Lest water-nymphs should pull him from the brink; And when he sported in the fragrant lawns, Goat-footed Satyrs and up-staring Fauns Would steal him thence. Ere half this tale was done, "Ay me," Leander cried, "th' enamour'd sun, That now should shine on Thetis' glassy bower, Descends upon my radiant Hero's tower: O, that these tardy arms of mine were wings!" And, as he spake, upon the waves he springs. Neptune was angry that he gave no ear, And in his heart revenging malice bare: He flung at him his mace; but, as it went, He call'd it in, for love made him repent: The mace, returning back, his own hand hit, As meaning to be veng'd for darting it. When this fresh-bleeding wound Leander view'd, His colour went and came, as if he ru'd The grief which Neptune felt: in gentle breasts Relenting thoughts, remorse, and pity rests; And who have hard hearts and obdurate minds, But vicious, hare-brain'd, and illiterate hinds? The god, seeing him with pity to be mov'd, Thereon concluded that he was belov'd; (Love is too full of faith, too credulous, With folly and false hope deluding us;) Wherefore, Leander's fancy to surprise, To the rich ocean for gifts he flies; 'Tis wisdom to give much; a gilt prevails When deep-persuading oratory fails. By this, Leander, being near the land, Cast down his weary feet, and felt the sand. Breathless albeit he were, he rested not Till to the solitary tower he got; And knock'd, and call'd: at which celestial noise The longing heart of Hero much more joys, Than nymphs and shepherds when the timbrel rings, Or crooked dolphin when the sailor sings. She stay'd not for her robes, but straight arose, And, drunk with gladness, to the door she goes; Where seeing a naked man, she screech'd for fear, (Such sights as this to tender maids are rare,) And ran into the dark herself to hide (Rich jewels in the dark are soonest spied). Unto her was he led, or rather drawn By those white limbs which sparkled through the lawn. The nearer that he came, the more she fled, And, seeking refuge, slipt into her bed; Whereon Leander sitting, thus began, Through numbing cold, all feeble, faint, and wan. "If not for love, yet, love, for pity-sake, Me in thy bed and maiden bosom take; At least vouchsafe these arms some little room, Who, hoping to embrace thee, cheerly swoom: This head was beat with many a churlish billow, And therefore let it rest upon thy pillow." Herewith affrighted, Hero shrunk away, And in her lukewarm place Leander lay; Whose lively heat, like fire from heaven fet, Would animate gross clay, and higher set The drooping thoughts of base-declining souls, Than dreary-Mars-carousing nectar bowls. His hands he cast upon her like a snare: She, overcome with shame and sallow fear, Like chaste Diana when Actaeon spied her, Being suddenly betray'd, div'd down to hide her; And, as her silver body downward went, With both her hands she made the bed a tent, And in her own mind thought herself secure,