Songs

Nor com'st thou yet,
my slothful Love, nor yet?
Leander, O my Leander!
Cans't thou forget thy Hero?
Leander, why dost thou stay?
Who holds thee, cruel?
What hath begot delay?
Too soon alas!

The rosy finger'd Morn
will chase the darksome night,
Ah me! I burn,
and die
in these my languishing desires.
See, see the Taper wastes in his own fires, like me,
and will be spent before you come;
Make haste then, my Leander,
prithee come.

Behold the Winds and Seas,
deaf and enrag'd,
my imprecation have in part assuaged,
their fury's past,
but thou more deaf than they,
more merciless, torment'st me with delay;
If far from hence,
upon thy native shore,
such high delights thou tak'st,
why didst thou more incite my hot desires
with faithless lines!

Flattering me with promise,
that when the Winds became less high,
and shores had some repose,
if I did but the friendly torch expose,
to be thy guide,
thou woulds't not fail to come.
The shores have peace,
the Winds and Seas are dumb,
thy Hero here attends thee,
and the light invades the horror
of the able nightl
come quickly then,
and in these arms appear,
that have been oft
thy chiefest calm, thy sphere.

Wretch that I am!
'Tis so, ye Gods, 'tis so!
Whilst here I vent to Heav'n
and Seas my Woe,
He at Abidos in a newer flame,
forgets that e'er he heard poor Hero's Name.
How, O how cans't thou repair thy broken Faith?
Is this thy dear respects,
thou Nun?
Is this the inviolable band of Hymen?
This the knot before the Thunder:

Oh, but stay:
what vain thoughts transports thee, Hero?
Away with jealous fury,
Leander's thine, thou his,
and the poor youth at home lamenting is
the wary Eyes of his old Parents,
Now steals from them apace unto the shore,
now with hasty hand doth fling his robes from him,
and even born up alone
by Love's all pow'rful Charms.

You gentle peaceful Winds,
if ever Love has pow'r in you,
if ever you did prove
least spark of Cupid's flame,
for pity's sake, with softest gales
more smooth and easy make the troubled floods
unto my soul's delight,
you show'rs, you storms,
and Tempests black as night,
retire your Fury till my Love appear,
and bless these shores in safety,
and I here within my arms
enfold my only Treasure;

Then all enrag'd with horror,
send at pleasure the frothy billows high as Heav'n,
that he may here for e'er
be forc'd to dwell with me:
but hark; O wonder!
What sudden storm is this?
Seas menace Heavens,
and the Winds do hiss in scorn of this my just request,
retire! retire my too,
too vent'rous Love, retire,
tempt not the angry Seas;

Ah me! Ah me,
the light, the light's blown out,
O Gods! O deadly night,
Neptune, Eolus, ye pow'rful Deities,
spare, O spare my jewel,
pity the cries, and tears of wretched Hero,
'tis Leander trusts you with his Love and life,
fair Leander, beauty of those shores,
See, see, the bashful Morn,
for sorrow of my great laments,
hath torn, through cloudy night
a passage to my aid,
and here beneath,
amidst the horrid shade,
by her faint light,
something methinks I spy,
resembling my soul's joy;

Woes me, 'tis He,
shores, this Light, this Tower.
In spite of Fate, dear Love,
to thee I come,
Leander's bosom shall be Hero's tomb.