Pyramus and Thisbe This story is written by the Latin writer Ovid.

Pyramus was the handsomest youth, and Thisbe the fairest maiden, in all Babylonia, where Semiramis reigned. Their parents occupied adjoining houses; and neighbourhood brought the young people together, and acquaintance ripened into love. They would gladly have married, but their parents forbade. One thing, however, they could not forbid- that love should glow with equal ardour in the bosoms of both. They conversed by signs and glances, and the fire burned more intensely for being covered up. In the wall that parted the two houses there was a crack, caused by some fault in the structure. No one had remarked it before, but the lovers discovered it. What will not love discover! It afforded a passage to the voice; and tender messages used to pass backward and forward through the gap. As they stood, Pyramus on this side, Thisbe on that, their breaths would mingle. "Cruel wall," they said, "Why do you keep two lovers apart? But we will not be ungrateful. We owe you, we confess, the privilege of transmitting loving words to willing, ears." Such words they uttered on different sides of the wall; and when night came and they must say farewell, they pressed their lips upon the wall, she on her side, he on his, as they could come no nearer. Next morning, when Aurora had put out the stars, and the sun had melted the frost from the grass, they met at the accustomed spot. Then, after lamenting their hard fate, they agreed that next night, when all was still, they would slip away from the watchful eyes, leave their dwellings and walk out into the fields; and to insure a meeting, repair to a well-known edifice standing without the city's bounds, called the Tomb of Ninus, and that the one who came first should await the other at the foot of a certain tree. It was a white mulberry tree, and stood near a cool spring. All was agreed on, and they waited impatiently for the sun to go down beneath the waters and night to rise up from them. Then cautiously Thisbe stole forth, unobserved by the family, her head covered with a veil, made her way to the monument and sat down under the tree. As she sat alone in the dim light of the evening she descried a lioness, her jaws reeking with recent slaughter, approaching the fountain to slake her thirst. Thisbe fled at the sight, and sought refuge in the hollow of a rock. As she fled she dropped her veil. The lioness after drinking at the spring turned to retreat to the woods, and seeing the veil on the ground, tossed and rent it with her bloody mouth.

Pyramus, having been delayed, now approached the place of meeting. He saw in the sand the footsteps of the lion, and the colour fled from his cheeks at the sight. Presently he found the veil all rent and bloody. "O hapless girl," said he, "I have been the cause of thy death! Thou, more worthy of life than I, hast fallen the first victim. I will follow. I am the guilty cause, in tempting thee forth to a place of such peril, and not being myself on the spot to guard thee. Come forth, ye lions, from the rocks, and tear this guilty body with your teeth." He took up the veil, carried it with him to the appointed tree, and covered it with kisses and with tears. "My blood also shall stain your texture," said he, and drawing his sword plunged it into his heart. The blood spurted from the wound, and tinged the white mulberries of the tree all red; and sinking into the earth reached the roots, so that the red colour mounted through the trunk to the fruit. By this time Thisbe, still trembling with fear, yet wishing not to disappoint her lover, stepped cautiously forth, looking anxiously for the youth, eager to tell him the danger she had escaped. When she came to the spot and saw the changed colour of the mulberries she doubted whether it was the same place. While she hesitated she saw the form of one struggling in the agonies of death. She started back, a shudder ran through her frame as a ripple on the face of the still water when a sudden breeze sweeps over it. But as soon as she recognized her lover, she screamed and beat her breast, embracing the lifeless body, pouring tears into its wounds, and imprinting kisses on the cold lips. "O Pyramus," she cried, "What has done this? Answer me, Pyramus; it is your own Thisbe that speaks. Hear me, dearest, and lift that drooping head!" At the name of Thisbe, Pyramus opened his eyes, then closed them again. She saw her veil stained blood and the scabbard empty of its sword. "Thy own hand has slain thee, and for my sake," she said. "I too can be brave for once, and my love is as strong as thine. I will follow thee in death, for I have been the cause; and death which alone could part us shall not prevent my joining thee. And ye, unhappy parents of us both, deny us not our united request. As love and death have joined us, let one tomb contain us. And thou, tree, retain the marks of slaughter. Let thy berries still serve for memorials of our blood." So saying she plunged the sword into her breast. Her parents ratified her wish, the gods also ratified it. The two bodies were buried in one sepulchre, and the tree ever after brought forth purple berries, as it does to this day.

Orpheus and Eurydice This story is writen by Virgil. The very earliest musicians were gods. Gods such as Athena, Hermes, and Apollo drew sounds so harmonious that the gods on Mount Olympus forget all else. Next to these gods came few mortals so admirable in their art that they almost equaled the great gods. One of these mortals

was Orpheus, son of one of the Muses and a Thracian prince. Orpheus was given the gift of music by his mother and that gift was nurtured by Thrace where he grew up. The Thracians were the most musically inclined peoples of Greece. Orpheus was unparalleled in skill when it came to mere mortals, his only rivals were the gods. No one and nothing could resist him. He had the ability to control both animate and inanimate objects. Little is known about Orpheus prior to his marriage, but it is known that he sailed with Jason on the Argo. He was proved quite useful because when the heroes were weak and weary or the rowing was immensely difficult he would play his lyre arousing the freshness in the heroes thus allowing them to continue on. Orpheus also saved the Argonauts from the Sirens, he played his lyre so as to hypnotize the Sirens and drive out all thoughts except the longing to hear more of his sweet music. The Argonauts than sailed off and set there course, if it were not for Orpheus the Argonauts surely would have become defunct. It is not told where he met his wife and how he courted her, but it is known that no maiden Orpheus desired could have resisted the power of his music. Sadly immediately after the wedding as Eurydice, his wife, walked in a meadow with her bridesmaids, a viper stung her and she died. Orpheus grief was so great that he vowed to go down to the world of death and try to bring Eurydice back. As he played his lyre, Cerberus relaxed his guard; the wheel of Ixion stood motionless; Sisiphus sat at rest upon his stone; Tantalus forgot his thirst; for the first time the faces of the horrific Furies, were wet with tears. No one under his spell could refuse him. The ruler of Hades and his queen granted Orpheus' wish and summoned Eurydice and gave her to him, but upon one condition: that he would not look back at her as she followed him, until they reached the upper world. As they exited the underworld, Orpheus knew Eurydice was following him but he longed to make sure. As he stepped out of the darkness into the light he turned back, but it was too soon Eurydice still hadn't exited the cavern and as he reached for her she disappeared with one last word "Farewell." He attempted to rush after her, but the gods would not consent to allowing Orpheus to enter the underworld a second time, while he was still alive. Overcome with grief, he forsook the company of men and wandered through the wild playing his melodious lyre. At last, a band of Maenads came upon him, they mutilated Orpheus, tearing him limb from limb, and flung his head into the swift river Hebrus. The Muses discovered his head at the Lesbian shore, still without change the head was intact. His limbs were gathered and placed in a tomb at the foot of Mount Olympus, and there to this day, the nightingales sing more sweetly than anywhere else.

Ceyx and Alcyone The story is written by Ovid. Ceyx, a king in Thessaly, was son of Lucifer, the light-bearer. His wife Alcyone was also of royal blood, she was daughter of Aeolus, King of the Winds. The two loved each other relentlessly, and forbade each other from every being apart. However a day came when Ceyx decided he must leave her to make a long journey across the sea. Various troubling matters convinced Ceyx to consult an oracle about his journey. When Alcyone learned of what Ceyx planned to do she was overwhelmed with grief and terror. She told Ceyx that he should not make this voyage for it was known how powerful the winds upon the sea are. Alcyone requested that if Ceyx go on the voyage that he take her with him for as they could endure anything that comes as longs as they were together. Ceyx was deeply moved by here love for him as it was no better than his love for her, but he held stead fast on his decision. Ceyx set out to sea and that very night a fierce storm broke over the sea. The winds all met in a mad hurricane and sheets of rain poured from the heavens. All the men on the boat, quivering with fear, except one man Ceyx who had the of Alcyone in his mind as he rejoiced at her safety. Her name was on his lips as the ship sank and the waters closed over him. Alcyone counted off the days. She kept herself busy weaving a robe for her husband to give to him upon his return and she made another robe for herself to be lovely in when he first saw her. Many times a day she prayed to the gods for him, to Juno most of all. The goddess was touched by the prayers for Alcyone did not know she was praying for a man who had fell to death. Juno summoned her messenger Iris and ordered her to go to the house of Somnus, God of Sleep, and bid him send a dream to Alcyone to tell her the truth about her husband. The old God of Sleep aroused his son, Morpheus, skilled in assuming the form of any and every human being, and he gave him Juno's orders. With noiseless wings he set forth and flew through the night and stood by Alcyone's bed. He had taken on the face of Ceyx drowned and dripping with water. As Ceyx had told Alcyone what happened on the ship she began to wake up as she did she reached to grasp Ceyx but it was to late he was gone. She told herself, "I will not leave you, my husband; I will not try to live." As the first rays of sunlight shone into her abode, she went to the shore, to the place where Ceyx had first departed. As she gazed seaward, for off in the water she saw something floating. The tide was setting and it brought this object closer and closer until she knew it was a dead body. Now it was close to the headland and she realized it was Ceyx, her husband. She ran and

leaped into the water crying, "Husband, dearest!" and then instead of sinking into the waves she began to fly over them. She had wings; her body was covered with feathers. She had been changed into a bird. The gods were kind. They did the same with Ceyx. Ceyx joined her in there flight, there love was unchanged. They are always seen together, flying and riding the waves. Every year there are seven days on end in which the sea lies still and calm. These are the days when Alcyone broods over her nest floating on the sea. After the young birds are hatched the charm is broken; but each and every winter these days of peace come, and they are called after her, Alcyon, or more commonly Halcyon days.

Pygmalion and Galatea This story is written by Ovid. Pygmalion, a gifted young sculptor of Cyprus, was a women-hater. He resolved never to marry. His art, he convinced himself, was enough for him. Nevertheless, the statue that he gave and devoted his life to was that of a women. He was bent on forming the perfect women, one that no man had seen before. He worked on it daily and it grew ever beautiful as his skillful fingers caressed it. When nothing could be added to make the statue perfect, a strange fate befitted its creator, Pygmalion had fallen in love with it. He kissed those enticing lips - they were unresponsive; he took her in his arms - she remained a cold and passive. For a time he tried to pretend, as children do with their toys. He would dress her in rich robes and imagine her affection responses and he would tuck her into bed as children do their dolls. This singular passion did not long remain concealed from the Goddess of Passionate Love, Venus. Venus was rarely interested in things that came her way, but this managed to grab her attention for it was a new kind of love. She was determined to help out this young man. The feast day of Venus was, of course, especially honored in Cyprus, the island that first received the goddess after she rose from the sea foam. Many a young man and women were bearing gifts of great magnitude, and so too was Pygmalion. Venus know what he desired and she favored his prayer by making the flame at the altar leap up to the heavens three times.

Having noticed this good omen, Pygmalion sought out his house and his love. He caresses her and than started back. Was it self-deception or did she really feel warm to his touch? He kissed her lips, a long lingering kiss, and felt them grow soft beneath his lips. He touched her arms, her shoulders; their hardness vanished. It was like watching wax soften in the sun. He clasped her wrist; blood was pulsing there. "Venus," he thought, "This was the goddess' doing." With unutterable gratitude and joy, he put his arms around his love and saw her smile into his eyes and blush. Venus herself graced their marriage with her presence, but it is not known what happened after that only that he soon named her Galatea, and that their son, Paphos, gave his name to Venus' favorite city.

Baucis and Philemon This story is written by Ovid. In the Phrygian hill-country, there were once two trees which all peasants near and far pointed out as a great marvel, and no wonder, for one was and oak and the other a linden, yet they grew from a single trunk. The story of how this came about is proof of the immeasurable power of the gods, and also of the way they reward the humble and religious. Sometimes when Jupiter grew tired of eating ambrosia, drinking nectar, and even a little weary of hearing Apollo's lyre and watching the Graces dance, he would come down to earth. He would disguise himself as a mere mortal and would often travel with Mercury for he was shrewd and resourceful. On this voyage to earth, it was their attempt to see what hospitality lie on earth, for it was he who was protector of all who seek shelter in a strange land. The two gods accordingly, took on the appearance of lowly vagabonds. They walked door to door asking each home owner to admit them and provide food, but none would let them enter and the door was often barred to them. However as they reached the last house, one of which was poorer than all the rest, the door opened and a warm and cheerful voice bade them enter. As they entered, the old man set a bench near the fire and told them to rest and stretch out their tired limbs. The old women threw a soft covering over it. Her name was Philemon, she told the strangers, and her husband's Baucis. As the visitors sat at the dining table, they noticed that one leg was propped up by a piece of broken dish for it was shorter than the rest.

As they served the food and the diluted wine, the couple realized that the mixing bowl kept full no matter how much had been taken out. As they saw this, their eyes were overcome with terror and dropping their eyes they prayed silently. Instead of trembling, they told their guests they had a goose and the old man attempted to catch the goose but failed in doing so. But when both painted exhausted from the chase the gods felt that is was time to take some action. "You have been hosts to gods," they said, "and you shall have your reward. This wicked country which despises the poor shall be punished, but not you." They then led the elderly couple out of the hut and then the elderly couple so in amazement as the country-side side that they had known before had disappeared. A great lake surrounded them. There lowly hut began to change into a stately pillared temple of whitest marble with a golden roof. The god granted the two a wish, and as they did so they couple huddled and whispered. The couple had two requests, one that they become priest of this temple and two that they never die alone, and that they may die together. The gods agreed and were pleased with the two. A long time they served in the the grand edifice. By now they were in extreme old age. Suddenly as they exchanged memories of there former life, each saw the other put forth leaves. Hen bark grew around them both. They had time only to cry, "Farewell, dear companion." As the words passed their lips they became trees, but still they were together. The linden and the oak grew from one trunk.

Endymion This story is written by the 3rd century poet, Theocritus. This young man, whose name is so famous, has a very short history. Some poets say he was a kind, some a hunter, but most of them say he was a shepherd. All agree that he was of surpassing beauty and that was the cause of his unique fate. As Endymion guarded his flock of sheep she, the Moon Selene, often looked over him in love. She often came down to Earth to caress Endymion and stare at his gracefulness in sleep. In all the stories about him he sleeps forever, immortal, but never conscious. Night after night the Moon covered him with her kisses. It is said that this eternal slumber was her doing. She lulled him to sleep so as to be able to find him and caress him as she so pleased. But it is said, too, that her passion brings her only a burden of pain, fraught with many sighs.

Daphne

This story is by Ovid. This young lady, a love-marriage hating young huntress who are met with so often in the Mythological stories. She said to have been Apollo's first love. Daphne did not want any mortal or immortal lovers. Her father was the river-god Peneus. Peneus grew tired because she refused the hand of all young men who wooed her and often asked Daphne "Am I never to have a grandson?" She insisted on being like Diana. He would yield and she would be off deep in the woods, a huntress at work. But at last Apollo saw her, and everything ended for her. As she was hunting Apollo began to chase after her but seeing as she was a highly skilled runner it took some time, but as was expected Apollo caught up to her as she reached the bank of her father's river. Bark began to form around her enclosing her; leaves set forth. She had been changed into a tree, a laurel. Apollo watched the transformation in grief and dismay. "O fairest of maidens, you are lost to me," he mourned. "But at least you shall be my tree. With your leaves my victors shall wreathe their brows. You shall have your part in all my triumphs. Apollo and his laurel shall be joined together wherever songs are sung and stories are told." The exquisite shinning-leaved tree appeared to nod its waving head as if in happy consent.

Alpheus and Arethusa This story is written by Ovid. Arethusa, yet another huntress who loved the comfort of the deep woods. She detested love and marriage and vowed never to marry. One day, as she was tired and hot from the chase, she came upon a crystal-clear river deeply shaded in silvery willows. She undressed and bathed in the river, which was a place that was perfect for bathing. For a while, she swam to and fro, until she began to feel something below her. She sprang up from the river and stood on the bank, as she heard a voice that said "Why such haste fairest maiden?" Without looking back she fled in terror. With all the speed that she could muster up, she kept running and running, but still she was pursued by one stranger, he told her he was the god of the river, Alpheus, and that he was following her only out of absolute love. But she wanted no part of him and yet he unsparingly followed. Arethusa called to her god, Artemis, she changed her into a spring of water, and split the earth so a tunnel was

made under the sea from Greece to Sicily. Arethusa plunged down and emerged in Ortygia, where the place in which her spring bubbles up is holy ground, sacred to Artemis. But it is said that she is still not free of Alpheus. The story is that the god changed back into a river, followed her through the tunnel and the now his water mingles with hers in the fountain. They say that often Greek flowers are seen coming up from the bottom, and that if a wooden cup is thrown into the Alpheus in Greece, it would reappear in Arethusa's well in Sicily.