In various shapes thus to deceive the eyes, Without a settled stint of her disguise, Rash Erisichthon's daughter had the pow'r, And brought it to Autolicus in dow'r. Her atheist sire the slighted Gods defy'd, And ritual honours to their shrines deny'd. As fame reports, his hand an ax sustain'd, Which Ceres' consecrated grove prophan'd; Which durst the venerable gloom invade, And violate with light the awful shade. An ancient oak in the dark center stood, The covert's glory, and itself a wood: Garlands embrac'd its shaft, and from the boughs Hung tablets, monuments of prosp'rous vows. In the cool dusk its unpierc'd verdure spread, The Dryads oft their hallow'd dances led; And oft, when round their gaging arms they cast, Full fifteen ells it measu'rd in the waste: 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 its 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 spouting veins, A crimson stream the turfy altars 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 Coeval grew, and now in ruin join'd; But instant vengeance shall thy sin pursue, And death is chear'd with this prophetick view. At last the oak with cords enforc'd to bow, Strain'd from the top, and sap'd with wounds below, The humbler wood, partaker of its fate, Crush'd with its fall, and shiver'd with its weight. The grove destroy'd, the sister Dryads moan, Griev'd at its loss, and frighted at their own. Strait, suppliants for revenge to Ceres go, In sable weeds, expressive of their woe. The beauteous Goddess with a graceful air Bow'd in consent, and nodded to their pray'r. The awful motion shook the fruitful ground, And wav'd the fields with golden harvests crown'd. Soon she contriv'd in her projecting mind A plague severe, and piteous in its kind (If plagues for crimes of such presumptuous height Could pity in the softest breast create). With pinching want, and hunger's keenest smart, To tear his vitals, and corrode his heart. But since her near approach by Fate's deny'd To famine, and broad climes their pow'rs divide, A nymph, the mountain's ranger, she address'd, And thus resolv'd, her high commands express'd. The Description of Famine Where frozen Scythia's utmost bound is plac'd, A desart lies, a melancholy waste: In yellow crops there Nature never smil'd, No fruitful tree to shade the barren wild. There sluggish cold its icy station makes, There paleness, frights, and aguish trembling shakes, Of pining famine this the fated seat, To whom my orders in these words repeat: Bid her this miscreant with her sharpest pains Chastise, and sheath herself into his veins; Be unsubdu'd by plenty's baffled store, Reject my empire, and defeat my pow'r. And lest the distance, and the tedious way, Should with the toil, and long fatigue dismay, Ascend my chariot, and convey'd on high, Guide the rein'd dragons thro' the parting sky. The nymph, accepting of the granted carr, Sprung to the seat, and posted thro' the air; Nor stop'd 'till she to a bleak mountain came Of wondrous height, and Caucasus its name. There in a stony field the fiend she found, Herbs gnawing, and roots scratching from the ground. Her elfelock hair in matted tresses grew, Sunk were her eyes, and pale her ghastly hue, Wan were her lips, and foul with clammy glew. Her throat was furr'd, her guts appear'd within With snaky crawlings thro' her parchment skin. Her jutting hips seem'd starting from their place, And for a belly was a belly's space, Her dugs hung dangling from her craggy spine, Loose to her breast, and fasten'd to her chine. Her joints protuberant by leanness grown, Consumption sunk the flesh, and rais'd the bone. Her knees large orbits bunch'd to monstrous size, And ancles to undue proportion rise. This plague the nymph, not daring to draw near, At distance hail'd, and greeted from afar. And tho' she told her charge without delay, Tho' her arrival late, and short her stay, She felt keen famine, or she seem'd to feel, Invade her blood, and on her vitals steal. She turn'd, from the infection to remove, And back to Thessaly the serpents drove. The fiend obey'd the Goddess' command (Tho' their effects in opposition stand), She cut her way, supported by the wind, And reach'd the mansion by the nymph assign'd. 'Twas night, when entring Erisichthon's room, Dissolv'd in sleep, and thoughtless of his doom, She clasp'd his limbs, by impious labour tir'd, With battish wings, but her whole self inspir'd; Breath'd on his throat and chest a tainting blast, And in his veins infus'd an endless fast. The task dispatch'd, away the Fury flies From plenteous regions, and from rip'ning skies; To her old barren north she wings her speed, And cottages distress'd with pinching need. Still slumbers Erisichthon's senses drown, And sooth his fancy with their softest down. He dreams of viands delicate to eat, And revels on imaginary meat, Chaws with his working mouth, but chaws in vain, And tires his grinding teeth with fruitless pain; Deludes his throat with visionary fare, Feasts on the wind, and banquets on the air. The morning came, the night, and slumbers past, But still the furious pangs of hunger last; The cank'rous rage still gnaws with griping pains, Stings in his throat, and in his bowels reigns. Strait he requires, impatient in demand, Provisions from the air, the seas, the land. But tho' the land, air, seas, provisions grant, Starves at full tables, and complains of want. What to a people might in dole be paid, Or victual cities for a long blockade, Could not one wolfish appetite asswage; For glutting nourishment increas'd its rage. As rivers pour'd from ev'ry distant shore, The sea insatiate drinks, and thirsts for more; Or as the fire, which all materials burns, And wasted forests into ashes turns, Grows more voracious, as the more it preys, Recruits dilate the flame, and spread the blaze: So impious Erisichthon's hunger raves, Receives refreshments, and refreshments craves. Food raises a desire for food, and meat Is but a new provocative to eat. He grows more empty, as the more supply'd, And endless cramming but extends the void.