Posts by Blast

  • Mythology

    Thanks
    it is from a site i am not giving out
    note: Mythology is actual STORIES

    MIDAS--BAUCIS AND PHILEMON


    Bacchus, on a certain occasion, found his old schoolmaster and
    foster-father, Silenus, missing. The old man had been drinking,
    and in that state wandered away, and was found by some peasants,
    who carried him to their king, Midas. Midas recognized him, and
    treated him hospitably, entertaining him for ten days and nights
    with an unceasing round of jollity. On the eleventh day he brought
    Silenus back, and restored him in safety to his pupil. Whereupon
    Bacchus offered Midas his choice of a reward, whatever he might
    wish. He asked that whatever he might touch should be changed into
    GOLD. Bacchus consented, though sorry that he had not made a
    better choice. Midas went his way, rejoicing in his new-acquired
    power, which he hastened to put to the test. He could scarce
    believe his eyes when he found a twig of an oak, which he plucked
    from the branch, become gold in his hand. He took up a stone; it
    changed to gold. He touched a sod; it did the same. He took an
    apple from the tree; you would have thought he had robbed the
    garden of the Hesperides. His joy knew no bounds, and as soon as
    he got home, he ordered the servants to set a splendid repast on
    the table. Then he found to his dismay that whether he touched
    bread, it hardened in his hand; or put a morsel to his lips, it
    defied his teeth. He took a glass of wine, but it flowed down his
    throat like melted gold.

    In consternation at the unprecedented affliction, he strove to
    divest himself of his power; he hated the gift he had lately
    coveted. But all in vain; starvation seemed to await him. He
    raised his arms, all shining with gold, in prayer to Bacchus,
    begging to be delivered from his glittering destruction. Bacchus,
    merciful deity, heard and consented. "Go," said he, "to the River
    Pactolus, trace the stream to its fountain-head, there plunge your
    head and body in, and wash away your fault and its punishment." He
    did so, and scarce had he touched the waters before the gold-
    creating power passed into them, and the river-sands became
    changed into GOLD, as they remain to this day.
    Thenceforth Midas, hating wealth and splendor, dwelt in the
    country, and became a worshipper of Pan, the god of the fields. On
    a certain 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. Ravished with the harmony, Tmolus at once
    awarded the victory to the god of the lyre, and all but Midas
    acquiesced in the judgment. He dissented, and questioned the
    justice of the award. Apollo would not suffer such a depraved pair
    of ears any longer to wear the human form, but caused them to
    increase in length, grow hairy, within and without, and movable on
    their roots; in short, to be on the perfect pattern of those of an
    ass.

    Mortified enough was King Midas at this mishap; but he consoled
    himself with the thought that it was possible to hide his
    misfortune, which he attempted to do by means of an ample turban
    or head-dress. But his hair-dresser of course knew the secret. He
    was charged not to mention it, and threatened with dire punishment
    if he presumed to disobey. But he found it too much for his
    discretion to keep such a secret; so he went out into the meadow,
    dug a hole in the ground, and stooping down, whispered the story,
    and covered it up. Before long a thick bed of reeds sprang up in
    the meadow, and as soon as it had gained its growth, began
    whispering the story, and has continued to do so, from that day to
    this, every time a breeze passes over the place.

    The story of King Midas has been told by others with some
    variations. Dryden, in the "Wife of Bath's Tale," makes Midas's
    queen the betrayer of the secret:

    "This Midas knew, and durst communicate
    To none but to his wife his ears of state."

    Midas was king of Phrygia. He was the son of Gordius, a poor
    countryman, who was taken by the people and made king, in
    obedience to the command of the oracle, which had said that their
    future king should come in a wagon. While the people were
    deliberating, Gordius with his wife and son came driving his wagon
    into the public square.

    Gordius, being made king, dedicated his wagon to the deity of the
    oracle, and tied it up in its place with a fast knot. This was the
    celebrated Gordian knot, which, in after times it was said,
    whoever should untie should become lord of all Asia. Many tried to
    untie it, but none succeeded, till Alexander the Great, in his
    career of conquest, came to Phrygia. He tried his skill with as
    ill success as others, till growing impatient he drew his sword
    and cut the knot. When he afterwards succeeded in subjecting all
    Asia to his sway, people began to think that he had complied with
    the terms of the oracle according to its true meaning.

  • Mythology

    Now and then i will post mythology

    NARCISSUS AND ECHO

    ECHO AND NARCISSUS Echo was a beautiful nymph, fond of the woods and hills, where she devoted herself to woodland sports. She was a favorite of Diana, and attended her in the chase. But Echo had one failing; she was fond of talking, and whether in chat or argument, would have the last word. One day Juno was seeking her husband, who, she had reason to fear, was amusing himself among the nymphs. Echo by her talk contrived to detain the goddess till the nymphs made their escape. When Juno discovered it, she passed sentence upon Echo in these words: "You shall forfeit the use of that tongue with which you have cheated me, except for that one purpose you are so fond of--reply. You shall still have the last word, but no power to speak first." This nymph saw Narcissus, a beautiful youth, as he pursued the chase upon the mountains. She loved him, and followed his footsteps. O how she longed to address him in the softest accents, and win him to converse! but it was not in her power. She waited with impatience for him to speak first, and had her answer ready. One day the youth, being separated from his companions, shouted aloud, "Who's here?" Echo replied, "Here." Narcissus looked around, but seeing no one called out, "Come." Echo answered, "Come." As no one came, Narcissus called again, "Why do you shun me?" Echo asked the same question. "Let us join one another," said the youth. The maid answered with all her heart in the same words, and hastened to the spot, ready to throw her arms about his neck. He started back, exclaiming, "Hands off! I would rather die than you should have me!" "Have me," said she; but it was all in vain. He left her, and she went to hide her blushes in the recesses of the woods. From that time forth she lived in caves and among mountain cliffs. Her form faded with grief, till at last all her flesh shrank away. Her bones were changed into rocks and there was nothing left of her but her voice. With that she is still ready to reply to any one who calls her, and keeps up her old habit of having the last word.
    Narcissus's cruelty in this case was not the only instance. He shunned all the rest of the nymphs, as he had done poor Echo. One day a maiden who had in vain endeavored to attract him uttered a prayer that he might some time or other feel what it was to love and meet no return of affection. The avenging goddess heard and granted the prayer. There was a clear fountain, with water like silver, to which the shepherds never drove their flocks, nor the mountain goats resorted, nor any of the beasts of the forest; neither was it defaced with fallen leaves or branches; but the grass grew fresh around it, and the rocks sheltered it from the sun. Hither came one day the youth, fatigued with hunting, heated and thirsty. He stooped down to drink, and saw his own image in the water; he thought it was some beautiful water-spirit living in the fountain. He stood gazing with admiration at those bright eyes, those locks curled like the locks of Bacchus or Apollo, the rounded cheeks, the ivory neck, the parted lips, and the glow of health and exercise over all. He fell in love with himself. He brought his lips near to take a kiss; he plunged his arms in to embrace the beloved object. It fled at the touch, but returned again after a moment and renewed the fascination. He could not tear himself away; he lost all thought of food or rest, while he hovered over the brink of the fountain gazing upon his own image. He talked with the supposed spirit: "Why, beautiful being, do you shun me? Surely my face is not one to repel you. The nymphs love me, and you yourself look not indifferent upon me. When I stretch forth my arms you do the same; and you smile upon me and answer my beckonings with the like." His tears fell into the water and disturbed the image. As he saw it depart, he exclaimed, "Stay, I entreat you! Let me at least gaze upon you, if I may not touch you." With this, and much more of the same kind, he cherished the flame that consumed him, so that by degrees he lost his color, his vigor, and the beauty which formerly had so charmed the nymph Echo. She kept near him, however, and when he exclaimed, "Alas! alas!" she answered him with the same words. He pined away and died; and when his shade passed the Stygian river, it leaned over the boat to catch a look of itself in the waters. The nymphs mourned for him, especially the water-nymphs; and when they smote their breasts Echo smote hers also. They prepared a funeral pile and would have burned the body, but it was nowhere to be found; but in its place a flower, purple within, and surrounded with white leaves, which bears the name and preserves the memory of Narcissus.

    CEPHALUS AND PROCRIS

    Cephalus was a beautiful youth and fond of manly sports. He would
    rise before the dawn to pursue the chase. Aurora saw him when she
    first looked forth, fell in love with him, and stole him away. But
    Cephalus was just married to a charming wife whom he devotedly
    loved. Her name was Procris. She was a favorite of Diana, the
    goddess of hunting, who had given her a dog which could outrun
    every rival, and a javelin which would never fail of its mark; and
    Procris gave these presents to her husband. Cephalus was so happy
    in his wife that he resisted all the entreaties of Aurora, and she
    finally dismissed him in displeasure, saying, "Go, ungrateful
    mortal, keep your wife, whom, if I am not much mistaken, you will
    one day be very sorry you ever saw again."

    Cephalus returned, and was as happy as ever in his wife and his
    woodland sports. Now it happened some angry deity had sent a
    ravenous fox to annoy the country; and the hunters turned out in
    great strength to capture it. Their efforts were all in vain; no
    dog could run it down; and at last they came to Cephalus to borrow
    his famous dog, whose name was Lelaps. No sooner was the dog let
    loose than he darted off, quicker than their eye could follow him.
    If they had not seen his footprints in the sand they would have
    thought he flew. Cephalus and others stood on a hill and saw the
    race. The fox tried every art; he ran in a circle and turned on
    his track, the dog close upon him, with open jaws, snapping at his
    heels, but biting only the air. Cephalus was about to use his
    javelin, when suddenly he saw both dog and game stop instantly.
    The heavenly powers who had given both were not willing that
    either should conquer. In the very attitude of life and action
    they were turned into stone. So lifelike and natural did they
    look, you would have thought, as you looked at them, that one was
    going to bark, the other to leap forward.
    Cephalus, though he had lost his dog, still continued to take
    delight in the chase. He would go out at early morning, ranging
    the woods and hills unaccompanied by any one, needing no help, for
    his javelin was a sure weapon in all cases. Fatigued with hunting,
    when the sun got high he would seek a shady nook where a cool
    stream flowed, and, stretched on the grass, with his garments
    thrown aside, would enjoy the breeze. Sometimes he would say
    aloud, "Come, sweet breeze, come and fan my breast, come and allay
    the heat that burns me." Some one passing by one day heard him
    talking in this way to the air, and, foolishly believing that he
    was talking to some maiden, went and told the secret to Procris,
    Cephalus's wife. Love is credulous. Procris, at the sudden shock,
    fainted away. Presently recovering, she said, "It cannot be true;
    I will not believe it unless I myself am a witness to it." So she
    waited, with anxious heart, till the next morning, when Cephalus
    went to hunt as usual. Then she stole out after him, and concealed
    herself in the place where the informer directed her. Cephalus
    came as he was wont when tired with sport, and stretched himself
    on the green bank, saying, "Come, sweet breeze, come and fan me;
    you know how I love you! you make the groves and my solitary
    rambles delightful." He was running on in this way when he heard,
    or thought he heard, a sound as of a sob in the bushes. Supposing
    it some wild animal, he threw his javelin at the spot. A cry from
    his beloved Procris told him that the weapon had too surely met
    its mark. He rushed to the place, and found her bleeding, and with
    sinking strength endeavoring to draw forth from the wound the
    javelin, her own gift. Cephalus raised her from the earth, strove
    to stanch the blood, and called her to revive and not to leave him
    miserable, to reproach himself with her death. She opened her
    feeble eyes, and forced herself to utter these few words: "I
    implore you, if you have ever loved me, if I have ever deserved
    kindness at your hands, my husband, grant me this last request; do
    not marry that odious Breeze!" This disclosed the whole mystery:
    but alas! what advantage to disclose it now! She died; but her
    face wore a calm expression, and she looked pityingly and
    forgivingly on her husband when he made her understand the truth.

    Moore, in his "Legendary Ballads," has one on Cephalus and
    Procris, beginning thus:

    "A hunter once in a grove reclined,
    To shun the noon's bright eye,
    And oft he wooed the wandering wind
    To cool his brow with its sigh
    While mute lay even the wild bee's hum,
    Nor breath could stir the aspen's hair,
    His song was still, 'Sweet Air, O come!'
    While Echo answered, 'Come, sweet Air!'"

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