Poetry · Moses (2/4)

II

It was a great change from the splendor, light

And pleasure of a palace to the lowly huts

Of those who sighed because of cruel bondage. As he passed

Into the outer courts of that proud palace,

He paused a moment just to gaze upon

The scenes ’mid which his early life had passed⁠—

The pleasant haunts amid the fairest flowers,

The fountains tossing on the air their silver spray⁠—

The statues breathing music soft and low

To greet the first faint flushes of the morn⁠—

The obelisks that rose in lofty grandeur

From their stony beds⁠—the sphinxes gaunt and grim,

With unsolved riddles on their lips⁠—and all

The bright creation’s painters art and sculptors

Skill had gathered in those regal halls, where mirth,

And dance, and revelry, and song had chased

With careless feet the bright and fleeting hours.

He was leaving all; but no regrets came

Like a shadow o’er his mind, for he had felt

The quickening of a higher life, as if his

Soul had wings and he were conscious of their growth;

And yet there was a tender light in those

Dark eyes which looked their parting on the scenes

Of beauty, where his life had been a joyous

Dream enchanted with delight; but he trampled

On each vain regret as on a vanquished foe,

And went forth a strong man, girded with lofty

Purposes and earnest faith. He journeyed on

Till palaces and domes and lofty fanes,

And gorgeous temples faded from his sight,

And the lowly homes of Goshen came in view.

There he saw the women of his race kneading

Their tale of bricks; the sons of Abraham

Crouching beneath their heavy burdens. He saw

The increasing pallor on his sister’s cheek,

The deepening shadows on his mother’s brow,

The restless light that glowed in Aaron’s eye,

As if a hidden fire were smouldering

In his brain; and bending o’er his mother

In a tender, loving way, he said, “Mother,

I’ve come to share the fortunes of my race⁠—

To dwell within these lowly huts⁠—to wear

The badge of servitude and toil, and eat

The bitter bread of penury and pain.”

A sudden light beamed from his mother’s eye,

And she said, “How’s this, my son? but yesterday

Two Hebrews, journeying from On to Goshen,

Told us they had passed the temple of the Sun

But dared not enter, only they had heard

That it was a great day in On; that thou hadst

Forsworn thy kindred, tribe and race; hadst bowed

Thy knee to Egypt’s vain and heathen worship;

Hadst denied the God of Abraham, of Isaac,

And of Jacob, and from henceforth wouldst

Be engrafted in Pharaoh’s regal line,

And be called the son of Pharaoh’s daughter.

When thy father Amram heard the cruel news

He bowed his head upon his staff and wept.

But I had stronger faith than that. By faith

I hid thee when the bloody hands of Pharaoh

Were searching ’mid our quivering heart strings,

Dooming our sons to death; by faith I wove

The rushes of thine ark and laid thee ’mid

The flags and lilies of the Nile, and saw

The answer to that faith when Pharaoh’s daughter

Placed thee in my arms, and bade me nurse the child

For her; and by that faith sustained, I heard

As idle words the cruel news that stabbed

Thy father like a sword.”

“The Hebrews did not hear aright; last week

There was a great day in On, from Esoan’s gate

Unto the mighty sea; the princes, lords

And chamberlains of Egypt were assembled;

The temple of the sun was opened. Isis

And Osiris were unveiled before the people;

Apis and Orus were crowned with flowers;

Golden censers breathed their fragrance on the air;

The sacrifice was smoking on the altar;

The first fruits of the Nile lay on the tables

Of the sun: the music rose in lofty swells,

Then sank in cadences so soft and low

Till all the air grew tremulous with rapture.

The priests of On were there, with sacred palms

Within their hands and lotus leaves upon their

Brows; Pharaoh and his daughter sat waiting

In their regal chairs; all were ready to hear

Me bind my soul to Egypt, and to swear

Allegiance to her gods. The priests of On

Drew near to lay their hands upon my head

And bid me swear, ‘Now, by Osiris, judge

Of all the dead, and Isis, mother of us

All,’ that henceforth I’d forswear my kindred,

Tribe and race; would have no other gods

Than those of Egypt; would be engrafted

Into Pharaoh’s royal line, and be called

The son of Pharaoh’s daughter. Then, mother

Dear, I lived the past again. Again I sat

Beside thee, my lips apart with childish

Wonder, my eager eyes uplifted to thy

Glowing face, and my young soul gathering

Inspiration from thy words. Again I heard

Thee tell the grand traditions of our race,

The blessed hopes and glorious promises

That weave their golden threads among the sombre

Tissues of our lives, and shimmer still amid

The gloom and shadows of our lot. Again

I heard thee tell of Abraham, with his constant

Faith and earnest trust in God, unto whom

The promise came that in his seed should all

The nations of the earth be blessed. Of Isaac,

Blessing with disappointed lips his first born son,

From whom the birthright had departed. Of Jacob,

With his warm affections and his devious ways,

Flying berore the wrath of Esau; how he

Slumbered in the wild, and saw amid his dreams

A ladder reaching to the sky, on which God’s

Angels did descend, and waking, with a solemn

Awe o’ershadowing all, his soul exclaimed, ‘How

Dreadful is this place. Lo! God is here, and I

Knew it not.’ Of Joseph, once a mighty prince

Within this land, who shrank in holy horror

From the soft white hand that beckoned him to sin;

Whose heart, amid the pleasures, pomp and pride

Of Egypt, was ever faithful to his race,

And when his life was trembling on its frailest chord

He turned his dying eyes to Canaan, and made

His brethren swear that they would make his grave

Among the patriarchs of his line, because

Machpelah’s cave, where Abraham bowed before

The sons of Heth, and bought a place to lay

His loved and cherished dead, was dearer to his

Dying heart than the proudest tomb amid

The princely dead of Egypt.

Then, like the angels, mother dear, who met

Our father Jacob on his way, thy words

Came back as messengers of light to guide

My steps, and I refused to be called the son

Of Pharaoh’s daughter. I saw the priests of On

Grow pale with fear, an ashen terror creeping

O’er the princess’ face, while Pharaoh’s brow grew

Darker than the purple of his cloak. But I

Endured, as seeing him who hides his face

Behind the brightness of his glory.

And thus I left the pomp and pride of Egypt

To cast my lot among the people of my race.”

III

Flight Into Midian

The love of Moses for his race soon found

A stern expression. Pharaoh was building

A pyramid; ambitious, cold and proud,

He scrupled not at means to gain his ends.

When he feared the growing power of Israel

He stained his hands in children’s blood, and held

A carnival of death in Goshen; but now

He wished to hand his name and memory

Down unto the distant ages, and instead

Of lading that memory with the precious

Fragrance of the kindest deeds and words, he

Essayed to write it out in stone, as cold

And hard, and heartless as himself. And Israel was

The fated race to whom the cruel tasks

Were given. Day after day a cry of wrong

And anguish, some dark deed of woe and crime,

Came to the ear of Moses, and he said,

“These reports are ever harrowing my soul;

I will go unto the fields where Pharaoh’s

Officers exact their labors, and see

If these things be so⁠—if they smite the feeble

At their tasks, and goad the aged on to toils

Beyond their strength⁠–⁠if neither age nor sex

Is spared the cruel smiting of their rods.”

And Moses went to see his brethren. ’Twas eventide,

And the laborers were wending their way

Unto their lowly huts. ’Twas a sad sight⁠—

The young girls walked without the bounding steps

Of youth, with faces prematurely old,

As if the rosy hopes and sunny promises

Of life had never flushed their cheeks with girlish

Joy; and there were men whose faces seemed to say,

We bear our lot in hopeless pain, we’ve bent unto

Our burdens until our shoulders fit them,

And as slaves we crouch beneath our servitude

And toil. But there were men whose souls were cast

In firmer moulds, men with dark secretive eyes,

Which seemed to say, to-day we bide our time,

And hide our wrath in every nerve, and only

Wait a fitting hour to strike the hands that press

Us down. Then came the officers of Pharaoh;

They trod as lords, their faces flushed with pride

And insolence, watching the laborers

Sadly wending their way from toil to rest.

And Moses’ heart swelled with a mighty pain; sadly

Musing, he sought a path that led him

From the busy haunts of men. But even there

The cruel wrong trod in his footsteps; he heard

A heavy groan, then harsh and bitter words,

And, looking back, he saw an officer

Of Pharaoh smiting with rough and cruel hand

An aged man. Then Moses’ wrath o’erflowed

His lips, and every nerve did tremble

With a sense of wrong, and bounding forth he

Cried unto the smiter, “Stay thy hand; seest thou

That aged man? His head is whiter than our

Desert sands; his limbs refuse to do thy

Bidding because thy cruel tasks have drained

Away their strength.” The Egyptian raised his eyes

With sudden wonder; who was this that dared dispute

His power? Only a Hebrew youth. His

Proud lip curved in scornful anger, and he

Waved a menace with his hand, saying, “back

To thy task base slave, nor dare resist the will

Of Pharaoh.” Then Moses’ wrath o’erleaped the bounds

Of prudence, and with a heavy blow he felled

The smiter to the earth, and Israel had

One tyrant less. Moses saw the mortal paleness

Chase the flushes from the Egyptian’s face,

The whitening lips that breathed no more defiance,

And the relaxing tension of the well knit limbs;

And when he knew that he was dead, he hid

Him in the sand and left him to his rest.

Another day Moses walked

Abroad, and saw two brethren striving

For mastery; and then his heart grew full

Of tender pity. They were brethren, sharers

Of a common wrong: should not their wrongs more

Closely bind their hearts, and union, not division,

Be their strength? And feeling thus, he said, “ye

Are brethren, wherefore do ye strive together?”

But they threw back his words in angry tones

And asked if he had come to judge them, and would

Mete to them the fate of the Egyptian?

Then Moses knew the sand had failed to keep

His secret, that his life no more was safe

In Goshen, and he fled unto the deserts

Of Arabia and became a shepherd

For the priest of Midian.