Rodriguez Lobo

Translated by Richard Garnett

DEAR Tagus, what immeasurable space

Our present from our former lot divides!

Glassy of yore, now turbid are thy tides,

Once smiles my brow adorned, now tears deface.

Thy change is work of tempests, whose descent

Robs thy clear current of its silvery sheen,

Mine of the brilliant eyes and sovran mien

That portion me my bliss or discontent.

As we are thus participant in woe,

Would we were so in all things; and, as pain,

So simultaneous joy might feel! But no!

Flower-fostering Spring shall look and see no stain

In thy clear mirror; but I cannot know

If my lost bliss will ever come again.