ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA by William Haines Lytle (1826-1863)

I am Dying, Egypt, dying, Ebbs the crimson life-tide fast, And the dark Plutonian shadows Gather on the evening blast; Let thine arms, O Queen, enfold me, Hush thy sobs and bow thine ear; Listen to the great heart-secrets, Thou, and thou alone, must hear. Though my scarr'd and veteran legions Bear their eagles high no more, And my wreck'd and scatter'd galleys Strew dark Actuim's fatal shore, Though no glittering guards surround me, Prompt to do their master's will, I must perish like a Roman, Die the great Triumvir still. Let not Caesar's servile minions Mock the lion thus laid low; 'Twas no foeman's arm that fell'd him, 'Twas his own that struck the blow; His who, pillow'd on thy bosom, Turn'd aside from glory's ray, His who, drunk with thy caresses, Madly threw a world away. Should the base plebeian rabble Dare assail my name at Rome, Where my noble spouse, Octavia, Weeps within her widow'd home, Seek her; say the gods bear witness - Altars, augurs, circling wings - That her blood, with mine commingled, Yet shall mount the throne of kings. As for thee, star-eyed Egyptian, Glorious sorceress of the Nile, Light the path to Stygian horrors With the splendors of thy smile. Give the Caesar crowns and arches, Let his brow the laurel twine; I can scorn the Senate's triumphs, Triumphing in love like thine. I am dying, Egypt, dying; Hark! the insulting foeman's cry. They are coming! quick, my falchion, Let me front them ere I die. Ah! no more amid the battle Shall my heart exulting swell; Isis and Osiris guard thee! Cleopatra, Rome, farewell!