Long ago in times no longer precisely known, they were broken off, both of them, at the height of the loins.

But their muscular legs have kept their proud, marching attitude, and each in one of the armless hands, which reach to the end of the cloth that girds their loins, clenches passionately the emblem of eternal life.

And this Syenite granite is so hard that time has not altered it in the least; in the midst of the confusion of stones the thighs of these mutilated giants gleam as if they had been polished yesterday.
Farther on we come upon the second pylons, foundered also, before which stands a row of Pharaohs.
On every side the overthrown blocks display their utter confusion of gigantic things in the midst of the sand which continues patiently to bury them.

And here now are the third pylons, flanked by their two marching giants, who have neither head nor shoulders.

And the road, marked majestically still by the debris, continues to lead towards the desert.
And then the fourth and last pylons, which seem at first sight to mark the extremity of the ruins, the beginning of the desert nothingness.
Time-worn and uncrowned, but stiff and upright still, they seem to be set there so solidly that nothing could ever overthrow them.