Athirst for freedom from the Ptolemy yoke.
While yet the rushes bent beneath the blast
Of Red Sea winds, a prodigy was cast.
(From common mold, perhaps, but 'tis enough
To know that he was made of proper stuff.)
And little did the Tempest wot his noise
Was silence likened to the bawling boy's.
The Earth breathed on the shape and gave it speech,
Or something vocally akin, a screech.
Thus Moses had his coming out—and lo!