, Rameses: by the Greeks
Sesostris styled. And yet no sculptor's art
Moulded this shape, for form it seemed of flesh,
Yet motionless; its dim unlustrous orbs
Gazing in stilly vacancy, its cheek
Grey as its hairs, which, thin as they might seem,
No breath disturbed; a solemn countenance,
Not sorrowful, though full of woe sublime,
As if despair were now a distant dream
Too dim for memory.'

''Tis their great leader,' said Saturn, as he pointed out the Titan to
Proserpine, 'the giant Enceladus. He got us into all our scrapes, but I
must do him the justice to add, that he is the only one who can ever get
us out of them. They say he has no heart; but I think his hook nose is
rather fine.'

'Superb!' said Proserpine. 'And who is that radiant and golden-haired
youth who is seated at his feet?'

''Tis no less a personage than Hyperion himself,' replied Saturn, 'the
favourite counsellor of Enceladus. He is a fine orator, and makes up by
his round sentences and choice phrases for the rhetorical deficiencies
of his chief, who, to speak the truth, is somewhat curt and husky. They
have enough now to do to manage their comrades and keep a semblance of
discipline in their routed ranks. Mark that ferocious Briareus there
scowling in a corner! Didst ever see such a moustache! He glances,
methinks, with an evil eye on the mighty Enceladus; and, let me tell
you, Briareus has a great following among them; so they say of him you
know, that he hath fifty heads and a hundred arms. See! how they gather
around him.'

'Who speaks now to Briareus?' 'The young and valiant Mimas. Be assured
he is counselling war. We shall have a debate now.'

'Yon venerable personage, who is seated by the margin of the pool, and
weeping with the crocodiles------'

'Is old Oceanus.'

'He is apparently much affected by his overthrow.' 'It is his wont to
weep. He used to cry when he fought, and yet he was a powerful warrior.'
'Hark!' said Proserpine.

The awful voice of Briareus broke the silence. What a terrible personage
was Briareus! His wild locks hung loose about his shoulders, and blended
with his unshorn beard.

'Titans!' shouted the voice which made many a heart tremble, and the
breathless Proserpine clasp the arm of Saturn. 'Titans! Is that spirit
dead that once heaped Ossa upon Pelion? Is it forgotten, even by
ourselves, that a younger born revels in our heritage? Are these forms
that surround m