The earliest and most natural form of idolatry was the worship of the heavenly bodies, and especially the sun, whose splendor, light, heat, and salutary influence upon all nature were regarded as the supernatural and independent powers of a deity. Hence the ancient myths ascribed personality, and intelligent activity, to the god of day, whom they worshiped under the name of Phoebus Apollo. They, however, attached to the history and worship of Apollo many things not connected with his original character as the source of light.

Delphi was a principal place of their religious solemnities, and from an early day the site of a temple dedicated to Apollo. The first was destroyed by fire; but in the time of the PisistratidÆ a much more gorgeous one was built, and, through a long period of their national history, was a center of potent influences that did much to fashion the character of the people. Its wealth became immense, and was computed at ten thousand talents. In the neighborhood of Delphi the Pythian games were celebrated in the third year of every Olympiad, and in honor of Apollo’s victory over the terrible Pythian serpent. On these occasions the celebrated Amphictyonic Council, whose sessions were usually held at ThermopylÆ, met at Delphi, and the grave senators had the oversight of the games, prescribed rules for the contestants, and directed in the distribution of prizes.

The shrine of the god at Delos, his birthplace, was also greatly renowned. It was situated at the foot of Mount Cynthus, but the whole island was sacred. The same divinity had beside a great number of less celebrated temples and shrines, not only in Greece, but also in Asia Minor, and wherever Greek colonies were extended. The rites observed in these sacred places were, in general, more seemly than the ceremonial of their worship paid to some other of their gods, and may be counted among the educational forces that improved the social and political condition of the commonwealth. He granted them a prophetic dispensation, and the responses given by his oracles raised their hopes, or, if unfavorable, caused alarm. The supposed medium of the communications, a priestess, who ministered at the altar, was esteemed an important personage. The inspiration, when the conditions were favorable, often induced what seemed an ecstatic state of mind, bordering on madness, causing strange contortions of countenance, and incoherent utterances, understood by none except those who claimed to be inspired as interpreters, and even their rendering of the responses was often in enigmas, or terms of such double meaning as admitted an explanation in accordance with the events that followed. The convulsions of the priestess were, perhaps, real, but possibly brought on partly by the chewing of laurel leaves, and partly by gaseous vapors that issued from a cleft in the rock, beneath the sacred tripod.

The concept or image of this god Apollo, as expressed by both poets and artists, was their highest ideal of human excellence and beauty; a tall, majestic body, of exquisite symmetry, and having the vigor of immortal youth. Some of his statues, still extant, are described as marvels of excellence in their line, and those who can not have access to the originals will find copies more or less perfect, in almost any considerable collection having specimens of ancient art. One of the most celebrated of all ancient statues, on account of the completeness of the sculptor’s work, is the “Apollo Belvidere.” It was found at Antium in 1503, purchased, and placed in a part of the Vatican[1] called Belvidere. In proportions and altitude it is a noble figure; naked, or but slightly clad, and in every feature suggestive of the highest perfection of art. It seems to represent the great archer just after discharging his arrow at the Python, and shows his manly satisfaction and assurance of victory.

The legendary history of this god, whose worship was much celebrated by both Greeks and Romans, recites, among other things of interest, the memorable circumstances of his friendship for Hyacinthus, and his great love for Daphne. The legends will not lose all their interest, though it will be impossible to print them entire.

Hyacinthus was a beautiful youth of noble parentage, for whom the great Apollo manifested ardent friendship. He accompanied him in his sports, led the dogs when he went to hunt, followed him in his excursions on the mountains, and for him neglected his lyre and his arrows. As they one day played quoits together, Apollo heaving aloft the heavy discus,[2] with his great strength sent it high and far. Hyacinthus watched its flight through the air, and, excited with the sport ran to seize it, eager, in turn, to make his throw. Alas! in its rebound from the earth, it struck him a fatal blow. Apollo, pale and anxious, sustained the fainting youth, and sought, in vain, to heal the mortal wound. As some fair lily, whose stalk has been broken, turns its limp flowers toward the earth, the head of the dying boy, too heavy for its shattered support, fell over on his shoulder; and the friendly god, lamenting deeply, said: “O hapless youth! thou diest, robbed of a life so pleasant, and I the cause. But thou shalt be immortal still. My lyre shall celebrate our love; and as a beautiful, fragrant flower, thou shalt dwell with me forever; the inscriptions on thy leaves[3] shall proclaim my sorrow.” Even as he spoke the blood that stained the grass disappeared, and a hyacinth, of hues more beautiful than Tyrian purple, sprang from the spot, and shed its sweet fragrance there. “Beloved, though dead, thou shalt still live; and, with every returning spring the flowers that henceforth bear thy name shall revive the memory of thy virtues, and of thy sudden departure to the home of the immortals.”

Apollo and Daphne.—The beautiful Daphne (dawn) was Apollo’s first love. This was nature, if the myth is interpreted astronomically. The sun pursues the dawn that flees before his brighter effulgence. But in this love affair, Cupid, as he is wont, becomes an exciting cause, and with his arrow pierced the lover’s heart. It was on this wise: Apollo once, exulting in his own recent victory over the monster Python, saw the rogue, Cupid, playing with his bow, and called to him saying: “What have you to do with such warlike weapons? Leave them for hands more worthy of them, and, child as you are, do not meddle with my arms.”

The taunting words vexed the son of Venus, and, to avenge himself he resolved that even the conquering Apollo should feel the keen point of his little dart, and confess a wound that would be difficult to heal. So he quickly drew from his quiver two arrows of different make and metal, one to excite love, the other to repel it. With the latter, a blunt, leaden shaft, he struck the nymph Daphne, daughter of the river god Peneus. The other he thrust through the heart of Apollo, who, thus smitten, forgot his victories, and was at once seized with passionate love for the beautiful nymph, while she, delighting in woodland sports and the pleasures of the chase, had no desire to leave them. Her father wished to see her wedded, but now, more than ever, she hated the thought of marriage, and, blushing, earnestly besought her sire, saying: “Dearest father, grant me this favor, that I may always remain a maiden, like the fleet huntress Artemis.”

He consented, but at the same time, in praise of her rare beauty, said: “Child, your own face will forbid it.” Apollo dearly loved her and longed to claim her as his own, but his suit was in vain. She had no love to answer his, and turned from him. Stung by her indifference, yet enthralled by her charms, he followed, but her flight was swifter than the wind, and she delayed not a moment at his entreaties. “Stay,” he cried, “daughter of Peneus, stay. Do not fly from me as a lamb from the wolf, or a dove from the hawk. I am not a foe. For love I pursue thee; and the fear that you may suffer injury in your rapid flight makes me miserable. You know me not. I am not a clown to be avoided and despised. Jupiter is my father, and gives me to know the present and future. They reverence me at Delphi and Tenedos as the god of prophecy, of song, and of the lyre. I carry weapons. At the twang of my bow the arrow flies true to its mark. But Cupid’s darts have pierced me, and the distress of heart is insupportable. I know the virtue of all the healing plants, and minister to others, but myself suffer this malady that no medicine can cure. Pity, and—” … The nymph continued her flight, and left his plea half uttered. But even as she fled, her airy robe and unbound hair flung loose on the wind, she charmed him yet more. Impatient that his suit did not prevail, he quickened his speed, and the distance between them grew less. She eluded his grasp only as a panting hare escapes from the open jaws of the hound.

So flew Apollo and Daphne; he on wings of love, she on wings of fear. The very breath of the more powerful pursuer reaches her delicate person; her strength fails, and, ready to sink, she cries to her father: “Help me, Peneus! Let the earth open to receive me, or change my form that has brought me into this trouble!” She spoke, and, at his will, the metamorphose was instant. A tender bark enclosed her form; her limbs became branches, her hair leaves; her feet were rooted in the ground, and her head became a symmetrical tree top, graceful to look upon, but retaining nothing of its former self save its beauty. Apollo stood amazed. He embraced with his arms the still palpitating, shrinking trunk, and lavished many kisses on the delicate branches that shrank from his lips. “You shall, assuredly, be my tree; and I will wear you for my crown. With you will I decorate my harp and my quiver. Conquerors shall weave from your branches wreaths to adorn their brows; and, as immortality is mine, you, too, shall be always green, and your leaf shall suffer no decay.” The nymph, thence a beautiful laurel tree, bowed her head in acknowledgment, and the god was content.

This story of Apollo has been variously interpreted, and is often alluded to by the poets.

Waller applies it to the case of one whose love songs, though they did not soften the heart of his mistress, yet won for the poet widespread fame.

PhÆton’s Ride.—The ocean nymph Clymene[4] bore to the god of day a son, they named PhÆton (gleaming). Once when he boasted his celestial origin Ephaphos, a son of Jupiter, disputed his claim, alleging that he was puffed up with pride in a false father. The indignant PhÆton reported the insult to his mother, who, with a solemn oath and imprecation, reassured him of his heavenly origin, and added: “The land whence the sun rises lies next to ours; go and inquire for yourself. See if he will not own you as his son.” The youth heard with delight, and full of pride and hope hastened to the palace of his sire, who received him kindly, and from whom he obtained an unwary oath that, in proof of his fatherhood, he would grant him whatever he asked. The ambitious PhÆton immediately demanded permission to prove his pedigree, and confound his adversary, by taking his father’s seat, with leave, for one day, to guide the solar chariot in its course through the heavens. Phoebus, aware of the danger of any such attempt, would gladly have recalled his word, and persuaded the rash youth from his wild purpose. “This, my son, is far too perilous an undertaking, and quite unsuited to thy powers. These fiery horses would despise the guidance of Jupiter himself, were he to take the reins; how, then, can a mortal hand restrain them? Thou knowest not the perils of the way. In the freshness of the early morning the panting coursers scarce can climb that steep ascent; at noonday the downward glance to the far rolling sea, and the green earth lying at so vast a depth is hazardous even for a god. Canst thou, then, yet so young, resist the rapid movement of the whirling heavens, or endure the blinding brilliancy of those flaming orbs? That monstrous ‘Lion,’ the ‘Scorpion,’ and the ‘Crab,’ will surely terrify thee. The famed ‘Archer’ and the raging ‘Bear’ will threaten destruction. In the later hours the course descends rapidly, and requires most steady driving. Any charioteer, unused to the road, and the team, would be plunged headlong, or, deviating from the course, be swept away by the force that bears all else along, swift as the lightning. Forego that rash design. Look now on what the world contains, and ask some other boon. Ask it, and fear no refusal. Yet you shall have this, if you persist. The oath was sworn, and must be kept. Will you not be advised, and choose more wisely?”

But the self-confident youth, heedless of his father’s counsel, and despising the warning, would, at any risk, gratify his foolish ambition. He demanded the immediate fulfillment of the promise, and prevailed.

And now the purple gates of the East were unfolded, and from within the palace there breathed celestial fragrance. The stars and waning moon gradually disappeared; and, at Phoebus’ command, the swift Hours led forth from their stalls the prancing steeds and attached them to the golden chariot, their harness sparkling with gems, and the yoke gleaming all over with diamonds of exceeding brilliance. The daring youth gazed in admiration too eager for the coveted pleasure. Phoebus bathed his face with a powerful unguent that made him capable of enduring awhile the terrible heat, and placing a radiant circlet on his brow, that made him seem the very god of light, gave such instructions as were necessary. “Spare the whip, and hold tight the reins; my steeds need no urging; the labor is to guide and hold them in; you are not to take what seems the direct road, but turn off to the left; keep within the middle zone, that the skies and the earth may each receive their due share of light and heat; go not too high, lest you burn the dwellings of Ouranos; nor yet too low, or you will set the earth on fire; the middle course is safest and best; night is passing through the western gates, and the chariot can delay no longer; go, if you must, but, if you will, tarry in safety where you are, and allow me, as I have been wont, to light and heat the world.” The too eager youth, hearing but little, sprang to the lofty seat, grasped the reins with boundless delight, standing erect, and pouring out thanks for his opportunity.

The snorting horses, impatient to be gone, and with the boundless plain of heaven stretching out before them, dart forward cleaving the clouds, and quite outrun the swiftest winds that started from the same goal. The load was much lighter than usual, and, as a ship, without freight or ballast, “is tossed hither and thither on the sea, so that vast chariot, without its accustomed weight, was dashed about in space, as if utterly empty.” PhÆton was incompetent to guide the fiery steeds, now quite out of the prescribed course, and was overcome with terror. Whither he was borne, at such furious speed, he knew not, but he was evidently in the midst of the most appalling dangers, against which he had been warned in vain. Paleness and sudden trembling came over him, and bitterly, but too late, repenting his folly, he wished he had never seen the gorgeous palace of Phoebus, known the truth of his parentage, or touched his father’s horses.

On every side were strange, frightful objects menacing his destruction, and he was driven fiercely about among them, as a ship before a tempest when the pilot can do nothing. The reins drop from his nerveless hands, and the furious horses dash the quivering, rocking chariot through untraveled regions of space. The heavens were all in flames, the clouds were smoke, and far beneath them lay a burning world. The mountain tops, forests, harvest fields, and cities were becoming involved in the common ruin. The earth, stretching out suppliant hands toward heaven, implored the help of Jupiter lest the universe should be destroyed, and chaos again prevail. “Save what yet remains before all is lost. O, take thought for our deliverance in this fearful crisis.”

The appeal was answered, and the king of gods summoned his forked lightnings, and hurled his thunderbolt that smote the affrighted charioteer, who now, himself on fire, fell like some shooting star that marks its course to earth with its winding sheet of flame. Eridanus,[5] the great river, received the charred body and quenched the flame that would have consumed it. The pitying Naiads gave him a tomb, and some one provided the epitaph:

His sisters, the Heliades,[6] so long and sadly mourned their brother that the gods changed them into poplar trees, whose tender branches shed tears of precious amber, which, hardening in the water where they fell, became jewels that were greatly prized, and worn as ornaments.

The world has known many whose foolish pride and ambition destroyed them. A recent writer quotes the last verse from one of Prior’s familiar poems, on a female PhÆton, and thus introduces it: “Kitty has been imploring her mother to allow her to go out into the world, as her friends have done, if only for once.”

Poseidon (Neptune) and Amphitrite.[7]—This son of Cronos and Rhea became, by allotment, ruler of the sea, and received a three-pronged trident as the emblem of his power. Amphitrite, one of the daughters of Nereus, was his queen; and their gorgeous palace was in the deep waters of the Ægean, off the shores of Euboea. Some accounts represent him as dwelling less permanently in the deep places than father Nereus, “the old man of the sea.” But, when abroad attending the councils of his brothers on Olympus, or out on the vast plain of the deep, passing swiftly in his boat over the rolling billows, he had under his supreme control the world of waters, and all the forces that affect their movements. When he strikes the calm sea with his trident[8] the waves rise in their violence to swallow up or dash in pieces the ships and strew with wrecks the shore. But a word or look from him can allay the wildest tempest, and still the tumult of the waters.

For reasons not very apparent, the horse is often mentioned as his favorite animal, and was said to be his gift to men. Possibly it was because the lively imagination of the ancient Greek saw, in the white crested waves that pursued each other in wild commotion, the rearing and bounding of foaming steeds or war-horses, that dash over the plain with resistless force. And his own car they imagined drawn over the waters by coursers swifter than the wind.

Poseidon was especially regarded as their patron and tutelar deity by all seafaring classes, such as fishermen, boatmen, and sailors. When going to sea they addressed prayers to him, and when returning in safety, offered sacrifices in gratitude for their escape from the perils of the deep. His temples, altars and statues were most numerous in seaport towns, on islands, and peninsulas. One much frequented was at Corinth, and there games were celebrated in honor of Poseidon.

Some of the principal exploits ascribed to Neptune are the assistance he rendered Jupiter against the Titans; the raising of the island Delos out of the sea; the creation and taming of the horse; and the building of the walls and ramparts of Troy. He was feared also as the author of earthquakes and deluges, which he caused or checked, at his pleasure.

To him they ascribed a numerous progeny. The principal sons were Triton, Phorcus, Proteus, and Glaucus. The chief characteristics of these minor deities of the sea were the power of divination, and ability to change their forms at pleasure. All these, with the sea-nymphs, fifty in number, belonged to the train of Neptune, and were subservient to his will.

Hephaistos (Vulcan).—The fire god, according to Homer, was son of Jupiter and the queenly Juno; or, according to another account of Juno alone, the goddess being jealous over the manner of Minerva’s birth from the cleft-skull of her spouse. The little Vulcan was so ill-looking and lame that the proud mother thought to cast him out of their palace, disowned. But though so cruelly treated he always showed some regard for her, and once took her part in a quarrel she had with the king. Jupiter, enraged at this, caught him by the foot and hurled him from the awful height of Olympus. He was a whole day falling, but in the evening alighted on the island Lemnos,[9] where he was kindly received and nourished for years in a deep grotto of the sea, by Eurymone[10] and Thetis, and afterward, in return for their kindness, he made them many ornaments. Later mythical writers mention his lameness as a consequence of that fall. But Homer, whose authority we follow, represents him as lame from his birth.

Milton, in his “Paradise Lost,” evidently alludes to this Grecian myth, though he makes a different application of it:

When or how he was restored to Olympus we are not informed, nor whether the time required for the ascent equaled or exceeded that of the fall. Enough, that his presence and useful offices there are subsequently recognized. He may have become mediator between his parents; and at times humorously assumed the role of cup-bearer at the feasts of the Olympians, causing them much merriment as he busily hobbled from one to another presenting the cups of nectar.[11]

It is probable that their first conception of Hephaistos was that of the god of fire, simply. But as fire is the efficient agent employed in smelting and working metals, he was afterward, and very naturally, regarded as the inventor of furnaces, foundries and forges, including all workshops where skillful artisans wrought in iron and the other metals. With his workmen of skill and Cyclopic strength he constructed all the shining palaces for the immortals on Olympus, and also his own immense workshop with the huge anvils and “twenty bellows” that, at his bidding, worked automatically. He designed and executed numberless articles, both useful and ornamental, suitable for the abodes of either gods or men; and some of their mythical poems and stories are enriched with descriptions of the exquisite workmanship they display. Later accounts mention his workshop as no longer on Olympus, but on some volcanic island where his forges glow with heat and his workmen are equal to any demands made on their skill or strength. Hephaistos, like Athena, gave skill to mortal artisans, and they too were believed to have taught men all things suitable to embellish or adorn their habitations.

In statuary, during the best period of old Grecian art, he is represented as a vigorous, bearded man of muscular frame, and is characterized by the presence of his hammer or some other instrument, and the corselet which leaves the strong, right arm and shoulder uncovered.

The Romans not only changed the name to Vulcan, but regarded Ætna as his glowing forge, and Venus as his wife; thus expressing the idea that art and beauty are in harmony.