Classic Myths | Page 3

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.
Diana, who drives the chariot of the Moon, heard the mad racket in the sky, and shooting
her arrows at the frightened horses, turned them aside in time to prevent them from
dashing her own silver car to pieces.
Earth cried for clouds and rain. The people of Africa became black because of the terrible
heat. Streams dried up, mountains burned, and the River Nile hid his head forever in a
desert. At last Earth cried in a husky voice to Jupiter, the ruler of the gods:
"What have I done that this punishment should come? Slay me, or save my people from
this burning!"
[Illustration: PHAETON FALLING FROM THE CHARIOT]
Jupiter, from his seat in the thunderclouds, saw the danger the heavens and the earth were
in, and hurled his lightnings at the rash driver. Phaeton fell dead from the chariot. From
morning till night, and from that night till morning, he fell like a shooting star, and sank

at last into an Italian river. His sisters trembled so at his fall and wept so bitterly that they
changed into poplar trees upon the river banks. Even to this day they mourn for him and
tremble at the least breeze from heaven. Apollo's horses, calmed by Jupiter's voice,
finally found the track. When evening came they entered the western gates of the sky and
were taken back, by way of the north, to their stalls near Apollo's palace.

WODEN, GOD OF THE NORTHERN SKY
Norse
Little Hilda Peterson sat by a table in her mother's room studying her spelling lesson.
Suddenly she startled her mother by giving the table a sharp rap with her pencil and
saying:
"What a queer name for a day! Why didn't the people who named the days give them
numbers instead of names? I can never remember how to spell Wednesday. What is the
use of the third letter in it?"
"My little girl, when you have finished your lesson I will tell you a story; then I think you
will always remember where the fourth day got its name."
It did not take Hilda many minutes to finish her studying, with the promise of a story
before her.
This is the old Norse tale her mother told:
"Long years ago, before our fatherland, Norway, became a Christian country, our people
were taught that they must worship many gods. Nearly all of these they feared; a very
few they loved. The greatest was Woden. When little children looked at the moon and
stars, they were told that Woden made them. When they asked about the clouds, everyone
said, 'Woden made them.'
[Illustration: WODEN]
"In the spring they were told that Woden made the leaves come and the flowers open. No
one knew the true God then. Everyone said that Woden lived in a beautiful city in the sky,
north of our own Northland. All the houses there were gold and silver, and the most
splendid one was Woden's royal palace. This was called Valhalla. To reach it one had to
ride or walk the whole length of the rainbow, as it arched from land to land. But there
was a sharp-eyed watchman at the gate who stopped anyone who had no right to cross
that seven-hued bridge.
"In Valhalla, Woden's people were always happy. They were never sick; they never died.
There were no little girls and no little boys in this golden palace, only soldiers; and some
of these were women! Woden often sent his shield-maidens, as they were called, to
battlefields to carry to Valhalla the souls of brave men. When the choosers of the slain

rode through the air, their glittering, shining robes and spears, and their swift horses made
a