The Lusiad Part 12

Castile's proud monarch to the nuptial bed, In happier days, her royal daughter[280] led.

To him the furious queen for vengeance cries, Implores to vindicate his lawful prize, The Lusian sceptre, his by spousal right; The proud Castilian arms, and dares the fight.

To join his standard as it waves along, The warlike troops from various regions throng: Those who possess the lands by Rodrick given,[281]

What time the Moor from Turia's banks was driven; That race who joyful smile at war's alarms, And scorn each danger that attends on arms; Whose crooked ploughshares Leon's uplands tear, Now, cas'd in steel, in glitt'ring arms appear, Those arms erewhile so dreadful to the Moor: The Vandals glorying in their might of yore March on; their helms, and moving lances gleam Along the flow'ry vales of Betis' stream: Nor stay'd the Tyrian islanders[282] behind, On whose proud ensigns, floating on the wind, Alcides' pillars[283] tower'd: Nor wonted fear Withheld the base Galician's sordid spear; Though, still, his crimson seamy scars reveal The sure-aimed vengeance of the Lusian steel.

Where, tumbling down Cuenca's mountain side, The murm'ring Tagus rolls his foamy tide, Along Toledo's lawns, the pride of Spain, Toledo's warriors join the martial train: Nor less the furious l.u.s.t of war inspires The Biscayneer,[284] and wakes his barb'rous fires, Which ever burn for vengeance, if the tongue Of hapless stranger give the fancied wrong.

Nor bold Asturia, nor Guipuscoa's sh.o.r.e, Famed for their steely wealth, and iron ore, Delay'd their vaunting squadrons; o'er the dales Cas'd in their native steel, and belted mails, Blue gleaming from afar, they march along, And join, with many a spear, the warlike throng.

As thus, wide sweeping o'er the trembling coast, The proud Castilian leads his num'rous host; The valiant John for brave defence prepares, And, in himself collected, greatly dares: For such high valour in his bosom glow'd, As Samson's locks[285] by miracle bestow'd: Safe, in himself resolv'd, the hero stands, Yet, calls the leaders of his anxious bands: The council summon'd, some with prudent mien, And words of grave advice their terrors screen.

By sloth debas'd, no more the ancient fire Of patriot loyalty can now inspire; And each pale lip seem'd opening to declare For tame submission, and to shun the war; When glorious Nunio, starting from his seat, Claim'd every eye, and clos'd the cold debate: Singling his brothers from the dastard train, His rolling looks, that flash'd with stern disdain, On them he fix'd, then s.n.a.t.c.h'd his hilt in ire, While his bold speech[286] bewray'd the soldier's fire, Bold and unpolish'd; while his burning eyes Seem'd as he dar'd the ocean, earth, and skies.

"Heavens! shall the Lusian n.o.bles tamely yield!

Oh, shame! and yield, untried, the martial field!

That land whose genius, as the G.o.d of war, Was own'd, where'er approach'd her thund'ring car; Shall now her sons their faith, their love deny, And, while their country sinks, ign.o.bly fly; Ye tim'rous herd, are ye the genuine line Of those ill.u.s.trious shades, whose rage divine, Beneath great Henry's standards aw'd the foe, For whom ye tremble and would stoop so low!

That foe, who, boastful now, then basely fled, When your undaunted sires the hero led, When seven bold earls, in chains, the spoil adorn'd, And proud Castile through all her kindreds mourn'd, Castile, your awful dread--yet, conscious, say, When Diniz reign'd, when his bold son bore sway, By whom were trodden down the bravest bands That ever march'd from proud Castilia's lands?

'Twas your brave sires--and has one languid reign Fix'd in your tainted souls so deep a stain, That now, degen'rate from your n.o.ble sires, The last dim spark of Lusian flame expires?

Though weak Fernando reign'd, in war unskill'd, A G.o.dlike king now calls you to the field.

Oh! could like his, your mounting valour glow, Vain were the threat'nings of the vaunting foe.

Not proud Castile, oft by your sires o'erthrown, But ev'ry land your dauntless rage should own.

Still, if your hands, benumb'd by female fear, Shun the bold war, hark! on my sword I swear, Myself alone the dreadful war shall wage, Mine be the fight"--and, trembling with the rage Of val'rous fire, his hand half-drawn display'd The awful terror of his s.h.i.+ning blade,-- "I and my va.s.sals dare the dreadful shock; My shoulders never to a foreign yoke Shall bend; and, by my sov'reign's wrath I vow, And, by that loyal faith renounc'd by you, My native land unconquer'd shall remain, And all my monarch's foes shall heap the plain."

The hero paus'd--'Twas thus the youth of Rome, The trembling few who 'scaped the b.l.o.o.d.y doom That dy'd with slaughter Cannae's purple field, a.s.sembled stood, and bow'd their necks to yield; When n.o.bly rising, with a like disdain, The young Cornelius rag'd, nor rag'd in vain:[287]

On his dread sword his daunted peers he swore, (The reeking blade yet black with Punic gore) While life remain'd their arms for Rome to wield, And, but with life, their conquer'd arms to yield.

Such martial rage brave Nunio's mien inspir'd; Fear was no more: with rapt'rous ardour fir'd, "To horse, to horse!" the gallant Lusians cried; Rattled the belted mails on every side, The spear-staff trembled; round their necks they wav'd Their s.h.i.+ning falchions, and in transport rav'd, "The king our guardian!"--loud their shouts rebound, And the fierce commons echo back the sound.

The mails, that long in rusting peace had hung, Now on the hammer'd anvils hoa.r.s.ely rung: Some, soft with wool, the plumy helmets line, And some the breast-plate's scaly belts entwine: The gaudy mantles some, and scarfs prepare, Where various lightsome colours gaily flare; And golden tissue, with the warp enwove, Displays the emblems of their youthful love.

The valiant John, begirt with warlike state, Now leads his bands from fair Abrantes' gate; Whose lawns of green the infant Tagus laves, As from his spring he rolls his cooly waves.

The daring van, in Nunio's care, could boast A general worthy of th' unnumber'd host, Whose gaudy banners trembling Greece defied, When boastful Xerxes lash'd the Sestian[288] tide: Nunio, to proud Castile as dread a name, As erst to Gaul and Italy the fame Of Attila's impending rage. The right Brave Roderic led, a chieftain train'd in fight; Before the left the bold Almada rode; And, proudly waving o'er the centre, nod The royal ensigns, glitt'ring from afar, Where G.o.dlike John inspires and leads the war.

'Twas now the time, when from the stubbly plain The lab'ring hinds had borne the yellow grain; The purple vintage heap'd the foamy tun, And fierce, and red, the sun of August shone; When from the gate the squadrons march along: Crowds press'd on crowds, the walls and ramparts throng.

Here the sad mother rends her h.o.a.ry hair, While hope's fond whispers struggle with despair: The weeping spouse to Heaven extends her hands: And, cold with dread, the modest virgin stands, Her earnest eyes, suffus'd with trembling dew, Far o'er the plain the plighted youth pursue: And prayers, and tears, and all the female wail, And holy vows, the throne of Heaven a.s.sail.

Now each stern host full front to front appears, And one joint shout heaven's airy concave tears: A dreadful pause ensues, while conscious pride Strives on each face the heart-felt doubt to hide.

Now wild, and pale, the boldest face is seen; With mouth half open, and disorder'd mien, Each warrior feels his creeping blood to freeze, And languid weakness trembles in the knees.

And now, the clangor of the trumpet sounds, And the rough rattling of the drum rebounds: The fife's shrill whistling cuts the gale, on high The flourish'd ensigns s.h.i.+ne, with many a dye Of blazing splendour: o'er the ground they wheel And choose their footing, when the proud Castile Bids sound the horrid charge; loud bursts the sound, And loud Artabro's rocky cliffs rebound: The thund'ring roar rolls round on every side, And trembling, sinks Guidana's[289] rapid tide; The slow-pac'd Durius[290] rushes o'er the plain, And fearful Tagus hastens to the main: Such was the tempest of the dread alarms, The babes that prattled in their nurses' arms Shriek'd at the sound: with sudden cold impress'd, The mothers strain'd their infants to the breast, And shook with horror. Now, far round, begin The bow-strings' whizzing, and the brazen[291] din Of arms on armour rattling; either van Are mingled now, and man oppos'd to man: To guard his native fields the one inspires, And one the raging l.u.s.t of conquest fires: Now with fix'd teeth, their writhing lips of blue, Their eye-b.a.l.l.s glaring of the purple hue, Each arm strains swiftest to impel the blow; } Nor wounds they value now, nor fear they know, } Their only pa.s.sion to offend the foe. } In might and fury, like the warrior G.o.d, Before his troops the glorious Nunio rode: That land, the proud invaders claim'd, he sows With their spilt blood, and with their corpses strews; Their forceful volleys now the cross-bows pour, The clouds are darken'd with the arrowy shower; The white foam reeking o'er their wavy mane, The snorting coursers rage, and paw the plain; Beat by their iron hoofs, the plain rebounds, As distant thunder through the mountains sounds: The pond'rous spears crash, splint'ring far around; The horse and hors.e.m.e.n flounder on the ground; The ground groans, with the sudden weight oppress'd, And many a buckler rings on many a crest.

Where, wide around, the raging Nunio's sword With furious sway the bravest squadrons gor'd, The raging foes in closer ranks advance, And his own brothers shake the hostile lance.[292]

Oh, horrid sight! yet not the ties of blood, Nor yearning memory his rage withstood; With proud disdain his honest eyes behold Whoe'er the traitor, who his king has sold.

Nor want there others in the hostile band Who draw their swords against their native land; And, headlong driv'n, by impious rage accurs'd, In rank were foremost, and in fight the first.

So, sons and fathers, by each other slain, With horrid slaughter dyed Pharsalia's[293] plain.

Ye dreary ghosts, who now for treasons foul, Amidst the gloom of Stygian darkness howl; Thou Catiline, and, stern Sertorius, tell Your brother shades, and soothe the pains of h.e.l.l; With triumph tell them, some of Lusian race Like you have earn'd the traitor's foul disgrace.

As waves on waves, the foes' increasing weight Bears down our foremost ranks, and shakes the fight; Yet, firm and undismay'd great Nunio stands, And braves the tumult of surrounding bands.

So, from high Ceuta's[294] rocky mountains stray'd, The ranging lion braves the shepherd's shade; The shepherds hast'ning o'er the Tetuan[295] plain, With shouts surround him, and with spears restrain: He stops, with grinning teeth his breath he draws, Nor is it fear, but rage, that makes him pause; His threat'ning eyeb.a.l.l.s burn with sparkling fire, And, his stern heart forbids him to retire: Amidst the thickness of the spears he flings, So, midst his foes, the furious Nunio springs: The Lusian gra.s.s with foreign gore distain'd, Displays the carnage of the hero's hand.

[An ample s.h.i.+eld the brave Giraldo bore, Which from the vanquish'd Perez' arm he tore; Pierc'd through that s.h.i.+eld, cold death invades his eye, And dying Perez saw his victor die.

Edward and Pedro, emulous of fame, The same their friends.h.i.+p, and their youth the same, Through the fierce Brigians[296] hew'd their b.l.o.o.d.y way, Till, in a cold embrace, the striplings lay.

Lopez and Vincent rush'd on glorious death, And, midst their slaughter'd foes, resign'd their breath.

Alonzo, glorying in his youthful might, Spurr'd his fierce courser through the stagg'ring fight: Shower'd from the das.h.i.+ng hoofs, the spatter'd gore Flies round; but, soon the rider vaunts no more: Five Spanish swords the murm'ring ghosts atone, Of five Castilians by his arm o'erthrown.

Transfix'd with three Iberian spears, the gay, The knightly lover, young Hilario lay: Though, like a rose, cut off in op'ning bloom, The hero weeps not for his early doom; Yet, trembling in his swimming eye appears The pearly drop, while his pale cheek he rears; To call his lov'd Antonia's name he tries, The name half utter'd, down he sinks, and dies.][297]

Now through his shatter'd ranks the monarch strode, And now before his rallied squadrons rode: Brave Nunio's danger from afar he spies, And instant to his aid impetuous flies.

So, when returning from the plunder'd folds, The lioness her empty den beholds, Enrag'd she stands, and list'ning to the gale, She hears her whelps low howling in the vale; The living sparkles flas.h.i.+ng from her eyes, To the Ma.s.sylian[298] shepherd-tents she flies; She groans, she roars, and echoing far around The seven twin-mountains tremble at the sound: So, rag'd the king, and, with a chosen train, He pours resistless o'er the heaps of slain.

"Oh, bold companions of my toils," he cries, "Our dear-lov'd freedom on our lances lies; Behold your friend, your monarch leads the way, And dares the thickest of the iron fray.

Say, shall the Lusian race forsake their king, Where spears infuriate on the bucklers ring!"

He spoke; then four times round his head he whirl'd His pond'rous spear, and midst the foremost hurl'd; Deep through the ranks the forceful weapon pa.s.s'd, And many a gasping warrior sigh'd his last.[299]

With n.o.ble shame inspir'd, and mounting rage, His bands rush on, and foot to foot engage; Thick bursting sparkles from the blows aspire; Such flashes blaze, their swords seem dipp'd in fire;[300]

The belts of steel and plates of bra.s.s are riv'n, And wound for wound, and death for death is giv'n.

The first in honour of Saint Jago's band,[301]

A naked ghost now sought the gloomy strand; And he of Calatrave, the sov'reign knight, } Girt with whole troops his arm had slain in fight, } Descended murm'ring to the shades of night. } Blaspheming Heaven, and gash'd with many a wound, Brave Nunio's rebel kindred gnaw'd the ground.

And curs'd their fate, and died. Ten thousand more Who held no t.i.tle and no office bore, And nameless n.o.bles who, promiscuous fell, Appeas'd that day the foaming dog of h.e.l.l.[302]

Now, low the proud Castilian standard lies Beneath the Lusian flag; a vanquish'd prize.

With furious madness fired, and stern disdain, The fierce Iberians[303] to the fight again Rush headlong; groans and yellings of despair With horrid uproar rend the trembling air.

Hot boils the blood, thirst burns, and every breast Pants, every limb, with fainty weight oppress'd, Slow now obeys the will's stern ire, and slow From every sword descends the feeble blow: Till rage grew languid, and tir'd slaughter found No arm to combat, and no breast to wound.

Now from the field Castile's proud monarch flies,[304]

In wild dismay he rolls his madd'ning eyes, And leads the pale-lipp'd flight, swift wing'd with fear, } As drifted smoke; at distance disappear, } The dusty squadrons of the scatter'd rear; } Blaspheming Heaven, they fly, and him who first Forg'd murd'ring arms, and led to horrid wars accurs'd.

The festive days by heroes old ordain'd[305]

The glorious victor on the field remain'd.

The funeral rites, and holy vows he paid: Yet, not the while the restless Nunio stay'd; O'er Tago's waves his gallant bands he led, And humbled Spain in every province bled: Sevilia's standard on his spear he bore, And Andalusia's ensigns, steep'd in gore.

Low in the dust, distress'd Castilia mourn'd, And, bath'd in tears, each eye to Heav'n was turn'd; The orphan's, widow's, and the h.o.a.ry sire's; And Heav'n relenting, quench'd the raging fires Of mutual hate: from England's happy sh.o.r.e The peaceful seas two lovely sisters bore.[306]

The rival monarchs to the nuptial bed, In joyful hour, the royal virgins led, And holy peace a.s.sum'd her blissful reign, Again the peasant joy'd, the landscape smiled again.

But, John's brave breast to warlike cares inur'd, With conscious shame the sloth of ease endu'rd, When not a foe awak'd his a rage in Spain, The valiant hero brav'd the foamy main; The first, nor meanest, of our kings who bore The Lusian thunders to the Afric sh.o.r.e.

O'er the wild waves the victor-banners flow'd, Their silver wings a thousand eagles show'd; And, proudly swelling to the whistling gales, The seas were whiten'd with a thousand sails.

Beyond the columns by Alcides[307] plac'd To bound the world, the zealous warrior pa.s.s'd.

The shrines of Hagar's race, the shrines of l.u.s.t, And moon-crown'd mosques lay smoking in the dust.

O'er Abyla's high steep his lance he rais'd, On Ceuta's lofty towers his standard blaz'd: Ceuta, the refuge of the traitor train, His va.s.sal now, insures the peace of Spain.

But ah, how soon the blaze of glory dies![308]

Ill.u.s.trious John ascends his native skies.

His gallant offspring prove their genuine strain, And added lands increase the Lusian reign.

Yet, not the first of heroes Edward shone His happiest days long hours of evil own.

He saw, secluded from the cheerful day, His sainted brother pine his years away.

O glorious youth, in captive chains, to thee What suiting honours may thy land decree![309]

Thy nation proffer'd, and the foe with joy, For Ceuta's towers, prepar'd to yield the boy; The princely hostage n.o.bly spurns the thought Of freedom, and of life so dearly bought: The raging vengeance of the Moors defies, Gives to the clanking chains his limbs, and dies A dreary prison-death. Let noisy fame No more unequall'd hold her Codrus' name; Her Regulus, her Curtius boast no more, Nor those the honour'd Decian name who bore.

The splendour of a court, to them unknown, Exchang'd for deathful Fate's most awful frown, To distant times, through every land, shall blaze The self-devoted Lusian's n.o.bler praise.

Now, to the tomb the hapless king descends, His son, Alonzo, brighter fate attends.

Alonzo! dear to Lusus' race the name; Nor his the meanest in the rolls of fame.

His might resistless, prostrate Afric own'd, Beneath his yoke the Mauritanians[310] groan'd, And, still they groan beneath the Lusian sway.

'Twas his, in victor-pomp, to bear away The golden apples from Hesperia's sh.o.r.e, Which but the son of Jove had s.n.a.t.c.h'd before.

The palm, and laurel, round his temples bound, Display'd his triumphs on the Moorish ground.

When proud Arzilla's strength, Alcazer's towers, And Tingia, boastful of her num'rous powers, Beheld their adamantine walls o'erturn'd, Their ramparts levell'd, and their temples burn'd.

Great was the day: the meanest sword that fought Beneath the Lusian flag such wonders wrought As from the muse might challenge endless fame, Though low their station, and untold their name.

Now, stung with wild ambition's madd'ning fires, To proud Castilia's throne the king[311] aspires.

The Lord of Arragon, from Cadiz' walls, And h.o.a.r Pyrene's[312] sides his legions calls; The num'rous legions to his standard throng, And war, with horrid strides, now stalks along.

With emulation fir'd, the prince[313] beheld His warlike sire ambitious of the field; Scornful of ease, to aid his arms he sped, Nor sped in vain: The raging combat bled: Alonzo's ranks with carnage gor'd, Dismay Spread her cold wings, and shook his firm array; To flight she hurried; while, with brow serene, The martial boy beheld the deathful scene.

With curving movement o'er the field he rode, Th' opposing troops his wheeling squadrons mow'd: The purple dawn, and evening sun beheld His tents encamp'd a.s.sert the conquer'd field.