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(From The Lusiad)
Translated by W. J. Mickle
BEHIND them now the Cape of Praso bends, | |
| Another ocean to their view extends, | |
| Where black-topped islands, to their longing eyes, | |
| Laved by the gentle waves, in prospect rise. | |
| But Gama (captain of the venturous band, | 5 |
| Of bold emprize, and born for high command, | |
| Whose martial fires, with prudence close allied, | |
| Insured the smiles of Fortune on his side) | |
| Bears off those shores which waste and wild appeared, | |
| And eastward still for happier climates steered: | 10 |
| When gathering round, and blackening o’er the tide, | |
| A fleet of small canoes the pilot spied; | |
| Hoisting their sails of palm-tree leaves, inwove | |
| With curious art, a swarming crowd they move: | |
| Long were their boats, and sharp to bound along | 15 |
| Through the dashed waters, broad their oars and strong: | |
| The bending rowers on their features bore | |
| The swarthy marks of Phaeton’s fall of yore: | |
| When flaming lightnings scorched the banks of Po, | |
| And nations blackened in the dread o’erthrow. | 20 |
| Their garb, discovered as approaching nigh, | |
| Was cotton striped with many a gaudy dye: | |
| ’T was one whole piece beneath one arm confined, | |
| The rest hung loose and fluttered on the wind; | |
| All, but one breast, above the loins was bare, | 25 |
| And swelling turbans bound their jetty hair: | |
| Their arms were bearded darts and falchions broad, | |
| And warlike music sounded as they rowed. | |
| With joy the sailors saw the boats draw near, | |
| With joy beheld the human face appear: | 30 |
| What nations these, their wondering thoughts explore, | |
| What rites they follow, and what God adore! | |
| And now with hands and kerchiefs waved in air | |
| The barbarous race their friendly mind declare. | |
| Glad were the crew, and weened that happy day | 35 |
| Should end their dangers and their toils repay. | |
| The lofty masts the nimble youths ascend, | |
| The ropes they haul, and o’er the yard-arms bend; | |
| And now their bowsprits pointing to the shore, | |
| (A safe, mooned bay), with slackened sails they bore: | 40 |
| With cheerful shouts they furl the gathered sail | |
| That less and less flaps quivering on the gale; | |
| The prows, their speed stopped, o’er the surges nod, | |
| The falling anchors dash the foaming flood; | |
| When, sudden as they stopped, the swarthy race, | 45 |
| With smiles of friendly welcome on each face, | |
| The ship’s high sides swift by the cordage climb: | |
| Illustrious Gama, with an air sublime, | |
| Softened by mild humanity, receives, | |
| And to their chief the hand of friendship gives, | 50 |
| Bids spread the board, and, instant as he said, | |
| Along the deck the festive board is spread: | |
| The sparkling wine in crystal goblets glows, | |
| And round and round with cheerful welcome flows. | |
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