The Newberry herald and news. (Newberry, S.C.) 1884-1903, 1891-08-13

past.
Nevertheless, Colonel Keitt's idea is
along step away from the sub-treasury
and toward sounder and more demo-
cratic principles, and we are glad to
see it.
THE HISTORY OF A POEM,
1t Forms One of the Most Touching Incl
dents of the Civil War.
One of the finest poems in the mod
ern 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 Lytle, on the eve of the
battle of Chickamauga. We are in
debted to the late Col. Realf,, poet, au-
thor and soldier, who shared the for
tunes of war with his friend, Gen.
Lytle, for an account Of the peculiar
circumstances under which the poem
was written.
Col. Realf shared the tent of Gen.
Lytle 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 criticised each others
efforts humorously for some time, when
Gen. Lytle said with grave smile:
"Realf, T shall never live to finish
that poem"
Nonsense" said his friend, 'you
will live to write volumes ofsuch stuff"
"No," said the general, solemnly,
"as I was speaking to you feeling
came over me suddenly, which is more
startling than prophecy, that I shall be
killed in to-morrow's fight"
Col. Rea1f asked him to define this
feeling, and he said:
GAS I was talking to you I saw the
green hills of Ohio as they looked when
I stood among them. They began to
recede from me in weird way-and as
they disappeared the conviction flashed
through me like the lightning's shock
that l should never see them again."
Gen. Lyle was native of Ohio, and
dearly loved his birth-state.
Col. Realf laughed at his friend, and
rallied him upon his superstition, but
acknowledged afterwards that hesbe-
came so thrilled himself with an un-
natural fear that he 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 be 'ad fallen, to read to him
that beautiful poem, which must live
as long as our literature survives.
Imagine the scene. The two men
united by the bonds of friendship, of
congenial tastes, both ready and will
ling to face death on the morning in its
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 his own eyes
filled with tears, but the general said
not a word, as he placed the manuscript
in his pocket and lay down to his;last
nights rest upon the earth.
Before dawn came the call to arms.
When Reaf 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
him place it, he drew it forth, and for
warded IN to Gen. Lytle's friends with
his other effects. We give the poem in
its entirety, feeling sure all will renew
their admiration of it, when they read
rnder what tragic circumstances j. was
written:
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA
I am dying, Egypt, dying!
Ebbs the crimson life-tide fast,
And the dark Plutonian shadows
Gather on the evening blast.
Let thine arm, 0, queen, support me,
Hush thy sobs and bow thine ear,
Hearken to the great heart secrets
Thou, and thou alone, must hear.
Though my scared and veteran legions
r" r their eagles high no more,
Anu my wrecked and scattered galleys
Strew dark Actium's fatal shore;
Though no glittering guards surround
me,
Prompt to do their masters will,
I 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, pillowed on thy bosom
Turned aside from glory's ray
His, who, drunk with thy caresses,
NIadly 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 kings.
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 twine;
can scorn the Senate's triumphs,
Triumphing in love like thine.
T am dying, Egypt, dying;
Hark the insulting foeman's cry!
They are coming! Quick, my falchion!
T Of ma front tba,,o ORC die