Prevod

Now, as the linen-robed goddess, she is worshipped by thronging crowds; now Epaphus is at last believed to have sprung from the seed of mighty Jove, and throughout the cities he shares temples with his mother. His equal in spirit and years was Phaethon, child of the Sun. Once, when Phaethon boasted, refusing to yield to him, proud of Phoebus as his father, Inachus’ descendant could not bear it. “You fool,” he said, “you believe everything your mother says, and swell with pride in a father who is not yours.”

Phaethon blushed, and shame held back his anger. He brought Epaphus’ taunts to his mother Clymene. “And to make your grief still greater, Mother,” he said, “I, so outspoken, I, so bold, said nothing. I am ashamed that such insults could be spoken against us, and that I could not refute them. But if I truly come of heavenly stock, give me proof of that high birth, and claim my place in heaven.”

He spoke and wound his arms around his mother’s neck, and by his own life, by Merops’ life, and by his sisters’ wedding torches, begged her to give him some sign of his true father. Clymene, moved more by Phaethon’s entreaties or by anger at the charge against herself—who can say?—stretched both arms to heaven and, gazing at the sunlight, said: “By this radiance, glorious with flashing rays, which hears and sees us, my son, I swear to you: you were fathered by this Sun you see, this Sun who governs the world. If I speak falsely, may he deny me the sight of himself, and may this be the last daylight my eyes behold.

Nor will it take you long to reach your father’s home: his dwelling, where he rises, borders on our land. If your heart urges you, go and ask him yourself.” At these words from his mother, Phaethon at once sprang up in joy, his thoughts already soaring to heaven. He passed through his own Ethiopia and India, lying beneath the blazing stars, and eagerly approached his father’s place of rising.