University of Virginia Library

At length, well nigh three days
Had run; and ponderous still as ever lay
The blackness on the land; silence like death;
Utter stagnation. Oft, with prayers, and tears,
The gentle queen had striven, the stubborn heart
Of Pharaoh to subdue, that he might send
To Moses, and beseech him, with his God
To plead for suffering Egypt: yet, till now,
Hard had he been as iron: but, at last,
Worn out with horror, and fast growing dread
Lest even on themselves might famine fall,—
Darkness enduring,—to her earnest prayer
He yielded: and on them who, by command,
Without the door attended,—called, and said;
“Go, some of you, and quickly as ye may;
And say to Moses, ‘the king waiteth thee;
Come thou before him.’”
Then the weeping queen
Dried up her tears; and thanks spake; and lay still;
Undoubting of the end.
Yet hours passed by,
And Moses came not, nor the messengers:
Through that chaotic night a way to find,
The task so difficult.
But, what time the sun
Far under earth had dipped, a voice they heard;

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“Light of the worlds! without the door even now
The Hebrew standeth: all alone he came;
Walking as in the daylight. Will the king
His pleasure speak?”
“Let him draw nigh; for here
Must I talk with him,” Pharaoh said. “And thou,
My Sirois,” he whispered,—“mark not word
That shall be spoken: turn away thy face,
And shut thine ear; lest, if harsh speech arise,
Thou may betray thyself.”
Scarce had he ceased,
When near him was a voice; and, when he looked,
Lo! Moses stood before him; visible,
Like a pale flame; his countenance severe,
Yet not in wrath; but with stern sanctity
Of upright judge, addressing criminal.