astened to take up the disc, but the hard earth sent
it rebounding straight into his face, so that he fell wounded to the
ground.

Ah! then, pale and fearful, the sun-god hastened to the side of his
fallen friend. He bore up the lad's sinking limbs and strove to stanch
his wound with healing herbs. All in vain! Alas! the wound would not
close. And as violets and lilies, when their stems are crushed,
hang their languid blossoms on their stalks and wither away, so did
Hyacinthus droop his beautiful head and die.

Then the sun-god, full of grief, cried aloud in his anguish: "O Beloved!
thou fallest in thy early youth, and I alone am the cause of thy
destruction! Oh, that I could give my life for thee or with thee! but
since Fate will not permit this, thou shalt ever be with me, and thy
praise shall dwell on my lips. My lyre struck with my hand, my songs,
too, shall celebrate thee! And thou, dear lad, shalt become a new
flower, and on thy leaves will I write my lamentations."

And even as the sun-god spoke, behold! the blood that had flowed from
Hyacinthus's wound stained the grass, and a flower, like a lily in
shape, sprang up, more bright than Tyrian purple. On its leaves did
Apollo inscribe the mournful characters: "ai, ai," which mean "alas!
alas!"

And as oft as the spring drives away the winter, so oft does Hyacinthus
blossom in the fresh, green grass.

ECHO AND NARCISSUS

BY OVID (ADAPTED)

Long ago, in the ancient world, there was born to the blue-eyed Nymph
Liriope, a beautiful boy, whom she called Narcissus. An oracle foretold
at his birth that he should be happy and live to a good old age if he
"never saw himself." As this prophecy seemed ridiculous his mother soon
forgot all about it.

Narcissus grew to be a stately, handsome youth. His limbs were firm and
straight. Curls clustered about his white brow, and his eyes shone
like two stars. He loved to wander among the meadow flowers and in the
pathless woodland. But he disdained his playmates, and would not listen
to their entreaties to join in their games. His heart was cold, and in
it was neither hate nor love. He lived indifferent to youth or maid, to
friend or foe.

Now, in the forest near by dwelt a Nymph named Echo. She had been a
handmaiden of the goddess Juno. But though the Nymph was beautiful
of face, she was not loved. She had a noisy tongue. She told lies and
whispered slanders, and encouraged the other Nymphs in many misdoings.
So w