One bright morning Daphne, a charming nymph with flowing hair and
sparkling eyes, was sporting in the forest. Apollo, passing by, saw
the maiden and forthwith fell in love with her. He longed to obtain
her, but before he could reach her side she fled. He called to her
to dismiss her fears and listen to his love. He assured her of his
sincerity, of his standing.
“You fly, alas, not knowing whom you fly,
No ill-bred swain, nor rustic clown am I.”
--_Prior._
But Daphne continued her flight, pausing not a moment to listen to his
plea. Apollo pursued and gained upon her in the race. She called upon
her father, the river god, for protection. “Help!” she cried, “open
the earth to enclose me or change my form which has brought me into
this danger.” A moment more and her feet seemed rooted to the ground.
A rough bark enclosed her quivering limbs. The woodiness crept upward
and by degrees invested her whole body. Her trembling hands were filled
with leaves. She was changed into a laurel tree. Apollo, reaching out
to embrace her, clasped the still warm tree and showered kisses on its
leaves.
“I espouse thee for my tree;
Be thou the prize of honor and renown;
The deathless poet and the poem crown:
Thou shalt the Roman festivals adorn,
But after poets be by victors worn.”
--_Dryden._