Whose impious axe mid Ceres’ sacred grove
Dared violate her immemorial shades.
Huge with the growth of ages in its midst
An ancient oak there stood, itself a grove,
With votive tablets hung and grateful gifts
For vows accomplished. Underneath its shade
The dryads wove their festal dance.
Eresicthon, in spite of warnings, refused to stay his hand.
The trembling tree sent forth an audible groan!
From its pale leaves and acorns died the green,