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.[118] 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.