University of Virginia Library

“Oh Pharaoh, open, open instantly,”
Cried Sirois, tears streaming down her cheeks;
“'Tis that young child whom, as my own she were,
Thou know'st I love!” But Pharaoh heard her not;
For, suddenly, within the chamber stood
A shape gigantic, and of regal mien:
In habit of Egyptian king, the first
In Heliopolis throned. His countenance
Was like pale flame; his voice was soft, and low
As murmur in a rocky seashore cave,
Heard at deep midnight, when the slow waves heave
Upon the pebbly beach, and backward glide
Reluctantly, as moaning at repulse.
With wonder and with terror Pharaoh gazed;
But word found none. Upon him looked the Shape,
With awful eye, and thus.

“From Amun sent,
Come I before thee, king; myself once king,
In days far gone, o'er this Egyptian realm;
Long ere the pyramids: Menes was my name.
Thus saith the god. ‘Pharaoh, make firm thine heart:
Bow thou no more beneath the unholy spells
Of Hebrew magic. Where thou art, there stay;
So plague can never touch thee. Open not
To priest, or son, or daughter: nay, though all
Thine offspring with one voice cry out on thee;
Hearken thou not. Once opened, through the door,
Will burst the torment-flood; and thou wilt cry
Upon the sons of Amram, as before;
And they will triumph o'er thee: and their hand
Thereafter yet far heavier shalt thou feel.
Baffle them now; and, from this day, their power
Shalt thou make harmless. Heed the terrible god;
Lest thou incense him; and a plague he send,
So dire, that this, against it weighed, were nought.”
Ceasing, the dread form frowned upon the king,
And vanished. Stiff with terror, Pharaoh stood,
Staring on vacancy. His queen, amazed,—
For nought she saw, or heard,—hastily rose;
Grasped his cold, trembling hand, and gently thus.
“What ails thee, Pharaoh?—Speak,—on what dost look?”
“'Tis gone,” he answered; in a warm embrace
Compressing her: “A dream,—my sweet,—nought else.
Get thee to bed again. I am forbid
To open, even though priests, sons, daughters, all,
With one voice cry unto me. Come,—to bed.
'Twas but some woman of the palace. She
Must bide it as she may. So must they all;
Else will the god be wroth, and worse plague send;
Heavy, to this, as iron to dove's down......
There,—lie thou still, my Sirois. And, now, mark,—
Oh gods! those shrieks! they stab me to the heart!—
If, in some madness,—though for but one glance,
One atom-instant,—I the door should ope;
And the curs'd hum of but one fly thou hear,—
Tomb thee within the bed: leave not such space
Where even dust might enter.”

Anxiously
While thus he warned her,—on the door again
Heavy strokes sounded; and a clamor rose
Of voices louder gathering momently;
Outcries of terror some; and some of rage,
And all of torment; many, on the king,
Imploring entrance; some, that he would send
To Moses and to Aaron; but so mixed,
So lost in discord, that scarce word at all
Clear meaning brought. Then on the door again
Sharply he smote; and, lifting high his voice,
Thus spake. “Be silent now; ye clamorous,
And let one speak alone. Who are ye there?
And what your business, that, with such rude noise,
Even at the chamber of the queen ye storm?
Now, let one only answer; and be brief.”