Santa Fe daily New Mexican., 1896-01-31
Marc Antony.

Marc antony.
'Tis vain, Fonteiusl As the half tanned steed,
Scenting the desert, lashes madly out
And strains and storms and struggles to be
freed,
Shaking his rafting harness all about,
&c. fiercer for restraint, here in my breast
Hot passion RACES, firing every thought.
For what Is honor, prudence, interest,
To the wild strength of lover Oh, best Of life,
My Joy, bliss, triumph glory, my souls wife,
My Cleopatra, desire thee so
That all restraints to the wild winds throw
Come what will, come life, come death, to me
'Tis equal il again look Oh thee.
Away, Fonteius Tell her that rage
With madness for her. Nothing can assuage
The strong desire, the torment, the fierce
stress
That whirls my thoughts round and inaames
my brain
But her great ardent eyes-dark eyes that draw
My being to them with a subtle law
And an almost divine imperiousness
Tell her do not live until feel
The thrill Of her wild touch, that through each
vein
Electric shoots its lightning, and again
Hear those low tones Of hers although they
steal,
As by some serpent charm, my will away
And wreck my manhood.
OuS oCvatlhl
This lying gals me, and It's worse than vain
Life is too short to waste In loves pretense,
In the bleak shadow of Indifference.
And you-what are you but CALLING chainf
hate you that cannot hate you more;
Even hate for you is only cold and dull
Cold as your heart and dull as Is your sense.
We're you but savage, wicked to the core,
Less pious, prudish, prudent, made to rule,
might have loved or hated more, but now
1,,1A Inc Il~r.r .rI,l
AS your insipid smile and placid brow,
Your glacial goodness and proprieties.
Tell my dear serpent must see her, fill
My eyes with the glad light Of her great eyes,
Though death, dishonor, anything you will,
Staid in the way! Aye, by my soul, disgrace
Is better in the sun Of Egypt's face
Than pomp or power in this detested place!
Oh, for the wine my queen alone can pour
From her rich naturei Let me starve no more
On this weak tepid drink that never warns
My lifeblood, but away with shams and forms!
Away with Rome! One hour in Egypt's eyes
Is worth score of Roman centuries.
Away, Fonteius Tell her till see
Those eyes do not live; that Rome to me
Is hateful. Tell her-oh, know not whati-
That every thought and feeling, space and spot,
Is like an ugly dream where she is not,
All persons plaques, all doings wearisome,
Ali talking empty. All these feasts and
friends,
These slaves and oourtiers, princes, palaces;
This Caesar, with his selfish aims and ends,
His oily ways and sleek hypocrisies;
This Lepidus and, worse than all by far,
This mawkish, pious, prude Octavia.
Are bonds and fetters, tedious as disease,
Not worth the parings of her finger nails.
Oh, for the breath of Egypt, the soft nights
OF the voluptuous east, the dear delights
We tasted there, the lotus perfumed gales
That dream along the low shores Of the Nile
And softly autter in the languid sailsl
Oh, for the queen of all, for the rich smile
That CLOVIS like autumn over her dark face,
For her large nature, her enchanting grace,
Her arms, that are away SO many mile!
Away, Fonteius! Lose no hour; make SAIL
Weigh anchor on the instant; gale
To blow you to herl Tell her shall be
Close on your very heels across the sea,
Praying that Neptune send me storms as strong
As passion is to sweep me swift along
Till the white spray sing whistling round my
And the waves gurgle meath the keel's SHARP
plow.
Fly, fly, Fonteiusl When think Of her
My soul within my body is astir,
My wild blood pulses, and my hot cheeks glow
Love with Its madness overwhelms me SO
That I-oh, go, say! Fonteius, gol
W. W. Story.