Letitia Landon in Pictorial Album; or, Cabinet of Paintings for the year 1837/Cleopatra

⁠I.
On the couch the Queen is lying,
    On the royal bed,
To her heart the snake applying,
    Where a Conqueror's head
⁠Rested, and was proud to rest:
Dark and starry, her thick tresses
    Are with jewels bound;
Are they warm with the caresses
    Of the Chief who wound
⁠Gems amid the curls he prest,—
⁠The curls of Cleopatra,
⁠The bright Egyptian Queen?

⁠II.
Two great empires have been shaken,
    Her's worst lot to bear;
From her hand the sway is taken
    While that hand is fair.
⁠Cold is the young Cæsar's eye:
Well she knows that hour is over
    Nothing can renew,
When the Conqueror was her lover
    And she conquered too.
⁠Only now remains to die.
⁠Death waits for Cleopatra,
⁠The proud Egyptian Queen.

⁠III.
Still she weareth queenly seeming,
    Conscious of the past;
And the pale sweet lips are dreaming
    Of the spell they cast
⁠When she made the heart her own;
When the first imperial Cæsar,
    And the Triumvir,
Scattered kingdoms round to please her;
    Never gave the world a peer
⁠To the lovers she has known,
⁠The slaves of Cleopatra
⁠The charmed Egyptian Queen.

⁠IV.
Yet the glorious past has bound her
    In a chain like sleep;
Visions of long years surround her,
    And their pageants sweep
⁠Over her unconquered eyes.
First she sees herself, half trembling,
    In an armed tent;
To the earth, with sweet dissembling,
    Her soft brow is bent:
⁠But the Cæsar kneels and sighs,
⁠Subdued by Cleopatra
⁠The young Egyptian Queen.

⁠V.
Next there glides a sunny river;
    She is on the tide,
O'er her golden banners shiver,
    And the flutes beside
⁠Fling their low soft notes to shore.
But the haughty trumpet greets her,
    With the clang of arms,
While the Roman conqueror meets her,
    Meets to own her charms,
⁠And the world is her's once more,—
⁠Won again by Cleopatra,
⁠The soft Egyptian Queen.

⁠VI.
Then she sees a lighted palace,
    Filled with mirth and song;
On the waves of each bright chalice
    Floats dark night along;
⁠Crowned they sit with rosy flowers.
Back she flings her hair's rich cluster
    From her cheek's red light,
And her wild eyes' midnight lustre
    Grows more fiercely bright.
⁠Fate is by those festal hours,
⁠The fate of Cleopatra,
⁠The glad Egyptian Queen.

⁠VII.
Dark and darker grows the vision;
    On her lips appear
Smiles, that with a stern derision
    Meet the coming fear.
⁠Mystic phantoms fill the room,
Strange dim shapes together blending
    In her glazing eye,—
And ancestral queens, ascending,
    Summon her to die.
⁠Shadows from the shadowy tomb,
⁠They come for Cleopatra,
⁠The doomed Egyptian Queen.

⁠VIII.
Dim the purple lid is drooping
    O'er the radiant eyes;
And the stately head is stooping,
    And the cheek's rich dyes
⁠Are like marble white and dull.
Never shall Augustus cover
    That imperial form with chains;
Yet the Beauty has a lover,
    Death, almighty Death, remains!
⁠And in death how beautiful
⁠Is the worshipped Cleopatra,
⁠The dead Egyptian Queen.