a feather riding the wind. It was holiday for the horses of the Sun,
and away they went.

Grasping the reins that dragged him after, like an enemy, Phaethon
looked down from the fearful ascent and saw the Earth far beneath him,
dim and fair. He was blind with dizziness and bewilderment. His hold
slackened and the horses redoubled their speed, wild with new liberty.
They left the old tracks. Before he knew where he was, they had
startled the constellations and well-nigh grazed the Serpent, so that
it woke from its torpor and hissed.

The steeds took fright. This way and that they went, terrified by the
monsters they had never encountered before, shaking out of their silver
quiet the cool stars towards the north, then fleeing as far to the
south among new wonders. The heavens were full of terror.

Up, far above the clouds, they went, and down again, towards the
defenceless Earth, that could not flee from the chariot of the Sun.
Great rivers hid themselves in the ground, and mountains were consumed.
Harvests perished like a moth that is singed in a candle-flame.

In vain did Phaethon call to the horses and pull upon the reins. As in
a hideous dream, he saw his own Earth, his beautiful home and the home
of all men, his kindred, parched by the fires of this mad chariot, and
blackening beneath him. The ground cracked open and the sea shrank.
Heedless water-nymphs, who had lingered in the shallows, were left
gasping like bright fishes. The dryads shrank, and tried to cover
themselves from the scorching heat. The poor Earth lifted her withered
face in a last prayer to Zeus to save them if he might.