Page:The Lusiad (Camões, tr. Mickle, 1791), Volume 1.djvu/438

 By sea what treacherous calms, what rushing storms, And death attendant in a thousand forms! By land what strife, what plots of secret guile, How many a wound from many a treacherous smile! O where shall man escape his numerous foes, And rest his weary head in safe repose!