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Quench'd the lightning of his eyes,
The foe to daunt, the fair to charm.
Mourn, soldiers, mourn! your day is done ;

Valour has lost ils cheering sun ;
The Roman glory sels on Egypt's shore,
And great Mark Antony will rise no more.


Oh, comrades ! many a time has he

Led us to glorious victory!
Then, blush not, friends, at drops that force

Down manhood's cheek their rugged course : The tears that soldiers o'er their general shed, Are brave men's tribute to a brave man dead.


A constant fire his courage glow'd ;

A ceaseless stream his bounty flow'd. If riches in the field of fame he reap'd, The harvest was on love and

friendship heap'd.


When Mars no longer batlled on his side,

And Neplune, weary of his prowess grow, Buoy'd him no inore to conquest down the tide, Ecn then no sword subdued him lut his own. While Cleopatra's grave ye trim,

There her lored Antony inter;
For she her kgypt lost for him,

He half the world for her.


No monument, till now, could boast a pair

So famed, yet, ah! so luckless in their doom ; Long will the dores of Venus murmur there,

And shouts of warriors thunder o'er the tomb.

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