Page:Hero and Leander - Marlowe and Chapman (1821).pdf/202

 With searching the lamenting waves for him; Like a poor snail, her gentle supple limb Hung on her turret's top, so most downright, As she would dive beneath the darkness quite, To find her jewel:—jewel!—her Leander, A name of all earth's jewels pleas'd not her Like his dear name; "Leander, still my choice, Come nought but my Leander: O, my voice, Turn to Leander! Henceforth be all sounds, Accents, and phrases, that show all griefs' wounds, Analiz'd in Leander. O black change! Trumpets, do you with thunder of your clange, Drive out this change's horror—my voice faints: Where all joy was, now shriek out all complaints." Thus cried she; for her mix'd soul could tell Her love was dead: and when the morning fell Prostrate upon the weeping earth for woe, Blushes, that bled out of her cheeks, did show, Leander brought by Neptune, bruis'd and torn, With cities' ruins he to rocks had worn; To filthy usuring rocks, that would have blood, Though they could get of him no other good. She saw him, and the sight was much, much more Than might have serv'd to kill her; should her store Of giant sorrows speak?—Burst,—die,—bleed, And leave poor plaints to us that shall succeed.