A Guide to Mythology

by Helen A. Clarke

(Egyptian)

Get thee back, depart, retreat from me, O Anapef; withdraw, or thou shalt be drowned at the pool of Nu, at the place where thy father hath ordered that thy slaughter be performed. Depart thou from the divine place of birth of Ra, wherein is thy terror. I am Ra who dwelleth in his terror. Get thee back, Fiend, before the darts of his beams. Ra hath overthrown thy words, the gods have turned thy face backward, the Lynx hath torn open thy breast, the Scorpion hath cast fetters upon thee, and Maat hath sent forth thy destruction. Those who are in the ways have overthrown thee; fall down and depart, O Apep, thou Enemy of Ra! O thou that passest over the region in the eastern part of heaven with the sound of the roaring thunder-cloud, O Ra, who openest the gates of the horizon straightway on thy appearance, Apep hath sunk helpless under thy gashings. I have performed thy will, O Ra, I have performed thy will, I have done that which is fair, I have done that which is fair, I have labored for the peace of Ra. I have made to advance thy fetters, O Ra, and Apep hath fallen through thy drawing them tight. The gods of the south and of the north, of the west and of the east, have fastened chains upon him, and they have fettered him with fetters; the god Rekes hath overthrown him and the god Hertit hath put him in chains. Ra setteth, Ra setteth, Ra is strong at his setting. Apep hath fallen; Apep, the enemy of Ra, departeth. Greater is the punishment which hath been inflicted on thee than the sting which is the Scorpion goddess, and mightily hath she, whose course is everlasting, worked in upon thee, and with deadly effect. Thou shalt never enjoy the delights of love, thou shalt never fulfil thy desire, O Apep, thou Enemy of Ra! He maketh thee to go back, O thou who art hateful to Ra; he looketh upon thee, get thee back! He pierceth thy head, he cutteth through thy face, he divideth thy head at the two sides of the ways, and it is crushed in his land; thy bones are smashed in pieces, thy members are hacked off thee, and the god Aker hath condemned thee, O Apep, thou Enemy of Ra! Thy mariners are those who keep the reckoning for thee, O Ra; as thou advancest and thou resteth there within are the offerings made to thee. As thou advancest, as thou advancest toward the House. Let not any baleful obstacle proceed from thy mouth against me when thou workest on my behalf. I am Set, who let loose the storm-clouds and the thunder in the horizon of heaven.

THE STORY OF PHŒBUS APOLLO

(Greek)

Soon after his birth the Sun God spent a year among the Hyperboreans, where for six continuous months of the year there is sunshine and spring, soft climate, profusion of herbs and flowers, and the very ecstasy of life. During this delay the Delphians sang pæans—hymns of praise—to Apollo, and danced in chorus about the tripod, or three-legged stool, where the expectant priestess of Apollo had taken her seat. At last, when the year was warm, came the god in his chariot drawn by swans—heralded by songs of springtide, of nightingales and swallows and crickets. Then the crystal fount of Castalia and the stream Cephissus overflowed their bounds, and mankind made grateful offerings to the god. But his advent was not altogether peaceful. An enormous serpent (Python) had crept forth from the slime with which, after the flood, the earth was covered; and in the caves of Mount Parnassus this terror of the people lurked. Him Apollo encountered, and after fearful combat slew with arrows, weapons which the god of the silver bow had not before used against any but feeble animals. In commemoration of this conquest, he instituted the Pythian games, in which the victor, in feats of strength, swiftness of foot, or in the chariot race, should be crowned with a wreath of beach leaves.

In his conflict with another monster of darkness, Apollo had the assistance of his sister Artemis (Diana). By their unerring, fiery darts they subdued the giant Tityus, who not only had obstructed the peaceful ways to the oracle of Delphi, but had ventured to insult the mother of the twin deities.

Another event in the life of Apollo shows the fatal effect of his fiery darts upon a young friend, Hyacinthus. The god of the silver bow was in the habit of going with Hyacinthus when he went forth on his hunting and fishing expeditions, or upon tramps in the mountains. One day they decided to play a game of quoits together. Apollo, heaving aloft the discus with strength mingled with skill, sent it high and far. Hyacinthus, excited with the sport and eager to make his throw, ran forward to seize the missile; but it bounded from the earth and struck him in the forehead. He fainted and fell. The god, as pale as himself, raised him and tried all his art to staunch the wound and retain the flitting life, but in vain. As when one has broken the stem of a lily in the garden it hangs its head and turns its flowers to the earth, so the head of the dying boy, as if too heavy for his neck, fell over on his shoulder. “Thou diest, Hyacinth,” said Phœbus, “robbed of thy life by me. Would that I could die for thee! But since that may not be, my lyre shall celebrate thee, my song shall tell thy fate, and thou shalt become a flower inscribed with my regret.” While the golden god spoke, the blood which had flowed on the ground and stained the herbage ceased to be blood, and a flower of hue more beautiful than Tyrian purple sprang up, resembling in shape the lily. Phœbus then, to confer still greater honor, marked the petals with his sorrow, inscribing “Ai! ai!” upon them. The flower bears the name of Hyacinthus, and with returning spring revives the memory of his fate.

Apollo was also a perfect magician in music. He helped Neptune, the God of the Sea, to build the walls of the ancient and far-famed city of Troy simply by playing on his lyre.

It is said that upon one occasion Pan had the temerity to compare his music with that of Apollo, and to challenge the God of the Lyre to a trial of skill. The challenge was accepted, and Tmolus, the Mountain God, was chosen umpire. The Senior took his seat, and cleared away the trees from his ears to listen. At a given signal, Pan blew on his pipes, and with his rustic melody gave great satisfaction to himself and his faithful follower Midas, who happened to be present. Then Tmolus turned his head toward the Sun God, and all his trees turned with him. Apollo rose, his brow wreathed with Parnassian laurel, while his robe of Tyrian purple swept the ground. In his left hand he held the lyre, and with his right hand struck the strings. Tmolus at once awarded the victory to the lyric god, and all but Midas acquiesced in the judgment. He dissented, and questioned the justice of the award, and Apollo promptly transformed his depraved pair of ears into those of an ass.