Who, ere their generous hearts in death were stilled,
By some unconquerable impulse thrilled,
Within the compass of a crowded hour
Outlived a lifetime, and "all hours fulfilled."
"Immortal dead!" I hear our Virgil sigh,
"How can the dearest and the noblest die?"
And though his passionate appeal be vain,
Now less than ever can I chide his cry.
Shall I outlive them with my Latin lay,
I who my shield once basely cast away,
Preserved and sheltered by their sacrifice?
Love and Regret and Envy answer Nay.
C. L. Graves.
XI
THOUGH purple robes of Tyrian
Or of Sidonian sheen,
Though essences Assyrian
Befit your festal mien,
You never shone so greatly
As when I saw you lately,
Clad simply and sedately,
In Livia's canteen.
On weary war-worn fighters,
Who guard the Empire's gate,
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