Cæsar, on the stones of the deserted hall, Under the folds of his toga, lay in majesty. The green-lipped bronze of Pompey, proud and tall, Smiled at the white corpse bloodily. The spirit just fled through a road made clear By the steel of Brutus and of Liberty, Hovered sadly over the lifeless, dear Flesh fond death made pale yet fair to see. On a bare marble bench near by, at rest, The even movements of his mighty chest Marking his snores, a Senator took his leisure. The silence woke him and, disturbed, he cried Across the silent horror at his side: "I vote to give the imperial crown to Cæsar!" |