GROUP II.

SOME OF THE GIANT Forces of nature.

SATURN, Lat.; CHRONOS, Gr.

HYPERÏ'ON and Thea were two of the twelve Titans, and they were the parents of the Sun, the Moon, and the Dawn. But the most important of all the Titans were Saturn and Rhea. Their children were three sons, Jupiter, Pluto, and Neptune; three daughters, Juno, Ceres, and Vesta.

When Jupiter grew up he made war upon his father, in fulfilment of an old prophecy. The war lasted ten years, resulting in victory for Jupiter. Saturn and his army were completely overthrown, his brothers despatched to the gloomy depths of the lower world, and Saturn himself was deprived of the supreme power which was now vested in his son Jupiter, and he was banished from his kingdom.

The Romans believed that, after his defeat and banishment, Saturn took refuge with Jā'nus, king of Italy, who received the exiled deity with great kindness, and even shared his throne with him. Their united reign became so thoroughly peaceful and happy, and was distinguished by such uninterrupted prosperity that it

was called the "Golden Age," which is so frequently referred to by the poets. The Roman festival in his honor was called Saturnalia, and was devoted to freedom, mirth, and hospitality.

In the following poem Keats represents Saturn (Chronos), just after his defeat:

SATURN AND THEA.

From "Hyperion." — KEATS.

Deep in the shady sadness of a vale

Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn,
Far from the fiery noon, and eve's one star,
Sat gray-haired Saturn, quiet as a stone,
Still as the silence round about his lair;
Forest on forest hung about his head

Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there,
Not so much life as on a summer's day
Robs one light seed from the feathered grass,
But where the leaf fell, there did it rest.

A stream went voiceless by, still deadened more
By reason of his fallen divinity,

Spreading a shade: the Naiad 'mid her reeds
Pressed her cold finger closer to her lips.

Along the margin sand large footmarks went
No further than to where his feet had strayed,
And slept there since. Upon the sodden ground
His old right hand lay nerveless, listless, dead,
Unsceptered, and his realmless eyes were closed;
While his bowed head seemed listening to the earth,
His ancient mother, for some comfort yet.

It seemed no force could wake him from his place;
But there came one who, with a kindred hand,
Touched his wide shoulders, after bending low

With reverence, though to one who knew it not.
She was a goddess of the infant world;

By her in stature the tall Amazon

Had stood a pigmy's height: she would have ta'en Achilles by the hair, and bent his neck,

Or with a finger stayed Ixion's wheel.

Her face was large as that of Memphian sphinx,
Pedestaled haply in a palace court,

When sages looked to Egypt for their lore.

But oh! how unlike marble was that face!

How beautiful, if sorrow had not made
Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self!
There was a listening fear in her regard,
As if calamity had but begun ;

As if the vanward clouds of evil days
Had spent their malice, and the sullen roar
Was, with its stored thunder, laboring up.
One hand she pressed upon that aching spot
Where beats the human heart, as if just there,
Though an immortal, she felt cruel pain;
The other upon Saturn's bended neck

She laid, and to the level of his ear

Leaning with parted lips, some words she spake
In solemn tenor and deep organ tone ;

Some mourning words, which in our feeble tongue
Would come in these like accents

O, how frail,
To that large utterance of the early gods!

"Saturn, look up! though wherefore, poor old king?
I cannot say, 'O wherefore sleepest thou?'
For heaven is parted from thee, and the earth
Knows thee not thus afflicted for a god;
And ocean, too, with all its solemn noise,
Has from thy scepter passed, and all the air
Is emptied of thy hoary majesty.

Thy thunder, conscious of the new command,

Rumbles reluctant o'er the fallen house;
And thy sharp lightning in unpracticed hands
Scorches and burns our once serene domain.
O, aching time! O, moments big as years !
All, as ye pass, swell out the monstrous truth,
And press it so upon our weary griefs
That unbelief has not a space to breathe.
Saturn, sleep on! O, thoughtless why did I
Thus violate thy slumbrous solitude?
Why should I ope thy melancholy eyes?
Saturn, sleep on! while at thy feet I weep."
As when, upon a trancèd summer night,
Those green-robed senators of mighty woods,
Tall oaks, branch-charmed by the earnest stars,
Dream, and so dream all night without a stir,
Save from one gradual solitary gust
Which comes upon the silence, and dies off,
As if the ebbing air had but one wave;

So came these words and went.

Among the Romans the seventh day of the week was sacred to Saturn, hence our name for that day, Saturday. Raphael's picture represents him with a scythe in his hand, seated in a chariot drawn by wingèd dragons, personifying the flight of Time.

THE BATTLE BETWEEN THE GODS AND THE GIANTS.

THE battle-field of this contest was in Phleg'ra in Macedonia.

The fight lasted for a whole day, for the giants were very strong; but at last the gods gained the victory, and they crushed each of the giants beneath a huge moun

tain, which did not kill him but prevented his ever getting up again.

The most powerful of the giants that conspired against Jupiter was Enceladus. He tried to escape over the Mediterranean Sea, but the goddess Athené (Minerva), who was the daughter of Jupiter, tore off a great three-cornered piece of land and threw it after him. It hit him just as he was in the middle of the sea, and he fell down and was buried beneath it. After some time the land became covered with forests and cities, and it is now called the island of Sicily. Mount Etna marks the spot where the giant has lain ever since.

The poets say that the flames of this volcano arise from the breath of the giant, and whenever he turns on one side beneath the mountain, the people say, "It is an earthquake."

Longfellow, in his poem, "King Robert of Sicily,"

says:

"Under the angel's government benign.

The happy island danced with corn and wine,
And deep within the mountain's burning breast
Enceladus, the giant, was at rest.”

In the following poem he gives the popular legend:

ENCELADUS.

LONGFELLOW.

Under Mount Etna he lies,

It is slumber, it is not death;
For he struggles at times to arise,
And above him the lurid skies

Are hot with his fiery breath,