The Lusiads: Canto III

Now, my Calliope! to teach incline what speech great Gama for the King did frame: Inspire immortal song, grant voice divine unto this mortal who so loves thy name. Thus may the God whose gift was Medicine, to whom thou barest Orpheus, lovely Dame! never for Daphne, Clytia, Leucothöe due love deny thee or inconstant grow he.

Satisfy, Nymph! desires that in me teem, to sing the merits of thy Lusians brave; so worlds shall see and say that Tagus-stream rolls Aganippe’s liquor. Leave, I crave, leave flow’ry Pindus-head; e’en now I deem Apollo bathes me in that sovran wave; else must I hold it, that thy gentle sprite, fears thy dear Orpheus fade through me from sight.

All stood with open ears in long array to hear what mighty Gama mote unfold; when, past in thoughtful mood a brief delay, began he thus with brow high-raised and bold:— “Thou biddest me, O King! to say my say anent our grand genealogy of old: Thou bidd’st me not relate an alien story; thou bidd’st me laud my brother Lusians’ glory.

“That one praise others’ exploits and renown is honour’d custom which we all desire; yet fear I ’tis unfit to praise mine own; lest praise, like this suspect, no trust inspire; nor may I hope to make all matters known for Time however long were short: yet, sire! as thou commandest all is owed to thee; maugre my will I speak and brief will be.

“Nay, more, what most obligeth me, in fine, is that no leasing in my tale may dwell; for of such Feats whatever boast be mine, when most is told, remaineth much to tell: But that due order wait on the design, e’en as desirest thou to learn full well, the wide-spread Cont’inent first I’ll briefly trace, then the fierce bloody wars that waged my Race.

“Atwixt the Zone, where Cancer holds command— the lucent Sun’s septentrional mete— and that whose frigid horrors freeze the land as burns the middle Belt with fervid heat, lies haughty Europe: On her goodly strand, facing Arcturus and the Ponent, beat the briny billows of Atlantis plain, while free t’wards Auster flows the Midland-main.

“That part where lovely Dawn is born and bred, neighboureth Asia: But the curvèd river, from far and frore Rhipaean ranges shed, to feed Maeotis-lake with waves that shiver, departs them, and the Sea-strait fierce and dread, that owned the vict’ory of the Greek deceiver, where now the seaman sees along the shore triumphant Troja’s mem’ories and—no more.

“There farther still the Boreal Pole below, Hyperboréan mountain-walls appear, and the wild hills where Aeolus loves to blow, while of his winds the names they proudly bear: Here such cold comfort doth Apollo show, so weak his light and warmth to shine and cheer, that snows eternal gleam upon the mountains, freezeth the sea, and ever freeze the fountains.

“Here of the Scythic hordes vast numbers be, in olden day a mighty warrior band, who fought for honours of antiquity with the then owners of the Nylus-land: But how remote their claims from verity, (for human judgments oft misunderstand), let him who seeks what higher lore reveal’d ask the red clay that clothes Damascus-field.

“Now in these wild and wayward parts be told Cold Lapland’s name, uncultivate Norwày, Escandinavia’s isle, whose scions bold boast triumphs Italy shall ne’er gainsay. Here, while ne frost, ne wintry rigours hold in hand the waters, seafolk ply the way, over the arm of rough Sarmatic Main the Swede, the Brusian, and the shiv’ering Dane.

“Between the sea and Tanaïs-stream we count strange races, Ruthens, Moscows, and Livonians— Sarmátae all of old—and on the Mount Hercynian, Marcomanni, now Polonians. Holding the empire Almayne paramount dwell Saxons, and Bohemians, and Pannonians; and other tribes, wherethrough their currents frore Rhine, Danube, Amasis, and Albis pour.

“ ’Twixt distant Ister and the famous Strait, where hapless Helle left her name and life, the Thracians wone, a folk of brave estate, Mars’ well-loved country, chosen home of strife: There Rhódope and Haemus rue the weight of cursèd Othman’s rule with horror rife; Byzance they hold beneath their yoke indign great injury working to great Constantine!

“Hard by their side the Macedonians rest, whose soil is water’ed by cold Axius’ wave: Eke ye, of ev’ery choicest realm the best, Lands of the free, the wise, the good, the brave, that here did breed and bear the facund breast, and to the world its wit and wisdom gave, wherewith thou, noble Greece! hast reach’ed the stars, no less by arts exalt than arms and wars.

“The Dalmats follow; and upon the Bay where rose Antenor’s walls in while of yore, superb Venetia builds on wat’ery way, Adria’s Queen that erst was lowly poor. Hence seawards runs a land-arm made to sway forceful the sons of many a stranger shore; an arm of might, whose Race hath conquer’d time nor less by spirit than by sword sublime.

“Girdeth her shores the kingdom Neptunine, while Nature’s bulwarks fence her landward side; her middle width departeth Apennine, by Mars, her saint and patron, glorified: But when the Porter rose to rank divine, she lost her prowess, and her bellic pride: Humbled she lies with antique puissance spent: So Man’s humil’ity may his God content!

“Gallia can there be seen, whose name hath flown where Caesar’s triumphs to the world are told; by Séquana ’tis watered and the Rhone, by Rhine’s deep current and Garumna cold: Here rise the ranges from Pyréne known, the Nymph ensepulchre’d in days of old, whence, legends say, the conflagrated woods rolled golden streams, and flowèd silvern floods.

“Lo! here her presence showeth noble Spain, of Europe’s body corporal the head; o’er whose home-rule, and glorious foreign reign, the fatal Wheel so many a whirl hath made: Yet ne’er her Past or force or fraud shall stain, nor restless Fortune shall her name degrade; no bonds her bellic offspring bind so tight but it shall burst them with its force of sprite.

“There, facing Tingitania’s shore, she seemeth to block and bar the Med’iterranean wave, where the known Strait its name ennobled deemeth by the last labour of the Theban Brave. Big with the burden of her tribes she teemeth, circled by whelming waves that rage and rave; all noble races of such valiant breast, that each may justly boast itself the best.

“Hers the Tarragonese who, famed in war, made aye-perturbed Parthenopé obey; the twain Asturias, and the haught Navarre twin Christian bulwarks on the Muslim way: Hers the Gallego canny, and the rare Castilian, whom his star raised high to sway Spain as her saviour, and his seign’iory feel Baetis, Leon, Granáda, and Castile.

“See the head-crowning coronet is she, of general Europe, Lusitania’s reign, where endeth land and where beginneth sea, and Phoebus sinks to rest upon the main. Willed her the Heavens with all-just decree by wars to mar th’ ignoble Mauritan, to cast him from herself: nor there consent he rule in peace the Fiery Continent.

“This is my happy land, my home, my pride; where, if the Heav’ens but grant the pray’er I pray for glad return and every risk defied, there may my life-light fail and fade away. This was the Lusitania, name applied by Lusus or by Lysa, sons, they say, of ancient Bacchus, or his boon compeers, eke the first dwellers of her eldest years.

“Here sprang the Shepherd, in whose name we see forecast of virile might, of virtuous meed; whose fame no force shall ever hold in fee, since fame of mighty Rome ne’er did the deed. This, by light Heaven’s volatile decree, that ancient Scyther, who devours his seed, made puissant pow’er in many a part to claim, assuming regal rank; and thus it came:—

“A King there was in Spain, Afonso hight, who waged such warfare with the Saracen, that by his ’sanguined arms, and arts, and might, he spoiled the lands and lives of many men. When from Hercùlean Calpè winged her flight his fame to Caucasus Mount and Caspian glen, many a Knight, who noblesse coveteth, comes off’ering service to such King and Death.

“And with intrinsic love inflamèd more for the True Faith, than honours popular, they troopèd gath’ering from each distant shore, leaving their dear-loved homes and lands afar. When with high feats of force against the Moor they proved of sing’ular worth in Holy War, willèd Afonso that their mighty deeds commens’urate gifts command and equal meeds.

“ ’Mid them Henrique, second son, men say, of a Hungarian King, well-known and tried, by sort won Portugal which, in his day, ne prizèd was ne had fit cause for pride: His strong affection stronger to display the Spanish King decreed a princely bride, his only child, Theresa, to the count; and with her made him Seigneur Paramount.

“This doughty Vassal from that servile horde, Hagar the handmaid’s seed, great vict’ories won; reft the broad lands adjacent with his sword and did whatever Brav’ery bade be done: Him, for his exploits exc’ellent to reward, God gave in shortest space a gallant son, whose arm to ’noble and enfame was fain the warlike name of Lusitania’s reign.

“Once more at home this conqu’ering Henry stood who sacred Hierosol’yma had relievèd, his eyes had fed on Jordan’s holy flood, which the Dear Body of Lord God had lavèd; when Godfrey left no foe to be subdued, and all Judaea conquered was and savèd, many that in his wars had done devoir to their own lordships took the way once more.

“But when this stout and gallant Hun attainèd Life’s fatal period, age and travail-spent, he gave, by Death’s necessity constrainèd, his sprite to Him who had that spirit lent: A son of tender years alone remainèd, to whom the Sire bequeath’d his ’bodiment; with bravest braves the youth was formed to cope, for from such sire such son the world may hope.

“Yet old Report, I know not what its weight, (for on such antique tale no man relies), saith that the Mother, tane in tow the state, a second nuptial bed did not despise: Her orphan son to disinher’ited fate she doomed, declaring hers the dignities, not his, with seigniory o’er all the land, her spousal dowry by her sire’s command.

“Now Prince Afonso (who such style had tane in pious mem’ory of his Grandsire’s name) seeing no part and portion in his reign all pilled and plunder’d by the Spouse and Dame, by dour and doughty Mars inflamed amain, privily plots his heritage to claim: He weighs the causes in his own conceit till firm Resolve its fit effect shall greet.

“Of Guimara’ens the field already flow’d with floods of civil warfare’s bloody tide, where she, who little of the Mother show’d, to her own bowels love and land denied. Fronting the child in fight the parent stood; nor saw her depth of sin that soul of pride against her God, against maternal love: Her sensual passion rose all pow’er above.

“O magical Medea! O Progne dire! if your own babes in vengeance dared ye kill for alien crimes, and injuries of the sire, look ye, Teresa’s deed was darker still. Foul greed of gain, incontinent desire, were the main causes of such bitter ill: Scylla her agèd sire for one did slay, for both Teresa did her son betray.

“Right soon that noble Prince clear vict’ory won from his harsh Mother and her Fere indign; in briefest time the land obeyed the son, though first to fight him did the folk incline. But reft of reason and by rage undone he bound the Mother in the biting chain: Eftsoons avenged her griefs the hand of God: Such veneration is to parents owe’d.

“Lo! the superb Castilian ’gins prepare his pow’er to ’venge Teresa’s injuries, against the Lusian land in men so rare, whereon ne toil ne trouble heavy lies. Their breasts the cruel battle grandly dare, aid the good cause angelic Potencies; unrecking might unequal still they strive, nay, more, their dreadful foe to flight they drive.

“Passeth no tedious time, before the great Prince a dure Siege in Guimaraens dree’d by passing pow’er, for to ’mend his state, came the fell en’emy, full of grief and greed: But when committed life to direful Fate, Egas, the faithful guardian, he was free’d, who had in any other way been lost, all unpreparèd ’gainst such ’whelming host.

“But when the loyal Vassal well hath known how weak his Monarch’s arm to front such fight, sans order wending to the Spanish fone, his Sovran’s homage he doth pledge and plight. Straight from the horrid siege th’ invader flown trusteth the word and honour of the Knight, Egas Moniz: But now the noble breast of the brave Youth disdaineth strange behest.

“Already came the plighted time and tide, when the Castilian Don stood dight to see, before his pow’er the Prince bend low his pride, yielding the promisèd obediency. Egás who views his knightly word belied, while still Castile believes him true to be, sweet life resolveth to the winds to throw, nor live with foulest taint of faithless vow.

“He with his children and his wife departeth to keep his promise with a faith immense; unshod and strippèd, while their plight imparteth far more of pity than of vengeance: ‘If, mighty Monarch! still thy spirit smarteth to wreak revenge on my rash confidence,’ quoth he, ‘behold! I come with life to save my pledge, my knightly Honour’s word I gave.’

“ ‘I bring, thou seest here, lives innocent, of wife, of sinless children dight to die; if breasts of gen’erous mould and excellent accept such weaklings’ woeful destiny. Thou se’est these hands, this tongue inconsequent, hereon alone the fierce exper’iment try of torments, death, and doom that pass in full Sinis or e’en Perillus’ brazen bull.’

“As shrifted wight the hangman stands before, in life still draining bitter draught of death, lays throat on block, and of all hope forlore, expects the blighting blow with bated breath: So, in the Prince’s presence angry sore, Egás stood firm to keep his plighted faith: When the King, marv’elling at such wondrous truth, feels anger melt and merge in Royal ruth.

“Oh the great Portingall-fidelity of Vassal self-devote to doom so dread! What did the Persian more for loyalty whose gallant hand his face and nostrils shred? When great Darius mourned so grievously that he a thousand times deep-sighing said, far he prefer’d his Zóp’yrus sound again, than lord of twenty Babylons to reign.

“But Prince Afonso now prepared his band of happy Lusians proud to front the foes, those haughty Moors that held the glorious land yon side where clear delicious Tagus flows: Now on Ourique field was pitched and plan’d the Royal ’Campment fierce and bellicose, facing the hostile host of Sarrasin though there so many, here so few there bin.

“Confident, yet would he in nought confide, save in his God that holds of Heav’en the throne; so few baptizèd stood their King beside, there were an hundred Moors for every one: Judge any sober judgment, and decide ’twas deed of rashness or by brav’ery done to fall on forces whose exceeding might a cent’ury showèd to a single Knight.

“Order five Moorish Kings the hostile host of whom Ismár, so called, command doth claim; all of long Warfare large experience boast, wherein may mortals win immortal fame: And gallant dames the Knights they love the most ’company, like that brave and beauteous Dame, who to beleaguer’d Troy such aidance gave with woman-troops that drained Thermòdon’s wave.

“The coolth serene, and early morning’s pride, now paled the sparkling stars about the Pole, when Mary’s Son appearing crucified in vision, strengthened King Afonso’s soul. But he, adoring such appearance, cried fired with a frenzied faith beyond control: ‘To th’ Infidel, O Lord! to th’ Infidel: Not, Lord, to me who know Thy pow’er so well.’

“Such gracious marvel in such manner sent ’flamèd the Lusians’ spirits fierce and high, towards their nat’ural King, that excellent Prince, unto whom love-boon none could deny: Aligned to front the foeman prepotent, they shouted res’onant slogan to the sky, and fierce the ’larum rose, ‘Real, real, for high Afonso, King of Portugal!’

“As to the fight by calls defied and cries, some fierce Molossan on the wooded height, attacks the rampant Bull, who most relies on strength of tem’erous horn to force the fight: Now nips the ear, then at the side he flies barking, with more of nimbleness than might, till ripped at last the gullet of his foe he lays the mighty bulk of monster low:

“So the new King, inflamed with zeal devout for God nor less for faithful Lieges’ sake, assails by cunning skill the barb’arous rout with Braves the fronting phalanx eath to break: Whereat the bandogs ‘Allah! Allah!’ shout, and fly to arms; our raging warriors shake the lance and bow; resound the trumpet tones; the music thunders; Echo moans and groans.

“E’en as the prairie-fire enkindled on sun-parchèd steppe (as winn’oweth upper air sibilant Boreas), by the blasts swift blown o’er bush and arid brake rains flame and flare: The shepherd lads and lasses, idly strown in rest and gentle slumber, waked by blare of crackling conflagration blazing higher, hamlet-wards force their flocks to fly the fire:

“Th’ astonied Moorman in such startled guise, snatcheth his weapon hast’ily and sans heed; yet he awaits the fight, nor ever flies, nay, spurs his battle-ginnet to its speed. Meet him as rash and swift his enemies whose piercing lances gar his bosom bleed: These fall half-slain, while others flee that can convoking aidance of their Alcoran.

“There may be viewèd ’counters madly rash, onsets no Serra’s sturdy strength could stand, while charging here and there the chargers dash— the gifts of Neptune smiting gravid Land:— Buffets they deal, and blows that bash and smash, burneth and blazeth Warfare’s blasting brand, but he of Lusus coat, mail, plate of steel, hacks, hews, breaks, batters, rives and rends piecemeal.

“Men’s heads like bullets dance the bloody plain, ownerless arms and legs insens’ible lie, and quiv’ering entrails tell of mortal pain, and faces fade and life’s fair colours fly. Lost is that impious host, whose heapèd slain roll o’er the green’ery rills of crimson dye; whereby the grasses lose their white and green and nought but glow of crimson gore is seen.

“But now the Lusian victor held the field his trophies gath’ering, and his gorgeous prey: The crusht Hispanian Moor was forced to yield while on the plain three days the great King lay. And now he chargeth on his virgin shield, what still assures this well-won Vict’ory. five noble inescutcheons azure-hued, signing the Moorish Five his sword subdued.

“He paints with bezants five each ’scutcheon, the thirty silvers wherewith God was sold, and various tinctures make His mem’ory known, whose grace and favour did his cause uphold. Painted on every cinque a cinque is shown; and, that the thirty may be fully told, counteth for two the one that central lies of the five azures painted crossy-wise.

“Some time has passèd, since this gain had past of goodly battail, when the high King hies to take Leiría, lately tane and last conquest that boast our conquer’d enemies. Herewith Arronches castled strong and fast is jointly gainèd with the noble prize Scalabicastro, whose fair fields amene thou, crystal Tagus! bathest all serene.

“Unto this conquered roll of towns his might eke addeth Mafra won in shortest space, and in the Mountains which the Moon hath hight he clasps frore Cintra to his hard embrace; Cintra, whose Naiads love to hide their light by hidden founts and fly the honey’d lace, which Love hath woven ’mid the hills where flow the waters flaming with a living lowe.

“And thou, O noble Lisbon! thou encrown’d Princess elect of Cities capital, rear’d by the facund Rover-King renown’d, whose wiles laid low Dardania’s burning wall: Thou, whose commands oblige the Sea’s Profound, wast taught to bear the Lusitanian’s thrall, aided by potent navies at what time they came crusading from the Boreal clime.

“Beyond Germanic Albis and the Rhene, and from Britannia’s misty margin sent, to waste and slay the people Sarracene, many had sailed on holy thoughts intent. Now gained the Tagus-mouth, our stream amene to great Afonso’s royal camp they went, whose lofty fame did thence the Heav’ens invade and siege to Ulysséa’s walls they laid.

“Five sequent times her front had Luna veilèd, five times her lovely face in full had shown, when oped her gate the City, which availèd no Force ’gainst ’sieging forces round her thrown. Right bloody was th’ assault and fierce th’ assailèd, e’en as their stubborn purpose bound them down; asp’erous the Victor, ready all to dare, the Vanquisht, victims of a dire despair.

“Thus won she yielded and, in fine, she lay prostrate that City which, in days of old, the mighty meiny never would obey of frigid Scythia’s hordes immanely bold: Who could so far extend their savage sway, till Ebro saw ’t, and Tagus trembling roll’d; and some o’er Baetis-land, in short, so swept that was the region Vandalía ’clept.

“What might of city could perchance endure prowess which proud Lisbóa might not bear? Who mote resist the powers dure and dour of men, whose Fame from earth invadeth air? Now yield obedience all Estremadure, Obidos, Torres Vedras, Alemquer, where softly plash the music-murmuring waves, ’mid rocks and reefs whose feet the torrent laves.

“Eke ye, Transtagan lands! ye justly vain of flavous Ceres’ bien and bonny boon, yielded to might above the might of men the walls and castles by his valour won: Thou, too, Moor-yeoman! hopest hope insane, those riant regions long as lord to own; for Elvas, Moura, Serpa, well-known sites, with Alcacer-do-Sal must yield their rights.

“The noble City and sure seat behold, held by Sertorius, rebel famed whilòme; where now the nitid silv’ery waters cold, brought from afar to bless the land and home, o’erflow the royal arches hundredfold, whose noble sequence streaks the dark-blue dome; not less succumb’d she to her bold pursuer, to Giraldó, entitled ‘Knight Sans Peur.’

“Fast towards Beja city, vengeful prest, to slake his wrath for spoilt Trancoso’s wrong, Afonso, who despiseth gentle rest and would brief human life by Fame prolong. Feebly resisteth him and his behest the City, falling to his arms ere long, and nought of life within her walls but feel the raging victor’s edge of merciless steel.

“With these Palmella yielded to the war, piscous Cezimbra, eke, her finny spoils; then, aided onwards by his fortunate star, the King a pow’erful force of foemen foils: Felt it the City, saw ’t her Lord afar, who to support and aid her spares no toils, along the hill-skirt marching all unware of rash encounter lackt he heed and care.

“The King of Bad’ajoz was a Muslim bold, with horse four thousand, fierce and furious Knights, and countless Peons, armed and dight with gold, whose polisht surface glanceth lustrous light. But as a savage Bull on lonely wold, whom jealous rage in hot May-month incites, sighting a stranger, mad with love and wrath the brute blind lover chargeth down the path:

“So doth Afonso, sudden seen the foes that urge their forward march securely brave, strike, slay, and scatter, raining doughty blows; flies the Moor King, who recks but self to save: Naught save a panick fear his spirit knows; his foll’owers eke to follow only crave; while ours, who struck a stroke so sore, so fell, were sixty horsemen told in fullest tale.

“Victory swift pursuing, rest disdaineth the great untiring King; he must’ereth all the lieges of his land, whom nought restraineth from ever seeking stranger realms to ’thrall. He wends to ’leaguer Bad’ajoz, where he gaineth his soul’s desire, and battleth at her fall with force so fierce, and art and heart so true his deeds made others fain to dare and do.

“But the high Godhead, who when man offends, so long deservèd penalties delays, waiting at times to see him make amends, or for deep myst’ery hid from man’s dull gaze; if He our valiant King till now defends from dangers, facèd fast as foes can raise; lends aid no longer, when for vengeance cries the Mother’s curses who in prison lies;

“For in the City which he compast round, encompast by the Leoneze was he, because his conquests trespasst on their ground, which of Leon and not of Port’ugale be. Here was his stubborn will right costly found, as happeth oft in human history, an iron maims his legs, as rage-inflamèd to fight he flies and falls a captive maimèd.

“O famous Pompey! feel thy Wraith no pain to see the fate of noble feats like thine; nor mourn if all-just Nemesis ordain thy bays be torn by sire-in-law indign; though Phasis frore and parcht Syéné-plain whose perpendic’ular shadows ne’er decline, Bootes’ ice-bergs, and Equator-fires, confess the terrors which thy name inspires;

“Though rich Arabia, and the brood ferocious Heniochs, with Colchis-region known of yore for Golden Fleece; and though the Cappadoces and Júdeans who One only God adore; though soft Sophénes, and the race atrocious, Cilician, with Armenia whence outpour the twain of mighty streams, whose farthest fount hides in a higher and a holier Mount;

“And though, in fine, from far Atlantic tide E’en to the Taurus, Scythia’s tow’ering wall, all saw thee conquer; fearless still abide if none save Emath-field beheld thee fall: Thou shalt behold Afonso’s ovant pride, lie subjugate, that subjugated all. Such fate Celestial Counsel long foresaw thine from a sire, his from a son-in-law.

“Returned the King sublime, in fine, with sprite by the just doom of Judge divine chastisèd, and when of Santarem in pride of might the Saracen a bootless siege devisèd; and when of Vincent, martyr benedight, the precious Corse by Christian people prizèd, from Sacrum Promontorium was conveyed and reverent-wise in Ulysséa laid:

“Faster to push the projects still in hand, the toil-spent Father sent his stout young son, bidding him pass to Alemtejo’s land, with warlike gear and soldiers many a one. Sancho, a sov’ereign wielder of the brand, straight forward passing, gore-red gars to run the stream whose waters feed Seville and flood, dyed by the brutish Moormen’s barb’rous blood.

“With hunger whetted by this new success, now resteth not the Youth till sight his eyes another slaughter, sore as this, oppress the barb’rous host that circling Beja lies: Not long the Prince whom fortune loves to bless, waits the fair end where leads his dear emprize. But now the routed Moors to vengeance cleave, their only hope such losses to retrieve.

“They crowd the mighty Mount whereof Meduse robbèd his body who the skies upbore: They flock in thousands from Cape Ampeluse and from Tangier, Antaeus’ seat of yore. Abyla’s dweller offereth scant excuse; who with his weapon hasteth him the more, when heard the Moorish clarions shrilly-tonèd, and all the reign high Juba whilom ownèd.

“The Mir-almuminin, who led the throng, from the Dark Cont’inent past to Portugal: Thirteen Moor kings he led, high, haught, and strong, to his Imperial sceptre subject all: Thus wreaking forceful every tyrant Wrong, wherever easy Wrong mote sate his gall, Sancho in Santarem he flies t’ invest, yet his was hardly of success the best.

“Gives asp’erous battle, fighting fury-fraught the hateful Moor a thousand feints designing; ne horrid catapult avails him aught, ne forceful batt’ering-ram, ne hidden mining: Afonso’s son, conserving force and thought, and firm resolve with warlike skill combining, foreseeth all with prudent heart and art, and stern resistance brings to every part.

“But now the Vet’ran—doomed by years to ease and gentle rest, from life of toil and teen, be’ing in the city, down whose pastured leas Mondego’s wavelets kiss the hem of green;— when learnt how close his son beleaguer’d is in Santarem by Moormen blind with spleen, close from the City flies the fone to meet, age-idlesse spurning with fast eager feet.

“He heads his army, tried in war and known, his son to succour; and his well-led host shows wonted Port’ingall-fury all their own, till in brief time the Moor is broke and lost. The Battle-plain—whose blood-stained front is strown with steely coats, and caps of varied cost, horse, charger, harness, rich and worthy prize— heaped with their owners’ mangled corpses lies.

“Forth fares the remnant of the Paynimry from Lusitania, hurled in headlong flight: But Mir-almuminin may never flee, for ere he flee his life hath fled the light. To Him whose arm vouchsafed such Victory in praise and stintless prayer our hosts unite: Chances so passing strange make clear to ken God’s arm smites sorer than all arms of men.

“Such crown of conquest still bedeckt the brow of old Afonso, Lord of lofty fame; when he, in fine, who ever foiled his foe, was foiled by ancient Time’s unyielding claim: Past the death-sickness o’er his pallid brow its frigid hand, and wrung his feeble frame; and thus the debt on mortal shoulders laid his years to gloomy Libitína paid.

“His loss the lofty Promontories mourn, and from the wavy rivers floods of grief with lakelets overspread the fieldèd corn, and trickling tears are sorrow’s sole relief: But ring so loud o’er Earth’s extremest bourne the fame and exploits of our great lost chief, that evermore shall Echo for his reign ‘Afonso! Afonso!’ cry, and cry in vain.

“Sancho, his lusty son, the worthy heir of his great Father’s valour, force and might, as did his early doings clear declare, when Baetis fled ensanguin’d from the fight, and from Andalusía forced to fare the barb’arous King and peoples Ishmaelite; and more, when they who vainly Beja girt of his shrewd blows themselves had borne the hurt:

“After he had been raised to Royal hest, and held for years a few his father’s land, he wends the city Sylves to invest, plowèd whose plain the barb’arous peasant’s hand: With allies val’orous was his daring blest the sturdy Germans, whose Armada man’d by furnisht host was flying o’er the wave, the lost Judaea to regain and save.

“To join in holy enterprise they went Red Frederick, who did first to move begin his mighty armament and succour sent to ward the town where Christ had died for men; When Guy, whose Croisers were by thirst bespent, yielded his sword to gallant Saladin there, where the Muslim host was well supplied with wat’ery store to those of Guy denied.

“But that majestical Armade that came by dint of storm-wind o’er the Lisbon bar, would aid our Sancho the foul foe to tame, all being bounden for the Holy War: As to his Father, happed to him the same; and Lisbon fell to fortunes similar; aided by Germans, Sylves town he takes and the fierce dweller slays or subject makes.

“And if so many trophies from Mahound his valour snatchèd, eke denies his pride the Leoneze in peace to till their ground, whom Mart with martial usage loved to guide: Till on the bended neck his yoke he bound of haughty Túi and all its country-side; where many a city felt the dreaded blow which with thine arms thou, Sancho! broughtest low.

“But ’mid his many palms this Prince waylaid the stroke of tem’erous Death; his heir prefer’d was that esteemèd son whom all obey’d, second Afonso, of our Kings the third. He reigning, Alcacér-do-Sal was made ours, snatcht for ever from the Moorish herd; that erst was taken by the Moor beset, and now parforce he pays of Death the Debt.

“Afonso dying, straight to him succeedeth a second Sancho, easy-going soul, who in his weakling idlesse so exceedeth, the rulèd rule their ruler and their tool: He lost the Reign, for which another pleadeth, by private preference deprived of rule; since, govern’d only by his minions’ will he made him partner in their works of ill.

“Yet ne’er was Sancho, no, such profl’igate pest as was that Nero wedded with a boy, who in foul incest showing horrid zest his mother Agrippina dared enjoy; Ne’er with strange cruel arts did he molest the liege, nor gar’d the torch his town destroy; he was no waster, no Heliogabálus, no woman-king like soft Sardanapálus.

“Ne’er was his tyr’annised people so chastisèd as wretched Sicill by her tyrant bane; ne like the despot Phálaris, he devisèd novel inventions for inhuman pain: But his high-hearted realm, which ever prizèd lords of the highest hopes and sovran strain, would ne’er whole-soulèd such a King obey, who showed not fittest for the kingly sway.

“Hence came the gov’ernance of the reign to right the County Bolognese; and he arose at length to kingship, when from life took flight his brother Sancho sunk in soft repose. This, whom the ‘Brave Afonso’ subjects hight, when fenced his kingdom from internal foes, strives to dilate it; what his Sire possest is worlds too narrow for so big a breast.

“Of both Algarves, given to his hand in gift of bridal dowry, greater part his arm recovers, and outdrives the band of Moors ill-treated now by hostile Mart. He freed and made the Mistress of her Land our Lusitania, such his bellic art; till final ruin whelmed the mighty hordes where’er Earth ownèd Lusus’ subjects lords.

“See, next that Diniz comes in whom is seen the ‘brave Afonso’s’ offspring true and digne; whereby the mighty boast obscurèd been, the vaunt of lib’eral Alexander’s line: Beneath his sceptre blooms the land serene (already compast golden Peace divine) with constitution, customs, laws and rights, a tranquil country’s best and brightest lights.

“The first was he who made Coimbra own Pallas-Minerva’s gen’erous exercise; he called the Muses’ choir from Helicon to tread the lea that by Mondego lies: Whate’er of good whilere hath Athens done, here proud Apollo keepeth ev’ery prize: Here gives he garlands wove with golden ray, with perfumed Nard and ever-verdant Bay.

“Brave towns and cities reared his hand anew, stout fortalice, and strongly-castled mure, while his well-nigh reformèd kingdom grew with stalwart towers and lofty walls secure: But when dure Atropos cut short the clew, and shore the thin-spun thread of life mature, arose, to filial duty nidering the fourth Afonso, yet a brave good King.

“This proud Castile’s bravades with equal pride despised, of soul and breast serenely grand; for aye the Lusitanian’s sprite defied fear of the strongest, though the smaller band: But when the Mauritanian races hied to win and wear Hesperia’s winsome land, and marchèd boldly to debel Castile superb Afonso went to work her weal.

“Ne’er did Semiramis such myriads see who o’er the wide Hydaspick prairie trod; nor Attila—who daunteth Italy with dreadful boast, self-titled ‘Scourge of God,’— hurried such Gothick hosts to victory, as the wild Saracens’ stupendous crowd, with all th’ excessive might Granáda yields that flockt to battle on Tartessus’ fields.

“When saw Castilia’s monarch, high and haught, such force inexpugnable fain of strife, dreading lest all Hispania come to naught, once lost ere this, far more than loss of life; aid of our Lusian chivalry he sought and sent the summons by his dearest wife, his spouse who sends her, and the joy and pride of the fond Father to whose realm she hied.

“Enter’d Maria, fairest of the fair, her Father’s palace-halls of tow’ering height; lovely her gest though joy was crusht by care that brimmed her beauteous eyes with tears that blight: and waved her glorious wealth of golden hair o’er neck and shoulders iv’ory-smooth and white: Before her gladly-greeting Sire she stood, and told her mission in this melting mood:—

“ ‘Whatever various races Earth hath borne, the fierce strange peoples of all Africk-land leadeth Marocco’s mighty Monarch, sworn our noble Spain to conquer and command: Power like this ne’er met beneath the Morn since bitter Ocean learnt to bathe the strand: They bring such fierceness and a rage so dread the Living shake and quake the buried Dead.

“ ‘He to whose arms thou gavest me to wife, his land defending when such foes invade, offers himself, o’erfeeble for the strife, to the hard mercies of the Moorish blade; if, Sire! thou deign not aid that all-dear life, me shalt thou see from out the kingdom fade, widowèd, wretched, doomed to lot obscure, sans realm, sans husband, e’en sans life secure.

“ ‘Wherefore, O King! of whom for purest fear, Mulucha’s currents in their course congeal; cast from thee dull delay, rise, swift appear a second Saviour to our sad Castile: If this thy count’enance, beaming love so dear, set on a Father’s fond proud heart its seal, haste, Father! succour, an thou hasten not, haply he faileth who thy succour sought.’

“Not otherwise fear-filled Maria spake her Sire, than Venus when, in saddest strain, she pled to great All-Father for the sake of her Aeneas tossing on the Main; and in Jove’s breast could such compassion ’wake, his dreadful thunders from his hand fall vain: The clement Godhead all to her concedeth and mourneth only that no more she needeth.

“But now the squadded warriors muster dense on Eborensian plains with fierce array; glint in the sun-glare harness, sword, spear, lance, and richly furnisht destriers prance and neigh: The banner’d trumpets with a blast advance, rousing men’s bosoms from the gentle sway of holy Peace to dire refulgent arms, and down the dales reverb’erate War’s alarms.

“Majestic marcheth, girt by all his powers, th’ insignia of his Royal state among, valiant Afonso, and his tall form towers by neck and shoulders taller than the throng; his gest alone embraves the heart that cowers, in his stout presence wax the weaklings strong: Thus to Castilia’s realm he leads his band, with his fair daughter, Ladye of the Land.

“In fine when met the Kings, Afonsos twain, upon Tarifa’s field, they stand to front that swarming host of stone-blind heathen men, for whom are small the meadows and the mount. No sprite there liveth of so tough a grain, but feels its faith and trust of small account, did it not clearly see and fully know, Christ by His servants’ arms shall smite the foe.

“The seed of Hagar laughing, as it were, to view the Christian pow’er so weak, so mean; begins the lands, as though their own, to share ere won, among the conqu’ering Hagarene; such forgèd title and false style they bear claiming the famous name of Saracene: Thus with false reck’oning would they strip and spoil calling it theirs, that noble alien soil.

“E’en so the barb’arous Giant huge and gaunt, with cause to royal Saul so dread appearing when seen the swordless Shepherd stand afront, armed but with pebbles and with heart unfearing; launchèd his sneer of pride and arr’ogant taunt at the weak youngling’s humble raiment jeering, who, whirled the sling, soon read the lesson well, how much shall Faith all human force excel:

“Thus do the Moormen, traitor-souls, despise our Christian forces, nor can understand how Heav’en’s high fortress wonted aid affies, which e’en horrific Hell may not withstand: On this and on his skill Castile relies, falls on Marocco’s King, strikes hand to hand: The Portingall, who holds all danger light, makes the Granádan kingdom fear his might.

“Behold! the brandisht blade and lance at rest, rang loud on coat and crest, a wild onsèt! They cried, as each his several law confest, these ‘Sanct’ Thiago!’ and those ‘Muhammad!’ The cries of wounded men the skies opprest, whose flowing blood in ugly puddles met, where other half-slain wretches drowning lay, who dragged their shatter’d limbs from out the fray.

“With such prevailing force the Lusian fought the Gránadil, that in the shortest space an utter ruin of his host was wrought; ne fence, ne steely plate our strokes could face: With such triumphant Vict’ory cheaply bought unsatisfied, the Strong Arm flies apace, and timely aids Castilia’s toiling pow’er, still mixt in doubtful conflict with the Moor.

“Now brightly burning Sol had housed his wain in Thetis’ bower, and his slanting ray sank westward, bearing Hesper in his train, to close that rare and most memorious day: When of the Moors those valiant Sovrans twain the dense and dreadful squadrons swept away, with such fell slaughter as ne’er told of Man the page of Story since the world began.

“Ne’er could strong Marius e’en the quarter show, of lives here victim’d by victorious Fate; when to the river, red with gory glow, he sent his thirsty Braves their drouth to sate: Ne yet the Carthaginian, asp’erous foe to Roman pow’er and cradled in her hate, when slain so many Knights of noble Rome, of their gold rings he sent three bushels home.

“And if sole thou so many souls to flit couldst force, and seek Cocytus’ reign of night, when thou the Holy City didst acquit of the base Júdean, firm in olden rite; ’twas that Jehovah’s vengeance thus saw fit, O noble Titus! not thine arm of might; for thus inspirèd men had prophesied, and thus by Jesu’s lips ’twas certified.

“Accomplishèd his act of arms victorious, home to his Lusian realm Afonso sped, to gain from Peacetide triumphs great and glorious, as those he gained in wars and battles dread; when the sad chance, on History’s page memorious, which can unsepulchre the sheeted dead, befell that ill-starr’d miserable Dame who, foully slain, a thronèd Queen became.

“Thou, only thou, pure Love, whose cruel might obligeth human hearts to weal and woe, thou, only thou, didst wreak such foul despight, as though she were some foul perfidious foe. Thy burning thirst, fierce Love, they say aright, may not be quencht by saddest tears that flow; nay, more, thy sprite of harsh tyrannick mood would see thine altars bathed with human blood.

“He placed thee, fair Ignèz! in soft retreat, culling the first-fruits of thy sweet young years, in that delicious Dream, that dear Deceit, whose long endurance Fortune hates and fears: Hard by Mondego’s yearned-for meads thy seat, where linger, flowing still, those lovely tears, until each hill-born tree and shrub confest the name of Him deep writ within thy breast.

“There, in thy Prince awoke responsive-wise dear thoughts of thee which soul-deep ever lay; which brought thy beauteous form before his eyes, whene’er those eyne of thine were far away: Night fled in falsest, sweetest fantasies, in fleeting, flying reveries sped the Day; and all, in fine, he saw or cared to see were memories of his love, his joys, his thee.

“Of many a dainty dame and damosel the coveted nuptial couches he rejecteth; for nought can e’er, pure Love! thy care dispel, when one enchanting shape thy heart subjecteth. These whims of passion to despair compel the Sire, whose old man’s wisdom aye respecteth, his subjects murmuring at his son’s delay to bless the nation with a bridal day.

“To wrench Ignèz from life he doth design, better his captured son from her to wrench; deeming that only blood of death indign the living lowe of such true Love can quench. What Fury willed it that the steel so fine, which from the mighty weight would never flinch of the dread Moorman, should be drawn in hate to work that hapless delicate Ladye’s fate?

“The horr’ible Hangmen hurried her before the King, now moved to spare her innocence; but still her cruel murther urged the more, the People swayed by fierce and false pretence. She with her pleadings pitiful and sore, that told her sorrows and her care immense for her Prince-spouse and babes, whom more to leave than her own death the mother’s heart did grieve:

“And heav’enwards to the clear and chryst’alline skies, raising her eyne with piteous tears bestainèd; her eyne, because her hands with cruel ties one of the wicked Ministers constrainèd: And gazing on her babes in wistful guise, whose pretty forms she loved with love unfeignèd, whose orphan’d lot the Mother filled with dread, unto their cruel grandsire thus she said—

“ ‘If the brute-creatures, which from natal day on cruel ways by Nature’s will were bent; or feral birds whose only thought is prey, upon aerial rapine all intent; if men such salvage be’ings have seen display to little children loving sentiment, e’en as to Ninus’ mother did befall, and to the twain who rear’d the Roman wall:

“ ‘O thou, who bear’st of man the gest and breast, (an it be manlike thus to draw the sword on a weak girl, because her love imprest his heart, who took her heart and love in ward); respect for these her babes preserve, at least! since it may not her òbscure death retard: Moved be thy pitying soul for them and me, although my faultless fault unmoved thou see!

“ ‘And if thou know’est to deal in direful fight the doom of brand and blade to Moorish host, know also thou to deal of life the light to one who ne’er deserved her life be lost: But an thou wouldst mine inn’ocence thus requite, place me for aye on sad exilèd coast, in Scythian sleet, on seething Libyan shore, with life-long tears to linger evermore.

“ ‘Place me where beasts with fiercest rage abound— Lyons and Tygers—there, ah! let me find if in their hearts of flint be pity found, denied to me by heart of humankind. There with intrinsic love and will so fond for him whose love is death, there will I tend these tender pledges whom thou see’st; and so shall the sad mother cool her burning woe.’

“Inclin’ed to pardon her the King benign, moved by this sad lament to melting mood; but the rude People and Fate’s dure design (that willed it thus) refused the pardon sued: They draw their swords of steely temper fine, they who proclaim as just such deed of blood: Against a ladye, caitiff, felon wights! how showed ye here, brute beasts or noble knights?

“Thus on Polyxena, that beauteous maid, last solace of her mother’s age and care, when doom’d to die by fierce Achilles’ shade, the cruel Pyrrhus hasted brand to bare: But she (a patient lamb by death waylaid), with the calm glances which serene the air, casts on her mother, mad with grief, her eyes and silent waits that awesome sacrifice.

“Thus dealt with fair Ignèz the murth’erous crew, in th’ alabastrine neck that did sustain the charms whereby could Love the love subdue of him, who crown’d her after death his Queen; bathing their blades; the flow’ers of snowy hue, which often water’ed by her eyne had been, are blood-dyed; and they burn with blinding hate, reckless of tortures stor’d for them by Fate.

“Well mightest shorn of rays, O Sun! appear to fiends like these on day so dark and dire; as when Thyestes ate the meats that were his seed, whom Atreus slew to spite their sire. And you, O hollow Valleys! doomed to hear her latest cry from stiffening lips expire— her Pedro’s name—did catch that mournful sound, whose echoes bore it far and far around!

“E’en as a Daisy sheen, that hath been shorn in time untimely, floret fresh and fair, and by untender hand of maiden torn to deck the chaplet for her wreathèd hair; gone is its odour and its colours mourn; so pale and faded lay that Ladye there; dried are the roses of her check, and fled the white live colour, with her dear life dead.

“Mondego’s daughter-Nymphs the death obscure wept many a year, with wails of woe exceeding; and for long mem’ry changed to fountain pure, the floods of grief their eyes were ever feeding: The name they gave it, which doth still endure, revived Ignèz, whose murthered love lies bleeding, see yon fresh fountain flowing ’mid the flowers, tears are its waters, and its name “Amores!”

“Time ran not long, ere Pedro saw the day of vengeance dawn for wounds that ever bled; who, when he took in hand the kingly sway, eke took the murth’erers who his rage had fled: Them a most cruel Pedro did betray; for both, if human life the foemen dread, made concert savage and dure pact, unjust as Lepidus made with Anth’ony and Augustus.

“This in his judgments rig’orous and severe, plunder, advoutries, murtherers supprest: To stay with cruel grasp Crime’s dark career, bred sole assurèd solace in his breast: A Justiciary, not by love but fear, he guarded Cities from haught tyrant-pest; their doom more robbers dree’d by his decrees than Theseus slew, or vagueing Hercules.

“Pedro, the harshly just, begets the bland, (see what exceptions lurk in Nature’s laws!) remiss, and all-regardless prince, Fernand, who ran his realm in danger’s open jaws: For soon against the weak, defenceless land came the Castilian, who came nigh to cause the very ruin of the Lusian reign; for feeble Kings enfeeble strongest strain.

“Or ’twas the wages Sin deserves of Heaven, that filchèd Léonor from marriage bed, by false, misunderstood opinions driven another’s wife, a leman-bride to wed; Or ’twas because his easy bosom given to vice and vileness, and by both misled, waxèd effeminate weak; which may be true, for low-placed loves the highest hearts subdue.

“Of such offences ever paid the pain many, whom God allowed or willèd He; those who fared forth to force the fair Helèn; Appius and Tarquin, eke, such end did see: Say, why should David of the saintly strain so blame himself? What felled th’ illustrious tree of Benjamin? Full well the truth design a Pharaoh for Sara, Sichem for a Dinah.

“But if so weakeneth forceful human breast illicit Love, which spurns the golden mean, well in Alcmené’s son we find the test as Omphalé disguis’ed to hero-quean. Anthony’s fame a shade of shame confest, to Cleopatra bound by love too keen; nor less thou, Punick victor! wast betray’d by low allegiance to some Puglian maid.

“Yet say who, peradventure, shall secure his soul from Cupid armed with artful snare ’mid the live roses, human snow so pure, the gold and alabaster crystal-clare? who ’scapeth Beauty’s wiles and per’egrine lure, the true Medusa-face so awful fair, which man’s imprison’d, witch-bound heart can turn no, not to stone, but flames that fiercely burn?

“Who se’eth a firm-fixt glance, a gesture bland, soft promises of angel-excellence, the soul transforming aye by charmed command; say, who from pow’er like this can find defence? Pardie, he scantly blameth King Fernand who pays, as he did, Love’s experience: But human Judgment would, if fancy-free, adjudge his laches even worse to be.