ao som destas campainhas:
eles de trunfa empoada,
elas com saias de anquinhas.
Vivia calmo e sereno;
mas um dia por meu mal
meteram-me num navio,
e vim ter a Portugal.
Portugal, que linda terra!
Deus lhe dé alto futuro!
Nunca eu vira sol tam claro,
nunca eu vira ceo tam puro!
Numa terra tam bonita
em breve a minha esqueci,
e mesmo que pes tivesse
não me arredara de aqui!
Que assombro senti cá dentro
quando vi a vez primeira
por uma janela aberta
uma verde laranjeira!
Carregadinha de frutos
vendo-a entam eu julguei ver
um candelabro de bronze
com cem luzinhas a arder!
Portugal é boa terra,
sua gente ainda milhor:
foi-me gostoso o desterro;
mas o pior ... o pior ...
O pior ... foi que vivendo
com alegria e saude
perdi em más companhias
a minha maior virtude!
Diz um rifão, e os rifões
dão luz aos cegos vaivens:
Dize-me cá com quem andas,
dir-te hei as manhas que tens.
Perderam-me as companhias:
nesta terra deslumbrante
ninguem está no sitio certo,
uns atrás, outros adiante.
Nesta terra abençoada
tudo corre á toa e a esmo:
ninguem sabe ás quantas anda,
e eu relogio fiz o mesmo!
Eu relogio antigamente
modelo de exactidão,
umas vezes corro á doida,
e outras paro sem razão.
Por mais que queiram curar-me
ninguem me cura ou milhora:
dou dez horas ao meo dia,
e á mea noite uma hora!
Se tenho os ponteiros doudos,
meu carrilhão de voz linda
em seu perfeito juizo
como outrora canta ainda.
Trazida para esta terra
de loucuras e beleza,
faço loucuras e canto
como a gente portuguesa!
Mas no estado em que me vejo,
a pensar digo para mim
que Deus fez bem quanto faz,
que as cousas vão bem assim.
Em Portugal é cantando
que a propria dor se alivia,
e este costume de loucos
tem sua sabedoria.
Cantar é tarefe de anjos,
tarefe que agrada aos ceos:
cada canção é uma asa
que nos eleva até Deus.
Dar horas pelo contrario
é um oficio que corcova:
cada hora é uma enxadada
que mais funda fez a cova.
Cantar, sim; dar horas, não!
Ao vento incerto da sorte
de que serve a hora certa
para quem tem certa a morte?
O portugués, sendo um doudo,
o portugués tem razão:
Cantemos! Que nos importa
saber as horas que são?
JOAQUIM TEIXEIRA DE PASCOAES
[Sidenote: 1877-]
_199. Canção humilde_
Brisa de Abril,
todo perfume,
etereo nume
contigo vai!
Pedrinha humilde
no chão perdida
do sol ferida
é uma estrela.
Negra ramagem
o ceo tocando
vai-se pintando
de azul celeste.
Gota de orvalho
tremeluzindo,
tens o sol rindo
dentro de ti!
Humildes cousas
que ninguem olha:
raminho ou folha
ou grão de area:
tendes o encanto
mais que divino
que o Deus Menino
achou na terra.
AFFONSO LOPES VIEIRA
[Sidenote: 1878-]
_200. O soneto dos tumulos_
Até ao fim do mundo. A grande amada
escuta o adeus da grande voz sentida:
santa e rainha, aguarda aquela vida
que só depois do fim é começada.
Pedra de sonho e dor, foste lavrada
pela saudade imensa aqui vivida:
guarda a saudade, pois, da despedida
e a esperança da hora desejada.
Guarda a saudade que jamais acaba,
que o dia que ha de vir, de amor contente,
os que dormem aqui vão esperando.
E no fragor do mundo que desaba
hão de acordar sorrindo eternamente,
os olhos um no outro enfim pousando.
_201. Guitarras de Alcacer_
Ó guitarras de Alcacer-Quibir,
chorai-vos cantando, gemei a sorrir.
Cantai as saudades dos fieis namorados,
os olhos castanhos, os beijos trocados.
Ó guitarras de Alcacer-Quibir,
chorai-vos cantando, gemei a sorrir.
Gemei as saudades brando, muito brando,
matando as saudades, chorai-vos cantando.
Ó guitarras de Alcacer-Quibir,
chorai-vos cantando, gemei a sorrir.
Gemei as saudades carpindo, carpindo,
carpindo as saudades do amor mais lindo.
Ó guitarras de Alcacer-Quibir,
chorai-vos cantando, gemei a sorrir.
Cantai vos gemendo, chorando mais forte,
guitarras, amores, que amanhã é a morte.
Ó guitarras de Alcacer-Quibir,
chorai-vos cantando, gemei a sorrir.
_202. Sinos ao longe_
Chegam de longe,
vindas na aragem,
imagens debeis
de bronzes finos.
E cristalinos
pousam na aragem,
na aragem vaga,
finos e flebeis,
como essas penas
no ar serenas
que o ar afaga
só de amparâ-las
e suspendê-las.
Expiram longe,
idas na aragem,
imagens debeis
de bronzes finos,
de cousas flebeis.
ANTONIO CORREA DE OLIVEIRA
[Sidenote: 1880-]
_203. Minha terra_
Minha terra, quem me dera
ser humilde lavrador!
Ter o pão de cada dia,
ter a graça do Senhor:
cavar-te com minhas mãos
com caridade e amor.
Minha terra, quem me dera
ser um poeta afamado!
Ter o sino de Camões,
andar nas naos embarcado:
mostrar ás outras nações
Portugal alevantado.
Minha terra, quem me dera
poder ver-te de um sertão!
Ter-te longe dos meus olhos,
pertinho do coração:
para amar-te mais, podendo,
que me parece que não.
Minha terra, quem me dera
ser um nauta assinalado!
Passar trabalhos no mar,
ir á guerra, ser soldado:
dar por ti todo o meu sangue
de portugués desgraçado!
EDUARDO PONDAL
[Sidenote: 1835-1917]
_204. A Campana d’ Anllons_
Campanas de Bastabales,
cando vos oyo tocar
mórrome de soledades.
_Cantiga popular_
E ti, campana d’ Anllons,
que roucamente tocando
derramas nos corazons
un bálsamo triste e brando
de pasadas ilusions;
Alá nos pasados ventos,
primeiros da miña vida,
ouzo os teus vagos concentos,
reló dos tristes momentos
da miña patria querida.
Cantas veces te lembrou
o que marchou para a guerra
cando á sua nai deixou
e partindo á estraña terra
de suidades chorou!
Cantas do mar africano,
cautivo bergantiñan,
oío n’ un sono tirano
o teu tocar soberano,
aló nas tardes do vran!
Cando te sinto tocar,
campana d’ Anllons, doente,
n’ unha noite de luar,
rompo triste a salayar
por causas d’ un mal ausente.
Cando doida tocabas
po-las tardes á oración,
campana, sempre falabas
palabras con que cortabas
as cordas do corazón.
Estabas contando aos ventos
cousas do meu mal presente,
os meus futuros tormentos,
que dabas con sentimentos,
segun tocabas doente.
Campana, se po-lo vran
ves lumiar na Ponte-Ceso
a cachela de San Xoan,
dille á todos que estou preso
nos calabozos d’ Orán.
E á aquela rula inocente
que me morria d’ amor
no regazo docemente,
tremando como unha fror
sobre escondida corrente,
diráslle que unha de ferro
arrastro rouca cadea,
castigo atroz do meu erro;
e que dentro d’ este encerro
o seu amor me alumea.
E ti, anduriña errante
dos longos campos d’ Arxel,
se á miña patria distante
te leva o voxo constante,
dille o meu penar cruel.
Se alguen por min preguntar,
dille que estou en prisions;
e unha noite de luar
iráste unha vez pousar
no campanario d’ Anllons.
Así triste en terra allea,
aló nas prisions d’ Orán,
cantaba un mozo d’ aldea;
e nos grillons da cadea
levaba o compás co’ a man.
O nai da miña vida,
adiós; adiós meu pai;
prenda de min querida,
adiós, Ó miña nai;
sombra dos meus abós,
río da Ponte-Ceso,
pinal de Tella espeso,
acordávos d’ un preso
como él o fai de vos;
campana d’ Anllons,
noites de luar,
lua que te pós
detrás do pinar;
adiós ... adióos ... adióoos.
_205. Retorno d’ as Anduriñas_
Das africanas
prayas veciñas,
como costuman,
ó lar amado
virán un dia.
Verán a casa
tan doce e íntima
õ pé dos pinos
escurecida,
e morándoa unhas gentes estrañas,
hirtas e esquivas.
Mais logo erguendo
seu voxo axiña
darán mil rápidas
voltas compridas,
e emprenderán con pungidas lembranzas
triste partida.
ROSALÍA DE CASTRO
[Sidenote: 1837-1885]
_206. Imaxes_
Tal com’ as nubes
que leva o vento,
e agora asombran e agora alegran
os espaços inmensos do ceo;
así as ideas
loucas qu’eu teno,
as imaxes de múltiples formas,
d’ extrañas feituras, de cores incertos,
agora asombran,
agora acraran
o fondo sin fondo do meu pensamento.
_207. Nubes_
Cal as nubes n’ o espaço sin límites
errantes voltexan!
Unhas son brancas,
outras son negras;
unhas pombas sin fel me parecen,
despiden outras
luz de centela.
Sopran ventos contrarios n’ altura
e á desbandada
van levándoas sin orden nin tino,
nin eu sei pra onde,
nin sei por qué causa:
van levándoas, cal levan os anos
os nosos ensoños
e a nosa esperanza.
_208. Airiños, airiños aires_
Airiños, airiños aires,
airiños, da miña terra,
airiños, airiños aires,
airiños, levaime a ela!
Sin ela vivir non podo,
non podo vivir contenta,
qu’ aonde queira que vaya
cróbeme unha sombra espesa;
cróbeme unha espesa nube
tal preñada de tormentas,
tal de soidás preñada,
qu’ a miña vida envenena.
Levaime, levaime, airiños,
com’ unha folliña seca,
que seca tamén me puxo
a calentura que queima.
Ay, si non me levás pronto,
airiños da miña terra,
si non me levás, airiños,
quisais xa non me conesan,
qu’ a frebe que de min come
vaime consumindo lenta
e no meu coraçonciño
tamén traidora se ceiba.
Fun n’ outro tempo encarnada
com’ a color da sireixa:
son oxe descolorida
com’ os cirios das igrexas,
cal si unha meiga chuchona
a miña sangre bebera.
Voume quedando muchiña
com’ unha rosa qu’ inverna,
voume sin forças quedando,
voume quedando morena
cal unha mouriña moura,
filla de moura ralea.
Levaime, levaime, airiños,
levaime adonde m’ esperan
unha nai que por min chora,
un pai que sin min n’ alenta,
un hirman por quem daría
a sangre d’ as miñas venas,
e un amoriño a quen alma
e vida lle prometera.
Si pronto non me levades,
ay, morrerei de tristeza,
soya n’ unha terra extraña,
dond’ extraña m’ alomean,
donde todo canto miro
todo me dic’: extranxeira.
Ay miña probe casiña!
Ay miña vaca bermella!
Años que valás nos montes,
pombas qu’ arrulás nas eiras,
mozos qu’ atruxás bailando,
redobre d’ as castañetas,
xas-co-rras-chás d’ as cunchiñas,
xurre-xurre d’ as pandeiras,
tambor de tamborileiro,
gaitiña, gaita gallega,
xa non m’ alegras dicindo:
muiñeira, muiñeira!
Ay, quen fora paxariño
de leves alas ligeiras!
Ay, con que prisa voara,
toliña de tan contenta,
para cantar a alborada
nos campos da miña terra!
Agora mesmo partira,
partira com’ unha frecha,
sin medo ás sombras da noite,
sin medo da noite negra;
e que chovera ou ventara,
e que ventara ou chovera,
voaría e voaría
hastra que alcansase a vela.
Pero non son paxariño,
e irei morrendo de pena,
xa en lágrimas convertida,
xa en suspiriños desfeita.
Doces galleguiños aires,
quitadoiriños de penas,
encantadores d’ as auguas
amantes d’ as arboredas,
musica d’ as verdes canas,
do millo d’ as nosas veigas,
alegres compañeiriños,
run-run de toda-las festas,
levaime nas vosas alas
com’ unha folliña seca.
Non permitás que aquí morra,
airiños da miña terra,
qu’ ainda penso que de morta
ei de sospirar por ela.
Ainda penso, airiños aires,
que dimpois que morta sea
e aló po-lo camposanto,
dond’ enterrada me teñan,
pasés na calada noite
runxindo antr’ a folla seca,
ou murmuxando medrosos
antr’ as brancas calaveras,
inda dimpois de mortiña,
airiños da miña terra,
eivos de berrar: Airiños,
airiños, levaime a ela!
NOTES
_Sancho I_ (p. 1) to whom this poem is plausibly ascribed, was the second
king of Portugal. It is probably the second earliest Portuguese poem
we possess and is of great importance less for its literary merit than
as being so early (_c._ 1199) an example of the indigenous poetry. See
D. Carolina Michaëlis de Vasconcellos’s edition of the _Cancioneiro da
Ajuda_ (1904), vol. ii, pp. 593-595.
_Joan Zorro_ (p. 1) was one of the early _jograes_. Of his life we know
little or nothing, but he wrote _cossantes_ of great charm. He is a
poet of the sea, or rather of the Tagus. His poems, as those of most
of these thirteenth-century singers, are contained in the _Cancioneiro
da Vaticana_, printed in 1875 and 1878. The great codex _Canzoniere
Colocci-Brancuti_ is now (since 1924) in the Lisbon Biblioteca Nacional.
A critical text of some of the poems is given in Dr. J. J. Nunes’s
_Chrestomathia Archaica_ (1906).
Of _Meendinho_ (p. 6) nothing is known: not even his full name. He was
evidently an early _jogral_ who sang songs in the houses of the great,
and is famous for this pilgrimage song, the only poem of his that we
have. Its theme is popular, and a parallel exists in modern Galician
poetry (_Cancionero Popular Gallego_, vol. i, p. 196).
_Nuno Fernandez_ (p. 6), named Torneol, was a knight, perhaps a _segrel_,
of whose poems the song-books have preserved over twenty. His beautiful
dawn-song has parallels in other lands but is clearly of popular
indigenous inspiration.
_Martin de Ginzo_ (p. 9) is very likely the correct form of this
_jogral’s_ name. The _Cancioneiro da Vaticana_ has Gijzo (cf.
_fijda-finda_); but the index has _dne brizo_. Grijo and Frayson are
other forms proposed; Ginzo de Limia is a village in Galicia.
_Pero Vivianez_ (p. 10), or Vyvyãez (Vivianson), wrote satiric poems and
_cantigas de amor_ as well as _cantigas de amigo_, but is chiefly known
for this pilgrimage dance-song.
_Pero Gonçalvez de Portocarreiro_ (p. 10) may have belonged to the
nobility, but like the humble _jograes_ wrote _cantigas de amigo_.
_Pedr’ Anez Solaz_ (p. 12), a _jogral_ (Peter Johnson, called Solace) is
the author of several remarkable refrain songs. The refrain of no. 18 (C.
V. 415) might be considered merely a form of the jingle or wail refrains
of so many French songs and of the modern Galician _ailalila ailalala_,
were it not for the cry _Leli leli, par Deus, leli_, which at once
recalls the Basque Lelo song, in which _il_ means ‘dead’: He is dead, ah
God, he is dead!
_Martin Codax_ (p. 13), or possibly Codaz, was a _jogral_ who evidently
delighted in the songs sung by the people, by the love-lorn women of
Galicia. His seven fascinating _cossantes_ refer to Vigo and the sea.
A new manuscript of these poems was discovered at Madrid by Don Pedro
Vindel and published by him in 1915. A critical text appeared in the
_Boletín de la Real Academia Gallega_ (1916), English versions in _The
Modern Language Review_ (April, 1923).
_D. Joan Soarez Coelho_ (p. 17) was a nobleman of the court of Afonso III
(1248-1279).
_Fernando Esquio_ (p. 18), or Esguio, was an obscure _jogral_, seven of
whose poems survive.
_Pero Meogo_ (p. 19) may have been a _jogral_ monk, if, that is, his
name be spelt Moogo (_monachus_). His charming _cossantes_ have this
peculiarity, that they all refer to the deer of the hills, a reminiscence
perhaps of the Bible.
_Roy Fernandez_ (p. 24) was, like his more illustrious contemporary
Gomez Charinho, a Galician poet. He is said to have been a Canon of
Santiago and Chaplain to Alfonso X. He is the author of many poems and
their value would be better appreciated were they not eclipsed by this
passionate sea-melody, which, even as it upbraids the sea, is filled with
the sea’s music and rhythm.
Of _Nuno Perez Sandeu_ (p. 25) we possess six _cantigas de amigo_.
Of _Pero de Veer_ (p. 26) nothing is known. Eight of his poems survive.
_Bernal de Bonaval_ (p. 26) one of the oldest and more prolific of the
thirteenth-century poets, wrote _cantigas de amor_ and _cantigas de
amigo_, some of which mention his native Bonaval.
_Juian Bolseiro_ (p. 27) is the author of many delightful _cantigas de
amigo_, several of which are in dialogue.
_Paio Calvo_ (p. 29), no doubt a _jogral_, contributes two poems to the
_Cancioneiro da Vaticana_.
_Lourenço_ (p. 29) is one of the _jograes_ by whom most poems survive.
Some of them show him in active rivalry with the _trovadores_, who
affected to disdain the _jogral’s_ more popular art.
_Joan de Guilhade_ (p. 30), or perhaps Joan Garcia of Guilhade, in
Galicia, was one of the most talented of the early Galician-Portuguese
poets. The song-books have preserved for us the unusual number of
fifty-five poems under his name.
_Joan Airas_ (p. 31) belonged to a group of poets of Santiago de
Compostela who flourished in the reign of Afonso III. We have no less
than eighty-five of his poems. Like Rosalía de Castro, he sings of the
Sar, a small river of Galicia. To read _mar_ for the _ssar_ of the
original text would make the sun rise in the West.
_Airas Nunez_ (p. 32), priest of Santiago, is with King Dinis the most
talented of all these early poets. He not only possesses a perfect
command of metre but has a rich lyrical vein which foreshadows the _dolce
stil_ which did not come from Italy to Portugal for another two or three
centuries. His poems, although not numerous, deserve a separate edition.
_Pai Gomez Charinho_ (p. 35), a Galician of noble birth, Admiral of
Castille in the reigns of Alfonso X and his son (to whose party he
belonged) in the simplicity and sincerity of his poems takes high rank
among the early poets; their plaintive music haunts the memory. He died
by the hand of an assassin in the year after King Sancho IV’s death.
_Joan de Lobeira_ (p. 37) lived as a Canon at Santiago in the first half
of the reign (1278-1325) of King Dinis. The fact that his surname is that
of the traditional author of the Portuguese text of _Amadis de Gaula_
and that the poem here printed is interpolated in the Spanish _Amadis_
has led to great argument about it and about. The text given is that of
D. Carolina Michaëlis de Vasconcellos: _Etwas Neues zur Amadis Frage_ in
_Zeitschrift für romanische Philologie_, vol. iv (1880), pp. 347-351.
_Alfonso X_ (p. 39), the learned king, whom Admiral Gomez Charinho in a
remarkable poem compares with the sea, was prouder almost of his sacred
poems than of being King of Castilla. These _Cantigas de Santa Maria_,
over 400 in number, many of which he himself wrote and some probably
only collected and revised, have continued to be but little read in the
too magnificent edition of the Spanish Academy (2 vols., Madrid, 1889).
Yet they provide historical interest and quaint charm on every page,
with some true, even enchanting poetry. What could be more hauntingly
sad and musical than the poem of the _meninna garrida_, more mystically
fervent than the hymn to the _Rosa das rosas et fror das frores_? And the
collection contains many such poems.
_King Dinis_ (p. 63), the most energetic, talented, and national of
the early kings of Portugal, was grandson of Alfonso X of Castille and
grandnephew of Queen Eleanor of England. He laid the foundations of
Portugal’s greatness and at the same time closed with a golden key the
period of Provençal-Portuguese poetry and by his active encouragement of
translations paved the way for Portuguese prose. We have no less than 138
poems under his name; they are in many kinds, the most fascinating being
the indigenous _cossantes_. His poems are separately edited in Professor
H. R. Lang’s _Cancioneiro d’ El Rei D. Denis_ (Halle, 1894).
_D. Afonso Sanchez_ (p. 71), illegitimate son of King Dinis, imitated his
father in going to popular sources for his poems, if we may judge by this
_cossante_; but most of the poems of his that we have belong to the more
conventional _cantigas de amor_.
_Estevam Coelho_ (p. 72) was perhaps the father of one of the murderers
of Inés de Castro (†1355) and is one of the last of the Dionysian school
of poets. Besides this beautiful spinning-song, we have by him only a
short _cossante_ of the sea (C. V. 322).
_Macias_ (p. 72) was celebrated as the ideal of the constant lover, _o
Namorado_, by a crowd of Portuguese poets in the fifteenth and sixteenth
centuries. His fame is greater than the merit of his verses that survive
and was due to his tragic fate, the legend of which modern criticism
suspects, unkindest cut of all, of having arisen from a passage in his
poetry. His poems have been edited by H. A. Rennert, _Macias o Namorado_,
Philadelphia, 1902.
In _romances_ (p. 73) Portugal followed in the wake of Spain and has
not any that can compare with the best in Castilian. Less vigorous in
spirit and concentrated in style, they nevertheless, by virtue of their
ingenuous simplicity and naturalness, deserve a better anthology than
they have hitherto received. D. Carolina Michaëlis de Vasconcellos has
studied the Portuguese _romances_ with consummate skill in Groeber’s
_Grundriss_ (1894), pp. 154-160; _Estudos sobre o romanceiro peninsular_
in _Revista Lusitana_, vol. ii (1891), _Romanzenstudien_ in _Zeit.
für rom. Phil._, vol. xvi (1892), and _Estudos sobre o romanceiro
peninsular_, Madrid, 1907-1909. The best collection is Dr. Theophilo
Braga’s _Romanceiro Geral_, 2nd ed., 3 vols., 1906-1909. _Manhaninha
de S. João_ is from Dr. Leite de Vasconcellos’s _Romanceiro Portuguez_
(1886).
_D. Philipa de Lencastre_ (p. 79), princess of the Houses of Avis and
Lancaster, lived at the convent of Odivellas near Lisbon, and combined
piety with a strong literary bent.
Of _Francisco de Sousa_ (p. 80) scarcely anything is known. Barbosa
Machado, never at a loss to veil ignorance with a phrase, merely says
that he was equally illustrious by birth and genius. His _trovas_ are
printed in the _Cancioneiro Geral_ (1516).
_Garcia de Resende_ (p. 81), the many-sided, poet, prose-writer,
historian, musician, draughtsman, probably actor, public official,
courtier, diplomatist, collected and edited the vast _Cancioneiro Geral_,
among the best poems in which are the ‘Trouas q̃ Garçia de rresende fez
a morte de dõa ynes de castro que Afonso o quarto de Portugal matou ẽ
coimbra por o prinçipe dom Pedro seu filho a ter como mulher & polo bem
q̃ lhe queria nam queria casar, endereçadas has damas’. There is an
introductory stanza:
Senhoras, se algum senhor
vos quiser bem ou servir,
quem tomar tal servidor
eu lhe quero descobrir
o gualardam de amor.
Por sua merçe saber
o que deue de fazer
veja o que fez esta dama
que dessy vos daraa fama
se estas trouas quereis ler.
and six supplementary stanzas headed ‘Garçia de rresende has damas’.
_Gil Vicente_ (p. 88), born probably in the heart of Portugal (Beira
or Minho), is a conspicuous proof of the greatness of the national
literatures that might have flourished in the sixteenth century had
not extraneous influences intervened. The plays of this keen observer
and exquisite poet are very various, but they have this in common that
nearly all contain lyrics of exceptional fascination. Many of these are
in Castilian. In Castilian he wrote the _romance_ of Dom Duardos, the
Portuguese version being perhaps by Almeida Garrett.
_Bernardim Ribeiro_ (p. 93), of Torrão in Alentejo, lost his reason under
the stress of love; his biography has to be reconstructed from passages
of his exquisite and passionate verse and prose, which are very variously
interpreted. With him the eclogue is a living and individual thing. The
two _romances_, which in themselves prove him a great poet, are from his
novel entitled _Menina e Moça_. For his Complete Works see _Bernardim
Ribeiro e Cristovão Falcão. Obras._ _Nova edição ... prefaciada por D.
Carolina Michaëlis de Vasconcellos_, 2 vols., Coimbra, 1923.
_Cristovam Falcam_ (p. 113), of Alentejo, friend and inspired imitator of
Ribeiro, is the traditional author of the celebrated _Trovas de Crisfal._
For the evidence as to this and for his poems see the 1923 edition, cited
above. An earlier edition of his poems is that of Snr. Epiphanio da Silva
Dias: _Obras_ (Porto, 1893).
_Francisco de Sá de Miranda_ (p. 117), one of the most famous poets
of the Peninsula, was born at Coimbra, travelled in Italy, and on his
return introduced the new metres to his countrymen. He retired from the
Portuguese Court a few years later (_c._ 1530) and spent the last third
of his life in the pleasant province of Minho. He was saddened by the
growth of luxury and decay of morals which followed the world upheaval at
the beginning of the sixteenth century, and, like Luis de Leon and other
poets, did not cease to protest against them. He himself had no natural
facility for writing verse, but he succeeded in expressing his high
philosophy and his love of Nature in poems full of strength and character
and charm. Apart from one or two fine sonnets, he is at his best in
his poems (such as his eclogue _Basto_ and his famous letter to the
king) written in the short metre prevailing before his innovations had
revolutionized Portuguese poetry. D. Carolina Michaëlis de Vasconcellos
published his poems in a critical edition: _Poesias_ (1885).
_Francisco de Moraes_ (p. 133) the author of _Palmeirim de Inglaterra_,
from which this poem is taken, met with a violent death at Evora in 1572.
The best known episode in his life is his romantic stay in Paris, where
he fell madly in love with one of the Queen’s ladies.