OBELISK OF LUXOR. 247
And arc 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 statuedMemnon 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 did st 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.
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