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The heroes of Portugal,
from Lusus, one of the companions of Bacchus (who gave his name to
Portugal), and Ulysses, the founder of Lisbon, down to Don Pedro and Don
Henrique (Henry), the conquerors of Ceuta, are all represented in the
portraits of Gama, and are characterized by appropriate verses.
Meanwhile the zamorim has recourse to the oracles of his false gods, who
make him acquainted with the future dominion of the Portuguese over
India, and the consequent ruin of his empire. The Mohammedan Arabs
conspire against the Portuguese. The zamorim questions the truth of
Gama's statement, and charges him with being captain of a band of
pirates. Gama is obliged to give up to the Indians the whole of his
merchandise as ransom, when he obtains permission to re-embark. He
seizes several merchants of Calicut, whom he detains on board his ship
as hostages for his two factors, who were on land to sell his
merchandise. He afterwards liberates the natives, whom he exchanges for
his two companions. In Mickle's translation this portion of the original
is omitted, and the factors are released in consequence of a victory
gained by Gama.


With eye unmov'd the silent CATUAL[497] view'd
The pictur'd sire[498] with seeming life endu'd;
A verdant vine-bough waving in his right,
Smooth flow'd his sweepy beard of glossy white,
When thus, as swift the Moor unfolds the word,
The valiant Paulus to the Indian lord:--

"Bold though these figures frown, yet bolder far
These godlike heroes shin'd in ancient war.
In that hoar sire, of mien serene, august,
Lusus behold, no robber-chief unjust;
His cluster'd bough--the same which Bacchus bore[499]--
He waves, the emblem of his care of yore;
The friend of savage man, to Bacchus dear,
The son of Bacchus, or the bold compeer,
What time his yellow locks with vine-leaves curl'd,
The youthful god subdued the savage world,
Bade vineyards glisten o'er the dreary waste,
And humaniz'd the nations as he pass'd.
Lusus, the lov'd companion of the god,
In Spain's fair bosom fix'd his last abode,
Our kingdom founded, and illustrious reign'd
In those fair lawns, the bless'd Elysium feign'd,[500]
Where, winding oft, the Guadiana roves,
And Douro murmurs through, the flow'ry groves.
Here, with his bones, he left his deathless fame,
And Lusitania's clime shall ever bear his name.
That other chief th' embroider'd silk displays,
Toss'd o'er the deep whole years of weary days,
On Tago's banks, at last, his vows he paid:
To wisdom's godlike power, the Jove-born maid,[501]
Who fir'd his lips with eloquence divine,
On Tago's banks he rear'd the hallow'd shrine.
Ulysses he, though fated to destroy,
On Asian ground, the heav'n-built towers of Troy,[502]
On Europe's strand, more grateful to the skies,
He bade th' eternal walls of Lisbon rise. "[503]

"But who that godlike terror of the plain,
Who strews the smoking field with heaps of slain?
What num'rous legions fly in dire dismay,
Whose standards wide the eagle's wings display? "
The pagan asks: the brother chief[504] replies:--
"Unconquer'd deem'd, proud Rome's dread standard flies,
His crook thrown by, fir'd by his nation's woes,
The hero-shepherd Viriatus rose;
His country sav'd proclaim'd his warlike fame,
And Rome's wide empire trembled at his name.
That gen'rous pride which Rome to Pyrrhus bore,[505]
To him they show'd not; for they fear'd him more.
Not on the field o'ercome by manly force,
Peaceful he slept; and now, a murder'd corse,
By treason slain, he lay. How stern, behold,
That other hero, firm, erect, and bold:
The power by which he boasted he divin'd,
Beside him pictur'd stands, the milk-white hind:
Injur'd by Rome, the stern Sertorius fled
To Tago's shore, and Lusus' offspring led;
Their worth he knew; in scatter'd flight he drove
The standards painted with the birds of Jove.
And lo, the flag whose shining colours own
The glorious founder of the Lusian throne!
Some deem the warrior of Hungarian race,[506]
Some from Lorraine the godlike hero trace.
From Tagus' banks the haughty Moor expell'd,
Galicia's sons, and and Leon's warriors quell'd,
To weeping Salem's[507] ever-hallow'd meads,
His warlike bands the holy Henry leads;
By holy war to sanctify his crown,
And, to his latest race, auspicious waft it down. "

"And who this awful chief? " aloud exclaims
The wond'ring regent. "O'er the field he flames
In dazzling steel; where'er he bends his course
The battle sinks beneath his headlong force:
Against his troops, though few, the num'rous foes
In vain their spears and tow'ry walls oppose.
With smoking blood his armour sprinkled o'er,
High to the knees his courser paws in gore:
O'er crowns and blood-stain'd ensigns scatter'd round
He rides; his courser's brazen hoofs resound. "
"In that great chief," the second GAMA cries,
"The first Alonzo[508] strikes thy wond'ring eyes.
From Lusus' realm the pagan Moors he drove;
Heav'n, whom he lov'd, bestow'd on him such love,
Beneath him, bleeding of its mortal wound,
The Moorish strength lay prostrate on the ground.
Nor Ammon's son, nor greater Julius dar'd
With troops so few, with hosts so num'rous warr'd:
Nor less shall Fame the subject heroes own:
Behold that hoary warrior's rageful frown!
On his young pupil's flight[509] his burning eyes
He darts, and, 'Turn thy flying host,' he cries,
'Back to the field!