With a strange and sudden joy. I placed the babe
Within her arms and said, “Nurse this child for me;”
And the babe nestled there like one at home,
While o’er the dimples of his face rippled
The brightest, sweetest smiles, and I was well
Content to leave him in her care; and well
Did she perform her part. When many days had
Passed she brought the child unto the palace;
And one morning, while I sat toying with
His curls and listening to the prattle of his
Untrained lips, my father, proud and stately,
Saw me bending o’er the child and said,
“Charmian, whose child is this? who of my lords
Calls himself father to this goodly child?
He surely must be a happy man.”
Then I said, “Father, he is mine. He is a
Hebrew child that I have saved from death.” He
Suddenly recoiled, as if an adder
Had stung him, and said, “Charmian, take that
Child hence. How darest thou bring a member
Of that mean and servile race within my doors?
Nay, rather let me send for Nechos, whose
Ready sword shall rid me of his hateful presence.”
Then kneeling at his feet, and catching
Hold of his royal robes, I said, “Not so,
Oh! honored father, he is mine; I snatched
Him from the hungry jaws of death, and foiled
The greedy crocodile of his prey; he has
Eaten bread within thy palace walls, and thy
Salt lies upon his fresh young lips; he has
A claim upon thy mercy.” “Charmian,” he said,
“I have decreed that every man child of that
Hated race shall die. The oracles have said
The pyramids shall wane before their shadow,
And from them a star shall rise whose light shall
Spread over earth a baleful glow; and this is why
I root them from the land; their strength is weakness
To my throne. I shut them from the light lest they
Bring darkness to my kingdom. Now, Charmian,
Give me up the child, and let him die.”
Then clasping the child closer to my heart,
I said, “the pathway to his life is through my own;
Around that life I throw my heart, a wall
Of living, loving clay.” Dark as the thunder
Clouds of distant lands became my father’s brow,
And his eyes flashed with the fierce lightnings
Of his wrath; but while I plead, with eager
Eyes upturned, I saw a sudden change come
Over him; his eyes beamed with unwonted
Tenderness, and he said, “Charmian, arise,
Thy prayer is granted; just then thy dead mother
Came to thine eyes, and the light of Asenath
Broke over thy face. Asenath was the light
Of my home; the star that faded out too
Suddenly from my dwelling, and left my life
To darkness, grief and pain, and for her sake,
Not thine, I’ll spare the child.” And thus I saved
Thee twice—once from the angry sword and once
From the devouring flood. Moses, thou art
Doubly mine; as such I claimed thee then, as such
I claim thee now. I’ve nursed no other child
Upon my knee, and pressed upon no other
Lips the sweetest kisses of my love, and now,
With rash and careless hand, thou dost thrust aside that love.
There was a painful silence, a silence
So hushed and still that you might have almost
Heard the hurried breathing of one and the quick.
Throbbing of the other’s heart: for Moses,
He was slow of speech, but she was eloquent
With words of tenderness and love, and had breathed
Her full heart into her lips; but there was
Firmness in the young man’s choice, and he beat back
The opposition of her lips with the calm
Grandeur of his will, and again he essayed to speak.
Moses
Gracious lady, thou remembrest well
The Hebrew nurse to whom thou gavest thy foundling.
That woman was my mother; from her lips I
Learned the grand traditions of our race that float,
With all their weird and solemn beauty, around
Our wrecked and blighted fortunes. How oft!
With kindling eye and glowing cheek, forgetful
Of the present pain, she would lead us through
The distant past: the past, hallowed by deeds
Of holy faith and lofty sacrifice.
How she would tell us of Abraham,
The father of our race, that he dwelt in Ur;
Of the Chaldees, and when the Chaldean king
Had called him to his sacrifice, that he
Had turned from his dumb idols to the living
God, and wandered out from kindred, home and race,
Led by his faith in God alone; and she would
Tell us—(we were three,) my brother Aaron,
The Hebrew girl thou sentest to call a nurse,
And I, her last, her loved and precious child;
She would tell us that one day our father
Abraham heard a voice, bidding him offer
Up in sacrifice the only son of his
Beautiful and beloved Sarah; that the father’s
Heart shrank not before the bitter test of faith,
But he resolved to give his son to God
As a burnt offering upon Moriah’s mount;
That the uplifted knife glittered in the morning
Sun, when, sweeter than the music of a thousand
Harps, he heard a voice bidding him stay his hand,
And spare the child; and how his faith, like gold
Tried in the fiercest fire, shone brighter through
Its fearful test. And then she would tell us
Of a promise, handed down from sire to son,
That God, the God our fathers loved and worshiped,
Would break our chains, and bring to us a great
Deliverance; that we should dwell in peace
Beneath our vines and palms, our flocks and herds
Increase, and joyful children crowd our streets;
And then she would lift her eyes unto the far
Off hills and tell us of the patriarchs
Of our line, who sleep in distant graves within
That promised land; and now I feel the hour
Draws near which brings deliverance to our race.
Princess
These are but the dreams of thy young fancy;
I cannot comprehend thy choice. I have heard
Of men who have waded through slaughter
To a throne; of proud ambitions, struggles
Fierce and wild for some imagined good; of men
Who have even cut in twain the crimson threads
That lay between them and a throne; but I
Never heard of men resigning ease for toil,
The splendor of a palace for the squalor
Of a hut, and casting down a diadem
To wear a servile badge. Sadly she gazed
Upon the fair young face lit with its lofty
Faith and high resolves—the dark prophetic eyes
Which seemed to look beyond the present pain
Unto the future greatness of his race.
As she stood before him in
