ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA..

Though my scarred and veteran legions
Bear their eagles high no more,
And my wrecked and scattered 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 focman's arm that felled him--
'Twas his own that struck the blow-

His, who, pillowed on thy bosom,
Turned 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 widowed 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.

And for thee, star-eyed Egyptian !
Glorious sorceress of the Nile,
Light the path to Stygian horrors

With the splendors of thy smile.
Give the Cæsar 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.

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202

IS IT COME?

Ah! no more amid the battle

Shall my heart exulting swell-
Isis and Osiris guard thee!

Cleopatra, Rome, farewell!

IS IT COME?-FRANCES BROWN.

S it come? they said, on the banks of the Nile,
Who looked for the world's long-promised day,
And saw but the strife of Egypt's toil,

With the desert sands and the granite gray.
From the pyramid, temple, and treasured dead
We vainly ask for wisdom's plan;

They tell of the slave and tyrant's dread—
Yet there was hope when that day began.

The Chaldee came with his starry lore,

That built up Babylon's crown and creed;
And bricks were stamped on the Tigris shore
With signs that our sages scarce can read.
From Ninus's temple and Nimrod's tower
The rule of the old East's empire spread,
Unreasoning faith and unquestioned power-
But still, Is it come? the watcher said.

The light of the Persian's worshipped flame
O'er ancient bondage its splendor threw ;
And once on the West a sunrise came,

When Greece to her freedom's trust was true.
With dreams to the utmost ages dear,

With human Gods and with God-like men,

No marvel the far-off day seemed near,

To eyes that looked through her laurels then.

The Romans conquered and revelled, too,
Till honor, and faith, and power were gone,
And deeper old Europe's darkness grew
As wave after wave the Goth came on.

SURF

The gown was learning, the sword was law,
The people served in the oxen's stead,
But ever some gleam the watcher saw,
And evermore, Is it come? they said.

Poet and seer that question caught,

Above the din of life's fears and frets;
It marched with letters-it toiled with thought--
Through schools and creeds that the earth forgets.
And statesmen trifle and priests deceive

And traders barter our world away;

Yet hearts to that golden promise cleave,
And still, at times, Is it come? they say.

The days of the nation bear no trace

Of all the sunshine so far foretold!
The cannon speaks in the teacher's place-
The age is weary with work and gold;
And high hopes wither, and memories wane-
On hearths and altars the fires are dead;
But that brave faith hath not lived in vain,
And that is all that our watcher said.

SURF.-E. C. STEDMAN.

PLENDORS of morning the billow-crests brighten,

SPL

Lighting and luring them on to the land,—

Far away waves where the wan vessels whiten,
Blue rollers breaking in surf where we stand.
Curved like the necks of a legion of horses,
Each with his froth-gilded mane flowing free,
Hither they speed in perpetual courses,

Bearing thy riches, O beautiful sea!

Strong with the striving of yesterday's surges,

Lashed by the wanton winds leagues from the shore,

Each driven fast by its followers, urges

Fearlessly those that are fleeting before;

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204

TOM FRAY'S SOLILOQUY.

How they leap over the ridges we walk on,
Flinging us gifts from the depths of the sea-
Silvery fish for the foam-haunting falcon,

Palm-weed and pearls for my darling and me!

Light falls her foot where the rift follows after,
Finer her hair than your feathery spray,
Sweeter her voice than your infinite laughter-
Hist! ye wild couriers, list to my lay!
Deep in the chambers of grottoes auroral,

Morn laves her jewels and bends her red knee;
Thence to my dear one your amber and coral,
Bring for her dowry, O beautiful sea!

DON'T

TOM FRAY'S SOLILOQUY.-FANNY FERN.

"Most any female lodger up stairs

Occasions thought in him who lodges under."

ON'T they, tho'? Not a deuced thing have I been able to do since that little gipsy took the room overhead, about a week! Pat-pat-go those little feet over the floor till I am as nervous as a cat in a china-closet; and confounded pretty feet they are, too, for I caught sight of 'em going up stairs. Then I can hear her little rocking-chair creak, as she sits there sewing, and keeps singing, "Love not-love not," (just as if a fellow could help it). Wish she wasn't quite so pretty; it makes me feel decidedly uncomfortable. Wonder if she hasn't any great six-footer of a brother or a cousin, with a sledge-hammer fist? Wish I was her washerwoman, or the little nigger who brings her breakfast; wish she'd faint away on the stairs; wish the house would ketch fire to-night; here I am in this great barn of a room (all alone), chair and things set up square against the wall; no little fixin round. I shall have to buy a second-hand bonnet, or a little pair of gaiter boots, to cheat myself into the delusion that "there's two of us." Wish that little gipsy wan't shy as a rabbit; I can't meet her on the stairs if I die for it; I've upset my inkstand a dozen times, hopping up when I thought her coming. Wonder if she knows when she sits vegetating there that Shakespeare or somebody says that "happiness is born a twin?" 'cause if she don't-I'm the

TOM FRAY'S SOLILOQUY.

205

missionary that will enlighten her! Wonder if she earns her living! (poor little soul!) It's time I had a wife, by Christopher! Sitting there pricking her fingers with that murderous needle! If she was sewing on my dickeys it would be worth while now. That's it, by Jove! I'll get her to make some dickeys; don't want 'em any more than Satan wants holy-water, but that's neither here nor there; I shall insist upon her taking the measure of my throat!-bachelors have to be right fussy. There's a pretty kettle of fish now! either she will have to stand on a cricket, or I shall have to get on my knees to her. Solomon couldn't fix anything better; deuce take me if I couldn't say the right thing then. This fitting dickeys is a work of time too. Dickeys a'nt to be got up in a hurry.

Hallo! there's the door-bell! there's a big trunk thumped down in the entry! Is Mrs. Legare at home? Mrs. Legare! I like that now! Have I been in love a whole week with Mrs. Legare? Never mind, maybe she's a widow. Tramp, tramp come those masculine feet up stairs-handsome fellow too!!NEBUCHADNEZZAR!

If ever I heard a kiss in my life I heard one then! I won't stand it! it's an invasion on my rights; I'll listen at the door as I'm a sinner! What right have sea-captains on shore, I'd like to know? Confound it all! Well, I always knew women wer'nt worth thinking of; a set of deceitful little monkeys: changeable as a rainbow, superficial as parrots, as full of tricks as a conjurer, stubborn as mules, vain as peacocks, noisy as magpies, and full of the "Old Harry" all the time! There's "Delilah" now; didn't she take the strength out of Samson? and wer'nt "Sisera" and "Judith " born fiends, and didn't the little minx "Herodias" dance John Baptist's head off? Didn't "Sarah" raise Cain with Abraham, till he packed Hagar off? Then there was-well, the less said of HER the better! But didn't Eve, the foremother of the whole concern, have one talk too many with the "old serpent?" Of course she didn't do nothing else! Glad I never set my young affections on any of 'em! Where's my cigar-case? How tormented hot this room is!