The Hours obeyed Apollo's orders, and, harnessing the horses, led out
the wondrous creatures and fastened them to the chariot.

Apollo bathed Phaeton's face with ointment, and taking up the crown of
shining rays, fastened it on the rash boy's head.

With a sigh, he said:

"My son, you will at least take my advice in one thing: spare the whip
and hold tight the lines. You will see the marks of the wheels where I
have gone before, and they will guide. Go not too high or you will burn
the heavens, nor too low or you will set your mother's home, the earth,
on fire. The middle course is best. Take the reins, or, if even now you
will change your wish, abide here, and yield the car to me."

Phaeton leaped into the golden chariot, and with a proud smile thanked
his father. Then he gave the word to the horses.

They darted forward through the morning clouds with the fury of a
tempest. Men on the earth thought it was noonday and tried to do double
their daily work. The fiery horses soon found their load was light, and
that the hands on the reins were frail. They dashed aside from their
path, until the fierce heat made the Great and the Little Bear long to
plunge into the sea.

Poor Phaeton, looking down on the earth, grew pale and shook with
terror. He wished that he had never seen these shining steeds, had never
sought the palace of the Sun, and that he had never held his father to
that rash promise.