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Prometheus And Pandora

Those who are interested in watching the mental development of a child must have noted that when the baby has learned to speak even a little, it begins to show its growing intelligence by asking questions. "What is this?" it would seem at first to ask with regard to simple things that to it are still mysteries. Soon it arrives at the more far-reaching inquiries--"Why is this so?" "How did this happen?" And as the child's mental growth continues, the painstaking and conscientious parent or guardian is many times faced by questions which lack of knowledge, or a sensitive honesty, prevents... Short Stories - Post by : ke398 - Date : May 2011 - Author : Jeanie Lang - Read : 3618

Pygmalion

In days when the world was young and when the gods walked on the earth, there reigned over the island of Cyprus a sculptor-king, and king of sculptors, named Pygmalion. In the language of our own day, we should call him "wedded to his art." In woman he only saw the bane of man. Women, he believed, lured men from the paths to which their destiny called them. While man walked alone, he walked free--he had given no "hostages to fortune." Alone, man could live for his art, could combat every danger that beset him, could escape, unhampered, from every pitfall... Short Stories - Post by : evie16 - Date : May 2011 - Author : Jeanie Lang - Read : 2879

Phaeton

"The road, to drive on which unskilled were Phaeton's hands." Dante--_Purgatorio_. To Apollo, the sun-god, and Clymene, a beautiful ocean-nymph, there was born in the pleasant land of Greece a child to whom was given the name of Phaeton, the Bright and Shining One. The rays of the sun seemed to live in the curls of the fearless little lad, and when at noon other children would seek the cool shade of the cypress groves, Phaeton would hold his head aloft and gaze fearlessly up at the brazen sky from whence fierce heat beat down upon his golden head. "Behold, my... Short Stories - Post by : john2 - Date : May 2011 - Author : Jeanie Lang - Read : 3084

Apollo And Daphne

Conqueror of all conquerable earth, yet not always victorious over the heart of a maid was the golden-locked Apollo. As mischievous Eros played one day with his bow and arrows, Apollo beheld him and spoke to him mockingly. "What hast thou to do with the weapons of war, saucy lad?" he said. "Leave them for hands such as mine, that know full well how to wield them. Content thyself with thy torch, and kindle flames, if indeed thou canst, but such bolts as thy white young arms can drive will surely not bring scathe to god nor to man." Then did... Short Stories - Post by : GetFitIn2004 - Date : May 2011 - Author : Jeanie Lang - Read : 1999

Psyche

Those who read for the first time the story of Psyche must at once be struck by its kinship to the fairy tales of childhood. Here we have the three sisters, the two elder jealous and spiteful, the youngest beautiful and gentle and quite unable to defend herself against her sisters' wicked arts. Here, too, is the mysterious bridegroom who is never seen and who is lost to his bride because of her lack of faith. Truly it is an old, old tale--older than all fairy tales--the story of love that is not strong enough to believe and to wait, and... Short Stories - Post by : carrmedia - Date : May 2011 - Author : Jeanie Lang - Read : 2164

Atalanta

Atalanta, daughter of the king of Arcadia, returned sad at heart to her own land. Only as comrades, as those against whose skill in the chase she was wont to pit her own skill, had she looked upon men. But Meleager, the hero who loved her and her fair honour more than life itself, and whose love had made him haste in all his gallant strength and youthful beauty to the land of the Shades, was one to touch her as never before had she been touched. Her father, proud of her triumph in Calydon, again besought her to marry one... Short Stories - Post by : Jeff_Ray - Date : May 2011 - Author : Jeanie Lang - Read : 1915

Idas And Marpessa

By day, while the sun-god drove his chariot in the high heavens and turned the blue-green AEgean Sea into the semblance of a blazing shield of brass, Idas and Marpessa sat together in the trees' soft shades, or walked in shadowy valleys where violets and wild parsley grew, and where Apollo rarely deigned to come. At eventide, when, in royal splendour of purple and crimson and gold, Apollo sought his rest in the western sky, Idas and Marpessa wandered by the seashore watching the little wavelets softly kissing the pebbles on the beach, or climbed to the mountain side from whence... Short Stories - Post by : majorian - Date : May 2011 - Author : Jeanie Lang - Read : 4228

Perseus The Hero

"We call such a man a hero in English to this day, and call it a 'heroic' thing to suffer pain and grief, that we may do good to our fellow-men." Charles Kingsley.In the pleasant land of Argos, now a place of unwholesome marshes, once upon a time there reigned a king called Acrisius, the father of one fair daughter. Danae was her name, and she was very dear to the king until a day when he longed to know what lay hid for him in the lap... Short Stories - Post by : zoomingads - Date : May 2011 - Author : Jeanie Lang - Read : 3117

Hyacinthus

... "The sad death Of Hyacinthus, when the cruel breath Of Zephyr slew him--Zephyr penitent Who now, ere Phoebus mounts the firmament, Fondles the flower amid the sobbing rain." Keats."Whom the gods love die young"--truly it would seem so, as we read the old tales of men and of women beloved of the gods. To those men who were deemed worthy of being companions of the gods, seemingly no good fortune came. Yet, after all, if even in a brief span of life they had tasted god-given happiness,... Short Stories - Post by : jbsmith - Date : May 2011 - Author : Jeanie Lang - Read : 1448

King Midas Of The Golden Touch

In the plays of Shakespeare we have three distinct divisions--three separate volumes. One deals with Tragedy, another with Comedy, a third with History; and a mistake made by the young in their aspect of life is that they do the same thing, and keep tragedy and comedy severely apart, relegating them to separate volumes that, so they think, have nothing to do with each other. But those who have passed many milestones on the road know that "_History_" is the only right label for the Book of Life's many parts, and that the actors in the great play are in truth... Short Stories - Post by : nuffcashmoney - Date : May 2011 - Author : Jeanie Lang - Read : 4310

Ceyx And Halcyone

"St. Martin's summer, halcyon days." _King Henry VI_, i. 2, 131. "Halcyon days"--how often is the expression made use of, how seldom do its users realise from whence they have borrowed it. "These were halcyon days," says the old man, and his memory wanders back to a time when for him "All the world is young, lad, And all the trees are green; And every goose a swan, lad, And every lass a queen."Yet the story of Halcyone is one best to be understood... Short Stories - Post by : Scott_Doppke - Date : May 2011 - Author : Jeanie Lang - Read : 2186

Aristaeus The Bee-keeper

"... Every sound is sweet; Myriads of rivers hurrying thro' the lawn, The moan of doves in immemorial elms, And murmuring of innumerable bees." Tennyson.In the fragrance of the blossom of the limes the bees are gleaning a luscious harvest. Their busy humming sounds like the surf on a reef heard from very far away, and would almost lull to sleep those who lazily, drowsily spend the sunny summer afternoon in the shadow of the trees. That line of bee-hives by the sweet-pea hedge shows... Short Stories - Post by : anthony1776 - Date : May 2011 - Author : Jeanie Lang - Read : 1294

Proserpine

"Sacred Goddess, Mother Earth, Thou from whose immortal bosom, Gods, and men, and beasts have birth, Leaf and blade, and bud and blossom, Breathe thine influence most divine On thine own child, Proserpine. If with mists of evening dew Thou dost nourish those young flowers Till they grow, in scent and hue, Fairest children of the hours, Breathe thine influence most divine On thine own child, Proserpine."... Short Stories - Post by : MikeRob - Date : May 2011 - Author : Jeanie Lang - Read : 2849

Latona And The Rustics

Through the tropic nights their sonorous, bell-like booming can be heard coming up from the marshes, and when they are unseen, the song of the bull-frogs would suggest creatures full of solemn dignity. The croak of their lesser brethren is less impressive, yet there is no escape from it on those evenings when the dragon-flies' iridescent wings are folded in sleep, and the birds in the branches are still, when the lilies on the pond have closed their golden hearts, and even the late-feeding trout have ceased to plop and to make eddies in the quiet water. "Krroak! krroak! krroak!" they... Short Stories - Post by : brynjar - Date : May 2011 - Author : Jeanie Lang - Read : 1457

Echo And Narcissus

In the solitudes of the hills we find her, and yet we may come on her unawares in the din of a noisy city. She will answer us where the waves are lashing themselves against the rugged cliffs of our own British coast, or we may find her where the great yellow pillars of fallen temples lie hot in the sun close to the vivid blue water of the African sea. At nightfall, on the lonely northern moors, she mimics the cry of a wailing bird that calls for its mate, but it is she who prolongs the roll of the... Short Stories - Post by : geoall28 - Date : May 2011 - Author : Jeanie Lang - Read : 2736

Icarus

Fourteen years only have passed since our twentieth century began. In those fourteen years how many a father's and mother's heart has bled for the death of gallant sons, greatly-promising, greatly-daring, who have sought to rule the skies? With wings not well enough tried, they have soared dauntlessly aloft, only to add more names to the tragic list of those whose lives have been sacrificed in order that the groping hands of science may become sure, so that in time the sons of men may sail through the heavens as fearlessly as their fathers sailed through the seas. High overhead we... Short Stories - Post by : peterwarrior - Date : May 2011 - Author : Jeanie Lang - Read : 2237

Clytie

The sunbeams are basking on the high walls of the old garden--smiling on the fruit that grows red and golden in their warmth. The bees are humming round the bed of purple heliotrope, and drowsily murmuring in the shelter of the soft petals of the blush roses whose sweetness brings back the fragrance of days that are gone. On the old grey sundial the white-winged pigeons sleepily croon as they preen their snowy plumage, and the Madonna lilies hang their heads like a procession of white-robed nuns who dare not look up from telling their beads until the triumphal procession of... Short Stories - Post by : pagelockprocom - Date : May 2011 - Author : Jeanie Lang - Read : 2256

The Cranes Of Ibycus

"For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak With most miraculous organ." Shakespeare.Ibycus, the poet friend of Apollo, was a happy man as he journeyed on foot through the country where the wild flowers grew thick and the trees were laden with blossom towards the city of Corinth. His tuneful voice sang snatches of song of his own making, and ever and again he would try how his words and music sounded on his lyre. He was light of heart, because ever had he thought of good, and not evil,... Short Stories - Post by : jtl456 - Date : May 2011 - Author : Jeanie Lang - Read : 3473

Syrinx

"Is it because the wild-wood passion still lingers in our hearts, because still in our minds the voice of Syrinx lingers in melancholy music, the music of regret and longing, that for most of us there is so potent a spell in running waters?" Fiona Macleod.As the evening shadows lengthen, and the night wind softly steals through the trees, touching with restless fingers the still waters of the little lochans that would fain have rest, there can be heard a long, long... Short Stories - Post by : romecentral - Date : May 2011 - Author : Jeanie Lang - Read : 3520

The Death Of Adonis

"The fairest youth that ever maiden's dream conceived." Lewis Morris. The ideally beautiful woman, a subject throughout the centuries for all the greatest powers of sculptor's and painter's art, is Venus, or Aphrodite, goddess of beauty and of love. And he who shares with her an unending supremacy of perfection of form is not one of the gods, her equals, but a mortal lad, who was the son of a king. As Aphrodite sported one day with Eros, the little god of love, by accident she wounded herself with one of his arrows. And straightway there came into her heart a... Short Stories - Post by : markmarchi - Date : May 2011 - Author : Jeanie Lang - Read : 1484

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