ance veil'd in fluid streams,
"Thou flow'st a river; sometimes mount'st in flames.
"Nor less of power had Erisichthon's maid,
"Spouse of Autolycus. Her impious sire
"All the divinities of heaven despis'd,
"Nor on their slighted altars offerings burn'd.
"He too, 'tis said, the Cerealean grove
"With axe prophan'd: his violating steel
"The ancient trees attacking. 'Mid the rest,
"A huge-grown oak, in yearly strength robust,
"Itself a wood, uprose: garlands hung round,
"And wreaths, and grateful tablets, proofs of vows
"For prospering favors paid. The Dryad nymphs
"Oft in its shade their festal dances held;
"Oft would they, clasping hand in hand, surround
"The mighty trunk: its girth around to mete,
"Full thrice five cubits ask'd. To every tree
"Lofty it seem'd; as every tree appear'd
"Lofty, when measur'd with the plants below.
"Yet not for that, did Erisichthon hold
"The biting steel; but bade his servants fell
"The sacred oak; lingering he saw them stand,
"His orders unobey'd; impious he snatch'd
"From one his weapon, and in rage, exclaim'd;--
"What though it be the goddess' favorite care!
"Were it the goddess' self, down should it fall,
"And bow its leafy summit to the ground.
"He said;--and pois'd his axe, and aim'd oblique.
"Deep shudderings shook the Cerealian tree,
"And groans were utter'd; all the leaves grew pale,
"And pale the acorns; while the wide-spread boughs
"Cold sweats bedew'd. When in the solid trunk
"His blow ungodly pierc'd, blood flow'd in streams
"From out the shatter'd bark: not flows more full,
"From the deep wound in the divided throat,
"The gore, when at the sacred altar's foot
"A mighty bull, an offer'd victim drops.
"Dread seizes all; and one most bold attempts
"To check his horrid wickedness, and check
"The murderous weapon: him the villain saw,
"And,--take,--he cries,--the boon thy pious soul
"Merits so well.--And from the trunk the steel
"Turns on the man, and strikes his head away:
"Then with redoubled blows the tree assails.
"Deep from the oak, these words were heard to sound:--
"A nymph am I, within this trunk enclos'd,
"Most dear to Ceres; in my dying hours,
"Prophetic I foresee the keen revenge
"Which will thy deed pursue; and this solace
"Grants comfort ev'n in death.--He, undismay'd,
"His fierce design still follows: now the tree,
"Tottering with numerous blows, by strain