As a matter of fact, I did visit those parts not long ago
(on another errand, to be sure); and as I had to go up
the Eridanus, I kept a sharp lookout, but neither
poplars nor amber were to be seen. Indeed, the very
name of Phaethon was unknown to the natives. At
any rate, when I went into the matter and inquired
when we should reach the poplars—"the amber-poplars,”—the boatmen laughed and asked me to tell
them more plainly what I meant. So I told them
the story: that Phaethon was the child of the Sun,
and that on coming of age he asked his father to
let him drive the car and “do just one day” himself;
his father consented, and he was thrown from the
car and killed. “And his sisters,” said I, “out of


 

sorrow turned into poplars somewhere in this neighbourhood of yours, on the banks of the Eridanus, at
the spot where he fell, and still weep for him with .
tears of amber.”