CHAPTER 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 sphynxes 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 sisters 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 before 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.”

FLIGHT INTO MIDIAN.—CHAPTER III.

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.