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XII.

She thinks how many have been sunk and drown'd,
And spies their snow-white bones below the deep,
Then calls huge congregated monsters round,
And plants a rock wherever he would leap;
Anon she dwells on a fantastic dream,

Which she interprets of that fatal stream.

XIII.

Saying, "That honey'd fly I saw was thee,
Which lighted on a water-lily's cup,

When, lo! the flow'r, enamour'd of my bee,
Closed on him suddenly and lock'd him up,
And he was smother'd in her drenching dew;
Therefore this day thy drowning I shall rue."

XIV.

But next, remembering her virgin fame,
She clips him in her arms and bids him go,
But seeing him break loose, repents her shame,
And plucks him back upon her bosom's snow;
And tears unfix her iced resolve again,

As steadfast frosts are thaw'd by show'rs of rain.

O for a type of parting!

XV.

Love to love

Is like the fond attraction of two spheres,

Which needs a godlike effort to remove,
And then sink down their sunny atmospheres,
In rain and darkness on each ruin'd heart,
Nor yet their melodies will sound apart.

XVI.

So brave Leander sunders from his bride ;

The wrenching pang disparts his soul in twain;

Half stays with her, half goes towards the tide, — And life must ache, until they join again.

Now would'st thou know the wideness of the wound,

Mete every step he takes upon the ground.

XVII.

And for the agony and bosom-throe,

Let it be measur'd by the wide vast air,

For that is infinite, and so is woe,

Since parted lovers breathe it every where.

Look how it heaves Leander's labouring chest,

Panting, at poise, upon a rocky crest!

XVIII.

From which he leaps into the scooping brine,
That shocks his bosom with a double chill ;
Because, all hours, till the slow sun's decline,
That cold divorcer will betwixt them still;
Wherefore he likens it to Styx' foul tide,
Where life grows death upon the other side.

XIX.

Then sadly he confronts his two-fold toil
Against rude waves and an unwilling mind,
Wishing, alas! with the stout rower's toil,
That like a rower he might gaze behind,
And watch that lonely statue he hath left
On her bleak summit, weeping and bereft!

XX.

Yet turning oft, he sees her troubled locks Pursue him still the furthest that they may; Her marble arms that overstretch the rocks, And her pale passion'd hands that seem to pray

In dumb petition to the gods above:

Love prays devoutly when it prays for love!

XXI.

Then with deep sighs he blows away the wave,
That hangs superfluous tears upon his cheek,
And bans his labour like a hopeless slave,
That, chain'd in hostile galley, faint and weak,
Plies on despairing through the restless foam,
Thoughtful of his lost love, and far-off home.

XXII.

The drowsy mist before him chill and dank,

Like a dull lethargy o'erleans the sea,

Where he rows on against the utter blank,

Steering as if to dim eternity, —

Like Love's frail ghost departing with the dawn;

A failing shadow in the twilight drawn.

XXIII.

And soon is gone, or nothing but a faint
And failing image in the eye of thought,

That mocks his model with an after-paint,

And stains an atom like the shape she sought; Then with her earnest vows she hopes to fee, The old and hoary majesty of sea.

XXIV.

"O King of waves, and brother of high Jove,
Preserve my sumless venture there afloat;

A woman's heart, and its whole wealth of love,
Are all embark'd upon that little boat;

Nay, but two loves, two lives, a double fate,
A perilous voyage for so dear a freight.

XXV.

"If impious mariners be stain'd with crime,
Shake not in awful rage thy hoary locks;
Lay by thy storms until another time,

Lest my frail bark be dash'd against the rocks:
O rather smooth thy deeps, that he may fly

Like Love himself, upon a seeming sky!

XXVI.

"Let all thy herded monsters sleep beneath, Nor gore him with crook'd tusks, or wreathed horns,

Let no fierce sharks destroy him with their teeth, Nor spine-fish wound him with their venom'd thorns;

But if he faint, and timely succour lack,

Let ruthful dolphins rest him on their back.

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