Metamorphoses (Books I-XIV)
Phaeton's Sisters transform'd into Trees
2:381 The Latian nymphs came round him, and, amaz'd,
2:382 On the dead youth, transfix'd
with thunder, gaz'd;
2:383 And, whilst yet smoaking from
the bolt he lay,
2:384 His shatter'd body to a tomb
convey,
2:385 And o'er the tomb an epitaph
devise:
2:386 "Here he, who drove the sun's bright
chariot, lies;
2:387 His father's fiery steeds he
cou'd not guide,
2:388 But in the glorious enterprize
he dy'd."
2:389 Apollo hid his face, and pin'd for grief,
2:390 And, if the story may deserve
belief,
2:391 The space of one whole day is
said to run,
2:392 From morn to wonted ev'n, without
a sun:
2:393 The burning ruins, with a fainter
ray,
2:394 Supply the sun, and counterfeit
a day,
2:395 A day, that still did Nature's
face disclose:
2:396 This comfort from the mighty
mischief rose.
2:397 But Clymene, enrag'd with grief, laments,
2:398 And as her grief inspires, her
passion vents:
2:399 Wild for her son, and frantick
in her woes,
2:400 With hair dishevel'd round the
world she goes,
2:401 To seek where-e'er his body might
be cast;
2:402 'Till, on the borders of the
Po, at last
2:403 The name inscrib'd on the new
tomb appears.
2:404 The dear dear name she bathes
in flowing tears,
2:405 Hangs o'er the tomb, unable to
depart,
2:406 And hugs the marble to her throbbing
heart.
2:407 Her daughters too lament, and sigh, and mourn
2:408 (A fruitless tribute to their
brother's urn),
2:409 And beat their naked bosoms,
and complain,
2:410 And call aloud for Phaeton in
vain:
2:411 All the long night their mournful
watch they keep,
2:412 And all the day stand round the
tomb, and weep.
2:413 Four times, revolving, the full moon return'd;
2:414 So long the mother and the daughters
mourn'd:
2:415 When now the eldest, Phaethusa,
strove
2:416 To rest her weary limbs, but
could not move;
2:417 Lampetia wou'd have help'd her,
but she found
2:418 Her self with-held, and rooted
to the ground:
2:419 A third in wild affliction, as
she grieves,
2:420 Wou'd rend her hair, but fills
her hands with leaves;
2:421 One sees her thighs transform'd,
another views
2:422 Her arms shot out, and branching
into boughs.
2:423 And now their legs, and breasts,
and bodies stood
2:424 Crusted with bark, and hard'ning
into wood;
2:425 But still above were female heads
display'd,
2:426 And mouths, that call'd the mother
to their aid.
2:427 What cou'd, alas! the weeping
mother do?
2:428 From this to that with eager
haste she flew,
2:429 And kiss'd her sprouting daughters
as they grew.
2:430 She tears the bark that to each
body cleaves,
2:431 And from their verdant fingers
strips the leaves:
2:432 The blood came trickling, where
she tore away
2:433 The leaves and bark: the maids
were heard to say,
2:434 "Forbear, mistaken parent,
oh! forbear;
2:435 A wounded daughter in each tree
you tear;
2:436 Farewell for ever." Here
the bark encreas'd,
2:437 Clos'd on their faces, and their
words suppress'd.
2:438 The new-made trees in tears of amber run,
2:439 Which, harden'd into value by
the sun,
2:440 Distill for ever on the streams
below:
2:441 The limpid streams their radiant
treasure show,
2:442 Mixt in the sand; whence the
rich drops convey'd
2:443 Shine in the dress of the bright
Latian maid.
Metamorphoses (Books I-XIV)
Phaeton's Sisters transform'd into Trees
2:381 The Latian nymphs came round him, and, amaz'd,
2:382 On the dead youth, transfix'd
with thunder, gaz'd;
2:383 And, whilst yet smoaking from
the bolt he lay,
2:384 His shatter'd body to a tomb
convey,
2:385 And o'er the tomb an epitaph
devise:
2:386 "Here he, who drove the sun's bright
chariot, lies;
2:387 His father's fiery steeds he
cou'd not guide,
2:388 But in the glorious enterprize
he dy'd."
2:389 Apollo hid his face, and pin'd for grief,
2:390 And, if the story may deserve
belief,
2:391 The space of one whole day is
said to run,
2:392 From morn to wonted ev'n, without
a sun:
2:393 The burning ruins, with a fainter
ray,
2:394 Supply the sun, and counterfeit
a day,
2:395 A day, that still did Nature's
face disclose:
2:396 This comfort from the mighty
mischief rose.
2:397 But Clymene, enrag'd with grief, laments,
2:398 And as her grief inspires, her
passion vents:
2:399 Wild for her son, and frantick
in her woes,
2:400 With hair dishevel'd round the
world she goes,
2:401 To seek where-e'er his body might
be cast;
2:402 'Till, on the borders of the
Po, at last
2:403 The name inscrib'd on the new
tomb appears.
2:404 The dear dear name she bathes
in flowing tears,
2:405 Hangs o'er the tomb, unable to
depart,
2:406 And hugs the marble to her throbbing
heart.
2:407 Her daughters too lament, and sigh, and mourn
2:408 (A fruitless tribute to their
brother's urn),
2:409 And beat their naked bosoms,
and complain,
2:410 And call aloud for Phaeton in
vain:
2:411 All the long night their mournful
watch they keep,
2:412 And all the day stand round the
tomb, and weep.
2:413 Four times, revolving, the full moon return'd;
2:414 So long the mother and the daughters
mourn'd:
2:415 When now the eldest, Phaethusa,
strove
2:416 To rest her weary limbs, but
could not move;
2:417 Lampetia wou'd have help'd her,
but she found
2:418 Her self with-held, and rooted
to the ground:
2:419 A third in wild affliction, as
she grieves,
2:420 Wou'd rend her hair, but fills
her hands with leaves;
2:421 One sees her thighs transform'd,
another views
2:422 Her arms shot out, and branching
into boughs.
2:423 And now their legs, and breasts,
and bodies stood
2:424 Crusted with bark, and hard'ning
into wood;
2:425 But still above were female heads
display'd,
2:426 And mouths, that call'd the mother
to their aid.
2:427 What cou'd, alas! the weeping
mother do?
2:428 From this to that with eager
haste she flew,
2:429 And kiss'd her sprouting daughters
as they grew.
2:430 She tears the bark that to each
body cleaves,
2:431 And from their verdant fingers
strips the leaves:
2:432 The blood came trickling, where
she tore away
2:433 The leaves and bark: the maids
were heard to say,
2:434 "Forbear, mistaken parent,
oh! forbear;
2:435 A wounded daughter in each tree
you tear;
2:436 Farewell for ever." Here
the bark encreas'd,
2:437 Clos'd on their faces, and their
words suppress'd.
2:438 The new-made trees in tears of amber run,
2:439 Which, harden'd into value by
the sun,
2:440 Distill for ever on the streams
below:
2:441 The limpid streams their radiant
treasure show,
2:442 Mixt in the sand; whence the
rich drops convey'd
2:443 Shine in the dress of the bright
Latian maid.