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'Twas Night, the sullen winds, winds, such as rage
Tyrants of wintry skies, from pole to pole
League in discordant union, and the Deep
Rouse to fierce conflict; inauspicious hour,
Leander nought regards thee, all his soul
Pants for the well-known joys, once more the Main
Bears its devoted burden; wave on wave
Dashes, his mountains angry Neptune heaves
Ev'n to the foot of Jove, the tempests shake
Creation's wide domain; the surly East
Wars with the Western blast, the ruder North
Blows havock on the South, the mingled roar
Of thunder bellows thro' the mad profound.
Whelm'd in the gulph, and toss'd from surge to surge,
What pangs were thine, Leander! Many a prayer
Wooes Cytherea's smile, and many a vow
Implores the Lord of Ocean; Thee he calls,
Boreas, unmindful of the Nymph belov'd,
Unmindful of Leander; pray'rs are vain,
Deaf ev'ry Pow'r, for Love can never boast
A conquest o'er the Fates; unhappy Youth,
Sport of contending elements, whose force
Compelling veers thee diverse, scarce thy feet
Faint, and more faint move heavily, thy arm
Drops
