Her hair was blown upon the wind like wreathes of golden flame,
And the sea-blue of her eyes cast blue shadows on her face,
For she was not of Egypt--but unto the king she came
A captive--yet a princess--from a northern sea-bound place.

She watched the fiery wheel roll down behind the level land,
One small hand curled above her eyes, and one above her heart,
But when the ruby afterglow crept up and stained the sand
She turned and gazed toward Goshen, where Israel dwelt apart.

* * * * *

Nine plagues had wasted Egypt with their tortures grim and slow;
The earth was desolated, and scarred by hail and fire;
Still even yet her Lord refused to let his bondsmen go
To worship in the wilderness, the God of their desire.

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