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ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
An Anecdote from Plutarch.
Glorious was the marble hall
With the sight and sound of festival,
For autumn had sent its golden hoard,
And summer its flowers, to grace the board.
Inside and out the goblets shine,
Outside with gems, inside with wine;
And silver lamps shed round their light
Like the moonrise on an eastern night.
Gay laughs were heard; when these were mute
Came a voluptuous song and lute;
And fair nymphs floated round, whose feet
Were light as the air on which they beat;
Their steps had no sound, they moved along
Like spirits that lived in the breath of song.
Beneath the canopy's purple sweep,
Like a sunset cloud on the twilight deep,
Sate the king of the feast, stately and tall,
Who look'd what he was, the lord of all.
A glorious scar was upon his brow,
And furrows that time and care will plough.
His battle-suns had left their soil,
And traces of tempest and traces of toil;
Yet was he one for whom woman's sigh
Breathes its deepest idolatry.
His that soft and worshipping air
She loves so well her lover should wear;
His that low and pleading tone
That makes the yielding heart its own;
And, more than all, his was the fame
That victory flings on the soldier's name.
Yet those meanings high that speak,
Scorn on the lip, fire on the cheek,
Tell of somewhat above such scenes as these,
With their wasting and midnight revelries.
Albeit he drain'd the purple bowl,
And heard the song till they madden'd his soul;
Yet his forehead grew pale, and then it burn'd,
As if in disdain from the feast he turn'd;
And his inward thoughts sought out a home
And dwelt on thy stately memory, Rome.
But his glance met hers beside, and again
His spirit clung to its precious chain.
With haughty brow, and regal hand,
As born but for worship and command,
Yet with smiles that told she knew full well
The power of woman's softest spell,
Leant that Egyptian queen: a braid
Of jewels shone 'mid her dark hair's shade;
One pearl on her forehead hung, whose gem
Was worth a monarch's diadem,
And an emerald cestus bound the fold
Of her robe that shone with purple and gold.
All spoke of pomp, all spoke of pride,
And yet they were as nothing beside
Her radiant cheek, her flashing eye,
For their's was beauty's regality.
