# Tales and Historic Scenes/The last Banquet of Antony and Cleopatra

THE LAST BANQUET
OF
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
​"Antony, concluding that he could not die more honourably than in battle, determined to attack Cæsar at the same time both by sea and land. The night preceding the execution of this design, he ordered his servants at supper to render him their best services that evening, and fill the wine round plentifully, for the day following they might belong to another master, whilst he lay extended on the ground, no longer of consequence either to them or to himself. His friends were affected, and wept to hear him talk thus; which, when he perceived, he encouraged them by assurances that his expectations of a glorious victory were at least equal to those of an honourable death. At the dead of night, when universal silence reigned through the city, a silence that was deepened by the awful thought of the ensuing day, on a sudden was heard the sound of musical instruments, and a noise which resembled the exclamations of Bacchanals. This tumultuous procession seemed to pass through the whole city, and to go out at the gate which led to the enemy's camp. Those who reflected on this prodigy concluded that Bacchus, the god whom Antony affected to imitate, had then forsaken him."—Langhorne's Plutarch.
THE LAST BANQUET
OF
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
Thy foes had girt thee with their dread array, O stately Alexandria!—yet the sound Of mirth and music, at the close of day, Swell'd from thy splendid fabrics, far around O'er camp and wave. Within the royal hall, In gay magnificence the feast was spread; And, brightly streaming from the pictured wall, A thousand lamps their trembling lustre shed O'er many a column, rich with precious dyes, That tinge the marble's vein, 'neath Afric's burning skies.
And soft and clear that wavering radiance play'd  O'er sculptured forms, that round the pillar'd scene Calm and majestic rose, by art array'd  In godlike beauty, awfully serene. Oh! how unlike the troubled guests, reclined  Round that luxurious board!—in every face, Some shadow from the tempest of the mind,  Rising by fits, the searching eye might trace, Though vainly mask'd in smiles which are not mirth, But the proud spirit's veil thrown o'er the woes of earth.
Their brows are bound with wreaths, whose transient bloom  May still survive the wearers—and the rose Perchance may scarce be wither'd, when the tomb  Receives the mighty to its dark repose! The day must dawn on battle—and may set  In death—but fill the mantling wine-cup high! Despair is fearless, and the Fates e'en yet  Lend her one hour for parting revelry. They who the empire of the world possess'd, Would taste its joys again, ere all exchanged for rest.
Its joys! oh! mark yon proud triumvir's mien,  And read their annals on that brow of care! 'Midst pleasure's lotus-bowers his steps have been;  Earth's brightest pathway led him to despair. Trust not the glance that fain would yet inspire  The buoyant energies of days gone by; There is delusion in its meteor-fire,  And all within is shame, is agony! Away! the tear in bitterness may flow, But there are smiles which bear a stamp of deeper woe.
Thy cheek is sunk, and faded as thy fame,  O lost, devoted Roman! yet thy brow To that ascendant and undying name,  Pleads with stern loftiness thy right e'en now. Thy glory is departed—but hath left  A lingering light around thee—in decay Not less than kingly, though of all bereft,  Thou seem'st as empire had not pass'd away. Supreme in ruin! teaching hearts elate, A deep, prophetic dread of still mysterious fate!
But thou, enchantress-queen! whose love hath made  His desolation—thou art by his side, In all thy sovereignty of charms array'd,  To meet the storm with still unconquer'd pride. Imperial being! e'en though many a stain  Of error be upon thee, there is power In thy commanding nature, which shall reign  O'er the stern genius of misfortune's hour; And the dark beauty of thy troubled eye E'en now is all illumed with wild sublimity.
Thine aspect, all impassion'd, wears a light  Inspiring and inspired—thy cheek a dye, Which rises not from joy, but yet is bright  With the deep glow of feverish energy. Proud siren of the Nile! thy glance is fraught  With an immortal fire—in every beam It darts, there kindles some heroic thought,  But wild and awful as a sibyl's dream; For thou with death hast communed, to attain Dread knowledge of the pangs that ransom from the chain.$^1$
And the stern courage by such musings lent,  Daughter of Afric! o'er thy beauty throws The grandeur of a regal spirit, blent  With all the majesty of mighty woes! While he, so fondly, fatally adored,  Thy fallen Roman, gazes on thee yet, Till scarce the soul, that once exulting soar'd,  Can deem the day-star of its glory set; Scarce his charm'd heart believes that power can be In sovereign fate, o'er him, thus fondly loved by thee.
But there is sadness in the eyes around,  Which mark that ruin'd leader, and survey His changeful mien, whence oft the gloom profound,  Strange triumph chases haughtily away. "Fill the bright goblet, warrior guests!" he cries,  "Quaff, ere we part, the generous nectar deep! Ere sunset gild once more the western skies,  Your chief, in cold forgetfulness, may sleep, While sounds of revel float o'er shore and sea, And the red bowl again is crown'd—but not for me.
"Yet weep not thus—the struggle is not o'er,  O victors of Philippi! many a field Hath yielded palms to us:—one effort more,  By one stern conflict must our doom be seal'd! Forget not, Romans! o'er a subject world  How royally your eagle's wing hath spread, Though from his eyrie of dominion hurl'd,  Now bursts the tempest on his crested head! Yet sovereign still, if banish'd from the sky, The sun's indignant bird, he must not droop—but die."
The feast is o'er. 'Tis night, the dead of night—  Unbroken stillness broods o'er earth and deep; From Egypt's heaven of soft and starry light  The moon looks cloudless o'er a world of sleep: For those who wait the morn's awakening beams,  The battle signal to decide their doom, Have sunk to feverish rest and troubled dreams;  Rest, that shall soon be calmer in the tomb, Dreams, dark and ominous, but there to cease, When sleep the lords of war in solitude and peace.
Wake, slumberers, wake! Hark! heard ye not a sound  Of gathering tumult?—Near and nearer still Its murmur swells. Above, below, around,  Bursts a strange chorus forth, confused and shrill. Wake, Alexandria! through thy streets the tread  Of steps unseen is hurrying, and the note Of pipe, and lyre, and trumpet, wild and dread,  Is heard upon the midnight air to float; And voices, clamorous as in frenzied mirth, Mingle their thousand tones, which are not of the earth.
These are no mortal sounds—their thrilling strain  Hath more mysterious power, and birth more high; And the deep horror chilling every vein  Owns them of stern, terrific augury. Beings of worlds unknown! ye pass away,  O ye invisible and awful throng! Your echoing footsteps and resounding lay  To Cæsar's camp exulting move along. Thy gods forsake thee, Antony! the sky By that dread sign reveals—thy doom—"Despair and die!"$^2$
NOTES.