From Memoir of the Great Original, Zozimus (Michael Moran), the Celebrated Dublin Street Rhymer and Reciter by "Gulielmus Dubliniensis Humoriensis" (Michael Moran), (Dublin: M'Glashan & Gill, 1871), page 20:

The next literary effusion on which Zozimus used his vocal powers was that on the 'Finding of Moses among the Rushes.' From want of a classical finish in his speech, which we had to follow, it would appear to be all his own composition; some of his imitators introduced loose words which, as his friend, we reject:—

'Immodest words admit of no defence,
For want of modesty is want of sense.'

THE FINDING OF MOSES.

In Egypt's kingdom, upon the banks of Nile,
King Pharaoh's daughter went to bathe in style;
She tuk her dip, then walked unto the land,
And to dry her royal pelt she ran along the strand.

A bulrush tripped her, whereupon she saw
A smiling babby in a wad o' straw.
She tuk it to Pharo', who madly wild,
Said, 'You foolish girl, have you got a child?'

An old Blackmore woman among the crew,
Cried out, 'You royal savage, what's that to you?
The royal lady is sure too mild,
To find dishonestly the charming child.'

'Oh!' says the king, to end this pother,
'I'll kick the reptile from Nile to Dodder,
And then I'll search every hole and nook,
And likely I'll find him at Donnybrook.'*

Other versions of this poem are extant in the memories of the old citizens of Dublin, some of the fragments being well enough as a burlesque, but not true to the character of Zozimus; we have, however, rescued one from the uncertainty of tradition, which appears to have been an early effort, when the poetaster's brain was full of Bishop Coyle's superior composition, which he had committed to memory so carefully. The style evidences this, and the historical allusions are fairly accurate. In a couple of places there seems to be a 'spark of the fire' not discreditable to more pretentious poets.

FINDING OF MOSES IN THE NILE.

On Egypt's plains, where flows the ancient Nile,
Where Ibix stalks, and swims the crockadile,
Where burning suns for ever shed their glare,
And rainless countries dry the parched air,

'Tis here the pyramids ascend on high,
And lofty temples tell of times gone by,
When mighty monarchs made their people slaves,
And with their victims filled ten thousand graves.

The Israelite, oppressed for full four hundred years,
In anguish cried aloud, and shed the captive's tears;
The Lord from heaven came down and heard the sufferers' cry,
And in His own due time, the penitents' tears to dry.

Proud Pharaoh from his throne sent forth his mandates wild,
'Go, slaughter every male, but keep each female child.'
The mothers then in Israel raised their cries on high:
'Oh, save our infant boys, in them our hopes rely.'

Oh, woman! in thy need what plans thou canst contrive;
And now the trial came to save her child alive.
Right well we know thy nature; the diamond of thy mind
Shines out most brightly when the heart is most resigned;

A woman's sympathy is all we here enjoy,
The Hebrew mother trusted this, to save her lovely boy;
So now of wicker-work a little ark she made,
And in it placed her world of wealth, and o'er it knelt and prayed:

'Oh, God of all our fathers, avenge poor Israel's woes,
And may my child redeem our race, and save them from their foes.'
The hearty, fervent prayer went up unto the Throne of Grace;
The floating ark went down the stream and settled in the place

Where Egypt's noble daughters came at noon to bathe and play,
And Pharaoh's lovely child was there, so artless, good, and gay;
She heard the piteous cry, an infant's wailing note,
And searching round among the reeds she found the tiny boat;

Her tender heart at once was moved, the babe she kissed and pressed
Close to her virgin bosom pure, and lovingly caressed;
The smiling infant gazed at her, then spreading forth its arms,
The noble girl's heart then warmed with all a woman's charms

When first awakened from that sleep, when innocency dreams,
And sense and instinct glowing, both unite their warming beams.
'Go forth, some maid,' she cried, 'and seek a nurse to care
This infant which I've found, for all his wants prepare;

'Tis heaven alone could give to mortals such a child,
And I will try to keep him pure and undefiled.'
The anxious mother watched her child's eventful fate,
And meeting then the maiden with joy was most elate.

For years she nursed her child, and as he older grew
The youth was taught such learning as Egypt's priesthood knew.
They little thought that boy in time would wield a rod,
Which rescued from their bondage the Israel of God.

A conquered nation, though down-trod, it still is never crushed,
A Liberator always comes when Freedom's voice is hushed;
And so our own dear land, in time we all shall see
The Saxon rulers gone—Old Ireland shall be free!

Inferior as this poem may appear to the educated reader, it had its force and interest with the attentive crowd, which drank in every word as it was spoken; nor should we undervalue the impression it must have made on those who had few, if indeed any, other opportunities of hearing the incidents of Scripture history. In ancient times those incidents were carved on the Irish crosses, and so supplied what Zozimus recited. Art speaks to the soul through the eye, but our modern hero spoke through the trumpet of the poet, to the anxious ears of the 'plebs.'

* note.—This Quixotic notion is doubtless owing to the wild Irishism of our friend Zozimus.


[I have taken the liberty of inserting a stanza break after every 4 lines; there were no stanza breaks in the original.—JD]