THE LAST SONG OF CAMOENS. William Lisle Bowles Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. Bowles, William Lisle, 1762-1850. The Poetical Works of William Lisle Bowles, Vol. I. With Memoir, Critical Dissertation, and Explanatory Notes by George Gilfillan. Edinburgh James Nichol, 9 North Bank Street... 1855 pp. 182-184.

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THE LAST SONG OF CAMOENS . Inscribed to Lord Strangford . The morning shone on Tagus ' rocky side , And airs of summer swelled the yellow tide , When , rising from his melancholy bed , And faint , and feebly by Antonio The faithful Indian who attended him in all his sorrows , a native of Java . led , Poor Camoens , subdued by want and woe , Along the winding margin wandered slow , His harp , that once could each warm feeling move Of patriot glory or of tenderest love , His sole and sable friend Antonio , " who begged alms through Lisbon , and at night shared the produce with his broken-hearted master . " — Strangford's Preface . ( while a faint tone Rose from the wires ) placed by a mossy stone . How beautiful the sun ascending shines From ridge to ridge , along the purple vines ! How pure the azure of the opening skies ! How resonant the nearer rock replies To call of early mariners ! and , hark ! The distant whistle from yon parting bark , That down the channel as serene she strays , Her gray sail mingles with the morning haze , Bound to explore , o'er ocean's stormy reign , New lands that lurk amid the lonely main ! A transient fervour touched the old man's breast ; He raised his eyes , so long by care depressed , And while they shone with momentary fire , Ardent he struck the long-forgotten lyre . From Tagus ' yellow-sanded shore , O'er the billows , as they roar , O'er the blue sea , waste and wide , Our bark threw back the burning tide , By northern breezes cheer'ly borne , On to the kingdoms of the morn . Blanco , whose cold shadow vast Chills the western wave , is past ! Huge Bojador , frowning high , Thy dismal terrors we defy ! But who may violate the sleep And silence of the sultry deep ; Where , beneath the intenser sun , Crossing the Line . Hot showers descend , red lightnings run ; Whilst all the pale expanse beneath Lies burning wide , without a breath ; And at mid-day from the mast , No shadow on the deck is cast ! Night by night , still seen the same , Strange lights along the cordage flame , Perhaps , the spirits of the good , Lights called by the Portuguese Corpo Sancto's , supposed to be the spirits of saints , hovering on the shrouds . That wander this forsaken flood Sing to the seas , as slow we float , A solemn and a holy note ! Spectre The terrific Phantom of the Cape , described by Camoens . of the southern main , Thou barr'st our onward way in vain , Wrapping the terrors of thy form , In the thunder's rolling storm ! Fearless o'er the indignant tide , On to the east our galleys ride . Triumph ! for the toil is o'er — We kiss the far-sought Indian shore ! Glittering to the orient ray , The banners of the Cross display ! Does my heart exulting bound ? Alas , forlorn , I gaze around : Feeble , poor , and old , I stand , A stranger in my native land ! My sable slave ( ah , no ! my only friend , Whose steps upon my rugged path attend ) Sees , but with tenderness that fears to speak , The tear that trickles down my aged cheek ! My harp is silent , — famine shrinks mine eye , — " Give me a little food for charity ! " Camoens , the great poet of Portugal , is supposed to have gone to the East Indies in the same ship with the first Discoverer , round the Cape of Good Hope , Vasco de Gama . This is not the case , though he wrote the noble poem descriptive of the voyage . He went to India some years afterwards , but the general idea is sufficient for poetical purposes . His subsequent sorrows and poverty , in his native land , are well known .