Beautiful, equal to the Olympian gods themselves in his beauty, the young son of the king of Sparta, Hyacinth, was a friend of the arrow god Apollo. Apollo often appeared on the banks of the Eurotas in Sparta to visit his friend and spent time there with him, hunting along the mountain slopes in densely overgrown forests or having fun with gymnastics, in which the Spartans were so skilled.
One day, when the hot afternoon was approaching, Apollo and Hyacinth competed in throwing a heavy discus. The bronze disk flew higher and higher into the sky. So, straining his strength, the mighty god Apollo threw the disc. The disk flew high to the very clouds and, sparkling like a star, fell to the ground. Hyacinth ran to the place where the disk was supposed to fall. He wanted to quickly pick it up and throw it in order to show Apollo that he, the young athlete, was not inferior to him, the god, in his ability to throw the discus. The disk fell to the ground, bounced off the blow and with terrible force hit the head of Hyacinth, who ran up. Hyacinth fell to the ground with a groan. Scarlet blood gushed from the wound in a stream and stained the dark curls of the beautiful young man.
A frightened Apollo ran up. He bent over his friend, lifted him up, placed his bloody head on his lap and tried to stop the blood flowing from the wound. But it's all in vain. Hyacinth turns pale. Hyacinth's clear eyes always dim, his head bows helplessly, like the corolla of a wildflower withering in the scorching midday sun. Apollo exclaimed in despair:
- You are dying, my dear friend! Oh, woe, woe! You died by my hand! Why did I throw the disk! Oh, if I could atone for my guilt and descend with you into the joyless kingdom of the souls of the dead! Why am I immortal, why can’t I follow you!
Apollo holds his dying friend tightly in his arms and his tears fall onto Hyacinth’s bloody curls. Hyacinth died and his soul flew off to the kingdom of Hades. Apollo stands over the body of the deceased and quietly whispers:
“You will always live in my heart, beautiful Hyacinth.” May the memory of you live forever among people.
And so, according to the word of Apollo, from the blood of Hyacinth a scarlet, fragrant flower grew - hyacinth, and on its petals the groan of grief of the god Apollo was imprinted. The memory of Hyacinth is still alive among people; they honor him with festivities on the days of hyacinths.
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru