I have started to collect Portutuese poems and quotes with verse translations. While not as widely known as the poetry of Spain and Italy, Portugal also draws on vibrant traditions of Roman classical literature.
Claudio Manoel Da Costa
Breves horas, Amor, ha, que eu gozava
A gloria, que minha alma apetecia;
E sem desconfiar da aleivosia,
Teu lisonjeiro obsequio acreditava.
Eu so a minha dita me igualava;
Pois assim avultava, assim crescia,
Que nas cenas, que entao me oferecia,
O maior gosto, o maior bem lograva;
Fugiu, faltou-me o bem: ja descomposta
Da vaidade a brilhante arquitetura,
Ve-se a ruina ao desengano exposta:
Que ligeira acabou, que mal segura!
Mas que venho a estranhar, se estava posta
Minha esperanca em maos da formosura!
Short were the hours which were so gayly passed,
When, Love, in thee my trust I fondly placed;
Possessed of all my soul desired to taste,
I careless deemed they would for ever last.
Quite unsuspecting any fraud of thine,
In that blessed state my time was thus employed;
Each passing scene I proudly thus enjoyed,
Thinking what truly happy lot was mine.
The glittering veil removed, no joys remain;
The brilliant structure, which thou bad'st arise,
Which fed my vanity, in ruin lies.
What hapless end! in Love to trust how vain!
But why surprised? — the fate may soon be guessed
Of hopes which in the hands of fickle beauty rest.
Luis de Camoens
Canzonet
Nao sei quem assela
vossa fermosura;
que quem e tao dura
nao pode ser bela.
Vos sereis fermosa,
mas a razao tem
que quem e irosa
nao parece bem.
A mostra e de bela,
as o obras sao cruas;
pois qual destas duas
ficara na sela?
Se ficar irosa
nao vos esta bem.
fique antes fermosa,
que mais forca tem.
O Amor, fermoso
se pinta e se chama:
se e amor, ama,
se ama, e piadoso.
Diz agora a grosa
que este texto tem,
que quem e fermosa
ha-de querer bem.
Havei do, minina,
dessa fermosura;
que se a terra e dura,
seca-se a bonina.
Sede piadosa;
nao veja ninguem
que, por rigorosa,
percais tanto bem.
Thou hast an eye of tender bloc,
And thou hast locks of Daphne's hue,
And cheeks that shame the morning's break,
And lips that might for redness make
Roses seem pale beside them;
But whether soft or sweet as they,
Lady! alas, I cannot say,
For I have never tried them.
Yet, thus created for delight,
Lady! thou art not lovely quite,
For dost thou not this maxim know,
That Prudery is Beauty's foe,
A stain that mars a jewel!
And e'en that woman's angel face,
Loses a portion of its grace,
If woman's heart be cruel!
Love is a sweet and blooming boy,
Yet glowing with the blush of joy,
And (still in youth's delicious prime)
Though ag'd as patriarchal Time,
The withering god despises:
Lady! would'st thou for ever be
As fair, and young, and fresh as he—
Do all that Love advises!
(translated from Portuguese by Lord Viscount Strangeford)
Sonnet II
O cisne, quando sente ser chegada
A hora que poe termo a sua vida,
Musica com voz alta e mui subida
Levanta pela praia inabitada.
Deseja ter a vida prolongada
Chorando do viver a despedida;
Com grande saudade da partida,
Celebra o triste fim desta jornada.
Assim, Senhora minha, quando via
O triste fim que davam meus amores,
Estando posto ja no extremo fio,
Com mais suave canto e harmonia
Descantei pelos vossos desfavores
La vuestra falsa fe y el amor mio.
While on the margin of his native shores,
In death's cold hour the silver cygnet lies,
Soft melodies of woe, and tuneful sighs,
And lamentations wild, he plaintive pours,
Still charm'd of life—and whilst he yet deplores
The drear, dark night that seals his closing eyes,
In murmur'd grief for lost existence—dies!
So, Lady, (thou, whom still my soul adores),
While scarcely ling'ring in a world of pain,
My wearied spirit treads the verge of death—'
O Lady, then thy Poet's parting breath
Shall faintly animate his final song,
To tell of broken vows—and cold disdain—
And unrequited love—and cruel wrong!
(translated from Portuguese by Lord Viscount Strangeford)
Sonnet XV
Eu cantarei de amor tao docemente,
Por uns termos em si tao concertados,
Que dois mil acidentes namorados
Faca sentir ao peito que nao sente.
Farei que amor a todos avivente,
Pintando mil segredos delicados,
Brandas iras, suspiros magoados,
Temerosa ousadia e pena ausente.
Tambem, Senhora, do desprezo honesto
De vossa vista branda e rigorosa,
Contentar-me-ei dizendo a menor parte.
Porem, para cantar de vosso gesto
A composicao alta e milagrosa,
Aqui falta saber, engenho e arte
I sang of love—and in so sweet a strain,
That hearts most hard were soften'd at the sound,
And blushing girls, who gaily throng'd around,
Felt their souls tingle with delightful pain—
For quaintly did my chaunted songs explain
Those little secrets that in love abound—
Life in a kiss, and death in absence found—
Feign'd anger—slow consent—and coy disdain,
And hardihood,atlengthwith conquestcrown'd.
Yet did I not with these rude lips proclaim
From whom my song such sweet instructions drew,
Too weak, alas! to pour the praises due
From youthful gratitude, to grace the name
Of her, who kindly taught me all she knew!
(translated from Portuguese by Lord Viscount Strangeford)