Page:The Lusiad (Camões, tr. Mickle, 1791), Volume 1.djvu/456

I mark the tenor of the dread decree,
That to thy wrath consigns my sons and me.
Yes! let stern Bacchus bless thy partial care,
His be the triumph, and be mine despair.
The bold advent'rous sons of Tagos clime
I loved—alas! that love is now their crime:
O happy they, and prosp'rous gales their fate,
Had I pursued them with relentless hate!
Yes! let my woeful sighs in vain implore,
Yes! let them perish on some barb'rous shore,
For I have loved them—Here, the swelling sigh
And pearly tear-drop rushing in her eye,
As morning dew hangs trembling on the rose,
Though fond to speak, her farther speech oppose—
Her lips, then moving, as the pause of woe
Were now to give the voice of grief to flow:
When kindled by those charms, whose woes might move,
And melt the prowling tiger's rage to love.
The thundering god her weeping sorrows ey'd,
And sudden threw his awful state aside:
With that mild look which stills the driving storm,
When black roll'd clouds the face of heaven deform;
With that mild visage and benignant mien
Which to the sky restores the blue serene,
Her snowy neck and glowing cheek he prest,
And wip'd her tears, and clasped her to his breast:
Yet she, still sighing, dropt the trickling tear,
As the chid nursling mov'd with pride and fear,