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Hyacinth

Beautiful, equal to the Olympian gods themselves in his beauty, the young son of the king of Sparta, Hyacinth, was a friend of the god of the archer Apollo. Apollo often appeared on the banks of the Eurotas in Sparta to his friend and there spent time with him, hunting along the slopes of the mountains in the densely overgrown forests or having fun with gymnastics, in which the Spartans were so skilled.

One day, when it was already hot noon, Apollo and Hyacinth competed in throwing a heavy disc. Higher and higher the bronze disk soared to the sky. Here, straining his strength, the mighty god Apollo threw the disc. A disk flew high up to the 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 pick it up and throw it as soon as possible to show Apollo that he, a young athlete, would not be inferior to him, God, in the ability to throw a disc. The disk fell to the ground, bounced off the impact and hit the Hyacinth running up with terrible force in the head. Hyacinth fell to the ground with a groan. A stream of scarlet blood gushed from the wound and dyed the dark curls of the beautiful young man.

A frightened Apollo ran up. He bent over his friend, lifted him up, put his bloody head on his knees and tried to stop the blood pouring from the wound. But all in vain. Hyacinth pales. Hyacinth's clear eyes are always dimming, his head is bowing powerlessly, like a corolla of a wildflower wilting in the scorching midday sun. Apollo exclaimed in despair:

- You're 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 realm 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 on Hyacinth's bloody curls. Hyacinth died, his soul flew away to the kingdom of Hades. Apollo stands over the body of the deceased and whispers softly:

- You will always live in my heart, beautiful Hyacinth. May the memory of you live forever among people.

And according to the word of Apollo, a scarlet, fragrant hyacinth flower grew out of the blood of Hyacinth, and the groan of the grief of the god Apollo was imprinted on its petals. The memory of Hyacinth is also alive among people, they honor it with celebrations on the days of hyacinth.