HERMES

Zeus says you’re not to go out driving today, Mr. Sun-god, or tomorrow or the next day. You’ve to stay at home, and all that time’s to be one long night; so the Hours ¹ can unyoke your horses, and you can put out your fire and have a nice long rest.

HELIOS

A strange message you’ve brought, Hermes. Why, I’ve never heard the like of it! He doesn’t think I’ve been going off my course and breaking bounds, does he? He’s not annoyed with me, that he’s decided to make the night three times as long as the day?

HERMES

Not a bit of it. This won’t go on for ever; but for this once, it’s his personal wish that he should get a longer night at this time.

HELIOS

Where is he? Where were you sent from with this message?

HERMES

From Boeotia, Mr. Sun, from Amphitryon’s wife. ² He’s been keeping company with her. He’s in love with her.

HELIOS

Isn’t one night enough, then?

HERMES

Not at all. From this romance must come one who is mighty and fit for many labours; so they can’t do justice to him in a single night.

HELIOS

Well, I hope he makes a success of the job, though I must say, Hermes, this sort of thing didn’t happen in Cronos’ day. (It’s all right, we’re alone.) He would never sleep away from Rhea, ³ or leave heaven for a bed in Thebes, but day was day, and night night, varying only within their proper limits with the seasons of the year, with none of these strange upheavals. No, Cronos would never have had anything to do with a mortal woman. Now, however, for some poor miserable woman, everything must be turned topsy-turvy, my horses become stiff for want of exercise, the road grows difficult, left untrodden for three days on end, and men must spend a miserable time in the dark. That’s what they’ll get from Zeus’ love-affairs. Why, they’ll have to sit waiting in darkness for hours, till he finishes his job on the labouring fellow you’ve been telling me about.

HERMES

Quiet, Mr. Sun, or your words may get you into trouble. I’ll be off now to the Moon and to Sleep, and pass on Zeus’ instructions to them too, telling her to take her time, and Sleep not to leave men, so that they may not know the night’s been so long.

Hermes

Why so sad, Apollo?

Apollo

Alas, Hermes,—my love!

Hermes

Oh; that’s bad. What, are you still brooding over that affair of Daphne?

Apollo

No. I grieve for my beloved; the Laconian, the son of Oebalus.

Hermes

Hyacinth? he is not dead?

Apollo

Dead.

Hermes

Who killed him? Who could have the heart? That lovely boy!

Apollo

It was the work of my own hand.

Hermes

You must have been mad!

Apollo

Not mad; it was an accident.

Hermes

Oh? and how did it happen?

Apollo

He was learning to throw the quoit, and I was throwing with him. I had just sent my quoit up into the air as usual, when jealous Zephyr (damned be he above all winds! he had long been in love with Hyacinth, though Hyacinth would have nothing to say to him)—Zephyr came blustering down from Taygetus, and dashed the quoit upon the child’s head; blood flowed from the wound in streams, and in one moment all was over. My first thought was of revenge; I lodged an arrow in Zephyr, and pursued his flight to the mountain, As for the child, I buried him at Amyclae, on the fatal spot; and from his blood I have caused a flower to spring up, sweetest, fairest of flowers, inscribed with letters of woe.—Is my grief unreasonable?

Hermes

It is, Apollo. You knew that you had set your heart upon a mortal: grieve not then for his mortality.