Page:The Lusiad (Camões, tr. Mickle, 1791), Volume 2.djvu/44

 For thee the willow bowers and copses weep, As their tall boughs lie trembling on the deep; Adown the streams the tangled vine-leaves flow, And all the landscape wears the look of woe. Thus, o'er the wondering world thy glories spread, And thus thy mournful people bow the head; While still, at eve, each' dale Alonzo sighs, And, oh, Alonzo; every hill replies; And still the mountain echoes trill the lay, Till blushing morn brings on the noiseful day.


 * The youthful Sanco to the throne succeeds,

Already far renown'd for valorous deeds; Let Betis tinged with blood his prowess tell, And Beja's lawns, where boastful Afric fell. Nor less, when king, his martial ardour glows, Proud Sylves' royal walls his troops enclose: Fair Sylves' lawns the Moorish peasant plough'd, Her vineyards cultured, and her valleys sow'd; But Lisboa's monarch reapt. The winds of heaven Roar'd high—and headlong by the tempest driven, In Tago's breast a gallant navy sought The sheltering port, and glad assistance brought. The