"And here, alas! he lies across my knees, With cheeks still colder than the stilly wave.

The light beneath his eyelids seems to freeze; Here then, since Love is dead and lacks a grave, O come and dig it in my sad heart's core-- That wound will bring a balsam for its sore!"

LXXXIX.

"For art thou not a sleep where sense of ill Lies stingless, like a sense benumb'd with cold, Healing all hurts only with sleep's good-will?

So shall I slumber, and perchance behold My living love in dreams,--O happy night, That lets me company his banish'd spright!"

XC.

"O poppy Death!--sweet poisoner of sleep; Where shall I seek for thee, oblivious drug, That I may steep thee in my drink, and creep Out of life's coil? Look, Idol! how I hug Thy dainty image in this strict embrace, And kiss this clay-cold model of thy face!"

XCI.

"Put out, put out these sun-consuming lamps, I do but read my sorrows by their shine; O come and quench them with thy oozy damps, And let my darkness intermix with thine; Since love is blinded, wherefore should I see?

Now love is death,--death will be love to me!"

XCII.

"Away, away, this vain complaining breath, It does but stir the troubles that I weep; Let it be hush'd and quieted, sweet Death; The wind must settle ere the wave can sleep,-- Since love is silent, I would fain be mute; O death, be gracious to my dying suit!"

XCIII.

Thus far she pleads, but pleading nought avails her, For Death, her sullen burthen, deigns no heed; Then with dumb craving arms, since darkness fails her, She prays to heaven's fair light, as if her need Inspired her there were Gods to pity pain, Or end it,--but she lifts her arms in vain!

XCIV.

Poor gilded Grief! the subtle light by this With mazy gold creeps through her watery mine, And, diving downward through the green abyss, Lights up her palace with an amber shine; There, falling on her arms,--the crystal skin Reveals the ruby tide that fares within.

XCV.

Look how the fulsome beam would hang a glory On her dark hair, but the dark hairs repel it; Look how the perjured glow suborns a story On her pale lips, but lips refuse to tell it; Grief will not swerve from grief, however told On coral lips, or character'd in gold;

XCVI.

Or else, thou maid! safe anchor'd on Love's neck, Listing the hapless doom of young Leander, Thou would'st not shed a tear for that old wreck, Sitting secure where no wild surges wander; Whereas the woe moves on with tragic pace, And shows its sad reflection in thy face.

XCVII.

Thus having travell'd on, and track'd the tale, Like the due course of an old bas-relief, Where Tragedy pursues her progress pale, Brood here awhile upon that sea-maid's grief, And take a deeper imprint from the frieze Of that young Fate, with Death upon her knees.

XCVIII.

Then whilst the melancholy Muse withal Resumes her music in a sadder tone, Meanwhile the sunbeam strikes upon the wall, Conceive that lovely siren to live on, Ev'n as Hope whisper'd, the Promethean light Would kindle up the dead Leander's spright.

XCIX.

"'Tis light," she says, "that feeds the glittering stars, And those were stars set in his heavenly brow; But this salt cloud, this cold sea-vapor, mars Their radiant breathing, and obscures them now; Therefore I'll lay him in the clear blue air, And see how these dull orbs will kindle there."

C.

Swiftly as dolphins glide, or swifter yet, With dead Leander in her fond arms' fold, She cleaves the meshes of that radiant net The sun hath twined above of liquid gold, Nor slacks till on the margin of the land She lays his body on the glowing sand.

CI.

There, like a pearly waif, just past the reach Of foamy billows he lies cast. Just then, Some listless fishers, straying down the beach, Spy out this wonder. Thence the curious men, Low crouching, creep into a thicket brake, And watch her doings till their rude hearts ache.

CII.

First she begins to chafe him till she faints, Then falls upon his mouth with kisses many, And sometimes pauses in her own complaints To list his breathing, but there is not any,-- Then looks into his eyes where no light dwells; Light makes no pictures in such muddy wells.

CIII.

The hot sun parches his discover'd eyes, The hot sun beats on his discolor'd limbs, The sand is oozy whereupon he lies, Soiling his fairness;--then away she swims, Meaning to gather him a daintier bed, Plucking the cool fresh weeds, brown, green, and red.

CIV.

But, simple-witted thief, while she dives under, Another robs her of her amorous theft; The ambush'd fishermen creep forth to plunder, And steal the unwatch'd treasure she has left; Only his void impression dints the sands; Leander is purloin'd by stealthy hands!

CV.

Lo! how she shudders off the beaded wave, Like Grief all over tears, and senseless falls,-- His void imprint seems hollow'd for her grave; Then, rising on her knees, looks round and calls On "Hero! Hero!" having learn'd this name Of his last breath, she calls him by the same.

CVI.

Then with her frantic hands she rends her hairs, And casts them forth, sad keepsakes to the wind, As if in plucking those she plucked her cares; But grief lies deeper, and remains behind Like a barb'd arrow, rankling in her brain, Turning her very thoughts to throbs of pain.

CVII.

Anon her tangled locks are left alone, And down upon the sand she meekly sits, Hard by the foam, as humble as a stone, Like an enchanted maid beside her wits, That ponders with a look serene and tragic, Stunn'd by the mighty mystery of magic.