Letter from David C. Labatt to Isaac Leeser;November 11, 1847
- Title
- Letter from David C. Labatt to Isaac Leeser;November 11, 1847
- Author
- David C. Labatt
- Contributor
- Isaac Leeser
- Format
- Letter. 6 page(s).
- Type
- Letter
- Has Format
- https://colenda.library.upenn.edu/items/ark:/81431/p30000s09/manifest.json
- Link to Colenda
- https://colenda.library.upenn.edu/catalog/81431-p30000s09
- Physical Characteristics
- Unlined Paper
- Wax Seal
- Manuscript
- content
-
Moses Rescued by Pharaoh's Daughter
from the french of Victor Hugo by Henry J. Labatt
Sisters! The wave is freshest in the morn,
The reaper in his cot still lies,
The bank is yet forlorn;
From Memphis murmurs loud arise
And our chaste pleasures, by this gurgling wave,
Except Aurora's Eye, no other witness have.
"My father's palace is the seat of art,
But walks so fragrant please me more:
They to my eye impart,
More joy than does the golden ore,
When mought with art into some goblet fine
Where rubies charm without,–within, the ruddy wine.
"These heavenly songs my sweetest concerts are,
I love the zephyr's cooling breeze,
When wafted from afar
Through aromatic herbs and trees,
Far more than all those scented, sweet perfumes
Burned on our altars new, which their bright flame illumes
"Come! for the wave is clear, the sky is bright,
And leave those graceful folds to sail,
Folds of girdles white,
Upon the breeze. Take off my veil
My diadem. I sport with ye to day,
In clear and placid wave, and in the foaming spray.
"Come, haste! but 'mid the morning's early dew,
What is it yonder meets my eye?
And, through the dusky hue,
My maids! What is it I descry?
Fear not, it is the trunk of some old tree,
Borne onward by the stream, to meet the open sea.
"What see I? If my sight does not deceive,
'Tis Isis' conch or Hermes' shell
See how the waters cleave,
While zephyrs bright, its sails prophet.–
No! 'tis a bark where lies a child asleep,
As on its his mother's breast, and wanders o'er the deep.
"He sleeps! Afar I see his sling bed,
Upon the inconstant river float,
Behold his feeble head,
Reclining on his rusty boat;
The sport of winds, he's rocked upon the wave,
He sleeps upon the stream, which bears him to his grave.
"He wakes! Oh haste! Ye maids of memphis,
He cries! upon the cruel tide,
Her son, what mother placed,
where wakers roll on every side?
His arms outstretched, his life to save. Alas,
The only rampart left,–a fragile bed of grass!
"Save him! Perhaps he is an Israelite,
my sire permits them not to live.
This babe, perhaps last night,
His mother to the waves did give:
my cruel father slays the infant son;
a wicked dead! Yet must the monarch's will be done.
"Poor babe! His innocence my heart doth move,
To him a mother I shall be;
a Guardian true I'll prove,–
His youth shall be a care to me–
Though not his mother, yet will I assume
a mother's task, and rear the child to manhood's bloom.
Thus Iphis spoke, the glory of a King;
and then along the flowing nile,
as borne on sportive wing,
she wandered, careless, many a mile;
and, when the virgin doffed her dress of Gold,
Her maidens thought they saw our mother "Eve of Old"
"Eve of old"
The tide aheady shudders at her sight,
and pity guides her fearful pace;
The infant Israelite
sees not her beauteous royal face.
She takes the bark. The modest maiden flies,
and on the shore fast by, she stills the infant's cries.
The babe she takes and places on the sand,–
whom all her maids in turn embrace,
Taking his little hand,–
Imprinting on his lonely face
a kiss, as when two heavenly beings, fair
unite in wedlock firm, and mutual love do swear.
Haste! thou who from afar with anxious eye
Thy son's uncertain path dost trace,
with many a deep drawn sigh.
Fear not, fond mother, they embrace,
Thy tears, they Joy, will not thy child betray
For Iphis is as yet but in her maiden day.
Then, while with hurried step and nimble feet
stern Pharaoh's Iphis seeks hastes to seek
with flowery tears and sweet,
The maid bedews the infant's cheek;
and, heavenly music bursting from the lyre
Is raised to God above, by an angelic choir.
"Weep not, Oh Israel! in thy bondage vile,–
and mingle not they holy tear,
with waters of the Nile?
For now, at last, the day draws near;
Jordan shall ope his floods and Goshen flee,
And the poor captive, loosed, no more shall bond the knee,
The ark which from the waves her maids convey,
Does Sinai's holy king enclose;
who shall, at future day,
Deliver Israel from her woes.
Reflect, ye who of God despise the call!
An infant, Israel saves; an infant shall save all."
Mr. I. Leeser
Dr. Sir
The above is performance of a young gentleman scarce 15 years old & deeming it possessed some merit & from its religious caste I have taken the liberty of asking a place in your valuable periodical for it. Respectfully
D. C. Labatt
N. Orleans Nov. 10th 1847
Mr. Isaac Leeser
Philadelphia
Penna - Identifier
- LSDCBx1FF4_15
- Date
- 1847-11-11
Part of Letter from David C. Labatt to Isaac Leeser;November 11, 1847
David C. Labatt, “Letter from David C. Labatt to Isaac Leeser;November 11, 1847”, 1847-11-11, Isaac Leeser Digital Repository, accessed September 7, 2024, https://judaicadhpenn.org/legacyprojects/s/leeser/item/68921