Age of Fable or Beauties of Mythology

by Thomas Bulfinch

  unusual with the poets on similar occasions, and one might suppose an ordinary mortal

  might have been content to share the praises of the sons of Leda. But vanity is

  exacting; and as Scopas sat at his festal board among his courtiers and sycophants, he

  grudged every verse that did not rehearse his own praises. When Simonides

  approached to receive the promised reward Scopas bestowed but half the expected

  sum, saying, "Here is payment for my portion of thy performance, Castor and Pollux will

  doubtless compensate thee for so much as relates to them.' The disconcerted poet

  returned to his seat amidst the laughter which followed the great man's jest. In a little

  time he received a message that two young men on horseback were waiting without and

  anxious to see him. Simonides hastened to the door, but looked in vain for the visitors.

  Scarcely however had he left the banquetting hall when the roof fell in with a loud crash,

  burying Scopas and all his guests beneath the ruins. On inquiring as to the appearance

  of the young men who had sent for him, Simonides was satisfied that they were no other

  than Castor and Pollux themselves.

  Sappho.

  Sappho was a poetess who flourished in a very early age of Greek literature. Of

  her works few fragments remain, but they are enough to establish her claim to eminent

  poetical genius. The story of Sappho commonly alluded to is that she was passionately

  in love with a beautiful youth named Phaon, and failing to obtain a return of affection she

  threw herself from the promontory of Leucadia into the sea, under a superstition that

  those who should take that 'Lover's-leap' would, if not destroyed, be cured of their love.

  Byron alludes to the story of Sappho in Childe Harold. Canto Il.: -

  "Childe Harold sailed and passed the barren spot

  Where sad Penelope o'erlooked the wave,

  And onward viewed the mount, not yet forgot,

  The lover's refuge and the Lesbian's grave.

  Dark Sappho! could not verse immortal save

  That breast imbued with such immortal fire?

  "'Twas on a Grecian autumn's gentle eve

  Childe Harold hailed Leucadia's cape afar;" &c.

  Those who wish to know more of Sappho and her leap,' are referred to the

  Spectator, Nos. 223 and 229. See also Moore's Evenings in Greece.

  Chapter XXVI: Endymion - Orion - Aurora And Tithonus - Acis And

  Galatea

  Diana And Endymion.

  Endymion was a beautiful youth who fed his flock on Mount Latmos. One calm,

  clear night, Diana, the Moon, looked down and saw him sleeping. The cold heart of

  the virgin goddess was warmed by his surpassing beauty, and she came down to him,

  kissed him, and watched over him while he slept.

  Another story was that Jupiter bestowed on him the gift of perpetual youth united

  with perpetual sleep. Of one so gifted we can have but few adventures to record

  Diana it was said took care that his fortunes should not suffer by his inactive life, for

  she made his flock increase, and guarded his sheep and lambs from the wild beasts.

  The story of Endymion has a peculiar charm from the human meaning which it so

  thinly veils. We see in Endymion the young poet, his fancy and his heart seeking in

  vain for that which can satisfy them, finding his favorite hour in the quiet moonlight,

  and nursing there beneath the beams of the bright and silent witness the melancholy

  and the ardor which consumes him. The story suggests aspiring and poetic love, a life

  spent more in dreams than in reality, and an early and welcome death. S. G. B.

  The Endymion of Keats is a wild and fanciful poem, containing some exquisite

  poetry, as this, to the moon: -

  ". . . The sleeping kine

  Couched in thy brightness dream of fields divine.

  Innumerable mountains rise, and rise,

  Ambitious for the hallowing of thine eyes,

  And yet thy benediction passeth not

  One obscure hiding-place, one little spot

  Where pleasure may be sent; the nested wren

  Has thy fair face within its tranquil ken;" &c., &c.

  Dr. Young in the Night Thoughts alludes to Endymion thus: -

  ". . . These thoughts, O Night, are thine;

  From thee they came like lovers' secret sighs,

  While others slept. So Cynthia, poets feign,

  In shadows veiled, soft, sliding from her sphere,

  Her shepherd cheered, of her enamoured less

  Than I of thee."

  Fletcher, in the Faithful Shepherdess, tells, -

  "How the pale Phoebe, hunting in a grove,

  First saw the boy Endymion, from whose eyes

  She took eternal fire that never dies,

  How she conveyed him softly in a sleep,

  His temples bound with poppy, to the steep

  Head of old Latmos, where she stoops each night,

  Gilding the mountain with her brother's light,

  To kiss her sweetest."

  Orion.

  Orion was the son of Neptune. He was a handsome giant and a mighty hunter.

  His father gave him the power of wading through the depths of the sea, or as others say

  of walking on its surface.

  Orion loved Merope, the daughter of Oenopion, king of Chios, and sought her in

  marriage. He cleared the island of wild beasts, and brought the spoils of the chase as

  presents to his beloved; but as Oenopion constantly deferred his consent, Orion

  attempted to gain possession of the maiden by violence. Her father, incensed at this

  conduct, having made Orion drunk, deprived him of his sight and cast him out on the sea

  shore. The blinded hero followed the sound of a Cyclops' hammer till he reached

  Lemnos, and came to the forge of Vulcan, who, taking pity on him, gave him Kedalion,

  one of his men, to be his guide to the abode of the sun. Placing Kedalion on his

  shoulders, Orion proceeded to the east, and there meeting the sun-god, was restored to

  sight by his beam.

  After this he dwelt as a hunter with Diana, with whom he was a favorite, and it is

  even said she was about to marry him. Her brother was highly displeased and often

  chid her, but no to purpose. One day, observing Orion wading through the sea with his

  head just above the water, Apollo pointed it out to his sister and maintained that she

  could not hit that black thing on the sea. The archer-goddess discharged a shaft with

  fatal aim. The waves rolled the dead body of Orion to the land, and bewailing her fatal

  error with many tears, Diana placed him among the stars, where he appears as a giant,

  with a girdle, sword, lion's skin, and club. Sirius, his dog, follows him, and the Pleiads fly

  before him.

  The Pleiads were daughters of Atlas, and nymphs of Diana's train. One day

  Orion saw them and became enamoured and pursued them. In their distress they

  prayed to the gods to change their form, and Jupiter in pity turned them into pigeons,

  and then made them a constellation in the sky. Though their number was seven, only

  six stars are visible, for Electra, one of them, it is said left her place that she might not

  behold the ruin of Troy, for that city was founded by her son Dardanus. The sight had

  such an effect on her sisters that they have looked pale ever since.

  Mr. Longfellow has a poem on the "Occultation of Orion." The following lines are

  those in which he alludes to the mythic story. We must premise that on the cel
estial

  globe Orion is represented as robed in a lion's skin, and wielding a club. At the moment

  the stars of the constellation one by one were quenched in the light of the moon, the

  poet tells us -

  "Down fell the red skin of the lion

  Into the river at his feet.

  His mighty club no longer beat

  The forehead of the bull; but he

  Reeled as of yore beside the sea,

  When blinded by Oenopion

  He sought the blacksmith at his forge,

  And climbing up the narrow gorge,

  Fixed his blank eyes upon the sun."

  Tennyson has a different theory of the Pleiads

  Many a night I saw the Pleiads, rising through the mellow shade,

  Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies tangled in a silver braid."

  Locksley Hall

  Byron alludes to the lost Pleiad:

  "Like the lost Pleiad seen no more below."

  See also Mrs. Hemans's verses on the same subject.

  Aurora And Tithonus.

  The goddess of the Dawn, like her sister the Moon, was at times inspired with the

  love of mortals. Her greatest favorite was Tithonus, son of Laomedon, king of Troy. She

  stole him away, and prevailed on Jupiter to grant him immortality; but forgetting to have

  youth joined in the gift, after some time she began to discern, to her great mortification,

  that he was growing old. When his hair was quite white she left his society; but he still

  had the range of her palace, lived on ambrosial food and was clad in celestial raiment.

  At length he lost the power of using his limbs, and then she shut him up in his chamber,

  whence his feeble voice might at times be heard. Finally she turned him into a

  grasshopper.

  Memnon was the son of Aurora and Tithonus. He was king of the Aethiopians

  and dwelt in the extreme east, on the shore of Ocean. He came with his warriors to

  assist the kindred of his father in the war of Troy King Priam received him with great

  honors, and listened with admiration to his narrative of the wonders of the ocean shore.

  The very day after his arrival, Memnon impatient of repose led his troops to the

  field. Antilochus, the brave son of Nestor, fell by his hand, and the Greeks were put to

  flight, when Achilles appeared and restored the battle. A long and doubtful contest

  ensued between him and the son of Aurora; at length victory declared for Achilles,

  Memnon fell, and the Trojans fled in dismay.

  Aurora, who from her station in the sky had viewed with apprehension the danger

  of her son, when she saw him fall directed his brothers the Winds to convey his body to

  the banks of the river Esepus in Paphlagonia. In the evening, Aurora came,

  accompanied by the Hours and the Pleiads, and wept and lamented over her son.

  Night, in sympathy with her grief, spread the heaven with clouds; all nature mourned for

  the offspring of the Dawn. The Aethiopians raised his tomb on the banks of the stream

  in the grove of the Nymphs, and Jupiter caused the sparks and cinders of his funeral pile

  to be turned into birds, which, dividing into two flocks, fought over the pile till they fell into

  the flame. Every year at the anniversary of his death they return and celebrate his

  obsequies in like manner. Aurora remains inconsolable for the loss of her son. Her

  tears still flow, and may be seen at early morning in the form of dew-drops on the grass.

  Unlike most of the marvels of ancient mythology, there still exist some memorials

  of this. On the banks of the river Nile, in Egypt, are two colossal statues, one of which is

  said to be the statue of Memnon. Ancient writers record that when the first rays of the

  rising sun fall upon this statue, a sound is heard to issue from it which they compare to

  the snapping of a harpstring. There is some doubt about the identification of the existing

  statue with the one described by the ancients, and the mysterious sounds are still more

  doubtful. Yet there are not wanting some modern testimonies to their being still audible.

  It has been suggested that sounds produced by confined air making its escape from

  crevices or caverns in the rocks may have given some ground for the story. Sir Gardner

  Wilkinson, a late traveller, of the highest authority, examined the statue itself, and

  discovered that it was hollow, and that "in the lap of the statue is a stone, which on being

  struck emits a metallic sound, that might still be made use of to deceive a visitor who

  was predisposed to believe its powers."

  The vocal statue of Memnon is a favorite subject of allusion with the poets.

  Darwin in his Botanic Garden says -

  "So to the sacred Sun in Memnon's fane

  Spontaneous concords choired the matin strain;

  Touched by his orient beam responsive rings

  The living lyre and vibrates all its strings;

  Accordant aisles the tender tones prolong,

  And holy echoes swell the adoring song."

  B. I., l. 182.

  Acis And Galatea.

  Scylla was a fair virgin of Sicily, a favorite of the Sea-Nymphs. She had many

  suitors, but repelled them all, and would go to the grotto of Galatea, and tell her how she

  was persecuted. One day the goddess, while Scylla dressed her hair, listened to the

  story, and then replied, "Yet, maiden, your persecutors are of the not ungentle race of

  men, whom if you will you can repel; but I, the daughter of Nereus, and protected by

  such a band of sisters, found no escape form the passion of the Cyclops but in the

  depths of the sea;" and tears stopped her utterance, which when the pitying maiden had

  wiped away with her delicate finger, and soothed the goddess, "Tell me, dearest," said

  she, "the cause of your grief." Galatea then said, "Acis was the son of Faunus and a

  Naiad. His father and mother loved him dearly, but their love was not equal to mine. For

  the beautiful youth attached himself to me alone, and he was just sixteen years old, the

  down just beginning to darken his cheeks. As much as I sought his society, so much did

  the Cyclops seek mine; and if you ask me whether my love for Acis or my hatred of

  Polyphemus was the stronger, I cannot tell you; they were in equal measure. O Venus,

  how great is thy power! this fierce giant, the terror of the woods, whom no hapless

  stranger escaped unharmed, who defied even Jove himself, learned to feel what love

  was, and, touched with a passion for me, forgot his flocks and his well-stored caverns.

  Then for the first time he began to take some care of his appearance, and to try to make

  himself agreeable; he harrowed those coarse locks of his with a comb, and mowed his

  beard with a sickle, looked at his harsh features in the water and composed his

  countenance. His love of slaughter, his fierceness and thirst of blood prevailed no more,

  and ships that touched at his island went away in safety. He paced up and down the sea

  shore, imprinting huge tracks with his heavy tread, and, when weary, lay tranquilly in his

  cave.

  "There is a cliff which projects into the sea, which washes it on either side.

  Thither one day the huge Cyclops ascended, and sat down while his flocks spread

  themselves around. Laying down his staff which would have served for a mast to hold a

  vessel's sail, and taking his instrument compacted of numerous pipes, he made the hills

  and the waters echo the music of his song. I lay hid under
a rock by the side of my

  beloved Acis, and listened to the distant strain. It was full of extravagant praises of my

  beauty, mingled with passionate reproaches of my coldness and cruelty.

  "When he had finished, he rose up and like a raging bull, that cannot stand still,

  wandered off into the woods. Acis and I thought no more of him, till on a sudden he

  came to a spot which gave him a view of us as we sat. 'I see you,' he exclaimed, 'and I

  will make this the last of your love-meetings.' His voice was a roar such as an angry

  Cyclops alone could utter. Aetna trembled at the sound. I, overcome with terror, plunged

  into the water. Acis turned and fled, crying, 'Save me, Galatea, save me, my parents!'

  The Cyclops pursued him, and tearing a rock from the side of the mountain hurled it at

  him. Though only a corner of it touched him it overwhelmed him."

  "All that fate left in my power I did for Acis. I endowed him with the honors of his

  grandfather the river-god. The purple blood flowed out from under the rock, but by

  degrees grew paler and looked like the stream of a river rendered turbid by rains, and in

  time it became clear. The rock cleaved open, and the water, as it gushed from the

  chasm, uttered a pleasing murmur."

  Thus Acis was changed into a river, and the river retains the name of Acis.

  Dryden, in his Cymon and Iphigenia, has told the story of a clown converted into

  a gentleman by the power of love, in a way that shows traces of kindred to the old story

  of Galatea and the Cyclops.

  "What not his father's care nor tutor's art

  Could plant with pains in his unpolished heart,

  The best instructor, Love, at once inspired,

  As barren grounds to fruitfulness are fired.

  Love taught him shame, and shame with love at strife