Book VIII

With eye unmov'd the silent CATUAL view'dThe pictur'd sire with seeming life endu'd;A verdant vine-bough waving in his right,Smooth flow'd his sweepy beard of glossy white,When thus, as swift the Moor unfolds the word,The valiant Paulus to the Indian lord:--

"Bold though these figures frown, yet bolder farThese godlike heroes shin'd in ancient war.In that hoar sire, of mien serene, august,Lusus behold, no robber-chief unjust;His cluster'd bough--the same which Bacchus bore--He waves, the emblem of his care of yore;The friend of savage man, to Bacchus dear,The son of Bacchus, or the bold compeer,What time his yellow locks with vine-leaves curl'd,The youthful god subdued the savage world,Bade vineyards glisten o'er the dreary waste,And humaniz'd the nations as he pass'd.Lusus, the lov'd companion of the god,In Spain's fair bosom fix'd his last abode,Our kingdom founded, and illustrious reign'dIn those fair lawns, the bless'd Elysium feign'd,Where, winding oft, the Guadiana roves,And Douro murmurs through, the flow'ry groves.Here, with his bones, he left his deathless fame,And Lusitania's clime shall ever bear his name.That other chief th' embroider'd silk displays,Toss'd o'er the deep whole years of weary days,On Tago's banks, at last, his vows he paid:To wisdom's godlike power, the Jove-born maid,Who fir'd his lips with eloquence divine,On Tago's banks he rear'd the hallow'd shrine.Ulysses he, though fated to destroy,On Asian ground, the heav'n-built towers of Troy,On Europe's strand, more grateful to the skies,He bade th' eternal walls of Lisbon rise."

"But who that godlike terror of the plain,Who strews the smoking field with heaps of slain?What num'rous legions fly in dire dismay,Whose standards wide the eagle's wings display?"The pagan asks: the brother chief replies:--"Unconquer'd deem'd, proud Rome's dread standard flies,His crook thrown by, fir'd by his nation's woes,The hero-shepherd Viriatus rose;His country sav'd proclaim'd his warlike fame,And Rome's wide empire trembled at his name.That gen'rous pride which Rome to Pyrrhus bore,To him they show'd not; for they fear'd him more.Not on the field o'ercome by manly force,Peaceful he slept; and now, a murder'd corse,By treason slain, he lay. How stern, behold,That other hero, firm, erect, and bold:The power by which he boasted he divin'd,Beside him pictur'd stands, the milk-white hind:Injur'd by Rome, the stern Sertorius fledTo Tago's shore, and Lusus' offspring led;Their worth he knew; in scatter'd flight he droveThe standards painted with the birds of Jove.And lo, the flag whose shining colours ownThe glorious founder of the Lusian throne!Some deem the warrior of Hungarian race,Some from Lorraine the godlike hero trace.From Tagus' banks the haughty Moor expell'd,Galicia's sons, and and Leon's warriors quell'd,To weeping Salem's ever-hallow'd meads,His warlike bands the holy Henry leads;By holy war to sanctify his crown,And, to his latest race, auspicious waft it down."

"And who this awful chief?" aloud exclaimsThe wond'ring regent. "O'er the field he flamesIn dazzling steel; where'er he bends his courseThe battle sinks beneath his headlong force:Against his troops, though few, the num'rous foesIn vain their spears and tow'ry walls oppose.With smoking blood his armour sprinkled o'er,High to the knees his courser paws in gore:O'er crowns and blood-stain'd ensigns scatter'd roundHe rides; his courser's brazen hoofs resound.""In that great chief," the second GAMA cries,"The first Alonzo strikes thy wond'ring eyes.From Lusus' realm the pagan Moors he drove;Heav'n, whom he lov'd, bestow'd on him such love,Beneath him, bleeding of its mortal wound,The Moorish strength lay prostrate on the ground.Nor Ammon's son, nor greater Julius dar'dWith troops so few, with hosts so num'rous warr'd:Nor less shall Fame the subject heroes own:Behold that hoary warrior's rageful frown!On his young pupil's flight his burning eyesHe darts, and, 'Turn thy flying host,' he cries,'Back to the field!' The vet'ran and the boyBack to the field exult with furious joy:Their ranks mow'd down, the boastful foe recedes,The vanquish'd triumph, and the victor bleeds.Again, that mirror of unshaken faith,Egaz behold, a chief self-doom'd to death.Beneath Castilia's sword his monarch lay;Homage he vow'd his helpless king should pay;His haughty king reliev'd, the treaty spurns,With conscious pride the noble Egaz burns;His comely spouse and infant race he leads,Himself the same, in sentenced felons' weeds,Around their necks the knotted halters bound,With naked feet they tread the flinty ground;And, prostrate now before Castilia's throne,Their offer'd lives their monarch's pride atone.Ah Rome! no more thy gen'rous consul boast.Whose 'lorn submission sav'd his ruin'd host:No father's woes assail'd his stedfast mind;The dearest ties the Lusian chief resign'd.

"There, by the stream, a town besieged behold,The Moorish tents the shatter'd walls enfold.Fierce as the lion from the covert springs,When hunger gives his rage the whirlwind's wings;From ambush, lo, the valiant Fuaz pours,And whelms in sudden rout th'astonish'd Moors.The Moorish king in captive chains he sends;And, low at Lisbon's throne, the royal captive bends.Fuaz again the artist's skill displays;Far o'er the ocean shine his ensign's rays:In crackling flames the Moorish galleys fly,And the red blaze ascends the blushing sky:O'er Avila's high steep the flames aspire,And wrap the forests in a sheet of fire:There seem the waves beneath the prows to boil;And distant, far around for many a mile,The glassy deep reflects the ruddy blaze;Far on the edge the yellow light decays,And blends with hov'ring blackness. Great and dreadThus shone the day when first the combat bled,The first our heroes battled on the main,The glorious prelude of our naval reign,Which, now the waves beyond the burning zone,And northern Greenland's frost-bound billows own.Again behold brave Fuaz dares the fight!O'erpower'd he sinks beneath the Moorish might;Smiling in death the martyr-hero lies,And lo, his soul triumphant mounts the skies.Here now, behold, in warlike pomp portray'd,A foreign navy brings the pious aid.Lo, marching from the decks the squadrons spread,Strange their attire, their aspect firm and dread.The holy cross their ensigns bold display,To Salem's aid they plough'd the wat'ry way:Yet first, the cause the same, on Tago's shoreThey dye their maiden swords in pagan gore.Proud stood the Moor on Lisbon's warlike towers,From Lisbon's walls they drive the Moorish powers:Amid the thickest of the glorious fight,Lo, Henry falls, a gallant German knight,A martyr falls: that holy tomb behold,There waves the blossom'd palm, the boughs of gold:O'er Henry's grave the sacred plant arose,And from the leaves, Heav'n's gift, gay health redundant flows.

"Aloft, unfurl!" the valiant Paulus cries.Instant, new wars on new-spread ensigns rise"In robes of white behold a priest advance!His sword in splinters smites the Moorish lance:Arronchez won revenges Lira's fall:And lo, on fair Savilia's batter'd wall,How boldly calm, amid the crashing spears,That hero-form the Lusian standard rears.There bleeds the war on fair Vandalia's plain:Lo, rushing through the Moors, o'er hills of slainThe hero rides, and proves by genuine claimThe son of Egas, and his worth the same.Pierc'd by his dart the standard-bearer dies;Beneath his feet the Moorish standard lies:High o'er the field, behold the glorious blaze!The victor-youth the Lusian flag displays.Lo, while the moon through midnight azure rides,From the high wall adown his spear-staff glidesThe dauntless Gerald: in his left he bearsTwo watchmen's heads, his right the falchion rears:The gate he opens, swift from ambush riseHis ready bands, the city falls his prize:Evora still the grateful honour pays,Her banner'd flag the mighty deed displays:There frowns the hero; in his left he bearsThe two cold heads, his right the falchion rears.Wrong'd by his king, and burning for revenge,Behold his arms that proud Castilian change;The Moorish buckler on his breast he bears,And leads the fiercest of the pagan spears.Abrantes falls beneath his raging force,And now to Tagus bends his furious course.Another fate he met on Tagus' shore,Brave Lopez from his brows the laurels tore;His bleeding army strew'd the thirsty ground,And captive chains the rageful leader bound.Resplendent far that holy chief behold!Aside he throws the sacred staff of gold,And wields the spear of steel. How bold advanceThe num'rous Moors, and with the rested lanceHem round the trembling Lusians. Calm and boldStill towers the priest, and lo, the skies unfold:Cheer'd by the vision, brighter than the day,The Lusians trample down the dread arrayOf Hagar's legions: on the reeking plainLow, with their slaves, four haughty kings lie slain.In vain Alcazar rears her brazen walls,Before his rushing host Alcazar falls.There, by his altar, now the hero shines,And, with the warrior's palm, his mitre twines.That chief behold: though proud Castilia's hostHe leads, his birth shall Tagus ever boast.As a pent flood bursts headlong o'er the strandSo pours his fury o'er Algarbia's land:Nor rampir'd town, nor castled rock affordThe refuge of defence from Payo's sword.By night-veil'd art proud Sylves falls his prey,And Tavila's high, walls, at middle day,Fearless he scales: her streets in blood deploreThe seven brave hunters murder'd by the Moor.These three bold knights how dread! Thro' Spain and FranceAt joust and tourney with the tilted lanceVictors they rode: Castilia's court beheldHer peers o'erthrown; the peers with rancour swell'd:The bravest of the three their swords surround;Brave Ribeir strews them vanquish'd o'er the ground.Now let thy thoughts, all wonder and on fire,That darling son of warlike Fame admire.Prostrate at proud Castilia's monarch's feetHis land lies trembling: lo, the nobles meet:Softly they seem to breathe, and forward bendThe servile neck; each eye distrusts his friend;Fearful each tongue to speak; each bosom cold:When, colour'd with stern rage, erect and bold,The hero rises: 'Here no foreign throneShall fix its base; my native king aloneShall reign.' Then, rushing to the fight, he leads;Low, vanquish'd in the dust, Castilia bleeds.Where proudest hope might deem it vain to dare,God led him on, and crown'd the glorious war.Though fierce, as num'rous, are the hosts that dwellBy Betis' stream, these hosts before him fell.The fight behold: while absent from his bands,Press'd on the step of flight his army stands,To call the chief a herald speeds away:Low, on his knees, the gallant chief survey!He pours his soul, with lifted hands implores,And Heav'n's assisting arm, inspir'd, adores.Panting, and pale, the herald urges speed:With holy trust of victory decreed,Careless he answers, 'Nothing urgent calls:'And soon the bleeding foe before him falls.To Numa, thus, the pale patricians fled--'The hostile squadrons o'er the kingdom spread!'They cry; unmov'd, the holy king replies--'And I, behold, am off'ring sacrifice!'Earnest, I see thy wond'ring eyes inquireWho this illustrious chief, his country's sire?The Lusian Scipio well might speak his fame,But nobler Nunio shines a greater name:On earth's green bosom, or on ocean grey,A greater never shall the sun survey.

"Known by the silver cross, and sable shield,Two Knights of Malta there command the field;From Tago's banks they drive the fleecy prey,And the tir'd ox lows on his weary way:When, as the falcon through the forest gladeDarts on the lev'ret, from the brown-wood shadeDarts Roderic on their rear; in scatter'd flightThey leave the goodly herds the victor's right.Again, behold, in gore he bathes his sword;His captive friend, to liberty restor'd,Glows to review the cause that wrought his woe,The cause, his loyalty, as taintless snow.Here treason's well-earn'd meed allures thine eyes,Low, grovelling in the dust, the traitor dies;Great Elvas gave the blow. Again, behold,Chariot and steed in purple slaughter roll'd:Great Elvas triumphs; wide o'er Xeres' plainAround him reeks the noblest blood of Spain.

"Here Lisbon's spacious harbour meets the view:How vast the foe's, the Lusian fleet how few!Castile's proud war-ships, circling round, encloseThe Lusian galleys; through their thund'ring rows,Fierce pressing on, Pereira fearless rides,His hook'd irons grasp the adm'ral's sides:Confusion maddens: on the dreadless knightCastilia's navy pours its gather'd might:Pereira dies, their self-devoted prey,And safe the Lusian galleys speed away.

"Lo, where the lemon-trees from yon green hillThrow their cool shadows o'er the crystal rill;There twice two hundred fierce Castilian foesTwice eight, forlorn, of Lusian race enclose;Forlorn they seem; but taintless flow'd their bloodFrom those three hundred who of old withstood;Withstood, and from a thousand Romans toreThe victor-wreath, what time the shepherd boreThe leader's staff of Lusus: equal flameInspir'd these few, their victory the same.Though twenty lances brave each single spear,Never the foes superior might to fearIs our inheritance, our native right,Well tried, well prov'd in many a dreadful fight.

"That dauntless earl behold; on Libya's coast,Far from the succour of the Lusian host,Twice hard besieg'd, he holds the Ceutan towersAgainst the banded might of Afric's powers.That other earl;--behold the port he bore,So, trod stern Mars on Thracia's hills of yore.What groves of spears Alcazar's gates surround!There Afric's nations blacken o'er the ground.A thousand ensigns, glitt'ring to the day,The waning moon's slant silver horns display.In vain their rage; no gate, no turret falls,The brave De Vian guards Alcazar's walls.In hopeless conflict lost his king appears;Amid the thickest of the Moorish spearsPlunges bold Vian: in the glorious strifeHe dies, and dying saves his sov'reign's life.

"Illustrious, lo, two brother-heroes shine,Their birth, their deeds, adorn the royal line;To ev'ry king of princely Europe known,In ev'ry court the gallant Pedro shone.The glorious Henry--kindling at his nameBehold my sailors' eyes all sparkle flame!Henry the chief, who first, by Heav'n inspir'd,To deeds unknown before, the sailor fir'd,The conscious sailor left the sight of shore,And dar'd new oceans, never plough'd before.The various wealth of ev'ry distant landHe bade his fleets explore, his fleets command.The ocean's great discoverer he shines;Nor less his honours in the martial lines:The painted flag the cloud-wrapt siege displays,There Ceuta's rocking wall its trust betrays.Black yawns the breach; the point of many a spearGleams through the smoke; loud shouts astound the ear.Whose step first trod the dreadful pass? Whose swordHew'd its dark way, first with the foe begor'd?'Twas thine, O glorious Henry, first to dareThe dreadful pass, and thine to close the war.Taught by his might, and humbled in her gore,The boastful pride of Afric tower'd no more.

"Num'rous though these, more num'rous warriors shineTh' illustrious glory of the Lusian line.But ah, forlorn, what shame to barb'rous pride!Friendless the master of the pencil died;Immortal fame his deathless labours gave;Poor man, he sunk neglected to the grave!"

The gallant Paulus faithful thus explain'dThe various deeds the pictur'd flags contain'd.Still o'er and o'er, and still again untir'd,The wond'ring regent of the wars inquir'd:Still wond'ring, heard the various pleasing tale,Till o'er the decks cold sigh'd the ev'ning gale:The falling darkness dimm'd the eastern shore,And twilight hover'd o'er the billows hoarFar to the west, when, with his noble band,The thoughtful regent sought his native strand.

O'er the tall mountain-forest's waving boughsAslant, the new moon's slender horns arose;Near her pale chariot shone a twinkling star,And, save the murm'ring of the wave afar,Deep-brooding silence reign'd; each labour clos'd,In sleep's soft arms the sons of toil repos'd.And now, no more the moon her glimpses shed,A sudden, black-wing'd cloud the sky o'erspread,A sullen murmur through the woodland groan'd,In woe-swoll'n sighs the hollow winds bemoan'd:Borne on the plaintive gale, a patt'ring showerIncreas'd the horrors of the evil hour.Thus, when the God of earthquakes rocks the ground,He gives the prelude in a dreary sound;O'er nature's face a horrid gloom he throws,With dismal note the cock unusual crows,A shrill-voic'd howling trembles thro' the air,As passing ghosts were weeping in despair;In dismal yells the dogs confess their fear,And shiv'ring, own some dreadful presence near.So, lower'd the night, the sullen howl the same,And, 'mid the black-wing'd gloom, stern Bacchus came;The form, and garb of Hagar's son he took,The ghost-like aspect, and the threat'ning look.Then, o'er the pillow of a furious priest,Whose burning zeal the Koran's lore profess'd,Reveal'd he stood, conspicuous in a dream,His semblance shining, as the moon's pale gleam:"And guard," he cries, "my son, O timely guard,Timely defeat the dreadful snare prepar'd:And canst thou, careless, unaffected, sleep,While these stern, lawless rovers of the deepFix on thy native shore a foreign throne,Before whose steps thy latest race shall groan!"He spoke; cold horror shook the Moorish priest;He wakes, but soon reclines in wonted rest:An airy phantom of the slumb'ring brainHe deem'd the vision; when the fiend again,With sterner mien, and fiercer accent spoke:"Oh faithless! worthy of the foreign yoke!And know'st thou not thy prophet sent by Heav'n,By whom the Koran's sacred lore was giv'n,God's chiefest gift to men: and must I leaveThe bowers of Paradise, for you to grieve,For you to watch, while, thoughtless of your woe,Ye sleep, the careless victims of the foe;The foe, whose rage will soon with cruel joy,If unoppos'd, my sacred shrines destroy?Then, while kind Heav'n th'auspicious hour bestows,Let ev'ry nerve their infant strength oppose.When, softly usher'd by the milky dawn,The sun first rises o'er the daisied lawn,His silver lustre, as the shining dewOf radiance mild, unhurt the eye may view:But, when on high the noon-tide flaming raysGive all the force of living fire to blaze,A giddy darkness strikes the conquer'd sight,That dares, in all his glow, the lord of light.Such, if on India's soil the tender shootOf these proud cedars fix the stubborn root,Such, shall your power before them sink decay'd.And India's strength shall wither in their shade."

He spoke; and, instant from his vot'ry's bedTogether with repose, the demon fled;Again cold horror shook the zealot's frame,And all his hatred of Messiah's nameBurn'd in his venom'd heart, while, veil'd in night,Right to the palace sped the demon's flight.Sleepless the king he found, in dubious thought;His conscious fraud a thousand terrors brought:All gloomy as the hour, around him stand,With haggard looks, the hoary Magi band:To trace what fates on India's wide domainAttend the rovers from unheard-of Spain,Prepar'd, in dark futurity, to proveThe hell-taught rituals of infernal Jove:Mutt'ring their charms, and spells of dreary sound,With naked feet they beat the hollow ground;Blue gleams the altar's flame along the walls,With dismal, hollow groans the victim falls;With earnest eyes the priestly band exploreThe entrails, throbbing in the living gore.And lo, permitted by the power divine,The hov'ring demon gives the dreadful sign.Here furious War her gleamy falchion draws,Here lean-ribb'd Famine writhes her falling jaws;Dire as the fiery pestilential starDarting his eyes, high on his trophied car,Stern Tyranny sweeps wide o'er India's ground;On vulture-wings fierce Rapine hovers round;Ills after ills, and India's fetter'd might,Th'eternal yoke. Loud shrieking at the sight,The starting wizards from the altar fly,And silent horror glares in ev'ry eye:Pale stands the monarch, lost in cold dismay,And, now impatient, waits the ling'ring day.

With gloomy aspect rose the ling'ring dawn,And dropping tears flow'd slowly o'er the lawn;The Moorish priest, with fear and vengeance fraught,Soon as the light appear'd his kindred sought;Appall'd, and trembling with ungen'rous fear,In secret council met, his tale they hear;As, check'd by terror or impell'd by hate,Of various means they ponder and debate,Against the Lusian train what arts employ,By force to slaughter, or by fraud destroy;Now black, now pale, their bearded cheeks appear,As boiling rage prevails, or boding fear;Beneath their shady brows, their eye-balls roll,Nor one soft gleam bespeaks the gen'rous soul;Through quiv'ring lips they draw their panting breath.While their dark fraud decrees the works of death;Nor unresolv'd the power of gold to trySwift to the lordly catual's gate they hie.--Ah, what the wisdom, what the sleepless careEfficient to avoid the traitor's snare;What human power can give a king to knowThe smiling aspect of the lurking foe!So let the tyrant plead.--The patriot kingKnows men, knows whence the patriot virtues spring;From inward worth, from conscience firm and bold,(Not from the man whose honest name is sold),He hopes that virtue, whose unalter'd weightStands fix'd, unveering with the storms of state.

Lur'd was the regent with the Moorish gold,And now agreed their fraudful course to hold,Swift to the king the regent's steps they tread;The king they found o'erwhelm'd in sacred dread.The word they take, their ancient deeds relate,Their ever faithful service of the state;"For ages long, from shore to distant shoreFor thee our ready keels the traffic bore:For thee we dar'd each horror of the wave;Whate'er thy treasures boast our labours gave.And wilt thou now confer our long-earn'd due,Confer thy favour on a lawless crew?The race they boast, as tigers of the woldBear that proud sway, by justice uncontroll'd.Yet, for their crimes, expell'd that bloody home,These, o'er the deep, rapacious plund'rers roam.Their deeds we know; round Afric's shores they came,And spread, where'er they pass'd, devouring flame;Mozambique's towers, enroll'd in sheets of fire,Blaz'd to the sky, her own funereal pyre.Imperial Calicut shall feel the same,And these proud state-rooms feed the funeral flame;While many a league far round, their joyful eyesShall mark old ocean reddening to the skies.Such dreadful fates, o'er thee, O king, depend,Yet, with thy fall our fate shall never blend:Ere o'er the east arise the second dawnOur fleets, our nation from thy land withdrawn,In other climes, beneath a kinder reignShall fix their port: yet may the threat be vain!If wiser thou with us thy powers employ,Soon shall our powers the robber-crew destroy.By their own arts and secret deeds o'ercome,Here shall they meet the fate escaped at home."

While thus the priest detain'd the monarch's ear,His cheeks confess'd the quiv'ring pulse of fear.Unconscious of the worth that fires the brave,In state a monarch, but in heart a slave,He view'd brave VASCO, and his gen'rous train,As his own passions stamp'd the conscious stain:Nor less his rage the fraudful regent fir'd;And valiant GAMA'S fate was now conspir'd.

Ambassadors from India GAMA sought,And oaths of peace, for oaths of friendship brought;The glorious tale, 'twas all he wish'd, to tell;So Ilion's fate was seal'd when Hector fell.

Again convok'd before the Indian throne,The monarch meets him with a rageful frown;"And own," he cries, "the naked truth reveal,Then shall my bounteous grace thy pardon seal.Feign'd is the treaty thou pretend'st to bring:No country owns thee, and thou own'st no king.Thy life, long roving o'er the deep, I know--A lawless robber, every man thy foe.And think'st thou credit to thy tale to gain?Mad were the sov'reign, and the hope were vain,Through ways unknown, from utmost western shore,To bid his fleets the utmost east explore.Great is thy monarch, so thy words declare;But sumptuous gifts the proof of greatness bear:Kings thus to kings their empire's grandeur show;Thus prove thy truth, thus we thy truth allow.If not, what credence will the wise afford?What monarch trust the wand'ring seaman's word?No sumptuous gift thou bring'st.--Yet, though some crimeHas thrown thee, banish'd from thy native clime,(Such oft of old the hero's fate has been),Here end thy toils, nor tempt new fates unseen:Each land the brave man nobly calls his home:Or if, bold pirates, o'er the deep you roam,Skill'd the dread storm to brave, O welcome here!Fearless of death, or shame, confess sincere:My name shall then thy dread protection be,My captain thou, unrivall'd on the sea."

Oh now, ye Muses, sing what goddess fir'dGAMA'S proud bosom, and his lips inspir'd.Fair Acidalia, love's celestial queen,The graceful goddess of the fearless mien,Her graceful freedom on his look bestow'd,And all collected in his bosom glow'd."Sov'reign," he cries, "oft witness'd, well I knowThe rageful falsehood of the Moorish foe:Their fraudful tales, from hatred bred, believ'd,Thine ear is poison'd, and thine eye deceiv'd.What light, what shade the courtier's mirror gives,That light, that shade the guarded king receives.Me hast thou view'd in colours not mine own,Yet, bold I promise shall my truth be known.If o'er the seas a lawless pest I roam,A blood-stain'd exile from my native home,How many a fertile shore and beauteous isle,Where Nature's gifts, unclaim'd, unbounded, smile,Mad have I left, to dare the burning zone,And all the horrors of the gulfs unknownThat roar beneath the axle of the world.Where ne'er before was daring sail unfurl'd!And have I left these beauteous shores behind,And have I dar'd the rage of ev'ry wind,That now breath'd fire, and now came wing'd with frost,Lur'd by the plunder of an unknown coast?Not thus the robber leaves his certain preyFor the gay promise of a nameless day.Dread and stupendous, more than death-doom'd manMight hope to compass, more than wisdom plan,To thee my toils, to thee my dangers rise:Ah! Lisbon's kings behold with other eyes.Where virtue calls, where glory leads the way,No dangers move them, and no toils dismay.Long have the kings of Lusus' daring raceResolv'd the limits of the deep to trace,Beneath the morn to ride the furthest waves,And pierce the farthest shore old Ocean laves.Sprung from the prince, before whose matchless powerThe strength of Afric wither'd as a flowerNever to bloom again, great Henry shone,Each gift of nature and of art his own;Bold as his sire, by toils on toils untir'd,To find the Indian shore his pride aspir'd.Beneath the stars that round the Hydra shine,And where fam'd Argo hangs the heav'nly sign,Where thirst and fever burn on ev'ry galeThe dauntless Henry rear'd the Lusian sail.Embolden'd by the meed that crown'd his toils,Beyond the wide-spread shores and num'rous isles,Where both the tropics pour the burning day,Succeeding heroes forc'd th' exploring way;That race which never view'd the Pleiad's car,That barb'rous race beneath the southern star,Their eyes beheld.--Dread roar'd the blast--the waveBoils to the sky, the meeting whirlwinds raveO'er the torn heav'ns; loud on their awe-struck earGreat Nature seem'd to call, 'Approach not here!'At Lisbon's court they told their dread escape,And from her raging tempests, nam'd the Cape.'Thou southmost point,' the joyful king exclaim'd,'Cape of Good Hope, be thou for ever nam'd!Onward my fleets shall dare the dreadful way,And find the regions of the infant day.'In vain the dark and ever-howling blastProclaim'd, 'This ocean never shall be past;'Through that dread ocean, and the tempests' roar,My king commanded, and my course I bore.The pillar thus of deathless fame, begunBy other chiefs, beneath the rising sunIn thy great realm, now to the skies I raise,The deathless pillar of my nation's praise.Through these wild seas no costly gift I brought;Thy shore alone and friendly peace I sought.And yet to thee the noblest gift I bringThe world can boast--the friendship of my king.And mark the word, his greatness shall appearWhen next my course to India's strand I steer,Such proofs I'll bring as never man beforeIn deeds of strife, or peaceful friendship bore.Weigh now my words, my truth demands the light,For truth shall ever boast, at last, resistless might."

Boldly the hero spake with brow severe,Of fraud alike unconscious, as of fear:His noble confidence with truth impressedSunk deep, unwelcome, in the monarch's breast,Nor wanting charms his avarice to gainAppear'd the commerce of illustrious Spain.Yet, as the sick man loathes the bitter draught,Though rich with health he knows the cup comes fraught;His health without it, self-deceiv'd, he weighs,Now hastes to quaff the drug, and now delays;Reluctant thus, as wav'ring passion veer'd,The Indian lord the dauntless GAMA heard:The Moorish threats yet sounding in his ear,He acts with caution, and is led by fear.With solemn pomp he bids his lords prepareThe friendly banquet; to the regent's careCommends brave GAMA, and with pomp retires:The regent's hearths awake the social fires;Wide o'er the board the royal feast is spread,And, fair embroidered, shines DE GAMA'S bed.The regent's palace high o'erlook'd the bayWhere GAMA'S black-ribb'd fleet at anchor lay.

Ah, why the voice of ire and bitter woeO'er Tago's banks, ye nymphs of Tagus, show?The flow'ry garlands from your ringlets torn,Why wand'ring wild with trembling steps forlorn?The demon's rage you saw, and mark'd his flightTo the dark mansions of eternal night:You saw how, howling through the shades beneath,He wak'd new horrors in the realms of death.What trembling tempests shook the thrones of hell,And groan'd along her caves, ye muses, tell.The rage of baffled fraud, and all the fireOf powerless hate, with tenfold flames conspire;From ev'ry eye the tawny lightnings glare,And hell, illumin'd by the ghastly flare,(A drear blue gleam), in tenfold horror showsHer darkling caverns; from his dungeon roseHagar's stern son: pale was his earthy hue,And from his eye-balls flash'd the lightnings blue;Convuls'd with rage the dreadful shade demandsThe last assistance of th' infernal bands.As when the whirlwinds, sudden bursting, bearTh' autumnal leaves high floating through the air;So, rose the legions of th' infernal state,Dark Fraud, base Art, fierce Rage, and burning Hate:Wing'd by the Furies to the Indian strandThey bend; the demon leads the dreadful band,And, in the bosoms of the raging MoorsAll their collected, living strength he pours.One breast alone against his rage was steel'd,Secure in spotless Truth's celestial shield.

One evening past, another evening clos'd,The regent still brave GAMA'S suit oppos'd;The Lusian chief his guarded guest detain'd,With arts on arts, and vows of friendship feign'd.His fraudful art, though veil'd in deep disguise,Shone bright to GAMA'S manner-piercing eyes.As in the sun's bright beam the gamesome boyPlays with the shining steel or crystal toy,Swift and irregular, by sudden starts,The living ray with viewless motion darts,Swift o'er the wall, the floor, the roof, by turnsThe sun-beam dances, and the radiance burns:In quick succession, thus, a thousand viewsThe sapient Lusian's lively thought pursues;Quick as the lightning ev'ry view revolves,And, weighing all, fix'd are his dread resolves.O'er India's shore the sable night descends,And GAMA, now, secluded from his friends,Detain'd a captive in the room of state,Anticipates in thought to-morrow's fate;For just Mozaide no gen'rous care delays,And VASCO'S trust with friendly toils repays.