Then Zephyr became angry and jealous. Day by day he watched the two friends, and waited his opportunity for revenge.
Now it happened one bright spring morning that Apollo and Hyacinthus were playing a game of quoits together. The boy's merry laugh rang through the clear air and reached the ears of Zephyr, who was hiding in the branches of a tree close by.
An angry look passed over his face as he exclaimed, "He shall die. Rather than give him up to Apollo, I will cause his death!"
At that very moment Apollo raised his arm and threw his quoit. Straight as a dart it sped, until a strong gust of wind, raised for the purpose by the angry Zephyr, changed its course, so that it struck Hyacinthus upon the head and killed him.
And now the revenge of the West-wind was complete, for not only had Apollo lost the object of his love, but he had slain him with his own hands.
Then the Sun-god was frantic with grief, and, casting himself upon the body of his favorite, he wept loud and long. "Oh! my beloved," he cried, "come back, come back to me! woe, woe, woe is me!"
But nothing could restore the boy to life again. There was but one thing he could do, and in order that the memory of his darling might remain fresh and fragrant among men, he changed the beautiful but lifeless form into a sweet and lovely flower. So year by year, with each returning spring, the Hyacinths reappear and spread a rich carpet over the woods and dells, reminding us of the ill-fated youth whose life was sacrificed to "the green-eyed monster," jealousy.
