I have waited on the piers, So I never quite despair, Nor let hope or courage fail; That is lost, that is lost. Once when I was pure and young, Ere a cloud was o'er me flung, Or a wrinkle creased my brow, There was one whose heart was mine; But she's something now divine, And though come my ships from sea, They can bring no heart to me Evermore, evermore. Antony and Cleopatra I am dying, Egypt, dying! Let thine arm, O Queen, enfold me, Thou, and thou alone, must hear. Though my scarred and veteran legions I must perish like a Roman, Die the great Triumvir still. Let not Cæsar's servile minions 'T was no foeman's arm that felled him, 'T was 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 the world away. Should the base plebeian rabble 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- 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 theeCleopatra-Rome-farewell! All Quiet Along the Potomac "All quiet along the Potomac," they say, "T is nothing-a private or two now and then All quiet along the Potomac to-night, Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming; Their tents in the rays of the clear autumn moon, Or the light of the watch-fire, are gleaming. A tremulous sigh of the gentle night-wind Through the forest leaves softly is creeping; There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread, His musket falls slack; his face, dark and grim, As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep, The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then, Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes, He passes the fountain, the blasted pine-tree, Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light, Hark! was it the night-wind that rustled the leaves? Was it moonlight so wondrously flashing? It looked like a rifle. . . . "Ha! Mary, good-bye!" The red life-blood is ebbing and plashing. All quiet along the Potomac to-night; No sound save the rush of the river; While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead- |