Page: 53Loki met his punishment at last, but that did not save Baldur the Beautiful, the golden-haired god, whom his blind brother, dwelling in darkness, slays again at every even fall.
There is a legend connected with the name of the little blue forget-me-not which everyone loves so much.
It is said that a boy and a girl were walking by a river that flows into the Rhine. The girl saw a lovely flower growing just by the water's edge. The bank of the river was steep and the water swift.
"Oh, the beautiful flower!" she cried.
"I will get it for you," said the boy. He sprang over the side of the steep bank and, catching hold of the shrubs and bushes, made his way to the place where the flower grew.
He tried to tear the plant from the earth with both hands, hoping to get it all for her who was watching him from the bank above.
The stem broke and, still clasping the flower, he fell backward into the rushing stream.
"Forget me not!" he cried to her as the waters bore him down to the falls below. She never did forget her blue-eyed friend who had lost his life trying to get her a flower.
"Forget me not!" she would say over and over until her friends called the little blue flower by this name.
Now these blossoms are called forget-me-nots all over the world. And
whether this story is true or only a legend, the dear little flower
could not have a prettier name.
There is an old myth of a winged horse. Would you like to hear it? Listen.
This wonderful horse was under the care of the nine Muses. These nine fair daughters of Jupiter taught men all that is known of music, poetry, history, and the stars. It was said and believed that they helped people to remember what they taught.
And now even their names are forgotten except by the few who love to remember the things others forget.
One beautiful summer morning this winged horse appeared at the fountain of the Muses on Mount Helicon. The laughing Thalia, the Muse of Comedy, saw him as she dropped from the sky. Dancing Terpsichore tried to take him by the mane, but the white wings flashed in her face and the wonderful steed was gone before she had touched him.
Urania, the Muse who loved the heavens, believed that he was from some star world.
Clio, the Muse of History, knew that no such creature had ever lived on earth before.
"We know that there is a work for all created things. What can his be?" the sisters asked one another.
Sure enough his work came at last.
In a distant land was a brave young soldier named