Quotes from The Lusiads
14 notable lines from Luís de Camões · 1572
Arms and the Heroes, who from Lisbon's shore, Thro' seas where sail was never spread before, Beyond where Ceylon lifts her spicy breast, And waves her woods above the watery waste, With prowess more than human forc'd their way To the fair kingdoms of the rising day.
Quotations follow the Landeg White translation (Oxford University Press, 2008) — our recommended edition.
I spoke, when rising through the darken'd air, Appall'd we saw a hideous Phantom glare.
Vasco da Gama, on the apparition of Adamastor at the Cape, Canto V · trans. Mickle O foul disgrace, of knighthood lasting stain, By men of arms a helpless lady slain!
The narrator, on the murder of Inês de Castro, Canto III · trans. Mickle 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!
The Old Man of Restelo, denouncing the voyage, Canto IV · trans. Mickle Love is fire that burns unseen, a wound that aches yet isn't felt.
Luís de Camões, The Lusiads Let us hear no more then of Ulysses and Aeneas and their long journeying, no more of Alexander and Trajan and their famous victories.
The poet's invocation, Canto I · trans. Atkinson O glory of commanding! O vain thirst Of that same empty nothing we call fame!
The Old Man of Restelo, Canto IV · trans. Fanshawe 'Twas thou, O love, whose dreaded shafts control The hind's rude heart, and tear the hero's soul.
The narrator, on Inês de Castro, Canto III · trans. Mickle A nobler hero's deeds demand my lays Than ever adorned the song of ancient days.
The poet's invocation, Canto I · trans. Mickle Cease all, whose actions ancient bards expressed: A brighter valour rises in the West.
The poet, dismissing the ancient heroes, Canto I · trans. Fanshawe Here, at the end of the world, the reward of your labours awaits you.
Luís de Camões, The Lusiads My song shall spread where ever there are men, If wit and art will so much guide my pen.
The poet's invocation, Canto I · trans. Fanshawe My pen in this, my sword in that hand hold.
The poet, on writing arms-in-hand, Canto VII · trans. Fanshawe No more, my Muse! no more, for now my Lyre untuned lies, and hoarse my voice of Song.
Closing invocation, Canto X · trans. Burton