When pale and sinking to the dreadful fall,
You heard her quivering lips on Pedro call;
Your faithful echoes caught the parting sound,
And Pedro! Pedro! mournful, sigh'd around.
Nor less the wood-nymphs of Mondego's groves
Bewail'd the memory of her hapless loves:
Her griefs they wept, and, to a plaintive rill
Transform'd their tears, which weeps and murmurs still.
To give immortal pity to her woe
They taught the riv'let through her bowers to flow,
And still, through violet beds, the fountain pours
Its plaintive wailing, and is named Amours.
Nor long her blood for vengeance cry'd in vain:
Her gallant lord begins his awful reign,
In vain her murderers for refuge fly,
Spain's wildest hills no place of rest supply.
The injured lover's and the monarch's ire,
And stern-brow'd justice in their doom conspire:
In hissing flames they die, and yield their souls in fire.
Page:The Lusiad (Camões, tr. Mickle, 1791), Volume 2.djvu/65
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