Still to the south our pointed keels we guide,
And through the austral gulf still onward ride.
Her palmy forests mingling with the skies,
Leona's rugged steep behind us flies;
The Cape of Palms that jutting land we name,
Already conscious of our nation's fame.
Where the vext waves against our bulwarks roar,
And Lusian towers o'erlook the bending shore:
Our sails wide swelling to the constant blast,
Now by the isle from Thomas named we past;
And Congo's spacious realm before us rose,
Where copious Zayra's limpid billow flows;
A flood by ancient hero never seen,
Where many a temple o'er the banks of green,
Rear'd by the Lusian heroes, through the night
Of Pagan darkness, pours the mental light.
O'er the wild waves as southward thus we stray,
Our port unknown, unknown the watery way;
Page:The Lusiad (Camões, tr. Mickle, 1791), Volume 2.djvu/120
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