for this purpose, of Vasco de Gama, who, in the fifth book, commences the recital of his own voyage and discoveries.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

SEQUEL OF THE LUSIAD.

ARRIVED, as we now are, at a period when every sea is traversed in every direction, and for every purpose; and when the phenomena of nature, observed throughout the different regions of the earth, are no longer a source of mystery and alarm, we look back upon the voyage of Vasco de Gama to the Indies, one of the boldest and most perilous enterprises achieved by the courage of man, with far less admiration than it formerly excited. The age preceding that of the great Emmanuel, though devoted almost wholly to maritime discoveries, had not yet prepared the minds of men for an undertaking of such magnitude and extent. For a long period Cape Non, situated at the extremity of the empire of Morocco, had · been considered as the limits of European navigation; and all the honours awarded by the Infant Don Henry, with the additional hopes of plunder, on a coast purposely abandoned to the cupidity of adventurers, were necessary to induce the Portuguese to approach the borders of the great desert. Cape Bojador soon presented a new barrier, and excited new fears. Twelve years of fruitless attempts passed away before they summoned resolution to double this Cape, and to proceed farther in the same track. Having explored scarcely sixty leagues of the coast, there yet remained more than two thousand to be traversed before they could attain the Cape of Good Hope. Each step that marked their progress along the line of coast, towards the discovery of Senegal, of Guinea, and of Congo, presented them with new phenomena, with fresh apprehensions, and not unfrequently with fresh perils. Successive navigators, however, gradually advanced along the African shores, whose extent far surpassed every thing known in European navigation, without discovering any traces of civilization or commerce, or entering into any alliances which might enable them, at such a distance from their country, to supply their exhausted magazines, to recruit their strength, and to repair the various disasters of the sea and climate.

But at length, in 1486, the vessel of Bartolomeo Diaz was carried by a violent storm beyond the Cape of Good Hope, which he passed without observation. He then remarked that the coast, instead of preserving its direction invariably towards the south, appeared at length to take a northern course; but with exhausted provisions and companions dispirited and fatigued, he was compelled to abandon to some more fortunate successor the results of a discovery, from which he was aware what great advantages might arise. Such was the degree of information already acquired by the Portuguese relating to the navigation of these seas, when King Emmanuel made choice of Gama to attempt a passage to the Indies by the same route. There still remained a tract of two thousand leagues to be discovered before arriving at the coast of Malabar; an extent of territory as great as that which it had required the whole of the preceding century to explore. The Portuguese were likewise uncertain, whether the distance might not be twice the extent here stated; a consideration to which we must add their inexperience of the winds and seasons most favourable for the navigation. Nor were they without their fears, that, on reaching a country which presented so many difficulties, they might have to encounter new and powerful enemies, equal to themselves in point of civilization and the arts of war, ready to overpower them on their arrival. The whole fleet destined for such an enterprise consisted only of three small vessels of war and a transport, of which the united crews did not exceed more than one hundred and forty-eight hands fit for service. They were commanded by Vasco de Gama, by Paul de Gama, his brother, and by Nicholas Coelho; and set sail from the port of Belem, or Bethleem, about a league distant from Lisbon, on the eighth of July, 1497. The description of the sailing of this little fleet is given in the following terms by Vasco de Gama, in his narration to the King of Melinda :

Where foaming on the shore the tide appears,
A sacred fane its hoary arches rears:

Dim o'er the sea the evening shades descend,
And at the holy shrine devout we bend:

There, while the tapers o'er the altar blaze,

Our prayers and earnest vows to heaven we raise.

"Safe through the deep, where every yawning wave
"Still to the sailor's eyes displays his grave;

"Through howling tempests, and through gulfs untried,
"O! mighty God! be thou our watchful guide."

While kneeling thus before the sacred shrine

In holy faith's most solemn rite we join,

Our peace with heaven the bread of peace confirms,
And meek contrition every bosom warms:
Sudden the lights extinguish'd, all around
Dread silence reigns, and midnight gloom profound;
A sacred horror pants on every breath,

And each firm breast devotes itself to death,
An offer'd sacrifice, sworn to obey

My nod, and follow where I lead the way.
Now prostrate round the hallow'd shrine we lie,
Till rosy morn bespreads the eastern sky;
Then, breathing fix'd resolves, my daring mates
March to the ships, while pour'd from Lisbon's gates,
Thousands on thousands crowding, press along,
A woeful, weeping, melancholy throng.

A thousand white-robed priests our steps attend,
And prayers and holy vows to heaven ascend.
A scene so solemn, and the tender woe

Of parting friends, constrain'd my tears to flow.
To weigh our anchors from our native shore-
To dare new oceans never dared before-
Perhaps to see my native coast no more-
Forgive, O king, if as a man I feel,

I bear no bosom of obdurate steel-
(The godlike hero here suppressed the sigh,
And wiped the tear-drop from his manly eye;
Then thus resuming-) All the peopled shore
An awful, silent look of anguish wore ;
Affection, friendship, all the kindred ties
Of spouse and parent languish'd in their eyes:
As men they never should again behold,
Self-offer'd victims to destruction sold,
On us they fixed the eager look of woe,
While tears o'er every cheek began to flow;
When thus aloud, Alas! my son, my son !*
A hoary sire exclaims; oh, whither run,
My heart's sole joy, my trembling age's stay,
To yield thy limbs the dread sea-monster's prey?
To seek thy burial in the raging wave,
And leave me cheerless sinking to the grave?
Was it for this I watch'd thy tender years,
And bore each fever of a father's fears?
Alas! my boy !-his voice is heard no more,
The female shriek resounds along the shore :
With hair dishevell'd, through the yielding crowd
A lovely bride springs on, and screams aloud :
Oh! where, my husband, where to seas unknown,
Where wouldst thou fly me, and my love disown?
And wilt thou, cruel, to the deep consign
That valued life, the joy, the soul of mine:

* Canto iv. str. 96, 91.

And must our loves, and all the kindred train
Of rapt endearments, all expire in vain?
All the dear transports of the warm embrace;
When mutual love inspired each raptured face;
Must all, alas! be scatter'd in the wind,
Nor thou bestow one lingering look behind?

Such the lorn parents' and the spouses' woes,
Such o'er the strand the voice of wailing rose;
From breast to breast the soft contagion crept,
Moved by the woeful sound the children wept;
The mountain echoes catch the big-swoln sighs,
And through the dales prolong the matron's cries;
The yellow sands with tears are silver'd o'er,
Our fate the mountains and the beach deplore.
Yet firm we march, nor turn one glance aside
On hoary parent or on lovely bride.

Though glory fired our hearts, too well we knew
What soft affection and what love could do.
The last embrace the bravest worst can bear:
The bitter yearnings of the parting tear
Sullen we shun, unable to sustain

The melting passion of such tender pain.

Now on the lofty decks prepared we stand,
When towering o'er the crowd that veil'd the strand,
A reverend figure fix'd each wondering eye,
And beckoning thrice he waved his hand on high,
And thrice his hoary curls he sternly shook,
While grief and anger mingled in his look;
Then to its height his faltering voice he rear'd,
And through the fleet these awful words were heard :
O frantic thirst of honour and of fame,
The crowd's blind tribute, a fallacious name;
What stings, what plagues, what secret scourges curst,
Torment those bosoms where thy pride is nurst!
What dangers threaten, and what deaths destroy
The hapless youth, whom thy vain gleams decoy !
By thee, dire tyrant of the noble mind,

What dreadful woes are pour'd on human kind;
Kingdoms and empires in confusion hurl'd,

What streams of gore have drench'd the hapless world!
Thou dazzling meteor, vain as fleeting air,

What new dread horror dost thou now prepare!
High sounds thy voice of India's pearly shore,
Of endless triumphs and of countless store :
Of other worlds so tower'd thy swelling boast,
Thy golden dreams, when Paradise was lost,
When thy big promise steep'd the world in gore,
And simple innocence was known no more.
And say, has fame so dear, so dazzling charms?*
Must brutal fierceness and the trade of arms,

Conquest, and laurels dipp'd in blood, be prized,
While life is scorn'd, and all its joys despised?
And say, does zeal for holy faith inspire
To spread its mandates, thy avow'd desire?
Behold the Hagarene in armour stands,
Treads on thy borders, and the foe demands:
A thousand cities own his lordly sway,
A thousand various shores his nod obey.
Through all these regions, all these cities, scorn'd
Is thy religion and thine àltars spurn'd.
A foe renown'd in arms the brave require;
That high-plumed foe, renown'd for martial fire,
Before thy gates his shining spear displays,
Whilst thou wouldst fondly dare the wat'ry maze,
Enfeebled leave thy native land behind,
On shores unknown a foe unknown to find.
Oh! madness of ambition! thus to dare
Dangers so fruitless, so remote a war!

That fame's vain flattery may thy name adorn,
And thy proud titles on her flag be borne:

Thee, lord of Persia, thee, of India lord,

O'er Ethiopia vast, and Araby adored!

Whilst the old man was thus speaking, the vessels had already set sail :

From Leo now, the lordly star of day,
Intensely blazing, shot his fiercest ray;

When slowly gliding from our wishful eyes,

The Lusian mountains mingled with the skies:

Tago's loved stream, and Cintra's mountains cold

Dim fading now, we now no more behold;

And still with yearning hearts our eyes explore,
Till one dim speck of land appears no more.

Our native soil now far behind, we ply

The lonely dreary waste of seas and boundless sky.*

Vasco de Gama next proceeds to relate his voyage along the western coast of Africa. He describes Madeira, the first island peopled by the Portuguese, the burning shores of the Zanhagan desert, the passage of the Tropic, and the cold waters of the dark Senegal. They touch for refreshments at San Jago, where they renew their provisions, pass the rocky precipices of Sierra Leone, the island on which they bestowed the name of St. Thomas, and the kingdom of Congo, watered by the great river Zahir, and already converted to the Christian faith; till at length, having crossed the line, they behold a new pole rising above the horizon, but less richly studded! with the constellations of heaven. Gama enumerates the

*Canto v. str. 3.