But wander far away, a homeless man,

Prophetic, orphan'd both of name and fame.
Nay, like a timid Phantom evermore

I come and go with haggard warning eyes;
And some, that sit with lemans over wine,
Or dally idly with the glorious hour,
Turn cynic eyes away and smile aside;

And some are saved because they see me pass,

And, shuddering, yet constant to their task, up for comfort to the silent stars.

Look

XIV.

ANTONY IN ARMS.

Lo, we are side by side!-One dark arm furls

Around me like a serpent warm and bare;

The other, lifted 'mid a gleam of pearls,

Holds a full golden goblet in the air:

Her face is shining through her cloudy curls With light that makes me drunken unaware, And with my chin upon my breast I smile Upon her, darkening inward all the while.

And thro' the chamber curtains, backward roll'd By spicy winds that fan my fever'd head,

I see a sandy flat slope yellow as gold

To the brown banks of Nilus wrinkling red

In the slow sunset; and mine eyes behold

The West, low down beyond the river's bed, Grow sullen, ribb'd with many a brazen bar, Under the white smile of the Cyprian star.

A bitter Roman vision floateth black
Before me, in my dizzy soul's despite ;
The Roman armour brindles on my back,

My swelling nostrils drink the fumes of fight:

But then, she smiles upon me!—and I lack The warrior will that frowns on lewd delight, And, passionately proud and desolate,

I smile an answer to the joy I hate.

Joy coming uninvoked, asleep, awake,

Makes sunshine on the grave of buried powers;
Ofttimes I wholly loathe her for the sake
Of manhood slipt away in easeful hours:

But from her lips mild words and kisses break,
Till I am like a ruin mock'd with flowers;

I think of Honour's face-then turn to hers-
Dark, like the splendid shame that she confers.

Lo, how her dark arm holds me !-I am bound

By the soft touch of fingers light as leaves : I drag my face aside, but at the sound

Of her low voice I turn-and she perceives The cloud of Rome upon my face, and round

My neck she twines her odorous arms and grieves, Shedding upon a heart as soft as they

Tears 'tis a hero's task to kiss away!

And then she loosens from me, trembling still
Like a bright throbbing robe, and bids me "go!"-

When pearly tears her drooping eyelids fill,
And her swart beauty whitens into snow;

And lost to use of life and hope and will,
I gaze upon her with a warrior's woe,

And turn, and watch her sidelong in annoy—

Then snatch her to me, flush'd with shame and joy!

Once more, O Rome! I would be son of thine—

This constant prayer my chain'd soul ever saith—

I thirst for honourable end-I pine

Not thus to kiss away my mortal breath.

But comfort such as this may not be mine

I cannot even die a Roman death:

I seek a Roman's grave, a Roman's rest—

But, dying, I would die upon her breast!