Hero and Leander

On the Hellespont, stained with the blood of true love,
Two cities faced each other, separated by the sea,
Divided by Neptune's power;
One was Abydos, the other Sestos.
At Sestos lived Hero, the beautiful,
Who was courted by young Apollo for her hair,
And he offered as a dowry his fiery throne,
Where she could sit for all to admire.
Her outer garments were made of fine linen,
The lining was purple silk, adorned with golden stars;
Her wide sleeves were green, bordered with a grove,
Where Venus, in her bare glory, struggled
To catch the careless and disdainful eyes
Of proud Adonis, who lay before her.
Her blue dress was stained
With the blood of poor lovers slain.
On her head she wore a myrtle wreath,
From which her veil reached the ground below.
Her veil was made of artificial flowers and leaves
Whose craftsmanship fooled both man and beast.
Many praised her sweet scent as she passed,
Not realizing it was just her own breath;
And honeybees have tried in vain to find it,
Only to be chased away and return again.
Around her neck hung chains of pebbles,
Which, lit by her neck, shone like diamonds.
She didn't wear gloves, because neither sun nor wind
Could scorch or dry her hands, but instead,
They took pleasure in warming or cooling her skin,
As they delighted in touching her soft hands.
She wore shell boots, all silvered,
Embellished with blushing coral to her knees;
Where sparrows perched, made of hollow pearl and gold,
Such that the world would marvel at their beauty.
Her maid would often fill those with sweet water,
Which chirped as she walked through the quills.
Some say the fairest Cupid pined for her
And was struck blind staring at her face.
But this is true: they looked so alike,
That he thought Hero was his mother.
He often flew into her bosom,
Threw his bare arms around her naked neck,
Laid his tiny head on her breast,
And, gently rocked, fell asleep there.
So beautifully fair was Hero, a nun of Venus,
That Nature wept, fearing she had been ruined,
Because she took more from her than she gave,
And left such wondrous beauty behind.
Therefore, as a sign that her treasure had suffered loss,
Since Hero's time, half the world has been in darkness.

Amorous Leander, beautiful and young,
(whose tragic story divine Musaeus sang,)
Lived in Abydos; since then no one has lived there
For whom future generations mourn more deeply.
His flowing hair, never cut,
Had it been shorn and taken to Colchos,
Would have tempted the adventurous youth of Greece
To risk more than for the golden fleece.
Fair Cynthia wished his arms could be her realm;
Her grief makes her pale, since she can’t be there.
His body was as straight as Circe’s wand;
Jove could have sipped nectar from his hand.
Just as delicious food is to the taste,
So was his neck to touch, and it surpassed
The whiteness of Pelops’ shoulder. I could tell you
How smooth his chest was and how white his belly;
And whose immortal fingers left their mark
On that heavenly path with many a delicate line
That runs along his back, but my clumsy pen
Can hardly express the loves of men,
Much less those of powerful gods. It’s enough
That my lazy Muse sings of Leander’s eyes,
Those radiant cheeks and lips, surpassing his
That jumped into the water for a kiss
Of his own shadow and, ignoring many,
Died before he could enjoy the love of anyone.
Had wild Hippolytus seen Leander,
He would have been captivated by his beauty.
His presence melted even the roughest peasant
Living in the vast countryside.
The barbarous Thracian soldier, unmoved by anything,
Was stirred by him and sought his favor.
Some swore he was a girl in a man’s outfit,
For in his looks were all that men desire,
A pleasant smiling cheek, a expressive eye,
A brow fit for love to feast upon;
And those who knew he was a man would say,
“Leander, you were made for love’s play.
Why aren’t you in love, and loved by all?
Though you’re beautiful, don’t become your own prisoner.”

The wealthy men of Sestos every year,
(In honor of the one their goddess cherished,
Rose-cheeked Adonis) held a solemn feast.
Many wandering guests came there
To meet their lovers. Those who had none at all,
Brought lovers back from this big festival.
Every street sparkled like the night sky
With living stars who, wherever they went,
Startled the gloomy earth which thought
Eternal heaven was on fire, as it appeared,
As if another Phaeton had taken
The reins of the sun’s golden chariot.
But far above all, the loveliest Hero shone
And captured the enchanted gazer’s mind,
For like the alluring Harmony of sea nymphs,
So was her beauty to those standing by.
Nor did the pale, watery star that wanders at night
(When yawning dragons pull her spinning car
From Latmus’ mountain up to the dark sky
Where, crowned with blazing light and majesty,
She proudly sits) hold more sway over the tide
Than she held over the hearts of those who stood nearby.
Just as, when vibrant nymphs chase their prey,
The wretched Ixion’s shaggy-footed race,
Driven by savage heat, gallop hard
From steep, pine-covered mountains to the plain.
So ran the crowd out to gaze upon her,
And all who saw her fell in love with her.
And just like in the frenzy of a terrible battle,
With their comrades killed or put to flight,
Poor soldiers stood fear-stricken, as if dead,
So at her presence all were surprised and captured,
Awaiting the verdict of her scornful gaze.
Those she favors live, the rest die.
You could see one sigh, another rage;
And some, (trying to calm their violent passions)
Wrote sharp satires, but alas, too late,
For true love will never turn to hate.
And many, seeing that great princes were turned away,
Pined away as they went, thinking of her, dying.
On this feast day, oh cursed day and hour,
Hero left her tower in Sestos
For Venus’ temple, where, sadly,
As fate would have it, they saw each other.

No church was as beautiful as this one belonging to Venus.
The walls were made of discolored jasper stone,
With Proteus carved into them, and above,
A vibrant vine of green sea agate spread,
Where one hand held lighthearted Bacchus,
And with the other, he poured out wine from crushed grapes.
The pavement shone bright and was made of crystal.
The town of Sestos called it Venus’ glass.
There you could see the gods in various forms
Engaging in wild parties, incest, and rapes.
For underneath this radiant floor
Was a statue of Danae in a bronze tower,
With Jove slyly sneaking away from his sister’s bed,
To dally with Idalian Ganymede,
And for his love Europa, he shouted loudly,
And tumbled with the Rainbow in a cloud;
Blood-drinking Mars lifting the iron net
That limping Vulcan and his Cyclops set;
Love igniting fire to destroy towns like Troy;
Sylvanus weeping for the lovely boy
Who has now turned into a cypress tree,
Under whose shade the wood gods like to be.
In the center stood a silver altar.
There Hero, sacrificing turtle’s blood,
Bowed to the ground, hiding her eyes,
And she modestly opened them as she rose.
From there flew Love’s arrow with a golden tip,
And that's how Leander fell in love.
He stood still as stone, gazing endlessly
Until the fire from his face warmed
Hero’s gentle heart, which was touched.
Such power and magic a loving look can have.

It's not up to us to love or hate,
Because our will is controlled by fate.
When two are stripped down, long before it starts,
We want one to lose and the other to win in our hearts.
There's one in particular we care about
Of two gold coins that are just alike, no doubt.
No one knows why; let's just accept
That what we see is judged by our perspective.
When both think it through, the love is weak:
Who ever loved without it being at first sight?

He knelt and prayed to her devoutly.
Pure Hero softly said to herself,
“If I were the saint he worships, I would hear him;”
And, as she spoke those words, she moved a little closer to him.
He jumped up; she blushed, feeling embarrassed,
Which only made Leander more excited.
He touched her hand; she trembled at his touch.
Love that is deep-rooted is hard to hide.
These lovers communicated through their hands;
True love is often speechless and awestruck.
While their silent gestures entangled their hearts,
The air sparkled with living fire,
And the night, soaked in misty Acheron,
Lifted its head, and half the world breathed
Darkness into existence (dark night is Cupid’s time).
Now Leander begins to show
Love’s sacred fire with words, sighs, and tears,
Which flowed like sweet music into Hero’s ears,
Yet at every word, she turned away,
And continually interrupted him as he spoke.
Finally, with the boldness of a clever debater,
He cheerfully approached her, saying,
“Beautiful creature, let me speak without offending.
I wish my awkward words could lead your thoughts like your lovely looks lead mine,
Then you would be his prisoner, who is yours.
Don’t be unkind and beautiful; rough behavior
Is made of clumsy and harsh stuff.
Oh, don’t avoid me, but listen to me before you go.
God knows I can’t force love like you do.
My words will be as pure as my youth,
Full of simplicity and honest truth.
This gift, whose sweet fragrance rises
From Venus’ altar, bending to your feet,
Shows that you far surpass her,
To whom you pay homage and whose servant you are.
Why worship her? You outshine her
As much as sparkling diamonds outshine dull glass.
A diamond set in lead retains its value;
A heavenly nymph, cherished by human lovers,
Receives no blemish but often more grace;
Which gives me hope, even if I seem low:
Low compared to you, divine and pure,
Devoted service may win your love.
And I, in duty, will surpass all others,
As you, in beauty, surpass Love’s mother.
Neither heaven nor you were made to be gazed upon,
As heaven preserves all things, so save one.
A grand ship, well-rigged and tall,
Looks more majestic on the ocean.
Why do you vow to live in Sestos here
When on Love’s seas you would look more glorious?
Like untuned golden strings, all women are,
Which, lying untouched for too long, will sound harshly.
Brass vessels, often handled, shine brightly.
What’s the difference between the richest mine
And the least valuable clay, but use? For both, unused,
Are of equal worth. Treasure is wasted
When misers hoard it; when put to use,
Eventually, it will return more than one.
Rich robes adorn themselves and others;
Neither themselves nor others if not worn.
Who builds a palace and locks the gate
Will see it fall to ruin and desolation.
Ah, naive Hero, learn to value yourself.
Lonely women are like empty houses that waste away.
The poor rich man who starves while hoarding cash
Sins less than you. His golden earth remains
Which, after he dies, some other will obtain.
But this beautiful gem, sweet only in loss,
When you depart, can be inherited by none.
Or, if it could, all heaven would come down
To claim this inheritance,
And with civil wars, the world would be destroyed,
Totally disrupting nature’s sweet harmony.
It’s well-decreed by the gods
That we humans should enjoy that bliss.
One is no number; women are nothing then
Without the sweet companionship of men.
Will you continue living single? You’ll be one,
Though Hymen never couples you.
Wild savages, who drink from running springs,
Think that water surpasses all earthly things,
But those who taste fine wine daily look down on it.
Virginity, although some highly value it,
Compared to marriage, had you experienced both,
Differs as much as wine differs from water.
We accept base metal for the stamp’s sake;
So do we accept you for man’s mark,
By which alone, our respected ancestors say,
Women gain perfection in every way.
This idol you call virginity
Is not a substance you can see
Nor anything to any one of our senses,
Nor does it have a place of dwelling,
Nor is it earthly or even celestial,
Or capable of any form at all.
Don’t boast about what doesn’t exist;
Things that do not exist at all are never lost.
Men foolishly call it virtuous;
What virtue is there that is innate?
Much less can honor be attributed to it;
Honor is earned through our actions.
Believe me, Hero, honor is not won
Until some honorable deed is done.
Are you seeking for chastity and eternal fame,
And know that some have tarnished Diana’s name?
Who cares about her name, whether she is false or true,
If she is beautiful, though some vile tongues will slander?
But you are beautiful, oh my, so astonishingly beautiful,
So young, so gentle, and so charming,
As Greece will think if you continue living alone
That some man must be keeping you as his own.
Then, Hero, don’t hate me or run from me
To pursue quickly ruining infamy.
Maybe your sacred role makes you hesitant.
Tell me, to whom did you make that heedless vow?”

“To Venus,” she replied, and as she spoke,
A stream of liquid pearls flowed from those two clear eyes,
Creating milk-white trails down her face,
Which the gods could follow to Jove’s high court. He then said: “The ceremonies
That love’s beautiful goddess enjoys the most
Are feasts, soft music, late-night parties,
Theater performances, masks, and everything that strict society considers wrong.
She looks down on you like a holy fool
Because you’ve vowed to stay chaste,
Stealing her name and honor, and in doing so
You commit a sin worse than lying,
Even a sacrilege against her divinity,
Through your strict and formal purity.
To make up for this sin, kiss and shake hands.
This is the sacrifice Venus demands.”

She smiled and turned him down,
But still, he could hope for more.
This made him quickly strengthen his words,
And he humbly pleaded with her.
“Though neither gods nor men may deserve you,
For the sake of the one you’ve sworn to serve,
Give up your unproductive coldness,
The gentle queen of love’s only enemy.
Then you’ll resemble Venus’ nun,
When Venus’ sweet rituals are complete.
Flint-hearted Pallas enjoys being single,
But Pallas and your mistress are at odds.
So love, Hero, and don’t be cruel,
But heal the heart you’ve wounded,
And don’t tarnish your youth with greed.
Pretty fools love to be seen as prudes.
The ripest grain dies if it isn’t harvested;
Beauty alone is lost if it’s guarded too closely.”

He used these arguments and many more,
And she gave in, though she had been won before.
Hero's looks might have surrendered, but her words sparked a fight.
Women are conquered when they start to bicker.
So, having swallowed Cupid's golden bait,
The more she resisted, the more she was drawn in.
Yet, pretending to be angry, she kept up the struggle
And wanted to seem like she was agreeing against her wishes.
After pausing for a moment, she finally said,
“Who taught you how to charm and trick a girl?
Oh, I should hate words like these,
And yet I can't help but like them because of the speaker.”

With that, Leander leaned in to embrace her.
But she pushed away from his outstretched arms,
And spoke to him: “Gentle youth, please don’t
Touch the sacred garments I wear.
On a rock beneath a hill,
Far from the town (where everything is quiet and still,
Except for the sea, playing on golden sand,
Making a murmuring sound that reaches the land,
Whose sound entices golden Morpheus
To visit us in the silence of the night)
My tower stands, and there, God knows, I play,
With Venus’ swans and sparrows all day long.
A little old woman keeps me company,
Hopping around the room where I lie,
Spending the night (which could be spent better)
In pointless chatter and foolish merriment.
Come here.” As she said this, her tongue stumbled,
Because without thinking, “come here” slipped out.
Suddenly, her face changed color,
And her eyes darted around in anger.
Like a planet moving in different directions,
At the very same moment, she, poor soul, tried,
To love, yet not to love at all, and every part
Struggled against the urges of her heart.
And her hands, so pure and innocent, indeed,
Such that they could have made heaven bend to touch,
She held up to Venus, and again
Vowed to remain pure, but all in vain.
Cupid knocked down her prayers with his wings,
His vows tossed into empty air,
All deeply enraged, he bent his sinewy bow
And shot a burning arrow at her,
Wherewith she struck, looked so sorrowfully,
As to make love sigh at his tyranny.
And as she cried, her tears turned to pearls,
And wound them on his arm, mourning for her.
Then toward the palace of fate,
Burdened with exhaustion and grief, he flew,
And humbly requested those stern nymphs
That they both might enjoy each other and be blessed.
But with a horrifying glare,
Threatening a thousand deaths with every glance,
They answered Love, nor would grant so much
As a single poor word, their hatred for him was such.
Listen for a moment, and I will tell you why.
Heaven’s winged messenger, Jupiter’s Mercury,
On the same day he had put to sleep
Enchanted Argus, spotted a country girl
Whose unkempt hair, instead of pearls to adorn it,
Sparkled with dew, as if she scorned it;
Her breath as fragrant as the morning rose,
Her mind pure, and her tongue untrained to flatter.
Yet she was proud (for proud behavior that resides
In lofty courts often lives in shepherds’ cells.)
And she knew too well the pretty red and
Silver sheen of her cheeks, which drew
The affection of every young man. On her this god
Became enchanted, and with his snaky staff
Charmed her nimble feet, holding her still,
While atop a mound he lay down
And sweetly began to play his pipe,
And used smooth talk to win her heart,
Till he locked her in his loving embrace
And wooed her with kisses; and at last,
Like shepherds do, he laid her on the ground
And, tumbling in the grass, he often strayed
Beyond the limits of shame, boldly
Looking at parts that no one should see.
And, like an arrogant commanding lover,
Boasting of his lineage, he insisted on showing
The way to a new paradise, but she,
Whose only fortune was her chastity,
Having struggled in vain was now about to cry
And seek help from nearby shepherds.
With this, he paused his fury and began
To allow her to rise. She ran away;
Mercury followed, who used such cunning
That she, to hear his tale, stopped running.
Girls are not won by brute force or strength,
But by speeches full of pleasure and delight.
And knowing Hermes courted her, she was glad
That she possessed such loveliness and beauty
As could provoke his affection, yet she remained silent
And neither denied nor accepted his advances.
He still declared his love. She, needing no excuse
To keep him waiting, as women often do,
Or yearning for immortality –
All women are naturally ambitious –
Imposed on her lover such a task
As he ought not perform nor she ask.
A drink of flowing nectar she requested,
With which the king of gods and men is pleased.
He, eager to fulfill her wish,
Stole some from Hebe (Hebe filled Jupiter’s cup)
And offered it to his simple rustic love.
Once this was discovered (as if anything can be hidden from Jove?),
He became furious, more incensed
Than when Prometheus stole fire,
And hurled him down from heaven. He, wandering here,
In sorrowful tones, with a heavy heart,
Complained to Cupid. Cupid, for his sake,
Vowed to take revenge on Jove.
And those upon whom heaven, earth, and hell depend,
I mean the unyielding Fates,
He wounded with love and forced them to
Equally dote on deceitful Mercury.
They offered him the deadly knife
That cuts the slender threads of human life.
At his fair feathered feet, they laid down
The devices which lifted the earth from the ugly depths of Chaos.
These he disregarded and instead pleaded
That Jove, usurper of his father’s throne,
Might be banished to hell,
And aged Saturn be restored to Olympus.
They granted his request, and once again
Saturn and Ops began their golden reign.
Murder, rape, war, lust, and treachery
Were confined with Jove in the Stygian realm.
But this blessed time did not last long.
As soon as he achieved his desired purpose,
He recklessly disregarded his promise
And the love of the eternal Fates.
Seeing this, both love and they detested him
And Jupiter was restored to his place.
And had it not been for Learning, despite Fate,
Which will rise up and enter heaven's gate
And advance to the very throne of Jove,
Hermes would have slept in hell with Ignorance.
Yet as a punishment they added this:
That he and Poverty should always stay close.
And to this day, every scholar is poor;
Greedy wealth rushes away from them to the lowly.
Likewise, the enraged Sisters, thus deceived,
To exact their revenge on Hermes, decided
That Midas’ offspring shall occupy honor’s chair,
To which the Muses’ sons are only heirs;
And fruitful minds, aspiring and on the rise,
Shall feel discontent and run far away;
And few great lords in virtuous deeds shall find joy
But be surprised by every flashy trinket,
And still enrich the arrogant, servile fool,
Who, with his deceptive tricks, keeps learning down.
Then don’t be surprised that Cupid’s suit went no better,
Considering that in their love, the Fates were wronged.

(The end of the First Sestiad)

By this, sad Hero, unfamiliar with love,
Looking at Leander’s face, collapsed and fainted.
He kissed her and brought life back to her lips,
But displeased, she quickly walked away.
Yet, as she went, she often looked back,
Finding many excuses to linger along the way, and once she paused,
Wanting to turn back, but was afraid,
Fearing that by engaging in conversation, she would be seen as loose.
So on she went, and in her carefree flight,
She let her decorative fan of curled feathers fall,
Thinking it would catch Leander’s attention.
He, being inexperienced, didn’t understand her meaning
But stayed and sent her a letter,
Which joyful Hero responded to gladly,
As if he hoped to conquer the beautiful stronghold
Where the generous Graces guarded their treasure,
So he secretly made his way to her tower.
The door was wide open, no need to climb,
And she had, before the appointed time,
Set the table and scattered roses in the room,
Looking out often, wondering why he hadn’t arrived.
At last he came. Oh, who can describe the greeting
These eager lovers had at their first meeting?
He asked, she gave, and nothing was denied.
They quickly became committed to each other.
Just as their hands were joined, so were their hearts united,
And whatever he did, she willingly returned.
(Sweet are the kisses, sweet are the embraces,
When desires and affections are in harmony,
For from the earth to heaven, Cupid is elevated,
Where imagination is perfectly balanced.)
Yet she suddenly regretted this impulsive act
And turned away, lamenting to herself,
As if her name and honor were tarnished
By being with the one she longed for.
Yes, she wished, though not truly from her heart,
That he would leave her tower and go away.
The joyful god of romantic pleasure smiled
To see how he tricked this captive nymph.
For until now, he had only fanned the flames,
Keeping them low so they could rise higher.
Now she grew jealous, fearing his love had faded,
Worried her own thoughts would make her hated.
So she hurried to him,
And, like swift Salmacis, threw her body
Against his chest, where with inviting eyes
She offered herself as a sacrifice
To appease his anger if he were displeased.
Oh, what god wouldn’t be satisfied with that?
Like Aesop’s rooster, he enjoyed this treasure
And playfully interacted with her like a sibling,
Thinking nothing else needed to be done,
Now that he had won her favor and goodwill.
But don’t you know that creatures lacking sense
Naturally have a mutual attraction,
And, lacking the ability to advance a step,
Are propelled by love’s force toward each other?
Much more so among beings with intellect
Some hidden influence creates a similar effect.
Although Leander was inexperienced in love,
After spending time with Hero, he saw nothing
That could please him more, yet he suspected
Some romantic gestures were being overlooked.
So he pressed his body against hers.
She, fearing she might fall onto the rushes,
Struggled with renewed strength; the more she struggled,
The more a gentle, pleasing heat arose,
Teaching him everything older lovers know.
And now that heat began to burn and glow
As he subtly asked for it.
Love always makes those who have it eloquent.
She, with a kind of reluctant consent, pushed him away
And whenever he thought he was close to it,
Like the tree of Tantalus, she escaped,
And, appearing generous, preserved her virginity.
Never did a king seek to keep his crown
More than Hero sought to protect this priceless gem.
Above our lives, we cherish a steadfast friend,
Yet when we send a token of great value,
We often kiss it, gaze upon it,
And delay the messenger who would leave.
No wonder then that Hero didn’t want to part
So quickly from that which she cherished dearly.
Jewels may be lost and later found, but this never;
It’s lost only once, and once lost, lost forever.

Now the morning had spotted her lover’s horses,
Which made her jump up, put on her purple dress,
And, red with anger that he took so long,
Hastily throws herself among the clouds.
And now Leander, worried about being missed,
Hugged her suddenly, said goodbye, and kissed.
He took a long time saying goodbye, reluctant to leave,
And kissed her again like lovers do.
Sad Hero held his hand and cried
Saying, “Keep your vows and promises.”
Then standing at the door, she turned around,
Not wanting to watch Leander walk away.
And now the sun peeking over the horizon,
As if pitying these lovers, slowly descended,
So that in the still of the cloudy night,
Though it was morning, he took his flight.
But what the trustworthy night kept secret
Soon revealed Leander’s romantic habit.
His cap was crowned with Cupid’s myrtle,
A purple ribbon wrapped around his arms
Where she had adorned her flowing hair.
He couldn’t help but wear
The sacred ring with which she was endowed
When she first vowed her religious chastity.
This made his love known from Sestos to Abydos
Before he could even sail; for the fame
That depends only on its name
Is swifter than the wind, whose slow feathers
Are heavy water and dull earthly fumes.
When he got home, he didn’t seem to be there,
But felt exiled, pushed from his sphere,
Set in a foreign place; and straight from there,
Like Hercules, with great force,
He wanted to drive away the rising sea
That unjustly held him from her.
Just as the sun in its diameter
Ignites and warms distant objects,
And radiates heat sweetly, shining from the side,
So beauty sweetly awakens when it’s near,
But when separated and removed,
It burns where it cherished, destroys where it loved.
Therefore, just as an index points to a book,
So was young Leander’s look to his mind.
Oh, only gods have the power to hide their love,
Affection is revealed by the face.
The light of hidden fire reveals itself,
And concealed love betrays poor lovers,
His secret flame was clearly seen.
Leander’s father knew where he had been
And mildly scolded his son for it,
Thinking to extinguish the sparks just ignited.
But love once ignited becomes passionate,
And nothing irritates lovers more than advice.
For just as a hot, proud horse refuses
To have his head restrained, breaking the reins,
Spitting out the bitted bridle, and with his hooves
Kicking the obedient ground; so he who loves,
The more he’s restrained, the worse he gets.
What is it now, but mad Leander dares?
“Oh Hero, Hero!” he cried often;
And then he climbed to a high rock,
Where, having spotted her tower, he stared at it,
And prayed the narrow, struggling Hellespont
To split in two, so he could come and go;
But the rising waves always answered, “No.”
With that, he stripped down to his bare skin
And, crying “Love, I’m coming,” leaped in.
At that, the sapphire-faced god grew proud,
And made his dancing Triton sound aloud,
Thinking that Ganymede, upset,
Had left the heavens; so he seized him.
Leander struggled; the waves wrapped around him,
And pulled him to the bottom, where the ground
Was covered with pearls, and in low coral groves
Sweet-singing mermaids frolicked with their loves
Among heaps of heavy gold, and enjoyed
Kicking around the shipwrecked treasure.
For here stood the grand azure palace
Where king Neptune and his entourage lived.
The lusty god embraced him, called him “Love,”
And swore he would never return to Jove.
But when he realized he was not Ganymede,
For underwater he was almost dead,
He pulled him up and, looking at his face,
Beat down the bold waves with his triple mace,
Which rose up, wanting to kiss him,
And fell in drops like tears because they missed him.
Leander, once above water, began to swim
And, looking back, saw Neptune following him,
Whereupon the poor soul began to cry
“Oh, let me see Hero before I die!”
The god put Helle’s bracelet on his arm,
And swore the sea would never harm him.
He pinched his cheeks, played with his hair
And, smiling playfully, revealed his love.
He watched his arms, and as they opened wide
With every stroke, he would slide between them
And steal a kiss, then dash out and dance,
And, as he turned, cast countless flirtatious glances,
And threw him colorful toys to please his eyes,
And dove into the water, spying
On his chest, his thighs, and every limb,
And surfaced again, swimming close beside him,
And talked of love. Leander replied,
“You’re mistaken; I’m no woman, I.”
At that, Neptune smiled, and then told a tale,
How a shepherd, sitting in a valley,
Played with a boy so beautiful and kind,
That for his love both earth and heaven ached;
He couldn’t dare drink from the cool river,
Fearing water nymphs would pull him from the brink.
And when he played in the fragrant meadows,
Goat-footed satyrs and staring fauns
Would steal him away. Before half the tale was done,
“Oh my,” Leander cried, “the enamored sun
That should now shine on Thetis’ glassy bower,
Descends upon my radiant Hero’s tower.
Oh, that these sluggish arms of mine were wings!”
And, as he spoke, he sprang onto the waves.
Neptune was angry that he paid no attention,
And in his heart felt vengeful malice.
He threw his mace at him, but as it flew,
He called it back, for love made him regret.
The mace returned and hit his own hand
As if meaning to take revenge for throwing it.
When Leander saw this fresh bleeding wound,
His color changed, as if he regretted
The pain that Neptune felt. In kind hearts,
Relenting thoughts, remorse, and pity dwell.
And who possesses hard hearts and stubborn minds,
But vicious, reckless, and ignorant fools?
The god, seeing Leander moved with pity,
Then concluded that he was in love.
(Love is too trusting, too gullible,
With folly and false hope deluding us.)
So, to surprise Leander’s fancy,
He flew to the rich Ocean for gifts.
It’s wise to give generously; a gift succeeds
When persuasive speeches fail.

By this time, Leander, being close to the shore,
Set down his tired feet and felt the sand.
Breathless though he was, he didn’t rest
Until he reached the lonely tower,
And knocked and called. At this heavenly sound,
Hero’s longing heart rejoiced even more
Than nymphs and shepherds when the tambourine rings,
Or creeping dolphins when sailors sing.
She didn’t wait for her clothes but quickly got up
And, filled with joy, went straight to the door,
Where seeing a naked man, she screamed in fear
(Such sights are rare for gentle maids)
And ran into the dark to hide herself.
(Precious jewels are often spotted in the dark).
He was led to her, or rather drawn
By those white limbs that sparkled through the fabric.
The closer he got, the more she ran away,
And seeking refuge, slipped into her bed.
Leander, sitting there, began to speak,
Through the numbing cold, all weak, faint, and pale.
“If not for love, then for pity's sake,
Take me into your bed and maiden heart.
At least grant these arms some small space,
Who, hoping to embrace you, swam cheerfully.
This head has been battered by many harsh waves,
So let it rest upon your pillow.”
Startled, Hero shrank away,
And in her warm spot, Leander lay,
Whose lively warmth, like fire from heaven,
Could invigorate heavy clay and lift
The drooping thoughts of weary souls
Higher than dreary Mars drinking from nectar bowls.
He cast his arms around her like a trap.
She, overwhelmed with shame and pale fear,
Like chaste Diana when Actaeon saw her,
Suddenly betrayed, dove down to hide.
And as her silver body went downward,
With both her hands, she made the bed like a tent,
Thinking herself safe in her own mind,
Cloaked in dim and dark cover.
And now she lets him whisper in her ear,
Flatter, beg, promise, protest, and swear;
Yet, every time he eagerly tried
To touch those treasures, she played the harpy,
And, like a brave soldier, every limb
Defended the fort, keeping the enemy out.
For though he climbed the rising ivory tower,
Which is surrounded by blue circling lines,
Much like a globe (which I can call this,
By which love sails to lands full of bliss)
Yet there, like Sisyphus, he struggled in vain,
Until gentle talk brought about a truce.
In which Leander on her trembling breast
Breathlessly said something and sighed out the rest;
Which worked so well that with little effort
He enclosed her in his arms and kissed her too.
Every kiss was like a charm to her,
And to Leander, a fresh alarm,
So that the truce was broken and she, alas,
(Poor naive maiden) was at his mercy.
Love isn’t full of pity (as people say)
But deaf and cruel when it’s got its prey.
Just like a bird that we squeeze in our hands,
It plunges forth and often flutters its wings,
She trembled and struggled. This battle of hers (like that
Which created the world) gave birth to another world
Of unknown joy. She thought of treason,
And cunningly sought to yield herself.
Seeming not conquered, yet she was at last.
In such wars, women use only half their strength.
Leander now, like Theban Hercules,
Entered the orchard of the Hesperides;
Whose fruit no one can properly describe but he
Who picks or shakes it from the golden tree.
And now she wished this night would never end,
And sighed to think about the coming sun;
For it saddened her that bright daylight
Should know the joy of this blessed night,
And them, like Mars and Erycine, displayed
Both in each other’s arms, chained as they lay.
Again, she didn’t know how to frame her look,
Or speak to him, who in a moment took
What she had kept so guarded for so long,
And she would have gladly crept away stealthily,
To some corner to hide, leaving Leander alone in bed.
But as her bare feet were sneaking out,
He suddenly grabbed her so tightly,
That, like a mermaid, she slid to the floor.
One half showed, the other half was hidden.
Thus near the bed, she stood blushing upright,
And from her face, you could see
A kind of twilight break, which through her hair,
Like light from an eastern cloud, glimpsed here and there,
And around the room, this false dawn
Brought forth the day before the day was born.
So Hero’s rosy cheek revealed her,
And left her all naked before his sight,
From which his admiring eyes took more pleasure
Than Dis, who fixes his gaze on heaps of gold.
At this moment, Apollo’s golden harp began
To play music to the ocean,
Which watchful Hesperus heard immediately
And prepared to drive the bright day-bearing car
And ran ahead, as the herald of light,
Mocking the ugly night with his bright beams,
Until she, overcome with sadness, shame, and rage,
Drove down to hell her loathsome carriage.

(The end of the Second Sestiad)