Loud blew the winds in anger and disdain,
And raged the waves, when to his Sestian maid,
Leander, ardent of her charms, essayed
For the last time to swim the stormy main.
Conquered with toil, o'erwearied, and in pain,
More for the bliss which he should lose by death,
Than sorrowful to breathe out his sweet breath
On the vext surge he buffeted in vain,—
Feebly, 'twas all he could, the dying boy
Called to the waves, (but never word of woe
Was heard by them) "if me you must destroy,
This melancholy night, look not so stern;
Vent as you will your rage on my return,
But spare, kind waters, spare me as I go!"