ence for the Sun-god.
He tried by all means in his power to win the love of Hyacinthus, but the youth took no heed, and in spite of the West-wind's gentle words and tender, soft caresses, he continued to love Apollo best.
Then Zephyr became angry and jealous. Day by day he watched the two friends, and waited his opportunity for revenge.
Now it happened one bright spring morning that Apollo and Hyacinthus were playing a game of quoits together. The boy's merry laugh rang through the clear air and reached the ears of Zephyr, who was hiding in the branches of a tree close by.
An angry look passed over his face as he exclaimed, "He shall die. Rather than give him up to Apollo, I will cause his death!"
At that very moment Apollo raised his arm and threw his quoit. Straight as a dart it sped, until a strong gust of wind, raised for the purpose by the angry Zephyr, changed its course, so that it struck Hyacinthus upon the head and killed him.
And now the revenge of the West-