Thus cut off in the age of aspiring pretension and glowing enthusiasm, from the hope of advancing by the course usually open to youthful ambition, Camoens remained for some time tranquilly at Santarem, the place of his exile, in the neighbourhood of Lisbon. There instead of considering what was now necessary to be done with a view to his future welfare, he occupied himself in writing verses, which have been handed down to posterity, but which only served to fix more deeply a passion the object of which was still near him. With a caprice not uncommon in such a state of feeling, Camoens, who cherished at once romantic ideas of patriotism, and indignant emotions of disgust, suddenly changed the whole system of his life. He became a soldier, and served against the Moors as a volunteer on board the Portuguese fleet in the Mediterranean. To be at once a hero and a poet was now the object of his ambition. Whenever time and opportunity permitted, he composed verses, which often, particularly those of the lyric and elegiac class, had for their subject the recollection of his hopeless passion. Whether he had at this period clearly conceived the plan of his national heroic poem, or whether he was actually engaged in its execution, are questions which, like almost every other fact relative to the history of this poet’s talent, remain enveloped in doubt. It is known, however, that he combated the enemies of his country in a naval battle fought off Ceuta. During this action, in which he eminently distinguished himself, he received a gun-shot wound in consequence of which he lost the sight of his right eye. He now hoped to obtain, in the character of a hero, that reward which he had failed to acquire as a poet. He returned to Lisbon. But no individual at court took any active interest in his welfare. All his efforts to gain an honourable competence were unsuccessful; and he was now verging on the age of maturity. More dissatisfied, and yet more proud than ever, he loudly accused his country of ingratitude, while at the same time his poetic effusions prove that his heart overflowed with the warmest feelings of national attachment. At last, determined to leave for ever a land to which his heart was still bound by the ties of another passion besides patriotism, he embarked in the year 1553, at the age of twenty-nine, for India. That his thankless country should not have even his bones, was the sentiment which, on his departure, his indignant feelings prompted him to exclaim in the words of Scipio:--_Ingrata patria, non possidebis ossa mea!_