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(From The Lusiad)
Translated by W. J. Mickle
BENEATH the spreading wings of purple morn, | |
| Behold what isles these glistening seas adorn! | |
| Mid hundreds yet unnamed, Ternat behold; | |
| By day her hills in pitchy clouds enrolled, | |
| By night like rolling waves the sheets of fire | 5 |
| Blaze o’er the seas, and high to heaven aspire. | |
| For Lusian hands here blooms the fragrant clove, | |
| But Lusian blood shall sprinkle every grove. | |
| The golden birds that ever sail the skies, | |
| Here to the sun display their shining dyes, | 10 |
| Each want supplied, on air they ever soar; | |
| The ground they touch not till they breathe no more. | |
| Here Banda’s isles their fair embroidery spread | |
| Of various fruitage, azure, white, and red; | |
| And birds of every beauteous plume display | 15 |
| Their glittering radiance, as from spray to spray, | |
| From bower to bower, on busy wings they rove, | |
| To seize the tribute of the spicy grove. | |
| Borneo here expands her ample breast, | |
| By Nature’s hand in woods of camphire dressed; | 20 |
| The precious liquid weeping from the trees | |
| Glows warm with health, the balsam of disease. | |
| Fair are Timora’s dales with groves arrayed; | |
| Each rivulet murmurs in the fragrant shade, | |
| And in its crystal breast displays the bowers | 25 |
| Of sanders, blessed with health-restoring powers. | |
| Where to the south the world’s broad surface bends, | |
| Lo, Sunda’s realm her spreading arms extends. | |
| From hence the pilgrim brings the wondrous tale, | |
| A river groaning through a dreary dale, | 30 |
| For all is stone around, converts to stone | |
| Whate’er of verdure in its breast is thrown. | |
| Lo, gleaming blue o’er fair Sumatra’s skies, | |
| Another mountain’s trembling flames arise; | |
| Here from the trees the gum all fragrance swells, | 35 |
| And softest oil a wondrous fountain wells. | |
| Nor these alone the happy isle bestows, | |
| Fine is her gold, her silk resplendent glows. | |
| Wide forests there beneath Maldivia’s tide | |
| From withering air their wondrous fruitage hide. | 40 |
| The green-haired Nereids tend the bowery dells, | |
| Whose wondrous fruitage poisoned rage expels. | |
| In Ceylon, lo, how high yon mountain’s brows! | |
| The sailing clouds its middle height enclose. | |
| Holy the hill is deemed, the hallowed tread | 45 |
| Of sainted footstep marks its rocky head. | |
| Laved by the Red-Sea gulf, Socotra’s bowers | |
| There boast the tardy aloe’s clustered flowers. | |
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