# Pleasant Memories of Pleasant Lands 1842/Obelisk of Luxor

OBELISK OF LUXOR,
IN THE PLACE DE LA CONCORDE.
Thou here! What but a miracle could tear
 Thee from thine old and favorite spot of birth?
 And o'er the wave thy ponderous body bear,
 Making thee thus at home in foreign earth?
While countless throngs with curious glance regard
Thy strange and sanguine face, with hieroglyphics scarred.
 Thou hadst a tedious voyage, I suppose,
 Sea-sickness and rough rocking,—was it so?
 Thou wert as Jonah to the mariners,
 I understand, and wrought them mickle woe;
And when the port was reached, they feared with pain
Thou ne'er wouldst raise thy head, or be thyself again.
 Dost think thy brother Monolinth will dare,
 Like thee, the dangers of the deep to meet?
 I learn he has the viceroy's leave to take
 The tour, his education to complete:
Thy warm, fraternal heart right glad would be
Here, in this stranger land, his honest face to see.
What canst thou tell us? thou whose wondrous date
 Doth more than half our planet's birth-days measure!
 Saw'st thou Sesostris, in his regal state,
 Ruling the conquered nations at his pleasure?
And are those stories true, by History told,
Of hundred-gated Thebes, with all her power and gold?
 Didst hear how hard the yoke of bondage pressed
 On Israel's chosen race, by Nilus' strand?
 And how the awful seer, with words of flame,
 Did in the presence of the tyrant stand,
When with dire plagues the hand of Heaven was red,
And stiff-necked Egypt shrieked o'er all her first-born dead?
 Tell us who built the pyramids; and why
 They took such pains those famous tombs to rear,
 Yet chanced at last to let their names slip by,
 And drown in dark oblivion's waters drear;
Paris, though so polite, can scarce restrain
A smile at such mistake and toil for honors vain.
 Didst e'er attend a trial of the dead?
 Pray, tell us where the judges held their seat;
 And touch us just the key-note of the tune,
 Which statued Memnon breathed, the morn to greet;
Or sing of Isis' priests the vesper-chime;
Or doth thy memory fail beneath the weight of time?
 How little didst thou dream, in youth, to be
 So great a traveller in thy hoary years,
 And here, in lilied France, to take thy stand,
 The silvery fountains playing round thine ears,
And groves and gardens stretching 'neath thy feet,
Where sheds the lingering sun his parting lustres sweet.
 Yet beautiful thou art in majesty,
 As ancient oracle, from Delphic shrine,
 Which by the Ocean cast on stranger-shore,
 Claims worship for its mysteries divine;
And Egypt hath been prodigally kind,
Such noble gift to send, to keep her love in mind.
 The earth whereon thou standest hath been red
 And saturate with blood, and at the rush
 Of those who came to die, hath quaked with dread,
 As though its very depths did shrink and blush,
Like Eden's soil, when first the purple tide
It drank with shuddering lip, and to its Maker cried.
 Be as a guardian to this new-found home,
 That fondly wooed thee o'er the billows blue,
 For 't were a pity sure, to come so far,
 And know so much, and yet no good to do:—
So from the "Place la Concorde" blot the shame,
And bid it lead a life more worthy of its name.
Paris, Wednesday, Nov. 18, 1840.
Among the conspicuous objects that in Paris by their number and beauty astonish the stranger, he is early attracted by the venerable obelisk of Luxor. It is of a single block of red sienite, and covered with hieroghyphics, most of which refer to Sesostris, during whose reign it was erected.
In such good preservation is this relic of antiquity and art, that the mind is slow in believing that nearly 3400 years have elapsed, since it was first placed in front of the great temple of Thebes, the modern Luxor. It was given, with another of the same size, by the Viceroy of Egypt to the French government. But such were the difficulties to be overcome in its transportation, that the removal of its partner has never been attempted. The labor of taking it down, and conveying it to the banks of the Nile, occupied eight hundred men for three months. A road had to be constructed and a vessel built on purpose to receive it. The latter was obliged to be sawn off vertically, to accomodate the ponderous passenger, and performed its voyage with peril. Three years after its separation from its original site it arrived in Paris, and in three more years, by the most ingenious and powerful machinery, its final elevation in its new home was effected. It stands on a pedestal of granite in the ​midst of an eliptical plateau, paved with asphaltum. Two magnificent fountains throw up their silver waters, which fall with a pleasant sound into vast circular basins encrusted with marble; while Tritons and Nereids, attended by swans and dolphins, hasten to welcome the wonderful guest. Colossal statues stand around in their majesty, to do it honor; hoary Ocean, the classic Mediterranean, Agriculture solicitiug the gifts of earth, Commerce gathering riches from the sea, and Astronomy with her soul among the stars. Personifications of the Rhine and the Rhone, with the Genii of Flowers and Fruits, of Vintage, and of the Harvest, express the hospitalities of France. Old Egypt rests among them and is satisfied.
The Place de la Concorde, where this stranger Obelisk is domesticated, was originally the Place Louis Fifteenth, and known in the time of terror as the Place de la Revolution. Fearful baptisms of blood has that spot known, from the trampling down of thousands, in the fatal rush at the marriage festival of Louis Sixteenth, to the sad spectacle of his own decapitation, and that of the throngs who night and day fed the guillotine. In the two years that succeeded his death, more than 2000 persons of both sexes were executed here, until it was said, that the soil, pampered with its terrible aliment, rose up, and burst open, and refused to be trodden down like other earth.