AURORA.

Ye snow-white clouds, whose fleecy wings enfoldThe stars, that light yon boundless breadth of blue,Roll back your edges, tinged with deepest gold,And softly let the peaceful wanderers through;Till, one by one, they burst upon my eyes,O’ertaking my young heart with sudden sweet surprise.How oft, when but a child, in wildest glee,I’ve climbed the summit of some breezy hill,Whose mossy sides went sloping to the seaWhere slept another heaven serenely still;While, from the mighty stronghold of the seas,The dead send up their dirge upon the twilight breeze.And there beneath a fringe of dewy leaves,That drooped away from many a bended bough,I used to lie on summer’s golden eves,And gaze about as I am gazing now,Thinking each lustrous star a heavenly shrineFor an immortal soul, and wondered which was mine.

How oft, when but a child, in wildest glee,I’ve climbed the summit of some breezy hill,Whose mossy sides went sloping to the seaWhere slept another heaven serenely still;While, from the mighty stronghold of the seas,The dead send up their dirge upon the twilight breeze.

And there beneath a fringe of dewy leaves,That drooped away from many a bended bough,I used to lie on summer’s golden eves,And gaze about as I am gazing now,Thinking each lustrous star a heavenly shrineFor an immortal soul, and wondered which was mine.

Sculpture of a young woman looking into the distance, hand shading her eyesRandolph Rogers (1825-1892).The Lost Pleiad.

Randolph Rogers (1825-1892).

The Lost Pleiad.

But now the moon, beside yon lonely hill,Lifts high her cup of paly gold;And all the planets, following slow and still,Along the deep their solemn marches hold;While here and there some meteor’s startling rayShoots streaks of arrowy fire far down the Milky Way.The Milky Way: ah, fair, illumined path,That leadeth upward to the gate of heaven;My spirit, soaring from this world of scath,Is lost with thee among the clouds of even,And there, upborne on Fancy’s glittering wing,Floats by the Golden Gate, and hears the angels sing.—Amelia.

The Milky Way: ah, fair, illumined path,That leadeth upward to the gate of heaven;My spirit, soaring from this world of scath,Is lost with thee among the clouds of even,And there, upborne on Fancy’s glittering wing,Floats by the Golden Gate, and hears the angels sing.

Aurora, goddess of the dawn, is the young sister of Diana, the queen of night. It is her duty to open the eastern doors of the palace of the sun, and to strew the path of Apollo, the sun god, with roses. Just before sunrise she appears in the eastern sky, her rosy fingers tinting the misty clouds.

Aurora is goddess of the evening light, as well as of the dawn. Long after the chariot of the sun has disappeared below the horizon, the western clouds are bright with the rosy light of this beauty-loving goddess.

In some countries the twilights are very long, and Aurora seems to linger on the hilltops. She sprinkles refreshing dew upon the thirsty flowers, who have bravely raised their heads to the sun all day. They revive under her gentle care.

At evening, when she is slowly closing the gates of the west, the eyes of the little children grow tired of day and close in welcome sleep. The birds, too, who welcome the fair Aurora with their joyous matin songs, now seek their nests, and their last chirp is heard as the twilight deepens. Then Aurora bars the gates, gives the lantern, or evening star, to Hesperus, and returns to the east for her morning task.

Bas-relief of a female angel who flies dropping flowers, with a cherub who carries a torchA. B. Thorwaldsen.Day.

A. B. Thorwaldsen.

Day.

A wind came up out of the sea,And said, “O mists, make room for me.”It hailed the ships, and cried, “Sail on,Ye mariners, the night is gone.”And hurried landward far awayCrying, “Awake! it is the day.”It said unto the forest, “Shout!Hang all your leafy banners out!”It touched the wood bird’s folded wing,And said, “O bird, awake and sing.”And o’er the farms, “O chanticleer,Your clarion blow; the day is near.”It whispered to the fields of corn,“Bow down, and hail the coming morn.”It shouted through the belfry tower,“Awake, O bell! proclaim the hour.”It crossed the churchyard with a sigh,And said, “Not yet! in quiet lie.”—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

A wind came up out of the sea,And said, “O mists, make room for me.”

It hailed the ships, and cried, “Sail on,Ye mariners, the night is gone.”

And hurried landward far awayCrying, “Awake! it is the day.”

It said unto the forest, “Shout!Hang all your leafy banners out!”

It touched the wood bird’s folded wing,And said, “O bird, awake and sing.”

And o’er the farms, “O chanticleer,Your clarion blow; the day is near.”

It whispered to the fields of corn,“Bow down, and hail the coming morn.”

It shouted through the belfry tower,“Awake, O bell! proclaim the hour.”

It crossed the churchyard with a sigh,And said, “Not yet! in quiet lie.”

Aurora pauses to smell a flowerJ. L. Hamon (1821-1874).Aurora.

J. L. Hamon (1821-1874).

Aurora.

Aurora loves the pretty flowers and often wanders among the gardens watching and caring for the tender blossoms.

One morning she met the handsome youth, Tithonus. Aurora loved Tithonus, and, as he was a mortal, she begged the gods to give him immortal life. Unfortunately, she forgot to ask for him immortal youth, and after a while he began to grow old. Although he still lived in her palace and fed on ambrosia, the food of the gods, he became smaller and smaller, until Aurora was ashamed of him and turned him into a grasshopper.

This is the way you see him to-day—with the face of an old man on the body of a grasshopper.

The poetry of earth is never dead:When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,And hide in cooling trees, a voice will runFrom hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead.That is the grasshopper’s,—he takes the leadIn summer luxury,—he has never doneWith his delights; for, when tired out with fun,He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.The poetry of earth is ceasing never:On a lone winter evening, when the frostHas wrought a silence, from the stove there shrillsThe cricket’s song, in warmth increasing ever,And seems, to one in drowsiness half lost,The grasshopper’s among some grassy hills.—John Keats.

Bas-relief of an angel flying, carrying two sleeping babies, with an owl followingA. B. Thorwaldsen.Night.

A. B. Thorwaldsen.

Night.

Memnon was the son of Aurora and Tithonus, and was dearly loved by his young and beautiful mother. He became a very brave man. When the Trojan war broke out, he came from the East to help the Trojans. At first he was successful, and he put the Greeks to flight; but when Achilles met him, a great struggle began. Long they fought and bravely; but at last Memnon fell.

Aurora, who had witnessed Memnon’s defeat, told his brothers, the Winds, to bear his body to his home in the far East. There in the evening Aurora came to weep over the body of her son. The Hours, the rosy sister goddesses, joined in her grief, and the shining Pleiades veiled their faces in sorrow.

Aurora still laments the untimely death of her son, and her tears you may find in the early morning as dewdrops upon the bending grass and flowers.

When insect wings are glistening in the beamOf the low sun, and mountain tops are bright,Oh! let me by the crystal valley stream,Wander amid the mild and mellow light;And while the wood thrush pipes his evening lay,Give me one lonely hour to hymn the setting day.O sun! that o’er the western mountains nowGo’st down in glory! ever beautifulAnd blesséd is thy radiance, whether thouColorest the eastern heaven and night mist cool,Till the bright day-star vanish, or on highClimbest and streamest thy white splendors from mid-sky.Yet, loveliest are thy setting smiles, and fair,Fairest of all that earth beholds, the huesThat live among the clouds, and flush the air,Lingering and deepening at the hour of dews.Then softest gales are breathed, and softest heardThe plaining voice of streams, and pensive note of bird.—William Cullen Bryant.

O sun! that o’er the western mountains nowGo’st down in glory! ever beautifulAnd blesséd is thy radiance, whether thouColorest the eastern heaven and night mist cool,Till the bright day-star vanish, or on highClimbest and streamest thy white splendors from mid-sky.

Yet, loveliest are thy setting smiles, and fair,Fairest of all that earth beholds, the huesThat live among the clouds, and flush the air,Lingering and deepening at the hour of dews.Then softest gales are breathed, and softest heardThe plaining voice of streams, and pensive note of bird.

People walk home from church in the eveningLeader (modern).Copyright, 1894, by Photographische Gesellschaft.Sunset.

Leader (modern).

Sunset.

Eleven nymphs dance and play music in woodland next to a streamKray (modern).The Dance of the Nymphs.

Kray (modern).

The Dance of the Nymphs.

The Greeks, in their love for nature, believed that all her forms had life and feeling. The mildness of their climate, their out-of-door life, the apparent nearness of sea and sky, the beauty of mountain, tree, flower, and glistening rivulet, made nature dear to them. Their love for the beautiful outside world was nourished, and caused them to look upon all nature as friendly. Their vivid fancy peopled grove and dale with forms that returned human affection.

They liked to believe that every stream had a naiad sporting in its waters, that dryads lived in the graceful trees, and that shrubs and flowers were the outward forms of spirits imprisoned there.

Oreads, or mountain nymphs, wandered over the mountains, and their laughter echoed in the valleys. Nereids and oceanids—water nymphs—sported in the waves of the ocean, and, with the tritons, attended Neptune, god of the deep blue sea.

The sunflower concealed the sea nymph Clytie, and lovely Echo was transformed into a voice. The laurel tree, with its glossy green leaves, was but the nymph Daphne, to whom, when fleeing from Apollo, her father, the river god, gave this form.

Sculpture of the three Graces standing in a circle facing outwardsGermain Pilon (1515-1590).The Graces.

Germain Pilon (1515-1590).

The Graces.

The sirens lived on an island of the sea. They sangso beautifully that all the sailors who passed that way longed to see the singers, and, coming too near, were wrecked on the rocks which the water concealed.

There were some nymphs and goddesses who were always mentioned together. The Graces were three maidens of charming appearance, who waited upon Venus. No one was so beautiful that the Graces could not add to her charm and loveliness, and they were ever welcome guests in every home.

Spenser says,—

“These three on men all gracious gifts bestowWhich deck the body or adorn the mind,To make them lovely or well-favored show;As comely carriage, entertainment kind,Sweet semblance, friendly offices that bind,And all the complements of courtesy;They teach us how to each degree and kindWe should ourselves demean, to low, to high,To friends, to foes; which skill men call civility.”

The Fates also numbered three. These severe goddesses could reveal the future to men and gods and no one could escape their decrees. Even Jupiter must obey the Fates, daughters of stern necessity. The decrees of the gods and the Fates were generally revealed to men by priestesses called sibyls. These wise women lived in caves. Their prophecies, or oracles, as they were called, were believed in and greatly respectedby the Greeks and Romans, who often went to the sibyls for advice and assistance.

The three Fates work at their spinningPaul Thumann (modern).The Fates.

Paul Thumann (modern).

The Fates.

The Furies were deities who searched out all wicked people and punished them for their crimes, pursuing them with whips and snakes. The Furies were really friends to man, because they wished him to repent of his guilty deeds, live a better and truer life, and do good and not evil in the world.

The nine Muses, those gracious daughters of Jupiter and Memory, sang their songs and joined in a graceful dance on Mount Parnassus. Apollo, god of poesy and song, was their teacher, and from him they learned how to inspire artists, poets, and musicians with thoughts of harmonies more beautiful than ordinary mortals know.

The Hours attended Apollo, as he drove his flaming chariot through the heavens.

“The rosy Hours, with agile grace, attendApollo, when, as god of the sun, he makesHis joyful journey through the heavens.”

Another group of four graceful beings Keats thus describes in his poem, “Endymion,”—

“An ethereal bandAre visible above: The Seasons four,—Green-kirtled Spring, flush Summer, golden storeIn Autumn’s sickle, Winter’s frosty hoar.”

See the rivers flowingDownwards to the sea,Pouring all their treasuresBountiful and free:Yet to help their givingHidden springs arise;Or, if need be, showersFeed them from the skies!Watch the princely flowersTheir rich fragrance spread,Load the air with perfumes,From their beauty shed:Yet their lavish spendingLeaves them not in dearth,With fresh life replenishedBy their mother earth!Give thy heart’s best treasures,—From fair Nature learn;Give thy love, and ask not,Wait not a return!And the more thou spendestFrom thy little store,With a double bountyGod will give thee more.—Adelaide Anne Procter.

See the rivers flowingDownwards to the sea,Pouring all their treasuresBountiful and free:Yet to help their givingHidden springs arise;Or, if need be, showersFeed them from the skies!

Watch the princely flowersTheir rich fragrance spread,Load the air with perfumes,From their beauty shed:Yet their lavish spendingLeaves them not in dearth,With fresh life replenishedBy their mother earth!

Give thy heart’s best treasures,—From fair Nature learn;Give thy love, and ask not,Wait not a return!And the more thou spendestFrom thy little store,With a double bountyGod will give thee more.

Apollo's chariot, drawn by four horses, travelling through the cloudsRaphael (1483-1520).Apollo in his Chariot.

Raphael (1483-1520).

Apollo in his Chariot.

When Apollo’s daily task is done, he removes the dazzling rays from his head and places there the wreath of laurel which he much prefers. Then he goes to Parnassus, the beautiful mountain in Greece, where the Muses dwell. The Muses are nine maidens, the wonderful daughters of Memory, to each of whom Apollo has given some department of music or poetry. All musicians and poets are said to ask Apollo and the Muses for aid and inspiration.

To Calliope, the muse of epic poetry, Homer and Vergil prayed when they sang of war and heroes.

Astronomers appeal to Urania, who presides over the stars—their song makes the music of the spheres; and those who write history must be aided by Clio.

To Thalia and Melpomene are given the realms of comic and tragic poetry.

Erato, who presides over the poems of love, generally accompanies the youngest and gayest of the Muses, Terpsichore. The chief pleasure and delight of Terpsichore is in the graceful movements of the dance. When Euterpe, the muse of lyric poetry, strikes her golden lyre, these three, with their music, song, and dance, create exquisite beauty and harmony, and they are much beloved by their sister Muses and by mortals.

The wisest and most dignified of all the Muses is Polyhymnia, who presides over sacred music. She it is who inspires the hymns of praise to the Almighty Ruler of the world.

Apollo instructs these maidens in the arts of poetry and music, and then they unite in a merry dance; for they are graceful beings and have strong, beautiful bodies. The Greeks believed in the culture of the body,—the temple of the soul,—and so Apollo, god of the sun, of poetry and music, was also their ideal of physical perfection.

Nine sisters, beautiful in form and face,Came from their convent on the shining heightsOf Pierus, the mountain of delights,To dwell among the people at its base.Then seemed the world to change. All time and space,Splendor of cloudless days and starry nights,And men and manners, and all sounds and sights,Had a new meaning, a diviner grace.Proud were these sisters, but were not too proudTo teach in schools of little country townsScience and song, and all the arts that please;So that while housewives span, and farmers plowed,Their comely daughters, clad in homespun gownsLearned the sweet songs of the Pierides.—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

The Muses dance in a circleGiulio Romano (1492-1546).Apollo and the Muses.

Giulio Romano (1492-1546).

Apollo and the Muses.

A cherubic Cupid draws his bowV. Tojetti (modern).Cupid with his Bow.

V. Tojetti (modern).

Cupid with his Bow.

One day Apollo found Cupid, the mischievous little god of love, playing with his arrows, and he said,—“Why are you playing with my arrows? You are only a boy and should not use manly weapons!” Cupid did not like to be called a child, and took from his own quiver two tiny arrows, one tipped with lead, one with gold. The golden arrow he shot into the heart of Apollo; the leaden, into the heart of a young and graceful wood nymph, Daphne.

When Apollo saw Daphne, the golden arrow in his heart made him love her, and he pursued her; but the heavy arrow of dull lead in her heart made her dislike him, and she fled.

Soon Daphne found that she could not run so fast as Apollo, and she called upon her father, the river god, to save her. He heard her cry and changed her into a beautiful laurel tree. When Apollo came up he saw that her body was growing rough with the bark, her slender feet were changing into the roots, and her long wavy hair was turning into the shiny green leaves.

The sun god grieved at this change, but said: “This tree shall be sacred to poets and musicians and artists. I shall wear a wreath of laurel, and all who follow the arts shall be crowned with the laurel wreath.”

A portrait of Daphne, wearing a laurel wreathRylands (modern).Daphne.

Rylands (modern).

Daphne.

When to the flowers so beautifulThe Father gave a name,Back came a little blue-eyed one,—All timidly it came.And standing at the Father’s feetAnd gazing on His face,It said, in meek and timid voice,Yet with a gentle grace:“Dear Lord, the name Thou gavest me,Alas, I have forgot.”The Father kindly looked on herAnd said, “Forget-me-not.”

When to the flowers so beautifulThe Father gave a name,Back came a little blue-eyed one,—All timidly it came.

And standing at the Father’s feetAnd gazing on His face,It said, in meek and timid voice,Yet with a gentle grace:

“Dear Lord, the name Thou gavest me,Alas, I have forgot.”The Father kindly looked on herAnd said, “Forget-me-not.”

A young woman holds a bunch of freshly picked forget-me-notsG. Schrœdter (modern).Copyright, 1894, by Photographische Gesellschaft.Forget-me-not.

G. Schrœdter (modern).

Forget-me-not.

Bust of a young womanBritish Museum.Clytie.

British Museum.

Clytie.

Clytie was a beautiful sea nymph who lived in a wonderful palace under the sea. Her dress was of pale green sea moss, and she wore ornaments of delicatepink coral in her sunny curls. Her carriage was an exquisite shell of many brilliant hues, which glittered in the sunlight, and gold fish were her strange and beautiful horses.

One day, when she was driving over the surface of the sea, she saw the glorious god Apollo in his golden chariot. Day after day she watched him journey through the deep blue sky, and hoped he would see her. Alas! he never noticed the lonely sea maid, so far below.

At last she left her chariot, and all day long watched him from the shore. When the sun had gone and she started to return to her home under the waves, she could not move. Her feet had become fastened to the soil and her form began to change into the sunflower. Her green dress became the stalk and leaves, and her golden hair changed into the yellow petals.

But the flower still loves the sun. In the morning it looks toward the east and rejoices when the sun appears above the horizon, following his course and slowly turning its face toward the west.

So this flower is the emblem of constancy. Poets often speak of the great love and faithfulness of Clytie, and artists paint her picture or sculpture her form.

In the art galleries may be found a lovely bust of a young girl. The sculptor is unknown, but the bust is supposed to be one of Clytie, for the shoulders seem to rise from the leaves of the sunflower.

A young woman with a bunch and a crown of daisiesA. Cabanel (1823-1889).Daisies.

A. Cabanel (1823-1889).

Daisies.

There is a flower, a little flower,With silver crest and golden eye,That welcomes every changing hour,And weathers every sky.The prouder beauties of the fieldIn gay but quick succession shine;Race after race their honors yield,They flourish and decline.But this small flower, to Nature dear,While moons and stars their courses run,Enwreathes the circle of the year,Companion of the sun.It smiles upon the lap of May,To sultry August spreads its charm,Lights pale October on his way,And twines December’s arm.The purple heath and golden broomOn moory mountains catch the gale;O’er lawns the lily sheds perfume,The violet in the vale.But this bold floweret climbs the hill,Hides in the forest, haunts the glen,Plays on the margin of the rill,Peeps round the fox’s den.Within the garden’s cultured roundIt shares the sweet carnation’s bed;And blooms on consecrated groundIn honor of the dead.The lambkin crops its crimson gem;The wild bee murmurs on its breast;The blue fly bends its pensile stemLight o’er the skylark’s nest.’Tis Flora’s page; in every place,In every season, fresh and fair,It opens with perennial grace,And blossoms everywhere.On waste and woodland, rock and plain,Its humble buds unheeded rise:The rose has but a summer reign;The daisy never dies!—James Montgomery.

There is a flower, a little flower,With silver crest and golden eye,That welcomes every changing hour,And weathers every sky.

The prouder beauties of the fieldIn gay but quick succession shine;Race after race their honors yield,They flourish and decline.

But this small flower, to Nature dear,While moons and stars their courses run,Enwreathes the circle of the year,Companion of the sun.

It smiles upon the lap of May,To sultry August spreads its charm,Lights pale October on his way,And twines December’s arm.

The purple heath and golden broomOn moory mountains catch the gale;O’er lawns the lily sheds perfume,The violet in the vale.

But this bold floweret climbs the hill,Hides in the forest, haunts the glen,Plays on the margin of the rill,Peeps round the fox’s den.

Within the garden’s cultured roundIt shares the sweet carnation’s bed;And blooms on consecrated groundIn honor of the dead.

The lambkin crops its crimson gem;The wild bee murmurs on its breast;The blue fly bends its pensile stemLight o’er the skylark’s nest.

’Tis Flora’s page; in every place,In every season, fresh and fair,It opens with perennial grace,And blossoms everywhere.

On waste and woodland, rock and plain,Its humble buds unheeded rise:The rose has but a summer reign;The daisy never dies!

Sculpture of Niobe shielding one of her childrenUffizi Gallery, Florence.Niobe and Child.

Uffizi Gallery, Florence.

Niobe and Child.

Apollo and Diana are both hunters and carry bows and arrows. One day Niobe, queen of Thebes, boasted that she had more children than Latona, the mother of Apollo and Diana, and that her children were more beautiful.

Latona called upon her children to punish Niobe for her pride, and they shot their arrows at the children of the boasting Niobe. Soon all were slain, although their mother, in her grief, tried to protect those she loved so well. Apollo killed the seven handsome sons, and Diana aimed her arrows at the seven lovely daughters.

Niobe grieved so over the loss of her dear children that she turned into stone, but her tears still continued to flow.

There is a room in a famous gallery in Florence, Italy, called the Niobe room, because here are placed the famous statues of Niobe and her fourteen children, trying, in vain, to escape the fatal arrows of the divine archers.

Some people believe that this story means that the rays of the sun and moon are harmful. But others say that it only shows that Apollo, the sun, battles with Niobe and her children, who are the powers of winter. When his rays have overcome them, Niobe dissolves in tears, and the cold snows melt and disappear.

Sculpture of Diana with a houndHamo Thornycroft (modern).Diana as Huntress.

Hamo Thornycroft (modern).

Diana as Huntress.

Lord of the unerring bow,The God of life and poesy and light—The sun in human limbs arrayed, and browAll radiant from his triumph in the fight.The shaft has just been shot—the arrow brightWith an immortal’s vengeance; in his eyeAnd nostril, beautiful disdain and mightAnd majesty flash their full lightnings by,Developing in that one glance the Deity.—George Gordon Byron.

Sculpture of Apollo, standing with one arm outstretchedVatican, Rome.Apollo Belvedere.

Vatican, Rome.

Apollo Belvedere.

Jupiter, or Jove, as he is sometimes called, king of the gods, lives in high Olympus, a mountain in Greece. All the gods obey him, except the Fates, who are more powerful than the gods.

Jupiter, Juno, Apollo, Diana, Mars, Minerva, Pluto, Ceres, Mercury, Venus, Neptune, and Vesta are the twelve gods whose home is on Mount Olympus. Vulcan prefers his home in Mount Etna, and is generally busy at work there. Pluto, also, is seldom away from his underground home.

In the palace of Jupiter, all the questions in which the gods are interested are discussed and settled. Ceres came hither to ask Jupiter to restore her dear Persephone. Cupid brought Psyche to Olympus after their many trials on earth. Minerva and Neptune had their celebrated contest for the honor of naming Athens, in the presence of these gods.

Juno, the wife of Jupiter, sits at his left. She wears a crown, and holds the royal scepter; for she is queen of gods and men. Peacocks with many-colored feathers draw her chariot, and Iris, with her rainbow wings, is Juno’s messenger.

Jupiter holds the terrible thunderbolts in his powerful right hand, and on his left hand stands thegoddess Victory. The eagle, king of birds, is sacred to Jove.

He has dominion over the sky, the earth, and the sea. As the clouds are continually changing their shape, now piling up like great white mountains, now looking like birds or fishes, Jupiter is said to change his form to an eagle, a swan, a cloud, or a shower of gold. He sometimes visits earth in mortal form, to see if men are just and kind. When he finds them cruel or wicked, he punishes them; but he rejoices to find those who are generous, just, and helpful.

Jove carries thunderbolts in his chariot, which is drawn by birdsRaphael.Jove in his Chariot.

Raphael.

Jove in his Chariot.

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,And saw within the moonlight in his room,Making it rich and like a lily in bloom,An angel writing in a book of gold:Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,And to the presence in the room he said,“What writest thou?” The vision raised its head,And, with a look made of all sweet accord,Answered, “The names of those who love the Lord.”“And is mine one?” said Abou. “Nay, not so,”Replied the angel.—Abou spoke more low,But cheerly still, and said, “I pray thee, then,Write me as one that loves his fellowmen.”The angel wrote and vanished. The next nightIt came again, with a great wakening light,And showed the names whom love of God had blessed,—And, lo! Ben Adhem’s name led all the rest!—Leigh Hunt.

The angel wrote and vanished. The next nightIt came again, with a great wakening light,And showed the names whom love of God had blessed,—And, lo! Ben Adhem’s name led all the rest!

Jupiter gave to Neptune, his brother, dominion over the sea. He rides over the placid waves in his chariot, made of shells of many colors, gleaming in the sunlight. If he wishes a storm, he strikes upon the waves with his trident, and calls the winds, and the huge billows threaten the clouds. Tritons with wreathed horns follow his chariot, and naiads as graceful as the waves sport in the opaline waters.

The palaces of the water gods and nymphs are more wonderful than those on earth. Shells, glistening sand, corals, and sea mosses lend beauty of color and form. The music of the waves lulls these beings to sleep. They ride upon a dolphin’s back, or are borne onward by the waves,—free, happy, frolicking water sprites, dashing the spray and diving in graceful play through the deep waves of the sea.

Neptune is strong and calm. He is represented in art as bearing the trident, and surrounded by his attendants and the inhabitants of the sea. There is a celebrated fountain in Rome adorned with a fine statue of Neptune. It is said that a visitor who throws a coin into its waters will return to that famous city.

Sailors used to take offerings to the temples of Neptune, so that he would give them prosperous voyages.

Sculpture of Neptune, carrying a trident, and striding over a male figureAdam (Louvre, Paris).Neptune.

Adam (Louvre, Paris).

Neptune.

King of the stormy sea!Brother of Jove, and coinheritorOf elements! Eternally beforeThee the waves awful bow. Fast, stubborn rock,At thy feared trident shrinking, doth unlockIts deep foundations, hissing into foam.All mountain rivers lost, in the wide homeOf thy capacious bosom ever flow.Thou frownest, and old Æolus, thy foe,Skulks to his cavern, ’mid the gruff complaintOf all his rebel tempests. Dark clouds faintWhen, from thy diadem, a silver gleamSlants over blue dominion. Thy bright teamGulfs in the morning light, and scuds alongTo bring thee nearer to that golden songApollo singeth, while his chariotWaits at the doors of heaven. Thou art notFor scenes like this: an empire stern hast thouAnd it hath furrowed that large front: yet now,As newly come of heaven, dost thou sitTo blend and interknitSubduéd majesty with this glad time.O shell-born king sublime!We lay our hearts before thee evermore—We sing, and we adore!—John Keats.

Vulcan, the son of Jupiter and Juno, is the blacksmith of the gods. His forges are in the caverns of volcanic mountains, where the fires are bright and ready to heat the gold, silver, and iron, of which he has made many wonderful things.

Vulcan built the magnificent palaces of the gods on Mount Olympus, Juno’s golden throne, and the chariot of Apollo. The delicate girdle of Venus, the wife of Vulcan, was also made in his workshop. This was a magic girdle; for whoever wore it inspired love in all she met, and sometimes the goddesses would beg Venus to lend it to them.

The armor of Mars, god of war, and the shield of Minerva, goddess of wisdom, were the work of Vulcan. Sometimes he even manufactured armor for mortals, and Homer tells us of the marvelous shield he wrought for Achilles, the bravest of the Greeks. The most powerful weapons that Vulcan made at his forges were the dread thunderbolts of Jove and the arrows of mischievous Cupid, the winged god of love.

Vulcan is represented as rather short and thickset, lame in one foot, with a cap on his curly head, and a hammer in his hand. His workmen are the Cyclops, powerful giants, who excel in all work in metals.

Back to Index Next