Electrum

With regard to amber, you doubtless share the general belief in the story that poplars on the banks of the river Eridanus shed tears of it in grief over ‘ Phaethon; and that these poplars are the sisters of Phaethon, who out of sorrow for the boy were changed into trees and still drip tears—of amber! Such tales, when I heard them from the lips of the poets, made me expect that if ever I got to the Eridanus, by going underneath one of the poplars and holding out a fold of my cloak I could supply myself with amber by catching a few of their tears.

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.”