belovedoftwogods: (Default)
"You also, Amyclides [i.e. Hyakinthos, son of Amyklas], would have been set in the sky! if Phoebus [Apollon] had been given time which the cruel fates denied for you. But in a way you are immortal too. Though you have died. Always when warm spring drives winter out, and Aries (the Ram) succeeds to Pisces (watery Fish), you rise and blossom on the green turf. And the love my father had for you was deeper than he felt for others. Delphi center of the world, had no presiding guardian, while the god frequented the Eurotas and the land of Sparta, never fortified with walls. His zither and his bow no longer fill his eager mind and now without a thought of dignity, he carried nets and held the dogs in leash, and did not hesitate to go with Hyacinthus on the rough, steep mountain ridges; and by all of such associations, his love was increased. Now Titan was about midway, betwixt the coming and the banished night, and stood at equal distance from those two extremes. Then, when the youth and Phoebus were well stripped, and gleaming with rich olive oil, they tried a friendly contest with the discus. First Phoebus, well-poised, sent it awhirl through air, and cleft the clouds beyond with its broad weight; from which at length it fell down to the earth, a certain evidence of strength and skill. Heedless of danger Taenarides [Hyacinthus] rushed for eager glory of the game, resolved to get the discus. But it bounded back from off the hard earth, and struck full against your face, O Hyacinthus! Deadly pale the God's face went--as pallid as the boy's. With care he lifted the sad huddled form.



The kind god tries to warm you back to life, and next endeavors to attend your wound, and stay your parting soul with healing herbs. His skill is no advantage, for the wound is past all art of cure. As if someone, when in a garden, breaks off violets, poppies, or lilies hung from golden stems, then drooping they must hang their withered heads, and gaze down towards the earth beneath them; so, the dying boy's face droops, and his bent neck, a burden to itself, falls back upon his shoulder : `You are fallen in your prime defrauded of your youth, O Oebalides [Hyakinthos]!' Moaned Apollo. `I can see in your sad wound my own guilt, and you are my cause of grief and self-reproach. My own hand gave you death unmerited--I only can be charged with your destruction.--What have I done wrong? Can it be called a fault to play with you? Should loving you be called a fault? And oh, that I might now give up my life for you! Or die with you! But since our destinies prevent us you shall always be with me, and you shall dwell upon my care-filled lips. The lyre struck by my hand, and my true songs will always celebrate you. A new flower you shall arise, with markings on your petals, close imitation of my constant moans: and there shall come another to be linked with this new flower, a valiant hero shall be known by the same marks upon its petals.'



And while Phoebus, Apollo, sang these words with his truth-telling lips, behold the blood of Hyacinthus, which had poured out on the ground beside him and there stained the grass, was changed from blood; and in its place a flower, more beautiful than Tyrian dye, sprang up. It almost seemed a lily, were it not that one was purple and the other white. But Phoebus was not satisfied with this. For it was he who worked the miracle of his sad words inscribed on flower leaves. These letters AI, AI, are inscribed on them. And Sparta certainly is proud to honor Hyacinthus as her son; and his loved fame endures; and every year they celebrate his solemn festival."

-------------------------------------

taken from THIS fabulous web source. 


belovedoftwogods: (Classical: Statuesque)
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of the contents of this post. They are all various (usually antique) poems, paintings and statuary. As I am a master of none of these things, nor am I immortal, I obviously do not own them.

Hyacinthus

by Olive Custance
(Lady Alfred Douglas, the wife of Lord Alfred Douglas, the ex-lover of Oscar Wilde) 


Fair boy, how gay the morning must have seemed
Before the fatal game that murdered thee!
Of such a dawn my wistful heart has dreamed:
Surely I too have lived in Arcady
When Spring, lap-full of roses, ran to meet
While Aphrodite risen from the sea...

Perchance I saw thee then, so glad and fleet,
Hasten to greet Apollo, stoop to bind
The gold and jewelled sandals on his feet,
While he so radiant, so divinely kind,
Lured thee with honeyed words to be his friend,
All heedless of thy fate, for Love is blind.

For Love is blind and cruel, and the end
Of every joy is sorrow and distress.
And when immortal creatures lightly bend
To kiss the lips of simple loveliness,
Swords are unsheathed in silence, and clouds rise,
Some God is jealous of the mute caress...

But who shall mourn thy death - ah, not the wise?
Better to perish in thy happiest hour,
To close in sight of beauty thy dark eyes,
And, dying so, be changed into a flower,
Than that the stealthy and relentless years
Should steal that grave which was thy only dower.

And bring thee in return dull cares and tears,
And difficult day and sickness and despair...
Oh, not for thee the griefs and sordid fears
That, like a burden, trembling age must bear;
Slain in thy youth, by the sweet hands of love,
Thou shalt remain for ever young and fair.
belovedoftwogods: (Classical: Statuesque)
Name: Hyacinthus, often adapted to Hyacinth(e)
Canon: Classical literature/mythology (for something different, click here for an audio dramatization)
Played By: Jeremy DuFour (source is Hollow Art

Information
Hyacinthus was a youth of great beauty and athletic prowess, a prince of the proud and mighty nation-state of Sparta. He won many suitors in his life. Some say Thamyris, a Thracian poet and musician loved him first. Thamyris was the first to ever love another male, and his love for Hyacinthus is therefore the wellspring of all love that is customarily exchanged between men in Greece, particularly in the Spartan regions where Hyacinth is worshipped.

The most well-known and tragic story of Hyacinthus tells of how he came to be loved by both Apollo, the god of the sun, and by Zephyr the young and brash god of the West Wind. Often while Apollo left his lover unattended to oversee one of his many duties as a god of so many aspects, Zephyr would steal Hyacinth away

His lovers, bored of their own quarreling and each assured of his own success, gave Hyacinth the choice between the two of them, proposing a contest of sorts for his affections. Zephyr made a great show of his power, knocking over trees and blowing dust all about. Apollo produced a shining arrow which he shot into the air and in its wake were remnants of songs and pleasure which stole Hyacinthe's attention and with it, the youth's heart. He chose Apollo to be his lover.

As was accustomed, Apollo was Hyacinth’s mentor and friend, as well as the one who took the youth in his arms and into his bed. He taught Hyacinth poetry and how to play the lyre. But the joy the two most often shared was a game of throwing the discus back and forth, running themselves to exhaustion, naked and sun-baked upon the plains below Olympus.

It was on one such occasion that Hyacinth’s tale turns sorrowful. Apollo had made an especially fine throw and Hyacinth raced to catch the discus before it fell, eager to impress his divine lover with his skill. Zephyr, who watched in jealousy, seized his chance. He blew the discus off course and Hyacinth failed to catch it and it struck the youth a fatal blow. Even Apollo could not help him, or else did not reach him in time, for the boy died in his arms. So great was Apollo’s sorrow and his love that he could not give Hyacinth up to Hades but instead turned the boy into a flower, white with the centers stained dark with the boy’s blood, so named the Hyacinthe.

As a deity whose cults are practiced primarily in Sparta, Hyacinth oversees the festival which bears his name, the Hyacinthia, which honors Apollo but which also sets aside a day for mourning the divine hero as well as a day for celebrating his rebirth.

Verses: 
Modern!Hyacinth
Being a minor god symbolizing rebirth (and love between men), Hyacinthe has been reincarnated several times. He has not merely lived since his own time, but lived and died again and again and again after his initial murder at the hands of Zephyrus.
At present he is living as Hyacinth Virag, a 21 year old university student who works various part-time jobs (most frequently checking IDs at the university gym) and was semi-passionately pursing various track-and-field disciplines. Unsurprisingly, his top events were javelin and—with some measure of cruel irony, the discus.
In a similarly cruel twist of fate, he was hit by one of the discus on the practice field when he was 19 and badly injured. However, history did not repeat itself, thanks to modern medicine. The blow to his temporal lobe, however, did some lasting damage. He has some memory trouble, spatial perception issues and when he is particularly exhausted, may mix up words. He is distraction-prone and sometimes falls into episodes of depression or irritability. He bears a scar from the accident across his brow, reminiscent of the wound struck by his old lover.
That said, he is lively young man with a passion for music and sports and starts each and every day watching the sunrise.

He does remember what happened to him during his life as a mortal, and he has vague memories of his death, though because of either genuine lack of memory or because of a strong sense of denial, he refuses to acknowledge Zepyhrus as his murderer.



Injury: Go for it. While god-modding is of course considered rude, I happily roll with the punches.
Death: Negotiable, PM me.
Sexuality and smut policy: Bisexual, but most sexually familiar and comfortable with men. Open for smut, PM or tag in the proper comm.

Disclaimer:  **Both muse and typist are over 18**Journal and associated content are for frivolity only. I have no claim to Jeremy DuFour, the PB associated with this account.** Journal and associated content are for creative (RP) purposes only and no profit is being made.**

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Prince Hyacinthe of Sparta

February 2012

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