gestures. How his single eye glows. See the color on his cheek. See the strained and still attention of the little group around him. Hear him!
I am dying, Egypt, dying—
Ebbs the crimson life-tide fast,
And the dark Plutonian shadows
Gather on the evening blast.
Let thine arms, Oh! Queen, support me,
Hush thy sobs and bow thine ear;
Listen to the great heart secrets—
Thou, and thou alone, must hear.
Though my proud and veteran legions
Bear their Eagles high no more,
And my wrecked and shattered galleys
Strew dark Actium'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 Cæsar's servile minions
Mock the lion thus laid low;
'Twas no foeman's hand that slew him,
'Twas his own that struck the blow.
Here, then, pillow on thy bosom
Ere his star fade quite away,
Him, who drunk with thy caresses,
Madly flung a world away.
Should the base plebeian rabble
Dare assail my fame at Rome,
Where the noble spouse Octavia
Weeps within her widowed home—
Seek her! say the Gods have told me,
Altars, Augurs—circling wings,
That her blood, with mine commingled,
Yet shall mount the throne of kings.
As for thee, dark-eyed Egyptian,
Glorious Sorceress of the Nile,
Light the path to Stygian horrors
With the glories of thy smiles.
Give to Caesar Crowns and Arches,
Let his brow the Laurel twine—
I could scorn the Senate's triumph,
Triumphing in love like thine.
