Cantando espalharei por toda parte, Se a tanto me ajudar o engenho e arte. - Luís de Camões

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.

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...

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.