Glad if you came but to chide me, or should curse me in your mood,
For only love or jealousy would fan a flame in your blood.
What an empty life is this one that I'm living out alone!
From a whole world full of sultors, not one I'd call my own;

For my grim and grizzled hero, with his crisp and curling hair,
Widowed forever leaves me, if he forgets me there.

Bring me a tiger-lily, Iris, I will have my fortune told,

I will have a lover for every black spot on its petals of gold;

Each leaf shall be a sabre to hew all traitors down,

And then I will call my soldier, and I'll give him Egypt's crown.
Lily, what is my fortune? Will my Antony come home

To his burning sands of Egypt, or tarry there in Rome?

See! The spotted lily quivers; look! The heavy palm-tree waves, And the lions now lie crouching that once were roaming brave; And the listless, lagging river is hot now, and it burns

And all Egypt seems as waiting till Antony's return.

What! Here is a Roman soldier - good news bring you from Rome?
Quick! Tell me of my Antony, and say he's coming home-
Home to his queen who loves him; home to his longing mate,
Who long ere this has wearied of watching; but she waits-

Your news, grim Roman soldier? My Antony, will he come?
And was he friends with Cæsar when you left him at Rome?

*

*

Charmian, think you I'm dreaming? Was a soldier here from Rome? Did he tell me of Antony, and say he was coming home?

Here, let me whisper softly, lest you shall think I rave,
Did he tell me my Antony had wedded the pale Octave ?

What shall I do, oh, Charmian? Where hide my shame and grief?
Give me to drink mandragora; will oblivion give relief?

O Iris! The glory of Egypt to the earth is trolled and torn,
No more the head of kingdoms, her queen is held for scorn.
Charmian, robe me in sable, and drape the palace in gloom;
I care not now for its splendor; a palace may be a tomb.

When I think of the deep devotion I laid at his slightest breath,
My heart beats faint and heavy, and I wish it might mean death.
Think you, Iris, he is happy with his pale and bloodless Octave,
And forgets there is an Egypt? Gods! Let me reach this slave,

The black night-bird of Erebus, that brought the evil tile,
I'll scourge and lash and rack him till his evil heart shall quail.
'Tis another name for traitor - a Roman soldier? Shame!
Aye, shame it s, for Antony bear's a Roman soldier's name!

List, Charmian! Hear ye music! Methinks I hear the sound
Of war-like tramp, and the footstep of my Antony on the ground.

It is my soldier's footstep- now the gods be praised! He's come-
My love has proved a magnet to draw him away from Rome.
Aye, now I'll sound a pæan that shall echo far and near,
And the envious gods shall listen as it rings out sad and clear!

He loves me, Antony loves me; tear your tawny hair, Octave!
He left you for me and Egypt; wring your slighted hands and rave.
Let Cæsar behold your sorrow, and bewail your vaunted charms;
Tell him Antony's in Egypt, and asleep in Egypt's arms.

Death of Cleopatra.

BY JULIA CLINTON JONES.

Why tarries thus my Tribune? The weighed hours drag on. "Tis æons, slave! I tell you, since Antony is gone.

Now, by the hide of Apis! by Isis' sacred veil!

The walls of Rome shall totter before the Tribune fail!

I fear not haughty Cæsar, my heart his power distains;
The pale blood of Octavia creeps in her brother's veins,
While he who once was Egypt has piled Love's altar high,
Remembering her caresses, may Egypt's foes defy.

Fling wide the casement, Iris! and, Charmian, bring the steel
That once my Roman yielded; I would its sharpness feel.

Ye Gods! that Pharaoh's daughter in place of sun should stand,
To fight like fettered tigress, while others draw the brand!

With lips, twin flames of passion, with eyes that shame the stars,
With form of Grecian Helen, yet bear I heart of Mars!

I'd fling my crown to Nilus, and kneel to sacred night,

To know that haughty Cæsar acknowledged Egypt's might.

Hark to the crash of metal-the bray of trumpet loud

How dare the fools this tumult? What means this surging crowd? Why droops Rome's stately standard staffless, and stained, and tore? Why lags the slave that bears it? Not thus should it be borne,

But in the teeth of triumph, and floating on the wind,
With victory around it, and conquered field behind.
Off with the slave to torture, while ye who cower nigh

Hist, hist! 'tis "Actium!" "Actium;" 'tis "Antony !" they cry.

'Tis news of triumph, surely! none other dare he send-
That banner was the Cæsar's, or Lepidus', his friend.
Perhaps e'en now the Tribune hastes hither to my feet;
Bind up my tresses, Nea, ere Antony I meet.

How stirs the blood within me, when they but call his name!
At thought of his embraces my pulses leap in flame!

I live but half my being until again I taste

The rapture of thy kisses haste, Antony! oh, haste!

Bring out the regal purple- bring out my diadem!
I'll 'tire me for the victor with every flaming gem.
Though fair as Aphrodite at Tarsus, when we meet
In city of Serapis, my charms are potent yet.

When, flushed with pride of conquest, the consul summons sent
That Egypt should attend him, in conscious power I went.
Each went to slay the other, and each became the slain.
But, by the great Osiris! I'd die that death again!

Oh, that wild night on Cydmus, when Sirius shone above,
We poured our full libatinos, and owned no god but Love!
Then maddened by the rapture of passion's frenzied glow,
We burned with fiercer fires than Isis' altars know.

Scorning all other triumphs, he reveled in my charms,
While all the world I cared for I held within my arms.
That night e'er gods might envy! Come, Antony, once more,
I'll rouse my throbbing pulses, like wine my kisses pour!

Now, by the throne of Pharaoh, let fame, ambition slip!
For Egypt longs to clasp you, an empire, on her lip.
The lotus perfumed breezes blow soft o'er reedy Nile;
Our Alexandrian revels and Cleopatra's smile

Await to greet the victor Hark, hark! that odious shout!
It has a sound like “ruin!" There, Charmian, list without.
Who dares to couple ruin with the Triumvir's name?

Or who dares cry "Disaster!" and blare forth Egypt's shame?

Ah! by our sire, Sesostris! by every Ptolemy!

I'll teach the slave a lesson when comes Marc Antony.
Perchance that cold Octavia hath chilled with cold embrace
The martial blood within him. Her frozen, marble face

Hath turned to ice his fires; thus some mischance hath come.
Then needed he his Egypt, to thraw that frost of Rome.
But he, the great Triumvia, and Cleopatha's lord,
Has won too many triumphs to fall 'neath Cæsar's sword.

Ho, guards! enforce a silence! When next the rabble cry
They'll cheer the mighty Tribune, and hail his victory.
Ha, Charmian, some word passed thee, and smote upon mine ear;
Speak out! Why dost thou falter? Shall I, an empress, fear.

The Circe of old Egypt, the Serpent of the Nile,

Though every god deset her, can Death himself beguile.

Speak quick! again

Thou liest! What, dead! - the Tribune dead! Forsaking Cleopatra - is that what thou hast said?

Out, out? thou brazen liar! Serapis' self might shink
To tear my lover from me. I'd snatch him from the brink
Of that dark, awful region. I hear! 'tis true-
"Fallen the great Triumvir, on his own weapon slain!"
again!

I knew no paltry Cæsar could lower this Roman's crest;
His own steel drew the torrent-none other pierced his breast.
He, o'er himself sole victor, hath gone with daunted tread,
For us a colder Cydmus in Stygian shades to spread.

What could the gods grant better, O Antony, than this-
To live in arms of Egypt, and die for Egypt's kiss?
Shall I survive my kingdom- a queen undone, discrowned?
Shall minion of an upstart, a Ptolemy be found?

What though Octavia seek me, it were in truth disgrace
Should puppet of an empire usurp the sovereign's place.
Old Egypt's proud Astarte hath held too high a sway-
For whom one conqueror lanquished, one held a world at bay.

Come hither, Charmian! Nea! Prepare my regal state;
I go to wake Serapis, and banquet with my mate.
Kare once again my bosom; these smooth, warm limbs unvail;
Perfume my dusky tresses; tinge, where the rich hues pale;

For even now Serapis his shadow o'er me flings;
I'd go as fits the daughter of Egypt's mighty kings.
There, throw the gauze about me. Look Iris, that I be
Fair as myself at Tarsus, to meet Marc Antony.

Now for the last caresses! Ah, gods! with closer clasp,
And sweeter lip than lover's, clings to my breast the asp.
The lotus scents oppress me I see Canopus shine!
So! Death alone is royal, and only Love divine!

Egypt's Dying Queen.

Antony! my love and lover, conquered by my wondrous spell,
Glorious victim of my magic, have 1 dragged thee down to hell?
Fallen chieftain! Unthroned monarch! Lost through blindest love of me,
Fast, on shades of night eternal, wings my soul its flight to thee!

Cæsar shall not grace his triumph with proud Egypt's captive queen;
Soothed to sleep by aspic kisses, soon my breast on thine shall lean;
Soon my life, like lotus blossoms, swift shall glide on Charon's stream;
Clasped once more in thine embraces love shall prove an endless dream.

Iris Charmian! Bind my tresses-place the crown above my brow;
Touch these hands, and take these kisses-Antony reprove not now.
Gods! My lips breathe poisoned vapors; they have struck my Charmian dead!
Foolish minion! Durst precede me where my spirit's lord has fled?

None shall meet his smile before me, none within his arms repose;
Be his heart's impassioned fires quenched upon my bosom's snows.
None shall share his burning kisses, ere I hasten to his side;
Octavia's tears may prove her widowed - Cleopatra's still his bride.

See! my courage claims the title; closer press the aspic fangs;
Memories of his quickening touches sweeten now these deadly pangs.
Honor, manhood, glory's teachings, all he bartered for my smile;
Twined his heart-strings round his fingers, vibrant to the touch the while.

Follow fast my silver rudder; fled from Cæsar scornful eye;
Heeded not his bleeding honor, glad upon my breast to lie.
Then I snared him in my meshes, bound him with my wily art,

From the hand of conqueriug legions snatched him captive to my heart.

Wild his soul at my caresses: weak his sword at my command;
Rome, with fury, saw her mightest bowed beneath a woman's hand.
Noblest of the noble Romans! Greatest of the emperors - thee!
Thou didst fling away a kingdom - Egypt gives herself to thee!

--

Sweet as balm, most soft and gentle, drains the asp my fainting breath;
Antony, my lord, my lover! stretch thine arms to me in death.

Guide me through the deepening shadows - faint my heart and weak my knee;
Glorious victim! Ruined hero! Cleopatha dies for thee!

Cleopatra.

Beneath a glorious light, that fondly lles

On ruined temples and wide-spreading sand,
The Nile, gold-fretted, lingers through the land.

Once, long ago, your eager, hundry eyes,
With youth's glad wonder sought the purple skies
Across the fields where graceful palm-trees stand,
And saw the pyramids, superbly grand,

Silent and massive, from the desert rise.
Then mighty fleets, alight with gleaming steel,
And veteran legions, rich in wealth of scars,
Were freely offered for your rapturous kiss.
Your luring smiles made earth's vast empires reel,
And when your eyes shown out like cloud-set stars,
Heaven had no light could make men turn from this.

Cleopatra.

BY RAMSEY MORRIS.

Today you see me here in stone, a pulseless queen,
A sculptor's vain imagining of what I've been.
He gave to me a form of grace, a regal air,
He fashioned me with artist's skill beyond compare.

Yet hath he missed me for all that, his art is cold;
His chiseled likeness halts at life, does not unfold.
I dream in this one attitude through all my days,
While countless eyes pause, where I rest, with lingering gaze.

Could they but see me as I was in Egyyt's land,

My queenly state, my ebon guards, my legions grand,

The robes which drapped my perfect form with matchless grace,
The gems which flashed on all my limbs, and, ah, my face,

That face which conquered Antony with potent wile.
Which made me famed from end to end the golden Nile.
The eyes which poets sung were stars of glorious light,
Which wielded power greater far that warriors' might,

Oh, Sculptor, give me back my life, to reign once more,
To lead my retinue along Nile's tawny shore,
To find again my Antony. To feel his arms,
To rest secnre within their fold from earth's alarms.

Oh, change me from this icy thing to living queen,
I want to show to all the world what I have been.
Breathe soul into this shapely form, return my voice,
The multitude will praise your skill, and loud rejoice.

Is it not sad that I who ruled by beauty's right,

Should vanquished be by death, and roam through Stygian night? I wander desolate and lone, through midnight lands,

Oh, give me life, and Antony, and Egypt's sands!

Scenting the desert, lashes madly out,

And strains, and storms, and struggles to be freed,
Shaking his rattling harness áll about-

So, fiercer for restraint, here in my breast,

Hot passion rages, firing every thought;

For what is honor, prudence, interest

To the wild strength of love? Oh, best of life,

My joy, hope, triumph, glory, my soul's wife,

My Cleopatra! I desire thee so

That all restraint to the wild winds I throw.

Let come what will, come life, come death, to me

"Tis equal, if again I look on thee.

Away, Fonteus! tell her that I rage

With madness for her. Nothing can assuage