The very rumor strikes his seeing dead: Great beauty like great fear first stuns the sense: He knows not if her lips be blue or red, Nor of her eyes can give true evidence: Like murder's witness swooning in the court, His sight falls senseless by its own report.

XXXIV.

Anon resuming, it declares her eyes Are tint with azure, like two crystal wells That drink the blue complexion of the skies, Or pearls outpeeping from their silvery shells: Her polish'd brow, it is an ample plain, To lodge vast contemplations of the main.

XXXV.

Her lips might corals seem, but corals near Stray through her hair like blossoms on a bower; And o'er the weaker red still domineer, And make it pale by tribute to more power; Her rounded cheeks are of still paler hue, Touch'd by the bloom of water, tender blue.

XXXVI.

Thus he beholds her rocking on the water, Under the glossy umbrage of her hair, Like pearly Amphitrite's fairest daughter, Naiad, or Nereid,--or Syren fair, Mislodging music in her pitiless breast, A nightingale within a falcon's nest.

XXXVII.

They say there be such maidens in the deep, Charming poor mariners, that all too near By mortal lullabies fall dead asleep, As drowsy men are poison'd through the ear; Therefore Leander's fears begin to urge, This snowy swan is come to sing his dirge.

XXXVIII.

At which he falls into a deadly chill, And strains his eyes upon her lips apart; Fearing each breath to feel that prelude shrill, Pierce through his marrow, like a breath-blown dart Shot sudden from an Indian's hollow cane, With mortal venom fraught, and fiery pain.

XXXIX.

Here then, poor wretch, how he begins to crowd A thousand thoughts within a pulse's space; There seem'd so brief a pause of life allow'd, His mind stretch'd universal, to embrace The whole wide world, in an extreme farewell,-- A moment's musing--but an age to tell.

XL.

For there stood Hero, widow'd at a glance, The foreseen sum of many a tedious fact, Pale cheeks, dim eyes, and wither'd countenance, A wasted ruin that no wasting lack'd; Time's tragic consequents ere time began, A world of sorrow in a tear-drop's span.

XLI.

A moment's thinking is an hour in words,-- An hour of words is little for some woes; Too little breathing a long life affords For love to paint itself by perfect shows; Then let his love and grief unwrong'd lie dumb, Whilst Fear, and that it fears, together come.

XLII.

As when the crew, hard by some jutty cape, Struck pale and panick'd by the billow's roar, Lay by all timely measures of escape, And let their bark go driving on the shore; So fray'd Leander, drifting to his wreck, Gazing on Scylla, falls upon her neck.

XLIII.

For he hath all forgot the swimmer's art, The rower's cunning, and the pilot's skill, Letting his arms fall down in languid part, Sway'd by the waves, and nothing by his will, Till soon he jars against that glossy skin, Solid like glass, though seemingly as thin.

XLIV.

Lo! how she startles at the warning shock, And straightway girds him to her radiant breast, More like his safe smooth harbor than his rock; Poor wretch, he is so faint and toil-opprest, He cannot loose him from his grappling foe, Whether for love or hate, she lets not go.

XLV.

His eyes are blinded with the sleety brine, His ears are deafen'd with the wildering noise; He asks the purpose of her fell design, But foamy waves choke up his struggling voice; Under the ponderous sea his body dips, And Hero's name dies bubbling on his lips.

XLVI.

Look how a man is lower'd to his grave,-- A yearning hollow in the green earth's lap; So he is sunk into the yawning wave,-- The plunging sea fills up the watery gap; Anon he is all gone, and nothing seen But likeness of green turf and hillocks green.

XLVII.

And where he swam, the constant sun lies sleeping, Over the verdant plain that makes his bed; And all the noisy waves go freshly leaping.

Like gamesome boys over the churchyard dead; The light in vain keeps looking for his face:-- Now screaming sea-fowl settle in his place.

XLVIII.

Yet weep and watch for him, though all in vain!

Ye moaning billows, seek him as ye wander!

Ye gazing sunbeams, look for him again!

Ye winds, grow hoarse with asking for Leander!

Ye did but spare him for more cruel rape, Sea-storm and ruin in a female shape!

XLIX.

She says 'tis love hath bribed her to this deed, The glancing of his eyes did so bewitch her.

O bootless theft! unprofitable meed!

Love's treasury is sack'd, but she no richer; The sparkles of his eyes are cold and dead, And all his golden looks are turn'd to lead!

L.

She holds the casket, but her simple hand Hath spill'd its dearest jewel by the way; She hath life's empty garment at command, But her own death lies covert in the prey; As if a thief should steal a tainted vest, Some dead man's spoil, and sicken of his pest.

LI.

Now she compels him to her deeps below, Hiding his face beneath her plenteous hair, Which jealously she shakes all round her brow, For dread of envy, though no eyes are there But seals', and all brute tenants of the deep, Which heedless through the wave their journeys keep.