Nor sword, nor spear our harmless hands employ
To seize the careless, or the weak destroy.
At our most potent monarch's dread command
We spread the sail from lordly Europe's strand:
Through seas unknown, through gulfs untry'd before,
We force our journey to the Indian shore.
Alas, what rancour fires the human breast!
By what stern tribes are Afric's shores possest!
How many a wile they try'd, how many a snare!
Not wisdom sav'd us, 'twas the heaven's own care:
Not harbours only, e'en the barren sands
A place of rest deny'd our weary bands:
From us, alas, what harm could prudence fear!
From us so few, their numerous friends so near!
While thus from shore to cruel shore long driven,
To thee conducted by a guide from heaven,
We come, O monarch, of thy truth assured,
Of hospitable rites by heaven secured;
Such rites as old Alcinous' palace graced,
When lorn Ulysses sat his favour'd guest.
Nor deem, O king, that cold suspicion taints
Our valiant leader, or his wish prevents:
Great is our monarch, and his dread command
To our brave captain interdicts the land
Till Indian earth he tread: What nobler cause
Than loyal faith can wake thy fond applause,
Page:The Lusiad (Camões, tr. Mickle, 1791), Volume 1.djvu/469
