 | The Discovery of Joseph |  |
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2. PART THE SECOND.
Joseph, Thanetes.Jos.
Hast thou observ'd my bidding?
Than.
All is done.
From me the Hebrew brethren have receiv'd
The corn thou gav'st in charge, and in the portion
Consign'd to Benjamin I have conceal'd
The silver chalice, us'd by thee at banquets
And solemn auguries; and this to them
Unknown, the shepherds are with joy departed:
But from amongst thy menials one at distance
Pursued their steps; and scarce they shall have pass'd
The city's gates, when he will seize and question
Of their imputed theft, and then conduct them
As criminals before thee.
Jos.
As I bade,
Thou duly hast discharg'd—but whence the wonder
Thy looks declare?
Than.
Who would not, gracious lord,
But marvel at the strange discordant passions,
Which I have mark'd in you? I've seen you lost
In tender feelings and inflam'd with anger,
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You welcome Jacob's sons, and then confus'd
Abruptly leave them: to the festive banquet
You bid them guests, and then with secret snares
Would seem to seek their ruin. Benjamin
You have distinguish'd by a thousand tokens
Of tenderness and love; and yet on him
Would fix the proof of this imagin'd crime.
Jos.
'Tis not permitted thee, Thanetes, yet
To fathom Joseph's thoughts. Go, bring once more
These shepherds to my sight. Without enquiry
To know my counsels, blindly thou obey
My will unquestion'd, tho' obscure; nor think
On thee my laws too rigidly impos'd.
Each man, by social compact, must be subject
To powers superior: these degrees are fram'd
By God's high ordinance, and he whose will
Resists his mightier's will, resists his God.
Than.
My zeal would not be rash, but when permitted
Would humbly speak, or silently obey.
Thy laws I honour, nor am yet to learn
What duties suit the station of Thanetes.
Would humbly speak, or silently obey.
Thy laws I honour, nor am yet to learn
What duties suit the station of Thanetes.
The servant ill his lord obeys,
And forfeits all a servant's praise,
Who each command presuming weighs,
And first approves or blames.
He slights th' eternal laws that bind
The various stations of mankind,
Who, mindless of his place assign'd,
Himself a judge proclaims.
And forfeits all a servant's praise,
Who each command presuming weighs,
And first approves or blames.
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The various stations of mankind,
Who, mindless of his place assign'd,
Himself a judge proclaims.
Joseph
alone.
O! thou ETERNAL TRUTH! who read'st the secrets
Of every heart, thou know'st if e'er I cherish'd
Against my brethren aught of fell revenge.
Almighty Power! for ever from my breast
Avert such dire design, which still returns
To plague its author; which employ'd on those
Above our strength, is folly; on our equals,
At least is dangerous: and on those beneath us,
Is abject tyranny. The feign'd resentment
My features wore, sought only from my brethren
Repentance for the past: I only wish'd
To set before them all the dreadful sufferings,
To which the wicked tend, that thus the fear
Of just reproach awaiting guilty deeds,
Might henceforth teach them to abhor the crime.
Of every heart, thou know'st if e'er I cherish'd
Against my brethren aught of fell revenge.
Almighty Power! for ever from my breast
Avert such dire design, which still returns
To plague its author; which employ'd on those
Above our strength, is folly; on our equals,
At least is dangerous: and on those beneath us,
Is abject tyranny. The feign'd resentment
My features wore, sought only from my brethren
Repentance for the past: I only wish'd
To set before them all the dreadful sufferings,
To which the wicked tend, that thus the fear
Of just reproach awaiting guilty deeds,
Might henceforth teach them to abhor the crime.
A mother such resentment wears,
Soft pity in her eyes;
Each moment threats, but still forbears
Her darling to chastise.
She lifts her hand, but lifts in vain,
For ere her hand descends,
In act to strike, her love restrains,
And love the stroke suspends.
Soft pity in her eyes;
Each moment threats, but still forbears
Her darling to chastise.
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For ere her hand descends,
In act to strike, her love restrains,
And love the stroke suspends.
Joseph, Asenetha.
Asen.
Alas! my lord, too truly have you spoken;
I now reproach my own too easy faith.
Jos.
What since has chanc'd?
Asen.
'Tis now a time for rigour.
Thy guests ungrateful, who but late have left us,
By fraud contriv'd to steal the sacred chalice
Employ'd by thee to read events to come.
Jos.
What says Asenetha?
Asen.
I speak but truth.
When by thy menials seiz'd, they firmly first
Denied the charge. “Let him, whoe'er is guilty,
Let him (they cry'd) be punish'd, let him die;
And let the rest remain in Egypt slaves.”
Thy ministers pursued their search, and found
The unworthy theft conceal'd amid'st the corn
Consign'd to Benjamin. The brethren then
Lost all their courage: breathless, pale and silent,
Without defence, they all with one accord
Their vestures rent and wept in floods of anguish.
Jos.
Perhaps they are not guilty.
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Do my words
Deserve so little faith?
Jos.
It was but now
You thought them innocent, and now affirm
That you were then deceiv'd. Who knows but soon
You may, Asenetha, repeat the same,
And call your present thought a new deception.
Asen.
Forgive me, consort, sure your frequent doubts
Are carried to the extreme.
Jos.
And yet we never
Exert sufficient caution: outward objects
Are known but dimly by the soul, enclos'd
“Within this wall of flesh.” Our partial knowledge
The senses give, fallacious ministers!
For these are ever subject to mistake:
Yet, on their faith, we pardon or condemn
With doubtful judgment.
Asen.
Ever must the soul
Remain uncertain of the truth; and live
Blind in her state of darkness?
Jos.
Yes, in vain
We hope for light, unless in HIM we seek it,
The sole, immutable, eternal fount
Of light eternal! HIM the first, the greatest,
The cause of every cause: in whom alone
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Whate'er is good; light, spirit, peace and justice,
And wisdom infinite, and truth and life!
Asen.
What heavenly splendor lightens in thy features!
While, as thou speak'st, thine accents strike my sense
With more than mortal sounds! I shake with awe
To hear thy voice, and while thy soul seems rapt
To God's high presence, here I lag below
And feel the clog of this “sin-tainted mold.”
While, as thou speak'st, thine accents strike my sense
With more than mortal sounds! I shake with awe
To hear thy voice, and while thy soul seems rapt
To God's high presence, here I lag below
And feel the clog of this “sin-tainted mold.”
As lost in gloomy woods I stray,
I view beside me pale Dismay,
Nor know what path must yet be tried.
O! thou, my sun, reveal thy light;
For who but thee can lead me right,
My faithful counsellor and guide?
I view beside me pale Dismay,
Nor know what path must yet be tried.
O! thou, my sun, reveal thy light;
For who but thee can lead me right,
My faithful counsellor and guide?
Joseph, Asenetha, Thanetes, Judah, Simeon, Benjamin, and the rest of Joseph's brethren.
Than.
Behold the criminals.
Asen.
See where they lie,
Stretch'd humbly at thy feet.
Than.
And not a tongue
Dares break the solemn silence.
Jos.
Thoughtless men,
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My skill in divination.
Judah.
Mighty lord,
How shall we answer? What can words avail?
What plead in our behalf? Th' Eternal Power
Too well remembers now our past offences—
This day exacts the forfeit.—Mighty God!
I feel thy hand avenging: well I see
The secret workings of thy justice, arm'd
Against the hidden deeds of sinful man.
How shall we answer? What can words avail?
What plead in our behalf? Th' Eternal Power
Too well remembers now our past offences—
This day exacts the forfeit.—Mighty God!
I feel thy hand avenging: well I see
The secret workings of thy justice, arm'd
Against the hidden deeds of sinful man.
Behold the man with guilt opprest!
By day, by night he mourns;
By thee, his conscience, ne'er at rest,
With flames unceasing burns,
Till every treason in his breast
Upon himself returns.
By day, by night he mourns;
By thee, his conscience, ne'er at rest,
With flames unceasing burns,
Till every treason in his breast
Upon himself returns.
Jos.
Forbid it heaven, that Joseph e'er should take
Such rigorous measures. No, the theft was prov'd
On Benjamin: let him alone remain
With me in servitude; and you, ye brethren,
Return in freedom to your father's presence.
Judah.
How can we e'er return to Jacob's sight?
Benj.
Return, return! and I alone remain
A slave in Egypt?
Jos.
Only thou: the rest
This instant must depart.
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A little stay:—
Ah! Judah, tell me, Judah, is it thus
You keep your promise given? At least, my brethren,
Refuse me not one tender last embrace.
Alas! you all depart, and leave me here
A guiltless prisoner! What will now become
Of Jacob, aged Jacob, when he learns
The fate of Benjamin his darling child?
Ah! Judah, tell me, Judah, is it thus
You keep your promise given? At least, my brethren,
Refuse me not one tender last embrace.
Alas! you all depart, and leave me here
A guiltless prisoner! What will now become
Of Jacob, aged Jacob, when he learns
The fate of Benjamin his darling child?
If yet your breasts compassion know,
And feel a wretched brother's woe,
For me to mourning Jacob go,
And kiss for me a father's hand.
Tell him his child alive remains,
And still for him his love retains—
But tell him not I live in chains,
A slave, O! Heaven, in Egypt's land!
And feel a wretched brother's woe,
For me to mourning Jacob go,
And kiss for me a father's hand.
Tell him his child alive remains,
And still for him his love retains—
But tell him not I live in chains,
A slave, O! Heaven, in Egypt's land!
Jos.
[aside.]
Be still my beating heart!
Judah.
And is there none,
No hope to appease you?
Jos.
None: the word is given
And must be now obey'd.
Judah.
Hear me at least
Without resentment: hear me, gracious lord.
Jos.
What canst thou say? Dispatch.
Judah.
You well remember
When first I came to Memphis.
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I remember
I gave thee then in charge to bring before me
Thy brother Benjamin: thou mad'st reply,
His mourning father will not live, depriv'd
Of him, his age's hope. I answer'd then:
Think not without the child to see me more.
Judah.
On this condition we return'd to Jacob.
Again he urg'd us to revisit Egypt:
“In vain” (I cry'd) “our journey, if the youth,
If Benjamin remain.” “And how (he said)
Can Jacob live, depriv'd of all his sons?
Alas! alas! I bore of Rachel's love
Two pledges only: one, O! Heaven! the first,
Was made to savage beasts a bleeding prey:
You knew it well, for you, my sons, you brought
The fatal tidings—him I saw no more!
If now this second leave me, should some chance,
Some dismal chance, o'ertake him on the way,
You hasten to the grave my hoary age.”
Meantime the famine now increas'd: what then,
What then could wretched Jacob? If he still
Retain'd his Benjamin, he died with want;
And should he part from Benjamin, the grief
Of such a parting kills him: “O! my father,”
(I thus at length) “O! father most belov'd!
To me instrust him: if I see thy face
Without the child, to all succeeding time
Impute to me the guilt.” He heard, believ'd
My plighted faith. I parted and fulfill'd
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Thou art a father and hast been a son:
O! for a moment to thyself transplant
Thy servant's feelings: can I stand before
My father's sight without his trusted pledge?
Ah! no—O! then let Benjamin return
To sorrowing Jacob; I, and I alone,
Will here in servitude for him remain:
Ah! rather let me suffer all, than witness
The frantic ravings of paternal sorrow.
Jos.
[aside.]
My heart is rent—I cannot bear—
Judah.
Ah! why,
Why dost thou hide thy face? Alas! in pity,
If not for me, yet sure a wretched father
At least may claim it—O! my gracious lord,
Had you been present at this cruel parting!
It seem'd as if his life and darling son
At once were ravish'd from his aged breast.
“Farewell” (he cried) and once again embrac'd him;
Again to this, to that he recommends
The weeping innocent; then calls on Rachel,
Then recollects his Joseph; finds them both
Trac'd in the features of his Benjamin;
And finds in them his every loss renew'd,
All!—all!—you weep—what means this gracious sign?
Our woes have touch'd your heart—O! mighty God?
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Jos.
Enough, enough—
I can no longer hold—my dearest brethren,
Know your own blood—I here abandon all
My late assum'd resentment—come, O! come,
Come to your brother's bosom—I am Joseph.
Judah.
Joseph!
Benj.
Eternal God!
Sim.
Ah! wretched we,
Where shall we hide us now?
Than.
O! strange events!
Asen.
Most wonderful!
Jos.
No, let not the remembrance
Of Joseph sold to bondage now afflict you:
To that event, both Egypt and yourselves
Have ow'd your preservation: to this land
God sent me first but to prepare your way.
Return, return, my brethren, to your father,
Tell him the greatness of his son, and tell him
To haste and share it with me. Silent still?
Perhaps you yet may doubt me? Answer, Judah.
Simeon, be comforted: draw near, my brother,
My Benjamin!
Asen.
Was ever seen, Thanetes,
A spectacle like this? Observe how all
The impatient brethren crowd around my lord,
While mingled passions strive in every face
Of fear and gladness; On his forehead one
Imprints an eager kiss; that, on his hand;
This on his cheek, and that his vest, whilst he
With equal warmth would answer all their loves
And give them all himself. Their tongues can find
No words distinct, and in th' excess of joy,
Instead of words, they mingle tender tears.
A spectacle like this? Observe how all
The impatient brethren crowd around my lord,
While mingled passions strive in every face
Of fear and gladness; On his forehead one
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This on his cheek, and that his vest, whilst he
With equal warmth would answer all their loves
And give them all himself. Their tongues can find
No words distinct, and in th' excess of joy,
Instead of words, they mingle tender tears.
How well those struggling passions show,
What language scarce reveals:
From such a silence well I know,
Whate'er the breast conceals.
What language scarce reveals:
From such a silence well I know,
Whate'er the breast conceals.
A joy sincere requires not words
Its feelings to disclose;
And little aid the tongue affords
When bliss the heart o'erflows.
Its feelings to disclose;
And little aid the tongue affords
When bliss the heart o'erflows.
Judah.
O! merciful as just!
Sim.
O! generous brother!
Benj.
O! happy Joseph!
Judah.
Lo! thy dreams are now
At length fulfill'd.
Sim.
Eternal Providence!
To thee all human wisdom is but folly.
By us was Joseph sold lest future time
Should see us subject to him; and behold
The same unfeeling act that gave him bonds,
Has brought us here to worship at his feet!
Judah.
So God, the great disposer of events,
In wisdom plans, that they who most oppose,
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Jos.
O! my brethren,
The strange vicissitudes of Joseph's life
Must veil some secret truths. To you I came
In love sincere, commission'd from my father;
You sought my death; you sold me for a price
To rude barbarians: then, a slave in Egypt,
Accus'd and innocent, I bore the shame
Without defence, and suffer'd punishment
Due to my false accuser: plac'd between
Two hapless criminals; to one my lips
Predicted death, to one a happier change.
In friendship now with them, so late my foes,
I minister'd the food of life to them
Who sought my death. I heard myself proclaim'd
The saviour of the earth. Am I the image
Of one far greater? Sure some mighty work
Is ripening now, and Joseph's life is given
A type and shadow by mysterious Heaven.
Chorus.
Insenate he, whose impious folly dares
Oppose his God: he falls into the snares
He laid for others, that at last enclose
The wisest with inextricable woes.
True Virtue, like a palm, all force defies,
And, more opprest, shall still more vigorous rise.
END OF THE SECOND PART.
| The Discovery of Joseph | |