The Irish standard., 1891-08-29
THE HISTORY OF A POEM.

THE HISTORY OF A POEM.
It Forms One Of the Most Touching Incl
dents Of the Civil War.
One of the finest poems IN the modern
literature of song is that one known
everywhere by its first pathetic line.
II am dying, Egypt, dying"
! And which was written by Gen. Will
liam Haines Lyle, on the eve of the
battle of Cbickamauga. We are To-
debted to the late Col. .Realf, poet,
author and soldier, who shared the for
tunes of war with his friend, Gen. Lyle,
for an account of the peculiar circum-
stances under which the poem was
written.
Col. Realf shared the tent of Gen.
Lyle on the night preceding the battle.
The two friends were both given to
writing poems at such times, and each
had an unfinished poem on. hand. They
read and criticized each others efforts
humorous]y for some time, when Gen.
Lyle said, with a grave smile:
"Realf, shall never live to finish that
poem.''
"Nonsense," said his friend, ''you
will live to write volumes OF such stuff. u
NO. said the general, solemnly, *'as
[ was speaking to you feeling came
over me suddenly, which is more start
ling than prophecy, that shall be killed
in to-morrow's fght.''
Col. Realf asked him to define this
feeling and he said:
"As I was talking to you saw the
green hills of Ohio as they looked when
I stood among them. They began to
recede from me in a weird way-and as
they disappeared the conviction flashed
through me like the lightning's shock
that should never see them again."
Gen. Lyle was a native of Ohio. and
dearly loved his birth-state.
Col. Realf laughed at bis friend, and
rallied him upon his superstition, but
acknowledged afterwards that he be
came SO thrilled himself with an un-
natura, fear that ne begged the general
to finish the poem before he slept, that
such fine work might not be lost to the
! world.
In the small hours Gen. Lytle awak-
ened his friend from the slumber into
which he had fallen. TO read to him that
Fy,1 h; nh 1ct
long as our literature survives.
Imagine the scene. The two men
united by the bonds Of friendship, Of
congeniaI tastes, both ready and willing
to face death on the morning in it's
direst form, scanning by the light Of
their tent lantern each others features,
when the finished poem had been read
aloud.
Col. Realf said that bis own ewes
filled with tears, but the general said
not word, as he placed the manu-
script in his pocket and lay down to bis
last nights rest upon earth.
Before dawn came the call to arms.
When Realf next saw his friend he lay
cold in death among the heaps of SLAIN.
Then he thought of the poem. and,
searching the pocket where he had seen
h1m place it, he drew 1T forth, and for
warded it to Gen. Lytle's friends with
his other effects, We give the poem in
it's entirety, feeling sure all will renew
their admiration of it. when they read
under what tragic circumstances it was
written:
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
am dying, Egypt, dying!
Ebbs the crimson life-tide ia st,
And the dark Plutonian shadows
Gather on the evening blast.
Let thine arm, O, queen. support me,
Hush thy sobs aad bow thine ear,
Hearken to the great heart secrets
Thou, and thou alone, must hear.
Though my scared and veteran legion
Rear their eagles high no more,
And my wrecked and scattered galleys
Strew dark Actiums fatal shore;
Though no glittering guards surround me
Prompt to do their masters will,
T must perish like Roman
Die the great Triumvir still
Let not Caesars servile minions
Mock the lion thus laid low;
Twas no foeman's arm that felled him;
Twas his own that dealt the blow
His, who. pilowed on thy bosom
Turned aside from glory ray
His, who, drunk with thv caresses,
Madly threw world away.
Should the base plebeian rabble
Dare assail my fame in Rome,
Where my noble spouse. Octavia.
Weeps within her widowed home,
Seek her! Say the gods have told me-
Affairs, augurs, circling wings
That her blood with mine commingled,
Yet shall mount the throne of king!
As for thee. star.eyed Egyptian
Glorious sorceress of the Nile!
Light the path to stygian horrors
With the splendors Of thy smile.
Give to Caesar crowns and arches,
Let his brow his laurel Irvine;
can scorn the Senate's triumphs
Triumphing in love like thine.
lam dying, Egypt, dying!
-l.I A. S~>~. ,ta< -