When we had once passed this obstruction, delight and wonder arrested our footsteps.  For some moments our glances wandered irresolutely from point to point; we could fix our attention on nothing, so great was the number of beauties surrounding us:  splendid architecture—­arches rising boldly into the air, supported on lofty pillars—­every thing wore an air so severely classic, and yet all was gorgeously elegant, and at the same time perfectly tasteful.

At first we reviewed every thing in a very hasty manner, for our impulse hurried us along, and we wished to take in every thing at one glance.  Afterwards we began a new and a more deliberate survey.

As we enter a large open courtyard, our eye is caught by numerous pieces of marble and fragments of columns, some of the latter resting on tastefully sculptured plinths.  Almost every thing here is prostrate, covered with rubbish and broken fragments, but yet all looks grand and majestic in its ruin.  We next enter a second and a larger courtyard, above two hundred paces in length and about a hundred in breadth.  Round the walls are niches cut in marble, and ornamented with the prettiest arabesques.  These niches were probably occupied in former times by statues of the numerous heathen gods.  Behind these are little cells, the dwellings of the priests; and in the foreground rise six Corinthian pillars, the only trace left of the great Temple of the Sun.  These six pillars, which have hitherto bid defiance to time, devastation, and earthquakes, are supposed to be the loftiest and most magnificent in the world.  Nearly seventy feet in height, each pillar a rocky colossus, resting on a basement twenty-seven feet high, covered with excellent workmanship, a masterpiece of ancient architecture, they tower above the Cyclops wall, and look far away into the distance—­giant monuments of the hoary past.

[Illustration 7.  Balbeck. ill7.jpg]

How vast thus temple must originally have been is shewn by the remaining pedestals, from which the pillars have fallen, and lay strewed around in weather-stained fragments.  I counted twenty such pedestals along the length of the temple, and ten across its breadth.

The lesser temple, separated from the greater merely by a wall, lies deeper and more sheltered from the wind and weather; consequently it is in better preservation.  A covered hall, resting on pillars fifty feet in height, leads round this temple.  Statues of gods and heroes, beautifully sculptured in marble, and surrounded by arabesques, deck the lofty arches of this corridor.  The pillars consist of three pieces fastened together with such amazing strength, that when the last earthquake threw down a column it did not break, but fell with its top buried in the earth, where it is seen leaning its majestic height against a hill.