Erysichthon of Thessaly

Each in his eyes was dark and cavernous, pallid in face, and so emaciate that from the bones the skin did shape itself.

I do not think that so to merest rind could Erysichthon have been withered up by famine, when most fear he had of it.

Thinking within myself, I said: "Behold, this is the folk who lost Jerusalem when Mary made a prey of her own Son." Their sockets were like rings without the gems; whoever in the face of men reads OMO, might well in these have recognized the M.

Who would believe the odour of an apple, begetting longing, could consume them so, and that of water, without knowing how? I still was wondering what so famished them, for the occasion not yet manifest of their emaciation and sad squalor.

And when, in all the after days, the boy sat willingly beside the tree and listened to the soft rustling of its leaves, the passers-by would say, Dryope is whispering to her child.

The danger of recklessly destroying any tree is shown by the story of Erysichthon, who dared to defy the goddess Ceres, and so received a fitting punishment.

There was a certain grove of trees sacred to Ceres, and among them was a lofty oak on which votive tablets were often hung, and around which the nymphs and dryads danced hand in hand.

Erysichthon ordered his servants to cut down this venerable oak, and when they hesitated telling him that it was a tree beloved by Ceres and should not suffer such a sacrilege, he seized the axe himself and made a deep gash in the trunk.

To the great horror of those who stood by, blood began to flow from the wound, and as Erysichthon was about to deal the tree another blow, one of his servants caught at his arm imploring him not to touch the oak again, for the blood showed that a hamadryad was being wounded.

Maddened at this interference, and determined to carry out his brutal will, Erysichthon declared that he would cut down the tree if by so doing he killed a dozen dryads.

He lifted his axe for a mighty stroke, and as the servant again sought to stay his arm, he turned fiercely and killed the man with one swift blow.

Then he proceeded to fell the tree, and soon it was lying, bruised and bleeding, on the ground.

And when, in all the after days, the boy sat willingly beside the tree and listened to the soft rustling of its leaves, the passers-by would say, Dryope is whispering to her child.

The danger of recklessly destroying any tree is shown by the story of Erysichthon, who dared to defy the goddess Ceres, and so received a fitting punishment.

There was a certain grove of trees sacred to Ceres, and among them was a lofty oak on which votive tablets were often hung, and around which the nymphs and dryads danced hand in hand.

Erysichthon ordered his servants to cut down this venerable oak, and when they hesitated, telling him that it was a tree beloved by Ceres and should not suffer such a sacrilege, he seized the axe himself and made a deep gash in the trunk.

To the great horror of those who stood by, blood began to flow from the wound, and as Erysichthon was about to deal the tree another blow, one of his servants caught at his arm, imploring him not to touch the oak again, for the blood showed that a hamadryad was being wounded.

Maddened at this interference and determined to carry out his brutal will, Erysichthon declared that he would cut down the tree if by so doing he killed a dozen dryads.

He lifted his axe for a mighty stroke, and as the servant again sought to stay his arm, he turned fiercely and killed the man with one swift blow.

Then he proceeded to fell the tree, and soon it was lying, bruised and bleeding, on the ground.

And when, in all the after days, the boy sat willingly beside the tree and listened to the soft rustling of its leaves, the passers-by would say, Dryope is whispering to her child.

The danger of recklessly destroying any tree is shown by the story of Erysichthon, who dared to defy the goddess Ceres, and so received a fitting punishment.

There was a certain grove of trees sacred to Ceres, and among them was a lofty oak on which votive tablets were often hung, and around which the nymphs and dryads danced hand in hand.

Erysichthon ordered his servants to cut down this venerable oak, and when they hesitated telling him that it was a tree beloved by Ceres and should not suffer such a sacrilege, he seized the axe himself and made a deep gash in the trunk.

To the great horror of those who stood by, blood began to flow from the wound, and as Erysichthon was about to deal the tree another blow, one of his servants caught at his arm, imploring him not to touch the oak again, for the blood showed that a hamadryad was being wounded.

Maddened at this interference and determined to carry out his brutal will, Erysichthon declared that he would cut down the tree if by so doing he killed a dozen dryads.

He lifted his axe for a mighty stroke, and as the servant again sought to stay his arm, he turned fiercely and killed the man with one swift blow.

Then he proceeded to fell the tree, and soon it was lying, bruised and bleeding, on the ground.