The open sea. Edgar Lee Masters

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       A zealot of one purpose: liberty;

       A spirit as of a beast that knows one thing:

       Its food and how to get it; over its spirit

       No heaven keeps of changing light; no stars

       Of wandering thought; no moons that charm

       Still groves by singing waters, and no suns

       Of large illumination, showing life

       As multiform and fathomless, filled with wings

       Of various truth, each true as other truth.

       This was that Brutus, made an asp by thought

       And nature, to be used by envious hands

       And placed to Cæsar’s breast. So Antony

       Discoursed upon our walk, and capped it off

       With Brutus’ words when dying. They were these:

       “O virtue, miserable virtue, bawd and cheat;

       Thou wert a bare word and I followed thee

       As if thou hadst been real. But even as evil,

       Lust, ignorance, thou wert the plaything too

       Of fortune and of chance.”

       So Antony

       Consoled himself with Brutus, sighed and lapsed

       To silence; thinking, as we deemed, of life

       And what it yet could be, and how ’twould end;

       And how to join his Cleopatra, what

       The days would hold amid the toppling walls

       Of Rome in demolition, now the hand

       Of Cæsar rotted, and no longer stayed

       The picks and catapults of an idiot world!

       So, as it seemed, he would excuse himself

       For Actium and his way in life. For soon

       He speaks again, of Theophrastus now,

       Who lived a hundred years, spent all his life

       In study and in writing, brought to death

       By labor; dying lay encompassed by

       Two thousand followers, disciples, preachers

       Of what he taught; and dying was penitent

       For glory, even as Brutus was penitent

       For virtue later. And so Antony

       Spoke Theophrastus’ dying words, and told

       How Theophrastus by a follower

       Asked for a last commandment, spoke these words:

       “There is none. But ’tis folly to cast away

       Pleasure for glory! And no love is worse

       Than love of glory. Look upon my life:—

       Its toil and hard denial! To what end?

       Therefore live happy; study, if you must,

       For fame and happiness. Life’s vanity

       Exceeds its usefulness.”

       So speaking thus

       Wise Theophrastus died.

       Now I have said

       That Brutus ruined Antony. So he did,

       If Antony were ruined—that’s the question.

       For Antony hearing Brutus say, “O virtue,

       Miserable virtue, bawd and cheat,” and seeing

       The eyes of Brutus stare in death, threw over him

       A scarlet mantle, and took to his heart

       The dying words of Brutus.

      It is true

       That Cicero said Antony as a youth

       Was odious for drinking-bouts, amours,

       For bacchanals, luxurious life, and true

       When as triumvir, after Cæsar’s death,

       He kept the house of Pompey, where he lived,

       Filled up with jugglers, drunkards, flatterers.

       All this before the death of Brutus, or

       His love for Cleopatra. But it’s true

       He was great Cæsar’s colleague. Cæsar dead,

       This Antony is chief ruler of all Rome,

       And wars in Greece, and Asia. So it’s true

       He was not wholly given to the cup,

       But knew fatigue and battle, hunger too,

       Living on roots in Parthia. Yet, you see,

       With Cæsar slaughtered in the capitol,

       His friend, almost his god; and Brutus gasping

       “O miserable virtue”; and the feet of men

       From Syria to Hispania, slipping off

       The world that broke in pieces, like an island

       Falling apart beneath a heaving tide—

       Whence from its flocculent fragment wretches leap—

       You see it was no wonder for this Antony,

       Made what he was by nature and by life,

       In such a time and fate of the drifting world,

       To turn to Cleopatra, and leave war

       And rulership to languish.

       Thus it was:

       Cæsar is slaughtered, Antony must avenge

       The death of Cæsar. Brutus is brought to death,

       And dying scoffs at virtue which took off

       In Brutus’ hand the sovran life of Cæsar.

       And soon our Antony must fight against

       The recreant hordes of Asia, finding here

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