These arguments he us'd, and many more; Wherewith she yielded, that was won before. Hero's looks yielded, but her words made war: Women are won when they begin to jar. Thus having swallow'd Cupid's golden hook, The more she striv'd, the deeper was she strook: Yet, evilly feigning anger, strove she still, And would be thought to grant against her will. So having paus'd awhile, at last she said, "Who taught thee rhetoric to deceive a maid? Ay me! such words as these should I abhor, And yet I like them for the orator." With that Leander stoop'd to have embrac'd her, But from his spreading arms away she cast her, And thus bespake him: "Gentle youth, forbear To touch the sacred garments which I wear." ... Then she told him of the turret by the murmuring sea where all day long she tended Venus' swans and sparrows: "Come thither." As she spake this, her tongue tripp'd, For unawares, "Come thither," from her slipp'd; And suddenly her former color chang'd, And here and there her eyes through anger rang'd; And, like a planet moving several ways At one self instant, she, poor soul, assays, Loving, not to love at all, and every part Strove to resist the motions of her heart: And hands so pure, so innocent, nay, such As might have made Heaven stoop to have a touch, Did she uphold to Venus, and again Vow'd spotless chastity; but all in vain; Cupid beats down her prayers with his wings.... [Illustration: FIG. 79. HERO AND LEANDER From the painting by Keller] For a season all went well. Guided by a torch which his mistress reared upon the tower, he was wont of nights to swim the strait that he might enjoy her company. But one night a tempest arose and the sea was rough; his strength failed and he was drowned. The waves bore his body to the European shore, where Hero became aware of his death, and in her despair cast herself into the sea and perished. A picture of the drowning Leander is thus described by Keats:[135] Come hither all sweet maidens soberly, Down looking aye, and with a chasten'd light, Hid in the fringe of your eyelids white, And meekly let your fair hands joinèd be, As if so gentle that ye could not see, Untouch'd, a victim of your beauty bright, Sinking away to his young spirit's night, Sinking bewilder'd 'mid the dreary sea: 'Tis young Leander toiling to his death; Nigh swooning he doth purse his weary lips For Hero's cheek, and smiles against her smile. O horrid dream! see how his body dips Dead-heavy; arms and shoulders gleam awhile; He's gone; up bubbles all his amorous breath!