Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 2) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/43

Book 8. Its Height all under Standards did surpass, As they aspir'd above the humbler Grass. These Motives, which would gentler Minds restrain, Could not make Triope's bold Son abstain; He sternly charg'd his Slaves with strict Decree, To fell with gashing Steel the sacred Tree. But whilst they, lingring, his Commands delay'd, He snatch'd an Ax, and thus blaspheming said: Was this no Oak, nor Ceres' favourite Care, But Ceres' self, this Arm, unaw'd, shou'd dare Its leafy Honours in the Dust to spread, And level with the Earth it's airy Head. He spoke, and as he poiz'd a slanting Stroak, Sighs heav'd, and Tremblings shook the frighted Oak; Its Leaves look'd sickly, pale its Acorns grew, And its long Branches sweat a chilly Dew. But when his impious Hand a Wound bestow'd, Blood from the mangled Bark in Currents flow'd. When a devoted Bull of mighty Size, A sinning Nation's grand Atonement, dies; With such a Plenty from the sprouting Veins, A crimson Stream the turfy Altar stains. The Wonder all amaz'd; yet one more bold, The Fact dissuading, strove his Ax to hold. But the Thessalian, obstinately bent, Too proud to change, too harden'd to repent, On his kind Monitor, his Eyes, which burn'd With Rage, and with his Eyes his Weapon turn'd; Take the Reward, says he, of pious Dread: Then with a Blow lopp'd off his parted Head. No longer check'd, the Wretch his Crime pursu'd, Doubled his Strokes, and Sacrilege renew'd; When from the groaning Trunk a Voice was heard, A Dryad I, by Ceres' Love preferr'd, Within the Circle of this clasping Rind Coëval grew, and now in Ruin join'd; But