University of Virginia Library

“Kohath, and Sarah,—from your heavenly child,
Never should ye know severance; for, all else
Which the world hath, of pleasant, or of rare,
Would, wanting her, seem common, joyless, poor.
But, vast the palace wherein she will dwell;
And chambers spacious, numerous there are,
Wherein ye may abide: so one home still
Will yours and hers remain: your revenue such
As fits Egyptian prince.

“But, now, for thee,
Young Reuben; gentle, virtuous, loving,—just,
Boldly I add; for, in thy countenance,
And thy demeanor, so I read thy worth;
And rightly read; yea, plainly, as thy brow,—
Door to the very chamber of the soul,—
With letters of heaven's fire were over-writ,
Telling its qualities such,—for thee, poor youth,
From whom the richest jewel of the world
Seek I to take,—for thee what may I do,
Such loss to countervail? Nought, verily,
Which, in thy mood existent, thou wouldst deem
More than the poorest fraction of that whole
Of which I'd rob thee. But, Time pauses not:
The earthquake may be staggered in its course,
Encountering bottomless rocks: great ocean's stream
Be turned, and hindered,—but, in earth, and heaven,
No power there is that can the stream of Time
One sun-flash stay: and still, as it flows on,
In all things, earthly, heavenly, it brings change.
Mountains, by Time, have been worn down to hills;
Hills flattened to the plains: the sun himself,
Sometime, 'tis said,—black, cold, and motionless,
Will hang in heaven, burned out. But, changeful most
Of all things, is weak man: one day insane
To clutch at some bright bauble; and, the next,
Heedless to keep, or lose it. Not of change
So hasty, capable thou, true-hearted youth.
Thy earnest love for that consummate maid,
Long moons may last: nay, even while the sun
Twice winter brings, twice summer; but, at length,—
By the same fate inexorable that rules
All things of earth and heaven,—wax faint it must,
By hope unfed, and die: and with it, too,
All that now stings, will perish: and thy life
Will pass as one bright day of blissful calm;
A golden sunshine, temperate, o'er thy head;
Airs of heaven fragrant, ever fanning thee;
Earth at thy feet, all verdure, flower, and fruit.
For, in the place of that too short-lived dream,
By fond youth thought immortal,—woman's love,—
Passion more lofty, and life-lasting too,
Will glow within thee; love of fame, wealth, rank,
Dominion; all which over the dull mass
Of men, lifts man; such will in glory rise
Within thy soul; and the poor dream of love
Melt, as noon-sun the dew-drop. Well I know,
Thou say'st within thy heart, ‘I heed them not;
Humble I am; for riches do not care;
Desire not fame, or power; but peacefully
In this sweet solitude my life to pass;’—
So say'st thou,—and the truth: yet, this day's truth,
Alone dost utter,—not the morrow's; that
May, as the poles, be opposite. 'Tis now day;
Anon it will be night; and, even so,
That which to thee seems day, will turn to night;
That which night seems, to day.

“Yet, not alone
In certainty of human changefulness,
Would I that thou seek comfort: for thy loss,—
So thou consent to lose,—I offer thee
Such recompense as, by clear reason judged,
And world's best wisdom, far beyond all count,
Thy loss would overpay. Attend me now,
And weigh what I shall speak. Fools have there been
Who, dark gold offered, have bright brass preferred:
Be thou not such! for, with the brass, thou'dst take
Evils most deadly! Laying now aside
All kingly power to enforce, I pray of thee
This maiden to resign. If true thy love
To her hath been, and is,—though loss to thee,
Yet, unto her such gain unspeakable,
And glory, thence proceeding,—thou wilt leap,
The sacrifice to offer. As thy wife,
A bondslave were she; as my son's, a queen.
Thou canst not hesitate. Yet, sacrifice
I ask not; but exchange: for one sweet flower,—
Celestial sweet; but ah! with every day
Destined to fade,—another exquisite flower,—
Perchance wellnigh as sweet, I offer thee;
And gems, which, all thy life long, bright as first,
Will shed a glory on thee. From that hour
When thou this maid shalt render,—to the king,
Even as his better hand shalt thou become;
The ruler, under him, of all this realm.
Thy palace, and thy retinue of state,
Princely shall be: o'er every lord and priest
Supremacy shalt thou hold. Judges most sage,
When doubtful, by thy sentence will be swayed.
The captains of our hosts to thee will look,
As to a second Pharaoh, for the word
That moveth armies. King in name alone,
Contented will I be; all kingly power
To thee resigning; while with wisdom thou,
Justice and mercy, shalt govern. If thou fail....
But fail thou wilt not; for in thee I read
Same qualities rare, which, in a day long past,
A youthful Hebrew to such state uplift,
That, to the Pharaoh then upon the throne,
The eye, the voice, the arm did he become;
In all, save title, king. Your records tell
Of that great Hebrew, Joseph. Even as he
Unto that Pharaoh was, so thou to me
Shalt on that day become. Nay more, far more:
For, Reuben, in the place of that fair maid,—
If thou resign her,—one condition sole
Exacted, and performed,—to thee I'd give,—
And all the earth would marvel—one, who most
Unto my heart is dear: one, whose rare charms
Are noised through Egypt: one, for whose fair hand
Kings have been suitors; one, whose dower will be
A pyramid's cost,—yea, even my own loved child,
Meroë, my youngest daughter. Her to thee,
Young Reuben, will I give; so, to my son,
This maiden thou wilt yield; and to our gods—
For here, too, law is absolute—worship pay.
Such the small price for which thou'rt offered now
Riches exhaustless, glory, honor, power;
A monarch's love, and boundless confidence;
A princess, the bright eye of all the land.
What say'st thou? And, blest Rachel, what say'st thou?
And you, their parents, what to this say ye?......
Yet, ere you answer, once again survey,
In narrow compass, the whole vast amount.