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Soon as dim twilight o'er th' horizon sheds
The last, faint blush of day, the darkling scene
Inspires him; speechless he approach'd the Maid,
And gently pressing to his heart the hand
By Beauty's pencil shap'd, he heav'd a sigh
Deep from his inmost soul—abash'd the Maid
Silent her hand withdrew, as bent to chide
Th' officious forwardness; Leander's eye
Hail'd the fair sign, her wild emotions hail'd,
Omens of mutual love, frantic he seiz'd
Her robe of virgin white, where art had showr'd
The richest tints luxuriant, through the fane
Ev'n to the hallow'd shrine he leads the Fair,
Though lagging, not reluctant, not displeas'd,
Though low'rs the frown ambiguous, and her guide
With all of female rage she thus address'd.
'Say, stranger, as thou art, what frenzy prompts
'Thus to allure a virgin? while thou may'st,
'Stranger, retire; no more my vest profane
'With sacrilegious hand, my parents dread,
'For much avails their ire, th' ennobled line
'Is theirs, with rich possessions, Hero rules
'Great Cytherea's priestess; quit thy suit,
'Presumptuous, quit for ever Hero's arms.'
Thus
