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 Phœbus’ 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. Phœbus 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 Phœbus, 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:
“Driver of Phœbus’ chariot, Phæton,
Struck by Jove’s thunder, rests beneath this stone;
He could not rule his father’s car of fire;
Yet was it much, so nobly to aspire.”
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.