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 OF THE 
 U N I VLR.S ITY 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 8ZI 
 MI99d 
 
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 Digitized by 
 
 the Internet Archive 
 
 
 
 in 2015 
 
 
 
 https://archive.org/details/deathofcleopatraOOmack 
 
THE DEATH OF CLEOPATRA 
 
By the same Author 
 A SON OF CAIN 
 
 IN THE WAKE OF THE PHCENIX 
 lOLAUS 
 
 ON THE FACE OF A STAR 
 THE RED, RED DAWN 
 
THE DEATH OF 
 CLEOPATRA 
 
 A DRAMATIC POEM 
 AND 
 
 OTHER VERSES 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES A. MACKERETH 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 
 
 39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON 
 NEW YORK, BOMBAY AND CALCUTTA 
 1920 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 
 The Death of Cleopatra .. 15 
 
 How Piero Capponi of Florence defied 
 
 Charles VIII. of France . . 63 
 
 Florence Nightingale . . . . 71 
 
 To a Homeless Mouse . . . . 75 
 
 The Dream. A Poem for Wordsworthians 79 
 
 Wordsworth in Elysium .. 83 
 
 Innocence • . . . . , 90 
 
 The Children of the Streets. A Plea 92 
 
 The Builder .. .. 94 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 The Death of Cleopatra " was written 
 several years ago. I put it aside for some 
 indefinite reason. Recently I re-read the poem. 
 Despite inherent defects I thought it had poetic 
 vigour and originality. I reflected that in choos- 
 ing his theme a writer merely seeks a colourable 
 excuse for expressing his own thoughts and 
 imaginings. 
 
 I am not of those who contend that the poet 
 should confine himself to local and contemporary 
 subjects. The poet's province is at least as wide 
 as the boundaries of humanity. To the imagina- 
 tion — the most god-like faculty of man, and the 
 least respected — all days are as one day, and a 
 queen who died twenty centuries ago is a woman 
 7 
 
Foreword 
 
 who dies to-day. It seems to me that if we wish 
 to treat a thing broadly and significantly in poetry 
 we must treat it in a sense remotely — for the 
 reason that the near facts of our own time tend 
 to impede and oppress the free working of the 
 imaginative faculty and to limit its horizon. 
 When a far splendour of cumulus commands the 
 eye why should we perversely turn therefrom and 
 reserve our admiration for the rain-pool at our 
 feet ? The splendour is all the grander for being 
 in the sky. So, if some great name or person- 
 ality of the past quickens the poetic impulse 
 why boggle at a name or an age ? Whether a 
 subject be remote or near is of small account, 
 but the writer by the power of his art must 
 give it a perennial and a human interest. If a 
 poet choose for his theme one who has been long 
 dead it may be because he has thereby greater 
 liberty to present and interpret that which is 
 eternally alive. Certain names and periods by 
 8 
 
Foreword 
 
 reason of their associations more readily induce 
 the general mind to accept certain poetic im- 
 pressions. The poet is fully entitled to avail 
 himself of these names and periods ; by so doing 
 he enters a potential world of intenser realities 
 and larger issues : a world where circumstances 
 are fitted to latent possibilities in character, where 
 the heroic is no longer arbitrarily ignored, nor the 
 mean exalted, — a world wherein the heart is free 
 to do the thing it wills. All vital art, as I have 
 said elsewhere, is the out-reaching or up-reaching 
 of man for more life, more light, it is a widening 
 of the bounds of consciousness, it is the over- 
 flow of life itself. 
 
 No man may run away from the vital spirit of 
 his time and remain true to himself. But let us 
 be sure what that vital spirit is. Do not let us 
 confuse it with the idiosyncrasies of the moment. 
 It is a deeper thing. I make no attempt to elude 
 my time. My attitude is authentically modern 
 9 
 
Foreword 
 
 though the theme is incidentally ancient. Per- 
 sonally I admire the poet who, assuring us that 
 life is great and wonderful, chooses what to the 
 thoughtless might be a commonplace subject, and, 
 by the power of presentment and high poetic 
 argument, persuades us to accept his vision of 
 that greatness and wonder. Such a task would 
 appeal to me to-day. Yet with such a subject a 
 remoteness (as mentioned above) in treatment, 
 since not in time, is essential to high poetic and 
 artistic effect. The sublime in art is always the 
 super-real, it is the soul's superscription on the 
 face of fact. Poetry is not the portrayal of 
 life, it is the intensification and illumination 
 of life. 
 
 If it be contended that poetry must essentially 
 contain some spiritual interpretation some, if I 
 may use the term, progressive vision of life — then, 
 in the face of such contention, I readily concede 
 that this poem's claim to poetic interest is only in 
 
 lO 
 
t'oreword 
 
 part justified. If, on the other hand, it be granted 
 that a tragical presentment of human life — a pre- 
 sentment unlighted by the speculations of the 
 philosopher and unilluminated by the spirituality 
 of the seer, is poetically legitimate and desirable 
 both as an end in itself, and as an aid to the 
 widening of human sympathy, then I think it 
 hardly presumptuous to ask for my poem a 
 measure of consideration. 
 
 I may say that this Cleopatra of my imagina- 
 tion possesses the pride and pathos of a vivid and 
 dominant personality caught in the toils of that 
 inscrutable power which works about us all, and 
 through us all, and which we call Fate. Her 
 qualities and defects are primitive and persistent ; 
 under the veneer of our later civilization they 
 exist in varying degrees to-day ; but in Cleopatra 
 they are obtrusively and proudly prominent be- 
 cause to her, a pagan queen, power was law to 
 itself, it could dispense with all conventions and 
 II 
 
Foreword 
 
 gratify every impulse with impunity, flattered the 
 while by the smiles of scycophants, and super- 
 ficially approved by the humble acquiescence of 
 slaves. My imaginary protagonist was too great, 
 too wise to be wholly depraved, too human in her 
 pride and passion to be devoid of tenderness. It 
 was the persistent and complex femininity of the 
 woman which attracted me. 
 
 Some emendations have been made in the 
 poem, certain jejune touches removed, but it 
 remains substantially as originally written. It is 
 the product of an impulse gone long ago and 
 which cannot be recalled. To-day I should have 
 chosen another subject and employed another 
 manner. Yet the poem seems to me to have 
 merit sufficient to warrant its publication ; had I 
 not thought so it would never have been printed. 
 
 If I have anticipated criticism I neither expect 
 nor desire leniency on that account. 
 
 The latter half ot the volume consists of a 
 
 12 
 
Foreword 
 
 ballad and a few poems, grave and gay, which 
 appeared years ago in various reviews and news- 
 papers. One or two of these compositions by 
 persistent resuscitations have frequently annoyed 
 me since — lacking as they have done those little 
 touches and emendations which the chill ordeal of 
 print seldom fails to suggest to impetuous imma- 
 turity. That which a writer has once made 
 public is his own no more ; with its defects upon 
 it it drags him forth to judgment and invites his 
 condemnation. I here perpetuate, I trust excus- 
 ably, I believe a little more worthily, what I 
 cannot destroy. About none of these poems do 
 I entertain any illusion. 
 
 James A. Mackereth. 
 
 Stocka House, 
 Cottingley, 
 
 Bingley. i 
 
 13 
 
THE DEATH OF CLEOPATRA 
 
 A Dramatic Poem 
 
 A chamber with a balcony. Lamps are bunting. 
 The Egyptian night is seen. Throughout the 
 poem Cleopatra seated, or pacing the chamber 
 in agitation, addresses Charmian, or in an 
 absent or rapt manner thinks aloud. She is 
 first seen reclining on a couch of lion-skins. 
 Two eunuchs, deaf and dumb, fan her cease- 
 lessly. Towards the close of the poem the 
 dawn breaks, 
 
 Cleopatra. How merciless the hush of this 
 long night. 
 I dally on the dark brink of this world 
 
 15 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 Fooling the moments with a feigning hope, 
 Appeasing this dread silence with the words 
 Of my own mouth, since words from him come 
 not. 
 
 No news, no news. His love's last promise fails : 
 " Alive or dead," he said, AHve or dead ! " 
 O could this stillness shudder to a sigh 
 Confirming fear that death has ended all. 
 How piteous thus to humbly wait on woe 
 Like a slave that sickens. Would that these 
 
 dumb things — 
 That blink and blink with haunting human eyes, 
 Could speak like lustier men ; they drowsily 
 
 breathe 
 
 Like passive neighbours to unwholesome death ; — 
 Ev*n these have blunted sorrows, I suppose. 
 That trail their dim lives under the stale skies . . . 
 No breath is stirring in the river reeds. 
 And all the earth is quiet with old thought : 
 Ah, thoughts in me unquiet. O for music 
 i6 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 To drown these voices crying in the heart. — 
 Can that which hushes Asia still not thee 
 Thou clamorous thing ? Is thine a wilder grief 
 Than homes in the broad breast of Africa ? 
 Silence embalms the shores of all the seas, 
 And Nile lies quiet to the leaning moon, 
 Lone-musing 'mong her deserts : canst not thou 
 Dream, heart, 'mong thine ? Queens in old time 
 have loved, 
 
 And lost their loves, and smiled on crumbHng 
 thrones 
 
 Beneath the bright indifference of the stars. 
 Great beauties reigned in Memphis' palaces 
 And gave love-ardent lips to mummied kings. 
 To all an end. The proudest dynasties 
 Shrink at the patience of a pyramid. 
 I am very weary. (Charmian enters. The Queen 
 
 embraces her.) Ghostly Charmian, 
 Did we not die in dim years long ago ? 
 This dust hath lengthy dreams. Where are the 
 
 dancers ? 
 
 17 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 I read that muteness in thy conscious face : 
 Gone, Hke sly vermin that scent death. Sing, 
 girl ; 
 
 Make soothing sounds : my senses bleed in me. 
 
 Charmian. Lady, grief chokes me, and my 
 piteous throat 
 Is dry ; yet, if I weep not, that will I 
 Do well. What shall I sing to you ? 
 
 Cleopatra. Words, words, 
 
 Sounds that are steeped in sleep and dimmed with 
 death, 
 
 Charmian {chants to an accompaniment on the 
 cithara). 
 
 Sleeps great Queen : to bear thy burden 
 
 Thousands hasten at thy need ; 
 Kings with but thy smile for guerdon 
 
 Under dawn and darkness speed. 
 Princes gems from Indian fountains 
 
 Bring, and pearls frorn Araby ; 
 i8 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 Slaves in Afric's moon-white mountains 
 
 Delve for thee. 
 Warriors ward thee* Sleep awhile^ 
 
 Queen of Nile. 
 
 Cloud enfolded, far from riot, 
 
 Borne on faintly -fanning wings 
 Essences out-poured from quiet 
 
 Passive things 
 Visit thee in soft seclusion 
 Breathing balm and blest illusion. 
 
 Shapes for soothing without number 
 
 Sue thy thoughts to drowsy themes, 
 Stand with eyelids drenched with slumber 
 
 At the cloudy doors of dreams ; 
 Zephyrs to thy couch come stealing 
 
 Soft with languors of surcease, 
 Faint as shoreward wavelets feeling 
 After peace. 
 
 1,9 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 Fountain-voices feebly falling 
 Cool on marble hush the heart ; 
 
 Sleeps each lapsing sense enthralling^ 
 Calls the drifting soul apart. 
 
 Notes that break not silence brittle 
 Summon thee with dulcet breathy 
 
 Breathings bid thee die the little 
 Death, 
 
 Liquid lisp of loitering waters 
 
 'Neath the dream-clasp of the moon ; 
 Downy winds, dim midnight's daughters, 
 
 Through the date -palms croon ; 
 Odours steeped in slumbrous passion 
 Steal the thoughts that sleep shall fashion 
 
 Soon. 
 
 Cleopatra. The sounds are sores : I can 
 think and think. 
 Thy song is all of the unclouded prime : 
 Sleep was of old, and glory was of old, 
 And gifts were for the days of smiling power. 
 20 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 Nay mock me not with sweet -commingling 
 sounds 
 
 Nor with the cloying vanities of words 
 Tease a sick heart that hungers for dead joy. 
 No more shall slumber drug this gusty brain, 
 Nor drown this life in deep forgetfulness. 
 Ah, the unhallowed antics of dead hours ! — 
 When, doffing state, we took the dear disguise. 
 And in the streets gave up our hearts to freedom 
 And shook our hoyden spirits 'neath the stars ! 
 Till Hfe, brushed closely, laid its nature bare, 
 And mortal challenged mortal, lively true. 
 How danced the world then ! Girl, you have 
 
 seen me pluck 
 Some gaudy coxcombs by their curled beards ! 
 Singe many a perfumed ram, whose high-horned 
 
 power 
 
 Had taught desire to spurn impediment. 
 And laugh aloud. I had great beauty then . . . 
 ( She produces a phial and toys with it, ) 
 
 21 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 This is the precious baby of my grief ; 
 It Ues upon my breast yet draws no milk ; 
 It will not wound with scorn, nor turn hard 
 eyes 
 
 Upon me ever, nor in age forget me. 
 Look, Charmian, it is thought's remedy : 
 This at the lips shall let the silence in, 
 And shut the eyes of memory with a kiss. 
 I have breathed splendour as mean lives breathe 
 breath, 
 
 And in this precious trifle is stored up 
 More peace than life hath room for. Yet a 
 while 
 
 Come closer, girl, for I have loved you well. 
 You know we women numb our griefs with 
 words. 
 
 Sweet, let me talk an hour, like some glad child 
 That chatters full of its own happy day. 
 Then to my sleep. I should have gorgeous 
 dreams. 
 
 22 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 Charmian. Live ! O great Queen, die not, 
 
 live, live and reign ! 
 I slept but now, yet, pity me, I slipped. 
 Overwearied, into time beyond these hours ; 
 And mighty stirrings filled a moment's dream, 
 Then shouts of triumph, and a wild surprise 
 Shook our mazed hearts, and brightened all your 
 
 face. 
 
 A voice rang out " What news ? " and one cried 
 " Well ! 
 
 And then I woke, and hurried, fain to tell — 
 But dared not, for I feared you, having slept. — 
 O, dreams are prophecies sometimes. — Far off 
 There was a noise of armies hurrying ; 
 The dun dust muffled their on-speeding feet. 
 Their weapons rang upon the leaning night ; 
 And riding hosts on camels and great beasts, 
 With flashing spears and shields, moon- 
 journeying 
 
 Under the dark, and bursting 'thwart the dawn, 
 23 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 Paused not but hastened ever toward old Nile. — 
 Live for a day — a month — a little year ! 
 I have often, often trembled at your looks, 
 Loving from far, but now I have no fear, 
 And pit myself against the power of death 
 For love of you : then kill me if you will. 
 But heed my pleading. 
 
 Cleopatra. Cease, poor, pretty fool. 
 
 I chose one lover from a crowd of kings, 
 And kingdoms turned my haters. None will 
 heed. 
 
 My course is set. Girl, I am Cleopatra, 
 Not less than destiny : my heart was ever 
 Tempted to fierce adventure, and enticed 
 By the proud faces of august extremes. 
 Were life so lovely hitched to Caesar's whim ? 
 To be shown meekly to exultant Rome, 
 And doomed before an ogling mob to take 
 The temperate insult of Octavia's eyes 
 Were favour truly ! Let me writhe in hell 
 24 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 Rather than dip my forehead to that 
 woman ! 
 
 Sooner shall Cheop's pyramid bow down, 
 And guardian Sphinx, with gaze inscrutable 
 Watching the desert wide toward Nubia, 
 Doff all her ancient dignity and lie 
 Prone to the scoff of ages ! I have drunk 
 Too deeply of this wine of sovranty. 
 Too long, close-leagued with power, have felt with 
 pride 
 
 The starry isolation of a throne 
 
 To walk the fateless paths of impotence. 
 
 Charmian. Yet scorn not me — whose love is 
 
 proud as yours. 
 Gazing at death. Be kind as you are sad 
 For sake of things remembered. " Fool and 
 
 '*poor " 
 
 Save that I love you, and unfearfully 
 Plead for my love. Yet, as you will it, now 
 ril make a mummy of protesting nature, 
 25 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 And watch, and speak no word, love only and 
 listen 
 
 The hastening footsteps of unlovely death. 
 Cleopatra. Dear girl, do you remember 
 happiness ? 
 
 Lean this last time your head against my knee 
 As in glad days it leaned ere a great love 
 Exalted me. The Roman's wife forgot 
 The tender dues to friendship, but affliction 
 Pricks to remembrance the Egyptian widow. 
 We have been spendthrifts 'mid the joys of Hfe ; 
 We have danced, and sung, and supped from 
 
 nectared cups. 
 And walked in dreams together you and I : 
 And now we wake. For me that longer sleep, 
 The dizzy journey, and the darker dream, 
 And dawns of woe, and days unutterable. 
 My songs are sung, and never dancing feet 
 Will gladden me more. But you are young — 
 
 ah young ! 
 
 26 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 And jealousy could sting me to a tear 
 And cruel hate were I less enviable. — 
 Reach me a mirror — nay do not — I know 
 Grief crumples all my visage to a rind, 
 And time insults me. ... Do you remember, 
 child. 
 
 This passion's birth whence leapt the buzz of 
 
 the world ? 
 Fondle my sick hand while I tell it o'er 
 As mothers tell the names of their dead 
 
 babes. 
 
 It was a summer's night, the watching stars 
 Burned with intenser fire, and each far sound 
 Fell like faint music on the listening ear. 
 And all of loveliness more lovely seemed 
 But sad with sadness of a deep farewell. 
 Beneath us dreamed the city, and the bay 
 Bore the brave ships, and like a silver shield 
 Shone to the moon ; and on the lucent wave 
 Antonius lay waiting for the morn, 
 27 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 The sundering morn, that would twixt him 
 and me 
 
 Invite the severing and embittering seas, 
 And that long silence that no words could cross. 
 Nor any sign to speak of woe or well. 
 The day had worn the splendour of his face, 
 The night had caught a wonder from his 
 name, 
 
 And with his words the winds were murmurous ; 
 And all the sadness that made kind his eyes 
 At parting to my fast remembrance clung. 
 And made responsive sadness melt in mine. 
 And more than pity yearned to comfort him. 
 Then, faint with fear, foreboding dreadful 
 days 
 
 And endless sorrow, I sighed toward him, Fare- 
 well ! " 
 
 And hope and love stood at my side and wailed 
 Unto an empty life, Farewell, Farewell ! " 
 Then, mightier than staid reason old and chill, 
 28 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 The woman's nature in me proudly rose 
 And, with the fearless confidence of love, 
 Sent forth its conquering mandate, — and he 
 came, 
 
 He came ! and from the great world wrenched 
 
 his heart 
 And gave it to a woman. . . . 
 
 Charmian {sings.) 
 
 Antony's Song. 
 
 Who would not give the gift 
 
 And pause 'mid strenuous days 
 To cherish dreams and drift 
 In his queen's praise ? 
 
 Who would not take his meed 
 And yield cross care awhile 
 And fairest fortune read 
 
 In his queen's smile ? 
 29 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 Or for some good to be 
 
 Who would not venture this 
 And court calamity 
 
 For his queen's kiss ? 
 
 Or who is now so high 
 
 He dare 7wt venture higher 
 Lest he should lose thereby 
 His low desire ? 
 
 He who would pause for fear 
 
 Plays but the coward's part; 
 Let him not trespass near 
 A high heart. 
 
 I stake — and count the cost — 
 My world on this one move, 
 ril deem it nobly lost 
 
 For a queen's love. 
 
 30 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 Cleopatra. His praise made mean things 
 royal. How he loved ! . . . 
 So lone and large the night. Ah, passionate 
 hours 
 
 That flashed a challenge to the flaming sun 
 And flung a splendour 'thwart the fleeting moon, 
 When love filled all the gorgeous night with fire, 
 When the heart shouted Marcus to the brain, 
 And the veins tingled to Antonius ! — 
 He made of time intoxication, touched 
 To subtler sweetness all the thrills of life, 
 Enlarged the bounds of nature, and with joy 
 Startled the world with a rude and rich excess 
 Till living was delight and breathing bounty. 
 Oh ! I would set his name on deathless lips. 
 And cry it to the proud years unconceived ! . . . 
 How rare a substance for so mean an end : 
 Antonius dead ! the sense revolts at it. 
 Yet all my being heard a sudden cry 
 And sickened on the moment when he felL 
 31 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 True was the news, most fit, most nobly true, 
 Through him that bore it did I strike to dust — 
 Yet kissed his mouth when dying, I felt so proud. 
 Charmian. Oh trust it not. Antonius may 
 live. 
 
 How many in the bright imperious years 
 Have fluttered mothUke toward your perilous 
 face 
 
 With wildered hearts to wonder and to die ! 
 And there are many high souls on this earth 
 That wait a proud love's bidding. 
 
 Cleopatra. There you touch 
 
 A place too raw. Enough of that ! — enough. 
 My last kiss clings unto a dead man's lips 
 For ever. I am ashes of love's fire. 
 What fool would strain beneath a weight of lies 
 To flout or flatter this most hapless me 
 Down toppling into ruin. He is dead, 
 Else the dumb land had surged in instant song. 
 Winds fluted victory. He is dead — not less, 
 32 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 For less were failure. . . I am haunted, girl, 
 By the fierce sorrow in that courier's eyes : 
 His passionate speed like insult angered me, 
 He stank of sweat, and I was wrath with news 
 So little to my liking, — so he died — 
 But that there was upon those twitching lips — 
 Portentous silence straining toward a sound 
 And dying speechless, that o'er-burthens thinking: 
 Some last plea, haply, some lorn, wild farewell 
 Of fond and desperate love, torn with a pain 
 Of dying gasps from him that swore to send it. . . 
 Words — phantoms of weird sorrows — ghostly 
 words — 
 
 Baffled and vain — strain toward me — strain and 
 die. . . 
 
 I am overwrought with fears I know not whence, 
 And sicken with regrets for pangs unknown. — 
 
 {She appeals to the night sky,) 
 If there be powers that in this secret world 
 Move and remember and have heed of men, 
 33 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 Oh touch me from the dark if the dead live ! 
 
 And if the living languish speak to me ! — 
 
 Out of the eerie silence speak ! . . . {She speaks 
 
 intensely with a fixed stare,) Ah woe — 
 Strange woe comes round me like a sudden 
 
 cloud — 
 
 Woe — woe quiescent in a blurr of pain — 
 A horror hurries to my rocking spirit, — 
 And piteous hands deep in some dread unseen 
 Reach toward me, and my brain delirious reels — 
 And a face glimmers dim and far — his face — 
 And like a dying wind, far off, a cry ; — 
 Hold me! — I speed through darkness — I am 
 faint — 
 
 Tangled in tortured air — I see, I see 
 A wadely swaying battle — the w41d cries 
 Ring in my ears ; — comes, Ccesar ! down a wave. 
 And thunderous throats respond, Anionius ! — 
 The air is hot with tempest — I smell blood — 
 Proudly I flash, I lighten tow^ard my lord — 
 34 
 
 .J 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 Red horror smears his cheek, and from his hands 
 Wet gore drips, drips whene'er his sword bites — 
 See! 
 
 He fronts the shock and crimsoning crash of war, 
 And counts his wounds as kisses. — Fierce as Mars 
 He whets his fury on the reeHng welter — 
 His steps are on the dead — I see, I hear 
 The perilous breach, the passionate rallying cry, 
 The ringing onrush, and the red recoil, 
 The guttural gurgle of foot-strangled men — 
 And, raging toward the heights, Antonius, 
 His proud face, blanched as a sea-bird's wing 
 Dipped in a storm, potent and pitiless — 
 Death sits upon his wheeHng arm and laughs — 
 His bright blade whistles home. — He strives 
 alone — 
 
 Loud Legions press him round — impervious 
 power 
 
 Waits his wild coming with a wall of spears — 
 He heeds it not, but, drawing harder breath, 
 35 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 He flings Fate's flaunted insult in his face 
 And grandly passes, bearing terrors down, 
 On to engulfing doom. And with a groan. 
 His life's tempestuous demon shuddering forth, 
 He hurls his battered bulk on death — and falls. 
 He falls ! — my love — my world — Antonius ! — 
 Mine I — mine, blanched watcher with brows 
 saturnine. 
 
 That standest on the haughtiest tower of Rome 
 Straining thy vision vain toward Africa ! — 
 Mine in his bounding wealth of passionate life, 
 And in the stern magnificence of his death. 
 And in the impassionate silence of his dust — 
 mine ! . . . 
 
 ( She stands dazed, feeling the air, as though 
 issuing from a trance. She speaks quietly,) 
 Now am I ripe for death. Pity not me, 
 For I am prouder than the stars of heaven. — 
 Yet was there something somewhere, wild with 
 grief, 
 
 36 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 That cried to me for mercy. It was strange . . . 
 
 Vain is the pain, vain is the ecstasy : 
 
 Drab time returns, void love, and endless loss . . . 
 
 Be gentle, Charmian, I was once a queen ; 
 
 Be patient with me, very soon I die. 
 
 Charmian. Have I not loved you through the 
 years ? Ah, still 
 Wound my long love, and prove it ; spare me not. 
 Yet, lo, your eyes are distant with your heart ; 
 Your ears strain for the footsteps of the dead, 
 For love-remembered greetings, and your face, 
 Veiled like your spirit in a mist of pain, 
 Peers forth on seas of sorrow, O my queen. 
 
 Cleopatra {absently). This is the curse of 
 very woman, — 'tis 
 To love through all, yea to be loved in all, 
 To suffer all for love's sake cheerfully. 
 To love with passion unto bitter grief. 
 And yet to fail by nature, not by will, 
 37 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 When terrors threaten duties. So I failed — 
 Yea fled in furious fear and fiery shame, 
 While sea to sky shouted my infamy, 
 Before a thousand ships at Actium ! — 
 Thereby he fell : and yet he slew me not — 
 Nay wounded me with love the more for this — 
 That I was more the woman ... O treacherous 
 day ! 
 
 That bleeds in time, and blushes in the heart, 
 Whose bastard hours, embraced by passionate 
 fears. 
 
 Bore all our sorrows. O most heavy day ! — 
 'Twas on a laughing sea, the joyous waves 
 Kissed all our prows, and flattered us with 
 foam. 
 
 Our punctual oars plashed in the yielding deep. 
 And rose like wings of silver to the sun ; 
 As in a dream I saw it ; then the crash 
 As with a bold embrace we clasped the foe. 
 And with convulsions dangerous swung free, 
 
 38 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 And cursed, and passed, and closed again with 
 ire. 
 
 Across my brain the furious faces surged, 
 Rude-rocked 'twixt reeling clouds and reeling 
 seas. 
 
 Shrill shrieks for vengeance rode the rising wind, 
 And death with crimson footsteps hissing came ; 
 And at the rageful cries the roused deep 
 In monstrous anger, bubbling all with blood, 
 Lashed his gored flanks, and in his steaming 
 maw 
 
 Entombed both ships and men : then all of 
 time 
 
 Shrank to a moment wherein madness blazed 
 A fearful light in an extinguished world. 
 Burn, memory, be my joy and torture me ! . . . 
 Most royal love, that leaned in silence down 
 And made remorse eternal with a kiss. 
 || My Roman, — my life*s rex, — my mightier I, — 
 I My passionate glass and kingly complement, — 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 My nature's twin and darling ! — made for me ! — 
 Who caused dim days to glow with lustrous deeds 
 That I but dared to dream of. We have swung 
 Upon the very crest of time, and shared 
 The laughter of the lords of fate : but now 
 Thou art gone from me, and the gods are mute ; 
 And I that was so lofty in the world 
 Am cast low down, and humbled before all, 
 And am through grief no longer beautiful. 
 Antonius, where, where are thy gods and 
 mine ? . . . 
 
 Charm IAN {chants to a plaintive accompaniment). 
 
 A Queen reigned in a proud land 
 
 By lotused Nile ; 
 And Kings from far did honoured stand 
 
 In the Quee7i's smile. 
 Her name was rich through the wide west : 
 
 And the hot south 
 Moaned for love of a mooned breast 
 
 I 
 
 And a Queen's mouth, 
 40 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 Before her face might no dog stir* 
 Great armies shrank because of her. 
 
 A lone Queen in a lorn land 
 
 By weary Nile ; 
 And beggars turn from the Queen's hand 
 
 A nd the Queen's smile. 
 One weakling woman weeps in vain 
 
 Her heart's drouth^ 
 And heeds the words that move with pain 
 
 The Queen's mouth. 
 No dog will at her bidding stir^ 
 And glory hath deserted her. 
 
 Cleopatra. Ah, Charmian, our dreams indeed 
 are past : 
 
 We have drunk up the sweetness of the night ; 
 The spacious noontide is an empty cup, 
 And all the wells of happiness are dry, 
 And glory is a glimmer far away 
 41 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 Tinging the summits of remembrance. Yea, 
 We have out-travelled fortune, child : and now, 
 All splendour past, and joy for ever gone. 
 We well may drop life's leavings to the dust 
 With dignity, and, proudly passing, cease 
 Crowned at the heart. Hand me my jewels, 
 girl,— 
 
 Quick, through far silence steals th' unfriendly 
 day. 
 
 For see, across the blank and boundless sand 
 Pale yonder sets the immemorial moon, 
 The moon that beamed on Pharaohs, and that 
 silvered 
 
 The reeds and lotus at the lips of Thebes. 
 My jewels, haste ! I go to meet my lord. . . . 
 
 ( She takes ayid fondles the jewels,) 
 
 From what dense night came this resplendent 
 noon ? 
 
 This blaze of brightness shall outdazzle time 
 42 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 And lighten on the bosoms of strange queens 
 When men shall say of me in those large years, 
 
 She was a queen who loved Antonius : 
 She perished long ago." Yet 'tis but stone. 
 How all things mock us underneath the sun ! 
 The humble scarab in a sardonyx 
 Outlives the gaudy fame of emperors. 
 A priceless stone — love's gift . . . Ah this ! . . • 
 and this ! 
 
 Most harsh refulgence ! glitter uncharitable ! 
 Each gleam like some swift dagger stabs, and 
 brings 
 
 A gushing memory home ! Ah stony hearts, 
 And fiery glances, flung from pitiless eyes, 
 Mocking imperial sorrow ! Antonius, 
 Thy gifts forget their giver's tenderness . . . 
 This diamond was the pride of a king's crown. 
 But it hath caught a splendour from the love 
 Of Antonius, — this to my brow to blaze 
 The proud memorial of his earliest kiss. 
 
 43 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 That flaming reptile coil about my arm, 
 Yea let it press and pain my tender flesh, 
 He gave it with a smile, O, it hath touched 
 The hand of Antonius ! About me clasp 
 This curious zone and phantasy of gold 
 With heads of monsters graven and eyed with 
 gems, — 
 
 A merchant sold it to my lord, it came 
 From happy islands toward the sunset where 
 Soft summer seas of sapphire lisp and croon 
 In stilly bays that hold a stiller heaven — 
 Whose calm no prow hath broken, and whose 
 peace, 
 
 Unraped by rude and boisterous mariners, 
 Is virgin from the world's birth. Once he said 
 We twain should sail to those faint, happy, 
 shores. 
 
 And float moon-kist upon the silent sea. 
 And spread a tale of wonder through the west. . . 
 Nay tighter, Charmian, tighter till it hurts ! 
 44 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 Have I not felt the thews and thongs of love, 
 And dumbly lain in sweetest torture captive 
 In Marcus' brave embraces ? O, tighter yet ! 
 Till this dumb thing shall feign an ecstasy 
 And hold me with the arms of Antonius — • 
 Antonius . , . Girl, look I fit for death ? 
 And is my bearing royal ? . . . Sing to me. 
 
 Charmian. 
 
 She moves in jewelled sheen 
 
 To death with lonely pride ; 
 The splendour that hath been 
 Before her face hath died. 
 Down from the palace of her dreams serene 
 
 Steps the proud bride 
 Into thy arms, 0 Death, — thou bitter lover. 
 With gems and raiment rich cover her, cover. 
 
 All things that burn and flame, 
 
 Forces that fashion 
 Doom, and delight, and blame, 
 45 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 Peril J and passion, 
 One with her will did wait : 
 In her face fate. . . . 
 Cleopatra. Pass me the mirror. ( She looks.) 
 Ah, no more ! no more ! 
 I reigned in time : Nile will remember me. 
 A dream my glory. I am very old . . . 
 Lo, far away are stirrings of the dawn : 
 The air breathes chilly, and expectant nature 
 Waits as one waits who loves. A fiery gleam 
 Broadens and gathers beauty. Light grows 
 large 
 
 In Persia, and th* importunate nightingale 
 In dewy valleys of the wakening rose 
 Outsings the paling patience of the stars. 
 Open the lattice to the breathing south : 
 See with what tender joy the fingering dawn 
 Touches the bosom of the sinuous Nile. 
 The slaves along the rice-fields light their 
 fire3, 
 
 46 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 The women wander crooning to the wells, 
 i And Karnak with an opulence of dreams 
 Shakes in the wave. No staring day for me 
 To prove my bleeding woe with tongues and eyes. 
 {She holds the poison phial and 
 looks at it,) 
 
 Charmian. Forbear. O haste not to the utter 
 H dark. 
 There come not any tidings from the earth, 
 Nor stirring morn, nor noontide's amplitude, 
 No subtle whispers of the summer night 
 Beneath the scented silence and the stars. 
 There love's sweet arguments are muted all, 
 And Hps meet never ; but the busy worm 
 Unwearied works in horrid gloom, and all 
 Is taint and cold : dear love, and queen, for- 
 % bear! — 
 
 Your children — 
 
 Cleopatra. Ah ! you hurt me ! I have 
 
 thought. 
 
 47 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 Stay ! else, like some struck lioness with her 
 whelps, 
 
 I claw this air in frenzy ! I have thought. 
 My death will buy some pity for my children 
 Even from Caesar, for proud emperors grieve 
 When prouder queens die quickly. All is gone. — 
 I dare not think ! — I dare not think ! — Away ! — 
 
 (»S//^ pushes CuARUiAN from her,) 
 Nay, come, child, I am tender-cruel now. — 
 Yet save my heart from thinking lest I palter. 
 Cease ! cease ! praise not joys dead, nor unto 
 loss 
 
 Add madness. Feign thy kindness harsh and 
 make 
 
 Remembrance brutal. Cumber me with blame 
 And keep me fierce in sorrow — that my heart 
 May outstep nature and be peer to fate . . . 
 I am too proud to perish. What is known 
 I heed not ; what is unknown I will prove 
 And test it if life be. Cease. I am fixed. 
 
 48 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 Come, now Til kiss thee though thou art no male, 
 And savourless to kiss after those sweets. 
 
 Char MIAN. {Presents a casket in which is a 
 deadly adder,) 
 Death summoned thus comes quickly, so they 
 say. 
 
 Cleopatra. What mischief now, puss ? It is 
 late, sweet sport. 
 To tickle time. — Pah ! see, it squirms ! — Away ! 
 I hate all crawling things. — Strangle the beast. 
 
 (Charmian with one hand secretes the creature on 
 her person^ and flings away the casket with 
 the other hand,) 
 The poison. See, Fll with my Roman mate 
 In some bright sphere or rot a queen in this. 
 
 [With a smile she ponrs the poison 
 into a chalice,) 
 Ah ! this will keep me royal to the last : 
 There is no hate in it, it will not storm 
 49 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 The heart with violence, nor crumple up 
 With envy the smooth brightness of the cheek. 
 With this I challenge death, and spiteful fate 
 Trick at the moment of her triumph. Soon 
 This draught will make me dense as a dull ' 
 clod, 
 
 Or wiser than all grave philosophers 
 That e*er nosed tablets, or sucked milky 
 truth 
 
 At Alexandrian nipples . . . Winking death, — 
 See how it sparkles ! Girl, there's laughter in it ! 
 Life is a game, maybe, and death a jest, 
 A royal game, a royal jest, and then. 
 These childish humours all put by, at last 
 To weightier business in some world to be. 
 What ! weep you, child ? Why, look you, I can 
 laugh ! — 
 
 Laugh and an end ! This wipes all sorrows out, 
 Untwists the tangled threads of thought, and 
 makes 
 
 50 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 Life's complicated meaning plain. All paths 
 Lead to one shadowy doorway late or soon. 
 (Charmian suddenly rising, strains at attention,) 
 
 Charmian. Hark ! hark ! . . . I hear the beat 
 of hastening hooves 
 Far out o'er the dumb earth . . . 
 
 Cleopatra. I hear nought . . . 
 
 Charmian. Hark ! . . . 
 
 Nearer, and nearer, as though one speeds for 
 home 
 
 Rich at the heart ! {She goes to the balcony and 
 looks forth.) 
 
 Cleopatra. Hope fools thee : thou art 
 
 young. 
 
 My ears are dead to all most welcome sounds 
 On this side time. 
 
 Charmian. The guards are all alert, 
 
 With faces set they grip their gleaming spears, 
 And watch Hke lions roused ... It faints . . . 
 It fails . . . 
 
 51 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 Alas, great queen. 
 
 Cleopatra. Some lover to his love 
 
 By Cydnus or Canobus stilly stream, 
 Angry with time, sped past, straining toward joy. 
 I drink. 
 
 Charmian. O life ! are there no gods by 
 
 Nilus ? — 
 
 Isis, great mother, queen of the high heaven, 
 Hearken ! — Osiris ! — Is there none to hear ? 
 Cleopatra. None. Call now on that god of 
 India 
 
 Your iEnobarbus told of. 
 
 Charmian. He died ! He died ! 
 
 Cleopatra. More god hereafter, haply, 'yond 
 the taste 
 
 Of time and death. He passed as I pass now. 
 The gods are life's excess. We make the gods 
 By living and by dying. Greatly go. 
 
 (Charmian falls at Cleopatra's feet, and em- 
 braces her,) 
 
 52 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 Charmian. Cleopatra ! my Cleopatra whom I 
 have loved ! 
 
 Cleopatra. Pule not ; nor vex with wailing 
 this high peace. 
 Tie up thy tongue; stuff thy frail mouth with 
 silence, 
 
 Else will I, dying, hate thee. {She lifts the 
 
 chalice.) To my love. {She drains it.) 
 See, thus I leap this Httle lump of earth. 
 And soar on wings from Caesars ! . . . Charmian, 
 Now toward the great enigma and the dumb 
 dark 
 
 I pass. There haply footsteps never come, 
 Nor beauty wandering, nor lips that love, 
 Nor hate, nor conquest, nor wild ecstasy, 
 Nor any voice at midnight or at morn : 
 Yet am I all impenitent to die. 
 To brave whate'er there be, despairing not 
 To reach him and the gods. {A distant ttmiult is 
 heard,) Hark ! the wolves bark. 
 53 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 Love enters not so loudly. This is well. 
 I know my guards die grandly : they are brave . . 
 I would not want for beauty : bid them not 
 Lay me within the grim sarcophagus 
 And leave me lonely 'mid the chill of tombs ; 
 But strew me where my dust shall flame in 
 flowers 
 
 And burn a carmine glory toward the sun ; 
 Or let me mingle with the curling wave 
 And roll for ever with the tidal sea 
 And with the tempest triumph, till the years 
 Through all their glittering cycles shall have run, 
 Till like a meteor streaming down the night 
 I burning speed home to Antonius . . . 
 Sing ! sing ! — I hear life's moments dropping 
 from me. — 
 
 O, for the clash of cymbals ! the whirl of the 
 dance! . . . 
 
 (Charmian attempts to sing^ but the sounds sob 
 in her throat,) 
 
 54 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 [In the gro7i^ing tiumilt the clash of weapons 
 heard.) 
 
 Thy songs have all turned sorrows. Sing no 
 more . . . 
 
 Hark ! . . . This long silence shudders into 
 song. — 
 
 My name came up the night in a dying cry . . . 
 Child, hold my hand : I grow so chill and lone — 
 I, who was Cleopatra . . . From the tombs 
 So many faces turn toward them that die. 
 Unto the weeping progeny of joy 
 May them that hate show mercy — his and mine ; 
 Lo, I am like the dying mother of iambs 
 Bleating 'mong lions. Ah the natural blood 
 Cries in me with a great and yearning 
 cry ! 
 
 Where is that son of Caesar's, my sad son, 
 
 Whom I have never loved ? . . . 
 
 [The tumult approaches.) Hark ! hark ! . . . 
 
 What news ? . . . 
 
 55 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 The light swims, and the earth wheels from me, 
 and all 
 
 Things here grow vague. The mists are 
 
 thickening down ; 
 The air is clotted, and my body full 
 Of wavering voices and the rage of death . . . 
 The Roman wolves are barking in the night ; — 
 And in my heart the echo of a cry — 
 Out in the night, over the dark in vain. 
 
 {The tumult grows gradually more violent,) 
 They come. I'll look my best for this proud 
 
 once. 
 
 (CiESAR's emissaries burst in, and stand. One 
 advances. Cleopatra with great effort 
 and self-control.) 
 What would ye, rabble, with impertinent tongues 
 Ruffling my rest ? Am I so prone indeed 
 That all the pimps of time impetuously 
 May spit at me ? Hence ! to flushed Caesar say 
 His whelps had earned their whipping had I lived 
 
 56 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 A brave while longer, but importunate death 
 Worries my vitals. 
 
 Messenger. By great Caesar's mercy, 
 
 Lady, Antonius lives. He rests below 
 Death-smitten by your guards. They knew him 
 not. 
 
 His wounds had changed him greatly. Ere 
 he fell 
 
 He cried on you for mercy — 
 
 Cleopatra (faintly.) Ah. I heard. 
 
 Tease not, faint fool. — For mercy . . . nay for 
 love. 
 
 He cried too late . . . Life is too full at last . . . 
 Upon sensations have I freely fed, 
 And gathered ecstasies with both my hands 
 Till the heart ached with sweetness. — Like a 
 flame 
 
 I pass, to follow joy among the stars . . . 
 Antonius ! . . . Antonius ! . . . So I choose. 
 (She stretches forth her hands as if in welcome 
 57 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 towards the entrance of the chamber, and 
 dies. First messenger goes out quickly. 
 The eunuchs fling themselves prostrate, 
 and remain so. A distant voice is heard 
 crying : Room for Antonius." Char- 
 mi an, kneeling, kisses the dead queen's 
 lips, ) 
 
 Charmian. I cannot hear. Thy words are far 
 away. 
 
 Oh thou art gathered to the shadows now 
 And speakest to the dead beyond the years. 
 
 [She pinches the reptile hidden at her breast, ) 
 Most lonely one. Love, I will follow soon, 
 Seeking thy needs with service, — follow — 
 follow 
 
 Where thy all-lonely feet step through the 
 dark. 
 
 And thy Greek face, so bitter-beautiful, 
 Is set, pain-proud, toward perils evermore. 
 ( Re-enter Messenger. ) 
 
 58 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 Messenger. Lady, Antonius lives. 
 Charmian. What's that to me ? 
 
 My love is dead. Oh let Antonius rot. 
 Messenger. Listen, he comes. 
 
 ( Voice without. ) 
 Voice. Room for Antonius. 
 
 Charmian. Sweet company. Then I may 
 hurry now. 
 
 This earth grows empty . . . {Others enter.) 
 Lo, you have come through terror and through 
 blood 
 
 To this great peace. With tongues that pity 
 bleed 
 
 Commend my mistress to Augustus Csesar. 
 Behold her laid. Is she not wonderful ? 
 Bear her brave body to the utmost deep, 
 And give it to the waves and the storm-winds ; 
 Or build a pyre high in a fruitful land 
 And scatter her bright ashes to the flowers : 
 It was her will. The dead plead well. Obey her. 
 59 
 
The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 ( She plucks the adder out of her breast and 
 flings it from her, ) 
 Out, wilful wanton, life's good folly's past . . . 
 I had a dream — see, it is ended all — 
 A dream in time — its name was Cleopatra. 
 
 [She falls dizzily and dying, Antonius is 
 home in. They place him before the dead 
 queen. He gazes fixedly at her face, and 
 with an effort rises to his feet, and, call- 
 ing her name, falls dead before her. 
 Soldiers and others crowd in and gaze. 
 The day is breaking, ) 
 
 60 
 
HOW PIERO CAPPONI OF FLOR- 
 ENCE DEFIED CHARLES VHL 
 OF FRANCE 
 
 Sat King Charles in royal state 
 
 And in pride 
 With his gold-brocaded nobles importunate, 
 elate, 
 
 At his side. 
 Facing the cold King's abhorrence 
 Stood the bravest men of Florence 
 
 Steady-eyed. 
 Spake the King, To this your city 
 Am I come in martial raiment 
 Not to spin a lengthy ditty 
 But to take a promised payment." 
 Answered Piero Capponi, 
 Spare and breezy, bronzed and bony, 
 
 63 
 
Piero Capponi 
 
 Sire, we come to you to-day 
 Not to pander nor to pray, 
 Not to treat you as a donor, 
 
 We are debtors to your might, 
 And we come to pay in honour 
 
 What our reason says is right/' 
 Then read Cardinal St. Malo at his master's gra- 
 cious pleasure 
 All the items to the debit of the city's golden 
 treasure : 
 And a jest aside he threw 
 To amuse the royal leisure, 
 
 And withdrew. 
 Outspoke Piero the strong, 
 Sire, this tale is somewhat long 
 And no answer to our quest ; 
 Sauce to fowl, and wine to song, 
 
 Novelty best helps a jest. 
 Wit must furbish up his store, 
 We have heard this joke before.*' 
 
 64 
 
Piero Capponi 
 
 Flushed the King with rosy hate, 
 And his nobles frawned irate 
 
 At his side. 
 Cried King Charles, What ! ye deny me, 
 Dogs, my dues, and here defy me ? " 
 And they faced the Frank's abhorrence 
 For the name and fame of Florence 
 
 And defied. 
 Spake Piero Capponi 
 Sternly staunch, and bronzed, and bony, 
 
 Since your wit is sere and yellow, 
 And your honour folly's fellow, 
 With the voice of our fair city hear me 
 speak : 
 
 We are neither churls nor weak, 
 
 Neither slaves, 
 And we front you eye to eye ; 
 We have wrung our rights from tyrants, we 
 will hold them till we lie 
 In our graves ! " 
 
 65 
 
Piero Capponi 
 
 As the lightning's livid flash, 
 Splits the darkness ere the crash, 
 Charles the King in throttling anger 
 Leapt, abhorring and abhorred, 
 Leapt, and lightened ere he roared. 
 While his marshals made a clangour 
 For the glory of their lord. 
 Stepped Capponi from his fellows, and his sword 
 was at his hand, 
 
 Grim and grand. 
 Shrieked rude Majesty with rage, 
 Ye shall sign this written page ! 
 Bid the trumpets cry Advance 
 To the pike and to to the lance, 
 We will spur these fowls of Florence in a fashion 
 known to France ! " 
 Spake roused spokesman Piero like a smitten 
 lion then, 
 
 We shall prove to thee, Barbarian, we are men ! 
 66 
 
Piero Capponi 
 
 And we pass with honour hence 
 From thy sounding insolence. 
 Ye have heard our terms before : 
 Not a single florin more 
 Till ye wring it from our hearts' blood ! See, 
 
 before thee in this place 
 Shall thy proffered royal insult straight redound 
 
 to thy disgrace, 
 For I take this script and tear it in defiance 
 in thy face ! " 
 Oaths from muffled murmurs sprang, 
 Swords 'gainst armour shrilly sang, 
 Proudly o'er the tumult rising clear Capponi's 
 words outrang, 
 Haste your hirelings, — we shall meet them ! 
 We have heroes : honour tells ! 
 We will answer to this bluster with a blast 
 that ye shall hear ! 
 Now our glory's noon is near : 
 Freedom's notes are tyrants knells : 
 
Piero Capponi 
 
 We shall greet you with a cheer 
 And the challenge of our bells ! " 
 Round he flung him. On the floor 
 Lay the red and royal seal, 
 And he crushed it 'neath his heel, 
 And he strode, this lion leal, 
 
 To the door. 
 Like a feverish fool of fate. 
 Cowed before a kinglier hate, 
 
 The King sate. 
 Smiling, soothing, fawning near 
 Sued the Cardinal St. Malo in his ear 
 With sHppery tongue, all guile. 
 
 Sire, have patience for a while ; 
 Let this thorny discord drop : 
 
 Our diplomacy designs 
 That we reap a splendid crop 
 
 From these flighty Florentines." 
 And he bowed supinely low. 
 Then he turned to Piero, 
 68 
 
Piero Capponi 
 
 Cooing, " Signer, wherefore go ? " 
 And he smiled with cautious glee, 
 Feigned indifference cunningly, 
 And the courtiers took the cue, 
 Smiled and cooed all in a row — 
 
 But their hate showed grinning 
 through — 
 And their master smirked also. 
 With a feint of dignity- 
 Crowed the King : Hence : let it be. 
 But our royal flag shall fly 
 
 From your turrets and your towers 
 In the sight of every eye, 
 
 So the glory shall be ours," 
 Outspoke Piero Capponi and Valori and the 
 rest, 
 
 We shall recommend to Florence what at 
 heart we think is best." 
 
 69 
 
Piero Capponi 
 
 In the city on the morrow wherever wind would 
 blow, 
 
 From palazzo, in piazza, on the Ponte 
 Vecchio, 
 
 From all the city walls and towers, on pinnacle 
 and lance, 
 
 Blew by order of the Signory the royal flag 
 
 of France ; — 
 And ever proud above it, plain for every eye 
 
 to see, 
 
 Flew the fearless, darling flag of Liberty. 
 
 70 
 
FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE 
 
 In the red days of travail we wept, we were 
 
 soldiers and human ; 
 Wide misery drenched us, and drowned the hale 
 
 hope of each true man. 
 Heaven pitied our perils and pangs, for the heart 
 
 of a woman 
 
 Heard the death-bark of doom. 
 
 She came in the night of our grief with God's 
 
 patience upon her ; 
 She paced through our tents 'mid our tears, with 
 
 His peace did He don her ; 
 Dying men looking up gave her Hail ! " and 
 
 white death gave her honour 
 
 In the reek and the gloom. 
 
Florence Nightingale 
 
 The light of her lamp was as heaven when pain's 
 
 clouds are disparted ; 
 The touch of her hand was as bliss when the 
 
 agony started ; 
 Like a mother's her wonderful ways, when the 
 
 death-whisper smarted, 
 
 To the child of her womb. 
 
 Gaunt and ghastly were we as dead men whom 
 
 battle had broken ; 
 Our darHngs were nought, nor our days, for the 
 
 fiend's mouth had spoken ; 
 And she came into hell trailing hope, sad Heav'n's 
 
 sole gleaming token 
 
 At the mouth of the tomb. 
 
 Her voice was the lips of his love to the lad 
 
 death was thralling, 
 Like the sweet noise of waters at night in his 
 
 homeland faint falling 
 72 
 
Florence Nightinj^ale 
 
 When the meads lay dew-wet to the moon and 
 the landrails were calling 
 
 By the star-lighted comb. 
 
 Her glance was the light from fond days that 
 
 should ne'er know returning, 
 Whose hopes were all ground into ashes for 
 
 time's gusty spurning : 
 Like a sunset at love-time her look to frail 
 
 dreamers still yearning 
 
 For love's withered bloom. 
 
 Like a spirit she paced the long dark, wan and 
 
 worn with our weeping ; 
 Like a flame amid smoke was her form 'mid the 
 
 hush of our sleeping — 
 While the plains from Scutari grew grim, and the 
 
 lean dawn 'gan creeping 
 
 Blood-red to its bloom. 
 
 73 
 
Florence Nightingale 
 
 She nursed us for love, in the names of our 
 
 mothers and daughters, 
 When the waves of our woe raged around 
 
 whipped of hatred that slaughters ; 
 And she moved with the footsteps of Christ when 
 
 He walked on the waters 
 In Galilee's gloom. 
 
 We may weep for her now who so long wept our 
 
 brave hope's downcasting ; 
 Mute heroine, hiding her tears ; she was faint 
 
 with love's fasting: 
 She shall nurse in the white wards of God in His 
 
 world everlasting 
 
 Where the culverins boom. 
 
 74 
 
TO A HOMELESS MOUSE 
 
 Wee mortal with the merry eyes 
 And comely coat of homely gray, 
 
 Shame on a hasty enterprise 
 
 That brings to thee this sorry day ; 
 
 I grieve to know a scheme of mine 
 
 Disaster spells to thee and thine. 
 
 Oft in the summer gone have I 
 Beheld thee like a sportive sprite, 
 
 In turn elusive, pert, and shy, 
 Dart here and there as quick as light 
 
 Indeed, fond thing, thou wert to me 
 
 The pet of Fancy's progeny. 
 
 75 
 
To a Homeless Mouse 
 
 I learnt the language of thy glance, 
 Thy laughing Catch me if you can ! 
 
 And truly many a merry dance 
 We had together, mouse and man, 
 
 When, prince of mischiefs prodigies, 
 
 I found thee 'mong my early peas. 
 
 And twice at least I captured thee : 
 And oh the flutter in thy skin ! 
 
 I warned thee, Mousie, solemnly 
 That stealing w^as a serious sin : 
 
 Ah, many mice when pain seemed near 
 
 Have feigned the penitential tear. 
 
 Soon, soon from out a safe retreat 
 Two eyes peeped up in merriment. 
 
 And, making impudence complete, 
 A tiny nose impertinent ; 
 
 The pose said plain : I much prefer 
 
 Your green peas to your sermons, sir ! ' 
 
 76 
 
To a Homeless Mouse 
 
 I loved thee, thing of twinkling joy, 
 Wee sprite of mischief and of wit — 
 
 With which my fancy oft would toy 
 Till thou thyself didst seem to flit 
 
 Before me like a lively thought 
 
 Some fay with airy laugh had brought ! 
 
 And now 'tis I that bring thee pain, 
 Uproot thy home, annul thy toil. 
 
 And scatter to the wind and rain 
 
 Thy little hoard of treasured spoil, — 
 
 Housed with such pride and frugal care 
 
 *Gainst cruel times both bleak and bare. 
 
 In bitter days that are to be 
 
 Will hunger pinch thy tiny breast ? 
 
 And icy-cold adversity 
 
 Remind thee of thy cosy nest, 
 
 Poor homeless one, 'mid winter's snows, 
 
 Whipped by each bullying wind that blows ? 
 
 77 
 
To a Homeless Mouse 
 
 Thou wert a thing of jocund birth, 
 
 A sunny-hearted humourist, 
 A claimant, too, to graver worth, 
 
 Thou diligent economist. 
 That without hope, with treasures flown. 
 Art homeless now, with grief alone. 
 
 Alas that this impetuous hand 
 
 Hath wrought the ruin of thv joy. 
 
 With hope we do the heart's command 
 And with the deed fond hope destroy. 
 
 And show at last, by action proved, 
 
 Sad wrongers of the lives we loved. 
 
 Poor thrifty thing, a common fate 
 Pursues us all that breathe below ; 
 
 On worth unkindly want doth wait, 
 
 And wisdom's foresight thwarts not woe 
 
 And suffering falls, we know not w^hence, 
 
 On folly and on innocence. 
 
 78 
 
THE DREAM 
 
 A POEM FOR WORDSWORTHIANS 
 
 Drenched was the vale ; on every hand 
 The brooks came down with froth and din 
 
 In Wordsworth's mist-veiled mountain-land 
 I sheltered at an inn. 
 
 And cosy was the homely hearth ; 
 
 And eerily a plaintive wind 
 Soughed in the neighbouring apple-garth 
 
 And soothed my drowsy mind. 
 
 Softly as phantom from a shroud 
 Came one, a piteous sight to see, 
 
 His swollen shanks proclaimed aloud 
 His name — 'twas Simon Lee. 
 
 79 
 
The Dream 
 
 Poor dropsical old Simon, still 
 You toddle on with bones awry ? 
 He moaned, 'Tis Mr. Wordsworth's will ; 
 Oh, gladly would I die." 
 
 Then others tumbling up behind, 
 
 Thieves, beggars, gipsies, vagrants free 
 
 As air came in from wet and wind, 
 A motley company. 
 
 **Crone, who are you? Why, how you quake! 
 
 This lad in blankets shivering still. 
 Who's he ? " Sir, I am Goody Blake, 
 
 And he is Harry Gill." 
 
 And who are you, my moon-struck joy ? 
 Poor, witless, wandering Ninny-Nonny ? " 
 Me ? O me's called ' The Idiot Boy,' 
 But Betty calls me Johnny." 
 80 
 
The Dream 
 
 Peeped up at me a pert wee maid, 
 Persisting, Master, we are seven." 
 
 ** A woman's argument,*' I said, 
 And wished her home in Heaven. 
 
 With primrose in his button-hole 
 
 Tripped he whose name a child might tell ; 
 Salvation paunched the pigmy soul 
 
 Of potter Peter Bell. 
 
 Unwashed, unshorn, unkempt crawled one 
 Who, dipping toward the ground his brow. 
 
 Sighed low, The leeches all are gone, 
 I seek for tadpoles now." 
 
 Then all at once this tattered crew 
 With petty griefs and puny crimes, 
 
 All madly mingling, gaped, and flew 
 To join those " crazy chimes," 
 8i 
 
The Dream 
 
 And vanished. Then through my repose 
 With solemn face, went bustling by 
 
 A serious man with copious nose, 
 Chasing a butterfly. 
 
 I laughed, and straight came over him 
 A bardic look most stern, most wuse. 
 
 Quipped I, Are you that Mr. Prim 
 Who saddened Paradise ? " — 
 
 •* For humour once, they say, was sweet 
 To Heaven ; " but then a frenzy sudden 
 
 Seized him : he wrote at fever heat 
 A sonnet on the Duddon. — 
 
 I left before the sheet was marred. 
 
 Just ere the doors of dream did close 
 I saw that imp. Puck, pulling hard 
 
 At Mr. Wordsworth's nose. 
 
 82 
 
WORDSWORTH IN ELYSIUM 
 
 (On being publicly reproved by a Words- 
 
 WORTHIAN OF HeADINGLEY FOR THE 
 FOREGOING VERSES) 
 
 (A slope in Elysium, Wordsworth and Burns to- 
 gether, Charles Lamb and other hilarious 
 spirits in the vicinity, Wordsworth speaks.) 
 
 List ye, friends, a cuckoo's calling, calling far in 
 
 Headingley ! 
 (Robin, brim another bumper with that Royal 
 Hippocrene !) 
 ** Cuckoo, cuckoo.*' — In the green 
 Calling far in Headingley ! . . . 
 We have done with time and teen 
 You and I, Rob ; 
 
 83 
 
Wordsworth in Elysium 
 
 And we watch Hfe's misty scene 
 
 Drifting by.— Rob ! 
 O, a shiver seizes me, 
 Isled amid feHcity, 
 When I drink, for I think 
 How I nearly missed the goal, 
 Lost my everlasting soul 
 And this jolly company 
 By an over-moral prim propriety. 
 Blithe Robin, while you sip the wine, 
 Just hear this random scrawl of mine ; 
 Bard of the land of cakes and thistles. 
 Whose multitudinous epistles, 
 Indited mostly to the ladies. 
 Have plaudits wrung from Heaven and 
 
 Hades, 
 
 Heed while I tickle into glee 
 
 A certain Mr. Thingummy, 
 
 Who, solemn man, Wordsworthian-wise, 
 
 Smells fun, then closes both his eyes. 
 
 84 
 
Wordsworth in Elysium 
 
 (Wordsworth reads,) 
 
 c/o Mr. Robert Burns, 
 
 Proprietor of the Tarn o'Shanter, 
 
 Elysium. 
 
 Sunday morning. 
 
 Dear Sir, — YouUl doubtless be astonished 
 To be informally admonished 
 By him who wrote the " Ode to Duty *' 
 And other things of sober beauty. 
 But truly, Sir, a smile is best 
 When rhyming rascals for a jest 
 Do prickle us with rhythmic thorns, 
 And step on our poetic corns. 
 My kindling, sympathetic Friend, 
 Be not too hasty, but suspend 
 Swift judgment, for this flutter shows 
 Thy wit hath but a faulty nose — 
 Which, poking in this little matter. 
 Doth make a mess of all the platter. 
 
 85 
 
Wordsworth in Elysium 
 
 Sir, when we come to think of it 
 There's room for reverence and for wit 
 In all that mortal man hath made — 
 Man, shade enamoured of a shade. 
 Impervious champion, O ! beware 
 Of over-seriousness ; nor share 
 With staid professors, paunched with prose, 
 A prim and philosophic pose, — 
 For affectation doth reject 
 Fine honesty. In this respect 
 I too have sinned : I turned my face 
 From laughter's genial dwelling-place. 
 Till Nature grew the counterpart 
 Of the proud Ego in my heart. 
 But thanks to that sane Power that brings 
 Some goodness out of faulty things, 
 And 'yond our aims an end discerns, 
 I hobnob here with Robert Burns, 
 And with the rest of that blithe crew 
 Whose laughter whipped the world, o'er- 
 threw 
 
 86 
 
Wordsworth in Elysium 
 
 The poser's kingdom and set free 
 
 The prisoned muse of comedy. 
 
 Staid Friend, it is no phantom rumour 
 
 That sinners may be saved by humour, — 
 
 O ! if a soul be thine, then fear, 
 
 Turn not thy back on wit as I did 
 
 Who stood ashamed and shivering here, 
 
 By the eternal jesters chided, 
 
 What time I entered, mild and mum. 
 
 These portals of Elysium. 
 
 'Tis sad to see one dumbly plod 
 
 Through dismal days denied a god ; 
 
 More sad to see one fume and fuss 
 
 Still dead to the ridiculous. 
 
 Though faiths by factions be adored. 
 
 Friend, humour too is of the Lord, 
 
 And guides a dizzy zeal aright 
 
 That else grim facts would shatter quite. 
 
 Ripe time's full man will surely be 
 
 Humanity's epitome ; 
 
 87 
 
Wordsworth in Elysium 
 
 Rich with Hfe's laughter he shall reign 
 With all experience in his brain, 
 Bright as a saint, blithe as a boy 
 That whistles 'gainst the wind for joy. 
 Sharing with jocund sky and sod 
 The geniality of God. 
 
 Bards that on earth would sigh and sob 
 Are wits here, Mr. Thingummybob. 
 Such changes, Sir, would make you grieve 
 With all your solemn make-believe. 
 'Twould shock your maiden aunt to see 
 How Heaven exalts clean levity. 
 Who'd guess that comely jester there 
 Was Dante once, lean Sorrow's heir ? 
 Surprises wait for prying noses 
 In twinkling, clear Elysian closes. 
 Who'd think those titterers 'mid the roses 
 Sappho and Shelley ? Who would guess 
 Heaven's dazzling more in earth's dim less ? 
 88 
 
Wordsworth in Elysium 
 
 Only the friends of Puck the poet, 
 That trip with wisdom lightly, know it. 
 
 But hark ! borne crackling down the breeze 
 
 The laughter of Aristophanes ! 
 
 And here comes beaming royal Will, 
 
 Don Juan brewing a jest Byronic, 
 Plump Coleridge chewing a German pill, 
 
 Bob Southey too with a grin platonic, 
 And gay Johnny Keats from Hampstead Hill, 
 And Ben the rosy, and Herrick the sturdy, 
 And — bless me ! — there's John ! — he gives 
 me a thrill — 
 
 John Milton twining a hurdy-gurdy ! . . . 
 Sir, love to friends in Headingley, 
 
 Still 
 
 Your winking penitent, 
 
 William Wordy. 
 
 89 
 
INNOCENCE 
 
 She touches earth with feet of light ; 
 
 A fay among the flowers, 
 She toys with beauty ; in her sight 
 
 Time spills ethereal hours. 
 
 She is the sum of wonders shy ; 
 
 She breathes in a bright place, 
 With elfin mischief in her eye, 
 
 And music in her face. 
 
 The haven she is of raptures gone ; 
 
 The haunt of hopes to be ; 
 Life's fanciful phenomenon ; 
 
 Love's fair epiphany. 
 
 90 
 
Innocence 
 
 Sweet Joy, whatever the years may bring 
 
 Time gives thee laughter now ; 
 Rich with the riot of the Spring, 
 
 Dehght, go revel thou 
 
 With lambs, with blossoms, and blithe birds ! 
 
 Unteased by thought's pretence — 
 That vexes with the gyves of words 
 
 The joys of innocence. 
 
THE CHILDREN OF THE STREETS 
 
 A PLEA 
 
 Sister, thy sister ; brother, lo, thy brother, — 
 Another self, the breather of thy breath ; 
 
 All mortal children of one common mother. 
 
 Whose hope is Heaven, whose destiny is Death. 
 
 Begot with tears, and reared 'mid scorn arraigning; 
 
 Bereft of half to which man's honour clings ; 
 Outcast, unloved amid the world's disdaining. 
 
 Yet stamped with godh^^d like the ^^irs of 
 kings,— 
 
 Their wrongs sleep not ; and shall the world not 
 waken ? 
 
 The winds arise and cry on moor and shore ; — 
 Hark ! the great Mother for her babes forsaken 
 Wails on the midnight, sleepless evermore ! 
 92 
 
The Children of the Streets 
 
 To-day, to-morrow, and the vast forever 
 
 Lie in this moment. Choose! the worlds 
 arrive ! — 
 
 Waiting the mould of man's divine endeavour ; 
 Yours is the mission of the stars that strive ! 
 
 Pale hands beseech you from undawned to 
 morrows. 
 
 Sad faces, piteous pale with withering woes,— 
 Th' appalling shades of uncreated sorrows 
 That live or die as mercy dies or grows — 
 
 Hearken! — if this loud world hath ears to 
 hearken — 
 The souls of children, dying secretly, 
 Haunt the grey days, and by grim ways that 
 darken 
 
 The scourged Christ climbs still to Calvary ! 
 
 93 
 
THE BUILDER 
 
 Two honesties mingled together, 
 
 True stone and a true man's mind, 
 Will baffle the wettest weather 
 
 And better the strongest wind. 
 Good work is a noble neighbour ; 
 
 We rise by our work or fall : 
 I touch my God in my labour, 
 
 And joyously build my wall ; 
 Be it wall for a cot or a mansion 
 
 It matters nothing to me ; 
 Who builds for his soul's expansion 
 
 The noblest builder he ! 
 My wall's for the Will that willed it ; 
 
 T knit dumb stone unto stone ; 
 Good mortar I add as I build it, 
 
 And something I add of my own 
 94 
 
The Builder 
 
 To bind the good whole together, 
 
 To perfect a thing that shall stand — 
 A something that outlasts weather, 
 
 That flows from a true man's hand. 
 The while I work I am thinking 
 
 This wall of myself is a part, 
 There are deep-felt forces linking 
 
 This thing to my soul and heart ; 
 My blood and bone's in my building ! 
 
 And I know that the Power divine, 
 That the tip of yon spire is gilding, 
 
 Will scorn not this wall of mine. 
 And I hold this faith well founded. 
 
 And I grip it tight to my soul, 
 That a builder's work must be grounded 
 
 On God — who is building the whole. 
 
 95