CCCII.
Los que bivis subjectos a la estrela
(Spanish: apparently proemium to fourth century).
Ye who live subject to the Venus star,
And to her lovely Son whom Love we name,
I speak not those who seeing any dame
Declare her favours life can make or mar:
No! ’tis to those Love’s spark o’ life shall gar
For one and only one wear breast a-flame;
And ‘mid them only those who burn to claim
The pangs that causes of more loving are: —
Speed you to see my song, where pictured
You shall view sundry feats Fate gendereth,
Which in the bowels of my Being are bred:
Shall see Love’s terrible power all perileth:
Shall see his anguish, grame and anxious dread;
Sighs, singults, weeping, ugly pains and Death.
CCCIII.
Todas as almas tristes se mostravao
(Repeats Sonns. 41 and 77).
Showed all men’s spirits, by their woe down-weigh’d,
A pious pity for their Lord Divine,
And, in the presence of His mien benign,
Tribute of praises due to Him they paid:
My free-born senses then my Will obey’d,
For hereto Destiny held to her design;
When eyes, those eyes, whereof I ne’er was digne,
By robbing Reason all my me waylaid.
The bright new Vision struck me stony blind,
Born of uncustom was the strangest sense
Of that sweet presence, that angelick air.
To heal my hurt can I no medicine find?
Ah! why did Fortune breed such difference
Amid the many woman-borns she bare?
CCCIV.
Senhora minha, se de pura inveja
(Scherzando: to a high-coloured Dame).
My Dame! if Love of purest jealousy
Suffer no more that dainty sight be shown,
That flush of roses on the snow-bed sown,
Those eyes whose shine Sol covets enviously:
He may not rob me so I never see
Souled in my Soul the charms he made your own,
Where I will ever make your portrait wone
Nor care how cruel enemy be he:
In sprite I see you, and I view ne’er born
On plain or prairie, howso fresh and fair,
Aught save the flower that scenteth every hill:
I see on either cheek red lilies’ hue:
Happy who sees them, but far happier
Who has and holds them an Earth hold such Weal!
CCCV.
Contas, que traz Amor, com meus cuidados,
(Cf. Canz. VI. 7)
Accounts that Cupid keeps with my unhele
Bid me recount my tale of bitter pain:
These bin Accounts where thought shall ever strain
Sad pine recounting, Fortune’s dire unweal:
Cruel the Accounts would be, if counted ill
Be all my services, whose end is fain
To prove of some Account in compt of gain
Themselves accounting Fortune’s favourites still.
If haply faring forth your sight I see;
Uncounted beading tears! a torrent turgid,
Caused by this effect, go, shameless flow!
There say you be salt drops, for ever surged
From infinite Ocean, the desire of me,
That fires the furnace where ye (Tears!) are forged.
CCCVI.
Fermosa mao que o coracao me aperta,
(Probably by Camoens).
That fair-formed Hand my heart in holding takes,
If my subjected Will it make submit,
And show such sweetness albe counterfeit,
When shall I see the certainty it makes?
My slumbers dream-full are, my grief awakes;
Complete the pain, the gloire is incomplete;
What boots if I asleep the vision greet
Which my awaking eye-glance aye forsakes?
Love wills my Welfare but his wiles be bold.
Some good he showeth trickt with cunning skill,
Good that witholdeth most but hath no hold:
For, when fro’ Love-snare I unsnare my will
(Those Ills awaking which a slumber dole’d)
He deals with banisht Weal redoubled Ill.
CCCVII.
De tantas perfeifoens a natureza
(Variant of Sonns. 17, 131, and 153).
With such perfections Nature gave her care
To form, gent Dame! your figure’s fair design,
Yours bin a Beauty in this world divine,
Divine in graceful geste and airiest air:
Of sort your Beauty shows beyond Compare,
In you so many graces purely shine,
No Dame so ‘surfed that she deem her digne
To feel, you present, she can call her fair:
Toiled human Nature, till she could no more,
To frame a model of such charm and grace,
When deckt with graceful charms your shape she bore:
And, more to glorify that form and face,
After she framed you at once she swore
Ne’er more to forge for Soul so fair a Case.
CCCVIII.
D’amoves de huma inclita donzella
(Variant of Sonn. 137).
Smitten with love of inclyt Damosel
The God of Love his very self did see,
Confined, in fine, the more he’d fain go free
From charms all conquer, all to yield compel:
Never saw mortal world such Bonnibel,
When Nature gathered in this perfect She
Graces that garrfed Love such wound to dree,
Laces ne force ne fraud shall countervail:
O seld-seen loveliness, O lovely lure!
Loveliness potent e’en to subjugate
The very Love-god in his sovran reign:
Look if a Human of so feeble strain
Can, with his little force, bear force so great
When Love’s own force so little could endure!
CCCIX.
Em hum batel que com doce meneio
(Petrarch, I. 170).
In a slight Barque that softly, gently swaying
Parted gold-rolling Tagus’ wavy flow,
I saw fair Ladies, liefer say I so
Fair Stars around one Central Sun a-raying
The Maids Nereian delicately playing
Wi’ thousand lays and liltings sweet and low
In sport the beautiful array would row
(An err I not) for better honour paying.
O lovely Nereids! who with songs a-lift
Haste that serenest vision to enjoy,
Which on my life-tide wills such Ill to wreak;
Tell her how passeth (look she!) passing swift
Fleet-footed Time; how tedious mine annoy,
For Time be ready-strong and Flesh be weak.
CCCX.
Que fiz, Amor, que tu tad mal me tratas,
(By the Duque de Aveyro?).
What did I, Love, thou shouldst me so maltreat?
I not being thine why shouldest will me ill?
‘ And why, if holden thine, thus spoil and spill
My wretched Life-tide made one long defeat?
If bound to abet that cruel Nymph’s deceit,
And thou must haste her esperance full to fill,
To whom shall I bewail what Ills thou will,
What life shalt give me after taking it?
And thou (Unpitiful!) to my gloire and fame
Mortal oblivion dost for boon return,
Aye disregarding so unguarded flame!
But since thou come not to thy lover’s claim,
Uncoming never shalt thou tidings learn
Of him who ever ealleth on thy name.
CCCXI.
Se ao que te quero desses tanta ft,
(Probably by Camóens, for a friend).
If in “I love tljee” thou as much confide
As be thou prodigal of heart-felt pain,
My sighs of sorrow were not sighed in vain,
Nor had I vainly for thy favour cried.
But since thy harshness all belief denied
To woes conditioned by thy coy disdain,
With thee Unreason hath more might and main
Than all the tender love in me descried.
And since thou ever broughtst me Death so near
With that Unlove which ne’er be mine behovèd,
Yes, I will die, but know thy gain be dear!
Asked o’ thee daily mortal hearts commovèd
“Ah why hast murthered, Ladye cruel-fere!
The one who loved thee more than life he lovèd?”
CCCXII.
O Tempo está vingado à custa mia
(Connected with Nos. 5 and 150).
Time is avenged (costing me so dear)
On time, when Time I wont so cheap to rate;
Sad whoso was of Time in like estate
That Time at every time spent free o’ fear!
Chastised me Time and Obstinacy sheer
Because wi’ Time I did miscalculate,
For Time hath so untimely left my fate
Now hope I nothing from good timely chear.
Times, hours and moments swiftly, surely past,
When I could profit of my Time and tide,
With hope that Time my tormentrye outlast:
But when in Time I ventured to confide,
As Time hath various motion, slow and fast,
I chid myself that Time I mote not chide.
CCCXIII.
Quem busca no amor contentamento,
(Sufistical).
Whoso Contentment seeks in Love to find,
Finds what his Nature deemeth suitable;
But Substance, balancing twixt Good and Ill,
Is but a leaflet whirling in the wind.
Who to such Mobile hath self resigned
E’en his own glory holds not at his Will:
In constant quality ne’er ’tis equable,
Since for his torment ’tis of fleeting kind.
Thus find we Love displaying, day by day,
In single Subject two contending Foes,
Which be, peraunter, thus of Fate ordained:
Now one way straying then on other way,
Or to the lover’s lucre or his loss,
But ne’er one moment to despair constrained.
CCCXIV.
Se a ninguem tratais com desamor,
(Cf. Ode IV. 3 and 4).
An with Unlove you deign no man to treat,
Nay, love you general loving to repart,
Showing to each and every self-same heart
Plenisht wi’ gentle chear, wi’ love replete:
Me fro’ this day entreat with hate and heat,
Display me coy disdain, do cruel smart;
Then shall I haply hold in whole and part
Me only holdest for thy favours meet.
For an thou deal sweet doles to every wight,
’Tis clear thy favour won he, he alone
To whom thou showest anger and despight.
Ill could I weet my love thy love has won
If wone another love within thy sprite:
Love owns no partnership: No! Love is one.
CCCXV.
Gostos falsos de amor, gostos fingidos,
(Written in absence, probably in India).
False Gusts of Love, feigned Gusts for ever feigning,
Vain Gusts by narrow limits limited,
Great Gusts the while in Fancy born and bred,
Small Gusts when all the gain was lost by gaining;
Wasted ere won, forlore before the attaining,
E’en at the first beginning finished;
Changeful, inconstant, hotly hurried,
Appearing, disappearing, waxing, waning:
I lost you losing all my hope to see
Aught of recovery; now I hope no higher
Than with your Sovenance see you Cease to be
For if my Life-tide and my Fancy tire
O’ Life so far fro’ you, more tireth me
Remembering days when mine was my Desire.
CCCXVI.
Com o tempo o prado seco reveraece,
(By the mystic, Balthazar Estaco?).
Wi’ Time the wilted meadow waxeth green,
Wi’ Time in glooming grove the leaflet lies,
Wi’ time the mighty stream more gently hies,
Wi’ Time grow fat and rich fields poor and lean:
Wi’ Time this day is stormy, that serene,
Wi’ Time this bay-wreath blooms, that laurel dies
Wi’ Time hard painful Evil fleets and flies,
Wi’ Time our vanisht Weals again are seen:
Wi’ Time shall niggard Fate a change bestow,
Wi’ Time high station falls annihilate,
Wi’ Time returns it higher still to soar.
Wi’ Time shall all things come, shall all things go,
Only the passed Time who ganged his gait
Wi’ Time a present Time becomes no more.
CCCXVII.
Aquelles claros olhos que chorando
(Written in India?).
Those brightly beaming Eyne with tearful stain
Bedimmed I saw the while fro’ them I hied,
What do they now? Who shall to me confide
An for an absent aught to care they deign?
If they in memory hend or how or when
I saw from joyaunce self so wide and side?
Or if they figure the glad time and tide
(That happiest day) when I their sight regain?
If count they hours and how each moment flees?
If in one instant many years they live?
If they confabulate with bird and breeze?
O happy Visions! blessed Phantasies
That in this absence thoughts so sweet can give
And know to gladden saddest reveries!
CCCXVIII.
Ausente dess a vista pura e bella
(Written in India?).
While from that pure belle Vision driven afar
Which erst made life-tide ever glad and gay,
Now on my absent Life such agonies prey
As did your presence every bane debar:
Cruel and direful call I that dure Star
Which drives my joys fro’ you so far away,
Banning a thousand times the hour, the day,
The curst beginning of such angry jar:
And I so tortured in this absence wone,
Doomed by destined, ever-cruel Power
A dule so singular in this world to dree.
Long had I patience far fro’ me out-thrown
Nor less my Life, by force of this same stowre,
Did I not cherish life your sight to see.
CCCXIX.
Saudades me atormentao tad cruelmente,
(Written in India?).
Repining pains me with so fierce intent,
Repine for pleasure past and weal bewray’d;
So much of Evil ne’er my doom was made
Sans reason, sithence I can self absent:
For Love I saw me whilom all-content,
For Love I willed life by pain waylaid;
’Tis right I see mine error so well paid
As now, when present griefs and pains torment.
For well deserved I, faring far fro’ you,
To unsee you, Ladye! nor you see me more,
That with my life-tide I defray my due:
But, as my Spirit doth its sin deplore,
Bid me not weep lost lot, and grant I view
With gladdened eyes one softening glance some hour.
CCCXX.
O dia, hora ou o ultimo momento
(Written in India?).
The day, the hour, the moment of that hour
Which ends a life-tide Destiny so mismade,
I view already Esperance waylaid,
Nor Thought shall trick me with her snaring power.
Shifts full of tristesse, Severance full of stowre,
Faring that saw me forfeit, soon as said,
What my long service merited be paid;
O! how by changing Change can all deflower!
No more I hope to sight the things gone by,
I see that Parting, now prolonged so long,
Hopes of returning to my heart deny:
My little tale is tattled by the throng,
Right well I weet ’twas mine to verify
Such long-drawn Partings to short life belong.
CCCXXI.
Se para mim tivera, que algum dia
(Written in India? Cf. Canz. XI.).
Could I for self expect that some one day,
Moved by the Passion which my torments vent
You mote a something sense of sentiment
For one who seeth rest none other way;
Mine Ills for Glories I to heart would lay,
And hold as pleasures whatso pains have shent;
And, in the midst of Discontent, content
Sweet Memory’s orders I would fain obey.
Woe worth the day! What thoughts my sprite be firing
O’ things that hasten faster to entomb me,
For pay of summer-madness so notorious!
What serves my purpose this so fond desiring,
When your deserving and my Destiny doom me
To doubt such glory that can dub me glorious?
CCCXXII.
Oh fortuna cruel l oh dura sorte!
(Imitation of Camoens?).
Ay, cruel Fortune! Ay, dure lot of woe!
Labour that placed me in so parlous state,
No disillusion now will I await,
For Death’s the only cure my care shall know:
“Art blind?” (quoth Love) “so stark thyself to show
‘Gainst one who fareth ever aggravate
While doing thee service, and disconsolate
With heart sore harmed by thy swashing blow?”
But now as Destiny wills me worst of will
Ay cruel Fortune mine! O Amor, grant
As least of guerdon leave to wail my fill:
For in such travail, woe so puissant,
Ill could I (lacking it) console mine Ill,
Now that none other boon of thee I want
CCCXXIII.
Perder-me assi em vosso esquecimento
(Metaphysico-amorous by Camoens?).
Thus from your Thought to lose me nills consent
My very Being by your charms o’erthrown;
Yet I, so being a being to you beknown,
Or e’en consented, now shall rest content.
But when you careless deign such Coyness vent
On one who merits every kindness shown,
Tho’ ne’er my spirit shall the offence condone,
Far more offendeth me your meritment.
That you bear blame endureth not my Will,
You to myself I ‘trusted, L.adye mine!
Sans aught of unbecoming blot or tache.
Then show your Countenance pity for mine Ill,
As Love there wones with every Grace, in fine,
And all perfection doth to you attach.
CCCXXIV.
Se alguma hora em ms a piedade
(Written when going to India?).
If haply rue you, in some happy hour,
Your deme of torments that so long tormented,
Love shall denay Consent that fare contented
Far from your dearest eyes my pine-full stowre.
Fro’ you I fare me, but the Will whose power
Your form fro’ Nature on my soul depainted,
Bids me believe this absence feigned and fainted,
But how much worse when I its truth discoure!
I must go, Ladye! and fro’ you begone,
My tristful tears shall take revenge in kind
On eyne whose daily bread were you alone.
Life I’ll surrender by its pains undone,
For here my Memory me, in fine, shall find
Ensepulchred in your Oblivion.
CCCXXV.
Ja tempo foi que meus olhos traziam
(Not by Camoens?).
Time was mine Eyes delighted to unfold
Some gladsome tidings to my mind’s Intent;
Time was when every sense and sentiment
Rejoiced to savour what to me they told:
Love and Love-longings thronged then to hold
A general meeting in my breast content,
While on her firm foundations Esperance leant
And glosing quiddities turned out a-cold.
That Nymph of mine then waxing less humane
Smote Love with careless glance, a two-edged Sword, o
saddest Ill! O cruel Feliciane!
Complaints with Jealousy, meseems, accord,
Yet — no for certain! nor is such my bane:
My Faith in justice speaks this bitter word!
CCCXXVI.
Quao bem aventurado me achara,
(Imitation of Camoens?).
With what high blessing me had Fortune blest
Would Love such favour on my lot bestow,
And thus, while least of boons he willed show,
With show of greater would content my breast.
Entire and paxfit Weal had I possest,
Did not my longings long more Weal to know;
But now (when seen you) I deserve to owe,
At least, the object of my longing quest
Yet these Desires with this exceeding Dare
Were born of me when ’twas my Sort to sight you,
And wax they stronger, Dame! with every sight.
Desire fro’ Fancy’s hand I strave to tear,
For ’tis my firm belief ‘twill only flyte you,
But thrives it evermore the more I fight.
CCCXXVII.
Si el triste cora(on que siempre llora,
(Spanish: written during first exile?).
If the triste heart that Weeping e’er must dree,
Yet lacks what maketh Weeping meritorious,
Could ‘joy already joys of fight victorious,
Won in Love’s warfare worse’d by victory;
If, now enshadowed by the greeny tree,
I feed of Phantasies the flock memorious
Well mote I ‘joy Joy’s height I hold most glorious
Could I one moment my Pastora see:
Then, neither Air, with airy sighs besigh’d
For Love, could deal my Dolours increment
Nor fount-full eyelids feed this founty tide.
But, to despoil me of all jolliment,
A passion bids from her I absent ‘bide,
Who ne’er is, absent fro’ my Soul and Sent.
CCCXXVIII.
Do estan los daros ojos que colgada
(Spanish: written in exile?).
Where be those clearest orbs that wont to bear
In suite and following my surprized sprite?
Where be those cheeks with rosy splendour dight
Surpassing roses of the rarest rare?
Where be the red red lips so debonnair
Adorned with teeth no snow was e’er so white?
The tresses starkening golden metal’s light
Where be they? and that dainty hand, ah where?
O lovely all! where hidst thou evermore
That I may never see thee, whom to see
My great Desire destroys me every hour!
But look no longer on this vainest plea,
Still in my spirit I my Ladye store,
And ask where hidest thou fro’ sight of me!
CCCXXIX.
Ventana venturosa, do amanece
(Spanish: for a friend?).
Thou winsome Window! whence the Moms dispread
My Ladye’s splendour with Apollo’s glow,
Mote I behold thee fired with such lowe
As that such splendour in my spirit bred!
For an thou see what Ills I suffered
And feel the dule aye firing soul so woe,
Why to my longing eyes the Couch ne’er show,
The flower-bed flourishing with tears I shed?
If nothing move thee now my painful plight,
Leastwise commove thee sight of that small gain
Gained when joyaunce thou deniest my sprite.
Now since thou connst it, Casement unhumane!
E’er Day my dule discoure to mortal sight,
Grant I behold my Nymph, my suzerain.
CCCXXX.
De piedra, de metal, de cousa dura,
(Spanish: a conceit).
With stone, with metal, substance cold and dure,
My Nymph enclothes her soul, the dure, the cold,
The locks be woven of the cold dure gold,
The brow is whitest marble’s portraiture:
The eyne are dyed with smaragd’s verd’ obscure,
The cheeks granadoes, and the feigning mould
Of lips is ruby none may have in hold;
The snow-white teeth show pearly lustre pure:
The hand be youngest ivory And the throat
Of alabaster ivy-clipt, whereon
The veins are skeins of lazuli radiant:
But what in all of you most awed I note,
Is seeing, albe all of you be stone,
You bear embosomed heart of diamant
CCCXXXI.
Al pie de una verde e alta enzina
(Spanish: a little Idyll).
At foot of lofty holm, in verdant shade,
Awaked Corydon his viol’s sound,
O’erhung by felting ivy, spireing round
The bole, and flaunting to the branching head.
He sang the love he bore that lovely maid,
May Amaryllis, who his bonds had bound;
The birds go coursing o’er the boughen-ground,
A chrystal fountain playeth through the glade:
To him draws Tltyrus near in reverie lost,
Driving his weary flock wi’ hunger spent:
This was the Shepherd-friend he loved most,
Who sang the sorrows which his heart had rent: —
Nor alien speech for grieving Soul hath gust,
Nor grief of alien grieveth Heart content
CCCXXXII.
Amor, Amor, que fieres al coitado
(Spanish: copy corrupt).
Love! Love! who joyest aye the wretch to smite
Which for thy love did service many a year,
Thy service bearing, maugre snares so fere;
In fine, fine never looked-for hast thou dight.
With lonesome Dolours, with a care-full Sprite
Ensnared, thou payest service bought so dear,
Cases so strange, unheard by human ear,
For thee enduring like no mortal wight.
Who deems thee godhead he’s gone mad I vouch,
Who holds thy justice fails in equity,
For least he gains who serves thee long and much.
Let thy believers deem the worst of me,
I judge from whatso see I and I touch
And hardly trust I what I touch and see.
CCCXXXIII.
Fermoso Tejo meu quam differente
(Attributed to three other writers).
My lovely Tagus! with what different Sent
I saw and see thee, me thou sawst and se’est:
I see thee turbid, me thou seest triste,
I saw thee limpid, me thou sawst content:
Changed thee a Freshet, flooding vehement, ‘
Which thy large valley faileth to resist:
Changed me her Favour dealing, as she list,
Or life contented or life miscontent.
Now that in evils be we partners twain,
So be’t in welfare; ah! mote I but see
We two were likest in our bliss and bane!
When a new Prime shall bloom with brightest blee
What erst thy being was shalt show again:
I n’ote if what I was again shall be.
CCCXXXIV.
Memorias offendidas que hum so dia
(On the death of a lover).
Offended Memories! that no single day
Unto my brooding Thoughts a rest have lent,
My taste of torments may ye ne’er prevent,
Whom you offend he fended you alway.
If well ye will me, look how ye bewray
The dainty blossoms of that sentiment
She left, when I to eternal Exile went
From her fere Death undid to cold dead clay.
She left me pining for my past offence;
She stole my single, sole-remaining cure
Which could warray all woes that worse my sprite.
Where shall my losses look for recompense,
When on my sorrow doth my Luck assure
It ne’er shall lend my life one moment’s light?
CCCXXXV.
Lembrancas tristes, para que gastais tento
(On the death of a lover).
Ye tristeful Souvenirs! why this vain intent
Of over-tiring heart so tired by Fate?
Rest ye contented seeing me in such state,
Nor fro’ me seek ye greater meritment.
I fear you little whatso pangs ye vent,
Wont in my wonted woes to gang my gait;
I feel mine Evils weigh so weighty weight,
No Weal my hapless me can now content.
In vain I labour when to harm I sought —
One who has lost his hopes in long-drawn strife,
One dead to all he once desired see:
From overlosing I to lose have naught,
Sauf this already worn and weary life
Which, for my sorer loss, survives in me.
CCCXXXVI.
Quando descancareis, olhos cansados!
(Probably written in India).
When shall ye rest you, Eyne that look for rest!
Since Her who lent you life no more you view;
Or when shall view you wishing long adieu
To your misfortune’s immemorial quest?
Or when shall hard-heart Fate vouchsafe behest
My ruined Esperance in my soul renew,
Or when (if every Hope be lost to you)
With by-gone blessings can ye make me blest?
This pine shall do me die right well I ween,
Wherein my hoping were like whistle o’ wind;
Then nowise hope I my desire be dight:
And when so truly the sore truth I’ve seen,
Come every possible pain for me design’d
As naught affrights me what each day I sight.
CCCXXXVII.
Memoria de meu bem cortado em flores,
(Probably written in India).
Memories of Joyaunce! nipt in budding flow’r
By the frore fingers of my fere Misfate,
Vouchsafe a gracious rest my cares abate
In my Love’s ever restless, ceaseless stowre.
Suffice me Ills and Fears that present low’r
For ever threating Chance unfortunate,
Without return of long-past happy state
To affront with dolours every happy hour.
CCCXXXVIII.
Do corpo estava já quasi forcada,
(Variant of the immortal No. 19).
Enforced by greater force well-nigh had fled
Its frame that gentle Soul to Heaven due,
Rending her noble webs of Life she flew
For faster ‘turning to her patrial stead.
Still flowering, blooming, ere her root had spread
In Earth she hated with a hate so true,
Self she uprooted and departing drew
Fro’ Death a sweetness for that journey dread.
Pure Soul, who self to mortal world hast shown
Free from its fetters which the lave enlace,
For few short hours exchanging fair long years
Of thine, thou leftest ‘lone in woe to wone,
Move thee high Pity, while so slowly pace
These hours made slower by our tristful tears.
CCCXXXIX.
O dia, hora em que naci moura e pereca,
(A Threnody: certainly by Camoens).
Die an eternal Death my natal Day,
May Time that hapless date unknow, unlearn;
May’t ne’er return and, if it need return,
Blackest eclipse the bright Sun overlay!
Fail of his splendour Sol’s resplendent ray,
Earth! show relapse to chaos’ reign forlorn,
Air! rain thou blood; all monster-births be born
And may the Mother cast her bairn away!
Then shall the peoples in amazed distress,
With cheeks tear-stainèd, bosoms horror-fraught,
Expect a shattered world eftsoons to sight.
Fon race! on similar fancies lay no stress;
For on this Day to light a life was brought
The most unhappiest life e’er brought to light.
CCCXL.
Transumpto sou, Senhora, neste engano,
(To a Lady-fain of gifties).
I am translated, Ladye! by your snare,
And snaring-practise mote to me be sparèd;
Hardly can mortal man by you be snarèd
Who could from other yous unsnarèd fare.
Now well I weet me, ’twas at cost of care
When you for nothing save sweet gifties carèd,
But, as your judgment hath of me declarèd,
This year’s expectancy goes vain and bare.
Of Love I treated long, but now my sight
Easily seeth Feignery and its aim;
For so doth seem, gent Dame! whate’er you show.
Your very cunning holp you to this sleight,
Claim fro’ me only what I care you claim
Or else ’tis uphill way you please to go.
CCCXLI.
Ondas que por el mundo caminando
(Spanish: written in Africa?).
Waves that encircle all the globe, with flow
Onborne for ever by the legier breeze,
Bear, in your bosoms borne, my reveries
Where bides who, whereso biding, bodes she Woe
Tell her I only heap on woes a throe,
Tell her my life may not one moment please;
Tell her Death nills to slay my tormentries,
Tell her I live yet every Hope forgo.
Tell her how lost when found anew you me,
Tell her how in my gain you lost my Sprite,
Tell her how lifeless cruelly slew you me.
Tell her how came you me the Smit to smite,
Tell her how undone did undo you me,
Tell her how saw me only hers your sight.
CCCXLII.
Sobre un olmo que al cielo parecia
(Spanish).—’
Percht on sky-climbing Elm, that showed nude
Of bloom and leafage, saw I saddest show —
A lone and widowed Bird who whelmed in woe
More solitary made the solitude:
O’er a clear Fount that sea-ward path pursue’d
With mournful dulcet murmur bent she low,
And with her plunged plume disturbed its flow
And drank the water seen it muddy-hue’d.
The cause that cast her down in grievous care
Was the lone Turtle’s sense of severance:
Behold how Severance mortal griefs can bear!
An love and parting have such vehemence,
And to unreasoning Bird so deal despair,
Say what shall sense he that hath sent and sense?
CCCXLIII.
Canfada e rouca boz por que bolando
(Spanish: written by Camoens?).
Weary harsh-sounding Voice! why take not flight
And where lies sleeping my Florinda wend;
And there of all things whereto I pretend
Why not, O happy Voice! enjoy delight?
Go soft, and sighing in her ear alight,
And unheard tell her, though she ne’er attend,
I dree such Evils only Death can end
And I am singing when to die I’m dight.
And tell her, though her counterfeit I hold
Here to my ‘biding I would see her hieing,
Would she not find her lover lifeless-cold.
But ay! I n’ote what say you save I’m dying,
Because so near her beauties to behold Yet ne’er beholding what I die for ‘spying.
CCCXLIV.
O capitao Romano esclarecido,
(Alluding to Albuquerque and Ruy Dias?).
The Roman Capitayne so famed of yore,
Sertorius, second never found in fight,
Such lofty model to us mortals dight
That ne’er was heard of, ne’er was seen before.
Sith for a soldier who his oath forswore,
Doing a villein deed of base-born wight,
He dealt so terrible and so dread requite,
Wherefore his Many feared him ever more.
What made the Chief that Legion decimate?
For-that it failed do the duties owe’d
To grim and grisly, hard and horrid Mart.
O clear example! Captain forceful great,
Who upon Roman men the lore bestow’d
Of soldier Science, of invincible Art!
CCCXLV.
A Roma populaca proguntava
(Apology for marriage: by Camoens?).
Happed of the Roman populace to speer
A certain curious Wit, a careless Wight,
Wherefore in general do the kye delight
To pair at certain seasons of the year?
Whereto as Folk discreet, which would appear
Responsive soaring to an eminent height,
They by a single phrase threw notable light
On the dark theme and showed what held they dear.
This was the intention:—” Brutes may not intend
How fair fruition and what weighty worth
Have Hymen’s fetters binding man’s desire:
But brutaller Bestials they who e’er pretend
In flesh a pleasure find, find joy on Earth,
Leaving their Souls to feed the Eternal Fire.
CCCXLVI.
Com o generoso rdstro alanceado
(One of the last written by Camoens).
With sign of lance-thrust on his generous face,
And smircht his Royal brow with dust and blood,
To Charon’s gloomy bark on Acheron flood
Came great Sebastiam — shade in shadowy place.
The cruel Ferryman, seen the forceful case,
Whenas the King would pass opposing strode,
And cried “None tombless o’er this flood e’er yode
For all Unburieds on the shore must pace.”
Commoved the valorous King with kindled ire
Replies: “False Greybeard! haply wouldst assure
None past you side by force of golden ore?
Durst thou with Monarch bathed in Moormangore
Chaffer of funeral pomps, of sepulture?
From one less wealthy o’ wound thy fee require!”
CCCXLVII.
Quando do raro esforco que mostravas
(On the brave death of a young soldier).
When thy rare Valiancy in battle shown
To gather warfare’s largest fruit ne’er failéd,
Fate shore thy flowering age, whose feats prevailéd
O’er the short year-tale thou couldst call thine own.
Set in its helmet-frame thy face outshone
When visor-veiléd Mars, Amor unveiled:
If oped thy Sabre serried squads assailéd
Thy geste of Beauty Beauty’s eye-glance won.
No steel of foeman, no! could doom thee bleed;
’Twas Vulcan’s deed, the god whose forceful might
Enpierceth surest harness part and part:
But he, for pardon of his fault shall plead,
He deemed, seeing thy bravery beauty-dight,
Thou wert a son of Venus sire’d by Mart.
CCCXLVIII.
Quam cedo te roubou a morte dura
(Of D. Alvaro da Silveira slain and unburied?).
How soon hath stole thy life Death sore and dure
Illustrious Spirit wont to soar and stye?
Leaving thine outcast, clay-cold corse to lie
In strangest albe noble sepulture!
Fro’ Life, whose duraunce here may not endure,
Already bathed in the Foe’s red dye,
Raised by thy Valour’s forceful hand on high
Thou winnest Immortal Fields where Life is sure.
The Spirit joyeth happy time e’terne;
The Corse, that earthly grave could not contain,
Earth bade her feathered children bear their prey.
Thou leftest every heart to pine and yearn;
Thou soughtest honoured death on Honour-plain:
Our Tagus bare thee, Ganges bore away.
CCCXLIX.
A it, Senhor, a quem as Sacras Musas
(To his uncle D. Bento de Camoens?).
To thee, Senhor! whose Soul the sacred Muses
Feed with a portion of their food divine,
Not they of Delian fount nor Caballine,
Which be Medeas, Circes and Medúses;
But the gent bosoms wherein Grace infuses
Arts which to heavenly laws o’ grace incline,
Kindly of doctrine and wi’ Love benign,
Not they whom blinded Vanity confuses;
This feeble offspring, and the latest bearing
Of mine intelligence in weakly way,
To thee a warm affection proffereth.
But an thou notice it as over-daring,
Here for that daring I would pardon pray, —
Pardon my Heart’s affection meriteth.
CCCL.
Tu, que descanso buscas com cuidado,
(On the Redemption).
Thou who with restless Hope to rest thee tried
Upon this mundane Life’s tempestuous Main,
Hope not fro’ travail any rest attain,
Save rest in CHRIST, the JESU crucified.
If toil for riches bring thee sleepless tide,
In Him is found immeasurable gain;
If of true formosure thy Soul be fain,
This Lord espying in His love shalt ‘bide:
If worldly pleasure or delight thou seek,
The sweets of every sweet He holds in hoard,
Delighting all with joys o’er Earth victorious.
If haply gloire or honours thou bespeak,
What can more honour bring, what bin more glorious
Than serve of highest lords the highest Lord?
CCCLI.
O gloriosa Cruz, O victorioso
(Of Dom Sebastiam’s Banner? Cf. Sonn. 243).
O glorious Cross! O Cross for aye victorious!
Trophy that every mortal spoil containeth;
O chosen signal which to worlds ordaineth
A Panacea marvellous and memorious!
O Living Fount that Holy Water raineth!
In Thee our every bane its balm obtaineth,
In Thee the Lord, “Almighty” titled, deigneth
Assume of Merciful the Name most glorious.
In Thee was ended dreadful Vengeance-day,
In Thee may Pity bear so fairest flower
As Prime that followeth Winter’s injury.
Vanish all foemen flying from Thy power;
Thou couldst so potent change in Him display
Who never ceased what He was to be.
CCCLII.
Mil vezes se move meu pensamento
(Imperfect: Here Jur ends).
For times a thousand mine Intent was bent
To praise that forehead hued chrystalline,
Those ribbéd tresses shining golden Shine,
The clear mind passing man’s intendiment;
Which, wi’ the softest, suavest movement, rent
(Such was its might) the breast-plate diamantine
Those sovereign Graces and that Air divine,
That honest pride with sweetest accent blent:
The Roses lying in a waste of snow
Those pearls of Morning-land, a chosen row,
Bedded in rubies smiling douce and gay:
The light those glorious Eyne on us bestow,
Shown by your gladdening smilet ever gay,
Is light from Heaven, a paradisial ray.
CCCLIII.
Queimado sejas tu e teus enganos
(Braga, No. 300; Storck, 348).
Burn thou and burn wi’ thee thy snaring Bane
Love! cruel fellow felonous and fell,
Burnt be thine arrows, burn thy string as well
And Bow, the weapon working so much pain:
Thy covenanted promises prophane,
Thy wheedlings honieder than Hydromel,
All, all may see I, when wi’ gall they swell,
Brent by the blaze wherewith thou burnest men.
I leave thee now, those eyen-strings untying,
To sight the orbs wherewith my sprite hast tied,
For well sufficeth thee such vengeance.
But like the Wight of desperate wound a-dying,
Ill shalt thou die if well the hurt thou hide
Losing the single medicine — Esperance.
CCCLIV.
Senhora, quem a tanto se atreve
(Braga, No. 304; Storck, 349).
Dame, whoso dareth hie to such a height
He serve you, cherish you in Sovenance,
Knowing such memory be sans esperance,
The dues he claimeth bin ne little ne light.
This Sprite holds more than what these Hands indite,
Yet never hoping happy change of chance,
Nor wishing other fair deliverance
Fairer than Love-debt to your service dight.
To hope for mighty chance from Aventure
Would to your meritment but work offence,
And thus you pay the pains I underwent.
I hold impossible my Care to cure,
And still remain my sense and sentiment
In bond of debtor to your Formosure.
CCCLV.
Angelica la bella despreciando
(Spanish: Ariosto, XVIII. 165; Braga, 308; Storck, 350).
Angelica, the bellabone, misdeeming
Whatever joys Time placed upon her way,
Flouted with jeering laugh all men, that May
Kingdoms and knightly value scant esteeming.
Only of self and beauteous self aye dreaming
Hied upon Frankish-land her steps one day,
Where saw she lonely under a tree-shade lay
A hapless infant with his life-blood streaming.
She who had spurnéd Love and Love’s behest,
She who to all so cruel showed, so dure,
Within her sensed the boon of softening breast.
Thus seeing Medóro doth her hele secure
And hence Love turnéd ill to good the best:
In fine Love-chances all bin Aventure.
CCCLVI.
La letra que s’el nombre en que me fundo
(Spanish: to Luisa: Braga, 309; Storck, 351).
The leading letter on my building-ground
Cometh the chiefest in my weary way,
Justly the same was L, so men should say
Its light on lowly Earth, is loveliest found.
Thus eke the V, that formeth second sound,
Voweth to Death all eyne her Light survey; Then showeth Y that yearneth to warray
And maketh dying hour most joyous Stound.
Next cometh sign of S that doth sustain
The Sovran Being in whose form consist
Virtue and grace and gifts as many and high,
In fine all finisheth A, alluding plain
At end, at end, to me the wretch so triste
Whom Amor doomed for her love to die.
CCCLVII.
Luiza, son tan rubios fus cabellos
(Spanish: Braga, 312; Storck, 332).
Louise! thy tresses wear so ruddy hues
Sol but to see them would his car detain;
And, while their splendour gars his shine to wane,
Would lose his radiance, not thy vision lose.
Blest who, by worth empower’d, their glory views,
Blester the hand that could one tress obtain,
But blestest he who doth his Soul maintain
Only on glorious lights these locks diffuse.
Louise! when shine and shimmer so immense
Of hair that lighteth all the Loves wi’ lowe
(And Love of other love claims recompense);
Tho’ scant I merit thou such gift bestow
Still claims to see one tress my sighting sense
To pay my weeping and to pay my woe.
CCCLVIII.
Se, senhora Lurina, algum comeco
(Another Icarus: Braga, 338; Storck, 354).
If any fain begin, my Dame Lurine!
A song commensurate with your due of praise,
He first would note your hard unfavouring ways
As highest honour to my pen ’twould mean.
For if in hope to praise I intervene
And to your world inspired self would raise,
The Thought inspireth me with such amaze
That makes me, certés, more your worth misween.
This soaring you-ward, whom such gifts exalt
Of so high ardour, of so ardent flame,
Melteth my pinions boldly fugitive;
And if I fall in Ocean of default,
I to my failure give fair name and fame
But who your Value’s claim shall dare to give?
CCCLIX.
Tristezas t Com passar tristes gemidos
— (Jur. MS.; Storck, 355).
Tristesse! wi’ tristest moans and groans I wone
Thro’ day, thro’ night to Phantasy appealing:
In this black cavern Extreme sorrow feeling
To see my life-tide suchwise overthrown:
Hidden like shadows fly my years, and flown
Leave naught of fruitage that can work my healing,
Save but to see them passing, whirling, wheeling
With Fortune’s whirlgig till no sense I own.
In such imaginings, in tristest way
My Soul turns giddy, nor I sense in Sent
If I with any one say words I say;
And, if of anything my Thoughts take tent,
I cannot say, while so my woes torment,
An fare I sane of sense or fare I fey.
CCCLX.
Dexadme, cantinelas dukes mias
(Spanish: an Adieu: Storck, 356 and 439).
Leave me, ye douce melodious Lays o’ mine,
Leave me, ye rustick Pipes of sweet accord;
Leave me, clear Founts and leas of greeny sward,
Leave me, glad Garths all shadow and sunshine:
Leave me, ye Pastimes of my pride-full syne
Leave me, ye Dances round the festal board;
Leave me the Pleasures flutes and flocks afford,
Leave me, ye Slumbers ‘mid the sleepy kine.
Leave me, ye Stars and Moon and eke thou Sun,
Leave me to mourn where tristest shades dismay me,
Leave me sans joy ‘twixt Pole and Pole to run;
Leave me, sweet Prizes that to death betray me:
Yea! leave me all in fine and leave me none
Save Dule and Dolour which are dight to slay me!