Hero and Leander and Other Poems | Page 2

rock, there took his rest.
So lovely-fair was Hero, Venus' nun,
As
Nature wept, thinking she was undone,
Because she took more from
her than she left,
And of such wondrous beauty her bereft:

Therefore, in sign her treasure suffer'd wrack,
Since Hero's time hath
half the world been black.
Amorous Leander, beautiful and young,

(Whose tragedy divine Musæus sung,)
Dwelt at Abydos; since him
dwelt there none
For whom succeeding times make greater moan.

His dangling tresses, that were never shorn,
Had they been cut, and
unto Colchos borne,
Would have allur'd the venturous youth of
Greece
To hazard more than for the golden fleece.
Fair Cynthia
wish'd his arms might be her sphere;
Grief makes her pale, because
she moves not there.
His body was as straight as Circe's wand;
Jove
might have sipt out nectar from his hand.
Even as delicious meat is to
the tast,
So was his neck in touching, and surpast
The white of
Pelops' shoulder: I could tell ye,
How smooth his breast was, and how
white his belly;
And whose immortal fingers did imprint
That
heavenly path with many a curious dint
That runs along his back; but
my rude pen
Can hardly blazon forth the loves of men,
Much less
of powerful gods: let it suffice
That my slack Muse sings of Leander's
eyes;

Those orient cheeks and lips, exceeding his
That leapt into the
water for a kiss
Of his own shadow, and, despising many,
Died ere
he could enjoy the love of any.
Had wild Hippolytus Leander seen,

Enamour'd of his beauty had he been:
His presence made the rudest
peasant melt,
That in the vast uplandish country dwelt;
The
barbarous Thracian soldier, mov'd with nought,
Was mov'd with him,
and for his favour sought.
Some swore he was a maid in man's attire,


For in his looks were all that men desire,--
A pleasant-smiling
cheek, a speaking eye,
A brow for love to banquet royally;
And
such as knew he was a man, would say,
"Leander, thou art made for
amorous play:
Why art thou not in love, and lov'd of all?
Though
thou be fair, yet be not thine own thrall."
The men of wealthy Sestos
every year,
For his sake whom their goddess held so dear,

Rose-cheek'd Adonis, kept a solemn feast:
Thither resorted many a
wandering guest
To meet their loves: such as had none at all,
Came
lovers home from this great festival;
For every street, like to a
firmament,
Glister'd with breathing stars, who, where they went,

Frighted the melancholy earth, which deem'd
Eternal heaven to burn,
for so it seem'd,
As if another Phaëton had got
The guidance of the
sun's rich chariot.
But, far above the loveliest, Hero shin'd,
And
stole away th' enchanted gazer's mind;
For like sea nymphs'
inveigling harmony,
So was her beauty to the standers by;
Nor that
night-wandering, pale, and watery star
(When yawning dragons draw
her thirling car
From Latmus' mount up to the gloomy sky,
Where,
crown'd with blazing light and majesty,
She proudly sits) more
over-rules the flood
Than she the hearts of those that near her stood.

Even as when gaudy nymphs pursue the chase,
Wretched Ixion's
shaggy-footed race,
Incens'd with savage heat, gallop amain
From
steep pine-bearing mountains to the plain,
So ran the people forth to
gaze upon her,
And all that view'd her were enamour'd on her:
And
as in fury of a dreadful fight,
Their fellows being slain or put to flight,

Poor soldiers stand with fear of death dead-strooken,
So at her
presence all surpris'd and tooken,
Await the sentence of her scornful
eyes;
He whom she favours lives; the other dies:
There might you
see one sigh; another rage;
And some, their violent passions to
assuage
Compile sharp satires; but, alas, too late!
For faithful love
will never turn to hate;
And many, seeing great princes were denied,

Pin'd as they went, and thinking on her died.
On this feast-day,--O
cursed day and hour!--
Went Hero thorough Sestos, from her tower

To Venus' temple, where unhappily,
As after chanc'd, they did each

other spy.
So fair a church as this had Venus none:
The walls were
of discolour'd jasper-stone,
Wherein was Proteus carv'd; and
over-head
A lively vine of green sea-agate spread,
Where by one
hand light-headed Bacchus hung,
And with the other wine from
grapes out-wrung.
Of crystal shining fair the pavement was;
The
town of Sestos call'd it Venus' glass:
There might you see the gods, in
sundry shapes,
Committing heady riots, incest, rapes;
For know,
that underneath this radiant flour
Was Danäe's statue in a brazen
tower;
Jove slily stealing from his sister's bed,
To dally with Idalian
Ganymed,
And for his love Europa bellowing loud,
And tumbling
with the Rainbow in a cloud;
Blood-quaffing Mars heaving the iron
net
Which limping Vulcan and his Cyclops set;
Love kindling fire,
to burn such towns as Troy;
Silvanus weeping for the lovely boy

That now is turn'd into a cypress-tree,
Under whose shade the
wood-gods love to be.
And in the midst a silver altar stood:
There
Hero, sacrificing turtle's blood,
Vail'd to the ground, veiling her
eyelids close;
And modestly they open'd as she rose:
Thence flew
Love's arrow with the golden head;
And thus Leander was enamoured.

Stone-still he stood, and evermore he gaz'd,
Till with the fire, that
from his countenance blaz'd,
Relenting Hero's gentle heart was strook:

Such force and virtue hath an amorous look.
It lies not in our
power to love or