Sardou's Cleopatra — page 73: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

58 | SARDOU’S CLEOPATRA. THE LEGEND OF NITOCRIS. Sleep, the High Priest of the world, had the universe shriven. Fresh in the breath of the morn stood the meadow and wold. Clad, as if in a robe of innocence given, In dew unsullied by the lust of the day growing old. Tinged by the mystical wand of the earliest rays of the morning Cloudlets fringed as with gold in an opal ocean swim, While through the orchard-aisles, the grace of the dawn adorn- ing, Fair and alone does Nitocris steal to the river’s brim. Sudden a noise in the reeds, the birds from their slumbering frightens ; Still stands the maiden, intent, poised like a wave at its turn, While an Aurora-like flush o’er her features rises and lightens, Lest her but slightly-vailed charms a too early boatman dis- cern. But not so much.as a ripple has shattered the glass of the river; Falls from her shoulders the tunic, when loosed is the clasp that had kept; Crossing her hands on her bosom, she stoops with an infantile shiver, To gaze in innecent pride at the sandals from which she has stept. Gleams her young form in the sun like old Neptune's new-risen daughter, Mirrored below in the depths of the slow- owes Nile. Prettily one little foot then timidly ripples the water, Mocks she the image destroyed, with the gleam of a banter- ing smile. Tripplingly over the waters, the sunlight sparkles and glances— Bosom and shoulder and limb with its vermil-hued pence dyes. comicbooks.co