Throughout the realm of Egypt, a loud voice
Of lamentation rose; for everywhere,
In the same point of time, to blood was changed
The water of all rivers, fountains, pools;
All vessels, wood, or stone; so that to drink,
Though famishing of thirst, the people loathed:
Nor their soiled, heated bodies could they cleanse,
Or cool; for, of pure water, not one drop
Remained unto them. Consternation dire,
Even into madness growing, filled the land.
Men, women, children, wildly roamed about,
For water, water, clamoring. By the banks
Of the broad Nile, and of the smaller streams,
Thousands were gathered; with abhorrent looks,
On the great blood--flow gazing. Into wells
The deepest, greedily was bucket cast;
Yet still came nought but blood. Then went command
From Pharaoh, that, beside the river--banks,
And nigh the margins of all running streams,
Both day and night the multitudes should dig,
Till the pure springs burst forth: but chiefly they,
The hated race of Israel, 'neath the whips
Incessantly should toil; so their loud cries
Might tell how, most of all, on them the curse,
For Egypt sent, had fallën. Through the night,--
Through the next day,--and through the second night,--
Groaned the hard--toiling Hebrews. Also rose
Cries of the crowding multitudes, who, athirst,
Fevered, and panting, round about the wells
Were gathered, watching eagerly the work
Of those who dug; and, ever and anon,
Calling aloud, ''No tokens see ye yet?
Dig, dig; for water must ye get for us,
Else shall we perish. Taskmasters, scourge on:
The slaves are idle: smite them till they bleed;
For we must drink, or die.'' So everywhere,
Around each well, by day and night, the throngs
Stood crying ceaselessly; though parched all mouths,
All tongues though swollen, all bodies fever--fired.

But, toward the second morning,--Power Supreme
Permitting so; else universal death
Had fallen on Egypt,--from the deep--dug earth,
Both nigh the city, and in parts remote,--
Than gold more precious,--the pure water sprang.
Up then to Heaven were sent delirious shouts;
And everywhere, as burst the fountains forth,
Like madmen strove the crowds who first should drink;
Yea, in the water strove to cast themselves,
As though, from head to foot, all mouth they felt;
And throughout their whole bodies would drink in,
To slake the burning thirst. But they who dug,--
The wretched Hebrew slaves,--regarding not
Boisterous command, or whip,--the foremost dropped,
Face--down within the stream: and many thus
Their death--stroke met; in the blood--boiling heat,
With the cold element gorging, till wellnigh
To suffocation filled. To Pharaoh soon
Came the glad tidings. Through two davs and nights,
Sleep had not closed his eyes,--wrath, fear, and pride,
So had distraught him. Man nor woman, yet,
Had dared beseech him to let Israel go:
Nor had his proud heart bent, to supplicate
The insolent wizards. Boldly, too, had spoken
His priests and sorcerers, saying that, ere long,
Sure as the coming day, the hateful spell
Would perish, and pass off; as shades of night
Before the sunrise. Exultation high
Came then on all, when in the presence rushed
Sethos, glad--eyed; and loudly made proclaim,
That from the wells, at length, in floods had burst
Water all diamond--clear, and pure to taste
As from hill--springs. Also, anon, came men,
Crying, ''Joy, joy! again the sacred Nile
Crystal--bright runneth!'' Proud were the sorcerers then,--
Of their foreknowledge boasting; prouder still
Was stubborn Pharaoh,--over Israel's God
Triumphant, as he thought: and harder yet
Than ever 'gainst that people, for whose sake,
O'er all the land had come such misery.

But chiefly against Moses was his wrath;
And, if to death, or chains, to sentence him,
Darkly he pondered,--yet could nought resolve:
For, when a judgment 'gainst him he would speak,
Terror its utterance stopped: nor, though the voice
Of rulers, priests, and sorcerers, urged him on;
And the arch demon roused him at the heart,
That rebel, with high hand, to sweep away,--
Dared he the word pronounce. Worn out, and faint;
Thirsting for sleep,--at length the sign he gave
That he would be alone. Then instantly
All tongues were mute: along the cedar floor
Soft footsteps brushed; doors closed; and on his bed,
Heavily sighing, he sank; and, as a corpse,
All day lay motionless. But, on that morn,--
So in his heart instructed,--Moses took
His staff, and scrip; and o'er the spacious plain,
Toward Goshen bent his steps. Alone was he,
Save with his God: but, so accompanied,
No terror felt of king, or prince, or priest;
Or aught that man could do. For yet seven days,
Knew he,--by voice within,--that, his own heart
To question, must the proud, weak king be left,--
Ere, if still obdurate, again must he
Before him stand; and yet again the words
Of Israel's God pronounce. So, silent, calm,
In the fresh morn he walked; at crystal brook
Now drinking; now with any simple fruit
That by the wayside grew, wild, and yet sweet,
The palate cooling. In that happy vale
Of Goshen, knew he,--so by Aaron taught,--
That friends of his young days; and kindred, loved,
Though yet unseen,--in his long absence born,--
Would run to embrace him: and to them he longed,--
And to his people all,--the tidings great
To tell of their deliverance; as by voice,
Even of Jehovah, promised. With glad heart,
Thus he his way pursued; and, ere the sun
One half his course had journeyed,--on the mound,--
West verge of Goshen,--stood, and, joyfully
On that fair country gazed; with tree, shrub, flower,
Fruit of all kinds, sweet grass, and streamlets, rich,
And pure,--as it a spot had been, by heaven
Above all others blessëd. Wherefore, then,
By the oppressors spared,--much marvel was,
To them who knew not that, with policy
Like his who leaves untouched the hive,--nay, shields
From rain and storm, that so the luscious spoil
Richer may be,--long time had Egypt's kings,
The industrious Hebrews in full liberty left
Through all that happy land; thus, from their toil,
Tribute more large to gain. For, years had taught,
That the free workers in those fertile fields,
A tax might pay,--to the king's treasury
More worth, than would their labor all have been,
Compulsory; and, save by stripes, unpaid:
So that as jewel bright of Egypt's crown,
Was held that happy land; nor taskmaster,
Nor tyrant ruler, ever there was seen,
Darkening the spirit's heaven. Long time he stood,
Forth looking, as on second Paradise;
Far distant voices hearing, blithe and free;
And sounds melodious, on the gentle breeze,
Like dreams of music floating; light and faint
To sense, as gossamer swimming on the air
In sunshine; seen, and lost, and seen again,
Like a faint hope mid grief. Yet sighs, at last,
Breathed he, that bliss beholding; for, like one
Who, from the glory of the setting sun,
Suddenly eastward turning, the cold shade
Of gathering night beholds,--more deep and dread,
Following the gold and ruby of the west,--
So, from these happy, when in thought he turned
Toward those, their brethren, whom in slavery,
Toil--bowed, and spirit--broken, hopeless all,
That morning he had left,--by contrast gloomed
Yet deeper their sad state: and from his breast,
Sighs, groans of anguish burst. But, in a while,
On God's great promise thought he; and at once
Strong was his heart; and from his countenance
All shadow passed. With firm foot, on he went
Down toward the happy valley; odorous airs
Fanning around him; sweet and sweeter still,
As nigh, and nigher to the spicy groves,
And flower--crowned fields he drew: till, at the last,
In the fair Eden entering, lo! the air,
Like to a fragrant bath invisible,
Around him floated; buoyant as the waves
Appearing,--for, so light seemed then his tread,--
The weight of flesh scarce felt,--that, 'neath his foot,
The very grass, he thought, would scantly bow,
More than to gentlest breeze: so was his heart
Uplifted, in that blissful spot arrived.
And now the sounds of cheerful toil; the voice,
From light heart singing; the soft--breathing tone
Of shepherd's pipe,--the mellow chords of harp,
Or psaltery, from garden, field, or grove,
Thickened around him; and desire awaked
With some of those, so blest, discourse to hold;
And of his kindred, and his friends enquire;
And his glad tidings speak. Yet living soul
None saw he nigh; and onward journeyed still;
Through field, and grove; and over singing brook,
Tree--bridged, or with stones dotted, that the foot
Dryshod might tread,--till now, at length, he spied,--
Midst of a garden, rich in choicest flowers,
And trees, with fruit and blossom both, full charged,--
A pleasant habitation. At the gate,
Wide open, he went in; and, by smooth path,--
Serpent--like winding,--and, to right and left,
By fragrant shrubs, and flowers of every hue,
Edged bounteously,--walked onward; and with staff
Struck on the open door. Then came a voice,
Gentle as dove's, than nightingale's more sweet,
Bidding him enter: and, without delay,--
Of welcome, though a stranger, doubting not,--
He entered; bared his head; the porch passed through;
And in a chamber paused. A maiden there,
Richly, yet simply clad, he saw; and bent,
With courteous salutation. From her couch,
With gentle dignity rose she; and bowed,
And modest welcome gave: then silent stood,
His words awaiting. O'er her countenance,
Serene and mild, nor blush, nor sign of fear,
Nor of surprise at stranger's entry, stole:
Still in her hand, the pale--green silken veil,
On which with golden needle she had wrought
Ere Moses came,--with fingers delicate,
And pearl--like chaste, in easy grasp she held.
Her eyes, as eastern midnight's cloudless heaven
Deep--hued, serene, and clear, on his she bent,--
Patiently waiting. He, astonished, stood,
And speechless; for, while mutely thus she gazed,
Her aspect holy, mild, and beautiful
Beyond all earthly beauty, on him came
Like music of a sacred hymn at night,
Afar off heard, from temple, field, or grove,
Or in mid air: and all around her head,--
Gilding the golden tresses,--purest light,
Yet faint, like spirit of the sunbeams glowed;
Or like reflected radiance from the face
Of angel bending o'er her. On him then
Assurance came that, for some purpose high,
Specially chosen was she; and he went
And took her hand, and reverently bowed,
And with his forehead touched it. Rising then,
On her meek head he laid his palm, and thus.

''Blessëd art thou, fair virgin! and, of God,
Above all women favored. Whatsoe'er
The end unknown designed,--through thee will come
Good unto thousands: to our people all,
Perchance, unspeakable blessing: for a voice,
Though wordless, telleth, that the present hand
Of the Most High is on thee; some great thing
Through thee to accomplish. Surely knowëst thou,--
Or from the tongue of angel, or from voice
Within thee speaking,--that select thou art
From all of woman--kind,--some special task
Divine to accomplish: or the instrument,
Though passive, it may be, by which will God
Some gracious wonder work. If, blamelessly,
I so may question, tell me, maiden blest,--
Of such high favor from our Israel's God
On thee vouchsafed, what know'st thou? and how taught?''

While thus he spake, she on him mildly looked,
Attentive listening, and with reverence meet:
For, in his countenance august, his voice
Tender, yet grand,--of strength, and dignity,
Of piety toward God, and love toward man,
Read she the witness; and with open heart,--
Surprise none feeling that a stranger's voice
Thus questioned,--made reply. ''No angel tongue,
Shepherd of Israel,--for thy garb and mien
Such token thee,--within mine earthly ear
In word direct hath spoken, touching aught
Of great or good, through me by Heaven designed.
Nor craving feel I, in the eyes of men,
To have distinction,--or of power, or state;
For peace and holiness alone I love;
And in sweet silence evermore to live,
And meditate on God. Yet,--be it truth,
Or be it but sweet wandering of soul,--
Oft--times it seemeth that about me sound
Soft voices, like faint music heard from Heaven,--
Of blessings speaking, and of love divine,
And special dedication,--though to what,
Whisper they never. And, in dead of night,
Strains hear I oft, as of angelic bands
Choiring amid the stars, or nigh the throne:
And sometimes seemeth me, that round my bed
A presence feel I: and the still air, then,
Unearthly fragrance taketh; and is moved,
As by a gentle wing,--that slumber sweet
Falls on me; and, in dreams, the heaven of heavens
Is opened; and such glories I behold
As tongue may never tell. Nay, even in blaze
Of the mid--noon,--through garden, field, or grove,
Silently wandering,--doth my spirit feel,
Or mind imagine, that beside me moves,
Invisible, some dweller of the sky,
Murmuring in music; and celestial bliss
Transfusing through my being,--as, through air,
The sun his splendor. Nay, at times, hath seemed,
That faces all of light have looked on me
An instant, and then vanished. Waking dreams,
Perchance, all these; yet such the bliss they bring,
That, even the crown of all the world to wear,
Would I not lose them. But, of good to come
To our poor people,--or through word, or act,
Of so frail thing as I,--ne'er have I thought;
Nor couldst thou have imagined--hadst thou known
My weakness, and my simple ignorance,
In all that men esteem; in all that strength
To woman gives, o'er man to hold the sway.
No beauty have I to delight their eye;
No eloquence, no power of song, to move
Their reason, or their passion,--or to peace
Persuading, or to stir them up in war.
No learning have I; no accomplishment,
Such as oft steal men's hearts, in song, or dance:
Nor with gay raiment know I how to deck
My simple person,--of the humble grub,
So making the gay butterfly; that men,
Enamoured, may pursue. With God alone
Have alway been my thoughts: His holy ways
For ever meditating; and how best
Pure in His eye to live. For joys of earth,
Nought heed I: riches, honor, glory, power,
Unthought of, as the sands on which I walk:
Honey, and bread, and fruits, my only food;
Water my drink, or milk. Companion none,
Save my loved parents have I; and one more,
An upright youth,--when the due time shall be,
My husband to become. But, as myself,
Apart from all is he: ambition none
Renown to win, he hath; nor wealth, nor pomp,
Nor rule, desireth: in this lowly state,--
From poverty assured;--with flocks, and herds,
Vineyards, and fertile lands, our own,--content
With me to pass his life; God's blessed ways
For ever meditating; and how best
To glorify, and thank Him; and so live,
That evermore well pleasing in His sight
May be each act and thought. From such as I,--
Alone, or thus companioned,--aught of great,
Or good toward Israel, fantasy alone,
Methinks, could prospect see.'' With grave, mild face,
Ceasing, upon her honored guest she looked,
Reply awaiting. He on her looked down,
With fatherly love, yet reverence; and thus spake.

''Maiden of Heaven elect,--for such mine eye,
And voice within, attest thee,--of God's ways,
Man knoweth not to judge. All human strength,
With Him, is weakness: greatest kings are motes
Before His breath; the feeblest, at His will,
Mightier than monarchs. Mountains, touched by Him,
Would sink to molehills; sand--grains swell to hills.
If chosen thou, thy weakness may become
A might to vanquish nations. But, for thee,
A work of love and peace for all mankind,
Haply God willeth: humbly wait we then
Till He withdraw the veil, and show distinct
The gracious purpose; now in darkness hid,
But certain as the glory of the sun,
Behind the cloud that veils it. Know thou this;
And, as a creature loved, and chosen of Heaven,
In every act and word still guard thyself:
For present evermore is God with thee,
And all beholdeth; even thy secret thoughts
Seeing distinct, as though with sunbeams writ.
So wilt thou, fear I not. And now, blest maid,
For thy free, gentle answer, take my thanks.
True innocence with open heart still speaks;
Guile fearing not, and seeking nought to hide.
But, lest o'erbold, intrusive, thou may deem
One, all a stranger, yet thy secret thoughts
Thus plainly asking,--somewhat of myself
Hear thou, in turn. A man I am, once known
To all of Israel; but, in far off land,
A two score years sojourning,--by the most
Forgotten now; or only as a thing
Of the old time remembered. Yet the name
Perchance hath reached thee. Moses am I called;
By the last Pharaoh, in his younger days,
Much honored for awhile; but, in the end,
Slightly esteemed; and, by his jealous chiefs,
Rulers and priests, so hated and traduced,
That.....'' With a gentle start, and tone of joy,
His speech arresting, ''Then the brother thou
Of our loved Aaron,'' said she,--a bright smile
O'er all her countenance playing, as the rays
Round diamonds, gently shaken,--''and thy name
Well known is here: from my first infancy
Oft have I heard it spoken; though, alas,
With sorrow; for my parents mourned thee lost;
Yea, all men deemed thee dead. Great joy indeed
Will fill them, knowing thee alive, and here.
At this hour, absent are they, on a work
Of mercy bound; but will anon return.
Meantime, for them entreating, do I pray,
If greater matters hurry not thy steps,
That thou awhile our honored guest wilt be.
Old friends, I doubt not, will my father bring
To welcome thee, and of old times discourse.
Nay, sure I am, that all of this fair land
Will haste to greet thee; so that pleasantly,
A moon, or twain, may pass; and yet new friends
New welcome bring. Now, may I speak for thee,
And answer 'yea'? Think me not overbold,
In my loved parents' name inviting thee;
For my weak prayer would they make tenfold strong;
Nay, with kind chains would bind thee to remain,
Honored, and honoring, their long--time guest.
Sincerely have I spoken; sure I am
Sincerely thou wilt answer.'' A warm light
Of holy love and reverence from the face
Of Moses beamed, as thus he heard, and thus
Gently replied. ''For this one day, blest maid,
And also for this night, thy bidding kind
Freely accept I, as 'twas freely given:
Nay, thankfully would longer be the guest,
Where I on thee might look, and with thee talk,
Communing of our God; and somewhat learn,
It may be, of His purpose, hidden yet,
Through thee to be accomplished: but not long
Here may I tarry; for throughout this land
Must I go quickly: not alone loved friends
Of the old time to embrace; but, unto all,
Proclaim to make of wondrous things at hand,--
Even of our full deliverance. Nay, the work
Already is begun. But not of this
More say I now. Thy father will, this day,
Gather his friends together,--such, at least,
Who briefly may be summoned; and to them
At large will I declare the marvels great
Our God will do; as by His very voice,
On Horeb spoken. Of these things to hear,
Canst thou, blest maiden, till the evening hour,
Patiently tarry? for thy face,--but late,
Pale as a pure white cloud of early dawn,--
At word of these glad tidings, gloweth bright
As that same cloud at coming of the sun.''

Bowing her gentle head, ''Oh great indeed,''
The virgin answered, ''boundless is my joy,
Of such high things to hear, by God designed
For our long suffering Israel! but in peace
My soul shall rest; on Him relying all,
And on thy perfect truth. Till evening, then,
In blest hope will I wait: unmeet that I,
The lowliest, should find favor more than they,
The elder, and far worthier.'' While she spake,
Softly the door was opened; and there stood
Upon the threshold, pausing suddenly,
As in surprise, or fearful to intrude,
A comely youth. Over his shoulders hung
Dark, waving locks: his chin, with down just touched,
Showed Spring on Summer entering. His fair brow
Capacious, the mild radiance of his eyes,
The tender, thoughtful mouth, the aspect all,--
Of spirit pure and lofty, wisdom ripe
Beyond his years, gave token. In attire,
Modest and plain he was: no ornament,
Save, on his finger, one small golden ring,
Pledge of affection, wearing. Standing thus,
As if in doubt to enter, or depart,
Kindly upon him smiled the beauteous maid;
And, lightly stepping, took him by the hand,
And welcome gave; then toward her honored guest
Gracefully led him; and, with radiant face,
Unblushing in her virgin innocence,
Open as day, on Moses looked, and said:

''He whom I spake of. On his gentle head
Lay thou thy hand, and bless him.'' At that word,--
Already by such presence spirit--bowed,--
On one knee sank the youth, and bent the head,
And, palm to palm, like one who utters prayer,
The blessing waited. But, while Moses stood,
Silently looking on him,--for, with joy,
Again he felt a chosen--one,--by the youth
Kneeled that fair virgin likewise; and her head
Bowed meekly; and her pure hands, palm to palm,
Pressed also. In a holy silence thus
The twain awaited. Mid that solemn hush,
With eyes uplift, in voiceless prayer awhile
Stood Moses; then, on each bowed head, a hand
Lightly imposed; and, with such utterance deep
As though before the very Throne he kneeled,
Thus spake the blessing. ''On these chosen ones
Oh God of Israel look! I feel, I feel,
That Thine alone they are, in all their ways,
In life, in death! These temples pure, Oh God!
Hallow for ever: let no breath of sin
Enter within them; that, Thy purpose high
Through them accomplished here,--in robes of light,
At Thy right hand in glory may they sit,
Thee praising and adoring evermore!''

Awhile he stood in silence; then, with tone
Of love parental, thus. ''My children, rise:
God's blessing is upon you; in you poured,
Even as your breath of life. By death alone,
The life--breath can ye lose; by sin alone,
The holier breath of blessing. Stand ye then
'Gainst sin for ever, as, against the winds,
Rocks stand unshaken; for, God's instruments,
Some gracious work to do, be sure ye are;
And pure as dropping snow your souls must keep,
Or from your high place fall: fall, worse than death!''

Thus having spoken, tenderly he raised
The twain, yet kneeling; and, when they stood up,
Upon the forehead kissed them. Silently,
Hand clasped in hand, in holy joy stood they;
And he, with love and admiration filled,
Silent stood likewise, gazing. All this while,--
To his bad office true,--unseen, he hoped,
By angel's ken,--or even the eye of God,--
Beelzebub, the spy and tempter, still
Nigh Moses watching, every word and look,
Heedfully marked; of every secret thought,
Subtle conjecture made: nor less on her,
That virgin pure, and on that spotless youth,
His burning Spirit--eye, exploring, fixed;
Hoping, of God's great purpose, undivulged,
Through them to be wrought out, that he might learn,--
All noting, and all weighing. Nor failed he,
Though thus intent, his more peculiar task
Also to ply,--from path of righteousness
Moses to lure; that so might God be foiled;
His chosen one cast down. By promise of wealth
Exhaustless,--Egypt's throne--Israel's release,--
Seductions strong,--already had he tried
The faithful servant; but had been repulsed,
Vanquished, and put to flight: yet stronger lure
Given to his hand, now thought he; that strange power
Of woman's beauty,--over heart of man
Oft irresistible proved: and when, before,
Had beauty like to that on which he gazed,--
Beauty, which even the loftiest Spirit of heaven
Might fix in wonder,--when, till now, on such,
Had eye of mortal looked! Intemperate thoughts,
Surely, thus on her gazing; her fair head
With spread palm touching; on her open brow
His lips impressing,--surely, carnal thoughts,
If human were he, must in Moses rise;
Though faint perchance, and with strong will subdued,--
Like fire down trodden, yet alive within,
And, breathed upon, of flame still capable.
Eagerly, therefore, in that righteous heart
Sought he to enter; that, if spark he found
Of love impure, to very ecstacy
Of madness he might blow it; and so bring
Destruction on him. But, as mail of steel
The pointless arrow laughs at,--even so,
The perfect panoply of holiness
That heart 'gainst entrance of foul thing made strong;
Nay, of attack insensible: for a thought
Toward that fair virgin, less than angel's pure,
None had he; on her gazing sinlessly,
As on the richest flower from plains of Heaven,
By seraph brought, sinless he might have gazed.

Again defeated, the fallen Spirit lowered:
Yet, all undaunted, for a day to come,
New snares resolved: meantime, observance close
On every word and look would keep,--that scheme,
Yet hidden, to descry. 'Twixt earth and sun,
Hovering on watch, were angels, who each look,
And word, and thought,--so gifted specially--
Of that fallen Spirit, and the mortal three,
Clearly discerned. Silent and swift as light,
Are words of angels; felt, but uttered not.
In undistinguishable point of time,
Then thus,--in cumbrous language of mankind
Translated,--to his bright companion nigh,
The archangel Gabriel spake. ''Yon Evil One,--
Unseen, he thinks, by even the eye of Heaven,--
Hearkens, and looks; God's purpose through those twain,
Hoping to learn; that, by some subtlety,
Hell may prevent it. The I AM hath willed
That his bad wish be granted; so, at last,
Good out of ill to bring. Descend thou then:
In all thy glory before Moses stand;
In form and mien thine own; but, to the youth,
And virgin, viewless; and what thou dost know,
Declare unto him: so that Spirit Fallen,
Also, of their high destiny may hear;
In secret, as he thinks; and may repeat
In hell's full council; that their ill design
The lost ones may attempt: in time to come,
Thence keener pangs to feel; repentant tears
More largely to pour forth; and prayer, at last,
To the All Merciful;--from their fallën state,
So speedier to arise.'' Hand locked in hand,
Still stood that innocent pair; eye fixed on eye,
As reading speechless love: and Moses still,--
Though now some space removed, lest their free joy,
Too near, he should disturb,--in silence stood,
Gazing and wondering,--when, behold! a light,
As of heaven opened, suddenly filled the place;
And full before him the angelic shape
In all his glory stood. Down on his face
Fell Moses, by that wondrous splendor struck,
Even as by lightning: but a hand unseen
Upraised him; and a voice mellifluous,
Yet grand as thunderous music, to him thus,
Courage infusing, spake. ''Servant of God,
Be thy heart strong: look on me; hear my words.
Chosen of Heaven art thou; and mighty things
For Israel wilt thou do. But, after thee,
In due time, will arise one greater far;
Born of a woman, yet the Son of God;
Messiah to be named; through whom shall be
Redemption universal to man's race.
From tribe of Levi hath it been ordained,
Shall come the Virgin Mother of that Son:
Yea, even from these shall spring; the maid and youth
Before thee standing,--so with upright heart,
Pure from all sin, in sight of God they live,
And pure they die. But, sinning, will they fall;
And Heaven's high favor forfeit. Look thou then
Heedfully on them: dangerous is their path,
And narrow: one false step, and they are lost!''

While thus he spake, Moses, with strengthened eye,
Looked on the glorious one; as on the sun,
Power given, he might have looked: and the great voice,
Humbly, yet firmly heard. One instant paused
The Radiance; while, with lambent hands outspread,
O'er that fair twain he bent, as blessing them;
One smile, like quivering lightning, his bright face
Brighter illumed; and then the glory fled;
Heaven vanished; and the common things of earth
Solely remained. Prone on the floor again
Sank Moses; and, in prayer and praise, his soul
To God poured out. Him seeing thus, the pair
Softly went forth, and in the garden walked;
Of that great guest discoursing. But, with speed
That mocked light's course, exulting flew the fiend,
Where Satan he might find,--in Pharaoh's court
Plying his task; the hearts of king, and priests,
Princes, and rulers, iron hard to make
'Gainst Israel, and his God. A sign he gave,
Whither to speed, and how,--impossible so
That spy of Heaven could track them. Northward then
Flew he,--the ice--pole entered,--and shot down
Right to earth's core: but southward Satan glanced,--
The globe half rounded,--through the ocean flashed;
And in the centre stood: ere eye could wink,
Their wondrous journeys done. There, in mid fire,
Burning eternally, the Spirits met;
In that great light, to heaven's most piercing ken,
Invisible, as they deemed: and proudly then
Spake out Beelzebub; the marvellous tale,
So subtly learned, into the gladdened ear
Of his great leader pouring. Up again
To air then flew they: and erelong, through earth,
And through the realms of space, a summons went,--
To their great council--hall each Spirit of hell
Instantly calling. Through the universe
Of living orbs shot quickly then the hosts,
At such prompt summons marvelling; through the depths
Of the immeasurable darkness shot,
Right to the perished sun; and in its heart,--
Still dazzling bright as when the glory first,
By the Great Word commanded, had sprung forth,--
Gathered tumultuously,--each Spirit filled
With expectation of some great event,
Erelong to be proclaimed. As, from the brow
Of lofty hill,--on forest, far outstretched
As eye can pierce,--what time, with slanting rays,
The sun on every tree--top pours his fire,--
Amazed the traveller looks, as on a sea
Of arborescent gold,--so wide outspread,
And congregated thick, to Satan seemed
The gathered millions, as, from his high throne
Of diamond rock, proudly around he looked,
Order, and silence waiting. But, at length,
When every stir was hushed, and every eye
On him intently bent, his thunderous voice,
Mighty, yet calm, he lifted up, and spake.