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On a Picture of the Finding of Moses by Pharoah's Daughter This picture does the story express Of Moses in the bulrushes. How livelily the painter's hand By colours makes us understand! Moses that little infant is. This figure is his sister. This Fine stately lady is no less A personage than a princess, Daughter of Pharaoh, Egypt's king; Whom Providence did hither bring This little Hebrew child to save. See how near the perilous wave He lies exposëd in the ark, His rushy cradle, his frail bark! Pharaoh, king of Egypt land, In his greatness gave command To his slaves, they should destroy Every new-born Hebrew boy. This Moses was an Hebrew's son. When he was born, his birth to none His mother told, to none revealed, But kept her goodly child concealed. Three months she hid him; then she wrought With bulrushes this ark, and brought Him in it to this river's side, Carefully looking far and wide To see that no Egyptian eye Her ark-hid treasure should espy. Among the river-flags she lays The child. Near him his sister stays. We may imagine her affright, When the king's daughter is in sight. Soon the princess will perceive The ark among the flags, and give Command to her attendant maid That its contents shall be displayed. Within the ark the child is found, And now he utters mournful sound. Behold he weeps, as if he were Afraid of cruel Egypt's heir! She speaks, she says, "This little one I will protect, though he the son Be of an Hebrew." Every word She speaks is by the sister heard.— And now observe, this is the part The painter chose to show his art. Look at the sister's eager eye, As here she seems advancing nigh. Lowly she bends, says, "Shall I go And call a nurse to thee? I know A Hebrew woman liveth near, Great lady, shall I bring her here?" See! Pharaoh's daughter answers, "Go."— No more the painter's art can show. He cannot make his figures move.— On the light wings of swiftest love The girl will fly to bring the mother To be the nurse, she'll bring no other. To her will Pharaoh's daughter say, "Take this child from me away: For wages nurse him. To my home At proper age this child may come. When to our palace he is brought, Wise masters shall for him be sought To train him up, befitting one I would protect as my own son. And Moses be a name unto him, Because I from the waters drew him." Charles Lamb's other poems:
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Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |