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21

MOSES ON THE NILE

"Sisters! the wave is freshest in the ray Of the young morning; the reapers are asleep; The river-bank is lonely; come away!

The early murmurs of old Memphis creep Faint on my ear; and here unseen we stray (Deep in the covert of the grove withdrawn), Save by the dewy eye-glance of the dawn. "Within my father's palace, fair to see,

Shine all the Arts, but oh! this river-side, Pranked with gay flowers, is dearer far to me Than gold and porphyry vases bright and wide; How glad in heaven the song-bird carols free!

Sweeter these zephyrs float than all the showers Of costly odors in our royal bowers.

"The sky is pure, the sparkling stream is clear: Unloose your zones, my maidens, and fling down To float awhile upon these bushes near

Your blue transparent robes: take off my crown, And take away my jealous veil; for here

To-day we shall be joyous while we lave
Our limbs amid the murmur of the wave.

"Hasten; but through the fleecy mists of morn,
What do I see? Look ye along the stream!
Nay, timid maidens, we must not return!

Coursing along the current, it would seem
An ancient palm-tree to the deep sea borne,
That from the distant wilderness proceeds,
Downwards, to view our wondrous Pyramids.

"But stay! if I may surely trust mine eye,
It is the bark of Hermes, or the shell
Of Iris, wafted gently to the sighs

Of the light breeze along the rippling swell;
But no: it is a skiff where sweetly lies

An infant slumbering, and his peaceful rest
Looks as if pillowed on his mother's breast.

“He sleeps—oh, see! his little floating bed

Swims on the mighty river's fickle flow, A white dove's nest; and there at hazard led By the faint winds, and wandering to and fro, The cot comes down; beneath his quiet head The gulfs are moving, and each threatening wave Appears to rock the child upon a grave.

"He wakes-ah, maids of Memphis, haste, oh, haste!

He cries! alas!-what mother could confide
Her offspring to the wild and watery waste?
He stretches out his arms,-the rippling tide
Murmurs around him where all rudely placed

He rests with but a few frail reeds beneath,
Between such helpless innocence and death.

"Oh! take him up! Perchance he is of those

Dark sons of Israel whom my sire proscribes;
Ah! cruel was the mandate that arose

Against most guiltless of the stranger tribes!
Poor child! my heart is yearning for his woes;
I would I were his mother; but I'll give
If not his birth, at least the right to live."

Thus Iphis spoke-the royal hope and pride
Of a great monarch; while her damsels nigh
Wandered along the Nile's meandering side;
And these diminished beauties, standing by
The trembling mother, watching with eyes wide
Their graceful mistress, admired her as she stood,
More lovely than the genius of the flood.

The waters broken by her delicate feet
Receive the eager wader, as alone
By gentlest pity led she strives to meet
The wakened babe; and see, the prize is won!
She holds the weeping burden with a sweet
And virgin glow of pride upon her brow,
That knew no flush save modesty's till now.

Opening with cautious hands the reedy couch,
She brought the rescued infant slowly out
Beyond the humid sands; at her approach

Her curious maidens hurried round about
To kiss the new-born brow with gentlest touch;
Greeting the child with smiles, and bending nigh
Their faces o'er his large, astonished eye!

Haste thou, who from afar, with doubt and fear,
Dost watch, with straining eyes, the fated boy—
The loved of Heaven! Come as a stranger near,
And clasp young Moses with maternal joy;
Nor fear the speechless transport and the tear
Will e'er betray thy fond and hidden part,
For Iphis knows not yet a mother's heart.

With a glad heart, and a triumphal face,
The princess to the haughty Pharaoh led
The humble infant of a hated race,

Bathed with the bitter tears a parent shed;
While, loudly pealing round the holy place

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Of Heaven's white throne, the voice of angel choirs

Intoned the theme of their undying lyres.

No longer mourn thy pilgrimage below,

O Jacob! let thy tears no longer swell The torrent of th'Egyptian river. Lo!

Soon on the Jordan's banks thy tents shall dwell, And Goshen shall behold thy people go

Despite the power of Egypt's law and brand, From their sad thrall to Canaan's promised land!"

VICTOR HUGO

Translation from the Dublin University Magazine

22

MOSES AND THE ANGEL

"Praise Him, Al-Mutâhâli! Whose decree Is wiser than the wit of Man can see." 'Tis written in the chapter " Of the Cave," An Angel of the Lord, a minister,

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Had errands upon earth, and Moses said,

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Grant me to wend with thee, that I may learn

God's ways with men." The Angel, answering, said,

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Thou canst not bear with me; thou wilt not have Knowledge to judge; yet if thou followest me, Question me not, whatever I shall do,

Until I tell thee."

Then they found a ship

On the sea-shore, wherefrom the Angel struck

Her boards, and brake them. Moses said, "Wilt

drown

The mariners? This is a strange thing wrought."

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Did I not say thou couldst not bear with me?” The Angel answered,--" Be thou silent now!"

Yet farther, and they met an Arab boy; Upon his eyes with mouth invisible

The Angel breathed; and all his warm blood froze,
And, with a moan, he sank to earth and died.
Then Moses said, "Slay'st thou the innocent
Who did no wrong? This is a hard thing seen!"
"Did I not tell thee," said the Minister,

"Thou wouldst not bear with me? Question me not!"

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