But naught prevailed, for sore disease had scourged the low and high,
  And the hail of God had fallen and crushed the growing grain,
And a fire no hand had kindled in searing wrath swept by—­
  Such fire as none had seen before—­as none would see again.

Then came the pirate locusts, with a sea-song free and bold;—­
  The spent and broken people lacked the strength to force them back,
But watched them take the last green blades that never would be gold—­
  And shut their doors against the foe that turned the meadows black.

Then Pharaoh wavered—­more—­he called the Hebrews in his haste
  Imploring respite—­pleading his repentance bitterly—­
For there was death on every side, and all the land was waste;—­
  So the western wind of God blew the locusts out to sea.

Yet not enough.  Once more the king denied his given word;
  He dared the wrath of Heaven, and he made his heart as steel;
Then all the lights of God went out, and no man even stirred—­
  But stayed companioned by his fear, in darkness he could feel.

So had each dreadful day gone by, each slow departing night,
  And the queen stood now at sunset alone with grief and shame,
When one came running towards her through the failing crimson light,
  A little lad, with Egypt’s eyes—­but hair like golden flame.

“Thou has been long, Beloved!” she cried, and frowned all tenderly,
  “Indeed I have not seen thee since the burning noon took wing.” 
“Mother of mine,” he answered, “I have been where I should be
  These burdened times of Egypt—­beside my Lord the King.

“’Twill take the country many days to gain its old time peace,
  But thou shalt suffer nothing;—­I, myself, will care for thee
And see that naught doth harm thee—­until all these troubles cease;—­
  These sad and magic doings that no man can solve,” said he.

“Ay!  That thou wilt,” she said.  “But tell me, how doth fare the king? 
  Doth he relent?  Or is his face forbidding—­dark and cold?—­
Or hath he sent thee hither but some word of me to bring
  As he cannot leave the council, and now the day grows old?”

He shook his head.  “I came because I longed to see thee so;—­
  And Pharaoh reads the chart of stars while time goes creeping by,
Or he sits in weary silence—­or paceth to and fro. 
  Since he banished the magicians, all fear him—­all save I.

“Put on thy golden girdle with the mighty emerald clasp
  And thy lotus broidered robe.  Braid thy hair all cunningly,
And wear the winged head-dress with the turquois jewelled asp—­
  Then come and coax him from his gloom.—­Thou only canst,” said he.

“Wise counsellor!” she smiled; “Nay, but too wise for thy short years,
  I will unto the king;—­and such great issues are at stake
This time I dare not fail.  I must go queenly—­without tears
  Or humble supplications—­but as one no woe can break.