APOLLO PURSUING DAPHNE
by John William Waterhouse
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APOLLO & DAPHNE
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APOLLO & HYACINTHUS
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APOLLO PAGE FOUR
continued from
page three
The nymph continued her flight, and left his plea half uttered.
And even as she fled she charmed him. The wind blew her
garments, and her unbound hair streamed loose behind her. The
god grew impatient to find his wooing thrown away, and, sped by
Cupid, gained upon her in the race.
It was like a hound pursuing a hare, with open jaws ready to
seize, while the feebler animal darts forward, slipping from the
very grasp. So flew the god and the virgin- he on the wings of
love, and she on those of fear.
The pursuer is the more rapid, however, and gains upon her, and
his panting breath blows upon her hair. Her strength begins to
fail, and, ready to sink, she calls upon her father, the river
god: "Help me, Peneus! open the earth to enclose me, or change
my form, which has brought me into this danger!"
Scarcely had she spoken, when a stiffness seized all her limbs;
her bosom began to be enclosed in a tender bark; her hair became
leaves; her arms became branches; her foot stuck fast in the
ground, as a root; her face became a tree-top, retaining nothing
of its former self but its beauty, Apollo stood amazed.
He touched the stem, and felt the flesh tremble under the new
bark. He embraced the branches, and lavished kisses on the wood.
The branches shrank from his lips.
"Since you cannot be my wife," said he, "you shall assuredly be
my tree. I will wear you for my crown; I will decorate with you
my harp and my quiver; and when the great Roman conquerors lead
up the triumphal pomp to the Capitol, you shall be woven into
wreaths for their brows. And, as eternal youth is mine, you also
shall be always green, and your leaf know no decay."
The nymph, now changed into a Laurel tree, bowed its head in
grateful acknowledgment.
APOLLO AND HYACINTHUS
(in the words of Thomas Bullfinch)
Apollo was passionately fond of a youth named Hyacinthus. He
accompanied him in his sports, carried the nets when he went
fishing, led the dogs when he went to hunt, followed him in his
excursions in the mountains, and neglected for him his lyre and
his arrows.
One day they played a game of quoits together, and Apollo,
heaving aloft the discus, with strength mingled with skill, sent
it high and far. Hyacinthus watched it as it flew, and excited
with the sport ran forward to seize it, eager to make his throw,
when the quoit bounded from the earth and struck him in the
forehead.
He fainted and fell. The god, as pale as himself, raised him and
tried all his art to stanch the wound and retain the flitting
life, but all in vain; the hurt was past the power of medicine.
As when one has broken the stem of a lily in the garden it hangs
its head and turns its flowers to the earth, so the head of the
dying boy, as if too heavy for his neck, fell over on his
shoulder.
"Thou diest, Hyacinth," so spoke Phoebus, "robbed of thy youth
by me. Thine is the suffering, mine the crime. Would that I
could die for thee! But since that may not be, thou shalt live
with me in memory and in song. My lyre shall celebrate thee, my
song shall tell thy fate, and thou shalt become a flower
inscribed with my regrets."
While Apollo spoke, behold the blood which had flowed on the
ground and stained the herbage ceased to be blood; but a flower
of hue more beautiful than the Tyrian sprang up, resembling the
lily, if it were not that this is purple and that silvery white.
And this was not enough for Phoebus; but to confer still greater
honour, he marked the petals with his sorrow, and inscribed "Ah!
ah!" upon them, as we see to this day.
The flower bears the name of Hyacinthus, and with every
returning spring revives the memory of his fate. It was said
that Zephyrus (the West wind), who was also fond of Hyacinthus
and jealous of his preference of Apollo, blew the quoit out of
its course to make it strike Hyacinthus.
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