ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. I AM dying, Egypt, dying, Ebbs the crimson life-tide fast, Thou, and thou alone, must hear. Though my scarr'd and veteran legions I must perish like a Roman, Let not Cæsar's servile minions 'Twas no foeman's arm that fell'd him. His who, pillow'd on thy bosom, Should the base Plebeian rabbie Dare assail my name at Rome, Where my noble spouse, Octavia, Seek her; say the gods bear witness— Altars, augurs, circling wings That her blood, with mine commingled, As for thee, star-eyed Egyptian, I am dying, Egypt, dying; Hark! the insulting foeman's cry. Shall my heart exulting swell; WILLIAM HAINES LYTle. CLEOPATRA. HERE, Charmian, take my bracelets, My arms; turn over my pillows They are hot where I have lain : Open the lattice wider. A gauze on my bosom throw, And let me inhale the odors That over the garden blow. I dreamed I was with my Antony, Ah, me! the vision has vanished The music has died away. The flame and the perfume have perished- That wound the blue smoke of its odor Scatter upon me rose-leaves, To rhyme with the dream that has vanished, There, drowsing in golden sunlight, The wary crocodile. The lotus lolls on the water, And opens its heart of gold, And over its broad leaf-pavement Never a ripple is rolled. The twilight breeze is too lazy Those feathery palms to wave, And yon little cloud is as motionless Ah, me! this lifeless nature Take rather his buckler and sword, Hark! to my Indian beauty- That flashes across the light. Oh, cockatoo, shriek for Antony! There-leave me, and take from my chamber That stupid little gazelle, With its bright black eyes so meaningless, And its silly tinkling bell! Take him,-my nerves he vexes, The thing without blood or brain,— |