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| ’T WAS morn,—the rising splendor rolled | |
| On marble towers and roofs of gold: | |
| Hall, court, and gallery below, | |
| Were crowded with a living flow: | |
| Egyptian, Arab, Nubian there, | 5 |
| The bearers of the bow and spear, | |
| The hoary priest, the Chaldee sage, | |
| The slave, the gemmed and glittering page,— | |
| Helm, turban, and tiara shone, | |
| A dazzling ring, round Pharaoh’s throne. | 10 |
| |
| There came a man,—the human tide | |
| Shrank backward from his stately stride: | |
| His cheek with storm and time was tanned; | |
| A shepherd’s staff was in his hand. | |
| A shudder of instinctive fear | 15 |
| Told the dark king what step was near; | |
| On through the host the stranger came, | |
| It parted round his form like flame. | |
| |
| He stooped not at the footstool stone, | |
| He clasped not sandal, kissed not throne; | 20 |
| Erect he stood amid the ring, | |
| His only words,—“Be just, O king!” | |
| On Pharaoh’s cheek the blood flushed high, | |
| A fire was in his sullen eye; | |
| Yet on the chief of Israel | 25 |
| No arrow of his thousands fell: | |
| All mute and moveless as the grave, | |
| Stood chilled the satrap and the slave. | |
| |
| “Thou ’rt come,” at length the monarch spoke; | |
| Haughty and high the words outbroke: | 30 |
| “Is Israel weary of its lair, | |
| The forehead peeled, the shoulder bare? | |
| Take back the answer to your band: | |
| Go, reap the wind; go, plough the sand; | |
| Go, vilest of the living vile, | 35 |
| To build the never-ending pile, | |
| Till, darkest of the nameless dead, | |
| The vulture on their flesh is fed! | |
| What better asks the howling slave | |
| Than the base life our bounty gave?” | 40 |
| |
| Shouted in pride the turbaned peers, | |
| Upclashed to heaven the golden spears. | |
| “King! thou and thine are doomed! Behold!” | |
| The prophet spoke,—the thunder rolled! | |
| Along the pathway of the sun | 45 |
| Sailed vapory mountains, wild and dun. | |
| “Yet there is time,” the prophet said,— | |
| He raised his staff, the storm was stayed. | |
| “King! be the word of freedom given; | |
| What art thou, man, to war with Heaven?” | 50 |
| There came no word. The thunder broke | |
| Like a huge city’s final smoke, | |
| Thick, lurid, stifling, mixed with flame, | |
| Through court and hall the vapors came. | |
| Loose as the stubble in the field, | 55 |
| Wide flew the men of spear and shield; | |
| Scattered like foam along the wave, | |
| Flew the proud pageant, prince and slave; | |
| Or, in the chains of terror bound, | |
| Lay, corpse-like, on the smouldering ground. | 60 |
| “Speak, King! the wrath is but begun,— | |
| Still dumb?—Then, Heaven, thy will be done!” | |
| |
| Echoed from earth a hollow roar, | |
| Like ocean on the midnight shore; | |
| A sheet of lightning o’er them wheeled, | 65 |
| The solid ground beneath them reeled; | |
| In dust sank roof and battlement; | |
| Like webs the giant walls were rent; | |
| Red, broad, before his startled gaze, | |
| The monarch saw his Egypt blaze. | 70 |
| Still swelled the plague,—the flame grew pale, | |
| Burst from the clouds the charge of hail; | |
| With arrowy keenness, iron weight, | |
| Down poured the ministers of fate; | |
| Till man and cattle, crushed, congealed, | 75 |
| Covered with death the boundless field. | |
| |
| Still swelled the plague,—uprose the blast, | |
| The avenger, fit to be the last; | |
| On ocean, river, forest, vale, | |
| Thundered at once the mighty gale. | 80 |
| Before the whirlwind flew the tree, | |
| Beneath the whirlwind roared the sea; | |
| A thousand ships were on the wave,— | |
| Where are they? ask that foaming grave! | |
| Down go the hope, the pride of years; | 85 |
| Down go the myriad mariners; | |
| The riches of Earth’s richest zone, | |
| Gone! like a flash of lightning, gone! | |
| |
| And, lo! that first fierce triumph o’er, | |
| Swells ocean on the shrinking shore; | 90 |
| Still onward, onward, dark and wide, | |
| Engulfs the land the furious tide. | |
| Then bowed thy spirit, stubborn king, | |
| Thou serpent, reft of fang and sting: | |
| Humbled before the prophet’s knee, | 95 |
| He groaned, “Be injured Israel free!” | |
| |
| To heaven the sage upraised his wand: | |
| Back rolled the deluge from the land; | |
| Back to its caverns sank the gale; | |
| Fled from the noon the vapors pale; | 100 |
| Broad burned again the joyous sun;— | |
| The hour of wrath and death was done. | |
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