They embraced the trunk of the yet warm
tree, and showered their kisses on its leaves.
Now there was nothing left of Dryope but her face. Her tears still
flowed and fell on her leaves, and while she could she spoke. "I
am not guilty. I deserve not this fate. I have injured no one. If
I speak falsely, may my foliage perish with drought and my trunk
be cut down and burned. Take this infant and give it to a nurse.
Let it often be brought and nursed under my branches, and play in
my shade; and when he is old enough to talk, let him be taught to
call me mother, and to say with sadness, 'My mother lies hid under
this bark.' But bid him be careful of river banks, and beware how
he plucks flowers, remembering that every bush he sees may be a
goddess in disguise. Farewell, dear husband, and sister, and
father. If you retain any love for me, let not the axe wound me,
nor the flocks bite and tear my branches. Since I cannot stoop to
you, climb up hither and kiss me; and while my lips continue to
feel, lift up my child that I may kiss him. I can speak no more,
for already the bark advances up my neck, and will soon shoot over
me. You need not close my eyes, the bark will close them without
your aid." Then the lips ceased to move, and life was extinct; but
the branches retained for some time longer the vital heat.
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