But silk too soft was such hard hearts to break;
And she, dear soul, even as her silk, faint, weak,
Could not preserve it; out, oh, out it went!
Leander still call'd Neptune, that now rent
His brackish curls, and tore his wrinkled face,
Where tears in billows did each other chase;
And, burst with ruth, he hurl'd his marble mace
At the stern Fates: it wounded Lachesis
That drew Leander's thread, and could not miss
The thread itself, as it her hand did hit,
But smote it full, and quite did sunder it.
The more kind Neptune rag'd, the more he ras'd
His love's life's fort, and kill'd as he embrac'd:
Anger doth still his own mishap increase;
If any comfort live, it is in peace.
Oh, thievish Fates, to let blood, flesh, and sense,
Build two fair temples for their excellence,
To rob it with a poison'd influence !
Though souls' gifts starve, the bodies are held dear
In ugliest things; sense-sport preserves a bear:
But here nought serves our turns: oh, Heaven and
earth,
How most most wretched is our human birth! And now did all the tyrannous crew depart, Knowing there was a storm in Hero's heart, Greater than they could make, and scorn'd their
She bow'd herself so low out of her tower,
That wonder 'twas she fell not ere her hour,
With searching the lamenting waves for him:
Like a poor snail, her gentle supple limb
Hung on her turret's top, so most downright,
As she would dive beneath the darkness quite,
To find her jewel ;-jewel!-her Leander,
A name of all earth's jewels pleas'd not her
Like his dear name: "Leander, still my choice,
Come nought but my Leander! Oh, my voice,
Turn to Leander! henceforth be all sounds,
Accents, and phrases, that shew all griefs' wounds,
Analyz'd in Leander! Oh, black change!
Trumpets, do you with thunder of your clange,*
Drive out this change's horror! My voice faints :
Where all joy was, now shriek out all complaints!"
Thus cried she; for her mixèd soul could tell
Her love was dead: and when the Morning fell
Prostrate upon the weeping earth for woe,
Blushes, that bled out of her cheeks, did shew
Leander brought by Neptune, bruis'd and torn
With cities' ruins he to rocks had worn,
To filthy usuring rocks, that would have blood,
Though they could get of him no other good.
She saw him, and the sight was much, much more
Than might have serv'd to kill her should her store
Of giant sorrows speak?-Burst,+-die,-bleed,
And leave poor plaints to us that shall succeed.
She fell on her love's bosom, hugg'd it fast,
And with Leander's name she breath'd her last.
Neptune for pity in his arms did take them,
clange] i. e. clang,+ Burst] Qy." Oh, burst"?
Flung them into the air, and did awake them
Like two sweet birds, surnam'd th' Acanthides,
Which we call Thistle-warps+, that near no seas
Dare ever come, but still in couples fly,
And feed on thistle-tops, to testify
The hardness of their first life in their last;
The first, in thorns of love, that sorrows past:
And so most beautiful their colours show,
As none (so little) like them; her sad brow
A sable velvet feather covers quite,
Even like the forehead-cloth that, in the night,
Or when they sorrow, ladies use ‡ to wear:
Their wings, blue, red, and yellow, mix'd appear;
Colours that, as we construe colours, paint
Their states to life;—the yellow shows their saint,
The dainty Venus, left them; blue, their truth;
The§ red and black, ensigns of death and ruth.
And this true honour from their love-death sprung,—
They were the first that ever poet sung T.
* into V. R. "in."
+ Thistle-warps] i. e. linnets.
use] Old eds. "vsde"; which the context ("when they sorrow") shews to be wrong.
§ The] V. R." Their."
this] V. R. "thus."
They were the first that ever poet sung] "Chapman alludes to the Hero and Leander' of Musæus the grammarian, which he here, as well as in the title to his rare translation of that poem (12mo. 1616,) ascribes to the traditionary Musæus, the son [or disciple] of Linus." Ed. 1821.
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