Night by night in a little house A man and woman meet; They look like each other, They are sister and brother; And night by night at that same hour A king calls for his son in vain. MOSES [_To himself._] So, sister Miriam, it is known then. Slave, you die. [_Aloud._] O, you ambiguous stench, You’ll be more interesting as a mummy I have no doubt. ABINOAH I’m drunk, yes—drenched with the thought Of a certain thing. [_Aside._] I’ll sleep sounder to-night Than all the nights I’ve followed him about Worrying each slight clue, each monosyllable To give the word to Imra: the prince is near, And Moses’ eyes shall blink before next hour To a hundred javelins. I’ll tease him till they come. [_Aloud._] On Koelue’s tears I swam to you, in a mist Of her sighs I hung round you; As in some hallucination I’ve been walking A white waste world, we two only in it. MOSES Doubtless the instinct balked to bully the girl, Making large gapings in your haschish dreams, Led you to me in whom she was thoroughly lost. Pah, you sicken me! [_He is silent awhile, then turns away._] ABINOAH Prince Imra is Pharaoh’s choice now, and Koelue’s. [MOSES _turns back menacingly_.] MOSES Silence, you beast! [_He changes his tone to a winning softness._] I hate these family quarrels: it is so Like fratricide. I am a rebel, well? Soft! You are not, and we are knit so close It would be shame for a son to be so honoured And the father still unknown: come, Koelue’s (so _my_) father, I’ll tell my plans—you’ll beg to be rebel then. Look round on the night— Old as the first, bleak, even her wish is done; She has never seen, though dreamt perhaps of the sun, Yet only dawn divides; could a miracle Destroy the dawn, night would be mixed with light, No night or light would be, but a new thing: So with these slaves, who perhaps have dreamt of freedom, Egypt was in the way; I’ll strike it out With my ways curious and unusual. I have a trouble in my mind for largeness, Rough-hearted, shaggy, which your grave ardours lack: Here is the quarry quiet for me to hew; Here are the springs, primeval elements, The roots’ hid secrecy, old source of race, Unreasoned reason of the savage instinct. I’d shape one impulse through the contraries Of vain ambitious men, selfish and callous, And frail life-drifters, reticent, delicate— Litheness thread bulk, a nation’s harmony: These are not lame nor bent awry, but placeless With the rust and stagnant. All that’s low I’ll charm, Barbaric love sweeten to tenderness, Cunning run into wisdom, craft turn to skill; Their meanness, threaded right and sensibly, Change to a prudence envied and not sneered; Their hugeness be a driving wedge to a thing