Aurora has parted the curtains of morning--

The adamant Phaëthon’s cue to depart.

Ignoring the counsel of Pheobus his father,

The brash adolescent will guide the sun’s cart.

Fair Clymene’s son ponders naught but the glory

That at the day’s end unto him will redound.

The powerful Apollo is powerless to stop him;

His hands with an oath he has foolishly bound.

Soon Phaëthon falters and, sensing their freedom,

The steeds arbitrarily rise and descend.

When close to the earth flies their fiery cargo,

A thunderbolt, Zeus thrown, spells Phaëthon’s end.

Why, O Apollo, didst Thou not allow