Page:Hero and Leander - Marlowe and Chapman (1821).pdf/173

 To their bright fellows of this under heaven, Into a double night they saw them driven; A horrid cave, the thieves' black mansion, Where, weary of the journey they had gone, Their last night's watch, and drunk with their sweet gains, Dull Morpheus enter'd, laden with silken chains Stronger than iron, and bound the swelling veins And tired senses of these lawless swains. But when the virgin lights thus dimly burn'd; O what a hell was heaven in! how they mourn'd And wrung their hands, and wound their gentle forms Into the shapes of sorrow! golden storms Fell from their eyes: as when the sun appears, And yet it rains, so show'd their eyes their tears. And as when funeral dames watch a dead corse, Weeping about it, telling with remorse What pains he felt, how long in pain he lay, How little food he eat, what he would say; And then mix mournful tales of others' deaths, Smothering themselves in clouds of their own breaths; At length, one cheering other, call for wine,— The golden bowl drinks tears out of their eyne,