Page:The Lusiad (Camões, tr. Mickle, 1791), Volume 2.djvu/198

Awaked, amazed, confused with transport glows,
And, trembling still, with troubled joy o'erflows;
So, yet affected with the sickly weight
Left by the horrors of the dreadful night,
The hero wakes in raptures to behold
The Indian shores before his prows unfold:
Bounding he rises, and with eyes on fire
Surveys the limits of his proud desire.

O glorious chief, while storms and oceans raved,
What hopeless toils thy dauntless valour braved!
By toils like thine the brave ascend to heaven;
By toils like thine immortal fame is given.
Not he, who daily moves in ermine gown,
Who nightly slumbers on the couch of down;
Who proudly boasts through heroes old to trace
The lordly lineage of his titled race;
Proud of the smiles of every courtier's lord,
A welcome guest at every courtier's board;
Not he, the feeble son of ease, may claim
Thy wreath, O GAMA, or may hope thy fame.
'Tis he, who nurtured on the tented field,
From whose brown cheek each tint of fear expell'd,
With manly face unmoved, secure, serene,
Amidst the thunders of the deathful scene,
From horror's mouth dares snatch the warrior's crown,
His own his honours, all his fame his own:

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