THE
L U S I A D.
BOOK V.
WHILE on the beach the hoary father stood
And spoke the murmurs of the multitude,
We spread the canvas to the rising gales;
The gentle winds distend the snowy sails.
As from our dear-loved native shore we fly
Our votive shouts, redoubled, rend the sky;
"Success, success," far echoes o'er the tide,
While our broad hulks the foamy waves divide.
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
