Not mine alone this melting tone
The soul of it comes from thee
For thou in thy bosom art singing of love,
And the music flows over to me.
So sweet, so low, the harmonies flow;
They rise and they fall, they come and they go;
Wonderful, beautiful, soft, and slow.
Is it true, then, my girl? did you mean it —
The word spoken yesterday night?
Does that hour seem so sweet now between it
And this has come day's sober light?
Have you woke from a moment of rapture
To remember, regret, and repent,
And to hate, perchance, him who has trapped your
Unthinking consent?
Who was he, last evening-this fellow
Whose audacity lent him a charm?
Have you promised to wed Punchinello?
For life taken Figaro's arm?
Will you have the Court fool of the papers,
The clown in the journalist's ring,
Who earns his scant bread by his capers,
To be your heart's king?
A Modoc - a Malay-a Kaffir
("Bohemian " puts it too mild);
By profession a poor paragrapher,
Light Laughter's unrecognized child;
At the best but a Brummagem poet,
Inspired of tobacco and beer,
Altogether off color I know it;
I'm all that, my dear.
When we met quite by chance at the theatre,
And I saw you home under the moon,
I'd no thought, love, that mischief would be at her Tricks with my tongue quite so soon;
That I should forget fate and fortune,
Make a difference 'twixt Sêvres and delf;
That I'd have the calm nerve to importune
You, sweet, for yourself.
It's appalling, by Jove, the audacious
Effrontery of that request!
you grew suddenly gracious,
And hid your sweet face on my breast.
Why you did it I cannot conjecture;
I surprised you, poor child, I dare say,
Or perhaps does the moonlight affect your
Head often that way?
It was glorious for me, but what pleasure
Could you find in such wooing as this?
Were my arms not too ursine in pressure,
Was no flavor of clove in my kiss?
Ah, your lips I profaned when I made with
Their dainty divinity free,
Twin loves never meant to be played with
By fellows like me.
You're released! With some wooer replace me
More worthy to be your life's light;
From the tablet of memory efface me,
If you don't mean your "yes" of last night.
But unless you are anxious to see me a
Wreck of the pipe and the cup
In my birthplace and graveyard, Bohemia
Love, don't give me up.
"Is it true?"- that's the doubtful suggestion
I've made to myself ever since;
Did I misinterpret your question?
Is joy, then, so hard to convince ?
"Is it true?" For my part, yes, completely,
And, if I may answer for you,
I'll add it is wondrously, sweetly,
Entrancingly true.
Oh, dear, if I make a confession,
You'll admit you have tempted it forth;
If I own you have long had possession,
You'll not deem the prize of less worth?
If I say that a lifetime of pleasure
Last evening was brimmed in my cup,
And that you poured the liberal measure,
You won't give me up?
Ere ever I saw you I knew you,
I watched for your song and your jest,
And fancy in bright colors drew you
My hero, my Bayard, my best.
Nor was it mere fancy anointed
Yourself as my bosom's high priest;
When we met I was not disappointed -
No, love, not the least.
Last night! - and I'm owning already
The secrets of nearly a year.
They tell me you 're fast, scarcely steady,
In short, a Bohemian, dear.
Well, those are not faults that need hurt you;
They'll do to pair off with my own -
You have all a Bohemian's virtue,
how was I ever worthy
Of winning so precious a prize?
My thoughts, dear, are of the earth, earthy,
While yours soar away to the skies.
If all that you hint at were real,
The jest, the despite, and the fleer,
The world could not dim my ideal,
Nor make you less dear.
So, darling, though you are above me
In intellect, knowledge, and worth,
Sufficient for me that you love me,
I'll follow you over the earth.
Sufficient for me that you deem me a
Soul not unworthy to sup
The joys of your wondrous Bohemia
I can't give you up.
Written for the San Francisco Bohemian Club, as a reply to Bunner's "Yes?"
I AM dying, Egypt, dying!
Ebbs the crimson life-tide fast,
And the dark Plutonian shadows
Gather on the evening blast.
Let thine arm, O Queen, support me;
Hush thy sobs and bow thine ear!
Hearken to the great heart secrets
Thou, and thou alone, must hear.
Though my scarred and veteran legions
Rear 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 foeman's arm that felled him;
'Twas his own that dealt 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 fame in Rome,
Where my 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, star-eyed Egyptian!
Glorious sorceress of the Nile!
Light the path to Stygian horrors
With the splendors of thy smile.
Give to 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.
Ah! no more amid the battle
Shall my heart exulting swell;
Isis and Osiris guard thee-
Cleopatra - Rome-farewell.
GEN. WILLIAM H. LYTLE.
SPREAD a feast with choicest viands -
Friends, 't will be my very last;
Bring the rarest flowers to grace it
Haste, my sands of life flow fast;
Place an asp beneath the lotus
That shall light me to the grave
With its starry petals' splendor;
Weep not, let your hearts be brave.
Speed, Octavia, with thy minions -
Fire thy heart with deadly hate!
Thou wilt miss the royal victim
Cleopatra rules her fate!
She defies Rome's conquering legions!
Let them triumph in her fall!
What is earthly pomp or greatness?
Love, thy love outweighs it all!
Thrones and sceptres are but trifles
To my spirit's yearning pain;
What were fortune's gifts without thee
I would lose the world to gain?
Let no base heart tell our story;
Ages, speak, when time unurns
These dull ashes, say to Ages,
Soul to soul their love still burns.
Fatal asp, thy sleep's not endless, That the morrow's dawn will prove ; I shall reign in lands elysian,
Antony's proud Queen of Love! Isis and Osiris, hear me !
Hear me, gods of boundless power!
Ye have tasted deathless passion!
Ye will guide me to his bower!
Pardon, mighty ones, the error
If Octavia I have wronged,
Judged by higher laws supernal;
Ah! how earthly passions thronged.
Overpowering heart and reason,
Nature, answering Nature's call,
Rushed as cloud responsive rushes
On to cloud, to meet and fall.
Antony, my love, I'm dying!
Curdles fast life's crimson tide,
But no dark Plutonian shadows
Fall between us to divide.
Hark! the Stygian waters swelling,
Call me, love, with thee to rest,
Death I fear not since thou braved it,
Pillowed on my aching breast.
Strange emotions fill my bosom
As I near the vast unknown;
Yet my heart still throbs in dying,
Antony, for thee alone.
Oh! "I feel immortal longings,”.
I can brave stern Pluto's frown, Robe me in my regal garments,
Deck with jewels, sceptre, crown.
Antony! I'm coming! coming!
Open, open wide thine arms!
Ah! the blissful hope of union
Robs the grave of its alarms.
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