Heathen mythology, Illustrated by extracts from the most celebrated writers, both ancient and modern. Various

bears his name.

      "Flower! with a curious eye we scan

      Thy leaf, and there discover

      How passion triumphed—pain began—

      Or in the immortal, or the man,

      The hero, or the lover.

      "The disk is hurled:—ah! fatal flight!

      Low droops that beauteous brow:

      But oh! the Delian's pang! his light

      Of joy lies quenched in sorrow's night:

      The deathless record thou.

      "Or, do they tell, these mystic signs,

      The self destroyer's madness?

      Phrensy, ensanguined wreaths entwines:

      The sun of chivalry declines;—

      The wreck of glory's gladness!"

      Apollo was so disconsolate at the death of Hyacinth, that, as we have seen, he changed his blood into a flower which bore his name, and placed his body among the constellations.

      The Spartans established yearly festivals in his honour, which continued for three days; they did not adorn their hair with garlands during their festivals, nor eat bread, but fed only upon sweetmeats. They did not even sing Pæans in honour of Apollo, or observe any of the solemnities usual at other sacrifices.

      ——"Pitying the sad death

      Of Hyacinthus when the cruel breath

      Of Zephyr slew him, Zephyr, penitent,

      Who now, ere Phœbus mounts the firmament,

      Fondles the flower amid the sobbing rain."

      Keats.

      Saddened by his efforts to form an endearing friendship, Apollo once more sighed for the nymph Perses, daughter of Ocean, and had by her the celebrated Circe, remarkable for her knowledge of magic and venomous herbs.

      Bolina, another nymph to whom he was attached, wishing to escape from his pursuit, threw herself into the waves, and was received by the nymphs of Amphitrion.

      "I staid awhile to see her throw

      Her tresses back, that all beset

      The fair horizon of her brow,

      With clouds of jet.

      "I staid a little while to view

      Her cheek, that wore in place of red,

      The bloom of water, tender blue,

      Daintily spread.

      "I staid to watch a little space

      Her parted lips, if she would sing;

      The waters closed above her face,

      With many a ring.

      "And still I stayed a little more—

      Alas! she never comes again,

      I throw my flowers from the shore

      And watch in vain."

      Hood.

      After this, Apollo lost the young Cyparissus, who had replaced Hyacinth in his favour, and guarded his flocks; this young shepherd having slain by accident a stag of which Apollo was fond, expired of grief, and was changed into the tree which bears his name.

      Apollo now attached himself to the sybil of Cumes, and granted to her the boon of prolonging her life as many years as there were grains in a handful of sand which she held. But she lived to repent of this frightful gift.

      Alone in the world, her friends departed, and none to remind her of the days of the past, she implored the Gods to release her from the misery which overwhelmed her. Cassandra, daughter of Priam, consented to her prayer, if Apollo would grant to her the power of divination. Apollo agreed, and swore to the truth of his promise by the river Styx. Scarcely had he uttered the oath, than the gods, who could not absolve him from it, rallied him on his folly. Irritated at the ridicule they poured upon him, he added to this gift, the restriction, that she should never believe her own prophecies. After this he again yielded to the power of love, and sought to please Clymene, who was the mother of Phæton. To this nymph succeeded the chaste Castalia, whom he pursued to the very foot of Parnassus, where the Gods metamorphosed her into a fountain. As Apollo was lamenting his loss on the bank of that river, he heard an exquisite melody escaping from the depth of the wood. He approached the place from whence the sound seemed to issue, and recognized the nine muses, children of Jupiter and Mnemosyne.

      "Mnemosyne, in the Pierian grove,

      The scene of her intrigue with mighty Jove,

      The empress of Eleuther, fertile earth,

      Brought to Olympian Jove the Muses forth;

      Blessed offsprings, happy maids, whose powerful art

      Can banish cares, and ease the painful heart.

      * * * * * *

      Clio begins the lovely tuneful race,

      Which Melpomene and Euterpe grace;

      Terpischore, all joyful in the choir,

      And Erato, to love whose lays inspire;

      To these Thalia and Polymnia join,

      Urania and Calliope divine."

      Hesiod.

      

      The taste and feelings of Apollo responded to those of these noble sisters: they received him in their palace, and assembled together with him to converse on the arts and sciences.

      Among their possessions, the Muses and Apollo had a winged horse, named Pegasus. This courser, born of the blood of Medusa, fixed his residence on Mount Helicon, and, by striking the earth with his foot, caused the spring of Hippocrene to gush from the ground. While the courser was thus occupied, Apollo mounted his back, placed the Muses with him, and Pegasus, lifting his wings, carried them to the court of Bacchus.

      Envious of the fame of Apollo at this court, Marsyas, the Phrygian, declared that, with his flute, he could surpass the melody of the God's divine lyre, and challenged Apollo to a trial of his skill as a musician; the God accepted the challenge, and it was mutually agreed, that he who was defeated should be flayed alive. The Muses were appointed umpires. Each exerted his utmost skill, and the victory was adjudged to Apollo. The God, upon this, tied his opponent to a tree, and punished him as had been agreed. The death of Marsyas was universally lamented; the fauns, satyrs and dryads, wept at his fate, and from their abundant tears flowed a river of Phrygia, well known by the name of Marsyas.

      Undeterred by this example, Pan, favourite of Midas, King of Lydia, wished also to compete with Apollo in the art of which the latter was master. Pan began the struggle, and Midas repeated his songs with enthusiasm, without paying the least attention to his celestial rival. Pan again sang, and Midas repeated; when, to his surprise, the latter felt, pressing through his hair, a pair of ears, long and shaggy. Alarmed at this phenomenon, Pan took to flight, and the prince, desolate at the loss of his favourite, made one of his attendants, some say his wife, the confidant of his misfortune, begging her not to betray his trust. The secret was too great for the bosom of its holder; she longed to tell it, but dared