90 Southern Historical Society Papers.
General Lytle was a native of Ohio, and dearly loved his birth State. Colonel Realf laughed at his friend, 'and rallied him upon his superstition, but acknowledged afterward that he became so thrilled himself with an unnatural fear that he begged the General to fin- ish his poem before he slept, that such fine work might not be lost to the world. In the small hours General Lytle awakened his friend from the slumber into which he had 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 friend- ship, of congenial tastes, both ready and willing to face death on the morning in its direct form, scanning by the light of their tent lantern each other's features, when the finished poem had been read aloud.
Colonel 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 on his last night's rest upon earth.
Before dawn came the call of arms. When Realf 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 forwarded it to General Ly tie'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 under what tragic circumstances it was written.
I AM DYING, EGYPT, DYING.
I am dying, Egypt, dying!
Ebbs the crimson life-tide fast, And the dark Plutonian shadows.
Gather on the evening blast. Let thine arm, O Queen, support me;
Hush thy sobs and bow thine ear, Hearken to the great heart secrets
Thou, and thou alone, must hear.
Though my scarred and veteran legions
Bear their eagles high no more, And my wrecked and scattered galleys
Strew dark Actium's fatal shore: Though no glittering guards surround me,
Prompt to do their master's will, I must perish like a Roman
Die, the great Triumvir still!
