Great rivers hid themselves in the ground, and mountains were consumed.
Harvests perished like a moth that is singed in a candle-flame.
In vain did Phaethon call to the horses and pull upon the reins. As in
a hideous dream, he saw his own Earth, his beautiful home and the home
of all men, his kindred, parched by the fires of this mad chariot, and
blackening beneath him. The ground cracked open and the sea shrank.
Heedless water-nymphs, who had lingered in the shallows, were left
gasping like bright fishes. The dryads shrank, and tried to cover
themselves from the scorching heat. The poor Earth lifted her withered
face in a last prayer to Zeus to save them if he might.
Then Zeus, calling all the gods to witness that there was no other
means of safety, hurled his thunderbolt; and Phaethon knew no more.
His body fell through the heavens, aflame like a shooting-star; and the
horses of the Sun dashed homeward with the empty chariot.
Poor Clymene grieved sore over the boy's death; but the young Heliades,
daughters of the Sun, refused all comfort. Day and night they wept
together about their brother's grave by the river, until the gods took
pity and changed them all into poplar-trees. And ever after that they
wept sweet tears of amber, clear as sunlight.
NIOBE.
There are so many tales of the vanity of kings and queens that the half
of them cannot be told.
There was Cassiopaeia, queen of Aethiopia, who boasted that her beauty
outshone the beauty of all the sea-nymphs, so that in anger they sent a
horrible sea-serpent to ravage the coast.
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