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Israel in Egypt

A Poem. By Edwin Atherstone
  
  

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“If ye refuse what I have stooped to ask,—
Your loss, and mine, see first. For mine,—a son
Love-tortured; perhaps of reason all bereft;
And, haply, through your magic, one more plague:—
Such were, to me the sum; nor light the amount,
As my conditions show: but, unto you,
The amount enormous! misery of such bulk,
That all life's joys 'twould crush: and,—bitterest thought
For your few wretched years,—by your own act
Solely brought on you: neither fate, nor power
Despotic, having forced; nor ignorance
Misled you,—for the issues all ye know,—
Nor aught save blind, mad obstinacy in wrong,
Hurried you on to doom. Ye see me now,

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Calm, gentle, generous; nay, to one and all,
Even as a loving relative. Be calm,
Generous, gentle, loving in your turn,
And life will be all sunshine: but, for love,
Should ye give hate; or, though professing love,
Prove that, at heart, ye hate, by flinging back
What love had offered,—then, like deeds of hate
From me would ye enforce. No freedom then
To Israel would be given: but that ye have,
Would all be taken from you. This blest land
Of Goshen would no longer be your home:
Scattered through Egypt,—father, mother, son,
Brother, and sister, daughter, husband, wife,
Each separate from the rest,—slaves would ye be;
The brickfield, pyramid, fosse, canal; or aught
That labor hardest, and most servile asks,—
Your portion till life's end. And, from that man
In whom ye trust, your Moses, never more
Would hope come to you; for, if once again
His magic he dare try; and with new plague
Should harass Egypt,—even on that same day,
Ere sunset should he hang. Your Hebrew race
Its very name would lose; Egyptian slaves,
Alone thenceforth your style. Annihilate
Your god would be; his temples overthrown;
His worship made a crime,—nay, even his name
Be death to him who spake it. If aught else,
Yet worse, can be imagined, verily
That also might be added; till the worm
Beneath your foot half trampled, would be gay,
With such as you compared. Say not I threat
Revenge, if ye refuse my will to do:
It is not I would send; but ye would draw,
On your own heads such misery. For myself,
Good unto all I ask for: if ye grant,
The greatest gainers ye; if ye refuse,
Just is it that the heaviest be your loss.
Yours only is the act, the sentence yours;
Be it good, or heaviest ill.... The evil such

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Of your refusal,—of compliance, next,
Let me the good recall.”
His countenance,
And voice, which, that dark future shadowing,
As cloud and thunder had been,—now, like the smile
Of sunbeam after shower, and the glad sounds
Of bird and whispering breeze, came pleasantly.