  The youngest of the sons of the Laconian king, Amyclas, was Hyacinthus. Phoebus Apollo beheld the beautiful boy, who soon became his favorite. He sought at first to elevate him to Olympus that he might be ever near him; but a sad fate prevented this and cut him down in the very flower of his youth. Apollo often forsook sacred Delphi in order to enjoy the company of his favorite at the river of Eurotas in the neighborhood of the unwalled city of Sparta. He left his lyre and bow and joined Hyacinthus in hunting among the hills of Taygetus. Once at noontime, when the sun was sending down its hottest rays, both threw aside their garments, anointed their bodies with oil, and began throwing the discus. Apollo was the first to take the heavy weight and hurled it so powerfully that it pierced the clouds. He waited long for the discus to fall to earth again. Eager to imitate his teacher, the boy sprang forward to make his throw, but suddenly was felled to the earth by Apollo’s discus. Apollo rushed to him and sought to animate his stiffened limbs. He wiped the blood from the dreadful wounds, applied healing balms, and sought to stay the fleeing spirit of his favorite. But it was in vain. Like a broken flower in the garden, the poor boy’s head drooped, exhausted, upon Apollo’s breast. Apollo called him tender names and bedewed his face with bitter tears. Oh, that he were not a god so that he might die for him! At last he cried out: “No, sweet child, thou shalt not wholly die. As a flower thou shalt tell of my sorrow.” As Apollo said this, lo, from the streaming blood which reddened the grass sprang a flower of dark lustre like Tyrian purple, lily formed upon a stalk rich in blossoms, and showing upon its little leaves in clear form the sigh of the god: “A I, A I”; that is, “Alas! Alas!” Thus originated the Spring flower which bears the name of the favorite of the god and speedily dies as did he—a type of the transitoriness of all beautiful things on earth. In Laconia when the Summer came they always had a great festival in honor of Hyacinthus and his divine friends, the hyacinths, whereby they kept the boy in memory—sorrowfully, as one who perished early, but joyously, as one beloved of the gods and deified. |
|
