"Brave son, ask what you will, the gift is yours."

Quicker than a flash from his father's crown came the question
from Phaeton:

"Will you let me for one day drive your chariot?"

Foolish father, foolish son! Apollo shook his head three times in
warning.

"I have spoken rashly. This one thing no mortal can achieve. Nor can any
immortal save myself hold in the horses that draw the fiery car of day.
It is not honor, but death you ask. Change your wish."

Phaeton answered:

"My mother taught me that my father always kept his promises."

"It is even so, rash boy. If you do not change, neither can I. Bring the
chariot of the Sun."

The daring child stood beside the glorious car that was higher than
his head. His eyes flashed bright as the diamonds that studded the
back of the golden chariot. The golden axle gleamed through the silver
spokes, for the chariot was made of naught but gold and silver and
precious stones.

Then Early Dawn threw open the purple doors of the eastern sky. The
stars, answering the signal of the Day Star, slowly passed from sight,
followed by their marshal.