Moses on the Nile

"Sisters! the wave is freshest in the rayOf the young morning; the reapers are asleep;The river bank is lonely: come away!The early murmurs of old Memphis creepFaint on my ear; and here unseen we stray,--Deep in the covert of the grove withdrawn,Save by the dewy eye-glance of the dawn.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 meThan gold and porphyry vases bright and wide;How glad in heaven the song-bird carols free!Sweeter these zephyrs float than all the showersOf costly odors in our royal bowers.

"The sky is pure, the sparkling stream is clear:Unloose your zones, my maidens! and fling downTo float awhile upon these bushes nearYour blue transparent robes: take off my crown,And take away my jealous veil; for hereTo-day we shall be joyous while we laveOur 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 seemAn 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 shellOf Iris, wafted gently to the sighsOf the light breeze along the rippling swell;But no: it is a skiff where sweetly liesAn infant slumbering, and his peaceful restLooks as if pillowed on his mother's breast.

"He sleeps--oh, see! his little floating bedSwims on the mighty river's fickle flow,A white dove's nest; and there at hazard ledBy the faint winds, and wandering to and fro,The cot comes down; beneath his quiet headThe gulfs are moving, and each threatening waveAppears to rock the child upon a grave.

"He wakes--ah, maids of Memphis! haste, oh, haste!He cries! alas!--What mother could confideHer offspring to the wild and watery waste?He stretches out his arms, the rippling tideMurmurs around him, where all rudely placed,He rests but with a few frail reeds beneath,Between such helpless innocence and death.

"Oh! take him up! Perchance he is of thoseDark sons of Israel whom my sire proscribes;Ah! cruel was the mandate that aroseAgainst most guiltless of the stranger tribes!Poor child! my heart is yearning for his woes,I would I were his mother; but I'll giveIf not his birth, at least the claim to live."

Thus Iphis spoke; the royal hope and prideOf a great monarch; while her damsels nigh,Wandered along the Nile's meandering side;And these diminished beauties, standing byThe trembling mother; watching with eyes wideTheir graceful mistress, admired her as stood,More lovely than the genius of the flood!

The waters broken by her delicate feetReceive the eager wader, as aloneBy gentlest pity led, she strives to meetThe wakened babe; and, see, the prize is won!She holds the weeping burden with a sweetAnd 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 outBeyond the humid sands; at her approachHer curious maidens hurried round aboutTo kiss the new-born brow with gentlest touch;Greeting the child with smiles, and bending nighTheir faces o'er his large, astonished eye!

Haste thou who, from afar, in doubt and fear,Dost watch, with straining eyes, the fated boy--The loved of heaven! come like a stranger near,And clasp young Moses with maternal joy;Nor fear the speechless transport and the tearWill e'er betray thy fond and hidden claim,For Iphis knows not yet a mother's name!

With a glad heart, and a triumphal face,The princess to the haughty Pharaoh ledThe humble infant of a hated race,Bathed with the bitter tears a parent shed;While loudly pealing round the holy placeOf Heaven's white Throne, the voice of angel choirsIntoned the theme of their undying lyres!

"No longer mourn thy pilgrimage below--O Jacob! let thy tears no longer swellThe torrent of the Egyptian river: Lo!Soon on the Jordan's banks thy tents shall dwell;And Goshen shall behold thy people goDespite the power of Egypt's law and brand,From their sad thrall to Canaan's promised land.

"The King of Plagues, the Chosen of Sinai,Is he that, o'er the rushing waters driven,A vigorous hand hath rescued for the sky;Ye whose proud hearts disown the ways of heaven!Attend, be humble! for its power is nighIsrael! a cradle shall redeem thy worth--A Cradle yet shall save the widespread earth!"