Page:The works of Christopher Marlowe - ed. Dyce - 1859.djvu/342

280 And oftentimes into her bosom flew, About her naked neck his bare arms threw, And laid his childish head upon her breast, And, with still panting rock, there took his rest. So lovely fair was Hero, Venus' nun, As Nature wept, thinking she was undone, Because she took more from her than she left, And of such wondrous beauty her bereft: Therefore, in sign her treasure suffer'd wrack, Since Hero's time hath half the world been black.

Amorous Leander, beautiful and young, (Whose tragedy divine Musæus sung,) Dwelt at Abydos; since him dwelt there none For whom succeeding times make greater moan. His dangling tresses, that were never shorn, Had they been cut, and unto Colchos borne, Would have allur'd the venturous youth of Greece To hazard more than for the golden fleece. Fair Cynthia wish'd his arms might be her sphere; Grief makes her pale, because she moves not there. His body was as straight as Circe's wand; Jove might have sipt out nectar from his hand. Even as delicious meat is to the tast, So was his neck in touching, and surpast The white of Pelops' shoulder: I could tell ye, How smooth his breast was, and how white his belly; And whose immortal fingers did imprint That heavenly path with many a curious dint That runs along his back; but my rude pen Can hardly blazon forth the loves of men, Much less of powerful gods: let it suffice That my slack Muse sings of Leander's eyes; Those orient cheeks and lips, exceeding his That leapt into the water for a kiss Of his own shadow, and, despising many, Died ere he could enjoy the love of any. Had wild Hippolytus Leander seen, Enamour'd of his beauty had he been: His presence made the rudest peasant melt, That in the vast uplandish country dwelt; The barbarous Thracian soldier, mov'd with nought, Was mov'd with him, and for his favour sought. Some swore he was a maid in man's attire, For in his looks were all that men desire,— A pleasant-smiling cheek, a speaking eye, A brow for love to banquet royally; And such as knew he was a man, would say, "Leander, thou art made for amorous play: Why art thou not in love, and lov'd of all? Though thou be fair, yet be not thine own thrall."

The men of wealthy Sestos every year, For his sake whom their goddess held so dear, Rose-cheek'd Adonis, kept a solemn feast: Thither resorted many a wandering guest To meet their loves: such as had none at all, Came lovers home from this great festival; For every street, like to a firmament, Glister'd with breathing stars, who, where they went, Frighted the melancholy earth, which deem'd Eternal heaven to burn, for so it seem'd, As if another Phaëton had got The guidance of the sun's rich chariot. But, far above the loveliest, Hero shin'd, And stole away th' enchanted gazer's mind; For like sea-nymphs' inveigling harmony, So was her beauty to the standers by; Nor that night-wandering, pale, and watery star (When yawning dragons draw her thirling car From Latmus' mount up to the gloomy sky, Where, crown'd with blazing light and majesty,

She proudly sits) more over-rules the flood Than she the hearts of those that near her stood. Even as when gaudy nymphs pursue the chase, Wretched Ixion's shaggy-footed race, Incens'd with savage heat, gallop amain From steep pine-bearing mountains to the plain, So ran the people forth to gaze upon her, And all that view'd her were enamour'd on her: And as in fury of a dreadful fight, Their fellows being slain or put to flight, Poor soldiers stand with fear of death dead-strooken, So at her presence all surpris'd and tooken,