--The fullest and\nbest account of the fable of Proteus is in the fourth Odyssey.\n\n[412] Thetis.\n\n[413] Montera, the Spanish word for a huntsman's cap.\n\n[414] _She who the rage of Athamas to shun._--Ino, the daughter of\nCadmus and Hermione, and second spouse of Athamas, king of Thebes. The\nfables of her fate are various. That which Camo\u00ebns follows is the most\ncommon. Athamas, seized with madness, imagined that his spouse was a\nlioness, and her two sons young lions. In this frenzy he slew Learchus,\nand drove the mother and her other son, Melicertus, into the sea. The\ncorpse of the mother was thrown ashore on Megara and that of the son at\nCorinth. They were afterwards deified, the one as a sea goddess, the\nother as the god of harbours.\n\n[415] _And Glaucus lost to joy._--A fisherman, says the fable, who, on\neating a certain herb, was turned into a sea god. Circ\u00e9 was enamoured of\nhim, and in revenge of her slighted love, poisoned the fountain where\nhis mistress usually bathed. By the force of the enchantment the\nfavoured Scylla was changed into a hideous monster, whose loins were\nsurrounded with the ever-barking heads of dogs and wolves. Scylla, on\nthis, threw herself into the sea, and was metamorphosed into the rock\nwhich bears her name. The rock Scylla at a distance appears like the\nstatue of a woman. The furious dashing of the waves in the cavities,\nwhich are level with the water, resembles the barking of wolves and\ndogs.\n\n[416] Thyoneus, a name of Bacchus.\n\n[417] _High from the roof the living amber glows.--_\n\n            \"From the arched roof,\n    Pendent by subtle magic, many a row\n    Of starry lamps, and blazing cressets, fed\n    With naptha and asphaltus, yielded light\n    As from a sky.\"\n\n    MILTON.\n\n\n[418] The Titans.\n\n[419] The north wind.\n\n[420] _And rent the Mynian sails._--The sails of the Argonauts,\ninhabitants of Mynia.\n\n[421] See the first note on the first book of the Lusiad.\n\n[422]\n\n    _In haughty England, where the winter spreads\n    His snowy mantle o'er the shining meads.--_\n\nIn the original--\n\n    _L\u00e0 na grande Inglaterra, que de neve\n    Boreal sempre abunda;_\n\nthat is, \"In illustrious England, always covered with northern snow.\"\nThough the translator was willing to retain the manner of Homer, he\nthought it proper to correct the error in natural history fallen into by\nCamo\u00ebns. Fanshaw seems to have been sensible of the mistake of his\nauthor, and has given the following (uncountenanced by the Portuguese)\nin place of the eternal snows ascribed to his country:--\n\n    \"In merry England, which (from cliffs that stand\n    Like hills of snow) once Albion's name did git.\"\n\n\n[423] Eris, or Discordia, the goddess of contention.--VIRGIL, \u00c6neid ii.\n337.--_Ed._\n\n[424]\n\n    _What knighthood asks, the proud accusers yield,\n    And, dare the damsels' champions to the field.--_\n\nThe translator has not been able to discover the slightest vestige of\nthis chivalrous adventure in any memoirs of the English history. It is\nprobable, nevertheless, that however adorned with romantic ornament, it\nis not entirely without foundation in truth. Castera, who unhappily does\nnot cite his authority, gives the names of the twelve Portuguese\nchampions: Alvaro Vaz d'Almada, afterwards Count d'Avranches in\nNormandy; another Alvaro d'Almada, surnamed the Juster, from his\ndexterity at that warlike exercise; Lopez Fernando Pacheco; Pedro Homen\nd'Acosta; Juan Augustin Pereyra; Luis Gonfalez de Malafay; the two\nbrothers Alvaro and Rodrigo Mendez de Cerveyra; Ruy Gomex de Sylva;\nSoueyro d'Acosta, who gave his name to the river Acosta in Africa;\nMartin Lopez d'Azevedo; and Alvaro Gonfalez de Coutigno, surnamed\nMagricio. The names of the English champions, and of the ladies, he\nconfesses are unknown, nor does history positively explain the injury of\nwhich the dames complained. It must, however, he adds, have been such as\nrequired the atonement of blood; _il falloit qu'elle f\u00fbt sanglante_,\nsince two sovereigns allowed to determine it by the sword. \"Some\ncritics,\" says Castera, \"may perhaps condemn this episode of Camo\u00ebns;\nbut for my part,\" he continues, \"I think the adventure of Olindo and\nSophronia, in Tasso, is much more to be blamed. The episode of the\nItalian poet is totally exuberant, whereas that of the Portuguese has a\ndirect relation to his proposed subject: the wars of his country, a vast\nfield, in which he has admirably succeeded, without prejudice to the\nfirst rule of the epopea, the unity of the action.\" The severest critic\nmust allow that the episode related by Veloso, is happily introduced. To\none who has ever been at sea, the scene must be particularly pleasing.\nThe fleet is under sail, they plough the smooth deep--\n\n    \"And o'er the decks cold breath'd the midnight wind.\"\n\nAll but the second watch are asleep in their warm pavilions; the second\nwatch sit by the mast, sheltered from the chilly gale by a broad\nsail-cloth; sleep begins to overpower them, and they tell stories to\nentertain one another. For beautiful, picturesque simplicity there is no\nsea-scene equal to this in the Odyssey, or \u00c6neid.\n\n[425] _What time he claim'd the proud Castilian throne._--John of Gaunt,\nduke of Lancaster, claimed the crown of Castile in the right of his\nwife, Donna Constantia, daughter of Don Pedro, the late king. Assisted\nby his son-in-law, John I. of Portugal, he entered Galicia, and was\nproclaimed king of Castile at the city of St. Jago de Compostella. He\nafterwards relinquished his pretensions, on the marriage of his\ndaughter, Catalina, with the infant, Don Henry of Castile.\n\n[426] _The dames by lot their gallant champions choose._--The ten\nchampions, who in the fifth book of Tasso's Jerusalem are sent by\nGodfrey for the assistance of Armida, are chosen by lot. Tasso, who had\nread the Lusiad, and admired its author, undoubtedly had the Portuguese\npoet in his eye.\n\n[427]\n\n    _In that proud port half circled by the wave,\n    Which Portugallia to the nation gave,\n    A deathless name.--_\n\nOporto, called by the Romans _Calle_. Hence Portugal.\n\n[428]\n\n    _Yet something more than human warms my breast,\n    And sudden whispers--_\n\nIn the Portuguese--\n\n    _Mas, se a verdade o espirito me adevinha._\n\nLiterally, \"But, if my spirit truly divine.\" Thus rendered by Fanshaw--\n\n    _But, in my aug'ring ear a bird doth sing._\n\n\n[429] _As Rome's Corvinus._--Valerius Maximus, a Roman tribune, who\nfought and slew a Gaul of enormous stature, in single combat. During the\nduel a raven perched on the helmet of his antagonist, sometimes pecked\nhis face and hand, and sometimes blinded him with the flapping of his\nwings. The victor was thence named Corvinus, from Corvus. Vid. Livy, l.\n7, c. 26.\n\n[430] _The Flandrian countess on her hero smil'd._--The princess, for\nwhom Magricio signalized his valour, was Isabella of Portugal, and\nspouse to Philip the Good, duke of Burgundy, and earl of Flanders. Some\nSpanish chronicles relate that Charles VII. of France, having assembled\nthe states of his kingdom, cited Philip to appear with his other\nvassals. Isabella, who was present, solemnly protested that the earls of\nFlanders were not obliged to do homage. A dispute arose, on which she\noffered, according to the custom of that age, to appeal to the fate of\narms. The proposal was accepted, and Magricio the champion of Isabella,\nvanquished a French chevalier, appointed by Charles. Though our authors\ndo not mention this adventure, and though Emmanuel de Faria, and the\nbest Portuguese writers treat it with doubt, nothing to the disadvantage\nof Camo\u00ebns is thence to be inferred. A poet is not obliged always to\nfollow the truth of history.\n\n[431] _The Rhine another pass'd, and prov'd his might._--This was Alvaro\nVaz d'Almada. The chronicle of Garibay relates, that at Basle he\nreceived from a German a challenge to measure swords, on condition that\neach should fight with the right side unarmed; the German by this hoping\nto be victorious, for he was left-handed. The Portuguese, suspecting no\nfraud, accepted. When the combat began he perceived the inequality. His\nright side unarmed was exposed to the enemy, whose left side, which was\nnearest to him was defended with half a cuirass. Notwithstanding all\nthis, the brave Alvaro obtained the victory. He sprang upon the German,\nseized him, and, grasping him forcibly in his arms, stifled and crushed\nhim to death; imitating the conduct of Hercules, who in the same manner\nslew the cruel Anteus. Here we ought to remark the address of our\nauthor; he describes at length the injury and grief of the English\nladies, the voyage of the twelve champions to England, and the prowess\nthey there displayed. When Veloso relates these, the sea is calm; but no\nsooner does it begin to be troubled, than the soldier abridges his\nrecital: we see him follow by degrees the preludes of the storm, we\nperceive the anxiety of his mind on the view of the approaching danger,\nhastening his narration to an end. Behold the strokes of a\nmaster!--_This note, and the one preceding, are from Castera._\n\n[432] _The halcyons, mindful of their fate, deplore._--Ceyx, king of\nTrachinia, son of Lucifer, married Alcyone, the daughter of Eolus. On a\nvoyage to consult the Delphic Oracle, he was shipwrecked. His corpse was\nthrown ashore in the view of his spouse, who, in the agonies of her love\nand despair, threw herself into the sea. The gods, in pity of her pious\nfidelity, metamorphosed them into the birds which bear her name. The\nhalcyon is a little bird about the size of a thrush, its plumage of a\nbeautiful sky blue, mixed with some traits of white and carnation. It is\nvulgarly called the kingfisher. The halcyons very seldom appear but in\nthe finest weather, whence they are fabled to build their nests on the\nwaves. The female is no less remarkable than the turtle, for her\nconjugal affection. She nourishes and attends the male when sick, and\nsurvives his death but a few days. When the halcyons are surprised in a\ntempest, they fly about as in the utmost terror, with the most\nlamentable and doleful cries. To introduce them, therefore, in the\npicture of a storm is a proof, both of the taste and judgment of\nCamo\u00ebns.\n\n[433] _With shrill, faint voice, th' untimely ghost complains._--It may\nnot perhaps be unentertaining to cite Madame Dacier and Mr. Pope on the\nvoices of the dead. It will, at least, afford a critical observation\nwhich appears to have escaped them both. \"The shades of the suitors,\"\nobserves Dacier, \"when they are summoned by Mercury out of the palace of\nUlysses, emit a feeble, plaintive, inarticulate sound, [Greek:\ntrizousi], strident: whereas Agamemnon, and the shades that have been\nlong in the state of the dead, speak articulately. I doubt not but Homer\nintended to show, by the former description, that when the soul is\nseparated from the organs of the body, it ceases to act after the same\nmanner as while it was joined to it; but how the dead recover their\nvoices afterwards is not easy to understand. In other respects Virgil\npaints after Homer:--\n\n                      _Pars tollere vocem\n    Exiguam: inceptus clamor frustratur hiantes.\"_\n\nTo this Mr. Pope replies, \"But why should we suppose, with Dacier, that\nthese shades of the suitors (of Penelope) have lost the faculty of\nspeaking? I rather imagine that the sounds they uttered were signs of\ncomplaint and discontent, and proceeded not from an inability to speak.\nAfter Patroclus was slain he appears to Achilles, and speaks very\narticulately to him; yet, to express his sorrow at his departure, he\nacts like these suitors: for Achilles--\n\n    'Like a thin smoke beholds the spirit fly,\n    And hears a feeble, lamentable cry.'\n\nDacier conjectures that the power of speech ceases in the dead, till\nthey are admitted into a state of rest; but Patroclus is an instance to\nthe contrary in the Iliad, and Elpenor in the Odyssey, for they both\nspeak before their funereal rites are performed, and consequently before\nthey enter into a state of repose amongst the shades of the happy.\"\n\nThe critic, in his search for distant proofs, often omits the most\nmaterial one immediately at hand. Had Madame Dacier attended to the\nepisode of the souls of the suitors, the world had never seen her\ningenuity in these mythological conjectures; nor had Mr. Pope any need\nto bring the case of Patroclus or Elpenor to overthrow her system.\nAmphimedon, one of the suitors, in the very episode which gave birth to\nDacier's conjecture, tells his story very articulately to the shade of\nAgamemnon, though he had not received the funereal rites:--\n\n    \"Our mangled bodies, now deform'd with gore,\n    Cold and neglected spread the marble floor:\n    No friend to bathe our wounds! or tears to shed\n    O'er the pale corse! the honours of the dead.\"\n\n    ODYS. XXIV.\n\nOn the whole, the defence of Pope is almost as idle as the conjectures\nof Dacier. The plain truth is, poetry delights in personification;\neverything in it, as Aristotle says of the Iliad, has manners; poetry\nmust therefore personify according to our ideas. Thus in Milton:--\n\n    \"Tears, such as angels weep, burst forth.\"\n\nAnd thus in Homer, while the suitors are conducted to hell:--\n\n    \"Trembling, the spectres glide, and plaintive vent\n    Thin, hollow screams, along the deep descent:\"\n\nand, unfettered with mythological distinctions, either shriek or\narticulately talk, according to the most poetical view of their supposed\ncircumstances.\n\n[434] Exod. xiv. 29.\n\n[435] Noah.\n\n[436] Venus.\n\n[437] For the fable of Eolus see the tenth Odyssey.\n\n[438]\n\n    _And vow, that henceforth her Armada's sails\n    Should gently swell with fair propitious gales._\n\nIn innumerable instances Camo\u00ebns discovers himself a judicious imitator\nof the ancients. In the two great masters of the epic are several\nprophecies oracular of the fate of different heroes, which give an air\nof solemn importance to the poem. The fate of the Armada thus obscurely\nanticipated, resembles in particular the prophecy of the safe return of\nUlysses to Ithaca, foretold by the shade of Tiresias, which was\nafterwards fulfilled by the Ph\u00e6acians. It remains now to make some\nobservations on the machinery used by Camo\u00ebns in this book. The\nnecessity of machinery in the epopea, and the, perhaps, insurmountable\ndifficulty of finding one unexceptionably adapted to a poem where the\nheroes are Christians, or, in other words, to a poem whose subject is\nmodern, have already been observed in the preface. The machinery of\nCamo\u00ebns has also been proved, in every respect, to be less exceptionable\nthan that of Tasso in his Jerusalem, or that of Voltaire in his\nHenriade. The descent of Bacchus to the palace of Neptune, in the depths\nof the sea, and his address to the watery gods, are noble imitations of\nVirgil's Juno in the first \u00c6neid. The description of the storm is also\nmasterly. In both instances the conduct of the \u00c6neid is joined with the\ndescriptive exuberance of the Odyssey. The appearance of the star of\nVenus through the storm is finely imagined; the influence of the nymphs\nof that goddess over the winds, and their subsequent nuptials, are in\nthe spirit of the promise of Juno to Eolus:--\n\n    _Sunt mihi bis septum pr\u00e6stanti corpore nymph\u00e6:\n    Quarum, qu\u00e6 forma pulcherrima; De\u00efopeiam_\n    _Connubio jungam stabili, propriamque dicabo:\n    Omnes ut tecum meritis pro talibus annos\n    Exigat, et pulchra faciat te prole p\u00e1rentem._--VIRGIL, \u00c6n. bk. i.\n\nAnd the fiction itself is an allegory, exactly in the manner of Homer.\nOrithia, the daughter of Erecteus, and queen of the Amazons, was\nravished and carried away by Boreas.\n\n[439] Vasco de Gama.\n\n[440] This refers to the Catholic persecutions of Protestants whom they\nhad previously condemned at the Diet of Spires. War was declared against\nthe Protestants in 1546. It lasted for six years, when a treaty of peace\nwas signed at Passau on the Danube, in 1552.--_Ed._\n\n[441] _Some blindly wand'ring, holy faith disclaim._--At the time when\nCamo\u00ebns wrote, the German empire was plunged into all the miseries of a\nreligious war, the Catholics using every endeavour to rivet the chains\nof Popery, the adherents of Luther as strenuously endeavouring to shake\nthem off.\n\n[442]\n\n    _High sound the titles of the English crown,\n    King of Jerusalem.--_\n\nThe title of \"King of Jerusalem\" was never assumed by the kings of\nEngland. Robert, duke of Normandy, son of William the Conqueror, was\nelected King of Jerusalem by the army in Syria, but declined it in hope\nof ascending the throne of England. Henry VIII. filled the throne of\nEngland when our author wrote: his luxury and conjugal brutality amply\ndeserved the censure of the honest poet.\n\n[443] France.\n\n[444] _What impious lust of empire steels thy breast._--The French\ntranslator very cordially agrees with the Portuguese poet in the\nstrictures upon Germany, England, and Italy.\n\n[445] The Mohammedans.\n\n[446] _Where Cynifio flows._--A river in Africa, near Tripoli.--VIRGIL,\nGeorg. iii. 311.--_Ed._\n\n[447] _O Italy! how fall'n, how low, how lost!_--However these severe\nreflections on modern Italy may displease the admirers of Italian\nmanners, the picture on the whole is too just to admit of confutation.\nNever did the history of any court afford such instances of villainy and\nall the baseness of intrigue as that of the pope's. That this view of\nthe lower ranks in the pope's dominions is just, we have the indubitable\ntestimony of Addison. Our poet is justifiable in his censures, for he\nonly follows the severe reflections of the greatest of the Italian\npoets. It were easy to give fifty instances; two or three, however,\nshall suffice. Dante, in his sixth canto, del Purg.--\n\n    _Ahi, serva Italia, di dolore ostello,\n    Nave senza nocchiero in gran tempesta,\n    Non donna di provincie, bordello._\n\n\"Ah, slavish Italy, the inn of dolour, a ship without a pilot in a\nhorrid tempest:--not the mistress of provinces, but a brothel!\"\n\nAriosto, canto 17:--\n\n    _O d' ogni vitio fetida sentina\n    Dormi Italia imbr\u00edaco._\n\n\"O inebriated Italy, thou sleepest the sink of every filthy vice!\"\n\nAnd Petrarch:--\n\n    _Del'empia Babilonia, ond'\u00e8 fuggita\n    Ogni vergogna, ond'ogni bene \u00e8 fuori,\n    Albergo di dolor, madre d'errori\n    Son fuggit'io per allungar la vita._\n\n\"From the impious Babylon (the Papal Court) from whence all shame and\nall good are fled, the inn of dolour, the mother of errors, have I\nhastened away to prolong my life.\"\n\n[448] _The fables old of Cadmus_.--Cadmus having slain the dragon which\nguarded the fountain of Dirce, in Boeotia, sowed the teeth of the\nmonster. A number of armed men immediately sprang up, and surrounded\nCadmus, in order to kill him. By the counsel of Minerva he threw a\nprecious stone among them, in striving for which they slew one another.\nOnly five survived, who afterwards assisted him to build the city of\nThebes.--Vid. Ovid. Met. iv.\n\n    _Terrigen\u00e6 pereunt per mutua vulnera fratres._\n\n\n[449]\n\n    _So fall the bravest of the Christian name,\n    While dogs unclean.--_\n\nImitated from a fine passage in Lucan, beginning--\n\n    _Quis furor, O Cives! qu\u00e6 tanta licentia ferri,\n    Gentibus invisis_ Latium _pr\u00e6bere cruorem?_\n\n\n[450] The Mohammedans.\n\n[451] Constantinople.\n\n[452] _Beyond the Wolgian Lake._--The Caspian Sea, so called from the\nlarge river Volga, or Wolga, which empties itself into it.\n\n[453]\n\n    _Their fairest offspring from their bosoms torn,\n    (A dreadful tribute !)--_\n\nBy this barbarous policy the tyranny of the Ottomans was long sustained.\nThe troops of the Turkish infantry and cavalry, known by the name of\nJanissaries and Spahis, were thus supported. \"The sons of\nChristians--and those the most completely furnished by nature--were\ntaken in their childhood from their parents by a levy made every five\nyears, or oftener, as occasion required.\"--SANDYS.\n\n[454] Mohammedans.\n\n[455]\n\n          _O'er Afric's shores\n    The sacred shrines the Lusian heroes rear'd.--_\n\nSee the note on book v. p. 137.\n\n[456] _Of deepest west._--Alludes to the discovery and conquest of the\nBrazils by the Portuguese.\n\n[457] The poet, having brought his heroes to the shore of India,\nindulges himself with a review of the state of the western and eastern\nworlds; the latter of which is now, by the labour of his heroes,\nrendered accessible to the former. The purpose of his poem is also\nstrictly kept in view. The west and the east he considers as two great\nempires; the one of the true religion, the other of a false. The\nprofessors of the true, disunited and destroying one another; the\nprofessors of the false one, all combined to extirpate the other. He\nupbraids the professors of the true religion for their vices,\nparticularly for their disunion, and for deserting the interests of holy\nfaith. His countrymen, however, he boasts, have been its defenders and\nplanters, and, without the assistance of their brother powers, will\nplant it in Asia.\n\n\"The Crusaders,\" according to Voltaire, \"were a band of vagabond\nthieves, who had agreed to ramble from the heart of Europe in order to\ndesolate a country they had no right to, and massacre, in cold blood, a\nvenerable prince, more than fourscore years old, and his whole people,\nagainst whom they had no pretence of complaint.\"\n\nTo prove that the Crusades were neither so unjustifiable, so impolitic,\nnor so unhappy in their consequences as superficial readers of history\nare accustomed to regard them, would not be difficult.\n\nUpon the whole, it will be found that the Portuguese poet talks of the\npolitical reasons of a Crusade with an accuracy in the philosophy of\nhistory as superior to that of Voltaire, as the poetical merit of the\nLusiad surpasses that of the Henriade. And the critic in poetry must\nallow, that, to suppose the discovery of GAMA the completion of all the\nendeavours to overthrow the great enemies of the true religion, gives a\ndignity to the poem, and an importance to the hero, similar to that\nwhich Voltaire, on the same supposition, allows to the subject of the\nJerusalem of Tasso.\n\n[458] Calicut is the name of a famous sea-port town in the province of\nMalabar.\n\n[459]\n\n          _The herald hears\n    Castilia's manly tongue salute his ears.--_\n\nThis in according to the truth of history. While the messenger sent\nashore by GAMA was borne here and there, and carried off his feet by the\nthrong, who understood not a word of his language, he was accosted in\nSpanish by a Moorish merchant, a native of Tunis, who, according to\nOsorius, had been the chief person with whom King Ferdinand had formerly\ncontracted for military stores. He proved himself an honest agent, and\nof infinite service to GAMA; he returned to Portugal, where, according\nto Faria, he died in the Christian communion. He was named Monzaida.\n\n[460] _The sacred pledge of eastern faith._--To eat together was, and\nstill is, in the east looked upon as the inviolable pledge of\nprotection. As a Persian nobleman was one day walking in his garden, a\nwretch in the utmost terror prostrated himself before him, and implored\nto be protected from the rage of a multitude who were in pursuit of him,\nto take his life. The nobleman took a peach, eat part of it, and gave\nthe rest to the fugitive, assuring him of safety. As they approached the\nhouse, they met a crowd who carried the murdered corpse of the\nnobleman's beloved son. The incensed populace demanded the murderer, who\nstood beside him, to be delivered to their fury. The father, though\noverwhelmed with grief and anger, replied, \"We have eaten together, and\nI will not betray him.\" He protected the murderer of his son from the\nfury of his domestics and neighbours, and in the night facilitated his\nescape.\n\n[461] _i.e._ crescent-shaped.--_Ed._\n\n[462] _In Rhodope._--The beautiful fable of the descent of Orpheus to\nhell, for the recovery of his beloved wife, Eurydice, will be found in\nVirgil's Georgics, bk. iv., lines 460-80.--_Ed._\n\n[463]\n\n    (_For now the banquet on the tented plain,\n    And sylvan chase his careless hours employ_).--\n\nThe great Mogul, and other eastern sovereigns, attended by their\ncourtiers, spend annually some months of the finest season in\nencampments in the field, in hunting parties, and military amusements.\n\n[464] _Th' enormous mountain._--The Himalaya range, which is a\ncontinuation of an immense chain of mountains girdling the northern\nregions of the earth and known by various names, as Caucasus, Homodus,\nParopamissus, Imaus, etc., and from Imaus extended through Tartary to\nthe sea of Kamschatka. Not the range of mountains so called in Asia\nMinor.--_Ed._\n\n[465] _As wild traditions tell._--Pliny, imposed upon by some Greeks,\nwho pretended to have been in India, relates this fable.--Vide Nat.\nHist. lib. 12.\n\n[466] _Is fondly plac'd in Ganges' holy wave._--Almost all the Indian\nnations attribute to the Ganges the virtue of cleansing the soul from\nthe stains of sin. They have such veneration for this river, that if any\none in their presence were to throw any filth into the stream, an\ninstant death would punish his audacity.\n\n[467] Cambaya, the ancient Camanes of Ptolemy, gives name to the gulf of\nthat name at the head of which it is situated. It is the principal\nseaport of Guzerat.--_Ed._\n\n[468] Porus was king of part of the Punjaub, and was conquered by\nAlexander the Great.--_Ed._\n\n[469] _Narsinga._--The laws of Narsing oblige the women to throw\nthemselves into the funeral pile, to be burnt with their deceased\nhusbands. An infallible secret to prevent the desire of\nwidowhood.--CASTERA from Barros, Dec. 4.\n\n[470] The Canarese, who inhabit Canara, on the west coast of\nIndia.--_Ed._\n\n[471] Medina, a city of Arabia, famous as being the burial-place of\nMohammed, and hence esteemed sacred.--_Ed._\n\n[472] According to tradition, Perimal, a sovereign of India, embraced\nIslamism about 800 years before GAMA'S voyage, divided his dominions\ninto different kingdoms, and ended his days as a hermit at Mecca.--_Ed._\n\n[473] _i.e._ pariahs, outcasts.\n\n[474] _Brahma their founder as a god they boast._--Antiquity has talked\nmuch, but knew little with certainty of the Brahmins, and their\nphilosophy. Porphyry and others esteem them the same as the\nGymnosophists of the Greeks, and divide them into several sects, the\nSaman\u00e6i, the Germanes, the Pramn\u00e6, the Gymnet\u00e6, etc. Brahma is the head\nof the Hindu triad which consists of Brahma, Vishnu and Siva.--_Ed._\n\n[475] Almost innumerable, and sometimes as whimsically absurd as the\n\"Arabian Nights' Entertainments,\" are the holy legends of India. The\naccounts of the god Brahma, or Brimha, are more various than those of\nany fable in the Grecian mythology. According to Father Bohours, in his\nlife of Xavier, the Brahmins hold, that the Great God having a desire to\nbecome visible, became man. In this state he produced three sons, Mayso,\nVisnu, and Brahma; the first, born of his mouth, the second, of his\nbreast, the third, of his belly. Being about to return to his\ninvisibility, he assigned various departments to his three sons. To\nBrahma he gave the third heaven, with the superintendence of the rites\nof religion. Brahma having a desire for children, begat the Brahmins,\nwho are the priests of India, and who are believed by the other tribes\nto be a race of demi-gods, who have the blood of heaven running in their\nveins. Other accounts say, that Brahma produced the priests from his\nhead, the more ignoble tribes from his breast, thighs, and feet.\n\nAccording to the learned Kircher's account of the theology of the\nBrahmins, the sole and supreme god Vishnu, formed the secondary god\nBrahma, out of a flower that floated on the surface of the great deep\nbefore the creation. And afterwards, in reward of the virtue, fidelity,\nand gratitude of Brahma, gave him power to create the universe.\n\nHesiod's genealogy of the gods, though refined upon by the schools of\nPlato, is of the same class with the divine genealogies of the Brahmins.\nThe Jewish fables, foolish questions and genealogies, reproved by Saint\nPaul (epist. Tit.), were probably of this kind, for the Talmudical\nlegends were not then sprung up. _Binah_, or Understanding, said the\ncabalists, begat _Kochmah_, or Wisdom, etc., till at last comes\n_Milcah_, the Kingdom, who begat _Shekinah_, the Divine Presence. In the\nsame manner the Christian Gnostics, of the sect of Valentinus, held\ntheir [Greek: Pl\u00ear\u00f4ma], and their thirty \u00c6ons. _Ampsiu_ and _Auraan_,\nthey tell us, _i.e._ Profundity and Silence, begat _Bacua_ and\n_Tharthuu_, Mind and Truth; these begat _Ubucua_ and _Thardeadie_, Word\nand Life, and these _Merexa_ and _Atarbarba_, Man and Church. The other\nconjunctions of their thirty \u00c6ons are of similar ingenuity. The\nprevalence of the same spirit of mythological allegory in such different\nnations, affords the philosopher a worthy field for speculation.\n\nAlmost as innumerable as their legends are the dreadful penances to\nwhich the Hindus submit themselves for the expiation of sins. Some hold\nthe transmigration of souls, and of consequence abstain from all animal\nfood.{*} Yet, however austere in other respects, they freely abandon\nthemselves to every species of debauchery, some of them esteeming the\nmost unnatural abominations as the privilege of their sanctity. The cow\nthey venerate as sacred. If a dying man can lay hold of a cow's tail,\nand expire with it in his hands, his soul is sure to be purified, and\nperhaps will enjoy the signal favour to transmigrate into the body of\none of those animals. The temples of India, which are numerous, are\nfilled with innumerable idols of the most horrid figures. The Brahmins\nare allowed to eat nothing but what is cooked by themselves. Astrology\nis their principal study; yet, though they are mostly a despicable set\nof fortune-tellers, some of them are excellent moralists, and\nparticularly inculcate the comprehensive virtue of humanity, which is\nenforced by the opinion, that Divine beings often assume the habit of\nmendicants, in order to distinguish the charitable from the inhuman.\nThey have several traditions of the virtuous, on these happy trials,\nbeing translated into heaven; the best designed incitement to virtue,\nperhaps, which their religion contains. Besides the Brahmins, the\nprincipal sect of that vast region called India, there are several\nothers, who are divided and subdivided, according to innumerable\nvariations, in every province. In Cambaya, the Banians, a sect who\nstrictly abstain from all animal food, are numerous.\n\n{*} Though from the extracts given by Mr. Dow, the philosopher Goutam\nappears to have been a very Duns Scotus or Aquinas in metaphysics, the\nPythagorean reason why the Brahmins abstain from animal food, is a\nconvincing proof of their ignorance in natural philosophy. Some will let\nvermin overrun them; some of the Banians cover their mouth with a cloth,\nlest they should suck in a gnat with their breath; and some carefully\nsweep the floor ere they tread upon it, lest they dislodge the soul of\nan insect. And yet they do not know that in the water they drink, and in\nevery salad they eat, they cause the death of innumerable living\ncreatures.\n\nThe sacred books of the Hindoos are written in a dead language, the\nSanskrit, which none but the Brahmins are allowed to study. So strict in\nthis are they, says Mr. Dow, that only one Mussulman was ever instructed\nin it, and his knowledge was obtained by fraud. Mahummud Akbar, emperor\nof India, though bred a Mohammedan, studied several religions. In the\nChristian he was instructed by a Portuguese. But, finding that of the\nHindoos inaccessible, he had recourse to art. A boy named Feizi, was, as\nthe orphan of a Brahmin, put under the care of one of the most eminent\nof these philosophers, and obtained full knowledge of their hidden\nreligion. But the fraud being discovered, he was laid under the\nrestraint of an oath, and it does not appear that he ever communicated\nthe knowledge thus acquired.\n\n[476] Kotw\u00e2l, the chief officer of police in a town.--FORBES' Hindustani\nDictionary.\n\n[477] _The monster forms, Chimera-like, and rude._--Chimera, a monster\nslain by Bellerophon.\n\n    \"First, dire Chimera's conquest was enjoin'd,\n    A mingled monster of no mortal kind;\n    Behind, a dragon's fiery tail was spread,\n    A goat's rough body bore a lion's head;\n    Her pitchy nostrils flaky flames expire,\n    Her gaping throat emits infernal fire.\"\n\n    POPE'S II. vi.\n\n\n[478] _So Titan's son._--Briareus.\n\n[479] _Before these shrines the blinded Indians bow._--In this instance,\nCamo\u00ebns has, with great art, deviated from the truth of history. As it\nwas the great purpose of his hero to propagate the law of heaven in the\nEast, it would have been highly absurd to have represented GAMA and his\nattendants as on their knees in a pagan temple. This, however, was the\ncase. \"GAMA, who had been told,\" says Osorius, \"that there were many\nChristians in India, conjectured that the temple, to which the catual\nled him, was a Christian church. At their entrance they were met by four\npriests, who seemed to make crosses on their foreheads. The walls were\npainted with many images. In the middle was it little round chapel, in\nthe wall of which, opposite to the entrance, stood an image which could\nhardly be discovered. The four priests ascending, some entered the\nchapel by a little brass door, and pointing to the benighted image,\ncried aloud, 'Mary, Mary!' The catual and his attendants prostrated\nthemselves an the ground, while the Lusians on their bended knees adored\nthe blessed virgin.\" Thus Osorius. Another writer says, that a\nPortuguese, having some doubt, exclaimed, \"If this be the devil's image,\nI however worship God.\"\n\n[480] _Here India's fate._--The description of the palace of the\nzamorim, situated among aromatic groves, is according to history; the\nembellishment of the walls is in imitation of Virgil's description of\nthe palace of King Latinus:--\n\n    _Tectum augustum, ingens, centum sublime columnis,\n    Urbe fuit summa, etc._\n\n    \"The palace built by Picus, vast and proud,            }\n    Supported by a hundred pillars stood,                  }\n    And round encompass'd with a rising wood.              }\n    The pile o'erlook'd the town, and drew the sight,\n    Surprised, at once, with reverence and delight....\n    Above the portal, carv'd in cedar wood,\n    Placed in their ranks their godlike grandsires stood.\n    Old Saturn, with his crooked scythe on high;\n    And Italus, that led the colony:\n    And ancient Janus with his double face,\n    And bunch of keys, the porter of the place.\n    There stood Sabinus, planter of the vines,             }\n    On a short pruning-hook his head reclines;             }\n    And studiously surveys his gen'rous wines.             }\n    Then warlike kings who for their country fought,\n    And honourable wounds from battle brought.\n    Around the posts hung helmets, darts, and spears;           }\n    And captive chariots, axes, shields, and bars;              }\n    And broken beaks of ships, the trophies of their wars.      }\n    Above the rest, as chief of all the band\n    Was Picus plac'd, a buckler in his hand;\n    His other wav'd a long divining wand.\n    Girt in his Gabin gown the hero sate----\"\n\n    DRYDEN, \u00c6n. vii.\n\n\n[481]\n\n    _Behind her founder Nysa's walls were rear'd----\n    ----at distance far\n    The Ganges lav'd the wide-extended war.--_\n\nThis is in the perspective manner of the beautiful descriptions of the\nfigures on the shield of Achilles.--IL. xviii.\n\n[482] _Had Semele beheld the smiling boy._--The Theban Bacchus, to whom\nthe Greek fabulists ascribed the Indian expedition of Sesostris, king of\nEgypt.\n\n[483] Semiramis.\n\n[484] _Call'd Jove his father._--The bon-mot of Olympias on this\npretension of her son Alexander, was admired by the ancients. \"This\nhot-headed youth, forsooth, cannot be at rest unless he embroil me in a\nquarrel with Juno.\"--QUINT. CURT.\n\n[485]\n\n    _The tap'stried walls with gold were pictur'd o'er,\n    And flow'ry velvet spread the marble floor.--_\n\nAccording to Osorius.\n\n[486] _A leaf._--The Betel.\n\n[487] _More now we add not._--The tenor of this first conversation\nbetween the zamorim and GAMA, is according to the truth of history.\n\n[488] _What terrors oft have thrill'd my infant breast._--The enthusiasm\nwith which Monzaida, a Moor, talks of the Portuguese, may perhaps to\nsome appear unnatural. Camo\u00ebns seems to be aware of this by giving a\nreason for that enthusiasm in the first speech of Monzaida to Gama--\n\n    _Heav'n sent you here for some great work divine,\n    And Heav'n inspires my breast your sacred toils to join._\n\nAnd, that this Moor did conceive a great affection to GAMA, whose\nreligion he embraced, and to whom he proved of the utmost service, is\naccording to the truth of history.\n\n[489] _The ruddy juice by Noah found._--Gen. ix. 20. \"And Noah began to\nbe an husbandman, and he planted a vineyard, and he drank of the wine,\"\netc.\n\n[490]\n\n    _His faith forbade with other tribe to join\n    The sacred meal, esteem'd a rite divine.--_\n\nThe opinion of the sacredness of the table is very ancient in the East.\nIt is plainly to be discovered in the history of Abraham. When\nMelchizedek, a king and priest, blessed Abraham, it is said, \"And he\nbrought forth bread and wine and he blessed him.\"--Gen. xiv. 18. The\npatriarchs only drank wine, according to Dr. Stukely, on their more\nsolemn festivals, when they were said _to rejoice before the Lord_.\nOther customs of the Hindoos are mentioned by Camo\u00ebns in this book. If a\nnoble should touch a person of another tribe--\n\n    _A thousand rites, and washings o'er and o'er,\n    Can scarce his tainted purity restore._\n\nNothing, says Osorius, but the death of the unhappy commoner can wipe\noff the pollution. Yet we are told by the same author, that Hindoo\nnobility cannot be forfeited, or even tarnished by the basest and\ngreatest of crimes; nor can one of mean birth become great or noble by\nthe most illustrious actions. The noblemen, says the same writer, adopt\nthe children of their sisters, esteeming there can be no other certainty\nof the relationship of their heirs.\n\n[491] _The warlike song._--Though Camo\u00ebns began his Lusiad in Portugal,\nalmost the whole of it was written while on the ocean, while in Africa,\nand in India.--See his Life.\n\n[492] _As Canace._--Daughter of Eolus. Her father, having thrown her\nincestuous child to the dogs, sent her a sword, with which she slew\nherself. In Ovid she writes an epistle to her husband-brother, where she\nthus describes herself:--\n\n    _Dextra tenet calamum, strictum tenet altera ferrum._\n\n\n[493]\n\n    _Soon I beheld that wealth beneath the wave\n    For ever lost.--_\n\nSee the Life of Camo\u00ebns.\n\n[494] _My life, like Judah's Heaven-doom'd king of\nyore._--Hezekiah.--See Isaiah xxxviii.\n\n[495] _And left me mourning in a dreary jail._--This, and the whole\nparagraph from--\n\n    _Degraded now, by poverty abhorr'd,_\n\nalludes to his fortunes in India. The latter circumstance relates\nparticularly to the base and inhuman treatment he received on his return\nto Goa, after his unhappy shipwreck.--See his Life.\n\n[496] _Who spurns the muse._--Similarity of condition has produced\nsimilarity of sentiment in Camo\u00ebns and Spenser. Each was the ornament of\nhis country and his age, and each was cruelly neglected by the men of\npower, who, in truth, were incapable to judge of their merit, or to\nrelish their writings. We have seen several of the strictures of Camo\u00ebns\non the barbarous nobility of Portugal. The similar complaints of Spenser\nwill show, that neglect of genius, however, was not confined to the\ncourt of Lisbon:--\n\n    \"O grief of griefs! O gall of all good hearts!\n    To see that virtue should despised be\n    Of such as first were raised for virtue's parts,\n    And now, broad spreading like an aged tree,\n    Let none shoot up that nigh them planted be.\n    O let not those of whom the muse is scorn'd,\n    Alive or dead be by the muse adorn'd.\"\n\n    RUINS OF TIME.\n\nIt is thought Lord Burleigh, who withheld the bounty intended by Queen\nElizabeth, is here meant. But he is more clearly stigmatized in these\nremarkable lines, where the misery of dependence on court favour is\npainted in colours which must recall several strokes of the Lusiad to\nthe mind of the reader:--\n\n    \"Full little knowest thou that hast not tried,\n    What hell it is, in suing long to bide;\n    To lose good days, that might be better spent,\n    To waste long nights in pensive discontent;\n    To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow,\n    To feed on hope, to pine with fear and sorrow;\n    To have thy princess' grace, yet want her peers';\n    To have thy asking, yet wait many years.\n    To fret thy soul with crosses and with cares,\n    To eat thy heart thro' comfortless despairs;\n    To fawn, to crouch, to wait, to ride, to run,\n    To spend, to give, to want, to be undone.\"\n\n    MOTHER HUBBERD'S TALE.\n\nThese lines exasperated still more the inelegant, illiberal Burleigh. So\ntrue is the observation of Mr. Hughes, that, \"even the sighs of a\nmiserable man are sometimes resented as an affront by him that is the\noccasion of them.\"\n\n[497] Kotw\u00e2l, a sort of superintendent or inspector of police.--FORBES'\nHindustani Dictionary.\n\n[498] Lusus.\n\n[499] _His cluster'd bough, the same which Bacchus bore._--Camo\u00ebns\nimmediately before, and in the former book, calls the ensign of Lusus a\nbough; here he calls it the green thyrsus of Bacchus:--\n\n    _O verde Tyrso foi de Bacco usado._\n\nThe thyrsus, however, was a javelin twisted with ivy-leaves, used in the\nsacrifices of Bacchus.\n\n[500] _In those fair lawns the bless'd Elysium feign'd._--In this\nassertion our author has the authority of Strabo. a foundation\nsufficient for a poet. Nor are there wanting several Spanish writers,\nparticularly Barbosa, who seriously affirm that Homer drew the fine\ndescription of Elysium, in his fourth Odyssey, from the beautiful\nvalleys of Spain, where, in one of his voyages, they say, he arrived.\nEgypt, however, seems to have a better title to this honour. The fable\nof Charon, and the judges of hell, are evidently borrowed from the\nEgyptian rites of burial, and are older than Homer. After a ferryman had\nconveyed the corpse over a lake, certain judges examined the life of the\ndeceased, particularly his claim to the virtue of loyalty, and,\naccording to the report, decreed or refused the honours of sepulture.\nThe place of the catacombs, according to Diodorus Siculus, was\nsurrounded with deep canals, beautiful meadows, and a wilderness of\ngroves. It is universally known that the greatest part of the Grecian\nfables were fabricated from the customs and opinions of Egypt. Several\nother nations have also claimed the honour of affording the idea of the\nfields of the blessed. Even the Scotch challenge it. Many Grecian\nfables, says an author of that country, are evidently founded on the\nreports of the Phoenician sailors. That these navigators traded to the\ncoasts of Britain is certain. In the middle of summer, the season when\nthe ancients performed their voyages, for about six weeks there is no\nnight over the Orkney Islands; the disk of the sun, during that time,\nscarcely sinking below the horizon. This appearance, together with the\ncalm which usually prevails at that season, and the beautiful verdure of\nthe islands, could not fail to excite the admiration of the Phoenicians;\nand their accounts of the place naturally afforded the idea that these\nislands were inhabited by the spirits of the just. This, says our\nauthor, is countenanced by Homer, who places his \"islands of the happy\"\nat the extremity of the ocean. That the fables of Scylla, the Gorgones,\nand several others, were founded on the accounts of navigators, seems\nprobable; and, on this supposition, the Insul\u00e6 Fortunat\u00e6, and\nPurpurari\u00e6, now the Canary and Madeira islands, also claim the honour of\ngiving colours to the description of Elysium. The truth, however,\nappears to be this: That a place of happiness is reserved for the\nspirits of the good is the natural suggestion of that anxiety and hope\nconcerning the future which animates the human breast. All the barbarous\nnations of Africa and America agree in placing their heaven in beautiful\nislands, at an immense distance over the ocean. The idea is universal,\nand is natural to every nation in a state of barbarous simplicity.\n\n[501] The goddess Minerva.\n\n[502] _The heav'n-built towers of Troy._--Alluding to the fable of\nNeptune, Apollo, and Laomedon.\n\n[503]\n\n    _On Europe's strand, more grateful to the skies,\n    He bade th' eternal walls of Lisbon rise.--_\n\nFor some account of this tradition, see the note on Lusiad, bk. iii. p.\n76. Ancient traditions, however fabulous, have a good effect in poetry.\nVirgil has not scrupled to insert one, which required an apology:--\n\n    _Prisca fides facto, sed fama perennis._\n\nSpenser has given us the history of Brute and his descendants at full\nlength in the Faerie Queene; and Milton, it is known, was so fond of\nthat absurd legend, that he intended to write a poem on the subject; and\nby this fondness was induced to mention it as a truth in the\nintroduction to his History of England.\n\n[504] _The brother chief._--Paulus de Gama.\n\n[505] _That gen'rous pride which Rome to Pyrrhus bore._--When Pyrrhus,\nking of Epirus, was at war with the Romans, his physician offered to\npoison him. The senate rejected the proposal, and acquainted Pyrrhus of\nthe designed treason. Florus remarks on the infamous assassination of\nViriatus, that the Roman senate did him great honour; _ut videretur\naliter vinci non potuisse_; it was a confession that they could not\notherwise conquer him,--Vid. Flor. l. 17. For a fuller account of this\ngreat man, see the note on Lusiad, bk. i. p. 9.\n\n[506] _Some deem the warrior of Hungarian race._--See the note on the\nLusiad, bk. iii p. 67.\n\n[507] Jerusalem.\n\n[508] _The first Alonzo._--King of Portugal.\n\n[509] _On his young pupil's flight._--\"Some, indeed most, writers say,\nthat the queen advancing with her army towards Guimaraez, the king,\nwithout waiting till his governor joined him, engaged them and was\nrouted: but that afterwards the remains of his army, being joined by the\ntroops under the command of Egaz Munitz, engaged the army of the queen a\nsecond time, and gained a complete victory.\"--UNIV. HIST.\n\n[510] _Egaz behold, a chief self-doom'd to death._--See the same story\nin bk. iii. p. 71. Though history affords no authentic document of this\ntransaction, tradition, the poet's authority, is not silent. And the\nmonument of Egaz in the monastery of Pa\u00e7o de Souza gives it countenance.\nEgaz and his family are there represented, in bas relief, in the\nattitude and garb, says Castera, as described by Camo\u00ebns.\n\n[511] _Ah Rome! no more thy gen'rous consul boast._--Sc. Posthumus, who,\noverpowered by the Samnites, submitted to the indignity of passing under\nthe yoke.\n\n[512] _The Moorish king._--The Alcaydes, or tributary governors under\nthe Miramolin{*} or Emperor of Morocco, are often by the Spanish and\nPortuguese writers styled kings. He who was surprised and taken prisoner\nby Don Fuaz Roupinho was named _Gama_. Fuaz, after having gained the\nfirst naval victory of the Portuguese, also experienced their first\ndefeat. With one and twenty sail he attacked fifty-four large galleys of\nthe Moors. \"The sea,\" says Brandan, \"which had lately furnished him with\ntrophies, now supplied him with a tomb.\"\n\n{*} This should be (and is evidently only a corruption of),\n_Emir-el-Mumenin_, _i.e._ in Arabic, Commander of the believers.--_Ed._\n\n[513] _A foreign navy brings the pious aid._--A navy of crusaders,\nmostly English.\n\n[514] _And from the leaves._--This legend is mentioned by some ancient\nPortuguese chronicles. Homer would have availed himself, as Camo\u00ebns has\ndone, of a tradition so enthusiastic, and characteristic of the age.\nHenry was a native of Bonneville near Cologne. \"His tomb,\" says Castera,\n\"is still to be seen in the monastery of St. Vincent, but without the\npalm.\"\n\n[515] _In robes of white behold a priest advance._--Thestonius, prior of\nthe regulars of St. Augustine of Conymbra. Some ancient chronicles\nrelate this circumstance as mentioned by Camo\u00ebns. Modern writers assert,\nthat he never quitted his breviary.--CASTERA.\n\n[516] _The son of Egas._--He was named Mem Moniz, and was son of Egas\nMoniz, celebrated for the surrender of himself and family to the King of\nCastile, as already mentioned.\n\n[517] _The dauntless Gerald._--\"He was a man of rank, who, in order to\navoid the legal punishment to which several crimes rendered him\nobnoxious, put himself at the head of a party of freebooters. Tiring,\nhowever, of that life, he resolved to reconcile himself to his sovereign\nby some noble action. Full of this idea, one evening he entered Evora,\nwhich then belonged to the Moors. In the night he killed the sentinels\nof one of the gates, which he opened to his companions, who soon became\nmasters of the place. This exploit had its desired effect. The king\npardoned Gerald, and made him governor of Evora. A knight with a sword\nin one hand, and two heads in the other, from that time became the\narmorial bearing of the city.\"--CASTERA.\n\n[518] _Wrong'd by his king._--Don Pedro Fernando de Castro, injured by\nthe family of Lara, and denied redress by the King of Castile, took the\ninfamous revenge of bearing arms against his native country. At the head\nof a Moorish army he committed several outrages in Spain; but was\ntotally defeated in Portugal.\n\n[519] _And lo, the skies unfold._--\"According to some ancient Portuguese\nhistories, Don Matthew, bishop of Lisbon, in the reign of Alonso I,\nattempted to reduce Alcazar, then in possession of the Moors. His\ntroops, being suddenly surrounded by a numerous party of the enemy, were\nready to fly, when, at the prayers of the bishop, a venerable old man,\nclothed in white, with a red cross on his breast, appeared in the air.\nThe miracle dispelled the fears of the Portuguese; the Moors were\ndefeated, and the conquest of Alcazar crowned the victory.\"--CASTERA.\n\n[520]\n\n            _Her streets in blood deplore\n    The seven brave hunters murder'd by the Moor.--_\n\n\"During a truce with the Moors, six cavaliers of the order of St. James\nwere, while on a hunting party, surrounded and killed, by a numerous\nbody of the Moors. During the fight, in which the gentlemen sold their\nlives dear, a common carter, named Garcias Rodrigo, who chanced to pass\nthat way, came generously to their assistance, and lost his life along\nwith them. The poet, in giving all seven the same title, shows us that\nvirtue constitutes true nobility. Don Payo de Correa, grand master of\nthe order of St. James, revenged the death of these brave unfortunates\nby the sack of Tavila, where his just rage put the garrison to the\nsword.\"--CASTERA.\n\n[521] _Those three bold knights how dread._--Nothing can give us a\nstronger picture of the romantic character of their age, than the\nmanners of those champions, who were gentlemen of birth; and who, in the\ntrue spirit of knight-errantry, went about from court to court in quest\nof adventures. Their names were, Gon\u00e7alo Ribeiro; Fernando Martinez de\nSantarene; and Vasco Anez, foster-brother to Mary, queen of Castile,\ndaughter of Alonzo IV. of Portugal.\n\n[522] _And I, behold, am off'ring sacrifice._--This line, the simplicity\nwhich, I think, contains great dignity, is adopted from Fanshaw--\n\n    \"And I, ye see, am off'ring sacrifice;\"\n\nwho has here caught the spirit of the original--\n\n    _A quem lhe a dura nova estava dando,\n    Pois eu responde estou sacrificando;_\n\n_i.e._ To whom when they told the dreadful tidings, \"And I,\" he replies\n\"am sacrificing.\" The piety of Numa was crowned with victory.--Vid.\n'Plut. in vit. Num\u00e6.\n\n[523]\n\n    _The Lusian_ Scipio _well might speak his fame,\n    But nobler_ Nunio _shines a greater name_.--\n\nCastera justly observes the happiness with which Camo\u00ebns introduces the\nname of this truly great man. \"_Il va_,\" says he, \"_le nommer tout \u00e0\nl'heure avec une adresse et une magnificence digne d'un si beau sujet_.\"\n\n[524] _Two knights of Malta._--These knights were first named Knights\nHospitalers of St. John of Jerusalem, afterwards Knights of Rhodes, from\nwhence they were driven to Messina, ere Malta was assigned to them. By\ntheir oath of knighthood they were bound to protect the Holy Sepulchre\nfrom the profanation of infidels; immediately on taking this oath, they\nretired to their colleges, where they lived on their revenues in all the\nidleness of monkish luxury. Their original habit was black, with a white\ncross; their arms _gules_, a cross, _argent_.\n\n[525] _His captive friend._--Before John I. mounted the throne of\nPortugal, one Vasco Porcallo was governor of Villaviciosa. Roderic de\nLandroal and his friend, Alvarez Cuytado, having discovered that he was\nin the interest of the King of Castile, drove him from his town and\nfortress. On the establishment of King John, Porcallo had the art to\nobtain the favour of that prince; but, no sooner was he re-instated in\nthe garrison, than he delivered it up to the Castilians; and plundered\nthe house of Cuytado, whom, with his wife, he made prisoner and, under a\nnumerous party, ordered to be sent to Oliven\u00e7a. Roderic de Landroal,\nhearing of this, attacked and defeated the escort, and set his friend at\nliberty.--CASTERA.\n\n[526] _Here treason's well-earn'd meed allures thine eyes._--While the\nkingdom of Portugal was divided, some holding with John the newly\nelected king, and others with the King of Castile, Roderic Marin,\ngovernor of Campo-Major, declared for the latter. Fernando d'Elvas\nendeavoured to gain him to the interest of his native prince, and a\nconference, with the usual assurances of safety, was agreed to. Marin,\nat this meeting, seized upon Elvas, and sent him prisoner to his castle.\nElvas having recovered his liberty, a few days after met his enemy in\nthe field, whom, in his turn, he made captive; and the traitorous Marin,\nnotwithstanding the endeavours of their captain to save his life, met\nthe reward of his treason from the soldiers of Elvas.--_Partly from_\nCastera.\n\n[527] _And safe the Lusian galleys speed away._--A numerous fleet of the\nCastilians being on their way to lay siege to Lisbon. Ruy Pereyra, the\nPortuguese commander, seeing no possibility of victory, boldly attacked\nthe Spanish admiral. The fury of his onset put the Castilians in\ndisorder, and allowed the Portuguese galleys a safe escape. In this\nbrave piece of service the gallant Pereyra lost his life.--CASTERA.\n\n[528] _The shepherd._--Viriatus.\n\n[529] _Equal flame inspir'd these few._--The Castilians having laid\nsiege to Almada, a fortress on a mountain near Lisbon, the garrison, in\nthe utmost distress for water, were obliged at times to make sallies to\nthe bottom of the hill in quest of it. Seventeen Portuguese thus\nemployed were one day attacked by four hundred of the enemy. They made a\nbrave defence, and effected a happy retreat into their\nfortress.--CASTERA.\n\n[530] _Far from the succour of the Lusian host._--When Alonzo V. took\nCeuta, Don Pedro de Menezes was the only officer in the army who was\nwilling to become governor of that fortress; which, on account of the\nuncertainty of succour from Portugal, and the earnest desire of the\nMoors to regain it, was deemed untenable. He gallantly defended his post\nin two severe sieges.\n\n[531] _That other earl._--He was the natural son of Don Pedro de\nMenezes. Alonzo V. one day, having ridden out from Ceuta with a few\nattendants, was attacked by a numerous party of the Moors, when De Vian,\nand some others under him, at the expense of their own lives, purchased\nthe safe retreat of their sovereign.\n\n[532] _Two brother-heroes shine._--The sons of John I. Don Pedro was\ncalled the Ulysses of his age, on account both of his eloquence and his\nvoyages. He visited almost every court of Europe, but he principally\ndistinguished himself in Germany, where, under the standards of the\nEmperor Sigismond, he signalized his valour in the war against the\nTurks.--CASTERA.\n\n[533] _The glorious Henry._--In pursuance of the reasons assigned in the\npreface, the translator has here taken the liberty to make a\ntransposition in the order of his author. In Camo\u00ebns, Don Pedro de\nMenezes, and his son De Vian, conclude the description of the pictured\nensigns. Don Henry, the greatest man perhaps that ever Portugal\nproduced, has certainly the best title to close this procession of the\nLusian heroes. And, as he was the father of navigation, particularly of\nthe voyage of GAMA, to sum up the narrative with his encomium has even\nsome critical propriety.\n\nThese observations were suggested by the conduct of Camo\u00ebns, whose\ndesign, like that of Virgil, was to write a poem which might contain all\nthe triumphs of his country. As the shield of \u00c6neas supplies what could\nnot be introduced in the vision of Elysium, so the ensigns of GAMA\ncomplete the purpose of the third and fourth Lusiads. The use of that\nlong episode, the conversation with the King of Melinda, and its\nconnection with the subject, have been already observed. The seeming\nepisode of the pictures, while it fulfills the promise--\n\n    _And all my country's wars the song adorn,_\n\nis also admirably connected with the conduct of the poem. The Hindoos\nnaturally desire to be informed of the country, the history, and power\nof their foreign visitors, and Paulus sets it before their eyes. In\nevery progression of the scenery the business of the poem advances. The\nregent and his attendants are struck with the warlike grandeur and power\nof the strangers, and to accept of their friendship, or to prevent the\nforerunners of so martial a nation from carrying home the tidings of the\ndiscovery of India, becomes the great object of their consideration.\n\n[534] _But ah, forlorn, what shame to barb'rous pride._--In the\noriginal.--\n\n    _Mas faltamlhes pincel, faltamlhes cores,\n    Honra, premio, favor, que as artes cri\u00e1o._\n\n\"But the pencil was wanting, colors were wanting, honour, reward,\nfavour, the nourishers of the arts.\" This seemed to the translator as in\nimpropriety, and contrary to the purpose of the whole speech of Paulus,\nwhich was to give the catual a high idea of Portugal. In the fate of the\nimaginary painter, the Lusian poet gives us the picture of his own,\nresentment wrung this impropriety from him. The spirit of the complaint,\nhowever, is preserved in the translation. The couplet--\n\n    \"Immortal fame his deathless labours gave;\n    Poor man, he sunk neglected to the grave!\"\n\nis not in the original. It is the sigh of indignation over the unworthy\nfate of the unhappy Camo\u00ebns.\n\n[535] _The ghost-like aspect and the threat'ning look._--Mohammed, by\nsome historians described as of a pale livid complexion, and _trux\naspectus et vox terribilis_, of a fierce threatening aspect, voice, and\ndemeanour.\n\n[536]\n\n    _When, softly usher'd by the milky dawn,\n    The sun first rises.--_\n\n\"I deceive myself greatly,\" says Castera, \"if this simile is not the\nmost noble and the most natural that can be found in any poem. It has\nbeen imitated by the Spanish comedian, the illustrious Lopez de Vega, in\nhis comedy of Orpheus and Eurydice, act i. sc. 1:--\n\n    \"_Como mirar puede ser\n     El sol al amanecer,\n     I quando se enciende, no._\"\n\nCastera adds a very loose translation of these Spanish lines in French\nverse. The literal English is, _As the sun may be beheld at its rising,\nbut, when illustriously kindled, cannot_. Naked, however, as this is,\nthe imitation of Camo\u00ebns is evident. As Castera is so very bold in his\nencomium of this fine simile of the sun, it is but justice to add his\ntranslation of it, together with the original Portuguese, and the\ntranslation of Fanshaw. Thus the French translator:--\n\n_Les yeux peuvent so\u00fbtenir la clart\u00e9 du soleil naissant, mais lorsqu'il\ns'est avanc\u00e9 dans sa carri\u00e8re lumineuse, et que ses rayons r\u00e9pandent les\nardeurs du midi, on tacherait en vain de l'envisager; un prompt\naveuglement serait le prix de cette audace._\n\nThus elegantly in the original:--\n\n    \"Em quanto he fraca a for\u00e7a desta gente,\n    Ordena como em tudo se resista,\n    Porque quando o Sol sahe, facilmente\n    Se p\u00f2de nelle por a aguda vista:\n    Porem despois que sobe claro, & ardente,\n    Se a agudeza dos olhos o conquista\n    Tao cega fica, quando ficareis,\n    Se raizes criar lhe nao tolheis.\"\n\nAnd thus humbled by Fanshaw:--\n\n    \"_Now_ whilst this people's strength is not yet knit,\n    Think how ye may resist them by all ways.\n    For when the _Sun_ is in his _nonage_ yit,\n    Upon his _morning beauty_ men may gaze;\n    But let him once up to his _zenith_ git,\n    He strikes them _blind_ with his _meridian rays_;\n    So _blind_ will ye be, if ye look not too't,\n    If ye permit these _cedars_ to take root.\"\n\n\n[537]\n\n                    _Around him stand,\n    With haggard looks, the hoary Magi band.--_\n\nThe Brahmins, the diviners of India. Ammianus Marcellinus, l. 23, says,\nthat the Persian Magi derived their knowledge from the Brachmanes of\nIndia. And Arrianus, l. 7, expressly gives the Brahmins the name of\nMagi. The Magi of India, says he, told Alexander, on his pretensions to\ndivinity, that in everything he was like other men, except that he took\nless rest, and did more mischief. The Brahmins are never among modern\nwriters called Magi.\n\n[538] _The hov'ring demon gives the dreadful sign._--This has an\nallusion to the truth of history. Barros relates, that an anger being\nbrought before the Zamorim, \"_Em hum vaso de agua l'he mostrara hunas\nnaos, que vin ham de muy longe para a India, e que a gente d'ellas seria\ntotal destrui\u00e7am dos Mouros de aquellas partes._--In a vessel of water\nhe showed him some ships which from a great distance came to India, the\npeople of which would effect the utter subversion of the Moors.\" Camo\u00ebns\nhas certainly chosen a more poetical method of describing this\ndivination, a method in the spirit of Virgil; nor in this is he inferior\nto his great master. The supernatural flame which seizes on Lavinia\nwhile assisting at the sacrifice alone excepted, every other part of the\naugury of Latinus, and his dream in the Albunean forest, whither he went\nto consult his ancestor, the god Faunus, in dignity and poetical\ncolouring, cannot come in comparison with the divination of the Magi,\nand the appearance of the demon in the dream of the Moorish priest.\n\n[539] _Th'eternal yoke._--This picture, it may perhaps be said, is but a\nbad compliment to the heroes of the Lusiad, and the fruits of their\ndiscovery. A little consideration, however, will vindicate Camo\u00ebns. It\nis the demon and the enemies of the Portuguese who procure this\ndivination; everything in it is dreadful, on purpose to determine the\nzamorim to destroy the fleet of GAMA. In a former prophecy of the\nconquest of India (when the catual describes the sculpture of the royal\npalace), our poet has been careful to ascribe the happiest effects to\nthe discovery of his heroes:--\n\n    \"Beneath their sway majestic, wise, and mild,\n    Proud of her victors' laws, thrice happier India smil'd.\"\n\n\n[540] _So let the tyrant plead._--In this short declamation, a seeming\nexcrescence, the business of the poem in reality is carried on. The\nzamorim, and his prime minister, the catual, are artfully characterised\nin it; and the assertion--\n\n    _Lur'd was the regent with the Moorish gold,_\n\nis happily introduced by the declamatory reflections which immediately\nprecede it.\n\n[541]\n\n    _The Moors----their ancient deeds relate,\n    Their ever-faithful service of the state.--_\n\nAn explanation of the word _Moor_ is here necessary. When the East\nafforded no more field for the sword of the conqueror, the Saracens,\nassisted by the Moors, who had embraced their religion, laid the finest\ncountries in Europe in blood and desolation. As their various\nembarkations were from the empire of Morocco, the Europeans gave the\nname of _Moors_ to all the professors of the Mohammedan religion. In the\nsame manner the eastern nations blended all the armies of the Crusaders\nunder one appellation, and the _Franks_, of whom the army of Godfrey was\nmostly composed, became their common name for all the inhabitants of the\nWest. Before the arrival of GAMA, as already observed, all the traffic\nof the East, from the Ethiopian side of Africa to China, was in the\nhands of Arabian Mohammedans, who, without incorporating with the pagan\nnatives, had their colonies established in every country commodious for\ncommerce. These the Portuguese called Moors; and at present the\nMohammedans of India are called the Moors of Hindostan by our English\nwriters. The intelligence these Moors gave to one another, relative to\nthe actions of GAMA; the general terror with which they beheld the\nappearance of Europeans, whose rivalship they dreaded as the destruction\nof their power; the various frauds and arts they employed to prevent the\nreturn of one man of GAMA'S fleet to Europe, and their threat to\nwithdraw from the dominions of the zamorim, are all according to the\ntruth of history. The speeches of the zamorim and of GAMA, which follow,\nare also founded in truth.\n\n[542] Troy.\n\n[543] _No sumptuous gift thou bring'st._--\"As the Portuguese did not\nexpect to find any people but savages beyond the Cape of Good Hope, they\nonly brought with them some preserves and confections, with trinkets of\ncoral, of glass, and other trifles. This opinion, however, deceived\nthem. In Melinda and in Calicut they found civilized nations, where the\narts flourished; who wanted nothing; who were possessed of all the\nrefinements and delicacies on which we value ourselves. The King of\nMelinda had the generosity to be contented with the present which GAMA\nmade; but the zamorim, with a disdainful eye, beheld the gifts which\nwere offered to him. The present was this: Four mantles of scarlet, six\nhats adorned with feathers, four chaplets of coral beads, twelve Turkey\ncarpets, seven drinking cups of brass, a chest of sugar, two barrels of\noil, and two of honey.\"--CASTERA.\n\n[544] _Fair Acidalia, Love's celestial queen._--Castera derives Acidalia\nfrom [Greek: ak\u00ead\u00eas], which, he says, implies to act without fear or\nrestraint. Acidalia is one of the names of Venus, in Virgil; derived\nfrom Acidalus, a fountain sacred to her in Boeotia.\n\n[545] _Sprung from the prince._--John I.\n\n[546] _And from her raging tempests, nam'd the Cape._--Bartholomew Diaz,\nwas the first who discovered the southmost point of Africa. He was\ndriven back by the storms, which on these seas were thought always to\ncontinue, and which the learned of former ages, says Osorius, thought\nimpassable. Diaz, when he related his voyage to John II. called the\nsouthmost point the Cape of Tempests. The expectation of the king,\nhowever, was kindled by the account, and with inexpressible joy, says\nthe same author, he immediately named it the Cape of Good Hope.\n\n[547]\n\n    _The pillar thus of deathless fame, begun\n    By other chiefs_, etc.--\n\n    \"Till I now ending what those did begin,\n    The furthest pillar in thy realm advance;\n    Breaking the element of molten tin,\n    Through horrid storms I lead to thee the dance.\"\n\n    FANSHAW.\n\n\n[548]\n\n    _The regent's palace high o'erlook'd the bay,\n    Where Gama's black-ribb'd fleet at anchor lay._--\n\nThe resemblance of this couplet to many passages in Homer, must be\nobvious to the intelligent critic.\n\n[549] _As in the sun's bright beam._--Imitated from Virgil, who, by the\nsame simile, describes the fluctuation of the thoughts of \u00c6neas, on the\neve of the Latian war:--\n\n                \"Laomedontius heros\n    Cuncta videns, magno curarum fluctuat \u00e6stu,\n    Atque animum nunc huc celerem, nunc dividit illuc,\n    In partesque rapit varias, perque omnia versat.\n    Sicut aqu\u00e6 tremulum labris ubi lumen ahenis\n    Sole repercussum, aut radiantis imagine Lun\u00e6,\n    Omnia pervolitat late loca: jamque sub auras\n    Erigitur, summique ferit laquearia tecti.\"\n\n    \"This way and that he turns his anxious mind,\n    Thinks, and rejects the counsels he design'd;\n    Explores himself in vain, in ev'ry part,\n    And gives no rest to his distracted heart:\n    So when the sun by day or moon by night\n    Strike on the polish'd brass their trembling light,\n    The glitt'ring species here and there divide,\n    And cast their dubious beams from side to side;\n    Now on the walls, now on the pavement play,\n    And to the ceiling flash the glaring day.\"\n\nAriosto has also adopted this simile in the eighth book of his Orlando\nFurioso:--\n\n    \"Qual d'acqua chiara il tremolante lume\n    Dal Sol per percossa, o da' notturni rai,\n    Per gli ampli tetti v\u00e0 con lungo salto\n    A destra, ed a sinistra, e basso, ed alto.\"\n\n    \"So from a water clear, the trembling light\n    Of Phoebus, or the silver ray of night,\n    Along the spacious rooms with splendour plays,\n    Now high, now low, and shifts a thousand ways.\"\n\n    HOOLE.\n\nBut the happiest circumstance belongs to Camo\u00ebns. The velocity and\nvarious shiftings of the sun-beam, reflected from a piece of crystal or\npolished steel in the hand of a boy, give a much stronger idea of the\nviolent agitation and sudden shiftings of thought than the image of the\ntrembling light of the sun or moon reflected from a vessel of water. The\nbrazen vessel, however, and not the water, is only mentioned by Dryden.\nNor must another inaccuracy pass unobserved. That the reflection of the\nmoon _flashed the glaring day_ is not countenanced by the original.\n\nWe have already seen the warm encomium paid by Tasso to his\ncontemporary, Camo\u00ebns. That great poet, the ornament of Italy, has also\ntestified his approbation by several imitations of the Lusiad. Virgil,\nin no instance, has more closely copied Homer, than Tasso has imitated\nthe appearance of Bacchus, or the evil demon, in the dream of the\nMoorish priest. The enchanter Ismeno thus appears to the sleeping\nSolyman:--\n\n    \"Soliman' Solimano, i tuoi silenti\n    Riposi \u00e0 miglior tempo homai riserva:\n    Che sotto il giogo de straniere genti\n    La patria, ove regnasti, ancor' e serva.\n    In questa terra dormi, e non rammenti,\n    Ch'insepolte de' tuoi l'ossa conserva?\n    Ove si gran' vestigio e del tuo scorno,\n    Tu neghittoso aspetti il nuovo giorno?\"\n\nThus elegantly translated by Mr. Hoole:--\n\n    \"Oh! Solyman, regardless chief, awake!\n    In happier hours thy grateful slumber take:\n    Beneath a foreign yoke thy subjects bend,\n    And strangers o'er thy land their rule extend:\n    Here dost thou sleep? here close thy careless eyes,\n    While uninterr'd each lov'd associate lies?\n    Here where thy fame has felt the hostile scorn,\n    Canst thou, unthinking, wait the rising morn?\"\n\nThe conclusion of this canto has been slightly altered by the\ntranslator. Camo\u00ebns, adhering to history, makes GAMA (when his factors\nare detained on shore) seize upon some of the native merchants as\nhostages. At the intreaty of their wives and children the zamorim\nliberates his captives; while GAMA, having recovered his men and the\nmerchandise, sailed away, carrying with him the unfortunate natives,\nwhom he had seized as hostages.\n\nAs there is nothing heroic in this dishonourable action of GAMA'S,\nMickle has omitted it, and has altered the conclusion of the\ncanto.--_Ed._\n\n[550] Mickle, in place of the first seventeen stanzas of this canto, has\ninserted about three hundred lines of his own composition; in this\nrespect availing himself of the licence he had claimed in his\npreface.--_Ed._\n\n[551] _Thy sails, and rudders too, my will demands._--According to\nhistory.\n\n[552] _My sov'reign's fleet I yield not to your sway._--The circumstance\nof GAMA'S refusing to put his fleet into the power of the zamorim, is\nthus rendered by Fanshaw:--\n\n    \"The Malabar protests that he shall rot\n    In prison, if he send not for the _ships_.\n    _He_ (_constant_, and with noble _anger_ hot)\n    His haughty _menace_ weighs not at _two chips_.\"\n\n\n[553] _Through Gata's hills._--The hills of Gata or Gate, mountains\nwhich form a natural barrier on the eastern side of the kingdom of\nMalabar.\n\n    \"Nature's rude wall, against the fierce Canar\n    They guard the fertile walls of Malabar.\"\n\n    LUSIAD, vii.\n\n\n[554] _Then, furious, rushing to the darken'd bay._--For the\ncircumstances of the battle, and the tempest which then happened, see\nthe Life of GAMA.\n\n[555] _I left my fix'd command my navy's guard._--See the Life of GAMA.\n\n[556] _Unmindful of my fate on India's shore._--This most magnanimous\nresolution, to sacrifice his own safety or his life for the safe return\nof the fleet, is strictly true.--See the Life of GAMA.\n\n[557] _Abrupt--the monarch cries_--\"_What yet may save!_\"--GAMA'S\ndeclaration, that no message from him to the fleet could alter the\norders he had already left, and his rejection of any further treaty,\nhave a necessary effect in the conduct of the poem. They hasten the\ncatastrophe, and give a verisimilitude to the abrupt and full submission\nof the zamorim.\n\n[558] _The rollers_--_i.e._ the capstans.--The capstan is a cylindrical\nwindlass, worked with bars, which are moved from hole to hole as it\nturns round. It is used on board ship to weigh the anchors, raise the\nmasts, etc. The versification of this passage in the original affords a\nmost noble example of imitative harmony:--\n\n    \"Mas ja nas naos os bons trabalhadores\n    Volvem o cabrestante, & repartidos\n    Pello trabalho, huns puxao pella amarra,\n    Outros quebrao co peito duro a barra.\"\n\n    STANZA X.\n\n\n[559]\n\n            _Mozaide, whose zealous care\n    To Gama's eyes reveal'd each treach'rous snare.--_\n\nHad this been mentioned sooner, the interest of the catastrophe of the\npoem must have languished. Though he is not a warrior, the unexpected\nfriend of GAMA bears a much more considerable part in the action of the\nLusiad than the faithful Achates, the friend of the hero, bears in the\nbusiness of the \u00c6neid.\n\n[560] _There wast thou call'd to thy celestial home._--This exclamatory\naddress to the Moor Monzaida, however it may appear digressive, has a\ndouble propriety. The conversion of the Eastern world is the great\npurpose of the expedition of GAMA, and Monzaida is the first fruits of\nthat conversion. The good characters of the victorious heroes, however\nneglected by the great genius of Homer, have a fine effect in making an\nepic poem interest us and please. It might have been said, that Monzaida\nwas a traitor to his friends, who crowned his villainy with apostacy.\nCamo\u00ebns has, therefore, wisely drawn him with other features, worthy of\nthe friendship of GAMA. Had this been neglected, the hero of the Lusiad\nmight have shared the fate of the wise Ulysses of the Iliad, against\nwhom, as Voltaire justly observes, every reader bears a secret ill will.\nNor is the poetical character of Monzaida unsupported by history. He was\nnot an Arab Moor, so he did not desert his countrymen. These Moors had\ndetermined on the destruction of GAMA; Monzaida admired and esteemed\nhim, and therefore generously revealed to him his danger. By his\nattachment to GAMA he lost all his effects in India, a circumstance\nwhich his prudence and knowledge of affairs must have certainly\nforeseen. By the known dangers he encountered, by the loss he thus\nvoluntarily sustained, and by his after constancy, his sincerity is\nundoubtedly proved.\n\n[561] _The joy of the fleet on the homeward departure from India._--We\nare now come to that part of the Lusiad, which, in the conduct of the\npoem, is parallel to the great catastrophe of the Iliad, when, on the\ndeath of Hector, Achilles thus addresses the Grecian army--\n\n          \"Ye sons of Greece, in triumph bring\n    The corpse of Hector, and your p\u00e6ons sing:\n    Be this the song, slow moving toward the shore,\n    'Hector is dead, and Ilion is no more.'\"\n\nOur Portuguese poet, who in his machinery, and many other instances, has\nfollowed the manner of Virgil, now forsakes him. In a very bold and\nmasterly spirit he now models his poem by the steps of Homer. What of\nthe Lusiad yet remains, in poetical conduct (though not in an imitation\nof circumstances), exactly resembles the latter part of the Iliad. The\ngames at the funeral of Patroclus, and the redemption of the body of\nHector, are the completion of the rage of Achilles. In the same manner,\nthe reward of the heroes, and the consequences of their expedition\ncomplete the unity of the Lusiad. I cannot say it appears that Milton\never read our poet (though Fanshaw's translation was published in his\ntime); yet no instance can be given of a more striking resemblance of\nplan and conduct, than may be produced in two principal parts of the\npoem of Camo\u00ebns, and of the Paradise Lost.--See the Dissertation which\nfollows this book.\n\n[562] _Near where the bowers of Paradise were plac'd._--Between the\nmouth of the Ganges and Euphrates.\n\n[563] Swans.\n\n[564] _His falling kingdom claim'd his earnest care._--This fiction, in\npoetical conduct, bears a striking resemblance to the digressive\nhistories with which Homer enriches and adorns his poems, particularly\nto the beautiful description of the feast of the gods with \"the\nblameless Ethiopians.\" It also contains a masterly commentary on the\nmachinery of the Lusiad. The Divine Love conducts GAMA to India. The\nsame Divine Love is represented as preparing to reform the corrupted\nworld, when its attention is particularly called to bestow a foretaste\nof immortality on the heroes of the expedition which discovered the\neastern world. Nor do the wild fantastic loves, mentioned in this little\nepisode, afford any objection against this explanation, an explanation\nwhich is expressly given in the episode itself. These wild fantastic\namours signify, in the allegory, the wild sects of different\nenthusiasts, which spring up under the wings of the best and most\nrational institutions; and which, however contrary to each other, all\nagree in deriving their authority from the same source.\n\n[565] _A young Act\u00e6on._--The French translator has the following\ncharacteristic note: \"This passage is an eternal monument of the\nfreedoms taken by Camo\u00ebns, and at the same time a proof of the\nimprudence of poets; an authentic proof of that prejudice which\nsometimes blinds them, notwithstanding all the light of their genius.\nThe modern Act\u00e6on of whom he speaks, was King Sebastian. He loved the\nchase; but, that pleasure, which is one of the most innocent and one of\nthe most noble we can possibly taste, did not at all interrupt his\nattention to the affairs of state, and did not render him savage, as our\nauthor pretends. On this point the historians are rather to be believed.\nAnd what would the lot of princes be, were they allowed no relaxation\nfrom their toils, while they allow that privilege to their people?\nSubjects as we are, let us venerate the amusements of our sovereigns;\nlet us believe that the august cares for our good, which employ them,\nfollow them often even to the very bosom of their pleasures.\"\n\nMany are the strokes in the Lusiad which must endear the character of\nCamo\u00ebns to every reader of sensibility. The noble freedom and manly\nindignation with which he mentions the foible of his prince, and the\nflatterers of his court, would do honour to the greatest names of Greece\nor Rome. While the shadow of freedom remained in Portugal, the greatest\nmen of that nation, in the days of Lusian heroism, thought and conducted\nthemselves in the spirit of Camo\u00ebns. A noble anecdote of this brave\nspirit offers itself. Alonzo IV., surnamed the Brave, ascended the\nthrone of Portugal in the vigour of his age. The pleasures of the chase\nengrossed all his attention. His confidants and favourites encouraged,\nand allured him to it. His time was spent in the forests of Cintra,\nwhile the affairs of government were neglected or executed by those\nwhose interest it was to keep their sovereign in ignorance. His\npresence, at last, being necessary at Lisbon, he entered the council\nwith all the brisk impetuosity of a young sportsman, and with great\nfamiliarity and gaiety entertained his nobles with the history of a\nwhole month spent in hunting, in fishing, and shooting. When he had\nfinished his narrative, a nobleman of the first rank rose up: \"Courts\nand camps,\" said he, \"were allotted for kings, not woods and deserts.\nEven the affairs of private men suffer when recreation is preferred to\nbusiness. But when the whims of pleasure engross the thoughts of a king,\na whole nation is consigned to ruin. We came here for other purposes\nthan to hear the exploits of the chase, exploits which are only\nintelligible to grooms and falconers. If your majesty will attend to the\nwants, and remove the grievances of your people, you will find them\nobedient subjects; if not----\" The king, starting with rage, interrupted\nhim, \"If not, what?\" \"If not,\" resumed the nobleman, in a firm tone,\n\"they will look for another and a better king.\" Alonzo, in the highest\ntransport of passion, expressed his resentment, and hasted out of the\nroom. In a little while, however, he returned, calm and reconciled: \"I\nperceive,\" said he, \"the truth of what you say. He who will not execute\nthe duties of a king, cannot long have good subjects. Remember, from\nthis day, you have nothing more to do with Alonzo the sportsman, but\nwith Alonzo the king of Portugal.\" His majesty was as good as his\npromise, and became, as a warrior and politician, one of the greatest of\nthe Portuguese monarchs.\n\n[566] _With love's fierce flames his frozen heart shall burn._--\"It is\nsaid, that upon the faith of a portrait Don Sebastian fell in love with\nMargaret of France, daughter of Henry II., and demanded her in marriage,\nbut was refused. The Spaniards treated him no less unfavourably, for\nthey also rejected his proposals for one of the daughters of Philip II.\nOur author considers these refusals as the punishment of Don Sebastian's\nexcessive attachment to the chase; but this is only a consequence of the\nprejudice with which he viewed the amusements of his prince. The truth\nis, these princesses were refused for political reasons, and not with\nany regard to the manner in which he filled up his moments of leisure.\"\n\nThus Castera, who, with the same spirit of sagacity, starts and answers\nthe following objections: \"But here is a difficulty: Camo\u00ebns wrote\nduring the life of Don Sebastian, but the circumstance he relates (the\nreturn of GAMA) happened several years before, under the reign of\nEmmanuel. How, therefore, could he say that Cupid then saw Don Sebastian\nat the chase, when that prince was not then born? The answer is easy:\nCupid, in the allegory of this work, represents the love of God, the\nHoly Spirit, who is God himself. Now the Divinity admits of no\ndistinction of time; one glance of his eye beholds the past, the\npresent, and the future; everything is present before him.\"\n\nThis defence of the fiction of Act\u00e6on is not more absurd than useless.\nThe free and bold spirit of poetry, and in particular the nature of\nallegory, defend it. The poet might easily have said, that Cupid\n_foresaw_; but had he said so his satire had been much less genteel. As\nthe sentiments of Castera on this passage are extremely characteristic\nof French ideas, another note from him will perhaps be agreeable.\n\"Several Portuguese writers have remarked,\" says he, \"that the wish--\n\n    'Of these lov'd dogs that now his passions sway,\n     Ah! may he never fall the hapless prey!'\n\nHad in it an air of prophecy; and fate, in effect, seemed careful to\naccomplish it, in making the presaged woes to fall upon Don Sebastian.\nIf he did not fall a prey to his pack of hounds, we may, however, say\nthat he was devoured by his favourites, who misled his youth and his\ngreat soul. But at any rate our poet has carried the similitude too far.\nIt was certainly injurious to Don Sebastian, who nevertheless had the\nbounty not only not to punish this audacity, but to reward the just\neulogies which the author had bestowed on him in other places. As much\nas the indiscretion of Camo\u00ebns ought to surprise us, as much ought we to\nadmire the generosity of his master.\"\n\nThis foppery, this slavery in thinking, cannot fail to rouse the\nindignation of every manly breast, when the facts are fairly stated. Don\nSebastian, who ascended the throne when a child, was a prince of great\nabilities and great spirit, but his youth was poisoned with the most\nromantic ideas of military glory. The affairs of state were left to his\nministers (for whose character see the next note), his other studies\nwere neglected, and military exercises, of which he not unjustly\nesteemed the chase a principal, were almost his sole employ. Camo\u00ebns\nbeheld this romantic turn, and in a genteel allegorical satire foreboded\nits consequences. The wish, that his prince might not fall the prey of\nhis favourite passion, was in vain. In a rash, ill-concerted expedition\ninto Africa, Don Sebastian lost his crown in his twenty-fifth year, an\nevent which soon after produced the fall of the Portuguese empire. Had\nthe nobility possessed the spirit of Camo\u00ebns, had they, like him,\nendeavoured to check the quixotism of a young generous prince, that\nprince might have reigned long and happy, and Portugal might have\nescaped the Spanish yoke, which soon followed his defeat at Alcazar; a\nyoke which sunk Portugal into an abyss of misery, from which, in all\nprobability, she will never emerge into her former splendour.\n\n[567]\n\n    _Enraged, he sees a venal herd, the shame\n    Of human race, assume the titled name.--_\n\n\"After having ridiculed all the pleasures of Don Sebastian, the author\nnow proceeds to his courtiers, to whom he has done no injustice. Those\nwho are acquainted with the Portuguese history, will readily acknowledge\nthis.\"--CASTERA.\n\n[568] _On the hard bosoms of the stubborn crowd._--There in an elegance\nin the original of this line, which the English language will not\nadmit:--\n\n    \"Nos duros cora\u00e7oens de plebe dura,\"--\n\n_i.e._, In the hard hearts of the hard vulgar.\n\n[569] Cupid.\n\n[570]\n\n    _Thus from my native waves a hero line\n    Shall rise, and o'er the East illustrious shine._--\n\n\"By the line of heroes to be produced by the union of the Portuguese\nwith the Nereids, is to be understood the other Portuguese, who,\nfollowing the steps of GAMA, established illustrious colonies in\nIndia.\"--CASTERA.\n\n[571] _And Fame--a giant goddess._--This passage affords a striking\ninstance of the judgment of Camo\u00ebns. Virgil's celebrated description of\nFame is in his eye, but he copies it, as Virgil, in his best imitations,\ncopies after Homer. He adopts some circumstances, but, by adding others,\nhe makes a new picture, which justly may be called his own.\n\n[572] _The wat'ry gods._--To mention the gods in the masculine gender,\nand immediately to apply to them--\n\n    \"O peito feminil, que levemente\n    Muda quaysquer propositos tomados.\"--\n\nThe ease with which the female breast changes its resolutions, may to\nthe hypercritical appear reprehensible. The expression, however, is\nclassical, and therefore retained. Virgil uses it, where \u00c6neas is\nconducted by Venus through the flames of Troy:--\n\n    \"Descendo, ac ducente _Deo_, flammam inter et hostes\n    Expedior.\"\n\nThis is in the manner of the Greek poets, who use the word [Greek:\nTheos] for god or goddess.\n\n[573] _White as her swans._--A distant fleet compared to swans on a lake\nis certainly a happy thought. The allusion to the pomp of Venus, whose\nagency is immediately concerned, gives it besides a peculiar propriety.\nThis simile, however, is not in the original. It is adopted from an\nuncommon liberty taken by Fanshaw:--\n\n    \"The pregnant _sails_ on Neptune's surface creep,\n    Like her own _swans_, in _gate_, _out-chest_, and _fether_.\"\n\n\n[574] _Soon as the floating verdure caught their sight._--As the\ndeparture of GAMA from India was abrupt, he put into one of the\nbeautiful islands of Anchediva for fresh water. \"While he was here\ncareening his ships,\" says Faria, \"a pirate named Timoja, attacked him\nwith eight small vessels, so linked together and covered with boughs,\nthat they formed the appearance of a floating island.\" This, says\nCastera, afforded the fiction of the floating island of Venus. \"The\nfictions of Camo\u00ebns,\" says he, \"are the more marvellous, because they\nare all founded in history. It is not difficult to find why he makes his\nisland of Anchediva to wander on the waves; it is an allusion to a\nsingular event related by Barros.\" He then proceeds to the story of\nTimoja, as if the genius of Camo\u00ebns stood in need of so weak an\nassistance.\n\n[575] _In friendly pity of Latona's woes._--Latona, pregnant by Jupiter,\nwas persecuted by Juno, who sent the serpent Python in pursuit of her.\nNeptune, in pity of her distress, raised the island of Delos for her\nrefuge, where she was delivered of Apollo and Diana.--OVID, Met.\n\n[576] _Form'd in a crystal lake the waters blend._--Castera also\nattributes this to history. \"The Portuguese actually found in this\nisland,\" says he, \"a fine piece of water ornamented with hewn stones and\nmagnificent aqueducts; an ancient and superb work, of which nobody knew\nthe author.\"\n\nIn 1505 Don Francisco Almeyda built a fort in this island. In digging\namong some ancient ruins he found many crucifixes of black and red\ncolour, from whence the Portuguese conjectured, says Osorius, that the\nAnchedivian islands had in former ages been inhabited by\nChristians.--Vid. Osor. 1. iv.\n\n[577]\n\n    _The orange here perfumes the buxom air.\n    And boasts the golden hue of Daphne's hair.--_\n\nFrequent allusions to the fables of the ancients form a characteristic\nfeature of the poetry of the 16th and 17th centuries. A profusion of it\nis pedantry; a moderate use of it, however, in a poem of those times\npleases, because it discovers the stages of composition, and has in\nitself a fine effect, as it illustrates its subject by presenting the\nclassical reader with some little landscapes of that country through\nwhich he has travelled. The description of forests is a favourite topic\nin poetry. Chaucer, Tasso, and Spenser, have been happy in it, but both\nhave copied an admired passage in Statius:--\n\n                     \"Cadit ardua fagus,\n    Chaoniumque nemus, brum\u00e6que ill\u00e6sa cupressus;\n    Procumbunt pice\u00e6, flammis alimenta supremis,\n    Ornique, ilice\u00e6que trabes, metuandaque sulco\n    Taxus, et infandos belli potura cruores\n    Fraxinus, atque situ non expugnabile robur:\n    Hinc audax abies, et odoro vulnere pinus\n    Scinditur, acclinant intonsa cacumina terr\u00e6\n    Alnus amica fretis, nec inhospita vitibus ulmus.\"\n\nIn rural descriptions three things are necessary to render them\npoetical: the happiness of epithet, of picturesque arrangement, and of\nlittle landscape views. Without these, all the names of trees and\nflowers, though strung together in tolerable numbers, contain no more\npoetry than a nurseryman or a florist's catalogue. In Statius, in Tasso\nand Spenser's admired forests (Ger. Liber. c. 3. st. 75, 76, and F.\nQueen, b. 1 c. 1. st. 8, 9), the poetry consists entirely in the\nhappiness of the epithets. In Camo\u00ebns, all the three requisites are\nadmirably attained and blended together.\n\n[578] _And stain'd with lover's blood._--Pyramus and Thisbe:--\n\n    \"Arborei foetus aspergine c\u00e6dis in atram\n    Vertuntur faciem: madefactaque sanguine radix\n    Puniceo tingit pendentia mora colore.....\n    At tu quo ramis arbor miserabile corpus\n    Nunc tegis unius, mox es tectura duorum;\n    Signa tene c\u00e6dis: pullosque et lectibus aptos\n    Semper habe foetus gemini monumenta cruoris.\"\n\n    OVID, Met.\n\n[579] _The shadowy vale._--Literal from the original,--_O sombrio\nvalle_--which Fanshaw, however, has translated, \"the gloomy valley,\" and\nthus has given us a funereal, where the author intended a festive,\nlandscape. It must be confessed, however, that the description of the\nisland of Venus, is infinitely the best part of all of Fanshaw's\ntranslation. And indeed the dullest prose translation might obscure, but\ncould not possibly throw a total eclipse over, so admirable an original.\n\n[580] _The woe-mark'd flower of slain Adonis--water'd by the tears of\nlove._--The Anemone. \"This,\" says Castera, \"is applicable to the\ncelestial Venus, for, according to my theology, her amour with Adonis\nhad nothing in it impure, but was only the love which nature bears to\nthe sun.\" The fables of antiquity have generally a threefold\ninterpretation, an historical allusion, a physical and a metaphysical\nallegory. In the latter view, the fable of Adonis is only applicable to\nthe celestial Venus. A divine youth is outrageously slain, but shall\nrevive again at the restoration of the golden age. Several nations, it\nis well known, under different names, celebrated the Mysteries, or the\ndeath and resurrection of Adonis; among whom were the British Druids, as\nwe are told by Dr. Stukely. In the same manner Cupid, in the fable of\nPsyche, is interpreted by mythologists, to signify the Divine Love\nweeping over the degeneracy of human nature.\n\n[581]\n\n    _At strife appear the lawns and purpled skies,\n    Who from each other stole the beauteous dyes.--_\n\nOn this passage Castera has the following sensible, though turgid, note:\n\"This thought,\" says he, \"is taken from the idyllium of Ausonius on the\nrose:--\n\n    'Ambigeres raperetne rosis Aurora ruborem,\n     An daret, et flores tingere torta dies.'\n\nCamo\u00ebns who had a genius rich of itself, still further enriched it at\nthe expense of the ancients. Behold what makes great authors! Those who\npretend to give us nothing but the fruits of their own growth, soon\nfail, like the little rivulets which dry up in the summer, very\ndifferent from the floods, who receive in their course the tribute of a\nhundred and a hundred rivers, and which even in the dog-days carry their\nwaves triumphant to the ocean.\"\n\n[582] _The hyacinth bewrays the doleful_ Ai.--Hyacinthus, a youth\nbeloved of Apollo, by whom he was accidentally slain, and afterwards\nturned into a flower:--\n\n                  \"Tyrioque nitentior ostro\n    Flos oritur, formamque capit, quam lilia: si non,\n    Purpureus color huic, argenteus esset in illis.\n    Non satis hoc Ph\u00e6bo est: is enim fuit auctor honoris.\n    Ipse suos gemitus foliis inscribit; et Ai, Ai,\n    Flos habet inscriptum: funestaque littera ducta est.\"\n\n    OVID, Met.\n\n\n[583] _The second Argonauts._--The expedition of the Golden Fleece was\nesteemed, in ancient poetry, one of the most daring adventures, the\nsuccess of which was accounted miraculous. The allusions of Camo\u00ebns to\nthis voyage, though in the spirit of his age, are by no means improper.\n\n[584] _Wide o'er the beauteous isle the lovely fair._--We now come to\nthe passage condemned by Voltaire as so lascivious, that no nation in\nEurope, except the Portuguese and Italians, could bear it. The fate of\nCamo\u00ebns has hitherto been very peculiar. The mixture of Pagan and\nChristian mythology in his machinery has been anathematized, and his\nisland of love represented as a brothel. Yet both accusations are the\narrogant assertions of the most superficial acquaintance with his works.\nHis poem itself, and a comparison of its parts with the similar conduct\nof the greatest modern poets, will clearly evince, that in both\ninstances no modern epic writer of note has given less offence to true\ncriticism.\n\nNot to mention Ariosto, whose descriptions will often admit of no\npalliation, Tasso, Spenser, and Milton, have always been esteemed among\nthe chastest of poets, yet in that delicacy of warm description, which\nMilton has so finely exemplified in the nuptials of our first parents,\nnone of them can boast the continued uniformity of the Portuguese poet.\nThough there is a warmth in the colouring of Camo\u00ebns which even the\ngenius of Tasso has not reached: and though the island of Armida is\nevidently copied from the Lusiad, yet those who are possessed of the\nfiner feelings, will easily discover an essential difference between the\nlove-scenes of the two poets, a difference greatly in favour of the\ndelicacy of the former. Though the nymphs in Camo\u00ebns are detected naked\nin the woods, and in the stream, and though desirous to captivate, still\ntheir behaviour is that of the virgin who hopes to be the spouse. They\nact the part of offended modesty; even when they yield they are silent,\nand behave in every respect like Milton's Eve in the state of innocence,\nwho--\n\n    \"What was honour knew,\"\n\nAnd who displayed--\n\n    \"Her virtue, and the conscience of her worth,\n    That would be wooed, and not unsought be won.\"\n\nTo sum up all, the nuptial sanctity draws its hallowed curtains, and a\nmasterly allegory shuts up the love-scenes of Camo\u00ebns.\n\nHow different from all this is the island of Armida in Tasso, and its\ntranslation, the bower of Acrasia in Spenser! In these virtue is\nseduced; the scene therefore is less delicate. The nymphs, while they\nare bathing, in place of the modesty of the bride as in Camo\u00ebns, employ\nall the arts of the lascivious wanton. They stay not to be wooed; but,\nas Spenser gives it--\n\n    _The amorous sweet spoils to greedy eyes reveal._\n\nOne stanza from our English poet, which, however, is rather fuller than\nthe original, shall here suffice:--\n\n    \"Withal she laughed and she blush'd withal,\n    That blushing to her laughter gave more grace,\n    And laughter to her blushing, as did fall.\n    Now when they spy'd the knight to slack his pace,\n    Them to behold, and _in his sparkling face\n    The secret signs of kindled lust appear_,\n    Their wanton merriments they did increase,\n    And to him beckon'd to approach more near,\n    _And show'd him many sights, that courage cold could rear_.\n\nThis and other descriptions--\n\n    \"Upon a bed of roses she was laid\n     As faint through heat, or dight to pleasant sin\"--\n\npresent every idea of lascivious voluptuousness. The allurements of\nspeech are also added. Songs, which breathe every persuasive, are heard;\nand the nymphs boldly call to the beholder:--\n\n    _E' dolce campo di battaglia il letto\n    Fiavi, e l'herbetta morbida de' prati._--TASSO.\n\n    \"Our field of battle is the downy bed,\n    Or flow'ry turf amid the smiling mead.\"--HOOLE.\n\nThese, and the whole scenes in the domains of Armida and Acrasia, are in\na turn of manner the reverse of the island of Venus. In these the\nexpression and idea are meretricious. In Camo\u00ebns, though the colouring\nis even warmer, yet the modesty of the Venus de Medicis is still\npreserved. In everything he describes there is still something strongly\nsimilar to the modest attitude of the arms of that celebrated statue.\nThough prudery, that usual mask of the impurest minds, may condemn him,\nyet those of the most chaste, though less gloomy turn, will allow, that\nin comparison with others, he might say,--_Virginibus puerisque canto_.\n\nSpenser also, where he does not follow Tasso, is often gross; and even\nin some instances, where the expression is most delicate, the picture is\nnevertheless indecently lascivious.\n\n[585] _The hunter._--Acteon.\n\n[586] _Madd'ning as he said._--At the end of his Homer Mr. Pope has\ngiven an index of the instances of imitative and sentimental harmony\ncontained in his translations. He has also often even in his notes\npointed out the adaptation of sound to sense. The translator of the\nLusiad hopes he may for once say, that he has not been inattentive to\nthis great essential of good versification: how he has succeeded the\njudicious only must determine. The speech of Leonard to the cursory\nreader may perhaps sometimes appear careless, and sometimes turgid and\nstiff. That speech, however, is an attempt at the imitative and\nsentimental harmony, and with the judicious he rests its fate. As the\ntranslation in this instance exceeds the original in length, the\nobjection of a foreign critic requires attention. An old pursy Abb\u00e9,\n(and critics are apt to judge by themselves) may indeed be surprised\nthat a man out of breath with running should be able to talk so long.\nBut, had he consulted the experiences of others, he would have found it\nwas no wonderful matter for a stout and young cavalier to talk twice as\nmuch, though fatigued with the chase of a couple of miles, provided the\nsupposition be allowed, that he treads on the last steps of his flying\nmistress.\n\n[587] _Hence, ye profane._--We have already observed, that in every\nother poet the love scenes are generally described as those of guilt and\nremorse. The contrary character of those of Camo\u00ebns not only gives them\na delicacy unknown to other moderns, but, by the fiction of the spousal\nrites, the allegory and machinery of the poem are most happily\nconducted.\n\n[588] _Spread o'er the eastern world the dread alarms._--This admonition\nplaces the whole design of the poem before us. To extirpate\nMohammedanism, and propagate Christianity, were professed as the\nprincipal purpose of the discoveries of Prince Henry and King Emmanuel.\nIn the beginning of the seventh Lusiad, the nations of Europe are\nupbraided for permitting the Saracens to erect and possess an empire,\nwhich alike threatened Europe and Christianity. The Portuguese, however,\nthe patriot poet concludes, will themselves overthrow their enormous\npower: an event which is the proposed subject of the Lusiad, and which\nis represented as, in effect, completed in the last book. On this\nsystem, adopted by the poet, and which on every occasion was avowed by\ntheir kings, the Portuguese made immense conquests in the East. Yet, let\nit be remembered, to the honour of GAMA, and the first commanders who\nfollowed his route, that the plots of the Moors, and their various\nbreaches of treaty, gave rise to the first wars which the Portuguese\nwaged in Asia. On finding that all the colonies of the Moors were\ncombined for their destruction, the Portuguese declared war against the\neastern Moors, and their allies, wherever they found them. The course of\nhuman things, however, soon took place, and the sword of victory and\npower soon became the sword of tyranny and rapine.\n\n[589] _Far o'er the silver lake of Mexic._--The city of Mexico is\nenvironed with an extensive lake; or, according to Cortez, in his second\nnarration to Charles V., with two lakes, one of fresh, the other of salt\nwater, in circuit about fifty leagues. This situation, said the\nMexicans, was appointed by their God Vitzliputzli, who, according to the\nexplanation of their picture-histories, led their forefathers a journey\nof fourscore years, in search of the promised land. Four of the\nprincipal priests carried the idol in a coffer of reeds. Whenever they\nhalted they built a tabernacle for their god in the midst of their camp,\nwhere they placed the coffer and the altar. They then sowed the land,\nand their stay or departure, without regard to the harvest, was directed\nby the orders received from their idol, till at last, by his command,\nthey fixed their abode on the site of Mexico.\n\n[590] _Before the love-sick Roman._--Mark Antony.\n\n[591] _The beverage--the fountain's cooling aid confess'd._--It was a\ncustom of the ancients in warm climates to mix the coolest spring water\nwith their wine, immediately before drinking; not, we may suppose, to\nrender it less intoxicating, but on account of the cooling flavour it\nthereby received. Homer tells us that the wine which Ulysses gave to\nPolyphemus would bear twenty measures of water. Modern luxury has\nsubstituted preserved ice, in place of the more ancient mixture.\n\n[592] _Music, such as erst subdued the horrid frown of hell_,\netc.--Alluding to the fable of Orpheus. Fanshaw's translation, as\nalready observed, was published fourteen years before the Paradise Lost.\nThese lines of Milton--\n\n    \"What could it less, when spirits immortal sung?\n    Their song was partial, but the harmony\n    Suspended hell, and took with ravishment\n    The thronging audience,\"\n\nbear a resemblance to these of Fanshaw--\n\n    \"Musical instruments not wanting, such\n    As to the damn'd spirits once gave ease\n    In the dark vaults of the infernal hall.\"\n\nTo _slumber_ amid their punishment, though omitted by Fanshaw, is\nliteral:--\n\n    \"Fizerao descan\u00e7ar da eterna pena.\"\n\n\n[593] _No more the summer of my life remains._--It is not certain when\nCamo\u00ebns wrote this. It seems, however, not long to have preceded the\npublication of his poem, at which time he was in his fifty-fifth year.\nThis apostrophe to his muse may, perhaps, by some be blamed as another\ndigression; but, so little does it require defence, that one need not\nhesitate to affirm that, had Homer, who often talks to his muse,\nintroduced, on these favourable opportunities, any little picture or\nhistory of himself, these digressions would have been the most\ninteresting parts of his works. Had any history of Homer complained,\nlike this of Camo\u00ebns, it would have been bedewed with the tears of ages.\n\n[594] _Thy faith repent not, nor lament thy wrong._--P. Alvarez Cabral,\nthe second Portuguese commander who sailed to India, entered into a\ntreaty of alliance with Trimumpara, king of Cochin, and high priest of\nMalabar. The zamorim raised powerful armies to dethrone him. His\nfidelity to the Portuguese was unalterable, though his affairs were\nbrought to the lowest ebb.--See the history in the Preface.\n\n[595]\n\n    _His ship's strong sides shall groan beneath his weight,\n    And deeper waves receive the sacred freight.--_\n\nThus Virgil:--\n\n                \"Simul accipit alveo\n    Ingentem \u00c6neam. Gemuit sub pondere cymba\n    Sutilis, et multam accepit rimosa paludem.\"--\u00c6N. vi. 412.\n\nThat the visionary boat of Charon groaned under the weight of \u00c6neas is a\nfine poetical stroke; but that the crazy rents let in the water is\ncertainly lowering the image. The thought, however, as managed in\nCamo\u00ebns is much grander than in Virgil, and affords a happy instance\nwhere the hyperbole is truly poetical.\n\nThe Lusiad affords many instances which must be highly pleasing to the\nPortuguese, but dry to those who are unacquainted with their history.\nNor need one hesitate to assert that, were we not acquainted with the\nRoman history from our childhood, a great part of the \u00c6neid would appear\nto us intolerably uninteresting. Sensible of this disadvantage which\nevery version of historical poetry must suffer, the translator has not\nonly in the notes added every incident which might elucidate the\nsubject, but has also, all along, in the episode in the third and fourth\nbooks, in the description of the painted ensigns in the eighth, and in\nthe allusions in the present book, endeavoured to throw every historical\nincident into that universal language, the picturesque of poetry. When\nHector storms the Grecian camp, when Achilles marches to battle, every\nreader understands and is affected with the bold painting. But when\nNestor talks of his exploits at the funeral games of Amarynces (Iliad\nxxiii.) the critics themselves cannot comprehend him, and have vied with\neach other in inventing explanations.\n\n[596] _Proas_, or paraos, Indian vessels which lie low on the water, are\nworked with oars, and carry 100 men and upwards apiece.\n\n[597]\n\n                _His robes are sprinkled o'er,\n    And his proud face dash'd, with his menials' gore.--_\n\nSee the history in the Preface.\n\n[598] _Round Lusus' fleet to pour their sulph'rous entrails._--How\nPacheco avoided this formidable danger, see the history in the preface.\n\n[599] _Nor Tiber's bridge._--When Porsenna besieged Rome, Horatius\nCocles defended the pass of a bridge till the Romans destroyed it behind\nhim. Having thus saved the pass, heavy armed as he was, he swam across\nthe Tiber to his companions. Roman history, however, at this period, is\noften mixed with fable. Miltiades obtained a great victory over Darius\nat Marathon. The stand made by Leonidas at Thermopyl\u00e6 is well known. The\nbattles of Pacheco were in defence of the fords by which alone the city\nof Cochin could be entered. The numbers he withstood by land and sea,\nand the victories he obtained, are much more astonishing than the\ndefence of Thermopyl\u00e6.\n\n[600] _Bound to the mast the godlike hero stands._--English history\naffords an instance of similar resolution in Admiral Bembo, who was\nsupported in a wooden frame, and continued the engagement after his legs\nand thighs were shivered in splinters. Contrary to the advice of his\nofficers, the young Almeyda refused to bear off, though almost certain\nto be overpowered, and though both wind and tide were against him. His\nfather had sharply upbraided him for a former retreat, where victory was\nthought impossible. He now fell the victim of his father's ideas of\nmilitary glory.\n\n[601] _The fleets of India fly._--After having cleared the Indian seas,\nthe viceroy, Almeyda, attacked the combined fleets of Egypt, Cambaya,\nand the zamorim, in the entrance and harbour of Diu, or Dio. The fleet\nof the zamorim almost immediately fled. That of Melique Yaz, Lord of\nDiu, suffered much; but the greatest slaughter fell upon the Egyptians\nand Turks, commanded by Mir-Hocem, who had defeated and killed the young\nAlmeyda. Of 800 Mamelukes, or Turks, who fought under Mir-Hocem, only\n22, says Osorius, survived this engagement. Melique Yaz, says Faria y\nSousa, was born in slavery, and descended of the Christians of Roxia.\nThe road to preferment is often a dirty one; but Melique's was much less\nso than that of many. As the King of Cambaya was one day riding in\nstate, an unlucky kite dunged upon his royal head. His majesty in great\nwrath swore he would give all he was worth to have the offender killed.\nMelique, who was an expert archer, immediately despatched an arrow,\nwhich brought the audacious hawk to the ground. For the merit of this\neminent service he was made Lord of Diu, or Dio, a considerable city,\nthe strongest and the most important fortress at that time in all\nIndia.--See Faria, 1. 2, c. 2.\n\n[602] _Great Cunia._--Tristan da Cunha, or d'Acugna.\n\n[603] _Heav'n indignant showers their arrows backward._--Some writers\nrelated that, when Albuquerque besieged Ormuz, a violent wind drove the\narrows of the enemy backward upon their own ranks. Osorius says, that\nmany of the dead Persians and Moors were found to have died by arrows.\nBut as that weapon was not used by the Portuguese he conjectures that,\nin their despair of victory, many of the enemy had thus killed\nthemselves, rather than survive the defeat.\n\n[604] _Muscat._\n\n[605] Bahrein, in the Persian Gulf.\n\n[606] _What glorious palms on Goa's isle I see._--This important place\nwas made an archbishopric, the capital of the Portuguese empire in the\neast, and the seat of their viceroys; for which purposes it is\nadvantageously situated on the coast of Dekhan. It still remains in the\npossession of the Portuguese.\n\n[607] _Malacca._--The conquest of this place was one of the greatest\nactions of Albuquerque. It became the chief port of the eastern part of\nPortuguese India, and second only to Goa. Besides a great many pieces of\nordnance which were carried away by the Moors who escaped, 3000 large\ncannon remained the prize of the victors. When Albuquerque was on the\nway to Malacca, he attacked a large ship; but, just as his men were\ngoing to board her, she suddenly appeared all in flames, which obliged\nthe Portuguese to bear off. Three days afterwards the same vessel sent a\nboat to Albuquerque, offering an alliance, which was accepted. The\nflames, says Osorius, were only artificial, and did not the least\ndamage. Another wonderful adventure immediately happened. The admiral\nsoon after sent his long-boats to attack a ship commanded by one Nehoada\nBeeguea. The enemy made an obstinate resistance. Nehoada himself was\npierced with several mortal wounds, but lost not one drop of blood till\na bracelet was taken off his arm, when immediately the blood gushed out.\nAccording to Osorius, this was said to be occasioned by the virtue of a\nstone in the bracelet, taken out of an animal called Cabrisia, which,\nwhen worn on the body, could prevent the effusion of blood from the most\ngrievous wounds.\n\n[608] _Yet art thou stain'd._--A detail of all the grant actions of\nAlbuquerque would have been tedious and unpoetical. Camo\u00ebns has chosen\nthe most brilliant, and has happily suppressed the rest by a display of\nindignation. The French translator has the following note on this\npassage: \"Behold another instance of our author's prejudice! The action\nwhich he condemns had nothing in it blameable: but, as he was of a most\namorous constitution, he thought every fault which could plead an amour\nin its excuse ought to be pardoned; but true heroes, such as\nAlbuquerque, follow other maxims. This great man had in his palace a\nbeautiful Indian slave. He viewed her with the eyes of a father, and the\ncare of her education was his pleasure. A Portuguese soldier, named Ruy\nDiaz, had the boldness to enter the general's apartment, where he\nsucceeded so well with the girl that he obtained his desire. When\nAlbuquerque heard of it, he immediately ordered him to the gallows.\"\n\nCamo\u00ebns, however, was no such undistinguishing libertine as this would\nrepresent him. In a few pages we find him praising the continence of Don\nHenry de Meneses, whose victory over his passions he calls the highest\nexcellence of youth. Nor does it appear by what authority the Frenchman\nassures us of the chaste paternal affection which Albuquerque bore to\nthis Indian girl. It was the great aim of Albuquerque to establish\ncolonies in India, and, for that purpose, he encouraged his soldiers to\nmarry with the natives. The most sightly girls were selected, and\neducated in the religion and household arts of Portugal, and portioned\nat the expense of the general. These he called his daughters, and with\ngreat pleasure he used to attend their weddings, several couples being\nusually joined together at one time. At one of these nuptials, says\nFaria, the festivity having continued late, and the brides being mixed\ntogether, several of the bridegrooms committed a blunder. The mistakes\nof the night, however, as they were all equal in point of honour, were\nmutually forgiven in the morning, and each man took his proper wife whom\nhe had received at the altar. This delicate anecdote of Albuquerque's\nsons and daughters is as bad a commentary on the note of Castera as it\nis on the severity which the commander showed to poor Diaz. Nor does\nCamo\u00ebns stand alone in the condemnation of the general. The historian\nagrees with the poet. Mentioning the death of D. Antonio Noronha, \"This\ngentleman,\" says Faria, \"used to moderate the violent temper of his\nuncle, Albuquerque, which soon after showed itself in rigid severity. He\nordered a soldier to be hanged for an amour with one of the slaves whom\nhe called daughters, and whom he used to give in marriage. When some of\nhis officers asked him what authority he had to take the poor man's\nlife, he drew his sword, told them that was his commission, and\ninstantly broke them.\" To marry his soldiers with the natives was the\nplan of Albuquerque: his severity, therefore, seems unaccountable,\nunless we admit the 'perhaps' of Camo\u00ebns, _ou de cioso_, perhaps it was\njealousy.--But, whatever incensed the general, the execution of the\nsoldier was contrary to the laws of every nation;{*} and the honest\nindignation of Camo\u00ebns against one of the greatest of his countrymen,\none who was the grand architect of the Portuguese empire in the East,\naffords a noble instance of that manly freedom of sentiment which knows\nno right by which king or peer may do injustice to the meanest subject.\nNor can we omit the observation, that the above note of Castera is of a\npiece with the French devotion we have already seen him pay to the name\nof king, a devotion which breathes the true spirit of the blessed advice\ngiven by Father Paul to the republic of Venice: \"When a nobleman commits\nan offence against a subject,\" says the Jesuit, \"let every means be\ntried to justify him. But, if a subject has offended a nobleman, let him\nbe punished with the utmost severity.\"\n\n{*} Osorius relates the affair of Diaz with some other circumstances;\nbut with no difference that affects this assertion.\n\n[609] _Not Ammon._--Campaspe, the most beautiful concubine of Alexander\nthe Great, was given by that monarch to Apelles, whom he perceived in\nlove with her. Araspas had strict charge of the fair captive, Panthea.\nHis attempt on her virtue was forgiven by Cyrus.\n\n[610] _And Flandria's earldom on the knight bestow'd._--\"Baldwin,\nsurnamed Iron-arm, Grand Forester of Flanders, being in love with\nJudith, the daughter of Charles the Bald, and widow of Ethelwolf, king\nof England, obtained his desire by force. Charles, though at first he\nhighly resented, afterwards pardoned his crime, and consented to his\nmarriage with the princess.\"--CASTERA.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThis digression in the song of the nymph bears, in manner, a striking\nresemblance to the histories which often, even in the heat of battle,\nthe heroes of Homer relate to each other. That these little episodes\nhave their beauty and propriety in an epic poem will strongly appear\nfrom a view of M. de la Motte's translation of the Iliad into French\nverse. The four and twenty books of Homer he has contracted into twelve,\nand these contain no more lines than about four books of the original. A\nthousand embellishments which the warm poetical feelings of Homer\nsuggested to him are thus thrown out by the Frenchman. But what is the\nconsequence of this improvement? The work of La Motte is unread, even by\nhis own countrymen, and despised by every foreigner who has the least\nrelish for poetry and Homer.\n\n[611] _And midnight horror shakes Medina's shrine._--Medina, the city\nwhere Mohammed is buried. About six years after GAMA'S discovery of\nIndia, the Sultan of Egypt sent Maurus, the abbot of the monks at\nJerusalem, who inhabit Mount Sion, on an embassy to Pope Julius II. The\nsultan, with severe threats to the Christians of the East in case of\nrefusal, entreated the Pope to desire Emmanuel, king of Portugal, to\nsend no more fleets to the Indian seas. The Pope sent Maurus to\nEmmanuel, who returned a very spirited answer to his holiness, assuring\nhim that no threats, no dangers, could make him alter his resolutions,\nand lamenting that it had not yet been in his power to fulfil his\npurpose of demolishing the sepulchre and erasing the memorials of\nMohammed from the earth. This, he says was the first purpose of sending\nhis fleets to India. It is with great art that Camo\u00ebns so often reminds\nus of the grand design of the expedition of his heroes to subvert\nMohammedanism, and found a Christian empire in the East. But the dignity\nwhich this gives to his poem has already been observed in the preface.\n\n[612] _Where Sheba's sapient queen the sceptre bore._--The Abyssinians\ncontend that their country is the Sheba mentioned in the Scripture, and\nthat the queen who visited Solomon bore a son to that monarch, from whom\ntheir royal family, to the present time, is descended.\n\n[613] _Snatch'd from thy golden throne._--GAMA only reigned three months\nviceroy of India. During his second voyage, the third which the\nPortuguese made to India, he gave the zamorim some considerable defeats\nby sea, besides his victories over the Moors. These, however, are\njudiciously omitted by Camo\u00ebns, as the less striking part of his\ncharacter.\n\nThe French translator is highly pleased with the prediction of GAMA'S\ndeath, delivered to himself at the feast. \"The siren,\" says he,\n\"persuaded that GAMA is a hero exempt from weakness, does not hesitate\nto mention the end of his life. GAMA listens without any mark of\nemotion; the feast and the song continue. If I am not deceived, this is\ntruly great.\"\n\n[614] _Victorious Henry._--Don Henry de Menezes. He was only\ntwenty-eight when appointed to the government of India. He died in his\nthirtieth year, a noble example of the most disinterested heroism.\n\n[615] _Great Mascarine._--Pedro de Mascarenhas. The injustice done to\nthis brave officer, and the usurpation of his government by Lopez Vaz de\nSampayo, afford one of the most interesting periods of the history of\nthe Portuguese in India.\n\n[616] _Great Nunio._--Nunio de Cunha, one of the most worthy of the\nPortuguese governors.\n\n[617] _Awed by his fame._--That brave, generous spirit, which prompted\nCamo\u00ebns to condemn the great Albuquerque for injustice to a common\nsoldier, has here deserted him. In place of poetical compliment, on the\nterrors of his name, Noronha deserved infamy. The siege of Dio, it is\ntrue, was raised on the report of his approach, but that report was the\nstratagem of Coje Zofar, one of the general officers of the assailants.\nThe delays of Noronha were as highly blamable as his treatment of his\npredecessor, the excellent Nunio, was unworthy of a gentleman.\n\n[618] _A son of thine, O Gama._--Stephen de Gama.\n\n[619] _A vet'ran, fam'd on Brazil's shore._--Martin Alonzo de Souza. He\nwas celebrated for clearing the coast of Brazil of several pirates, who\nwere formidable to that infant colony.\n\n[620] _O'er blood-stain'd ground._--This is as near the original as\nelegance will allow--_de sangue cheyo_--which Fanshaw has thus punned:--\n\n                    \"With no little loss,\n    Sending him home again by _Weeping-Cross_\"--\n\na place near Banbury in Oxfordshire.\n\n[621] Cape Comorin, the southernmost point of India.--_Ed._\n\n[622] _The Rumien fierce, who boasts the name of Rome._--When the\nvictories of the Portuguese began to overspread the East, several Indian\nprinces, by the counsels of the Moors, applied for assistance to the\nSultan of Egypt, and the Grand Signior. The troops of these Mohammedan\nprinces were in the highest reputation for bravery, and though, composed\nof many different nations, were known among the orientals by one common\nname. Ignorance delights in the marvellous. The history of ancient Rome\nmade the same figure among the easterns, as that of the fabulous, or\nheroic, ages does with us, with this difference, it was better believed.\nThe Turks of Roumania pretended to be the descendants of the Roman\nconquerors, and the Indians gave them and their auxiliaries the name of\nRum{=e}s, or Romans. In the same manner, the fame of Godfrey in the East\nconferred the name of Franks on all the western Christians, who, on\ntheir part, gave the name of Moors to all the Mohammedans of the East.\n\n[623] _No hope, bold Mascarene._--The commander of Diu, or Dio, during\nthis siege, one of the most memorable in the Portuguese history.\n\n[624] _Fierce Hydal-Kan._--The title of the lords or princes of Decan,\nwho in their wars with the Portuguese have sometimes brought 400,000 men\ninto the field. The prince here mentioned, after many revolts, was at\nlast finally subdued by Don John de Castro, the fourth viceroy of India,\nwith whose reign our poet judiciously ends the prophetic song.\nAlbuquerque laid the plan, and Castro completed the system of the\nPortuguese empire in the East. It is with propriety, therefore, that the\nprophecy given to GAMA is here summed up. Nor is the discretion of\nCamo\u00ebns in this instance inferior to his judgment. He is now within a\nfew years of his own times, when he himself was upon the scene in India.\nBut whatever he had said of his contemporaries would have been liable to\nmisconstruction, and every sentence would have been branded with the\nepithets of flattery or malice. A little poet would have been happy in\nsuch an opportunity to resent his wrongs. But the silent contempt of\nCamo\u00ebns does him true honour.\n\nIn this historical song, as already hinted, the translator has been\nattentive, as much as he could, to throw it into these universal\nlanguages, the picturesque and characteristic. To convey the sublimest\ninstruction to princes, is, according to Aristotle, the peculiar\nprovince of the epic muse. The striking points of view in which the\ndifferent characters of the governors of India are here placed, are in\nthe most happy conformity to this ingenious canon of the Stagyrite.\n\n[625]\n\n    _In whirling circles now they fell, now rose,\n    Yet never rose nor fell.--_\n\nThe motions of the heavenly bodies, in every system, bear at all times\nthe same uniform relation to each other; these expressions, therefore,\nare strictly just. The first relates to the appearance, the second to\nthe reality. Thus, while to us the sun appears to go down, to more\nwestern inhabitants of the globe he appears to rise, and while he rises\nto us, he is going down to the more eastern; the difference being\nentirely relative to the various parts of the earth. And in this the\nexpressions of our poet are equally applicable to the Ptolemaic and\nCopernican systems. The ancient hypothesis which made our earth the\ncentre of the universe, is the system adopted by Camo\u00ebns, a happiness,\nin the opinion of the translator, to the English Lusiad. The new system\nis so well known, that a poetical description of it would have been no\nnovelty to the English reader. The other has not only that advantage in\nits favour: but this description is perhaps the finest and fullest that\never was given of it in poetry, that of Lucretius, l. v. being chiefly\nargumentative, and therefore less picturesque.\n\nOur author studied at the university of Coimbra, where the ancient\nsystem and other doctrines of the Aristotelians then, and long\nafterward, prevailed.\n\n[626] _He holds His loftiest state._--Called by the old philosophers and\nschool divines the sensorium of the Deity.\n\n[627] _These spheres behold._--According to the Peripatetics, the\nuniverse consisted of eleven spheres inclosed within each other; as\nFanshaw has familiarly expressed it by a simile which he has lent our\nauthor. The first of these spheres, he says--\n\n                  \"Doth (_as in a nest\n    Of boxes_) all the other orbs comprise.\"\n\nIn their accounts of this first-mentioned, but eleventh, sphere, which\nthey called the Empyrean, or heaven of the blest, the disciples of\nAristotle, and the Arab Moors, gave loose to all the warmth of\nimagination. And several of the Christian fathers applied to it the\ndescriptions of heaven which are found in the Holy Scripture.\n\n[628] _Hence motion darts its force._--This is the tenth sphere, the\n_Primum Mobile_ of the ancient system. To account for the appearances of\nthe heavens, the Peripatetics ascribed a double motion to it. While its\ninfluence drew the other orbs from east to west, they supposed it had a\nmotion of its own from west to east. To effect this, the ponderous\nweight and interposition of the ninth sphere, or crystalline heaven, was\nnecessary. The ancient astronomers observed that the stars shifted their\nplaces. This they called the motion of the crystalline heaven, expressed\nby our poet at the rate of one pace during two hundred solar years. The\nfamous Arab astronomer, Abulhasan, in his Meadows of Gold, calculates\nthe revolution of this sphere to consist of 49,000 of our years. But\nmodern discoveries have not only corrected the calculation,{*} but have\nalso ascertained the reason of the apparent motion of the fixed stars.\nThe earth is not a perfect sphere; the quantity of matter is greater at\nthe equator; hence the earth turns on her axis in a rocking motion,\nrevolving round the axis of the ecliptic, which is called the procession\nof the equinoxes, and makes the stars seem to shift their places at\nabout the rate of a degree in 72 years; according to which all the stars\nseem to perform one revolution in the space of 25,920 years, after which\nthey return exactly to the same situation as at the beginning of this\nperiod. However imperfect in their calculations, the Chaldean\nastronomers perceived that the motions of the heavens composed one great\nrevolution. This they called the _annus magnus_, which those who did not\nunderstand them mistook for a restoration of all things to their first\noriginals.\n\n{*} However deficient the astronomy of Abulhasan may be, it is nothing\nto the calculation of his prophet Mohammed, who tells his disciples,\nthat the stars were each about the bigness of a house, and hung from the\nsky on chains of gold.\n\n[629] _And binds the starry sphere._--This was called the firmament, or\neighth heaven. Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, Apollo, Venus, Mercury, and Diana,\nwere the planets which gave name to, and whose orbits composed, the\nother spheres or heavens.\n\n[630] _In shining frost the Northern Chariot rides._--Commonly called\nCharles' Wain. Andromeda was the daughter of Cepheus, king of Ethiopia,\nand of Cassiope. Cassiope boasted that she and her daughter were more\nbeautiful than Juno and the Nereids. Andromeda, to appease the goddess,\nwas, at her father's command, chained to a rock to be devoured by a sea\nmonster, but was saved by Perseus, who obtained of Jupiter that all the\nfamily should be placed among the stars. Orion was a hunter, who, for an\nattempt on Diana, was stung to death by a serpent. The star of his name\nportends tempests. The Dogs; fable gives this honour to those of\ndifferent hunters. The faithful dog of Erigone, however, that died mad\nwith grief for the death of his mistress, has the best title to preside\nover the dog-days. The Swan; whose form Jupiter borrowed to enjoy Leda.\nThe Hare, when pursued by Orion, was saved by Mercury, and placed in\nheaven, to signify that Mercury presides over melancholy dispositions.\nThe Lyre, with which Orpheus charmed Pluto. The Dragon which guarded the\ngolden apples of the Hesperides, and the ship Argo complete the number\nof the constellations mentioned by Camo\u00ebns. If our author has blended\nthe appearances of heaven with those of the painted artificial sphere,\nit is in the manner of the classics. Ovid, in particular, thus describes\nthe heavens, in the second book of his Metamorphoses.\n\n[631] _Such are their laws impress'd by God's dread will._--Though a\nmodern narrative of gallant adventures by no means requires the\nsupposition of a particular Providence, that supposition, however, is\nabsolutely necessary to the grandeur of an epic poem. The great examples\nof Homer and Virgil prove it; and Camo\u00ebns understood and felt its force.\nWhile his fleet combat all the horrors of unploughed oceans, we do not\nview his heroes as idle wanderers; the care of heaven gives their voyage\nthe greatest importance. When GAMA falls on his knees and spreads his\nhands to heaven on the discovery of India, we are presented with a\nfigure infinitely more noble than that of the most successful conqueror\nwho is supposed to act under the influence of fatalism or chance. The\nhuman mind is conscious of its own weakness. It expects an elevation in\npoetry, and demands a degree of importance superior to the caprices of\nunmeaning accident. The poetical reader cannot admire the hero who is\nsubject to such blind fortuity. He appears to us with an abject,\nuninteresting littleness. Our poetical ideas of permanent greatness\ndemand a GAMA, a hero whose enterprises and whose person interest the\ncare of Heaven and the happiness of his people. Nor must this\nsupposition be confined merely to the machinery. The reason why it\npleases, also requires, that the supposition should be uniform\nthroughout the whole poem. Virgil, by dismissing Eneas through the ivory\ngate of Elysium, has hinted that all his pictures of a future state were\nmerely dreams, and has thus destroyed the highest merit of the\ncompliment to his patron Augustus. But Camo\u00ebns has certainly been more\nhappy. A fair opportunity offered itself to indulge the opinions of\nLucretius and the Academic Grove; but Camo\u00ebns, in ascribing the\ngovernment of the universe to the will of God, has not only preserved\nthe philosophy of his poem perfectly uniform, but has also shown that\nthe Peripatetic system is, in this instance, exactly conformable to the\nNewtonian.\n\nThough the Author of nature has placed man in a state of moral agency,\nand made his happiness and misery to depend upon it, and though every\npage of human history is stained with the tears of injured innocence and\nthe triumphs of guilt, with miseries which must affect a moral, or\nthinking being, yet we have been told, that God perceiveth it not, and\nthat what mortals call moral evil vanishes from before His more perfect\nsight. Thus the appeal of injured innocence, and the tear of bleeding\nvirtue fall unregarded, unworthy of the attention of the Deity.{*} Yet,\nwith what raptures do these philosophers behold the infinite wisdom and\ncare of Beelzebub, their god of flies, in the admirable and various\nprovision he has made for the preservation of the eggs of vermin, and\nthe generation of maggots.{**}\n\nMuch more might be said in proof that our poet's philosophy does not\naltogether deserve ridicule. And those who allow a general, but deny a\nparticular providence, will, it is hoped, excuse Camo\u00ebns, on the\nconsideration, that if we estimate a general moral providence by analogy\nof that providence which presides over vegetable and animal nature, a\nmore particular one cannot possibly be wanted. If a particular\nprovidence, however, is still denied, another consideration obtrudes\nitself; if one pang of a moral agent is unregarded, one tear of injured\ninnocence left to fall unpitied by the Deity, if _Ludit in humanis\nDivina potentia rebus_, the consequence is, that the human conception\ncan form an idea of a much better God. And it may modestly be presumed\nwe may hazard the laugh of the wisest philosopher, and without scruple\nassert, that it is impossible that a created mind should conceive an\nidea of perfection superior to that which is possessed by the Creator\nand Author of existence.\n\n{*} Perhaps, like Lucretius, some philosophers think this would be too\nmuch trouble to the Deity. But the idea of trouble to the Divine Nature,\nis much the same as another argument of the same philosopher, who having\nasserted, that before the creation the gods could not know what seed\nwould produce, from thence wisely concludes that the world was made by\nchance.\n\n{**} Ray, in his Wisdom of God in the Creation (though he did not deny a\nProvidence), has carried this extravagance to the highest pitch. \"To\ngive life,\" says he, \"is the intention of the creation; and how\nwonderful does the goodness of God appear in this, that the death and\nputrefaction of one animal is the life of thousands.\" So, the misery of\na family on the death of a parent is nothing, for ten thousand maggots\nare made happy by it.--O Philosophy, when wilt thou forget the dreams of\nthy slumbers in Bedlam!\n\n[632] _Here Christian Europe.--V\u00e8s Europa Christian._--As Europe is\nalready described in the third Lusiad, this short account of it has as\ngreat propriety, as the manner of it contains dignity.\n\n[633] _Afric behold._--This just and strongly picturesque description of\nAfrica is finely contrasted with the character of Europe. It contains\nalso a masterly compliment to the expedition of GAMA, which is all along\nrepresented as the harbinger and diffuser of the blessings of\ncivilization.\n\n[634] _Gonsalo's zeal shall glow._--Gonsalo de Sylveyra, a Portuguese\nJesuit, in 1555, sailed from Lisbon on a mission to Monomotapa. His\nlabours were at first successful; but ere he effected any regular\nestablishment he was murdered by the barbarians.--CASTERA.\n\n[635] _Great Naya, too._--Don Pedro de Naya.... In 1505 he erected a\nfort in the kingdom of Sofala, which is subject to Monomotapa. Six\nthousand Moors and Caffres laid siege to this garrison, which he\ndefended with only thirty-five men. After having several times suffered\nby unexpected sallies, the barbarians fled, exclaiming to their king\nthat he had led them to fight against God.--CASTERA.\n\n[636] _In Abyssinia Heav'n's own altars blaze._--Christianity was\nplanted here in the first century, but mixed with many Jewish rites\nunused by other Christians of the East. This appears to give some\ncountenance to the pretensions of their emperors, who claim their\ndescent from Solomon and the Queen of Sheba, and at least reminds us of\nActs viii. 27, where we are told, that the treasurer of the Queen of\nEthiopia came to worship at Jerusalem. Numerous monasteries, we are\ntold, are in this country. But the clergy are very ignorant, and the\nlaity gross barbarians. Much has been said of the hill Amara--\n\n    \"Where Abyssin kings their issue guard ...\n    ... by some suppos'd,\n    True Paradise, under the Ethiop line\n    By Nilus head, inclos'd with shining rock,\n    A whole day's journey high\"--MILTON;\n\nand where, according to Urreta (a Spanish Jesuit), is the library\nfounded by the Queen of Sheba, and enriched with all those writings of\nwhich we have either possession or only the names. The works of Noah,\nand the lectures on the mathematics which Abraham read in the plains of\nMamre, are here. And so many are the volumes, that 200 monks are\nemployed as librarians. It is needless to add, that Father Urreta is a\nsecond Sir John Mandevylle.\n\n[637] _Thy son, brave Gama._--When Don Stephen de Gama was governor of\nIndia, the Christian Emperor and Empress-mother of Ethiopia solicited\nthe assistance of the Portuguese against the usurpations of the pagan\nKing of Zeyla. Don Stephen sent his brother, Don Christoval with 500\nmen. The prodigies of their valour astonished the Ethiopians. But after\nhaving twice defeated the tyrant, and reduced his great army to the last\nextremity, Don Christoval, urged too far by the impetuosity of his\nyouthful valour, was taken prisoner. He was brought before the usurper,\nand put to death in the most cruel manner. Waxed threads were twisted\nwith his beard and afterwards set on fire. He was then dipped in boiling\nwax, and at last beheaded by the hand of the tyrant. The Portuguese\nesteem him a martyr, and say that his torments and death were inflicted\nbecause he would not renounce the faith.--See Faria y Sousa.\n\n[638] Infidel, pagan.\n\n[639] _Before the virgin-martyr's tomb._--He must be a dull reader\nindeed who cannot perceive and relish the amazing variety which prevails\nin our poet. In the historical narrative of wars, where it is most\nnecessary, yet from the sameness of the subject, most difficult, to\nattain, our author always attains it with the most graceful ease. In the\ndescription of countries he not only follows the manner of Homer and\nVirgil, not only distinguishes each region by its most striking\ncharacteristic, but also diversifies his geography with other incidents\nintroduced by the mention of the place. St. Catherine, virgin and\nmartyr, according to Romish histories, was buried on Mount Sinai, and a\nchapel was erected over her grave. It is now the Monastery of St.\nCatherine.--_Ed._\n\n[640] The crescent, the sign of Turkish supremacy.--_Ed._\n\n[641] _De Branco's sword._--Don Pedro de Castel-Branco. He obtained a\ngreat victory, near Ormuz, over the combined fleets of the Moors, Turks,\nand Persians.\n\n[642] _There Barem's isle._--The island of Bahrein is situated in the\nPersian Gulf. It is celebrated for the plenty, variety, and fineness of\nits diamonds.\n\n[643] _Her warrior sons disdain the arms of fire._--This was the\ncharacter of the Persians when GAMA arrived in the East. Yet, though\nthey thought it dishonourable to use the musket, they esteemed it no\ndisgrace to rush from a thicket on an unarmed foe. This reminds one of\nthe spirit of the old romance. Orlando having taken the first invented\ncannon from the King of Friza, throws it into the sea with the most\nheroic execrations. Yet the heroes of chivalry think it no disgrace to\ntake every advantage afforded by invulnerable hides and enchanted\narmour.\n\n[644]\n\n    _There Gerum's isle the hoary ruin wears\n    Where Time has trod.--_\n\nPresuming on the ruins which are found on this island, the natives\npretend that the Armuzia of Pliny and Strabo was here situated. But this\nis a mistake, for that city stood on the continent. The Moors, however,\nhave built a city in this isle, which they call by the ancient name.\n\n[645] _He who first shall crown thy labours, Gama._--Pedro de Cabral, of\nwhom see the preface.\n\n[646] Ceylon.\n\n[647] _Some Macon's orgies._--Macon, a name of Mecca, the birthplace of\nMohammed.\n\n[648] _The tomb where Thomas sleeps._--There is (to talk in the Indian\nstyle) _a caste_ of gentlemen, whose hearts are all impartiality and\ncandour to every religion, except one, the most moral which ever the\nworld heard of. A tale of a Brahmin, or a priest of Jupiter, would to\nthem appear worthy of poetry. But to introduce an apostle---- Common\nsense, however, will prevail; and the episode of St. Thomas will appear\nto the true critic equal in dignity and propriety.\n\nTo renew and complete the labours of the apostle, the messenger of\nHeaven, is the great design of the hero of the poem, and of the future\nmissions, in consequence of the discoveries which are the subject of it.\n\nThe Christians of St. Thomas, found in Malabar on the arrival of GAMA,\nwe have already mentioned. The Jesuit missionaries have given most\npompous accounts of the Christian antiquities of India and China. When\nthe Portuguese arrived in India, the head of the Malabar Christians,\nnamed Jacob, styled himself Metropolitan of India and China. And a\nSyriac breviary{*} of the Indian Christians offers praise to God for\nsending St. Thomas to India and China. In 1625, in digging for a\nfoundation near Sigansu, metropolis of the province of Xensi, was found\na stone with a cross on it, full of Chinese, and some Syriac characters,\ncontaining the names of bishops, and an account of the Christian\nreligion, \"that it was brought from Judea; that having been weakened, it\nwas renewed under the reign of the great Tam\" (cir. A.D. 630). But the\nChristians, say the Jesuits, siding with the Tartars, cir. A.D. 1200,\nwere extirpated by the Chinese. In 1543, Fernand Pinto, observing some\nruins near Peking, was told by the people, that 200 years before, a holy\nman who worshipped Jesus Christ, born of a virgin, lived there; and\nbeing murdered, was thrown into a river, but his body would not sink;\nand soon after the city was destroyed by an earthquake. The same Jesuit\nfound people at Caminam who knew the doctrines of Christianity, which\nthey said were preached to their fathers, by John, the disciple of\nThomas. In 1635, some heathens, by night passing through a village in\nthe province of Fokien, saw some stones which emitted light, under which\nwere found the figure of crosses. From China, St. Thomas returned to\nMeliapore in Malabar, at a time when a prodigious beam of timber floated\non the sea near the coast. The king endeavoured to bring it ashore, but\nall the force of men and elephants was in vain. St. Thomas desired leave\nto build a church with it, and immediately dragged it to shore with a\nsingle thread. A church was built, and the king baptized. This enraged\nthe Brahmins, the chief of whom killed his own son, and accused Thomas\nof the murder. But the saint, by restoring the youth to life, discovered\nthe wickedness of his enemies. He was afterwards killed by a lance while\nkneeling at the altar; after, according to tradition, he had built 3300\nstately churches, many of which were rebuilt, cir. 800, by an Armenian\nnamed Thomas Cananeus. In 1533, the body of the apostle, with the head\nof the lance beside him, was found in his church by D. Duarte de\nMeneses; and in 1558 was, by D. Constantine de Braganza, removed to Goa.\nTo these accounts, selected from Faria y Sousa, let two from Osorius be\nadded. When Martin Alonzo de Souza was viceroy, some brazen tables were\nbrought to him, inscribed with unusual characters, which were explained\nby a learned Jew, and imported that St. Thomas had built a church at\nMeliapore. And by an account sent to Cardinal Henrico, by the Bishop of\nCochin, in 1562, when the Portuguese repaired the ancient chapel of St.\nThomas,{**} there was found a stone cross with several characters on it,\nwhich the best antiquarians could not interpret, till at last a Brahmin\ntranslated it, \"That in the reign of Sagam, Thomas was sent by the Son\nof God, whose disciple he was, to teach the law of heaven in India; that\nhe built a church, and was killed by a Brahmin at the altar.\"\n\n{*} The existence of this breviary is a certain fact. These Christians\nhad the Scripture also in the Syriac language.\n\n{**} This was a very ancient building, in the very first style of\nChristian churches. The Portuguese have now disfigured it with their\nrepairs and new buildings.\n\nA view of Portuguese Asia, which must include the labours of the\nJesuits, forms a necessary part in the comment on the Lusiad: this note,\ntherefore, and some obvious reflections upon it, are in place. It is as\neasy to bury an inscription and find it again, as it is to invent a\nsilly tale; but, though suspicion of fraud on the one hand, and silly\nabsurdity on the other, lead us to despise the authority of the Jesuits,\nyet one fact remains indisputable. Christianity had been much better\nknown in the East, several centuries before, than it was at the arrival\nof GAMA. Where the name was unknown, and where the Jesuits were\nunconcerned, crosses were found. The long existence of the Christians of\nSt. Thomas in the midst of a vast pagan empire, proves that the learned\nof that kingdom must have some knowledge of their doctrines. And these\nfacts give countenance to some material conjectures concerning the\nreligion of the Brahmins.\n\n[649] _When now the chief who wore the triple thread._--Of this, thus\nOsorius: \"_Terna fila ab humero dextero in latus finistrum gerunt, ut\ndesignent trinam in natura divina rationem._--They (the Brahmins) wear\nthree threads, which reach from the right shoulder to the left side, as\nsignificant of the trinal distinction in the Divine Nature.\" That some\nsects of the Brahmins wear a symbolical tessera of three threads is\nacknowledged on all hands; but, from whatever the custom arose, it is\nnot to be supposed that the Brahmins, who have thousands of ridiculous\ncontradictory legends, should agree in their accounts or explanations of\nit. They have various accounts of a Divine Person having assumed human\nnature. And the god Brahma, as observed by Cudworth, is generally\nmentioned as united in the government of the universe with two others,\nsometimes of different names. They have also images with three heads\nrising out of one body, which they say represent the Divine Nature.{*}\nBut are there any traces of these opinions in the accounts which the\nGreek and Roman writers have given us of the Brahmins? And will the wise\npay any credit to the authority of those books which the public never\nsaw, and which, by the obligation of their keepers, they are never to\nsee; and some of which, by the confession of their keepers, since the\nappearance of Mohammed, have been rejected? The Platonic idea of a\ntrinity of divine attributes was well known to the ancients, yet perhaps\nthe Athanasian controversy offers a fairer field to the conjecturist.\nThat controversy for several ages engrossed the conversation of the\nEast. All the subtilty of the Greeks was called forth, and no\nspeculative contest was ever more universally or warmly disputed; so\nwarmly, that it is a certain fact that Mohammed, by inserting into his\nKoran some declarations in favour of the Arians, gained innumerable\nproselytes to his new religion. Abyssinia, Egypt, Syria, Persia, and\nArmenia were perplexed with this unhappy dispute, and from the earliest\ntimes these countries have had a commercial intercourse with India. The\nnumber, blasphemy, and absurdity of the Jewish legends of the Talmud and\nTargums, bear a striking resemblance to the holy legends of the\nBrahmins. The Jews also assert the great antiquity of their Talmudical\nlegends. Adam, Enoch, and Noah are named among their authors; but we\nknow their date; Jerusalem, ere their birth, was destroyed by Titus. We\nalso know, that the accounts which the Greek writers give of the\nBrahmins fall infinitely short of those extravagances which are\nconfessed even by their modern admirers. And Mohammedanism does not\ndiffer from Christianity, more than the account which even these\ngentlemen give, does from that of Porphyry. That laborious philosopher,\nthough possessed of all the knowledge of his age, though he mentions\ntheir metempsychosis and penances, has not a word of any of their idols,\nor the legends of Brahma or his brothers. On the contrary, he represents\ntheir worship as extremely pure and simple. Strabo's account of them is\nsimilar. And Eusebius has assured us they worshipped no images.{**} Yet,\non the arrival of the modern Europeans in India, innumerable were their\nidols; and all the superstition of ancient Egypt, in the adoration of\nanimals and vegetables, seemed more than revived by the Brahmins. Who\nthat considers this striking alteration in their features, can withhold\nhis contempt when he is told of the religious care with which these\nphilosophers have these four thousand years preserved their sacred\nrites.\n\n{*} To these undoubted facts the author will not add the authority of a\nXavier, who tells us, that he prevailed upon a Brahmin to explain to him\nsome part of their hidden religion; when to his surprise, the Indian, in\na low voice, repeated the Ten Commandments.\n\n{**} ... [Greek: chiliades pollai t\u00f4n legomen\u00f4n Brachman\u00f4n, hoitines\nkata paradison t\u00f4n progon\u00f4n kai nom\u00f4n, oute phoneuousin, OUTE XOANA\nSEBONTAI].--EUSEB. Prep. Evan. lib. 6, c. 10, p. 275. Ed. Paris, 1628.\n\n[650] _Thee, Thomas, thee, the plaintive Ganges mourn'd._--The\nversification of the original is here exceedingly fine. Even those who\nare unacquainted with the Portuguese may perceive it.\n\n    \"Chorara\u00f3te Thom\u00e9, o Gange, o Indo,\n    Choroute toda a terra, que pizaste;\n    Mas mais te chor\u00e1o as almas, que vestindo\n    Se hi\u00e1o d\u00e0 Santa F\u00ea, que lhe ensinaste;\n    Mas os anjos do ceo cantando, & rindo,\n    Te recebem na gloria que ganhaste.\"\n\n\n[651] _Like him, ye Lusians, simplest Truth pursue._--It is now time to\nsum up what has been said of the labours of the Jesuits. Diametrically\nopposite to this advice was their conduct in every Asiatic country where\nthey pretended to propagate the gospel. Sometimes we find an individual\nsincere and pious, but the great principle which always actuated them as\na united body was the lust of power and secular emolument, the\npossession of which they thought could not be better secured than by\nrendering themselves of the utmost importance to the see of Rome. In\nconsequence of these principles, wherever they came their first care was\nto find what were the great objects of the fear and adoration of the\npeople. If the sun was esteemed the giver of life, Jesus Christ was the\nSon of that luminary, and they were his younger brethren, sent to\ninstruct the ignorant. If the barbarians were in dread of evil spirits,\nJesus Christ came on purpose to banish them from the world, had driven\nthem from Europe,{*} and the Jesuits were sent to the East to complete\nhis unfinished mission. If the Indian converts still retained a\nveneration for the powder of burned cow-dung, the Jesuits made the sign\nof the cross over it, and the Indian besmeared himself with it as usual.\nHeaven, or universal matter, they told the Chinese, was the God of the\nChristians, and the sacrifices of Confucius were solemnized in the\nchurches of the Jesuits. This worship of Confucius, Voltaire, with his\nwonted accuracy, denies. But he ought to have known that this, with the\nworship of _tien_, or heaven, had been long complained of at the court\nof Rome (see Dupin), and that after the strictest scrutiny the charge\nwas fully proved, and Clement XI., in 1703, sent Cardinal Tournon to the\nsmall remains of the Jesuits in the East with a papal decree to reform\nthese abuses. But the cardinal, soon after his arrival, was poisoned in\nSiam by the holy fathers. Xavier, and the other Jesuits who succeeded\nhim, by the dexterous use of the great maxims of their master Loyola,\n_Omnibus omnia, et omnia munda mundis_, gained innumerable proselytes.\nThey contradicted none of the favourite opinions of their converts, they\nonly baptized, and gave them crucifixes to worship, and all was well.\nBut their zeal in uniting to the see of Rome the Christians found in the\nEast descended to the minutest particulars. And the native Christians of\nMalabar were so violently persecuted as heretics that the heathen\nprinces took arms in their defence in 1570 (see Geddes, Hist. Malabar),\nand the Portuguese were almost driven from India. Abyssinia, by the same\narts, was steeped in blood, and two or three Abyssinian emperors lost\ntheir lives in endeavouring to establish the pope's supremacy. An order\nat last was given from the throne to hang every missionary, without\ntrial, wherever apprehended, the emperor himself complaining that he\ncould not enjoy a day in quiet for the intrigues of the Romish friars.\nIn China, also, they soon rendered themselves insufferable. Their skill\nin mathematics and the arts introduced them to great favour at court,\nbut all their cunning could not conceal their villainy. Their\nunwillingness to ordain the natives raised suspicions against a\nprofession thus monopolized by strangers; their earnest zeal in amassing\nriches, and their interference with, and deep designs on, secular power\n(the fatal rock on which they have so often been shipwrecked), appeared,\nand their churches were levelled with the ground. About 90,000 of the\nnew converts, together with their teachers, were massacred, and their\nreligion was prohibited. In Japan the rage of government even exceeded\nthat of China, and in allusion to their chief object of adoration, the\ncross, several of the Jesuit fathers were crucified by the Japanese, and\nthe revival of the Christian name was interdicted by the severest laws.\nThus, in a great measure, ended in the East the labours of the society\nof Ignatius Loyola, a society which might have diffused the greatest\nblessings to mankind, could honesty have been added to their great\nlearning and abilities. Had that indefatigable zeal which laboured to\npromote the interests of their own brotherhood and the Roman see been\nemployed in the real interests of humanity and civilization, the great\ndesign of diffusing the law of Heaven, challenged by its author as the\npurpose of the Lusiad, would have been amply completed, and the remotest\nhordes of Tartary and Africa ere now had been happily civilized. But\nthough the Jesuits have failed, they have afforded a noble lesson to\nmankind.\n\n    \"Though fortified with all the brazen mounds\n    That art can rear, and watch'd by eagle eyes,\n    Still will some rotten part betray the structure\n    That is not bas'd on simple honesty.\"\n\n{*} This trick, it is said, has been played in America within these\ntwenty years, where the notion of evil spirits gives the poor Indians\ntheir greatest misery. The French Jesuits told the Six Nations, that\nJesus Christ was a Frenchman, and had driven all evil demons from\nFrance; that he had a great love for the Indians, whom he intended also\nto deliver, but taking England in his way, he was crucified by the\nwicked Londoners.\n\n[652] _The dying._--The innumerable superstitions performed on the banks\nof the river Ganges, afford a pitiable picture of the weakness of\nhumanity. The circumstances here mentioned are literally true. It is no\nuncommon scene for the English ships to be surrounded with the corpses\nwhich come floating down this hallowed stream.\n\n[653]\n\n    _Pegu, whose sons (so held old faith) confess'd\n    A dog their sire.--_\n\nThe tradition of this country boasted this infamous and impossible\noriginal. While other nations pretend to be descended of demi-gods, the\nPeguans were contented to trace their pedigree from a Chinese woman and\na dog; the only living creatures which survived a shipwreck on their\ncoast.--See Faria.\n\n[654] _A pious queen their horrid rage restrain'd._--Thus in the\noriginal:\n\n    \"Aqui soante arame no instrumento\n    Da g\u00e9ra\u00e7\u00e1o costum\u00e1o, o que usar\u00e1o\n    Por manha da Raynha, que inventando\n    Tal uso, deitou f\u00f3ra o error nefando.\"\n\n\n[655] _And 'mid white whirlpools down the ocean driven._--See the same\naccount of Sicily, Virg. \u00c6n. iii.\n\n[656] _Ophir its Tyrian name._--Sumatra has been by some esteemed the\nOphir of the Holy Scriptures; but the superior fineness of the gold of\nSofala, and its situation, favour the claim of that Ethiopian isle.--See\nBochart. Geog. Sacr.\n\n[657] _And thousands more._--The extensive countries between India and\nChina, where Ptolemy places his man-eaters, and where Mandevylle found\n\"men without heads, who saw and spoke through holes in their breasts,\"\ncontinues still very imperfectly known. The Jesuits have told many\nextravagant lies of the wealth of these provinces. By the most authentic\naccounts they seem to have been peopled by colonies from China. The\nreligion and manufactures of the Siamese, in particular, confess the\nresemblance. In some districts, however, they have greatly degenerated\nfrom the civilization of the mother country.\n\n[658] _And gnaw the reeking limbs._--Much has been said on this subject,\nsome denying and others asserting the existence of anthropophagi or\nman-eaters. Porphyry (de Abstin. i. 4 \u00a7 21{*}) says that the Massaget\u00e6\nand Derbices (people of north-eastern Asia), esteeming those most\nmiserable who died of sickness, when their parents and relations grew\nold, killed and ate them, holding it more honourable thus to consume\nthem than that they should be destroyed by vermin. St. Jerome has\nadopted this word for word, and has added to it an authority of his own:\n\"Quid loquar,\" says he, (Adv. Jov. l. 2, c. 6), \"de c\u00e6teris nationibus;\ncum ipse adolescentulus in Gallia viderim Scotos, gentem Britannicam,\nhumanis vesci carnibus, et cum per sylvas porcorum greges et armentorum,\npecudumque reperiant, pastorum nates, et f\u00e6minarum papillas solere\nabscindere, et has solas ciborum delicias arbitrari?\" Mandevylle ought\nnext to be cited. \"Aftirwarde men gon be many yles be see unto a yle\nthat men clepen Milhe: there is a full cursed peple: thei delyten in ne\nthing more than to fighten and to fie men, and to drynken gladlyest\nmannes blood, which they clepen Dieu.\"--P. 235. Yet, whatever absurdity\nmay appear on the face of these tales; and what can be more absurd than\nto suppose that a few wild Scots or Irish (for the name was then proper\nto Ireland), should so lord it in Gaul, as to eat the breasts of the\nwomen and the hips of the shepherds? Yet, whatever absurdities our\nMandevylles may have obtruded on the public, the evidence of the fact is\nnot thereby wholly destroyed. Though Dampier and other visitors of\nbarbarous nations have assured us that they never met with any\nman-eaters, and though Voltaire has ridiculed the opinion, yet one may\nventure the assertion of their existence, without partaking of a\ncredulity similar to that of those foreigners, who believed that the men\nof Kent were born with tails like sheep (see Lambert's Peramb.), the\npunishment inflicted upon them for the murder of Thomas \u00e0 Becket. Many\nare the credible accounts, that different barbarous nations used to eat\ntheir prisoners of war. According to the authentic testimony of the best\nPortuguese writers, the natives of Brazil, on their high festivals,\nbrought forth their captives, and after many barbarous ceremonies, at\nlast roasted and greedily devoured their mangled limbs. During his\ntorture the unhappy victim prided himself in his manly courage,\nupbraiding their want of skill in the art of tormenting, and telling his\nmurderers that his belly had been the grave of many of their relations.\nThus the fact was certain long before a late voyage discovered the\nhorrid practice in New Zealand. To drink human blood has been more\ncommon. The Gauls and other ancient nations practised it. When\nMagalhaens proposed Christianity to the King of Subo, a north-eastern\nAsiatic island, and when Francis de Castro discovered Santigana and\nother islands, a hundred leagues north of the Moluccas, the conversion\nof their kings was confirmed by each party drinking of the blood of the\nother. Our poet Spenser tells us, in his View of the State of Ireland,\nthat he has seen the Irish drink human blood, particularly, he adds, \"at\nthe execution of a notable traitor at Limerick, called Murrogh O'Brien,\nI saw an old woman, who was his foster-mother, take up his head whilst\nhe was quartering and suck up all the blood that run thereout, saying,\nthat the earth was not worthy to drink it, and therewith also steeped\nher face and breast and tore her hair, crying out and shrieking most\nterribly.\" It is worthy of regard that the custom of marking themselves\nwith hot irons, and tattooing, is characteristic both of the Guios of\nCamo\u00ebns and of the present inhabitants of New Zealand. And if, as its\nanimals indicate, the island of Otaheite was first peopled by a\nshipwreck, the friendship existing in a small society might easily\nobliterate the memory of one custom, while the less unfriendly one of\ntattooing was handed down, a memorial that they owed their origin to the\nnorth-eastern parts of Asia, where that custom particularly prevails.\n\n{*} [Greek: Istorountai goun Massagetai kai Derbykes hathli\u00f4tatous\nh\u00eageisthai t\u00f4n hoikei\u00f4n tous automatons teleut\u00easantas; dio kai\nphthasantes katathyousin kai esti\u00f4ntai t\u00f4n philtat\u00f4n tous geg\u00earakotas.]\n\n[659] _Other worlds the souls of beasts receive._--That Queen Elizabeth\nreigned in England, is not more certain than that the most ignorant\nnations in all ages have had the idea of a state after death. The same\nfaculty which is conscious of existence whispers the wish for it; and,\nso little acquainted with the deductions of reasoning have some tribes\nbeen, that not only their animals, but even the ghosts of their domestic\nutensils have been believed to accompany them to the islands of the\nblessed. Long ere the voice of philosophy was heard, the opinion of an\nafter state was popular in Greece. The works of Homer bear incontestable\nevidence of this. And there is not a feature in the history of the human\nmind better ascertained, than that no sooner did speculation seize upon\nthe topic, than belief declined, and, as the great Bacon observes, the\nmost learned, became the most atheistical ages. The reason of this is\nobvious. While the human mind is all simplicity, popular opinion is\ncordially received; but, when reasoning begins, proof is expected, and\ndeficiency of demonstration being perceived, doubt and disbelief\nnaturally follow. Yet, strange as it may appear, if the writer's memory\ndoes not greatly deceive him, these certain facts were denied by Hobbes.\nIf he is not greatly mistaken, that gentleman, who gave a wretched, a\nmost unpoetical translation of Homer, has so grossly misunderstood his\nauthor, as to assert that his mention of a future state was not in\nconformity to the popular opinion of his age, but only his own poetical\nfiction. He might as well have assured us, that the sacrifices of Homer\nhad never any existence in Greece. But, as no absurdity is too gross for\nsome geniuses, our murderer of Homer, our Hobbes, has likewise asserted,\nthat the belief of the immortality of the human soul was the child of\npride and speculation, unknown in Greece till long after the appearance\nof the Iliad.\n\n[660] _Oh gentle Mecon._--It was on the coast of Cochin-China, at the\nmouth of this river, the Maekhaun, or Camboja of modern writers, that\nCamo\u00ebns suffered the unhappy shipwreck which rendered him the sport of\nfortune during the remainder of his life. The literal rendering of the\nPortuguese, which Mickle claims the liberty of improving, is, \"On his\ngentle, hospitable bosom shall he receive the song, wet from woful,\nunhappy shipwreck, escaped from destroying tempests, from ravenous\ndangers, the effect of the unjust sentence upon him whose lyre shall be\nmore renowned than enriched.\"--_Ed._\n\n[661] _Here ere the cannon's rage in Europe roar'd._--According to Le\nComte's memoirs of China, and those of other travellers, the mariner's\ncompass, fire-arms, and printing were known in that empire, long ere the\ninvention of these arts in Europe. But the accounts of Du Halde, Le\nComte, and the other Jesuits, are by no means to be depended on. It was\ntheir interest (in order to gain credit in Europe and at the court of\nRome) to magnify the splendour of the empire where their mission lay,\nand they have magnified it into romance itself. It is pretended, that\nthe Chinese used fire-arms in their wars with Zenghis Khan, and\nTamerlane; but it is also said that the Sogdians used cannon against\nAlexander. The mention of any sulphurous composition in an old writer\nis, with some, immediately converted into a regular tire of artillery.\nThe Chinese, indeed, on the first arrival of Europeans, had a kind of\nmortars, which they called fire-pans, but they were utter strangers to\nthe smaller fire-arms. Verbiest, a Jesuit, was the first who taught them\nto make brass cannon, set upon wheels. And, even so late as the hostile\nmenace which Anson gave them, they knew not how to level, or manage,\ntheir ordnance to any advantage. Their printing is, indeed, much more\nancient than that of Europe, but it does not deserve the same name, the\nblocks of wood with which they stamp their sheets being as inferior to\nas they are different from the movable types of Europe. The Chinese have\nno idea of the graces of fine writing; here, most probably, the fault\nexists in their language; but the total want of nature in their\npainting, and of symmetry in their architecture, in both of which they\nhave so long been experienced, afford a heavy accusation against their\ngenius. But, in planning gardens, and in the art of beautifying the face\nof their country, they are unequalled. Yet, even in their boasted\ngardening their genius stands accused. The art of ingrafting, so long\nknown to Europe, is still unknown to them. And hence their fruits are\nvastly inferior in flavour to those of the western world. The amazing\nwall of defence against the Tartars, though 1500 miles in extent, is a\nlabour inferior to the canals, lined on the sides with hewn stone, which\neverywhere enrich, and adorn their country; some of which reach 1000\nmiles, and are of depth to carry vessels of burthen. These grand remains\nof antiquity prove that there was a time when the Chinese were a much\nmore accomplished people than at present. Though their princes for many\ncenturies have discovered no such efforts of genius as these, the\nindustry of the people still remains, in which they rival, and resemble,\nthe Dutch. In every other respect they are the most unamiable of\nmankind. Amazingly uninventive, for, though possessed of them, the arts\nhave made no progress among the Chinese these many centuries: even what\nthey were taught by the Jesuits is almost lost. So false in their\ndealings, they boast that none but a Chinese can cheat a Chinese. The\ncrime which disgraces human nature, is in this nation of atheists, and\nmost stupid of all idolaters, common as _that charter'd libertine, the\nair_. Destitute, even in idea, of that elevation of soul which is\nexpressed by the best sense of the word piety, in the time of calamity\nwhole provinces are desolated by self-murder; an end, as Hume says, of\nsome of the admired names of antiquity, not unworthy of so detestable a\ncharacter. And, as it is always found congenial to baseness of heart,\nthe most dastardly cowardice completes the description of that of the\nChinese.\n\nUnimproved as their arts is their learning. Though their language\nconsists of few words, it is almost impossible for a stranger to attain\nthe art of speaking it. And what a European learns ere he is seven years\nold, to read, is the labour of the life of a Chinese. In place of our 24\nletters, they have more than 60,000 marks, which compose their writings:\nand their paucity of words, all of which may be attained in a few hours,\nrequires such an infinite variety of tone and action, that the slightest\nmistake in modulation renders the speaker unintelligible. And in\naddressing a great man, in place of \"my Lord,\" you may call him a\n_beast_, the word being the some, all the difference consisting in the\ntone of it. A language like this must ever be a bar to the progress and\naccomplishments of literature. Of medicine they are very ignorant. The\nginseng, which they pretended was a universal remedy, is found to be a\nroot of no singular virtue. Their books consist of odes without poetry,\nand of moral maxims, excellent in themselves, but without investigation\nor reasoning. For, to philosophical discussion and metaphysics they seem\nutterly strangers; and, when taught mathematics by the Jesuits, their\ngreatest men were lost in astonishment. Whatever their political wisdom\nhas been, at present it is narrow and barbarous. Jealous lest strangers\nshould steal their arts--arts which are excelled at Dresden, and other\nparts of Europe--they preclude themselves from the great advantages\nwhich arise from an intercourse with civilized nations. Yet, in the laws\nwhich they impose on every foreign ship which enters their ports for\ntraffic, they even exceed the cunning and avarice of the Dutch. In their\ninternal policy the military government of Rome under the emperors is\nrevived, with accumulated barbarism. In every city and province the\nmilitary are the constables and peace officers. What a picture is this!\nNothing but Chinese or Dutch industry could preserve the traffic and\npopulation of a country under the control of armed ruffians. But, hence\nthe emperor has leisure to cultivate his gardens, and to write\ndespicable odes to his concubines.\n\nWhatever was their most ancient doctrine, certain it is that the\nlegislators who formed the present system of China presented to their\npeople no other object of worship than _Tien Kamti_, the material\nheavens and their influencing power; by which an intelligent principle\nis excluded. Yet, finding that the human mind in the rudest breasts is\nconscious of its weakness, and prone to believe the occurrences of life\nunder the power of lucky or unlucky observances, they permitted their\npeople the use of sacrifices to those Lucretian gods of superstitious\nfear. Nor was the principle of devotion, imprinted by Heaven in the\nhuman heart, alone perverted; another unextinguishable passion was also\nmisled. On tablets, in every family, are written the names of the last\nthree of their ancestors, added to each, \"Here rests his soul:\" and\nbefore these tablets they burn incense, and pay adoration. Confucius,\nwho, according to their histories, had been in the West about 500 years\nbefore the Christian era, appears to be only the confirmer of their old\nopinions; but the accounts of him and his doctrine are involved in\nuncertainty. In their places of worship, however, boards are act up,\ninscribed, \"This is the seat of the soul of Confucius,\" and to these,\nand their ancestors, they celebrate solemn sacrifices, without seeming\nto possess any idea of the intellectual existence of the departed soul.\nThe Jesuit Ricci, and his brethren of the Chinese mission, _very\nhonestly_ told their converts, that _Tien_ was the God of the\nChristians, and that the label of Confucius was the term by which they\nexpressed His divine majesty. But, after a long and severe scrutiny at\nthe court of Rome, Tien was found to signify nothing more than\n_heavenly_ or _universal matter_, and the Jesuits of China were ordered\nto renounce this heresy. Among all the sects who worship different idols\nin China, there is only one which has any tolerable idea of the\nimmortality of the soul; and among these, says Leland, Christianity at\npresent obtains some footing. But the most interesting particular of\nChina yet remains to be mentioned. Conscious of the obvious tendency,\nVoltaire and others have triumphed in the great antiquity of the\nChinese, and in the distant period they ascribe to the creation. But the\nbubble cannot bear the touch. If some Chinese accounts fix the era of\ncreation 40000 years ago, others are contented with no less than 884953.\nBut who knows not that every nation has its Geoffry of Monmouth? And we\nhave already observed the legends which took their rise from the Annus\nMagnus of the Chaldean and Egyptian astronomers, an apparent revolution\nof the stars, which in reality has no existence. To the fanciful who\nheld this Annus Magnus, it seemed hard to suppose that our world was in\nits first revolution of the great year, and to suppose that many were\npast was easy. And, that this was the case, we have absolute proof in\nthe doctrines of the Brahmins, who, though they talk of hundreds of\nthousands of years which are past, yet confess, that this, the fourth\nworld, has not yet attained its 6000th year. And much within this\ncompass are all the credible proofs of Chinese antiquity comprehended.\nTo three heads all three proofs are reduceable--their form of\ngovernment, which, till the conquest of the Tartars in 1644, bore the\nmarks of the highest antiquity; their astronomical observations; and\ntheir history.\n\nSimply and purely patriarchal, every father was the magistrate in his\nown family; and the emperor, who acted by his substitutes, the\nMandarins, was venerated and obeyed as the father of all. The most\npassive submission to authority thus branched out was inculcated by\nConfucius, and their other philosophers, as the greatest duty of\nmorality. But, if there is an age in sacred or profane history where the\nmanners of mankind are thus delineated, no superior antiquity is proved\nby the form of Chinese government. Their ignorance of the very ancient\nart of ingrafting fruit-trees, and the state of their language (like the\nHebrew in its paucity of words), a paucity characteristic of the ages\nwhen the ideas of men required few syllables to clothe them, prove\nnothing farther than the early separation of the Chinese colony{*} from\nthe rest of mankind; nothing farther, except that they have continued\ntill very lately without any material intercourse with the other nations\nof the world.\n\n{*} The Chinese colony! Yes, let philosophy smile; let her talk of the\ndifferent species of men which are found in every country; let her brand\nas absurd the opinion of Montesquieu, which derives all the human race\nfrom one family. Let her enjoy her triumph. Peace to her insolence,\npeace to her dreams and her reveries. But let common sense be contented\nwith the demonstration (See Whiston, Bentley, etc.) that a creation in\nevery country is not wanted, and that one family is sufficient in every\nrespect for the purpose. If philosophy will talk of black and white men\nas different in species, let common sense ask her for a demonstration,\nthat climate and manner of life cannot produce this difference; and let\nher add, that there is the strongest presumptive experimental proof that\nthe difference thus happens. If philosophy draw her inferences from the\ndifferent passions of different tribes; let common sense reply, that\nstripped of every accident of brutalization and urbanity, the human mind\nin all its faculties, all its motives, hopes and fears, is most\nwonderfully the same in every age and country. If philosophy talk of the\nimpossibility of peopling distant islands and continents from one\nfamily, let common sense tell her to read Bryant's Mythology. If\nphilosophy asserts that the Kelts wherever they came found aborigines,\nlet common sense reply, there were tyrants enough almost 2000 years\nbefore their emigrations, to drive the wretched survivors of slaughtered\nhosts to the remotest wilds. She may also add, that many islands have\nbeen found which bore not one trace of mankind, and that even Otaheite\nbears the evident marks of receiving its inhabitants from a shipwreck,\nits only animals being the hog, the dog, and the rat. In a word, let\ncommon sense say to philosophy, \"I open my egg with a pen-knife, but you\nopen yours with the blow of a sledge hammer.\"\n\nA continued succession of astronomical observations, for 4000 years, was\nclaimed by the Chinese, when they were first visited by the Europeans.\nVoltaire, that _son of truth_, has often with great triumph mentioned\nthe indubitable proofs of Chinese antiquity; but at these times he must\nhave received his information from the same dream which told him that\nCamo\u00ebns accompanied his friend GAMA in the voyage which discovered the\nEast Indies. If Voltaire and his disciples will talk of Chinese\nastronomy, and the 4000 years antiquity of its perfection, let them\nenjoy every consequence which may possibly result from it. But let them\nallow the same liberty to others. Let them allow others to draw _their_\ninferences from a few stubborn facts, facts which demonstrate the\nignorance of the Chinese in astronomy. The earth, they imagined, was a\ngreat plain, of which their country was the midst; and so ignorant were\nthey of the cause of eclipses, that they believed the sun and moon were\nassaulted, and in danger of being devoured by a huge dragon. The stars\nwere considered as the directors of human affairs, and thus their\nboasted astronomy ends in that silly imposition, judicial astrology.\nThough they had made some observations on the revolutions of the\nplanets, and though in the emperor's palace there was an observatory,\nthe first apparatus of proper instruments ever known in China was\nintroduced by Father Verbiest. After this it need scarcely be added,\nthat their astronomical observations which pretend an antiquity of 4000\nyears, are as false as a Welch genealogy, and that the Chinese\nthemselves, when instructed by the Jesuits, were obliged to own that\ntheir calculations were erroneous and impossible. The great credit and\nadmiration which their astronomical and mathematical knowledge procured\nto the Jesuits, afford an indubitable confirmation of these facts.\n\nRidiculous as their astronomical, are their historical antiquities.\nAfter all Voltaire has said of it, the oldest date to which their\nhistory pretends is not much above 4000 years. During this period 236\nkings have reigned, of 22 different families. The first king reigned 100\nyears, then we have the names of some others, but without any detail of\nactions, or that concatenation of events which distinguishes authentic\nhistory. That mark of truth does not begin to appear for upwards of 2000\nyears of the Chinese legends. Little more than the names of kings, and\nthese often interrupted with wide chasms, compose all the annals of\nChina, till about the period of the Christian era. Something like a\nhistory then commences, but that is again interrupted by a wide chasm,\nwhich the Chinese know not how to fill up otherwise, than by asserting\nthat a century or two elapsed in the time, and that at such a period a\nnew family mounted the throne. Such is the history of China, full\nbrother in every family feature to those Monkish tales, which sent a\ndaughter of Pharoah to be queen of Scotland, which sent Brutus to\nEngland, and a grandson of Noah to teach school among the mountains in\nWales.\n\n[662] _Immense the northern wastes their horrors spread._--Tartary,\nSiberia, Samoyada, Kamtchatka, etc. A short account of the Grand Lama of\nThibet Tartary shall complete our view of the superstitions of the East.\nWhile the other pagans of Asia worship the most ugly monstrous idols,\nthe Tartars of Thibet adore a real living god. He sits cross-legged on\nhis throne, in the great temple, adorned with gold and diamonds. He\nnever speaks, but sometimes elevates his hand in token that he approves\nof the prayers of his worshippers. He is a ruddy well-looking young man,\nabout 25 or 27, and is the most miserable wretch on earth, being the\nmere puppet of his priests, who dispatch him whenever age or sickness\nmake any alteration in his features; and another, instructed to act his\npart, is put in his place. Princes of very distant provinces send\ntribute to this deity and implore his blessing, and, as Voltaire has\nmerrily told us, think themselves secure of benediction if favoured with\nsomething from his godship, esteemed more sacred than the hallowed\ncow-dung of the Brahmins.\n\n[663] _How bright a silver mine._--By this beautiful metaphor (omitted\nby Castera) Camo\u00ebns alludes to the great success, which in his time\nattended the Jesuit missionaries in Japan. James I. sent an embassy to\nthe sovereign, and opened a trade with this country, but it was soon\nsuffered to decline. The Dutch are the only Europeans who now traffic\nwith the Japanese, which it is said they obtain by trampling on the\ncross and by abjuring the Christian name. In religion the Japanese are\nmuch the same as their neighbours of China. And in the frequency of\nself-murder, says Voltaire, they vie with their brother islanders of\nEngland.\n\n[664] _The ground they touch not._--These are commonly called the birds\nof Paradise. It was the old erroneous opinion that they always soared in\nthe air, and that the female hatched her young on the back of the male.\nTheir feathers bear a mixture of the most beautiful azure, purple, and\ngolden colours, which have a fine effect in the rays of the sun.\n\n[665] _From hence the pilgrim brings the wondrous tale._--Streams of\nthis kind are common in many countries. Castera attributes this quality\nto the excessive coldness of the waters, but this is a mistake. The\nwaters of some springs are impregnated with sparry particles, which\nadhering to the herbage, or the clay, on the banks of their channel,\nharden into stone, and incrust the original retainers.\n\n[666] _Here from the trees the gum._--Benzoin, a species of\nfrankincense. The oil mentioned in the next line, is that called the\nrock oil, petroleum, a black fetid mineral oil, good for bruises and\nsprains.\n\n[667] _Wide forests there beneath Maldivia's tide._--A sea plant,\nresembling the palm, grows in great abundance in the bays about the\nMaldivian islands. The boughs rise to the top of the water, and bear a\nkind of apple, called the coco of Maldivia, which is esteemed an\nantidote against poison.\n\n[668] _The tread of sainted footstep._--The imprint of a human foot is\nfound on the high mountain, called the Pic of Adam. Legendary tradition\nsays, that Adam, after he was expelled from Paradise, did penance 300\nyears on this hill, on which he left the print of his footstep. This\ntale seems to be Jewish, or Mohammedan; for the natives, according to\nCaptain Knox (who was twenty years a captive in Ceylon), pretend the\nimpression was made by the god Budha, when he ascended to heaven, after\nhaving, for the salvation of mankind, appeared on the earth. His priests\nbeg charity for the sake of Budha, whose worship they perform among\ngroves of the Bogahah-tree, under which, when on earth, they say he\nusually sat and taught.\n\n[669] _And lo, the Island of the Moon._--Madagascar is thus named by the\nnatives.\n\n[670] The kingfishers.\n\n[671] _Now to the West, by thee, great chief, is given._--The sublimity\nof this eulogy on the expedition of the Lusiad has been already\nobserved. What follows is a natural completion of the whole; and, the\ndigressive exclamation at the end excepted, is exactly similar to the\nmanner in which Homer has concluded the Iliad.\n\n[672] _Near either pole._--We are now presented with a beautiful view of\nthe American world. Columbus discovered the West Indies before, but not\nthe continent till 1498--the year after GAMA sailed from Lisbon.\n\n[673] _The first bold hero._--Cabral, the first after GAMA who sailed to\nIndia, was driven by tempest to the Brazils, a proof that more ancient\nvoyagers might have met with the same fate. He named the country Santa\nCruz, or Holy Cross; it was afterwards named Brazil, from the colour of\nthe wood with which it abounds. It is one of the finest countries in the\nnew world.\n\n[674] _To match thy deeds shall Magalhaens aspire._--Camo\u00ebns, though he\nboasts of the actions of Magalhaens as an honour to Portugal, yet\ncondemns his defection to the King of Spain, and calls him--\n\n    _O Magalhaens, no feito com verdade\n    Portuguez, por\u00e8m na\u00f3 na lealdade._\n\n\"In deeds truly a Portuguese, but not in loyalty.\" And others have\nbestowed upon him the name of traitor, but perhaps undeservedly. Justice\nto the name of this great man requires an examination of the charge. Ere\nhe entered into the service of the King of Spain by a solemn act, he\nunnaturalized himself. Osorius is very severe against this unavailing\nrite, and argues that no injury which a prince may possibly give, can\nauthorize a subject to act the part of a traitor against his native\ncountry. This is certainly true, but it is not strictly applicable to\nthe case of Magalhaens. Many eminent services performed in Africa and\nIndia entitled him to a certain allowance, which, though inconsiderable\nin itself, was esteemed as the reward of distinguished merit, and\ntherefore highly valued. For this Magalhaens petitioned in vain. He\nfound, says Faria, that the malicious accusations of some men had more\nweight with his sovereign than all his services. After this unworthy\nrepulse, what patronage at the Court of Lisbon could he hope? And though\nno injury can vindicate the man who draws his sword against his native\ncountry, yet no moral duty requires that he who has some important\ndiscovery in meditation should stifle his design, if uncountenanced by\nhis native prince. It has been alleged, that he embroiled his country in\ndisputes with Spain. But neither is this strictly applicable to the\nneglected Magalhaens. The courts of Spain and Portugal had solemnly\nsettled the limits within which they were to make discoveries and\nsettlements, and within these did Magalhaens and the court of Spain\npropose that his discoveries should terminate. And allowing that his\ncalculations might mislead him beyond the bounds prescribed to the\nSpaniards, still his apology is clear, for it would have been injurious\nto each court, had he supposed that the faith of the boundary treaty\nwould be trampled upon by either power. If it is said that he\naggrandized the enemies of his country, the Spaniards, and introduced\nthem to a dangerous rivalship with the Portuguese settlements; let the\nsentence of Faria on this subject be remembered: \"Let princes beware,\"\nsays he, \"how by neglect or injustice they force into desperate actions\nthe men who have merited rewards.\"\n\nIn the end of the 15th and beginning of the 16th centuries, the spirit\nof discovery broke forth in its greatest vigour. The East and the West\nhad been visited by GAMA and Columbus; and the bold idea of sailing to\nthe East by the West was revived by Magalhaens. Revived, for misled by\nStrabo and Pliny, who place India near to the west of Spain, Columbus\nexpecting to find the India of the ancients when he landed on\nHispaniola, thought he had discovered the Ophir of Solomon. And hence\nthe name of Indies was given to that and the neighbouring islands.\nThough America and the Moluccas were now found to be at a great\ndistance, the genius of Magalhaens still suggested the possibility of a\nwestern passage. And accordingly, possessed of his great design, and\nneglected with contempt at home, he offered his service to the court of\nSpain, and was accepted. With five ships and 250 men he sailed from\nSpain in September, 1519, and after many difficulties, occasioned by\nmutiny and the extreme cold, he entered the great Pacific Ocean or South\nSeas by those straits which bear his Spanish name Magellan. From these\nstraits, in the 52-1/2 degree of southern latitude, he traversed that\ngreat ocean, till in the 10th degree of north latitude he landed on the\nisland of Subo or Marten. The king of this country was then at war with\na neighbouring prince, and Magalhaens, on condition of his conversion to\nChristianity, became his auxiliary. In two battles the Spaniards were\nvictorious, but in the third, Magalhaens, together with one Martinho, a\njudicial astrologer, whom he usually consulted, was unfortunately\nkilled. Chagrined with the disappointment of promised victory, the new\nbaptised king of Subo made peace with his enemies, and having invited to\nan entertainment the Spaniards on shore, he treacherously poisoned them\nall. The wretched remains of the fleet arrived at the Portuguese\nsettlements in the isles of Banda and Ternate, where they were received,\nsays Faria, as friends, and not as intruding strangers; a proof that the\nboundary treaty was esteemed sufficiently sacred. Several of the\nadventurers were sent to India, and from thence to Spain, in Portuguese\nships, one ship only being in a condition to return to Europe by the\nCape of Good Hope. This vessel, named the _Victoria_, however, had the\nhonour to be the first which ever surrounded the globe; an honour by\nsome ignorantly attributed to the ship of Sir Francis Drake. Thus\nunhappily ended, says Osorius, the expedition of Magalhaens. But the\ngood bishop was mistaken, for a few years after he wrote, and somewhat\nupwards of fifty after the return of the _Victoria_, Philip II. of Spain\navailed himself of the discoveries of Magalhaens. And the navigation of\nthe South Seas between Spanish America and the Asian Archipelago, at\nthis day forms the basis of the power of Spain: a basis, however, which\nis at the mercy of Great Britain, while her ministers are wise enough to\npreserve her great naval superiority. A Gibraltar in the South Seas is\nonly wanting. But when this is mentioned, who can withhold his eyes from\nthe isthmus of Darien--the rendezvous appointed by nature for the fleets\nwhich may one day give law to the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans: a\nsettlement which to-day might have owned subjection to Great Britain, if\njustice and honour had always presided in the cabinet of William the\nThird?\n\n[675] _A land of giants._--The Patagonians. Various are the fables of\nnavigators concerning these people. The Spaniards who went with\nMagalhaens affirmed they were about ten feet in height, since which\nvoyage they have risen and fallen in their stature, according to the\ndifferent humours of our sea wits.\n\n[676] _The goddess spake._--We are now come to the conclusion of the\nfiction of the island of Venus, a fiction which is divided into three\nprincipal parts. In each of these the poetical merit is obvious, nor\nneed we fear to assert, that the happiness of our author, in uniting all\nthese parts together in one great episode, would have excited the\nadmiration of Longinus. The heroes of the Lusiad receive their reward in\nthe Island of Love. They are led to the palace of Thetis, where, during\na divine feast, they hear the glorious victories and conquests of the\nheroes who are to succeed them in their Indian expedition, sung by a\nsiren; and the face of the globe itself, described by the goddess,\ndiscovers the universe, and particularly the extent of the eastern\nworld, now given to Europe by the success of GAMA. Neither in grandeur,\nnor in happiness of completion, may the \u00c6neid or Odyssey be mentioned in\ncomparison. The Iliad alone, in epic conduet (as already observed) bears\na strong resemblance. But however great in other views of poetical\nmerit, the games at the funeral of Patroclus, and the redemption of the\nbody of Hector, considered as the interesting conclusion of a great\nwhole, can never in propriety and grandeur be brought into competition\nwith the admirable episode which concludes the poem on the discovery of\nIndia.\n\nSoon after the appearance of the Lusiad, the language of Spain was also\nenriched with an heroic poem, the author of which has often imitated the\nPortuguese poet, particularly in the fiction of the globe of the world,\nwhich is shown to GAMA. In the _Araucana_, a globe, surrounded with a\nradiant sphere, is also miraculously supported in the air; and on this\nan enchanter shows to the Spaniards the extent of their dominions in the\nnew world. But Don Alonzo d'Arcilla is in this, as in every other part\nof his poem, greatly inferior to the poetical spirit of Camo\u00ebns. Milton,\nwhose poetical conduct in concluding the action of his Paradise Lost, as\nalready pointed out, seems formed upon the Lusiad, appears to have had\nthis passage particularly in his eye. For, though the machinery of a\nvisionary sphere was rather improper for the situation of his\npersonages, he has, nevertheless, though at the expense of an impossible\nsupposition, given Adam a view of the terrestrial globe. Michael sets\nthe father of mankind on a mountain--\n\n                            \"From whose top\n    The hemisphere of earth in clearest ken\n    Stretch'd out to th' amplest reach of prospect lay....\n    His eye might there command wherever stood\n    City of old or modern fame, the seat\n    Of mightiest empire, from the destin'd walls\n    Of Cambalu ...\n    On Europe thence and where Rome was to sway\n    The world.\"\n\nAnd even the mention of America seems copied by Milton:--\n\n              \"In spirit perhaps he also saw\n    Rich Mexico, the seat of Montezume,\n    And Cusco in Peru, the richer seat\n    Of Atabalipa, and yet unspoil'd\n    Guiana, whose great city Geryon's sons\n    Call El Dorado.\"\n\nIt must also be owned by the warmest admirer of the Paradise Lost, that\nthe description of America in Camo\u00ebns--\n\n    \"Vedes a grande terra, que contina\n     Vai de Calisto ao sen contrario polo--\n\n     To farthest north that world enormous bends,\n     And cold beneath the southern pole-star ends,\"\n\nconveys a bolder and a grander idea than all the names enumerated by\nMilton.\n\nSome short account of the writers whose authorities have been adduced in\nthe course of these notes may not now be improper. Fernando Lopez de\nCastagneda went to India on purpose to do honour to his countrymen, by\nenabling himself to record their actions and conquests in the East. As\nhe was one of the first writers on that subject, his geography is often\nimperfect. This defect is remedied in the writings of John de Barros,\nwho was particularly attentive to this head. But the two most eminent,\nas well as fullest, writers on the transaction of the Portuguese in the\nEast, are Manuel de Faria y Sousa, knight of the Order of Christ, and\nHieronimus Osorius, bishop of Sylves. Faria, who wrote in Spanish, was a\nlaborious inquirer, and is very full and circumstantial. With honest\nindignation he rebukes the rapine of commanders and the errors and\nunworthy resentments of kings. But he is often so drily particular, that\nhe may rather be called a journalist than an historian. And by this\nuninteresting minuteness, his style, for the greatest part, is rendered\ninelegant. The Bishop of Sylves, however, claims a different character.\nHis Latin is elegant, and his manly and sentimental manner entitles him\nto the name of historian, even where a Livy or a Tacitus are mentioned.\nBut a sentence from himself, unexpected in a father of the communion of\nRome, will characterize the liberality of his mind. Talking of the edict\nof King Emmanuel, which compelled the Jews to embrace Christianity under\nsevere persecution: \"Nec ex lege, nec ex religione factum ... tibi\nassumas,\" says he, \"ut libertatem voluntatis impedias, et vincula\nmentibus effrenatis injicias? At id neque fleri potest, neque Christi\nsanctissimum numen approbat. Voluntarium enim sacrificium non vi malo\ncoactum ab hominibus expetit: neque vim mentibus inferri, sed voluntates\nad studium ver\u00e6 religionis allici et invitari jubet.\"\n\nIt is said, in the preface to Osorius, that his writings were highly\nesteemed by Queen Mary of England, wife of Philip II. What a pity is it,\nthat this manly indignation of the good bishop against the impiety of\nreligious persecution, made no impression on the mind of that bigoted\nprincess!\n\n[677] _And the wide East is doom'd to Lusian sway._--Thus, in all the\nforce of ancient simplicity, and the true sublime, ends the poem of\nCamo\u00ebns. What follows is one of those exuberances we have already\nendeavoured to defend in our author, nor in the strictest sense is this\nconcluding one without propriety. A part of the proposition of the poem\nis artfully addressed to King Sebastian, and he is now called upon in an\naddress (which is an artful second part to the former), to behold and\npreserve the glories of his throne.\n\n[678] _And John's bold path and Pedro's course pursue._--John I. and\nPedro the Just, two of the greatest of the Portuguese monarchs.\n\n[679] _Reviv'd, unenvied._--Thus imitated, or rather translated into\nItalian by Guarini:--\n\n    \"Con si sublime stil' forse cantato\n    Havrei del mio Signor l'armi e l'honori,\n    Ch' or non havria de la Meonia tromba\n    Da invidiar Achille.\"\n\nSimilarity of condition, we have already observed, produced similarity\nof complaint and sentiment in Spenser and Camo\u00ebns. Each was unworthily\nneglected by the grandees of his age, yet both their names will live,\nwhen the remembrance of the courtiers who spurned them shall _sink\nbeneath their mountain tombs_. These beautiful stanzas from Phinehas\nFletcher on the memory of Spenser, may also serve as an epitaph for\nCamo\u00ebns. The unworthy neglect, which was the lot of the Portuguese bard,\nbut too well appropriates to him the elegy of Spenser. And every reader\nof taste, who has perused the Lusiad, will think of the Cardinal\nHenrico, and feel the indignation of these manly lines:--\n\n      \"Witness our Colin{*}, whom tho' all the Graces\n    And all the Muses nurst; whose well-taught song\n    Parnassus' self and Glorian{**} embraces,\n    And all the learn'd and all the shepherds throng;\n    Yet all his hopes were crost, all suits denied;\n    Discouraged, scorn'd, his writings vilified:\n    Poorly (poor man) he liv'd; poorly (poor man) he died.\n\n    \"And had not that great hart (whose honoured head{***}\n    All lies full low) pitied thy woful plight,\n    There hadst thou lien unwept, unburied,\n    Unblest, nor graced with any common rite;\n    Yet shalt thou live, when thy great foe{****} shall sink\n    Beneath his mountain tombe, whose fame shall stink;\n    And time his blacker name shall blurre with blackest ink.\"\n\n{*} Colin Clout, Spenser.\n\n{**} Glorian, Elizabeth in the Faerie Queen.\n\n{***} The Earl of Essex.\n\n{****} Lord Burleigh.\n\n[680] Achilles, son of Peleus.","title":"The Lusiad; Or, The Discovery of India, an Epic Poem","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":161562}