Now Phoebus' had sworn by the black river Styx, an oath that none of
the gods dare break, and he was forced to keep his promise.

Already Aurora, goddess of dawn, had thrown open the gates of the east
and the stars were beginning to wane. The Hours came forth to harness
the four horses, and Phaethon looked with exultation at the splendid
creatures, whose lord he was for a day. Wild, immortal steeds they
were, fed with ambrosia, untamed as the winds; their very pet names
signified flame, and all that flame can do,--Pyrois, Eoues, Aethon,
Phlegon.

As the lad stood by, watching, Phoebus anointed his face with a philter
that should make him strong to endure the terrible heat and light, then
set the halo upon his head, with a last word of counsel.

"Follow the road," said he, "and never turn aside. Go not too high or
too low, for the sake of heavens and earth; else men and gods will
suffer. The Fates alone know whether evil is to come of this. Yet if
your heart fails you, as I hope, abide here and I will make the
journey, as I am wont to do."

But Phaethon held to his choice and bade his father farewell. He took
his place in the chariot, gathered up the reins, and the horses sprang
away, eager for the road.

As they went, they bent their splendid necks to see the meaning of the
strange hand upon the reins,--the slender weight in the chariot. They
turned their wild eyes upon Phaethon, to his secret foreboding, and
neighed one to another. This was no master-charioteer, but a mere lad,