Chapter D: Francisco Manuel De Melo (2)
Vozes do mar, das arvores, do vento,
quando ás vezes, num sonho doloroso
me embala o vosso canto poderoso,
eu julgo igual ao meu vosso tormento;
verbo crepuscular e intimo alento
das cousas mudas, psalmo misterioso,
não serás tu queixume vaporoso
o suspiro do mundo e o seu lamento?
Um espirito habita a imensidade,
uma ancia cruel de liberdade
agita e abala as formas fugitivas;
e eu comprendo a vossa lingua estranha,
vozes do mar, da selva, da montanha,
almas irmans da minha, almas captivas.
_187. Entre sombras_
Vem ás vezes sentar-se ao pe de mim
(A noite dece, desfolhando as rosas)
vem ter comigo, ás horas duvidosas,
uma visão, com asas de setim.
Pousa de leve a delicada mão
(Recende aroma a noite sossegada)
pousa a mão compassiva e perfumada
sobre o meu dolorido coração.
E diz-me essa visão compadecida
(Ha suspiros no espaço vaporoso)
diz-me: Porque é que choras silencioso?
Porque é tam erma e triste a tua vida?
Vem comigo, embalado nos meus braços
(Na noite funda ha um silencio santo)
num sonho feito só de luz e encanto
transporás a dormir esses espaços.
Porque eu habito a região distante
(A noite exhala uma doçura infinda)
onde ainda se cre e se ama ainda,
onde uma aurora igual brilha constante.
Habito alí, e tu virás comigo
(Palpita a noite num clarão que ofusca)
porque eu venho de longe em tua busca,
trazer-te paz e alivio, pobre amigo.
Assim me fala essa visão nocturna
(No vago espaço ha vozes dolorosas)
São as suas palavras carinhosas
agua correndo em cristalina urna.
Mas eu escuto-a imovel, sonolento,
(A noite verte um desconsolo imenso)
sinto nos membros como um chumbo denso,
e mudo e tenebroso o pensamento.
Fito-a, num pasmo doloroso absorto,
(A noite é erma como campo enorme)
fito-a com olhos turvos de quem dorme
e respondo: Bem sabes que estou morto!
ANTONIO CANDIDO GONÇALVES CRESPO
[Sidenote: 1846-1883]
_188. Alguem_
Para alguem sou o lirio entre os abrolhos
e tenho as formas ideais do Cristo,
para alguem sou a vida e a luz dos olhos,
e se na terra existe é porque existo.
Esse alguem que prefere ao namorado
cantar das aves minha rude voz
não es tu, anjo meu idolatrado,
nem, meus amigos, é nenhum de vos.
Quando alta noite me reclino e deito
melancolico, triste e fatigado,
esse alguem abre as asas no meu leito
e o meu sono deslisa perfumado.
Chovam bençãos de Deus sobre a que chora
por mim alem dos mares! Esse alguem
é de meus dias a esplendente aurora,
es tu, doce velhinha, ó minha mãi!
_189. Na aldea_
Duas horas da tarde. Um sol ardente
nos colmos dardejante e nos eirados;
sobreleva aos gritos abafados
o grito das bigornas estridente.
A taberna é vacia: mansamente
treme o loureiro nos umbrais pintados,
zumbem á porta insectos variegados,
envolvidos do sol na luz tremente.
Fia á soleira uma velhinha: o filho,
no ceo mal acordou da aurora o brilho,
saiu para os cançaços da lavoura;
a nora lava na ribeira, os netos
ao longe correm semi-nus, inquietos,
no mar ondeante da seara loura.
_190. Mater dolorosa_
Quando se fez ao longe a nave escura,
na praia essa molher ficou chorando,
no doloroso aspecto figurando
a lacrimosa estatua da amargura.
Dos ceos a curva era tranquila e pura:
dos gementes alciones o bando
via-se ao longe em circulo voando
dos mares sobre a cerula planura.
Nas ondas se abafara o sol radioso
e a lua sucedera, astro mavioso,
de alvor banhando os alcantis das fragas.
E aquela pobre mãi, não dando conta
que o sol morrera e que o luar desponta,
a vista embebe na amplidão das vagas.
ANTONIO DUARTE GOMES LEAL
[Sidenote: 1849-1921]
_191. De noite_
Ele vinha da neve, dos trabalhos
violentos, custosos da enxada,
cantando a mea voz pelos atalhos.
A molher loura, infeliz, resignada,
cosia junto á luz. O rijo vento
batia contra a porta mal fechada.
Ao pe havia um Cristo, um ramo bento,
e uma estampa da Virgem, colorida,
chea de magua olhando o firmamento;
Uma banca de pinho, mal sustida,
vacilante nos pes, um candieiro,
companheiros de aquela negra vida.
O homem, alto, palido, trigueiro,
entrou; tinha as feições queimadas, duras,
dos que andam com a enxada o dia inteiro.
A molher abraçou-o. As linhas puras
do seu rosto contavam ja tristezas
de grandes e secretas amarguras.
Tinha chorado muito as estreitezas
de aquela vida assim, talvez sonhado
um dia com palacios e riquezas.
Ele deitou-se a um canto, fatigado
d’ erguer-se alta manhã, todos os dias,
mal voavam as pombas no telhado.
Lá fora nuvens grossas e sombrias
no pesado horisonte. Ele assim esteve.
As noites eram asperas e frias.
Ela cobriu-o de uma manta leve,
esburacada, velha. No telhado
ouvia-se cair sonora a neve.
E ela entam meditou no seu passado:
no seu primeiro beijo, nas lembranças,
talvez, do seu vestido de noivado;
e nas tardes das eiras e das danças
ás estrelas, e aquela vez primeira
que a rosa lhe furtou das longas tranças.
E aquela tarde junto da amoreira
que trocaram as mãos, e na janela
e quando olhavam juntos a ribeira.
E quando era timida e singela...
Lá fora dava o vento nos caixilhos,
não brilhava no ceo nem uma estrela.
E áquela hora da noite por que trilhos
andariam no mundo, ela scismava,
nas miserias, talvez sem rumo, os filhos.
Ele na manta velha resonava.
ABILIO MANUEL GUERRA JUNQUEIRO
[Sidenote: 1850-1923]
_192. A caminho_
_Abril, ao raiar d’ alva, por uma encosta de sementeiras,
pastos, olivedos e amendoais em flor, vai um louro peregrinante
adolescente d’ olhos ingenuos e extasiados no alvor da estrela da
manhã._
_Um lavrador (de noventa anos, em mangas de camisa)._
O senhor tam novo d’ olhos cor de esperança,
ides de caminho para algum lugar?
_O peregrino_
Vou dar volta ao mundo...
_O lavrador_
Sem arnez ou lança?
Ó senhor tam novo d’ olhos cor de esperança,
penas e miserias é o que ireis achar.
_Uma velhinha (mais adiante)_
Ó senhor tam novo d’ olhos inocentes,
Ides com cuidados para um tal andar?
_O peregrino_
Vou a prender monstros, combater serpentes...
_A velhinha_
Ó senhor tam novo d’ olhos inocentes,
Ós dragões ferozes vão-no espostejar!
_Uma jovem camponesa_
Ó senhor tam novo d’ olhos encantados,
ides pela fresca para algum pomar?
_O peregrino_
Vou-me a ler destinos, descobrir os fados.
_A camponesa_
Ó senhor tam novo d’ olhos encantados,
Feiticeiros negros vão-no enfeitiçar!
_Uma pastorinha (mais adiante)_
Ó senhor tam novo d’ olhos tam brilhantes,
vossos olhos dizem que ides para casar...
_O peregrino_
Vou fazer tesouros, fabricar diamantes...
_A pastorinha_
Ó senhor tam novo d’ olhos tam brilhantes,
ha ladrões nos bosques, vão-no assassinar!
_Um mendigo_
Ó senhor tam novo d’ olhos cor de chama,
vossos olhos ardem como a luz solar.
_O peregrino_
Vou descobrir mundos, quero gloria e fama.
_O mendigo_
Ó senhor tam novo d’ olhos cor de chama,
sobe o pó mais alto que os trovões do mar.
_A estrela d’ alva_
O criança d’ olhos cor de flor de linhos,
por infernos deixas teu paz, teu lar.
_O peregrino (desaparecendo ao longe)_
Florirei as pedras pelos maos caminhos!
Levo a luz dos astros e as canções dos ninhos
a sorrir nos beiços e a tremer no olhar!
_193. O Cavador_
Dezembro, noite: canta o galo,
rouco na treva canta o galo;
(Ó dor! Ó dor!)
Aldeão, não durmas, vai chamâ-lo;
miseria negra, vai chamâ-lo!
(Ó dor! Ó dor!)
Bate-lhe á porta, é teu vasalo,
que traga a enxada, é teu vasalo,
miseria negra, o cavador!
O vento ulula; tremem ninhos,
na noite aziaga tremem ninhos;
(Ó dor! Ó dor!)
A neve cai, fria de arminhos,
na escuridão fria de arminhos
(Ó dor! Ó dor!)
passa maldito nos caminhos,
d’ enxada ao hombro nos caminhos,
fantasma negro, o cavador.
Vem roxa a estrela de alvorada,
vem morta a estrela de alvorada;
(Ó dor! Ó dor!)
montanhas nuas sob a geada,
hirtas, de bronze sob a geada!
(Ó dor! Ó dor!)
Torvo, inclinado sobre a enxada,
rasga as montanhas com a enxada,
fantasma negro, o cavador.
Cavou, cavou desde que é dia,
cavou, cavou: bateu meo dia,
(Ó dor! Ó dor!)
de pe na encosta erma e bravia,
triste na encosta erma e bravia
(Ó dor! Ó dor!)
largando a enxada «Ave Maria»,
resa em silencio «Ave Maria»,
fantasma negro, o cavador.
Cavou, cavou na serra agreste,
de alva á noitinha, em serra agreste,
(Ó dor! Ó dor!)
e um caldo em premio tu lhe déste,
meu Deus, seis filhos tu lhe déste!
(Ó dor! Ó dor!)
Batem trindades: Pai celeste!
Bendito sejas, Pai celeste!
resa, fantasma, o cavador.
Cavou cem montes. Que é do trigo?
Gerou seis bocas. Que é do trigo?
(Ó dor! Ó dor!)
Bateu a fome ao seu postigo,
bateu a morte ao seu postigo:
(Ó dor! Ó dor!)
Que a paz de Deus seja comigo!
Que a paz de Deus seja comigo!
disse, expirando, o cavador.
_194. Canção perdida_
Halitos de lilaz, de violeta e de opala,
roxas macerações de dor e de agonia
o campo anoitecendo e adormecendo exhala.
Triste canta uma voz na sincope do dia:
Alguem de mim se não lembra
nas terras de alem mar;
ó morte, dava-te a vida
se tu lh’ a fosses levar!
ó morte, dava-te a vida
se tu lh’ a fosses levar!
Com o beijo do sol na face cadaverica,
beijo que a morte esvai em palidez algente,
eis a lua a boiar sonambula e chimerica.
Doce canta uma voz melancolicamente:
O meu amor escondi-o
numa cova ao pe do mar;
morre o amor, vive a saudade,
morre o sol, olha o luar!
Morre o amor, vive a saudade,
morre o sol, olha o luar!
Latecente a neblina opalica flutua
diluindo, evaporando os montes de granito
em colossos de sonho, extasiados de lua.
Flebil chora uma voz no letargo infinito:
Quem dá ais, ó rouxinol,
lá para as bandas do mar?
E o meu amor que na cova
leva as noites a chorar!
E o meu amor que na cova
leva as noites a chorar!
A lua enorme, a lua argentea, a lua calma
imponderalisou a natureza inteira,
descondensou-a em fluido e embebeu-a em alma.
Triste expira uma voz na canção derradeira:
Meu amor, dorme, dorme
na area fina do mar,
que eu antes da estrela de alva
contigo me irei deitar!
Que eu antes da estrela de alva
contigo me irei deitar!
OLAVO BILAC
[Sidenote: 1865-1918]
_195. Sahara Vitae_
Lá vão! O ceo se arquea
como um teito de bronze infindo e quente,
e o sol fusila e fusilando ardente
criva de flechas de aço o mar de area.
La vão, com os olhos onde a sede atea
um fogo estranho, procurando em frente
esse oasis do amor que claramente
alem belo e falaz se delinea.
Mas o simun da morte sopra, a tromba
convulsa envolve-os, prostra-os, e aplacada
sobre si mesmo roda e exhausta tomba;
e o sol de novo no igneo ceo fusila,
e sobre a geração exterminada
a area dorme placida e tranquila.
ANTONIO NOBRE
[Sidenote: 1867-1900]
_196. Ao cair das folhas_
Podessem suas mãos cobrir meu rosto,
fechar-me os olhos e compor-me o leito
quando sequinho, as mãos em cruz no peito,
cu me for viajar para o sol posto!
De modo que me faça bom encosto,
o travesseiro comporá com geito.
E eu tam feliz! Por não estar afeito,
hei de sorrir, Senhor, quasi com gosto.
Até com gosto, sim! Que faz quem vive
orfão de mimos, viuvo de esperanças,
solteiro de venturas que não tive?
Assim irei dormir com as crianças,
quasi como elas, quasi sem pecados,
e acabarão enfim os meus cuidados.
EUGENIO DE CASTRO
[Sidenote: 1867-]
_197. Madrigal_
Deus fabricou o grande ceo ... Depois,
para alegrar a escuridão terrestre,
com pericia divina e mão de mestre
Deus fabricou tres sois.
Um deles anda a vaguear nos ceos,
e os outros dous, ó flor estremecida,
são para mim a luz da minha vida,
e são ... os olhos teus!
_198. Canção do velho relogio inglés_
Naci em Londres, que é terra
de gaiteiros e neblina,
no tempo em que um rei de França
acabou na guilhotina.
Quem me fez, um homem louro,
sendo inglés o relojoeiro,
quis fazer-me mais que tudo
pautado, justo e certeiro.
E asim, posto a trabalhar,
medi com a mesma certeza
horas de luz e de sombra,
horas de amor e tristeza.
Sendo o meu pai homem rude,
da beleza tinha o anhelo:
depois de me fazer exacto
quis tambem fazer-me belo.
Deu-me um mostrador dourado,
com um delfim a cada canto,
e uma caixa com ferragens
a fulgir sobre pau santo.
Rendeu-me pacientemente
os ponteiros de aço leve,
finos dedos com que o tempo
suas sentenças escreve.
E não contente com dar-me
esses trajos tam garridos,
deu-me ainda um carrilhão
que regalava os ouvidos.
Sempre que eu dizia a hora
com vozinha de falsete,
tocava o meu carrilhão
em lento passo um minuete.
Fazendo esquecer as maguas
deste mortal sorvedouro
com sons aureos que eram perolas
gotejando em taças de ouro.
Muita vez vi dançar noivos
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.
_Francisco de Sá de Meneses_ (p. 134), Conde de Mattosinhos, a truer though less celebrated poet than his namesake and relative, the author of _Malacca Conquistada_, was born at Oporto and held high office under King Sebastian and the Cardinal King. His verses to the river Leça, famous in the seventeenth century, were neglected in the eighteenth and rediscovered by Dr. Sousa Viterbo (1845-1910) in the Torre do Tombo at Lisbon.
_D. Manuel de Portugal_ (p. 137), born at Evora, son of the poet Count of Vimioso, was one of the earliest followers of Sá de Miranda. His poems were collected in the year before his death: _Obras_ (1605). This mystic sonnet is printed on f. 199 _v._
_Luis de Camões_ (p. 137), one of the most inspired lyrical poets of all time, was born at Lisbon or Coimbra and belonged to an ancient family of Spanish-Galician origin. His whole life was a tragedy of love and sorrows. After studying at Coimbra he came to Lisbon, perhaps in 1545; fell in love, possibly with Caterina de Ataide (Natercia), was banished from Court, and after serving in North Africa returned penniless to Lisbon. An affray in the Rocio caused his imprisonment in 1553 and he was released on the understanding that he would serve the king in India. He did not return to Portugal until 1569, and after living at Lisbon in poverty died there, perhaps of the plague, on June 10, 1580. The year of his birth is commonly considered 1524, but February 5 as the day of his birth is arbitrary. His _Os Lusiadas_ appeared eight years before his death, his _Rimas_ only in 1595. Snr. Epiphanio da Silva Dias published a critical edition of The Lusiads (2 vols., 1910), but the difficult task of editing his lyrics remains.
_Antonio Ferreira_ (p. 202) was born, lived, and died at Lisbon, where he fell victim to the great plague of 1569. He was proud of never having written a line in any other language but Latin and his native tongue. Although not a great poet, he could rise to considerable heights, and in fact maintains a high level both in his short poems and in his classical play _Inés de Castro_. His _Poemas Lusitanos_ (1598) have been frequently reprinted.
_Diogo Bernardez_ (p. 207), the most gifted of Miranda’s disciples, the most musical of the singers in the new style, became a personal friend of Miranda and mused and wrote on the banks of the Lima (on which, at Ponte da Barca, he was born) in the intervals of a busier life at Lisbon. He may have owed his release from African slavery in 1581 to Philip II of Spain, from whom he received various benefits. The beauty of his sonnets, eclogues, and letters in verse inevitably led to accusations of plagiarism from Camões, which need not be seriously considered. It is curious that Shakespeare’s line ‘With what I most enjoy contented least’ is a literal translation of ‘Do que deseja mais mais duvidoso’. For variations of text in the sonnets see C. Michaëlis de Vasconcellos, _Investigações sobre sonetos_, etc. (1910), pp. 45-54 and _Zeitschrift für rom. Phil._, vol. ix, pp. 372, 373.
_Frei Agostinho da Cruz_ (p. 123), younger brother of Diogo Bernardez, became a Franciscan monk in 1561, on which occasion Diogo addressed to him a fine letter in verse. His poems were not collected till 1771, but recently they have received an edition at the hands of Dr. Mendes dos Remedios as vol. xxi (1918) of the collection _Subsidios_.
_Fernam Alvarez do Oriente_ (p. 214), was born at Goa some thirty years after its conquest by Afonso de Albuquerque. His _Lusitania Transformada_ was written in prose and verse in direct imitation of Sannazaro’s _Arcadia_.
_Francisco Galvam_ (p. 215), born at Villa Viçosa, was equerry to the Duke of Braganza. The authorship of the poems published by Antonio Lourenço Caminha in 1791, and therefore of this remarkable sonnet, appears doubtful.
_Anonymous_ (p. 215). The celebrated historian Frei Bernardo de Brito, born at Almeida (Beira) is by many considered the author of the small collection of poems entitled _Sylvia de Lysardo_, of which the sonnet _Ponho-me a contemplar_ is no. 20.
_Francisco Rodriguez Lobo_ (p. 216), born at Leiria on the Lis, was mellifluous and prolific both in prose and verse and struck an individual note in his _vilancetes_. Both his _Corte na Aldea_ and a selection of his poems deserve to be edited with the same loving care as Dr. Ricardo Jorge brought to his biography. He was drowned in his prime in the Tagus in 1522. The sonnet _Formoso Tejo meu_ is by many critics ascribed to him.
_Soror Violante do Ceo_ (p. 221), born at Lisbon, early won fame as a poetess and musician. At Lisbon she spent over sixty years as a Dominican nun. The chief collection of her poems appeared at Rouen: _Rythmas Varias_ (1646).
_D. Francisco Manuel de Mello_ (p. 222) found time in his troubled and adventurous life to write a considerable quantity of verse (_Las Tres Musas del Melusino_: Lisboa, 1649; _Obras Metricas_, Lyon, 1665) some of which is excellent. For his life and works see Professor Edgar Prestage’s _Esboço biographico_ (Coimbra, 1914).
_Soror Maria do Ceo_ (p. 223), for nearly eighty years a Franciscan nun at Lisbon, published, among other volumes of verse, only occasionally marked by unaffected simplicity, _A Preciosa_, 2 pts. 1731, 33, and _Enganos do Bosque, Desenganos do Rio_, 1741. Selections from her poetry and from that of Soror Violante have been published by Dr. Mendes dos Remedios in his _Subsidios_ (vol. xvi).
_Domingos dos Reis Quita_ (p. 224), a Lisbon barber, wrote verse of remarkable suavity. A second edition of his _Obras Poeticas_ appeared in 1781. His tragedy _Inés de Castro_ was translated into English by Benjamin Thompson in 1800.
_Antonio Diniz da Cruz e Silva_ (p. 225) was born at Lisbon. His lyric poems, _Poesias_, were published in six volumes in 1807-1817. His _O Hyssope_ still has many readers and is not infrequently reprinted.
_João Xavier de Mattos_ (p. 226) is now unknown to fame and his life is obscure, but one or two of his poems are attractive. The last edition of his _Rimas_ is of 1827.
_Pedro Antonio Corrêa Garção_ (p. 226), born at Lisbon and the leading spirit of _Arcadia_, had a poetic gift which did not often find adequate subjects or expression. The _Cantata de Dido_ from his _Assemblea ou Partida_ has fervent admirers.
_Nicolau Tolentino de Almeida_ (p. 229), of Lisbon, wrote gently satirical poems, chiefly in _quintilhas_, which may be read in his _Obras Completas_ (1861). It was he who, when asked to choose between two sonnets, read the first only and chose the second. Some doubts have been expressed as to the authorship of the sonnet on the _toucados altos_.
_Manuel Maria de Barbosa du Bocage_ (p. 230) wasted his genius and died at the age of forty without having approached the achievement of his great prototype Camões, who was constantly in his thoughts. His improvisations deeply impressed his contemporaries, and some of his sonnets only just fall short of a real magnificence. His popularity has never quite waned in Portugal. A new edition of his poems appeared in eight volumes in 1875-76.
_Almeida Garrett_ (p. 232) was born at Oporto, but his youth was not spent in that city and later his Liberal principles sent him into exile. With Herculano he was one of the Liberal army of 7,500 who landed near Mindello in 1832. For the next twenty years he played a prominent part as diplomatist, orator, judge, and politician. He renovated Portuguese literature, freeing it from the trammels of pseudo-classicism and introducing romanticism from England and France. He was the best poet, the best dramatist, and the best prose-writer of Portugal in the first half of the nineteenth century. His best lyrics are contained in the slight volume entitled _Folhas Cahidas_.
_Antonio Feliciano de Castilho_ (p. 239), blind from the age of six, wrote a mass of poems and translations in a style of classical purity, and after Garrett’s death stood at the head of contemporary Portuguese poetry until the Coimbra school unceremoniously dethroned him in 1865. He was a native of Lisbon. His _Obras Completas_ occupy eighty small volumes (Lisboa, 1903-10).
_Alexandre Herculano e Araujo_ (p. 240), born at Lisbon, Portugal’s greatest modern historian, declared that he was a poet till he was twenty-five. His _Poesias_ will never lack readers, because they have that biblical fervour and sincerity which inspired Herrera in his odes and Luis de Leon in some of his translations.
_Antonio Augusto Soares de Passos_ (p. 252), a romantic poet of Oporto, wrote nothing finer than the celebrated ode _O Firmamento_. The text here given is that of the sixth (1875) edition of his _Poesias_.
_João de Deus Ramos Nogueira_ (p. 257), the most spontaneous and inspired Portuguese poet of the second half of the nineteenth century, was born at Messines in Algarve. A complete collection of his poems, entitled _Campo de Flores_, appeared in 1893. An excellent selection is that of Snr. Affonso Lopes Vieira: _Livro de Amor_ (1921).
_Thomaz Ribeiro_ (p. 263) was born at Parada de Gonta in the province of Beira and belonged to the romantic school of poets. His reputation had been made half a century before his death when he published his long romantic poem in many metres _D. Jayme_ (1862), and it is by the fifteen introductory stanzas (_oitavas_) that he is best remembered.
_Julio Diniz_ (p. 267) is the pseudonym of Joaquim Guilherme Gomes Coelho, who was born at Oporto. His novels met with immediate and deserved success. His poems, some of which were inserted in his novels, appeared posthumously in 1873 (_Poesias_).
_Anthero de Quental_ (p. 269) born at Ponta Delgada in the Azores, was philosopher first, poet afterwards. His famous sonnets, constantly republished, are filled with a serene light, that light towards which Quental was ever groping his way. Many of them have been rendered into English by Professor Edgar Prestage: _Sixty-four Sonnets_ (1894) and Professor Griswold Morley: _Sonnets and Poems of Anthero de Quental_ (1922).
_Antonio Candido Gonçalves Crespo_ (p. 273) was born at Rio de Janeiro, was sent to study at Coimbra and became the chief of the Portuguese Parnassians. A second edition of his _Obras Completas_ appeared in 1913.
_Antonio Duarte Gomes Leal_ (p. 275) was born, lived, and died at Lisbon. Much of his poetry was satirical, but he also displayed delicate feeling and command of rhythm. His two best known works were _Claridades do Sul_ (1875) and _O Anti-Cristo_ (1884).
_Abilio Manuel Guerra Junqueiro_ (p. 276) was born at Freixo de Espada á Cinta. In 1892 _Os Simples_ closed a series of brilliant works with a key of gold, but he wrote comparatively little poetry of recent years. In its political aspect his work was revolutionary and anticlerical, but he was reconciled to the Church before his death. Appointed Portuguese Minister in Switzerland in 1911, he soon retired from public life. This disciple of Victor Hugo is not without originality, and a small part of his poetry will be immortal.
_Antonio Nobre_ (p. 282) showed individuality and a haunting sense of rhythm in _Só_ (1892), a collection of pliant verse which made a profound impression in Portugal. The sonnet _Podessem suas mãos_ is from the posthumous volume _Despedidas_ (1902).
_Snr. Eugenio de Castro_ (p. 283), Professor at Coimbra University and Portugal’s foremost living poet, is the founder of the Portuguese Symbolist school. In his more recent volumes he seems rather to emulate the gnomic manner of Sá de Miranda, with conspicuous success. He is also a master of those paper carnations, the popular quatrains.
_Snr. Joaquim Teixeira de Pascoaes_ (p. 287) gives the anthologist little opportunity of doing justice to his talent, which reveals itself rather in long poems such as _Marános_ (1911), filled with love of Nature and musical expression. His best known works are _Sempre_ (1897), _Terra Prohibida_ (1899), and _As Sombras_ (1907).
_Snr. Affonso Lopes Vieira_ (p. 288) can write delicately musical lyrics light as feathers in the wind and poems of a fine breadth and fulness of sound. In the history of Portugal, in the sea and in the poets of Portugal’s golden age he finds an unfailing inspiration, very marked in _Ilhas de Bruma_ (1917).
_Snr. Antonio Corrêa de Oliveira_ (p. 290) is one of the most widely read and deeply appreciated of living Portuguese poets, in the _Auto do Fim do Dia_ (1900) and numerous other volumes. He uses the short indigenous metre as a master.
_Eduardo Pondal y Abente_ (p. 291), born at Ponteceso in the province of Coruña, where he lived in a charming house ‘ó pé dos pinos escurecida’, won fame with his poem _A Campana d’ Anllons_. Some of the poems of his _Rumores de los Pinos_ (1879) and _Queixumes dos Pinos_ (1886) have an even more haunting fascination.
_Rosalía de Castro_ (p. 294), or Rosalía Castro de Murguía, stands with Pondal at the head of modern Galician poetry, which is intimately linked across six centuries with the poetry of the Galician-Portuguese _Cancioneiros_. Her fame has grown with the years and her Galician poems, on which that fame must always chiefly rest, contained in the volumes _Cantares Gallegos_ (1863) and _Follas Novas_ (1880), have recently been reprinted in a complete edition of her works at Madrid.
INDEX OF AUTHORS
(The figures refer to the number of the poems)
Airas (Joan), 48, 49.
Alfonso X, 58-68.
Almeida Garrett, Visconde de, 167-171.
Alvarez do Oriente (Fernam), 144, 145.
Anez Solaz (Pedro), 18, 19.
Bernardez (Diogo), 138-141.
Bilac (Olavo), 195.
Bocage (Manuel Maria de Barbosa du), 162-166.
Bolseiro (Juian), 41-44.
Bonaval (Bernal de), 40.
Calvo (Paio), 45.
Camões (Luis de), 114-134.
Castilho (Antonio Feliciano de), 172.
Castro (Eugenio de), 197, 198.
Castro, (Rosalía de), 206-208.
Ceo (Maria do), 155.
Ceo (Violante do), 152.
Codax (Martin), 20-26.
Coelho (Estevam), 81.
Corrêa de Oliveira (Antonio), 203.
Corrêa Garção (Pedro Antonio), 159.
Cruz (Frei Agostinho da), 142, 143.
Dinis, King, 69-79.
Diniz (Julio), 179.
Diniz da Cruz e Silva (Antonio), 157.
Esquio (Fernando), 29.
Falcam (Cristovam), 104, 105.
Fernandez (Roy), 36.
Fernandez Torneol (Nuno), 11-13.
Ferreira (Antonio), 135-137.
Galvam (Francisco), 146.
Garcia (Pero), 37.
Ginzo (Martin de), 14.
Gomes Leal (Antonio Duarte), 191.
Gomez Charinho (Pai), 53-55.
Gonçalves Crespo (Antonio Candido), 188-190.
Gonçalvez de Portocarreiro (Pero), 16, 17.
Guerra Junqueiro (Abilio Manuel), 192-194.
Guilhade (Joan de), 47.
Herculano (Alexandre), 173, 174.
Lencastre (D. Philipa de), 88.
Lobeira (Joan de), 57.
Lopes Vieira (Affonso), 200-202.
Lourenço, 46.
Macias, 82.
Manuel de Mello (D. Francisco), 153, 154.
Martinz do Casal (Roy), 56.
Mattos (João Xavier de), 158.
Meendinho, 10.
Meogo (Pero), 30-35.
Moraes (Francisco de), 111.
Nobre (Antonio), 196.
Nogueira Ramos (João de Deus), 176, 177.
Nunez (Airas), 50-52.
Perez Sandeu (Nuno), 38.
Pondal (Eduardo), 204, 205.
Portugal (D. Manuel de), 113.
Quental (Anthero de), 180-187.
Quita (Domingos dos Reis), 156.
Resende (Garcia de), 90.
Ribeiro (Bernardim), 101-103.
Ribeiro (Thomaz), 178.
Rodriguez Lobo (Francisco), 149-151.
Sá de Meneses (Francisco de), 112.
Sá de Miranda (Francisco de), 106-110.
Sanchez (D. Afonso), 80.
Sancho I, 1.
Soares dos Passos (Antonio Augusto), 175.
Soarez Coelho (D. Joan), 27, 28.
Sousa (Francisco de), 89.
Teixeira de Pascoaes (Joaquim), 199.
Tolentino de Almeida (Nicolau), 160, 161.
Veer (Pero de), 39.
Vicente (Gil), 91-100.
Vivianez (Pero), 15.
Zorro (Joan), 2-9.
INDEX OF FIRST LINES
(Reference is to the number of the poems).
Abaix’ esta serra, 89
Acabava ali a terra, 171
A do mui bon parecer, 14
Adonde vas, ó Filo sem ventura, 155
Adorai, montanhas, 100
Á guerra, á guerra, moirinhos, 86
Ai cervas do monte, vin vos preguntar, 31
Ai Deus, a vo-lo digo, 28
Ai Deus, sab’ ora meu amigo, 23
Ai eu coitada como vivo, 1
Ai filha, o que vos ben queria, 38
Ai flores, ai flores do verde pino, 71
Ai fremosinha, se ben ajades, 40
Ai madre, ben vos digo, 37
Ai madr’, o que ben queria, 45
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The Oxford book of Portuguese verseChapter D: Francisco Manuel De Melo (2)
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