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xlvii Stiff hung his nerveless feet: his hands, long spread Restless amidst the waves, dropp'd numb'd and dead: Sudden th' involuntary waters rush'd, And down his gasping throat the brine-floods gush'd; The bitter wind now quench'd the light above, And so extinguish'd fled Leander's life and love.— But while he linger'd still, the watchful maid, With terrors wavering, on the tower delay'd. The morning came—no husband met her view: O'er the wide seas her wandering sight she threw; If haply, since the torch was quench'd in shade, Her bridegroom o'er the waters, devious, stray'd. When, at the turret's foot, her glance descried His rock-torn corse cast upward by the tide! She rent the broider'd robe her breast around, And headlong from the tower she fell with rushing sound!— Thus on her lifeless husband Hero died, Nor death's last anguish could their loves divide :—

There is great beauty and power in the above, yet, to my fancy, Mr. Leigh Hunt, in his "original poem," has felt parts with as great relish,—he has identified himself more deeply with the lovers. It is really surprising how much freshness and originality is poured around this hackneyed tale; and this he has accomplished by