Then to your father, you sped, Clythia,
Complained to him about your sister’s love,
And in his rage, the angered aged king
Ordered his daughter be entombed alive,
The black-haired, pale and fair Leucothea,
To still your jealousy and cleanse the family name.
Then longingly you waited, Clythia,
Upon the hill where once he used to come
And had to come . . .
The God did not return.
At length you saw his golden chariot
Pass gloriously across the grey-blue skies,
And you gazed after him so sadly, longingly,
That your eyes and head grew feeble with fatigue.
He came and passed on toward the distant sea;
He went his way . . . but you waited still in vain.
The evening chills cast dew drops in your hair
Whose gold was ruffled by the evening winds,
But you cared not . . . and waited . . . waited on.
You feebly turned your weary, yearning head
Yon where the pink-tinged Morning Star prepared
To open wide the heaven’s shining gates . . .
Again he rode across the azure path
And after him you turned your aching head
Trying to capture with a saddened eye
Just one bright look from out the skies above.
But all in vain . . . . He sped toward the distant sea
And disappeared . . . and you waited still in vain.
He pitied you and with compassion which
Is only alms for Love that was and fled,
He changed you to a golden floweret,
The fate of mortals who had aught to do
With the Gods who ruled upon Olympus’ heights.
But deep within you. Love lived on for e’er;
Your golden head kept turning on its stem
Seeking your lover’s golden chariot.
O Clythia . . . no longer does he trespass
Across the heavens in his chariot,
Your faithless lover, light haired Hellius.
Though God immortal, he too has passed away,
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