Daphne, the daughter of a River Godwas first beloved by Phoebus, the great Godof glorious light. 'Twas not a cause of chancebut out of Cupid's vengeful spite that shewas fated to torment the lord of light.For Phoebus, proud of Python's death, beheldthat impish god of Love upon a timewhen he was bending his diminished bow,and voicing his contempt in anger said;“What, wanton boy, are mighty arms to thee,great weapons suited to the needs of war?The bow is only for the use of thoselarge deities of heaven whose strength may dealwounds, mortal, to the savage beasts of prey;and who courageous overcome their foes.—it is a proper weapon to the useof such as slew with arrows Python, huge,whose pestilential carcase vast extentcovered. Content thee with the flames thy torchenkindles (fires too subtle for my thought)and leave to me the glory that is mine.”to him, undaunted, Venus, son replied;“O Phoebus, thou canst conquer all the worldwith thy strong bow and arrows, but with thissmall arrow I shall pierce thy vaunting breast!And by the measure that thy might exceedsthe broken powers of thy defeated foes,so is thy glory less than mine.” No morehe said, but with his wings expanded thenceflew lightly to Parnassus, lofty peak.There, from his quiver he plucked arrows twain,most curiously wrought of different art;one love exciting, one repelling love.The dart of love was glittering, gold and sharp,the other had a blunted tip of lead;and with that dull lead dart he shot the Nymph,but with the keen point of the golden darthe pierced the bone and marrow of the God.Immediately the one with love was filled,the other, scouting at the thought of love,rejoiced in the deep shadow of the woods,and as the virgin Phoebe (who deniesthe joys of love and loves the joys of chase)a maiden's fillet bound her flowing hair,—and her pure mind denied the love of man.Beloved and wooed she wandered silent paths,for never could her modesty endurethe glance of man or listen to his love.Her grieving father spoke to her, “Alas,my daughter, I have wished a son in law,and now you owe a grandchild to the joyof my old age.” But Daphne only hungher head to hide her shame. The nuptial torchseemed criminal to her. She even clung,caressing, with her arms around his neck,and pled, “My dearest father let me livea virgin always, for remember Jovedid grant it to Diana at her birth.”But though her father promised her desire,her loveliness prevailed against their will;for, Phoebus when he saw her waxed distraught,and filled with wonder his sick fancy raiseddelusive hopes, and his own oraclesdeceived him.—As the stubble in the fieldflares up, or as the stacked wheat is consumedby flames, enkindled from a spark or torchthe chance pedestrian may neglect at dawn;so was the bosom of the god consumed,and so desire flamed in his stricken heart.He saw her bright hair waving on her neck;—“How beautiful if properly arranged! ”He saw her eyes like stars of sparkling fire,her lips for kissing sweetest, and her handsand fingers and her arms; her shoulders whiteas ivory;—and whatever was not seenmore beautiful must be.Swift as the windfrom his pursuing feet the virgin fled,and neither stopped nor heeded as he called;“O Nymph! O Daphne! I entreat thee stay,it is no enemy that follows thee—why, so the lamb leaps from the raging wolf,and from the lion runs the timid faun,and from the eagle flies the trembling dove,all hasten from their natural enemybut I alone pursue for my dear love.Alas, if thou shouldst fall and mar thy face,or tear upon the bramble thy soft thighs,or should I prove unwilling cause of pain!“The wilderness is rough and dangerous,and I beseech thee be more careful—Iwill follow slowly.—Ask of whom thou wilt,and thou shalt learn that I am not a churl—I am no mountain dweller of rude caves,nor clown compelled to watch the sheep and goats;and neither canst thou know from whom thy feetfly fearful, or thou wouldst not leave me thus.“The Delphic Land, the Pataraean Realm,Claros and Tenedos revere my name,and my immortal sire is Jupiter.The present, past and future are through mein sacred oracles revealed to man,and from my harp the harmonies of soundare borrowed by their bards to praise the Gods.My bow is certain, but a flaming shaftsurpassing mine has pierced my heart—untouched before. The art of medicineis my invention, and the power of herbs;but though the world declare my useful worksthere is no herb to medicate my wound,and all the arts that save have failed their lord.,”

But even as he made his plaint, the Nymphwith timid footsteps fled from his approach,and left him to his murmurs and his pain.Lovely the virgin seemed as the soft windexposed her limbs, and as the zephyrs fondfluttered amid her garments, and the breezefanned lightly in her flowing hair. She seemedmost lovely to his fancy in her flight;and mad with love he followed in her steps,and silent hastened his increasing speed.As when the greyhound sees the frightened hareflit over the plain:—With eager nose outstretched,impetuous, he rushes on his prey,and gains upon her till he treads her feet,and almost fastens in her side his fangs;but she, whilst dreading that her end is near,is suddenly delivered from her fright;so was it with the god and virgin: onewith hope pursued, the other fled in fear;and he who followed, borne on wings of love,permitted her no rest and gained on her,until his warm breath mingled in her hair.Her strength spent, pale and faint, with pleading eyesshe gazed upon her father's waves and prayed,“Help me my father, if thy flowing streamshave virtue! Cover me, O mother Earth!Destroy the beauty that has injured me,or change the body that destroys my life.”Before her prayer was ended, torpor seizedon all her body, and a thin bark closedaround her gentle bosom, and her hairbecame as moving leaves; her arms were changedto waving branches, and her active feetas clinging roots were fastened to the ground—her face was hidden with encircling leaves.—Phoebus admired and loved the graceful tree,(For still, though changed, her slender form remained)and with his right hand lingering on the trunkhe felt her bosom throbbing in the bark.He clung to trunk and branch as though to twine.His form with hers, and fondly kissed the woodthat shrank from every kiss.And thus the God;“Although thou canst not be my bride, thou shaltbe called my chosen tree, and thy green leaves,O Laurel! shall forever crown my brows,be wreathed around my quiver and my lyre;the Roman heroes shall be crowned with thee,as long processions climb the Capitoland chanting throngs proclaim their victories;and as a faithful warden thou shalt guardthe civic crown of oak leaves fixed betweenthy branches, and before Augustan gates.And as my youthful head is never shorn,so, also, shalt thou ever bear thy leavesunchanging to thy glory.,”Here the God,Phoebus Apollo, ended his lament,and unto him the Laurel bent her boughs,so lately fashioned; and it seemed to himher graceful nod gave answer to his love.

There is a grove in Thessaly, enclosedon every side with crags, precipitous,—on which a forest grows—and this is calledthe Vale of Tempe—through this valley flowsthe River Peneus, white with foaming waves,that issue from the foot of Pindus, whencewith sudden fall up gather steamy cloudsthat sprinkle mist upon the circling trees,and far away with mighty roar resound.It is the abode, the solitary home,that mighty River loves, where deep in gloomof rocky cavern, he resides and rulesthe flowing waters and the water nymphsabiding there. All rivers of that landnow hasten thither, doubtful to consoleor flatter Daphne's parent: poplar crownedSperchios, swift Enipeus and the wildAmphrysos, old Apidanus and Aeas,with all their kindred streams that wandering mazeand wearied seek the ocean. Inachusalone is absent, hidden in his caveobscure, deepening his waters with his tears—most wretchedly bewailing, for he deemshis daughter Io lost. If she may liveor roam a spirit in the nether shadeshe dares not even guess but dreadsfor Jove not long before had seen her whilereturning from her father's stream, and said;“O virgin, worthy of immortal Jove,although some happy mortal's chosen bride,—behold these shades of overhanging trees,and seek their cool recesses while the sunis glowing in the height of middle skies—”and as he spoke he pointed out the groves—“But should the dens of wild beasts frighten you,with safety you may enter the deep woods,conducted by a God—not with a Godof small repute, but in the care of himwho holds the heavenly scepter in his handand fulminates the trackless thunder bolts.—forsake me not! ” For while he spoke she fled,and swiftly left behind the pasture fieldsof Lerna, and Lyrcea's arbours, wherethe trees are planted thickly. But the Godcalled forth a heavy shadow which involvedthe wide extended earth, and stopped her flightand ravished in that cloud her chastity.Meanwhile, the goddess Juno gazing downon earth's expanse, with wonder saw the cloudsas dark as night enfold those middle fieldswhile day was bright above. She was convincedthe clouds were none composed of river mistnor raised from marshy fens. Suspicious now,from oft detected amours of her spouse,she glanced around to find her absent lord,and quite convinced that he was far from heaven,she thus exclaimed; “This cloud deceives my mind,or Jove has wronged me.” From the dome of heavenshe glided down and stood upon the earth,and bade the clouds recede. But Jove had knownthe coming of his queen. He had transformedthe lovely Io, so that she appeareda milk white heifer—formed so beautifuland fair that envious Juno gazed on her.She queried: “Whose? what herd? what pasture fields?”As if she guessed no knowledge of the truth.And Jupiter, false hearted, said the cowwas earth begotten, for he feared his queenmight make inquiry of the owner's name.Juno implored the heifer as a gift.—what then was left the Father of the Gods?'Twould be a cruel thing to sacrificehis own beloved to a rival's wrath.Although refusal must imply his guiltthe shame and love of her almost prevailed;but if a present of such little worthwere now denied the sharer of his couch,the partner of his birth, 'twould prove indeedthe earth born heifer other than she seemed—and so he gave his mistress up to her.Juno regardful of Jove's cunning art,lest he might change her to her human form,gave the unhappy heifer to the chargeof Argus, Aristorides, whose headwas circled with a hundred glowing eyes;of which but two did slumber in their turnwhilst all the others kept on watch and guard.Whichever way he stood his gaze was fixedon Io—even if he turned awayhis watchful eyes on Io still remained.He let her feed by day; but when the sunwas under the deep world he shut her up,and tied a rope around her tender neck.She fed upon green leaves and bitter herbs and on the cold ground slept—too often bare,she could not rest upon a cushioned couch.She drank the troubled waters. Hoping aidshe tried to stretch imploring arms to Argus,but all in vain for now no arms remained;the sound of bellowing was all she heard,and she was frightened with her proper voice.Where former days she loved to roam and sport,she wandered by the banks of Inachus:there imaged in the stream she saw her hornsand, startled, turned and fled. And Inachusand all her sister Naiads knew her not,although she followed them, they knew her not,although she suffered them to touch her sidesand praise her.When the ancient Inachusgathered sweet herbs and offered them to her,she licked his hands, kissing her father's palms,nor could she more restrain her falling tears.If only words as well as tears would flow,she might implore his aid and tell her nameand all her sad misfortune; but, instead,she traced in dust the letters of her namewith cloven hoof; and thus her sad estatewas known.

“Ah wretched me! ” her father cried;and as he clung around her horns and neckrepeated while she groaned, “Ah wretched me!Art thou my daughter sought in every clime?When lost I could not grieve for thee as nowthat thou art found; thy sighs instead of wordsheave up from thy deep breast, thy longings giveme answer. I prepared the nuptial torchand bridal chamber, in my ignorance,since my first hope was for a son in law;and then I dreamed of children from the match:but now the herd may furnish thee a mate,and all thy issue of the herd must be.Oh that a righteous death would end my grief!—it is a dreadful thing to be a God!Behold the lethal gate of death is shutagainst me, and my growing grief must lastthroughout eternity.”While thus he moanedcame starry Argus there, and Io borefrom her lamenting father. Thence he ledhis charge to other pastures; and removedfrom her, upon a lofty mountain sat,whence he could always watch her, undisturbed.The sovereign god no longer could endureto witness Io's woes. He called his son,whom Maia brightest of the Pleiadesbrought forth, and bade him slay the star eyed guard,argus. He seized his sleep compelling wandand fastened waving wings on his swift feet,and deftly fixed his brimmed hat on his head:—lo, Mercury, the favoured son of Jove,descending to the earth from heaven's plains,put off his cap and wings,— though still retainedhis wand with which he drove through pathless wildssome stray she goats, and as a shepherd fared,piping on oaten reeds melodious tunes.Argus, delighted with the charming soundof this new art began; “Whoever thou art,sit with me on this stone beneath the treesin cooling shade, whilst browse the tended flockabundant herbs; for thou canst see the shadeis fit for shepherds.” Wherefore, Mercurysat down beside the keeper and conversedof various things—passing the laggard hours.—then soothly piped he on the joined reedsto lull those ever watchful eyes asleep;but Argus strove his languor to subdue,and though some drowsy eyes might slumber, stillwere some that vigil kept. Again he spoke,(for the pipes were yet a recent art)“I pray thee tell what chance discovered these.”To him the God, “ A famous Naiad dweltamong the Hamadryads, on the coldArcadian summit Nonacris, whose namewas Syrinx. Often she escaped the Gods,that wandered in the groves of sylvan shades,and often fled from Satyrs that pursued.Vowing virginity, in all pursuitsshe strove to emulate Diana's ways:and as that graceful goddess wears her robe,so Syrinx girded hers that one might wellbelieve Diana there. Even though her bowwere made of horn, Diana's wrought of gold,vet might she well deceive.“Now chanced it Pan.Whose head was girt with prickly pines, espiedthe Nymph returning from the Lycian Hill,and these words uttered he: ”—But Mercuryrefrained from further speech, and Pan's appealremains untold. If he had told it all,the tale of Syrinx would have followed thus:—but she despised the prayers of Pan, and fledthrough pathless wilds until she had arrivedthe placid Ladon's sandy stream, whose wavesprevented her escape. There she imploredher sister Nymphs to change her form: and Pan,believing he had caught her, held insteadsome marsh reeds for the body of the Nymph;and while he sighed the moving winds beganto utter plaintive music in the reeds,so sweet and voice like that poor Pan exclaimed;“Forever this discovery shall remaina sweet communion binding thee to me.”—and this explains why reeds of different length,when joined together by cementing wax,derive the name of Syrinx from the maid.

Such words the bright god Mercury would say;but now perceiving Argus' eyes were dimmedin languorous doze, he hushed his voice and touchedthe drooping eyelids with his magic wand,compelling slumber. Then without delayhe struck the sleeper with his crescent sword,where neck and head unite, and hurled his head,blood dripping, down the rocks and rugged cliff.Low lies Argus: dark is the light of allhis hundred eyes, his many orbed lightsextinguished in the universal gloomthat night surrounds; but Saturn's daughter spreadtheir glister on the feathers of her bird,emblazoning its tail with starry gems.Juno made haste, inflamed with towering rage,to vent her wrath on Io; and she raisedin thought and vision of the Grecian girla dreadful Fury. Stings invisible,and pitiless, she planted in her breast,and drove her wandering throughout the globe.The utmost limit of her laboured way,O Nile, thou didst remain. Which, having reached,and placed her tired knees on that river's edge,she laid her there, and as she raised her necklooked upward to the stars, and groaned and weptand mournfully bellowed: trying thus to plead,by all the means she had, that Jupitermight end her miseries. Repentant Joveembraced his consort, and entreated herto end the punishment: “Fear not,” he said,“For she shall trouble thee no more.” He spoke,and called on bitter Styx to hear his oath.And now imperial Juno, pacified,permitted Io to resume her form,—at once the hair fell from her snowy sides;the horns absorbed, her dilate orbs decreased;the opening of her jaws contracted; handsappeared and shoulders; and each transformed hoofbecame five nails. And every mark or formthat gave the semblance of a heifer changed,except her fair white skin; and the glad Nymphwas raised erect and stood upon her feet.But long the very thought of speech, that shemight bellow as a heifer, filled her mindwith terror, till the words so long forgotfor some sufficient cause were tried once more.

and since that time, the linen wearing throngof Egypt have adored her as a God;for they believe the seed of Jove prevailed;and when her time was due she bore to hima son called Epaphus; who also dwellsin temples with his mother in that land.Now Phaethon, whose father was the Sun,was equal to his rival, Epaphus,in mind and years; and he was glad to boastof wonders, nor would yield to Epaphusfor pride of Phoebus, his reputed sire.Unable to endure it, Io's sonthus mocked him; “Poor, demented fellow, whatwill you not credit if your mother speaks,you are so puffed up with the fond conceitof your imagined sire, the Lord of Day.”shame crimsoned in his cheeks, but Phaethonwithholding rage, reported all the tauntsof Epaphus to Clymene his mother:“'Twill grieve you, mother, I, the bold and free,was silent; and it shames me to reportthis dark reproach remains unchallenged. Oh,if I am born of race divine, give proofof that illustrious descent and claimmy right to Heaven.” Around his mother's neckhe drew his arms, and by the head of Merops,and by his own, and by the nuptial torchof his beloved sisters, he imploredfor some true token of his origin.Or moved by Phaethon's importuned words,or by the grievous charge, who might declare?She raised her arms to Heaven, and gazing fullupon the broad sun said; “I swear to youby yonder orb, so radiant and bright,which both beholds and hears us while we speak,that you are his begotten son.—You arethe child of that great light which sways the world:and if I have not spoken what is true,let not mine eyes behold his countenance,and let this fatal moment be the lastthat I shall look upon the light of day!Nor will it weary you, my son, to reachyour father's dwelling; for the very placewhere he appears at dawn is near our land.Go, if it please you, and the very truthlearn from your father.” Instantly sprang forthexultant Phaethon. Overjoyed with wordsso welcome, he imagined he could leapand touch the skies. And so he passed his landof Ethiopia, and the Indies, hotbeneath the tawny sun, and there he turnedhis footsteps to his father's Land of Dawn.

Book 2

Glowing with gold, flaming with carbuncleson stately columns raised, refulgent shonethe palace of the Sun, with polished domeof ivory gleaming, and with portals twainof burnished silver. And the workmanshipexceeded all the wealth of gems and gold;for there had Mulciber engraved the seasencircling middle earth; the round of earth,and heaven impending over the land.And thereamid the waves were azure deities:melodious Triton and elusive Proteus; thereAegeaan pressing with his arms the backs.Of monstrous whales; and Doris in the seaand all her daughters; some amid the wavesand others sitting on the bank to drytheir sea-green hair, and others borne aboutby fishes. Each was made to show a fairresemblance to her sisters—yet not oneappearance was assigned to all—they seemedas near alike as sisters should in truth.And men and cities, woods and savage beasts,and streams and nymphs, and sylvan deitieswere carved upon the land; and over thesean image of the glittering sky was fixed;—six signs were on the right, six on the left.Here when audacious Phaethon arrivedby steep ascending paths, without delayhe entered in the shining palace-gatesof his reputed parent, making hasteto stand in his paternal presence. There,unable to endure the dazzling light,he waited at a distance.Phoebus sat,arrayed in royal purple, on a thronethat glittered with the purest emeralds.— there to the left and right, Day, Month and Year,time and the Hours, at equal distance stood;and vernal Spring stood crowned with wreathed flowers;and naked Summer stood with sheaves of wheat;and Autumn stood besmeared with trodden grapes;and icy Winter rough with hoary hair.And from the midst, with orbs that view the world,Phoebus beheld the trembling youth, fear-struck,in mute amazement, and he said; “Declarethe reason of thy journey. What wilt thouin this my palace, Phaethon my childbeloved?”And to him replied the youth;“O universal light of all the world,my father Phoebus, if thy name be mine,if Clymene has not concealed her sinbeneath some pretext, give to me, my sire,a token to declare thy fatherhoodwhich may establish my assured descent,and leave no dark suspicions in our minds.”—then Phoebus from his shining brows cast downhis circling rays; called Phaethon to him,and as he held him to his breast replied;“O child most worthy of thy sire, the truthwas told thee by thy mother; wherefore doubtsto dissipate, consider thy desire,and ask of me that I may freely give:yea, let the Nether Lake, beyond our view,(which is the oath of Gods inviolate)be witness to my word.”When this was saidthe happy youth at once began to pleadcommand and guidance of his father's steeds,wing-footed, and his chariot for a day.But Phoebus much repented that he sware,and thrice and four times shook his radiant head;“Ah, would I might refuse my plighted word;and oh, that it were lawful to denythe promised boon.—For I confess, O son,this only I should keep from thee—and yet'Tis lawful to dissuade. It is unsafeto satisfy thy will. It is a greatrequest, O Phaethon, which neither suitsthy utmost strength nor tender years; for thouart mortal, and thou hast aspired to thingsimmortal. Ignorance has made thy thoughttranscend the province of the Gods. I vauntno vain exploits; but only I can standsecurely on the flame-fraught axle-tree:even the Ruler of Olympian Gods,who hurls fierce lightnings with his great right hand,may never dare to drive this chariot,and what art thou to equal mighty Jove?“The opening path is steep and difficult,for scarcely can the steeds, refreshed at dawn,climb up the steeps: and when is reached the height,extreme of midmost Heaven, and sea and earthare viewed below, my trembling breast is filledwith fearful apprehensions: and requiresthe last precipitous descent a surecommand. Then, also, Tethys, who receivesme in her subject waves, is wont to fearlest I should fall disastrous. And aroundthe hastening sky revolves in constant whirl,drawing the lofty stars with rapid twist.“I struggle on. The force that overcomesthe heavenly bodies overwhelms me not,and I am borne against that rapid globe.Suppose the chariot thine: what canst thou do?Canst thou drive straight against the twisted poleand not be carried from the lofty pathby the swift car? Art thou deceived to thinkthere may be groves and cities of the Gods,and costly temples wondrously endowed?“The journey is beset with dreadful snaresand shapes of savage animals. If thoushouldst hold upon thy way without mistakeyet must thy journey be through Taurus' horns,and through the Bow Haemonian, and the jawsof the fierce Lion, and the cruel armsof Scorpion, bent throughout a vast expanse,—and Cancer's curving arms reversely bent.“It is no easy task for thee to rulethe mettled four-foot steeds, enflamed in firesthat kindle in their breasts, forth issuingin breathings from their mouths and nostrils hot;—I scarce restrain them, as their struggling neckspull on the harness, when their heated firesare thus aroused.“And, O my son, lest Imay be the author of a baneful gift,beware, and as the time permits recallthy rash request. Forsooth thou hast besoughtundoubted signs of thy descent from me?My fears for thee are certain signs that thouart of my race—by my paternal fears'Tis manifest I am thy father. Lo!Behold my countenance! and oh, that thoucouldst even pierce my bosom with thine eyes,and so discover my paternal cares!“Look round thee on the treasured world's delightsand ask the greatest blessing of the sky,or sea or land, and thou shalt suffer norepulse: but only this I must deplore,which rightly named would be a penaltyand not an honour.—Thou hast made requestof punishment and not a gift indeed.O witless boy! why dost thou hold my neckwith thy caressing arms? For, doubt it not,as I have sworn it by the Stygian Waves,whatever thou shalt wish, it shall be given—but thou shouldst wish more wisely.”

So were allhis admonitions said, availing naught;for Phaethon resisted his advice,and urged again his claim, and eagerly burnedto use the chariot. Wherefore, Phoebus longdelaying and reluctant, took the youthto view the spacious chariot, gift of Vulcan.—gold was the axle and the beam was gold,the great Wheel had a golden tire and spokesof silver; chrysolites and diamondsreflected from the spangled yoke the lightof Phoebus.While aspiring Phaethon admiredthe glittering chariot and its workmanship,the vigilant Aurora opened forthher purple portals from the ruddy east,disclosing halls replete with roses. Allthe stars took flight, while Lucifer, the lastto quit his vigil, gathered that great hostand disappeared from his celestial watch.And when his father, Phoebus, saw the earthand the wide universe in glowing tintsarrayed, as waned the Moon's diminished horns,far-distant, then he bade the nimble Hoursto yoke the steeds.—At once the Deitiesaccomplished his commands, and led the steeds,ambrosia-fed and snorting flames, from outtheir spacious stalls; and fixed their sounding bits.Then with a hallowed drug the father touchedthe stripling's face, to make him proof againstthe rapid flame, and wrought around his hairthe sun-rays. But, foreboding grief, he said,while many a sigh heaved from his anxious breast;“If thou canst only heed thy father's voice—be sparing of the whip and use with nervethe reins; for of their own accord the steedswill hasten. Difficult are they to checkin full career. Thou must not drive the cardirectly through five circles, for the tracktakes a wide curve, obliquely, and is boundby the extreme edge of three zones.—It avoidsthe Southern Pole, and it avoids the Bearthat roams around the north. The way is plain;the traces of the Wheel are manifest.“Observe with care that both the earth and skyhave their appropriate heat—Drive not too low,nor urge the chariot through the highest plane;for if thy course attain too great a heightthou wilt consume the mansions of the sky,and if too low the land will scorch with heat.“Take thou the middle plane, where all is safe;nor let the Wheel turn over to the rightand bear thee to the twisted Snake! nor letit take thee to the Altar on the left—so close to earth—but steer the middle course.—to Fortune I commit thy fate, whose carefor thee so reckless of thyself I pray.“While I am speaking humid night has touchedthe margin of Hesperian shores. 'Tis notfor us to idle; we are called away;—when bright Aurora shines the darkness flies.Take up the reins! But if thy stubborn breastbe capable of change use not our car,but heed my counsel while the time permits,and while thy feet are on a solid base,but not, according to thy foolish wish,pressing the axle. Rather let me lightthe world beneath thy safe and wondering gaze.”But Phaethon with youthful vigor leaped,and in the light-made chariot lightly stood:and he rejoiced, and with the reins in handthanked his reluctant parent.InstantlyEous, Aethon, Pyrois and Phlegon,the winged horses of the Sun, gave ventto flame-like neighs that filled the shaking air;they pawed the barriers with their shining hoofs.Then Tethys, witless of her grandson's fatelet back the barriers,—and the universewas theirs to traverse. Taking the well-known road,and moving through the air with winged feet,they pierced resisting clouds, and spreading widetheir pinions soared upon the eastern wind,far-wafted from that realm. But Phaethon,so easy of their yoke, lost all control,and the great car was tossed,—as tapered shipswhen lightened of their ballast toss and heaveunsteady in the surging seas: the carleaped lightly in the air, and in the heightswas tossed unsteady as an empty shell.Soon as the steeds perceived it, with a rushimpetuous, they left the beaten track;regardless of all order and control;and Phaethon filled with fear, knew not to guidewith trusted reins, nor where the way might be—nor, if he knew, could he control their flight.Warmed in the sunshine, never felt before,the gelid Triones attempted vainto bathe in seas forbid: the Serpent coldand torpid by the frozen Pole, too coldfor contest, warmed, and rage assumed from heatbootes, troubled by the heat, took flight,impeded by his wain.And as from skiesof utmost height unhappy Phaethonbeheld the earth receding from his view,a pallor spread his cheeks with sudden fear;his knees began to quake; and through the flareof vast effulgence darkness closed his eyes.Now vainy he regrets he ever touchedhis father's steeds, and he is stunned with griefthat so entreating he prevailed to knowhis true descent. He rather would be calledthe son of Merops. As a ship is tossedby raging Boreas, when the conquered helmhas been abandoned, and the pilot leavesthe vessel to his vows and to the Gods;so, helpless, he is borne along the sky.What can he? Much of heaven remains behind;a longer distance is in front of him—each way is measured in his anxious mind.—at first his gaze is fixed upon the west,which fate has destined he shall never reach,and then his eyes turn backward to the east.—so, stupefied and dazed he neither daresto loose the bits, nor tighten on the reins,and he is ignorant of the horses' names.

He sees horrific wonders scattered round,and images of hideous animals.—and there's a spot where Scorpion bends his clawsin double circles, and with tail and armson either side, stretches his limbs throughoutthe space of two Celestial Signs; and whenthe lad beheld him, steeped in oozing slimeof venom, swart, and threatening to strikegrim wounds with jagged spear-points, he was lost;and, fixed in chills of horror, dropped the reins.When these they felt upon their rising backs,the startled steeds sprang forthwith; and, unchecked,through atmospheres of regions unexplored,thence goaded by their unchecked violence,broke through the lawful bounds, and rushed uponthe high fixed stars. They dragged the chariotthrough devious ways, and soared amid the heights;dashed down deep pathways, far, precipitous,and gained a level near the scorching earth.Phoebe is wondering that her brother's steedsrun lower than her own, and sees the smokeof scorching clouds. The highest altitudesare caught in flames, and as their moistures drythey crack in chasms. The grass is blighted; treesare burnt up with their leaves; the ripe brown cropsgive fuel for self destruction—Oh what smallcomplaints! Great cities perish with their walls,and peopled nations are consumed to dust—the forests and the mountains are destroyed.Cilician Taurus, Athos and Tmolus,and Oeta are burning; and the far-famed Idaand all her cooling rills are dry and burning,and virgin Helicon, and Hoemos—laterOeagrius called—and Aetna with tremendous,redoubled flames, and double-peaked Parnassus,Sicilian Eryx, Cynthus—Othrys, pine-clad,and Rhodope, deprived his snowy mantle,and Dindyma and Mycale and Mimas,and Mount Cithaeron, famed for sacred rites:and Scythia, though a land of frost, is burning,and Caucasus,—and Ossa burns with Pindus,—and greater than those two Olympus burns—the lofty Alps, the cloud-topped Apennines.And Phaethon, as he inhaled the air,burning and scorching as a furnace blast,and saw destruction on the flaming world,and his great chariot wreathed in quenchless fires,was suddenly unable to endure the heat,the smoke and cinders, and he swooned away.—if he had known the way, those winged steedswould rush as wild unguided.—then the skinof Ethiopians took a swarthy hue,the hot blood tingling to the surface: thenthe heat dried up the land of Libya;dishevelled, the lorn Nymphs, lamenting, soughtfor all their emptied springs and lakes in vain;Boeotia wailed for Dirce's cooling wave,and Argos wailed for Amymone's stream—and even Corinth for the clear Pyrene.Not safer from the flames were distant streams;—the Tanais in middle stream was steamingand old Peneus and Teuthrantian Caicus,Ismenus, rapid and Arcadian Erymanthus;and even Xanthus destined for a second burning,and tawny-waved Lycormas, and Meander,turning and twisting, and Thracian Melas burns,and the Laconian Eurotas burns,the mighty Babylonian Euphrates,Orontes and the Ganges, swift Thermodon,Ister and Phasis and Alpheus boil.The banks of Spercheus burn, the gold of Tagusis melting in the flames. The swans whose songsenhanced the beauties of Maeonian banksare scalded in the Cayster's middle wave.The Nile affrighted fled to parts remote,and hid his head forever from the world:now empty are his seven mouths, and drywithout or wave or stream; and also dryIsmenian Hebrus, Strymon and the streamsof Hesper-Land, the rivers Rhine and Rhone,and Po, and Tiber, ruler of the world.And even as the ground asunder burst,the light amazed in gloomy Tartarusthe King Infernal and his Spouse. The seacontracted and his level waste becamea sandy desert. The huge mountain tops,once covered by the ocean's waves, reared up,by which the scattered Cyclades increased.Even the fishes sought for deeper pools;—the crooked dolphins dared not skip the waves;the lifeless sea-calves floated on the top;and it is even famed that Nereus hidwith Doris and her daughters, deep belowin seething caverns. With a dauntless mienthrice Neptune tried to thrust his arms abovethe waters;—thrice the heated air overcamehis courage.Then the genial Earth, althoughsurrounded by the waters of the sea,was parched and dry; for all her streams had hiddeep in the darkness of her winding caves.—she lifted her productive countenance,up to her rounded neck, and held her palmson her sad brows; and as the mountains hugetrembled and tottered, beneath her wonted planedeclined she for a space—and thus began,with parched voice;“If this is thy decree,O, Highest of the Gods,—if I have sinnedwhy do thy lightnings linger? For if doomedby fires consuming I to perish must,let me now die in thy celestial flames—hurled by thine arm—and thus alleviate,by thine omnipotence, this agony.“How difficult to open my parched mouth,and speak these words! (the vapours choking her),behold my scorching hair, and see the cloudsof ashes falling on my blinded eyes,and on my features! What a recompensefor my fertility! How often Ihave suffered from the wounds of crooked plowsand rending harrows—tortured year by year!For this I give to cattle juicy leavesand fruits to man and frankincense to thee!“Suppose destruction is my just awardwhat have the waters and thy brother done?Why should thy brother's cooling waves decreaseand thus recede so distant from the skies?If not thy brother's good nor mine may touchthy mercy, let the pity of thy Heaven,for lo, the smoking poles on either sideattest, if flames consume them or destroy, the ruin of thy palace. Atlas, huge, with restive shoulders hardly can supportthe burning heavens. If the seas and landstogether perish and thy palace fall, the universe confused will plunge once moreto ancient Chaos. Save it from this wreck—if anything survive the fury of the flames.”

So made the tortured Earth an end of speech;and she was fain to hide her countenancein caves that border on the nether night.But now the Almighty Father, having calledto witness all the Gods of Heaven, and himwho gave the car, that, else his power be shown,must perish all in dire confusion, highhe mounted to the altitude from whichhe spreads the mantling clouds, and fulminateshis dreadful thunders and swift lightning-boltsterrific.—Clouds were none to find on the earth, and the surrounding skies were void of rain.—Jove, having reached that summit, stood and poisedin his almighty hand a flashing dart, and, hurling it, deprived of life and seatthe youthful charioteer, and struck with firethe raging flames— and by the same great forcethose flames enveloping the earth were quenched,and he who caused their fury lost his life.Frantic in their affright the horses sprangacross the bounded way and cast their yokes,and through the tangled harness lightly leaped.And here the scattered harness lay, and therethe shattered axle, wrenched from off the pole,and various portions of the broken car;spokes of the broken Wheel were scattered round.And far fell Phaethon with flaming hair;as haply from the summer sky appearsa falling star, although it never dropsto startled earth.—Far distant from his homethe deep Eridanus received the ladand bathed his foaming face. His body charredby triple flames Hesperian Naiads bore,still smoking, to a tomb, and this engravedupon the stone; “Here Phaethon's remainslie buried. He who drove his father's carand fell, although he made a great attempt.”Filled with consuming woe, his father hidhis countenance which grief had overcast.And now, surpassing our belief, they saya day passed over with no glowing sun;—but light-affording flames appeared to changedisaster to the cause of good.Amazed,the woeful Clymene, when she had moanedin grief, amid her lamentations toreher bosom, as across the world she roamed,at first to seek his lifeless corpse, and thenhis bones. She wandered to that distant landand found at last his bones ensepulchred.There, clinging to the grave she fell and bathedwith many tears his name on marble carved,and with her bosom warmed the freezing stone.And all the daughters of the Sun went theregiving their tears, alas a useless gift;—they wept and beat their breasts, and day and nightcalled, “Phaethon,” who heard not any soundof their complaint:—and there they lay foredone,all scattered round the tomb.The silent moonhad four times joined her horns and filled her disk,while they, according to an ancient rite,made lamentation. Prone upon the ground,the eldest, Phaethusa, would arisefrom there, but found her feet were growing stiff;and uttered moan. Lampetia wished to aidher sister but was hindered by new roots;a third when she would tear her hair, plucked forthbut leaves: another wailed to find her legswere fastened in a tree; another moanedto find her arms to branches had been changed.And while they wondered, bark enclosed their thighs,and covered their smooth bellies, and their breasts,and shoulders and their hands, but left untouchedtheir lips that called upon their mother's name.What can she do for them? Hither she runsand thither runs, wherever frenzy leads.She kisses them, alas, while yet she may!But not content with this, she tried to haletheir bodies from the trees; and she would tearthe tender branches with her hands, but lo!The blood oozed out as from a bleeding wound;and as she wounded them they shrieked aloud,“Spare me! O mother spare me; in the treemy flesh is torn! farewell! farewell! farewell!”And as they spoke the bark enclosed their lips.Their tears flow forth, and from the new-formedboughsamber distils and slowly hardens in the sun;and far from there upon the waves is borneto deck the Latin women.Cycnus, sonof Sthenelus, by his maternal houseakin to Phaethon, and thrice by loveallied, beheld this wonderful event.—he left his kingdom of Liguria,and all its peopled cities, to lamentwhere the sad sisters had increased the woods,beside the green banks of Eridanus.There, as he made complaint, his manly voicebegan to pipe a treble, shrill; and longgray plumes concealed his hair. A slender neckextended from his breast, and reddening toeswere joined together by a membrane. Wingsgrew from his sides, and from his mouth was madea blunted beak. Now Cycnus is a swan,and yet he fears to trust the skies and Jove,for he remembers fires, unjustly sent,and therefore shuns the heat that he abhors,and haunts the spacious lakes and pools and streamsthat quench the fires.In squalid garb, meanwhile,and destitute of all his rays, the sireof Phaethon, as dark as when eclipse bedimshis Wheel, abhors himself and hates the light,shuns the bright day, gives up his mind to grief,adds passion to his woe, denies the earthhis countenance, and thus laments; “My lotwas ever restless from the dawn of time,and I am weary of this labour, voidand endless. Therefore, let who will urge forthmy car, light-bearing, and if none may dare,when all the Gods of Heaven acknowledge it,let Jove himself essay the task. Perchance,when he takes up the reins, he may forgethis dreadful lightning that bereaves of childa father's love; and as he tries the strengthof those flame-footed steeds will know, in truth,the lad who failed to guide my chariotdeserved not death.”But all the Deitiesencircle Phoebus as he makes complaint,and with their supplications they entreathim not to plunge the world in darkness. Jovewould find excuses for the lightning-bolt,hurled from his hand, and adds imperious threatsto his entreaties. Phoebus calls his steeds,frenzied with their maddening fires, and breakstheir fury, as he vents with stinging lashhis rage upon them, and in passion layson them the death of Phaethon his son.

Now after Phaethon had suffered deathfor the vast ruin wrought by scorching flames,all the great walls of Heaven's circumference,unmeasured, views the Father of the Gods,with searching care, that none impaired by heatmay fall in ruins. Well assured they standin self-sustaining strength, his view, at last,on all the mundane works of man is turned;—his loving gaze long resting on his ownArcadia. And he starts the streams and springsthat long have feared to flow; paints the wide earthwith verdant fields; covers the trees with leaves,and clothes the injured forests in their green.While wandering in the world, he stopped amazed,when he beheld the lovely Nymph, Calisto,and fires of love were kindled in his breast.Calisto was not clothed in sumptuous robes,nor did she deck her hair in artful coils;but with a buckle she would gird her robe,and bind her long hair with a fillet white.She bore a slender javelin in her hand,or held the curving bow; and thus in armsas chaste Diana, none of Maenaluswas loved by that fair goddess more than she.But everything must change. When bright the sunrolled down the sky, beyond his middle course,she pierced a secret thicket, known to her,and having slipped the quiver from her arm,she loosed the bended bow, and softly downupon the velvet turf reclining, pressedher white neck on the quiver while she slept.When Jupiter beheld her, negligentand beautiful, he argued thus, “How canmy consort, Juno, learn of this? And yet,if chance should give her knowledge, what care I?Let gain offset the scolding of her tongue!”This said, the god transformed himself and tookDiana's form—assumed Diana's dress and imitating her awoke the maid,and spoke in gentle tones, “What mountain slope,O virgin of my train, hath been thy chase?”Which, having heard, Calisto, rose and said,“Hail, goddess! greater than celestial Jove!I would declare it though he heard the words.”Jove heard and smiled, well pleased to be preferredabove himself, and kissed her many times,and strained her in his arms, while she beganto tell the varied fortunes of her hunt.—but when his ardent love was known to her,she struggled to escape from his embrace:ah, how could she, a tender maid, resistalmighty Jove?—Be sure, Saturniaif thou hadst only witnessed her thy hearthad shown more pity!—Jupiter on wings,transcendent, sought his glorious heights;but she, in haste departing from that grove,almost forgot her quiver and her bow.Behold, Diana, with her virgin train,when hunting on the slopes of Maenalus,amidst the pleasures of exciting sport,espied the Nymph and called her, who, afraidthat Jove apparelled in disguise deceived,drew backward for a moment, till appearedto her the lovely Nymphs that followed: thus,assured deceit was none, she ventured near.Alas, how difficult to hide disgrace!She could not raise her vision from the ground,nor as the leader of the hunting Nymphs,as was her wont, walk by the goddess' side.Her silence and her blushes were the signsof injured honour. Ah Diana, thou,if thou wert not a virgin, wouldst perceiveand pity her unfortunate distress.The Moon's bent horns were rising from their ninthsojourn, when, fainting from Apollo's flames,the goddess of the Chase observed a coolumbrageous grove, from which a murmuring streamran babbling gently over golden sands.When she approved the spot, lightly she struckher foot against the ripples of the stream,and praising it began; “Far from the gazeof all the curious we may bathe our limbs,and sport in this clear water.” Quickly theyundid their garments,—but Calisto hidbehind the others, till they knew her state.—Diana in a rage exclaimed, “Away!Thou must not desecrate our sacred springs!”And she was driven thence.