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Breathes the fond transports of his breast———'I oft,
'Oft have survey'd in Lacedæmon's round
'The fairest maids of Sparta, (hers the claim
'Of Beauty's honor'd palm) yet ne'er beheld
'Such glow of charms, such innocence of mien!
'Thee, loveliest of the Graces, Venus mark'd
'To crown her sacred ministry; my eyes
'Tir'd, but insatiate pore——would gracious Heav'n
'Give Hero to my arms, Death's instant dart
'Might strike me to: he dust; ye Pow'rs, reserve,
'Reserve Olympus to yourselves, but grant
'Fair Hero to my wishes; should your will,
'Queen of the Cyprian Isle, my suit deny,
'Be such (if such there is) as Hero mine!'
Thus spake the Stripling's flame; from side to side
Love reigns triumphant, though confin'd he longs
To burst Concealment's chain; above the rest
Leander's mind knows anguish—while thou view'st,
Fond Inspiration prompts thee to reveal
Thy passion, not despondent, Hero's charms,
Resolv'd to win, or die; at ev'ry gaze
Redoubled fires devour thee, till intranc'd
In Beauty's labyrinth the soul is lost.
Lovely
