The Lusiad Part 9

Yet ever did her sons her wrongs atone; Short was the triumph of her haughty foes, And still with fairer bloom her honours rose.

Where, lock'd with land, the struggling currents boil Fam'd for the G.o.dlike Theban's latest toil,[190]

Against one coast the Punic strand extends, Around her breast the midland ocean bends, Around her sh.o.r.es two various oceans swell, And various nations in her bosom dwell.

Such deeds of valour dignify their names, Each the imperial right of honour claims.

Proud Aragon, who twice her standard rear'd In conquer'd Naples; and for art rever'd, Galicia's prudent sons; the fierce Navarre, And he far dreaded in the Moorish war, The bold Asturian; nor Sevilia's race, Nor thine, Granada, claim the second place.

Here too the heroes who command the plain By Betis[191] water'd; here the pride of Spain, The brave Castilian pauses o'er his sword, His country's dread deliverer and lord.

Proud o'er the rest, with splendid wealth array'd, As crown to this wide empire, Europe's head, Fair Lusitania smiles, the western bound, Whose verdant breast the rolling waves surround, Where gentle evening pours her lambent ray, The last pale gleaming of departing day; This, this, O mighty king, the sacred earth, This the loved parent-soil that gave me birth.

And oh, would bounteous Heaven my prayer regard, And fair success my perilous toils reward, May that dear land my latest breath receive, And give my weary bones a peaceful grave.

Sublime the honours of my native land, And high in Heaven's regard her heroes stand; By Heaven's decree 'twas theirs the first to quell The Moorish tyrants, and from Spain expel; Nor could their burning wilds conceal their flight, Their burning wilds confess'd the Lusian might.

From Lusus famed, whose honour'd name we bear, (The son of Bacchus or the bold compeer), The glorious name of Lusitania rose, A name tremendous to the Roman foes, When her bold troops the valiant shepherd[192] led, And foul with rout the Roman eagles fled; When haughty Rome achiev'd the treach'rous blow, That own'd her terror of the matchless foe.[193]

But, when no more her Viriatus fought, Age after age her deeper thraldom brought; Her broken sons by ruthless tyrants spurn'd, Her vineyards languish'd, and her pastures mourn'd; Till time revolving rais'd her drooping head, And o'er the wond'ring world her conquests spread.

Thus rose her power: the lands of lordly Spain Were now the brave Alonzo's wide domain; Great were his honours in the b.l.o.o.d.y fight, And Fame proclaim'd him champion of the right.

And oft the groaning Saracen's[194] proud crest And shatter'd mail his awful force confess'd.

From Calpe's summits to the Caspian sh.o.r.e Loud-tongued renown his G.o.dlike actions bore.

And many a chief from distant regions[195] came To share the laurels of Alonzo's fame; Yet, more for holy Faith's unspotted cause Their spears they wielded, than for Fame's applause.

Great were the deeds their thund'ring arms display'd, And still their foremost swords the battle sway'd.

And now to honour with distinguish'd meed Each hero's worth the gen'rous king decreed.

The first and bravest of the foreign bands Hungaria's younger son, brave Henry[196] stands.

To him are given the fields where Tagus flows, And the glad king his daughter's hand bestows; The fair Teresa s.h.i.+nes his blooming bride, And owns her father's love, and Henry's pride.

With her, besides, the sire confirms in dower Whate'er his sword might rescue from the Moor; And soon on Hagar's race[197] the hero pours His warlike fury--soon the vanquish'd Moors To him far round the neighb'ring lands resign, And Heaven rewards him with a glorious line.

To him is born, Heaven's gift, a gallant son, The glorious founder of the Lusian throne.

Nor Spain's wide lands alone his deeds attest, Deliver'd Judah Henry's might[198] confess'd On Jordan's bank the victor-hero strode, Whose hallow'd waters bath'd the Saviour-G.o.d; And Salem's[199] gate her open folds display'd, When G.o.dfrey[200] conquer'd by the hero's aid.

But now no more in tented fields oppos'd, By Tagus' stream his honour'd age he clos'd; Yet still his dauntless worth, his virtue lived, And all the father in the son survived.

And soon his worth was prov'd, the parent dame Avow'd a second hymeneal flame.[201]

The low-born spouse a.s.sumes the monarch's place, And from the throne expels the orphan race.

But young Alphonso, like his sires of yore (His grandsire's virtues, as his name, he bore), Arms for the fight, his ravish'd throne to win, And the lac'd helmet grasps his beardless chin.

Her fiercest firebrands Civil Discord wav'd, Before her troops the l.u.s.tful mother rav'd; Lost to maternal love, and lost to shame, Unaw'd she saw Heaven's awful vengeance flame; The brother's sword the brother's bosom tore, And sad Guimaria's[202] meadows blush'd with gore; With Lusian gore the peasant's cot was stain'd, And kindred blood the sacred shrine profan'd.

Here, cruel Progne, here, O Jason's wife, Yet reeking with your children's purple life, Here glut your eyes with deeper guilt than yours; Here fiercer rage her fiercer rancour pours.

Your crime was vengeance on the faithless sires, But here ambition with foul l.u.s.t conspires.

'Twas rage of love, O Scylla, urged the knife[203]

That robb'd thy father of his fated life; Here grosser rage the mother's breast inflames, And at her guiltless son the vengeance aims, But aims in vain; her slaughter'd forces yield, And the brave youth rides victor o'er the field.

No more his subjects lift the thirsty sword, And the glad realm proclaims the youthful lord.

But ah, how wild the n.o.blest tempers run!

His filial duty now forsakes the son; Secluded from the day, in clanking chains His rage the parent's aged limbs constrains.

Heaven frown'd--Dark vengeance lowering on his brows, And sheath'd in bra.s.s, the proud Castilian rose, Resolv'd the rigour to his daughter shown The battle should avenge, and blood atone.

A numerous host against the prince he sped, The valiant prince his little army led: Dire was the shock; the deep-riven helms resound, And foes with foes lie grappling on the ground.

Yet, though around the stripling's sacred head By angel hands etherial s.h.i.+elds were spread; Though glorious triumph on his valour smiled, Soon on his van the baffled foe recoil'd: With bands more num'rous to the field he came, His proud heart burning with the rage of shame.

And now in turn Guimaria's[204] lofty wall, That saw his triumph, saw the hero fall; Within the town immured, distress'd he lay, To stern Castilia's sword a certain prey.

When now the guardian of his infant years, The valiant Egas, as a G.o.d appears; To proud Castile the suppliant n.o.ble bows, And faithful homage for his prince he vows.

The proud Castile accepts his honour'd faith, And peace succeeds the dreadful scenes of death.

Yet well, alas, the generous Egas knew His high-soul'd prince to man would never sue: Would never stoop to brook the servile stain, To hold a borrow'd, a dependent reign.

And now with gloomy aspect rose the day, Decreed the plighted servile rights to pay; When Egas, to redeem his faith's disgrace, Devotes himself, his spouse, and infant race.

In gowns of white, as sentenced felons clad, When to the stake the sons of guilt are led, With feet unshod they slowly moved along, And from their necks the knotted halters hung.

"And now, O king," the kneeling Egas cries, "Behold my perjured honour's sacrifice: If such mean victims can atone thine ire, Here let my wife, my babes, myself expire.

If gen'rous bosoms such revenge can take, Here let them perish for the father's sake: The guilty tongue, the guilty hands are these, Nor let a common death thy wrath appease; For us let all the rage of torture burn, But to my prince, thy son, in friends.h.i.+p turn."

He spoke, and bow'd his prostrate body low, As one who waits the lifted sabre's blow; When o'er the block his languid arms are spread, And death, foretasted, whelms the heart with dread: So great a leader thus in humbled state, So firm his loyalty, his zeal so great, The brave Alonzo's kindled ire subdu'd, And, lost in silent joy, the monarch stood; Then gave the hand, and sheath'd the hostile sword, And, to such honour honour'd peace[205] restor'd.

Oh Lusian faith! oh zeal beyond compare!

What greater danger could the Persian dare, Whose prince in tears, to view his mangled woe, Forgot the joy for Babylon's[206] o'erthrow.

And now the youthful hero s.h.i.+nes in arms, The banks of Tagus echo war's alarms: O'er Ourique's wide campaign his ensigns wave, And the proud Saracen to combat brave.

Though prudence might arraign his fiery rage That dar'd with one, each hundred spears engage, In Heaven's protecting care his courage lies, And Heaven, his friend, superior force supplies.

Five Moorish kings against him march along, Ismar the n.o.blest of the armed throng; Yet each brave monarch claim'd the soldier's name, And far o'er many a land was known to fame.

In all the beauteous glow of blooming years[207]

Beside each king a warrior nymph appears; Each with her sword her valiant lover guards, With smiles inspires him, and with smiles rewards.

Such was the valour of the beauteous maid,[208]

Whose warlike arm proud Ilion's[209] fate delay'd.

Such in the field the virgin warriors[210] shone, Who drank the limpid wave of Thermodon.[211]

'Twas morn's still hour, before the dawning grey The stars' bright twinkling radiance died away, When lo, resplendent in the heaven serene, High o'er the prince the sacred cross was seen; The G.o.dlike prince with Faith's warm glow inflam'd, "Oh, not to me, my bounteous G.o.d!" exclaim'd, "Oh, not to me, who well thy grandeur know, But to the pagan herd thy wonders show."

The Lusian host, enraptur'd, mark'd the sign That witness'd to their chief the aid divine: Right on the foe they shake the beamy lance, And with firm strides, and heaving b.r.e.a.s.t.s, advance; Then burst the silence, "Hail, O king!" they cry; "Our king, our king!" the echoing dales reply: Fir'd at the sound, with fiercer ardour glows The Heaven-made monarch; on the wareless foes Rus.h.i.+ng, he speeds his ardent bands along: So, when the chase excites the rustic throng, Rous'd to fierce madness by their mingled cries, On the wild bull the red-eyed mastiff flies.

The stern-brow'd tyrant roars and tears the ground His watchful horns portend the deathful wound.

The nimble mastiff springing on the foe, Avoids the furious sharpness of the blow; Now by the neck, now by the gory sides Hangs fierce, and all his bellowing rage derides: In vain his eye-b.a.l.l.s burn with living fire, In vain his nostrils clouds of smoke respire, His gorge torn down, down falls the furious prize With hollow thund'ring sound, and raging dies:[212]

Thus, on the Moors the hero rush'd along, Th' astonish'd Moors in wild confusion throng; They s.n.a.t.c.h their arms, the hasty trumpet sounds, With horrid yell the dread alarm rebounds; The warlike tumult maddens o'er the plain, As when the flame devours the bearded grain: The nightly flames the whistling winds inspire, Fierce through the braky thicket pours the fire: Rous'd by the crackling of the mounting blaze From sleep the shepherds start in wild amaze; They s.n.a.t.c.h their clothes with many a woeful cry, And, scatter'd, devious to the mountains fly: Such sudden dread the trembling Moors alarms, Wild and confused, they s.n.a.t.c.h the nearest arms; Yet flight they scorn, and, eager to engage, They spur their foamy steeds, and trust their furious rage: Amidst the horror of the headlong shock, With foot unshaken as the living rock Stands the bold Lusian firm; the purple wounds Gush horrible; deep, groaning rage resounds; Reeking behind the Moorish backs appear The s.h.i.+ning point of many a Lusian spear; The mailcoats, hauberks,[213] and the harness steel'd, Bruis'd, hack'd, and torn, lie scatter'd o'er the field; Beneath the Lusian sweepy force o'erthrown, Crush'd by their batter'd mails the wounded groan; Burning with thirst they draw their panting breath, And curse their prophet[214] as they writhe in death.

Arms sever'd from the trunks still grasp the steel,[215]

Heads gasping roll; the fighting squadrons reel; Fainty and weak with languid arms they close, And stagg'ring, grapple with the stagg'ring foes.

So, when an oak falls headlong on the lake, The troubled waters slowly settling shake: So faints the languid combat on the plain, And settling, staggers o'er the heaps of slain.

Again the Lusian fury wakes its fires, The terror of the Moors new strength inspires: The scatter'd few in wild confusion fly, And total rout resounds the yelling cry.

Defil'd with one wide sheet of reeking gore, The verdure of the lawn appears no more: In bubbling streams the lazy currents run, And shoot red flames beneath the evening sun.

With spoils enrich'd, with glorious trophies[216] crown'd, The Heaven-made sov'reign on the battle ground Three days encamp'd, to rest his weary train, Whose dauntless valour drove the Moors from Spain.

And now, in honour of the glorious day, When five proud monarchs fell, his vanquish'd prey, On his broad buckler, unadorn'd before, Placed as a cross, five azure s.h.i.+elds he wore, In grateful memory of the heav'nly sign, The pledge of conquest by the aid divine.

Nor long his falchion in the scabbard slept, His warlike arm increasing laurels reap'd: From Leyra's walls the baffled Ismar flies, And strong Arroncha falls his conquer'd prize; That hononr'd town, through whose Elysian groves Thy smooth and limpid wave, O Tagus, roves.

Th' ill.u.s.trious Santarene confess'd his power, And vanquish'd Mafra yields her proudest tower.

The Lunar mountains saw his troops display Their marching banners and their brave array: To him submits fair Cintra's cold domain, The soothing refuge of the Naiad train.

When Love's sweet snares the pining nymphs would shun: Alas, in vain, from warmer climes they run: The cooling shades awake the young desires, And the cold fountains cherish love's soft fires.

And thou, famed Lisbon, whose embattled wall Rose by the hand that wrought proud Ilion's[217] fall;[218]

Thou queen of cities, whom the seas obey, Thy dreaded ramparts own'd the hero's sway.

Far from the north a warlike navy bore From Elbe, from Rhine, and Albion's misty[219] sh.o.r.e; To rescue Salem's[220] long-polluted shrine Their force to great Alonzo's force they join: Before Ulysses' walls the navy rides, The joyful Tagus laves their pitchy sides.

Five times the moon her empty horns conceal'd, Five times her broad effulgence shone reveal'd, When, wrapt in clouds of dust, her mural pride Falls thund'ring,--black the smoking breach yawns wide.

As, when th' imprison'd waters burst the mounds, And roar, wide sweeping, o'er the cultur'd grounds; Nor cot nor fold withstand their furious course; So, headlong rush'd along the hero's force.

The thirst of vengeance the a.s.sailants fires, The madness of despair the Moors inspires; Each lane, each street resounds the conflict's roar, And every threshold reeks with tepid gore.

Thus fell the city, whose unconquer'd[221] towers Defied of old the banded Gothic powers, Whose harden'd nerves in rig'rous climates train'd The savage courage of their souls sustain'd: Before whose sword the sons of Ebro fled, And Tagus trembled in his oozy bed; Aw'd by whose arms the lawns of Betis' sh.o.r.e The name Vandalia from the Vandals bore.

When Lisbon's towers before the Lusian fell, What fort, what rampart might his arms repel!

Estremadura's region owns him lord, And Torres-vedras bends beneath his sword; Obidos humbles, and Alamquer yields, Alamquer famous for her verdant fields, Whose murm'ring riv'lets cheer the traveller's way, As the chill waters o'er the pebbles stray.

Elva the green, and Moura's fertile dales, Fair Serpa's tillage, and Alcazar's vales Not for himself the Moorish peasant sows; For Lusian hands the yellow harvest glows: And you, fair lawns, beyond the Tagus' wave, Your golden burdens for Alonzo save; Soon shall his thund'ring might your wealth reclaim, And your glad valleys hail their monarch's name.

Nor sleep his captains while the sov'reign wars; The brave Giraldo's sword in conquest shares, Evora's frowning walls, the castled hold Of that proud Roman chief, and rebel bold, Sertorious dread, whose labours still remain;[222]

Two hundred arches, stretch'd in length, sustain The marble duct, where, glist'ning to the sun, Of silver hue the s.h.i.+ning waters run.

Evora's frowning walls now shake with fear, And yield, obedient to Giraldo's spear.

Nor rests the monarch while his servants toil, Around him still increasing trophies smile, And deathless fame repays the hapless fate That gives to human life so short a date.

Proud Beja's castled walls his fury storms, And one red slaughter every lane deforms.

The ghosts, whose mangled limbs, yet scarcely cold, Heap'd, sad Trancoso's streets in carnage roll'd, Appeas'd, the vengeance of their slaughter see, And hail th' indignant king's severe decree.

Palmela trembles on her mountain's height, And sea-laved Zambra owns the hero's might.