There were anxious fingerings for the pulse
That ne’er would throb again, and eager listenings
For some sound of life—a hurrying to and fro—
Then burning kisses on the cold lips
Of the dead, bitter partings, sad farewells,
And mournful sobs and piercing shrieks,
And deep and heavy groans throughout the length
And breadth of Egypt. ’Twas the last dread plague,
But it had snapped in twain the chains on which
The rust of ages lay, and Israel was freed;