Luís de Camões

Luís Vaz de Camões (or de Camoens) (c. 1524 – June 10 1580) is considered the national poet of Portugal and the Portuguese language's greatest poet. He wrote a considerable amount of lyrical poetry and drama, but is best remembered for his epic work Os Lusíadas (The Lusiads), the influence of which is so profound that Portuguese is sometimes called the "language of Camões".

Quotes

Lyric poetry

Sonnets

Enquanto quis Fortuna que tivesse

Your own experience in love
will lead you through my verses' meaning.

Sabei que, segundo o amor tiverdes,
Tereis o entendimento de meus versos.
- Once you experience love, I'm persuaded
  you'll know what I'm on about in my verses.
- As translated by Landeg White in The Collected Lyric Poems of Luis de Camoes (2016), p. 25
Sonnet in full:
- As long as Fortune wanted me
  to keep on hoping for happiness
  I took pleasure in amorous thoughts
  and wrote down how they made me feel.
  But Love, afraid that what I write
  might serve free hearts as a warning,
  clouded my inspiration with torment
  to keep his deceits from coming to light.
  O you whom Love has made the slaves
  of various passions! When you read
  in one small book such varied cases
  know that they're pure truths, not tales,
  and that your own experience in love
  will lead you through my verses' meaning.
  - Richard Zenith, Sonnets and Other Poems (2009)

Eu cantarei de amor tão docemente

I'll sing a song of love so sweet...

Eu cantarei de amor tão docemente,
Por uns termos em si tão concertados,
Que dois mil acidentes namorados
Faça sentir ao peito que não sente.
- I'll sing a song of love so sweet, so blessed
  with harmonious sounds, so true to the name
  of love (with two thousand examples), it will enflame
  even those with dead hearts in their chest.
- Selected Sonnets: A Bilingual Edition (2008), ed. William Baer, p. 128

Porém, pera cantar de vosso gesto
A composição alta e milagrosa
Aqui falta saber, engenho e arte.
- [But] to sing of your face, a composition
  in itself sublime and marvelous,
  I lack knowledge, Lady, and wit and art.
- The Collected Lyric Poems of Luis de Camoes (2016), trans. Landeg White, p. 25

Não pode tirar-me as esperanças

[Ah o amor...] que nasce não sei onde,
Vem não sei como, e dói não sei porquê.
- [Ah, Love...] which formed I don't know where,
  That came I don't know how, and hurts I don't know why.
- Poets of Portugal (2006), p. 141

Amor é fogo que arde sem se ver

Love is a fire that burns unseen,
A wound that aches yet isn't felt,
An always discontent contentment,
A pain that rages without hurting,
A longing for nothing but to long,
A loneliness in the midst of people,
A never feeling pleased when pleased,
A passion that gains when lost in thought.

Amor é um fogo qu'arde sem se ver,
É ferida que dói, e não se sente,
É um contentamento descontente,
É dor que desatina sem doer.
É um não querer mais que bem querer,
É um andar solitário entre a gente,
É nunca contentar-se de contente,
É um cuidar que ganha em se perder.
É querer estar preso por vontade,
É servir a quem vence o vencedor
É ter com quem nos mata lealdade.
Mas como causar pode seu favor
Nos corações humanos amizade,
Se tão contrário a si é o mesmo Amor?
- Love is a fire that burns unseen,
  A wound that aches yet isn't felt,
  An always discontent contentment,
  A pain that rages without hurting,
  A longing for nothing but to long,
  A loneliness in the midst of people,
  A never feeling pleased when pleased,
  A passion that gains when lost in thought.
  It's being enslaved of your own free will;
  It's counting your defeat a victory;
  It's staying loyal to your killer.
  But if it's so self-contradictory,
  How can Love, when Love chooses,
  Bring human hearts into sympathy?
- Rimas, Sonnet 81 (as translated by Richard Zenith)
  - (Listen to the poem in Portuguese)

Sete anos de pastor Jacob servia

Seven years Jacob served as a shepherd
for Laban, lovely Rachel's father,
laboring not for the father but
anxious only for her as his reward.

Sete anos de pastor Jacob servia
Labão, pai de Raquel, serrana bela;
Mas não servia o pai, servia a ela,
E a ela só por prémio pretendia.
- Seven years Jacob served as a shepherd
  for Laban, lovely Rachel's father,
  laboring not for the father but
  anxious only for her as his reward.
  - (tr. Landeg White)

Mais servira, se não fora
Para tão longo amor tão curta a vida.
- That more would he serve, if life
  Were not so short for love so long.
  - (tr. Norwood Andrews)

Aquela triste e leda madrugada

Aquela triste e leda madrugada,
Cheia toda de mágoa e de piedade,
Enquanto houver no mundo saudade,
Quero que seja sempre celebrada.
- That sad and joyful dawn,
  light full of pity and grief,
  while the world wakes in loneliness
  I'll praise it and remember it.
  - (tr. David Wevill)

Ela viu as palavras magoadas,
Que puderam tornar o fogo frio,
E dar descanso as almas condenadas.
- [She] heard the bitter, heartsick words
  that made the fires of Hell burn cold
  and soothed the lost spirits under the world.
  - (tr. David Wevill)

Quem vê, Senhora, claro e manifesto

As translated by Richard Zenith (in Sonnets and Other Poems)

The more I pay you, the more I owe you.

Quem vê, Senhora, claro e manifesto
o lindo ser de vossos olhos belos,
se não perder a vista só em vê-los,
já não paga o que deve a vosso gesto.
- Whoever, Lady, sees plain and clear
  the lovely essence of your fair eyes
  and doesn't from seeing them go blind
  hasn't paid your looks their due.

Porque é tamanha bem-aventurança
o dar-vos quanto tenho e quanto posso,
quanto mais vos pago, mais vos devo.
- Since it gives me so much bliss
  to give you everything I can
  The more I pay you, the more I owe.
  - Quoted by Elizabeth Bishop in the dedication of Questions of Travel (1965) to Lota de Macedo Soares, her Brazilian lover.

Ah! minha Dinamene! Assim deixaste

Luis de Camoens and the epic of the Lusiads. (1. ed.), Henry Hersch Hart (1962), p. 327

Ah! minha Dinamene! Assim deixaste
Quem não deixara nunca de querer-te!
Ah! Ninfa minha, já não posso ver-te,
Tão asinha esta vida desprezaste!
Como já pera sempre te apartaste
De quem tão longe estava de perder-te?
Puderam estas ondas defender-te
Que não visses quem tanto magoaste?
Nem falar-te somente a dura Morte
Me deixou, que tão cedo o negro manto
Em teus olhos deitado consentiste!
Oh mar! oh céu! oh minha escura sorte!
Que pena sentirei que valha tanto,
Que inda tenha por pouco viver triste?
- Ah, Dinamene,
  Thou hast forsaken him
  Whose love for thee has never ceased,
  And no more will he behold thee on this earth!
  How early didst thou deem life of little worth!
  I found thee
  — Alas, to lose thee all too soon!
  How strong, how cruel the waves!
  Thou canst not ever know
  My longing and my grief!
  Did cold death still thy voice
  Or didst thou of thyself
  Draw the sable veil before thy lovely face?
  O sea, O sky, O fate obscure!
  To live without thee, Dinamene, avails me not.

Alma Minha Gentil, que te Partiste

Dear gentle soul, you that departed
this life so soon and reluctantly,
rest in heaven eternally
while I remain here, broken-hearted.

Alma minha gentil, que te partiste
Tão cedo desta vida descontente,
Repousa lá no Céu eternamente,
E viva eu cá na terra sempre triste.
- Go, gentle spirit! now supremely blest,
  From scenes of pain and struggling virtue go:
  From thy immortal seat of heavenly rest
  Behold us lingering in a world of woe!
  - (anonymous translation)
- Meek spirit, who so early didst depart,
  Thou art at rest in Heaven! I linger here,
  And feed the lonely anguish of my heart;
  Thinking of all that made existence dear.
  - (tr. Robert Southey)
- My gentle spirit! thou who hast departed
  So early, of this life in discontent,
  Rest thou there ever, in Heaven's firmament,
  While I live here on earth all broken-hearted.
  - tr. John James Aubertin, in Seventy Sonnets of Camoens (1881), p. 17
- Dear gentle soul, you that departed
  this life so soon and reluctantly,
  rest in heaven eternally
  while I remain here, broken-hearted.
  - tr. Langed White, in The Collected Lyric Poems of Luis de Camoes (2016), p. 357

Transforma-se o amador na cousa amada

The lover becomes the thing he loves...

As translated by Richard Zenith.

Transforma-se o amador na cousa amada,
Por virtude do muito imaginar;
Não tenho, logo, mais que desejar,
Pois em mim tenho a parte desejada.
- The lover becomes the thing he loves
  By virtue of much imagining;
  Since what I long for is already in me,
  The act of longing should be enough.

Mudam-se os tempos, mudam-se as vontades

Mudam-se os tempos, mudam-se as vontades,
Muda-se o ser, muda-se a confiança;
Todo o mundo é composto de mudança,
Tomando sempre novas qualidades.
- Time changes, and our desires change. What we
  believe—even what we are—is ever-
  changing. The world is change, which forever
  takes on new qualities.
- Selected Sonnets: A Bilingual Edition (2008), ed. William Baer, p. 70

Erros meus, má fortuna, amor ardente

Erros meus, má fortuna, amor ardente
Em minha perdição se conjuraram.
- My sins, my wild loves, and Fate herself
  have all conspired against me.
- Selected Sonnets: A Bilingual Edition (2008), ed. William Baer, p. 99

Songs (redondilhas)

Perdigão perdeu a pena
Não há mal que lhe não venha.
Perdigão que o pensamento
Subiu a um alto lugar,
Perde a pena do voar,
Ganha a pena do tormento.
Não tem no ar nem no vento
Asas com que se sustenha:
Não há mal que lhe não venha.
Quis voar a üa alta torre,
Mas achou-se desasado;
E, vendo-se depenado,
De puro penado morre.
Se a queixumes se socorre,
Lança no fogo mais lenha:
Não há mal que lhe não venha.
- To this old song:
  Partridge lost his quill,
  there's no harm won't befall him.
  Partridge, whose winged fancy
  aspired to a high estate,
  lost a feather in his flight
  and won the pen of despondency.
  He finds in the breeze no buoyancy
  for his pennants to haul him:
  there's no harm won't befall him.
  He wished to soar to a high tower
  but found his plumage clipped,
  and, observing himself plucked,
  pines away in despair.
  If he cries out for succor,
  stoke the fire to forestall him:
  there's no harm won't befall him.
  - "Perdigão que o pensamento", tr. Landeg White in The Collected Lyric Poems of Luis de Camoes (2016), p. 251
    - (Listen to the poem in Portuguese)

Nem no campo flores,
Nem no céu estrelas
Me parecem belas
Como os meus amores.
- No star from above
  nor flower in the field
  seems to me as fair
  as the one I love.
- "Aquela cativa" (trans. Richard Zenith)

Ever in this world saw I
Good men suffer grave torments,
But even more—
Enough to terrify—
Men who live out evil lives
Reveling in pleasure and in content.

Os bons vi sempre passar
No mundo graves tormentos;
E para mais me espantar,
Os maus vi sempre nadar
Em mar de contentamentos.
- Ever in this world saw I
  Good men suffer grave torments,
  But even more—
  Enough to terrify—
  Men who live out evil lives
  Reveling in pleasure and in content.
  - "Esparsa ao Desconcerto do Mundo", translation from Luís de Camões and the Epic of the Lusiads (1962) by Henry Hersch Hart, p. 111

Hymns (canções)

Já me desenganei que de queixar-me
não se alcança remédio; mas, quem pena,
forçado lhe é gritar, se a dor é grande.
Gritarei; mas é débil e pequena
a voz para poder desabafar-me,
porque nem com gritar a dor se abrande.
- I was long ago undeceived that protesting
  could bring redress. But whoever suffers
  is bound to complain if the pain is great.
  So I did! But the cry that could offer
  relief is itself feeble and exhausted,
  and it is not through weeping that pain abates.
- "Vinde cá, meu tão certo secretário", trans. by Landeg White in The Collected Lyric Poems of Luis de Camoes (2016), p. 297

Nem eu delicadezas vou cantando
Co'o gosto do louvor, mas explicando
Puras verdades já por mim passadas.
Oxalá foram fábulas sonhadas!
- Nor do I sing for courtesy's sake
  with a taste for praising, but to make
  pure truths known about my former times.
  Would to God they were mere dreams.
- "Vinde cá, meu tão certo secretário", trans. by Landeg White in The Collected Lyric Poems of Luis de Camoes (2016), p. 303

Sestina

Foge-me pouco a pouco a curta vida
(se por caso é verdade que inda vivo);
vai-se-me o breve tempo d'ante os olhos;
choro pelo passado e quando falo,
se me passam os dias passo e passo,
vai-se-me, enfim, a idade e fica a pena.
- Little by little it ebbs, this life,
  if by any chance I am still alive;
  my brief time passes before my eyes.
  I mourn the past in whatever I say;
  as each day passes, step by step
  my youth deserts me—what persists is pain.
- "Foge-me pouco a pouco a curta vida", tr. Landeg White in The Collected Lyric Poems of Luis de Camoes (2016), p. 330

Epic poetry

Os Lusíadas (1572)

Os Lusíadas ("The Lusiads")

Main article: Os Lusíadas

Canto I

As armas e os Barões assinalados
Que da Ocidental praia Lusitana
Por mares nunca de antes navegados
Passaram ainda além da Taprobana,
Em perigos e guerras esforçados
Mais do que prometia a força humana,
E entre gente remota edificaram
Novo Reino, que tanto sublimaram.
- Arms and the Heroes, who from Lisbon's shore,
  Through 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 forced their way
  To the fair kingdoms of the rising day:
  What wars they waged, what seas, what dangers passed,
  What glorious empire crowned their toils at last!
- Stanza 1 (as translated by William Julius Mickle, 1776)

My song shall spread where ever there are men,
If wit and art will so much guide my pen.

Cease all, whose actions ancient bards expressed:
A brighter valour rises in the West.

Cantando espalharei por toda parte,
Se a tanto me ajudar o engenho e arte.
- My song shall spread where ever there are men,
  If wit and art will so much guide my pen.
- Stanza 2, lines 7–8 (tr. Richard Fanshawe, 1655)

Cesse tudo o que a Musa antiga canta,
Que outro valor mais alto se alevanta.
- Cease all, whose actions ancient bards expressed:
  A brighter valour rises in the West.
- Stanza 3, lines 7–8 (tr. Richard Fanshawe). Compare:
  - Cedite Romani scriptores, cedite Grai!
    Nescioquid maius nascitur Iliade.
    - Make way, you Roman writers, make way, Greeks!
      Something greater than the Iliad is born.
    - Sextus Propertius, Elegies, II, xxxiv, 65–66

And you, fair nymphs of Tagus... come auspicious, and the song inspire...

They now went sailing in the ocean vast.

E vós, Tágides minhas, pois criado
Tendes em mi um novo engenho ardente,
Se sempre em verso humilde celebrado
Foi de mi vosso rio alegremente,
Dai-me agora um som alto e sublimado,
Um estilo grandíloco e corrente,
Por que de vossas águas Febo ordene
Que não tenham enveja às de Hipocrene.
- And you, fair nymphs of Tagus, parent stream,
  If ever your meadows were my pastoral theme,
  O come auspicious, and the song inspire
  With all the boldness of your hero's fire:
  Deep and majestic let the numbers flow,
  And, rapt to heaven, with ardent fury glow.
- Stanza 5 (tr. William Julius Mickle)

Já no largo Oceano navegavam...
- They now went sailing in the ocean vast...
- Stanza 19, line 1 (tr. Richard Fanshawe)

The moon, full orbed, forsakes her watery cave,
And lifts her lovely head above the wave.

Da Lua os claros raios rutilavam...
- The moon, full orbed, forsakes her watery cave,
  And lifts her lovely head above the wave...
- Stanza 58 line 1 (as translated by William Julius Mickle). Compare:
  - As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night,
    Over heaven's clear azure spreads her sacred light...
    - Homer, The Iliad, VIII. 551–555 (tr. Alexander Pope)

É fraqueza entre ovelhas ser leão.
- To be a lion among sheep, 'tis poor.
- Stanza 68, line 8 (tr. Richard Fanshawe)

Ah! where shall weary man take sanctuary,
where live his little span of life secure?
and escape of Heaven serene the indignant storms
that launch their thunders at us earthen worms?

Ó grandes e gravíssimos perigos!
Ó caminho de vida nunca certo!
- O piteous lot of man's uncertain state!
  What woes on Life's unhappy journey wait!
- Stanza 105, lines 1–2 (tr. William Julius Mickle)

Onde pode acolher-se um fraco humano,
Onde terá segura a curta vida,
Que não se arme, e se indigne o Céu sereno
Contra um bicho da terra tão pequeno?
- Ah! where shall weary man take sanctuary,
  where live his little span of life secure?
  and 'scape of Heaven serene th' indignant storms
  that launch their thunders at us earthen worms?
- Stanza 106, lines 5–8 (tr. Richard Francis Burton)

Canto II

What care, what wisdom, is of suffisance
The stroke of secret mischief to prevent,
Unless the Sovereign Guardian from on high
Supply the strength of frail Humanity?

Quem poderá do mal aparelhado
Livrar-se sem perigo sabiamente,
Se lá de cima a Guarda soberana
Não acudir à fraca força humana?
- What care, what wisdom, is of suffisance
  The stroke of secret mischief to prevent,
  Unless the Sovereign Guardian from on high
  Supply the strength of frail Humanity?
- Stanza 30, lines 5–8 (tr. Richard Fanshawe)

Canto III

As crown to this wide empire, Europe's head,
Fair Lusitania smiles...

Eis aqui, quase cume da cabeça
De Europa toda, o Reino Lusitano,
Onde a terra se acaba e o mar começa.
- Proud over the rest, with splendid wealth arrayed,
  As crown on, Europe's head
  The Lusitania reign,
  Where the land ends and seas begins.
- Stanza 20, lines 1–3 (tr. William Julius Mickle)

Esta é a ditosa pátria minha amada.
- This is my happy land, my home, my pride.
- Stanza 21, line 1 (tr. Richard Francis Burton)

A sad event and worthy of Memory,
Who draws forth men from their closed sepulchres,
Befell that piteous maid, and pitiful
Who, after she was dead was crowned queen.

O caso triste, e dino da memória,
Que do sepulcro os homens desenterra,
Aconteceu da mísera e mesquinha
Que depois de ser morta foi Rainha.
- A sad event and worthy of Memory,
  Who draws forth men from their (closed) sepulchres,
  Befell that piteous maid, and pitiful
  Who, after she was dead was (crowned) queen.
- Stanza 118, lines 5–8 (tr. Ezra Pound); of Inês de Castro.

Tu só, tu, puro Amor...
- Thou, only thou, pure Love...
- Stanza 119, line 1 (tr. Richard Francis Burton)

O foul disgrace, of knighthood lasting stain,
By men of arms a helpless lady slain!

... from her cheeks the roses died away,
And pale in death the beauteous Inez lay.

Contra uma dama, ó peitos carniceiros,
Feros vos amostrais, e cavaleiros?
- O foul disgrace, of knighthood lasting stain,
  By men of arms a helpless lady slain!
- Stanza 130, lines 7–8 (tr. William Julius Mickle); the death of Inês de Castro.

Assim como a bonina, que cortada
Antes do tempo foi, cândida e bela,
Sendo das mãos lascivas maltratada
Da menina que a trouxe na capela,
O cheiro traz perdido e a cor murchada:
Tal está morta a pálida donzela,
Secas do rosto as rosas, e perdida
A branca e viva cor, co'a doce vida.
- As when a rose, ere-while of bloom so gay,
  Thrown from the careless virgin's breast away,
  Lies faded on the plain, the living red,
  The snowy white, and all its fragrance fled;
  So from her cheeks the roses died away,
  And pale in death the beauteous Inez lay.
- Stanza 134 (tr. William Julius Mickle)

Um fraco Rei faz fraca a forte gente.
- A soft king makes a valiant people soft.
- Stanza 138, line 8 (tr. Richard Fanshawe)

Canto IV

Ó Rei subido,
Aventurar-me a ferro, a fogo, a neve
É tão pouco por vós, que mais me pena
Ser esta vida cousa tão pequena.
- O Mighty King! The perils of the sword,
  Or fire, or frost, I nothing estimate;
  But much I grieve that life must circumscribe
  The limits of my zeal.
- Stanza 79, lines 5–8 (tr. Thomas Moore Musgrave)

Mas um velho d'aspeito venerando,
Que ficava nas praias, entre a gente,
Postos em nós os olhos, meneando
Três vezes a cabeça, descontente,
A voz pesada um pouco alevantando,
Que nós no mar ouvimos claramente,
C'um saber só de experiências feito,
Tais palavras tirou do experto peito:
Ó glória de mandar! Ó vã cobiça
Desta vaidade, a quem chamamos Fama!

O glory of commanding! O vain thirst
Of that same empty nothing we call fame!
- But an old man of venerable look
  (Standing upon the shore amongst the crowds)
  His eyes fixed upon us (on ship-board), shook
  His head three times, overcast with sorrow's clouds:
  And (straining his voice more, than well could brook
  His aged lungs: it rattled in our shrouds)
  Out of a science, practice did attest,
  Let fly these words from an oraculous breast:
  O glory of commanding! O vain thirst
  Of that same empty nothing we call fame!
- Stanzas 94–95 (tr. Richard Fanshawe); the Old Man of Restelo.

Canto V

Não acabava, quando uma figura
Se nos mostra no ar, robusta e válida,
De disforme e grandíssima estatura,
O rosto carregado, a barba esquálida,
Os olhos encovados, e a postura
Medonha e má, e a cor terrena e pálida,
Cheios de terra e crespos os cabelos,
A boca negra, os dentes amarelos.
Tão grande era de membros, que bem posso
Certificar-te, que este era o segundo
De Rodes estranhíssimo Colosso,
Que um dos sete milagres foi do mundo:
Com um tom de voz nos fala horrendo e grosso,
Que pareceu sair do mar profundo:
Arrepiam-se as carnes e o cabelo
A mi e a todos, só de ouvi-lo e vê-lo.

I spoke, when rising through the darkened air,
Appalled, we saw a hideous phantom glare...
- I spoke, when rising through the darkened air,
  Appalled, we saw a hideous phantom glare;
  High and enormous over the flood he towered,
  And thwart our way with sullen aspect lowered.
  An earthy paleness over his cheeks was spread,
  Erect uprose his hairs of withered red;
  Writhing to speak, his sable lips disclose,
  Sharp and disjoined, his gnashing teeth's blue rows;
  His haggard beard flowed quivering on the wind,
  Revenge and horror in his mien combined;
  His clouded front, by withering lightnings scared,
  The inward anguish of his soul declared.
  His red eyes, glowing from their dusky caves,
  Shot livid fires: far echoing over the waves
  His voice resounded, as the caverned shore
  With hollow groan repeats the tempest's roar.
  Cold gliding horrors thrilled each hero's breast,
  Our bristling hair and tottering knees confessed
  Wild dread, the while with visage ghastly wan,
  His black lips trembling, thus the fiend began...
- Stanzas 39–40 (tr. William Julius Mickle); description of Adamastor, the "Spirit of the Cape".

How sweet is praise, and justly purchased glory
By one's own actions, when to Heaven they soar!

Quão doce é o louvor e a justa glória
Dos próprios feitos, quando são soados!
Qualquer nobre trabalha que em memória
Vença ou iguale os grandes já passados.
As invejas da ilustre e alheia história
Fazem mil vezes feitos sublimados.
Quem valerosas obras exercita,
Louvor alheio muito o esperta e incita.
- How sweet is praise, and justly purchased glory,
  By one's own actions, when to Heaven they soar!
  Each nobler soul will strain, to have his story,
  Match, if not darken, all that went before.
  Envy of other's fame, not transitory,
  Screws up illustrious actions more, and more.
  Such, as contend in honorable deeds,
  The spur of high applause incites their speeds.
- Stanza 92 (tr. Richard Fanshawe)

Sem vergonha o não digo, que a razão
De algum não ser por versos excelente,
É não se ver prezado o verso e rima,
Porque quem não sabe arte, não na estima.
- I speak it to our shame; the cause no grand
  Poets adorn our country, is the small
  Encouragement to such: for how can he
  esteem, that understands not poetry?
- Stanza 97, lines 5–8 (tr. Richard Fanshawe)

Canto VI

"Actions so proud, so daring, so immense, / You saw; and we see daily more, and more: / That in few years (I fear) of heaven and sea, / Men, will be called gods; and but men, we."

Vistes que, com grandíssima ousadia,
Foram já cometer o Céu supremo;
Vistes aquela insana fantasia
De tentarem o mar com vela e remo;
Vistes, e ainda vemos cada dia,
Soberbas e insolências tais, que temo
Que do Mar e do Céu, em poucos anos,
Venham Deuses a ser, e nós, humanos.
- You saw, with what unheard of insolence
  The highest heavens they did invade of yore:
  You saw, how (against reason, against sense)
  They did invade the sea with sail and oar:
  Actions so proud, so daring, so immense,
  You saw; and we see daily more, and more:
  That in few years (I fear) of heaven and sea,
  Men, will be called gods; and but men, we.
- Stanza 29 (tr. Richard Fanshawe); council of the sea gods.

Canto VII

My pen in this, my sword in that hand hold.

Numa mão sempre a espada, e noutra a pena.
- My pen in this, my sword in that hand hold.
- Stanza 79, line 8 (tr. Richard Fanshawe)

Canto VIII

Veja agora o juízo curioso
Quanto no rico, assim como no pobre,
Pode o vil interesse e sede inimiga
Do dinheiro, que a tudo nos obriga.
- Now let the judging reader mark what rex
  The idol gold (which all the world adoreth)
  Plays both in poor and rich: by money's thurst
  All laws and ties (divine, and human) burst.
- Stanza 96, lines 5–8 (tr. Richard Fanshawe)

Canto IX

Porque essas honras vãs, esse ouro puro
Verdadeiro valor não dão à gente:
Melhor é, merecê-los sem os ter,
Que possuí-los sem os merecer.
- For these vain honours, this false gold, give price
  (Unless he have it in himself) to none,
  Better deserve them, and to go without;
  Than have them undeserved, without doubt.
- Stanza 93, lines 5–8 (tr. Richard Fanshawe)

Canto X

Vão os anos decendo, e já do Estio
Há pouco que passar até o Outono;
A Fortuna me faz o engenho frio,
Do qual já não me jacto nem me abono;
Os desgostos me vão levando ao rio
Do negro esquecimento e eterno sono...
- No more the summer of my life remains,
  My autumn's lengthening evenings chill my veins;
  Down the black stream of years by woes on woes
  Winged on, I hasten to the tomb's repose...
- Stanza 9, lines 1–6 (tr. William Julius Mickle)

He who inflicts a vile and unjust harm by using the power and the force with which he is invested, does not conquer; the true victory is to have on one's side Right naked and entire.

Quem faz injúria vil e sem razão,
Com forças e poder em que está posto,
Não vence; que a vitória verdadeira
É saber ter justiça nua e inteira.
- He who inflicts a vile and unjust harm by using the power and the force with which he is invested, does not conquer; the true victory is to have on one's side Right naked and entire.
- Stanza 58, lines 5–8 (tr. Joaquim Nabuco)

Nô mais, Musa, nô mais, que a Lira tenho
Destemperada e a voz enrouquecida,
E não do canto, mas de ver que venho
Cantar a gente surda e endurecida.
O favor com que mais se acende o engenho
Não no dá a pátria, não, que está metida
No gosto da cobiça e na rudeza
Dũa austera, apagada e vil tristeza.
- Enough, my muse, thy wearied wing no more
  Must to the seat of Jove triumphant soar.
  Chilled by my nation's cold neglect, thy fires
  Glow bold no more, and all thy rage expires.
- Stanza 145 (tr. William Julius Mickle)

Let your advisers be experienced all, / Such as have seen the world, and studied man. / For, though in science much contained be, / In special cases practice more doth see.

Fazei, Senhor, que nunca os admirados
Alemães, Galos, Ítalos e Ingleses,
Possam dizer que são pera mandados,
Mais que pera mandar, os Portugueses.
Tomai conselho só d'exprimentados
Que viram largos anos, largos meses,
Que, posto que em cientes muito cabe,
Mais em particular o experto sabe.
- Great Sir, let never the astonished Gall
  The English, German, and Italian,
  Have cause to say, the fainting Portugal
  Could not advance the great work he began.
  Let your advisers be experienced all,
  Such as have seen the world, and studied man.
  For, though in science much contained be,
  In special cases practice more doth see.
- Stanza 152 (tr. Richard Fanshawe); the poet advising King Sebastian of Portugal, then eighteen years of age.

Nem me falta na vida honesto estudo,
Com longa experiência misturado,
Nem engenho, que aqui vereis presente,
Cousas que juntas se acham raramente.
- Right honest studies my career can show
  with long experience blent as best beseems,
  and genius here presented for thy view;—
  gifts, that conjoined appertain to few.
- Stanza 154, lines 5–8 (tr. Richard Francis Burton)

I, then inspired, the wondering world should see
Great Ammon's warlike son revived in thee;
Revived unenvious of the Muse's flame
That over the world resounds Pelides' name.

Pera servir-vos, braço às armas feito,
Pera cantar-vos, mente às Musas dada.
- For serving thee an arm to arms addressed;
  for singing thee a soul the Muses raise.
- Stanza 155, line 1–2 (tr. Richard Francis Burton)

Fico que em todo o mundo de vós cante,
De sorte que Alexandro em vós se veja,
Sem à dita de Aquiles ter enveja.
- I, then inspired, the wondering world should see
  Great Ammon's warlike son revived in thee;
  Revived unenvious of the Muse's flame
  That over the world resounds Pelides' name.
- Stanza 156, line 6–8 (tr. William Julius Mickle); hear the last lines [in Portuguese]

Letters

As derradeiras palavras que na náu disse foram as de Scipião Africano: Ingrata patria, non possidebis ossa mea!
- The last words which I uttered on board of the vessel were those of Scipio—'Ungrateful country! thou shalt not even possess my bones'.
- Letter written from India (1553) to a friend at Lisbon, as quoted in Poems, from the Portuguese of Luis de Camoens (1808) by Percy Smythe, pp. 16–17

Enfim acabarei a vida e verão todos que fui afeiçoado à minha Pátria...

I am ending the course of my life, but the world will bear witness how I have loved my country...

Quem ouviu dizer que em tão pequeno teatro como o de um pobre leito, quizesse a fortuna representar tão grandes desventuras? E eu, como se elas não bastassem, me ponho ainda da sua parte; porque procurar resistir a tantos males pareceria espécie de desavergonhamento.
- Who has seen on so small a theatre as my poor bed, such a representation of the disappointments of fortune? And I, as if she could not herself subdue me, I have yielded and become of her party; for it were wild audacity to hope to surmount such accumulated evils.
- Letter "written a little before his death", as quoted in The Lusiad; Or, The Discovery of India: An Epic Poem (1776) by William Julius Mickle, p. cxvi

Enfim acabarei a vida e verão todos que fui tão afeiçoado à minha Pátria que não só me contentei de morrer nela, mas com ela.
- I am ending the course of my life, but the world will bear witness how I have loved my country; I have returned not only to die on her bosom, but to die with her!
- Letter to Don Francisco de Almeyda, 1579; written after "the disaster of Alcácer-Kebir when the mad King Sebastião's mammoth invasion of Morocco ended in his death and the destruction or enslavement of all but one hundred of his army of over 20,000. [Camões] died on 10 June 1580, just before the throne passed to Philip II of Spain", as reported by Landeg White in The Lusiads (Oxford World's Classics, 2001), p. x; quoted as Camões' last words in The Yale Literary Magazine, Vol. VIII (January, 1843), No. 3, "Luis de Camoëns", p. 115.

Attributed

Com Amor a rosa,
Que tão fresca, &c.
- Just like Love is yonder rose.
- Rondeau in Poems, from the Portuguese of Luis de Camoens (1803) by Percy Smythe, 6th Viscount Strangford, p. 47; original source unclear.