Thy name from me; declare thy country too.
My name is Hero; in yon sea-girt tow'r,
Whose summit tops the clouds, one female slave
The sole companion of my home, I dwell,
Near Sestos city, on the wave-lashed shore,
The sea my neighbour-such my parents' will!
No maids of equal age, no cheerful youths
E'er come to visit me; but night and morn
The roaring wild sea thunders in mine ear.”

She ceased, and buried in her mantle's folds
Her rosy cheek, relapsing into shame,

And blamed her tongue that spake such kindly words.
But by Love's keenest dart Leander pierced
Was thinking how to fight Love's tender fight.
Now crafty Love strikes deep into the heart,
But heals himself the wounds himself hath made
For where he reigns, his all-subduing power
With cunning counsel fills the captive mind.
So to Leander now he lent his aid,
Who thus at last with falt'ring accent spake :

;

"Ah! gentle maid, I'll dare for love of thee The swelling storms, though waves of fire should boil, And bubbling check the passage of the sea— So I may gain thy bed, I dread nor wave, Nor angry ocean's deepest thunder tone; But nightly borne, thy salt-sea love, to thee,

I'll swim through all the streams of Hellespont;

For in Abydos' neighbouring town I dwell.

Thou through the darkness, from thy tower's height,
Display a single torch, that I may be

Thy boat of love; thy torch my leading star;
And gazing on it never will I heed

Böotes setting, nor Orion rude,

Nor in the north the Wain's unmoisten'd track,

So I may reach the haven of thy land.

But, O sweet love! beware the treacherous winds,
Lest they the torch extinguish—and I die;
For on its light depends my light of life.
But if to learn my name be thy desire-
I am Leander fair hair'd Hero's spouse."

Thus to indulge them in their secret love Did both consent, and that the torch's light Should be the signal of their nightly bliss. Its guiding beams she undertook to show, And he to brave the dangers of the deepThen, having pass'd a night of sleepless love, Torn from each other's heart, they went their wayShe to her tower, through morning's twilight; he, No signal beacon now to guide his way,

To fair Abydos' well-built city swam.

Full oft would they, impatient for the bliss,

The night-long rapture of their secret love,

Bid darkness haste to spread the bridal couch.

And now, when black-robed Night had come at last,

And every mortal eye was bathed in sleep,
Leander kept his wakeful watch of love;
And on the loud resounding wave-worn shore
Gazed for the shining signal of his joy,
Expectant panting for the torch's gleam

That told from far his secret couch was laid.
Soon as she saw the sunless gloom of night
Then Hero lit the torch-and as it blazed,
Love's flame was kindled in Leander's heart,
Which burn'd in concert with the burning torch.
But as he stood beside the frantic sea,

And heard the bounding billows' rushing sound,
Then trembled he at first-but soon took heart,
And thus with thoughts of comfort soothed his soul:
"Dreadful is love-implacable the sea-

Yet is the sea but water-while the fire,
The fire of love consumes mine inmost heart.
Take fire, my heart! fear not the watery surge—
Hie to thy love-what! heedest thou the waves?
Know'st not that Venus out of Ocean sprung,
And rules the sea-and causes all my care?"

Then from his lovely limbs he doff'd his garb,
And, having tightly bound it on his head,
Leap'd from the shore, and dash'd into the wave.
Then steer'd he ever towards the light, himself
The pilot, crew, and vessel self-impelled.

Hero, mean while, upon her tower's height,
When howling winds their blasts of terror blew,
Oft with her robe would veil the flickering torch,
Till onward toiling to the Sestian beach
Leander came, and hied him to her tower.
Then to the gate she rush'd, and twined around
Her panting bridegroom's heart, too glad for speech;
And while adown him dripp'd the salt-sea drops,
She to the bridal-chamber led him on,

And dried his form, and with the soft perfume
Of roseate oil subdued the ocean smell:
Then laid him panting on her downy couch,
And wreathed around his bosom sweetly spake :
"Sore hast thou toil'd, my love-no toil so sore
Hath ever loving bridegroom undergone—
Sore hast thou toil'd, my love! but now the waves
Enough have toss'd thee on their foamy breast-
Come, rest thy labours on this heart of mine."

Thus did she speak; but he untied her zone,
And link'd in Venus' blissful bonds they lay.
Theirs was a wedding-but no pomp was there;
No nuptial hymns about their bed were sung-
For them no bard kind Juno's favour sought-
Around their couch no bridal torches shone-
No light foot twinkled in their wedding dance-
No tender parents sung their marriage song-
But while dumb silence laid the nuptial bed,
And closed its curtains, Gloom attired the bride.
Far from the sound of hymeneal strains
Night ranged the bridal--nor did early Dawn
Surprise the bridegroom in his bed of love;
He'd to Abydos ta'en his watery way,

Panting insatiate from his night of bliss

With that dear nymph who baulk'd her parents' care,

A maid by day, by night a loving bride.

And many a time and oft would both implore
The lingering day to hasten to his close.

So from all eyes their passion did they hide,
And lonely revelled in their secret love.
But ah! too swiftly fled their dream of life;
Too soon, alas! their toil-won bliss decayed,
For Winter now led on his icy train,

And from their slumber roused the frightful storms,
And sent his winds to drive the baseless gulfs
And wet foundations of the watery main,
Lashing the waves to madness; sailors now,
Dreading the faithless wintry ocean, strove
To lay their shattered vessels up on shore.
But to thy heart the storms no terror brought,
Too brave Leander! thee the ruthless torch,
Flashing the wonted signal of thy bliss,
Made spurn the fury of the rampant sea.
Ah! would to Heav'n, ill-fated Hero then,
While raged the stormy tempest, had resolved
From her Leander's love to fast awhile,

Nor light for him the deadly nuptial star!

But Love and Fate constrained her-and she fired

The brand of death-the torch of love no more.

'Twas night-that hour when most the blust'ring winds, The winds in fury darting stormy blasts,

Rush down in masses on the breaking sea;
That hour Leander, longing for his bride,
Rode on the bosom of the roaring main ;
Wave rolled on wave-confusion ruled the deep-
And air and ocean mingled-while the roar
Of battling winds tumultuous filled the air.
Zephyr with Eurus fought-the north wind drove
His threat'ning blasts against th' opposing south;
While loud the sea's resistless thunder boomed.
Then on the pitiless surge Leander toiled-
And many a pray'r to sea-born Venus poured,
And many a pray'r to thee, great Ocean King ;
Nor failed he then rude Boreas to implore
By all the fondness of his Attic love*-
But all in vain! Love bowed the knee to Fate.
Dashed to and fro upon the raving tide,

His feet fell pow'rless-his o'er-laboured hands
Lost all their strength-and as the impetuous stream
Gushed down his throat, he drank the briny draught.
And now the deadliest blast of all rush'd by,
And quench'd the faithless torch-then perish'd, too,
In one dark death, Leander's life and love.

But when he came not, she, with aching eyes,
Kept watch, by worst forebodings inly racked-
And morning came to her-but He came not.
Then o'er the wide expanse she strain'd her gaze,
In hope that when the torch's light expired,
He'd lost his course, and she might guide him now.
But when beneath her, at her tower's base,
Dash'd on the rocks, she saw her lover's corse,
She rent her garments-tore her beauteous breast-
Rush'd like a torrent headlong from the height,
And on her lover's clay-cold bosom died.

Thus perish'd Hero with her stricken Spouse,
In death's extremest hour united still.

Orithyia, daughter of Erectheus, King of Athens, carried off by Boreas. VOL. XLI. NO. CCLVI

TO MONT BLANC.

SONNETS. BY THE SKETCHER.

ECHO.

ECHO, art thou no spiritual creature, bred
Within these woods, haunting the rocky dell,
Listener unseen, and yet responsive- Well!
And this Philosophy! arming the head
To rob the heart, laying the fancy dead
On the heart's threshold, but to break the spell,
And bid the poet forth to buy and sell,
With vulgar scoff, to earn his daily bread.

O, I would lay my knowledge at thy feet,

Enchantress, cast it where no thought might reach

To fetch it back,-and wake from slumbers sweet

On the green moss, to hear thy gentle speech,
And follow thee, though we may never meet,

To thy clear fountain by the silver beech.

FORTUNE.

Why should I court thee, Fortune? Thou art blind,
And very few the worthy that have found

The treasures that thou scatterest to the ground,
Which they who grovel most most surely find;

And some, the worst, leap boldly up behind,

And seize thee, Fortune, e'en while spinning round,--
Purloin thy gifts, and for a while abound,

Whom, if they fall, thy wheel doth sorely grind ;
And e'en thy smile is marked by bitter jokes

Against poor fallen merit, and the cries

Of wounded wretches, caught between thy spokes,—
And fools, thy favourites, mock their agonies.
On such false spinsters will I turn my heel,
That love to break their suitors on the wheel,

LIFE.

O there are passages of Life that lie
Each like a bright oasis in the heart,
The wilderness of years, standing apart
From noted action, daily History,

Unfelt, unseen, save by the inward eye,
That with its sudden vision makes to start
Him, whose they are, e'en in the very mart
Of men, that wonder at his ecstasy-
We are of twofold spirits; and the one
Loves, like the under current of the sea,
Invisible a diverse course to run;
The other, with necessity its plea,

Commends us outwardly: 'tis thus they give

A world in which we walk-a world in which we live.

SYMPATHY.

I had a grief and learned from it to see

How, in the fashioning of natural things,
Lies mix'd, like Virtue, oft in hidden springs,
A rich endowment of pure sympathy.
Sleepless I rose, and sought the secrecy
Of a lone glen, to shun vain questionings,

And mocks, perchance, that mirth or misery flings.

"O shelter me," quoth I, "thou gentle tree"

-I slept and woke the sweet bird and her mate

Look'd down and sang to me-the boughs did borrow A pitying air as they did undulate,

For there is such community in sorrow,

That birds, and beasts, and things inanimate,

Do look on you, and softly bid "Good morrow."

PITY.

There are attractions and affinities

In direct chain from God's high Providence-
And none more perfect than Benevolence-
That with sure instinct to affliction flies,
Whether on sea or land. Where Misery lies,
There is this universal influence,

That from without or from within supplies
Patience to bear, or sweetest recompense.
The greatest love e'er human bosom prov'd
Is but a portion inconceivable

Of that which first upon the water mov'd,
Of that which made thro' death retrievable
Our forfeit life; that love-which yet we trust
Shall draw us into God-to heaven from dust.

HOME.

The little bark upon wide waters lying,
The great leviathans that therein take
Pastime, and hurt it not-the birds that make
Their nests in cavern'd cliffs and crags, outflying
Over the billowy surge, and wildly crying-
The beasts that with their roar the forests shake,
And keep the fiends of night all broad awake;
The worn winds among lonely islands dying,
These are the poet's visions as he looks

Forth from his curtain'd casement, when long nights
Shut out the world, all save the moonlit brooks,

And valley twinkling with domestic lights,
Then thanks he God that here his lot is cast

In the soft bosom of a world so vast.