HYACINTHUS
BY OVID (ADAPTED)
Once when the golden-beamed Apollo roamed
the earth, he made a companion of Hyacinthus,
the son of King Amyclas of Lacedaemon; and him
he loved with an exceeding great love, for the lad
was beautiful beyond compare.
The sun-god threw aside his lyre, and became
the daily comrade of Hyacinthus. Often they
played games, or climbed the rugged mountain
ridges. Together they followed the chase or
fished in the quiet and shadowy pools; and the
sun-god, unmindful of his dignity, carried the
lad's nets and held his dogs.
It happened on a day that the two friends
stripped off their garments, rubbed the juice of
the olive upon their bodies, and engaged in throwing
the quoit. First Apollo poised it and tossed
it far. It cleaved the air with its weight and fell
heavily to earth. At that moment Hyacinthus
ran forwards and hastened to take up the disc,
but the hard earth sent it rebounding straight
into his face, so that he fell wounded to the
ground.
Ah! then, pale and fearful, the sun-god
hastened to the side of his fallen friend. He bore up
the lad's sinking limbs and strove to stanch his
wound with healing herbs. All in vain! Alas! the
wound would not close. And as violets and lilies,
when their stems are crushed, hang their languid
blossoms on their stalks and wither away,
so did Hyacinthus droop his beautiful head and
die.
Then the sun-god, full of grief, cried aloud in
his anguish: ``O Beloved! thou fallest in thy
early youth, and I alone am the cause of thy
destruction! Oh, that I could give my life for thee
or with thee! but since Fate will not permit this,
thou shalt ever be with me, and thy praise shall
dwell on my lips. My lyre struck with my hand,
my songs, too, shall celebrate thee! And thou,
dear lad, shalt become a new flower, and on thy
leaves will I write my lamentations.''
And even as the sun-god spoke, behold! the
blood that had flowed from Hyacinthus's wound
stained the grass, and a flower, like a lily in shape,
sprang up, more bright than Tyrian purple. On
its leaves did Apollo inscribe the mournful
characters: ``ai, ai,'' which mean ``alas! alas!''
And as oft as the spring drives away the winter,
so oft does Hyacinthus blossom in the fresh,
green grass. |