The yellow Nile had turned to blood before her watching eyes--
It was branded into memory--a haunting death-strewn sight;--
The very dust upon the street the rod had made to rise
In a living moving horror, of atoms, leprous-white.
The frogs had come as things bewitched; an army without fear
They had broken through the rushes their upward way to take;
And each one followed steadily a voice no man could hear--
While poisoned wind and pestilence came swiftly in their wake.
Then oh, the little flies that swarmed from out the earth and air!
And the murrain of the camels, and cattle in the field!
She prayed the king for love of her to hear the people's prayer
And send the slaves far hither;--but for love he would not yield.
His face was like the carven face upon the basalt door;--
Her beauty could not charm him, her voice had lost its power;
So she wrapped a veil about her and entreated him no more
But sat alone and watched, from out her window in the tower.
She saw the Hebrew leader with uncovered silvery hair
Come with the priest at daybreak to the outer palace gate,
And the rod of woe and wonder they carried with them there,--
Yet Pharaoh bid them enter--for he dared not bid them wait.
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