ACT I

[On the Cenaean promontory of the island of Euboea.]
Hercules [about to sacrifice to Cenaean Jove]: O sire of gods,
⁠from whose almighty hand
Both homes of Phoebus feel thy darting bolt:
Rule now serene, for I have 'stablished peace
Wherever Nereus checks the spreading lands.
Now let thy thunders rest; for treacherous kings 5
And savage tyrants are in ruin laid.
Whatever merited thy blasting darts
Have I o'erthrown and crushed. But, father, why
Is heaven still denied to me, thy son?
For surely have I ever shown myself
A worthy child of Jove; and Juno's self,
My hard task-mistress, testifies to this,
That I am born of thee. Why dost thou still 10
Contrive delays? Am I thy cause of fear?
Will Atlas not avail to prop the skies
If to their bulk the weight of Hercules
Be superadded? Why, O father, why
Dost thou deny the stars to me? To thee
Did death restore me; every monstrous shape
Which had its source in earth or sea or air,
Or hell itself, has yielded to my arms. 15
No lion treads the Arcadian cities now;
Stymphalus fears no more its noxious birds;
The wondrous stag of Maenalus is dead;
The watchful dragon spattered with its blood
The golden grove; the hydra's force is gone;
Those famous horses to the Hebrus known,
Which fattened on the blood of murdered guests, 20
Have I destroyed, and spoils of war obtained
In victory o'er my Amazonian foe.
I saw the silent realms; nor all alone
Did I return, but shuddering day beheld
Dark Cerberus, and he beheld the sun.
​No more Antaeus, Libya's monarch huge,
His strength renews; before his bloody shrines 25
Busiris lies o'erthrown; by my sole hand
The threefold Geryon was o'ercome and slain,
And that dread terror of a hundred tribes,
The Cretan bull, yea all the monstrous things
To which the hostile world has given birth,
Have fallen in utter ruin by my hand.
If now the earth am show no monsters more, 30
If now my stepdame has her wrath fulfilled,
Restore the father to his son; yea, more—
Admit the hero to his proper skies.
I ask not that thou point the way to me;
Permit it only, father, and the way
I'll find. Or, if thou fearest that the earth
Shall to the light new shapes of terror bring,
Let them make haste to come, whate'er they be, 35
While still the earth beholds her Hercules.
For who will e'er again these fearsome things
Attack, or who, throughout the towns of Greece,
Will e'er be worthy of great Juno's hate?
In truth, my praises have I safe bestowed,
Since now there is no land but sings of me.
The Scythian, dwelling in the frozen North, 40
The Indian, smitten by the burning rays
Of Phoebus, and the tropic African:
All know my fame. O glowing Sun, I thee
As witness call: I have encountered thee
Where'er thou shin'st; nor have thy darting beams
Availed to follow my triumphant course.
I've gone beyond the reaches of the sun,
And daylight halted far within my bounds. 45
The world of nature yielded; for my steps
No earth remained. She was exhausted first.
But night and utter chaos met me there.
From that dark realm whence no one e'er returns,
Have I come back to earth. Old Ocean's threats
Have I endured; no raging storm of his 50
Has e'er prevailed to overcome the bark
​In which I fared. How small a part I tell!^[1]
Exhausted is the air and can no more
Suffice to feed the hatred of thy wife;
The earth in fear brings forth no monster more
For me to conquer, no wild beasts of prey.
These are denied to me, and in the stead 55
Of monster have I come myself to be.
How many evils have I overcome,
Though all unarmed! Whatever monstrous thing
Opposed, these empty hands have overthrown;
Nor did there ever live a savage beast
Which I as boy or infant feared to meet.
My bidden labors have seemed always light,
And no day ever dawned that brought to me 60
No strenuous toil. How many monstrous tasks
Have I fulfilled which no king set to me!
A harder master has my courage been
Than ever Juno was. But what avails
That I have saved the human race from fear?
The gods in consequence have lost their peace.
The freed earth sees whatever she has feared 65
Now set in heaven; for Juno thitherward
Hath borne the beasts I slew. Restored to life,
The Crab fares safely in his torrid path,
A constellation now in southern skies,
And ripens Libya's waving fields of grain.
The Lion to the heavenly Virgin gives
The flying year; but he, with beaming mane 70
Upon his wild neck tossing, dries the winds
Which drip with moisture, and the clouds devours.
Behold, the beasts have all invaded heaven,
Forestalling me. Though victor, here I stand
Upon the earth, and view my labors there.
For Juno to the monsters and the beasts
Has given stars, that so the heavenly realm 75
Might be for me a place of terror made.
But no! Though in her wrath she fill the skies
With monsters, though she make the heavens worse
​Than earth and hell, yet shall a place be given
To Hercules. If, after beasts and wars,
If, after I subdued the Stygian dog,
I have not earned a place among the stars, 80
Then shall Sicilian Pelorus touch
Hesperia's shores, and both shall be one land.
I'll put the intervening sea to flight;
Or, if thou wilt that severed seas be joined,
Then Isthmus shall give passage to the waves,
And Attic vessels by a new-found way
Shall sail united seas. I'll change the world. 85
Along new channels shall the Hister flow,
And Tanai's find new passage to the sea.
Grant, grant, O Jupiter, this boon to me,
That I at least may shield the gods from harm.
There mayst thou lay aside thy thunderbolts,
Where I stand guard against thy enemies.
Whether thou bid'st me guard the icy pole,
Or o'er the torrid regions watch, be sure 90
That on that side the gods may be at rest.
Apollo earned the shrine of Pythia
And heaven, because he slew the Python huge;
But Oh, how many Pythons did I slay
In that dire hydra! Bacchus, Perseus, too,
Have found a place among the heavenly gods. 95
How small that eastern portion of the earth
Which he subdued! How meager is the spoil
Which Perseus in the stony Gorgon gained!
What son of thine from Juno born has earned
A place in heaven because of his renown?
I seek the skies which I myself have borne.
⁠[Turning to Lichas.]
But thou, O Lichas, comrade of my toils,
Go tell my triumphs over Eurytus, 100
His lares conquered and his realm o'erthrown.
⁠[To his attendants.]
Do you with speed the victims hurry on
To where the temple of Cenaean Jove
Looks off upon the wild Euboean sea.

Band of captive Oechalian maidens: The mate of the
⁠immortals he,
Whose life and fortune hand in hand
Go on apace. But worse than death 105
Is life, dragged on with many groans.
Whoe'er has trodden under foot
The greedy fates, and can disdain
The boat that plies on death's dark stream,
Will never feel the galling chains
Upon his captive arms; nor grace,
As noble spoil, the victor's train. 110
For he who faces death with joy
Can ne'er be wretched. Should his bark
Be wrecked upon the stormy sea
Where Africus with Boreas,
And Zephyrus with Eurus strive,
And rend the seas; he does not seek
To gather up the broken parts 115
Of his wrecked ship, that, far at sea,
He still may cherish hopes of land.
For he, who ever ready stands
To give his life, alone is safe
From all the perils of the storm.
But we are held by shameful grief,
The gaunt, drawn face, the streaming tears,
By the ashes of our fatherland
Besprinkled. Us no whirling flame, 120
Nor crash of falling walls o'erwhelms.
Thou dost pursue the fortunate,
O death, but fleest from wretched souls.
Behold, we live: but Oh, no more,
Our country's walls^[2] remain; their place
Shall soon be hidden by the woods,
And all our temples fall away
To squalid hovels. Even now 125
The cold Dolopian will come
And o'er the ashes, glowing yet,
Sad remnants of Oechalia,
​Will drive his flocks. And soon, alas,
Within our walls, the shepherd rude
Shall sing upon his rustic pipes,
With doleful voice, our history. 130
And when the hand of God shall speed
A few more generations on,
The very place where once we dwelt
Will be forgotten. Happy once,
I kept no barren hearth at home;
Not mine the hungry acres then
Of Thessaly. But now I'm called
To Trachin's rough and stony land, 135
To ridges parched and jungle-set,
To groves which e'en the mountain goat
Would not inhabit. But, perchance,
Some milder fate the captives calls.
Then will they see the Inachus,
Whose rapid waves shall bear them on,
Or dwell within Dircaean walls 140
Where flows Ismenus' scanty stream—
And where was once the mother wed
Of mighty Hercules.
False is that tale of doubled night,
When overlong the stars delayed
Within the skies, and Hesperus
In place of Lucifer arose,
And Delia with tardy car 145
Kept back the sun. What Scythian crag
Begot thee, or what stony mount?
Like some wild Titan wast thou born
On Rhodope, or Athos rough?
What savage beast on Caspian shores,
What spotted tigress, suckled thee? 150
Impervious to wounds is he.
Sharp spears are blunted, steel is bent
Against his heart; and glittering swords,
Upon his naked members struck,
In broken fragment drop apart;
Stones strike, but harmlessly rebound.
​And so he scorns the deadly fates, 155
And, all invincible, provokes
His death. No spears can pierce his heart,
No arrow shot from Scythian bow,
No darts which cold Sarmatians bear,
Or they who dwell beneath the dawn,
The Parthians, whose fatal shafts
More deadly than the Cretan dart, 160
The neighboring Nabathaeans wound.
Oechalia's walls he overthrew
With his bare hands. Naught can withstand
His onslaught. For whate'er he plans
To overcome, is by that fact
Already overcome. How few
The foes who by his wounds have fallen!
His angry countenance means death; 165
And to have met his threatening gaze
Is worse than death. What Gyas huge,
What vast Briareus, who stood
Upon Thessalia's mountain heap
And clutched at heaven with snaky hands,
Would not have frozen at the glance
Of that dread face? But mighty ills 170
Have mighty recompense: no more
Is left to suffer—we have seen,
Oh, woe! the angry Hercules!
Iole: ⁠But I, unhappy one, must mourn,
Not temples with their gods o'erthrown,
Not scattered hearths and burning homes,
Where lie in common ruin mixed
Fathers with sons, and gods with men, 175
Temples and towns—the common woe;
But fortune calls my tears away
To other grief. Fate bids me weep
O'er other ruins. What lament 180
Shall I make first? What greatest ill
Shall I bewail? All equally
I'll weep. Ah me, that mother earth
Hath not more bosoms given me,
​That worthily they might resound
Unto my grief. But, O ye gods,
Transform me to a weeping rock 185
On Sipylus; or set me where,
Between its grassy banks, the Po
Glides on, where grieving woods respond
To the mourning of the sisters sad
Of Phaethon; or to the shores
Of Sicily transport me. There,
Another Siren, let me mourn 190
The woeful fate of Thessaly.
Or bear me to the Thracian woods,
Where, underneath Ismarian shade,
The Daulian bird bewails her son.
Give me a form to fit my tears,
And let rough Trachin echo back 195
My cries of woe. The Cyprian maid
Still soothes her grieving heart with tears;
Still Ceyx's royal spouse bemoans
Her vanished lord; and Niobe,
Surviving life and grief, weeps on;
Her human form has Philomel
Escaped, and now with doleful notes
The Attic maid bewails her dead. 200
Oh, that my arms were feathered wings!
Oh, then, how happy would I be,
When, hidden in the forest depths,
I might lament in plaintive strain, 205
And live in fame as Iole,
The maiden bird. I saw, alas,
I saw my father's dreadful fate,
When, smitten with that deadly club,
He fell, in mangled fragments dashed 210
Throughout the palace hall. If then
His fate had granted burial,
How often had I searched, O sire,
For all thy parts!
How could I look upon thy death,
O Toxeus, with thy tender cheeks
​Unbearded yet, thy boyish veins
Not yet with manhood's vigor filled?
But why do I bewail your fates, 215
O parents, whom to safety now
Kind death has borne? My fortune bids
That I bewail myself instead.
Soon, ah too soon, in captive state,
Shall I the flying spindle turn
For some proud mistress in her hall.
cruel beauty, how hast thou 220
Decreed my death! For thee alone
Am I and all my house undone,
Since when my sire to Hercules
Refused my hand, because he feared
Great Hercules as son-in-law.
And now, not wife, but captive maid,
I seek my haughty mistress' home.
Chorus: ⁠Why dost thou, foolish, ever dwell 225
Upon thy sire's illustrious realm,
And on thy own unhappy fate?
Forget thy former station now;
For only is he happy who,
As king or slave, knows how to bear
His lot, and fit his countenance
To changing circumstance. For he 230
Who bears his ills with steadfast soul
Has from misfortune reft away
Its strength and heaviness.

ACT II

Nurse of Deianira: Oh, bitter is the rage a woman feels,
When in one house both wife and mistress dwell!
No wrecking Scylla, no Charybdis dire, 235
The wild upheavers of Sicilia's waves,
No savage beast, is more untamed than she.
For when the maiden's beauty was revealed,
And Iole shone like the cloudless sky,
Or gleaming stars within the heavens serene,
​Then did Alcides' bride like one distraught 240
Stand gazing fiercely on the captive maid;
As when a tigress, lying with her young
Beneath some rock in far Armenia,
Leaps up in meet an enemy's approach;
Or as a Maenad, by the god inspired,
And bidden shake the thyrsus, stands awhile
In wonder whither she shall take her way.
Then she throughout the house of Hercules 245
Goes madly rushing; nor does all the house
Give space enough. Now here, now there she runs,
At random wandering; and now she stands,
Her face reflecting woe in every line,
The inmost feelings of her heart revealed.
She threatens fiercely, then a flood of tears
Succeeds to threats. No mood for long endures, 250
Nor can one form of rage content her long.
Now flame her cheeks with wrath; pale terror now
Drives out the flush of anger, and her grief
Takes every form that maddened sorrow knows:
Complainings, prayers, and groans. But now the doors
Are creaking: see, she comes in frenzied haste,
With words confused revealing all her heart. 255
⁠[Enter Deianira.]
Deianira: ⁠O wife of Jove, where'er in heaven thou dwell'st,
Against Alcides send some raging beast
That shall be dire enough to sate my wrath.
If any hydra rears its fertile head
Too vast to be contained in any pool,
Impossible of conquest, send it forth.
If anything is worse than other beasts, 260
Enormous, unrelenting, horrible,
From which the eye of even Hercules
Would turn in fear, let such an one come out
From its huge den. But if no beasts avail,
This heart of mine into some monster change;
For of my hate can any shape be made
That thou desir'st. Oh, mould my woman's form 265
To match my grief. My breast cannot contain
​Its rage. Why dost thou search the farthest bounds
Of earth, and overturn the world? Or why
Dost thou demand of hell its evil shapes?
This breast of mine will furnish for thy use
All fearful things. To work thy deadly hate 270
Use me as tool. Thou canst destroy him quite.
Do thou but use these hands for what thou will.
Why dost thou hesitate, O goddess? See,
Use me, the raging one. What impious deed
Dost thou command? Decide. Why doubtful stand?
Now mayst thou rest awhile from all thy toils,
For my rage is enough. 275
Nurse: ⁠O child of mine,
These sad outpourings of thy maddened heart
Restrain, quench passion's fire, and curb thy grief.
Show now that thou art wife of Hercules.
Deianira: ⁠Shall captive Iole unto my sons
Give brothers, and a lowly slave become
The daughter-in-law of Jove? In common course
Will fire and rushing torrent never run; 280
The thirsty Bear will never taste the sea—
And never shall my woes go unavenged.
Though thou didst bear the vasty heavens up,
Though all the world is debtor unto thee,
'Twill not avail thee now, for thou shalt find
A monster greater far than Hydra's rage,
An angry wife's revenge, awaiting thee.
The flames that leap from Aetna's top to heaven 285
Burn not so fiercely as my passion's fire
Which shall outvie whate'er thou hast o'ercome.
Shall then a captive slave usurp my bed?
Before, I feared the monsters dire; but now,
Those pests have vanished quite, and in their stead
This hated rival comes. O mighty God, 290
Of all gods ruler, O thou lustrous Sun,
'Tis only in his perils, then, it seems,
Have I been wife to Hercules. The gods
Have granted to the captive all my prayers;
For her behoof have I been fortunate.
​Ye heard, indeed, my prayers, O gods of heaven,
And Hercules is safe returned—for her! 295
O grief, that no revenge can satisfy,
Seek out some dreadful means of punishment,
By man unthought of and unspeakable.
Teach Juno's self how slight her hatred is.
She knows not how to rage. O Hercules,
For me didst thou thy mighty battles wage;
For me did Achelous dye his waves 300
With his own blood in mortal strife with thee,
When now a writhing serpent he became,
Now to a threatening bull he turned himself,
And thou a thousand beasts didst overcome
In one sole enemy. But now, alas,
Am I no longer pleasing in thy sight,
And this base captive is preferred to me.
But this she shall not be. For that same day 305
Which ends our married joys shall end thy life.
But what is this? My rage begins to fail
And moderate its threats. My anger's gone.
Why dost thou languish thus, O wretched grief?
Wilt thou give o'er thy passion, be again
The faithful, uncomplaining wife? Ah no!
Why dost thou strive to check the flames of wrath? 310
Why quench its fire? Let me but keep my rage,
And I shall be the peer of Hercules,
And I shall need to seek no heavenly aid.
But still, though all uncalled, will Juno come
To guide my hands.
Nurse: ⁠What crime dost thou intend,
O foolish one? Wilt slay thy noble lord, 315
Whose praises from the east to west are known,
Whose fame extends from earth to highest heaven?
For all the earth will rise to avenge his death;
And this thy father's house and all thy race
Will be the first to fall. Soon rocks and brands 320
Will be against thee hurled, since every land
Will its protector shield; and thou alone
Wilt suffer many, many penalties.
​Suppose thou canst escape the world of men;
Still must thou face the thunderbolts of Jove,
The father of Alcides. Even now
His threat'ning torches gleam athwart the sky, 325
And all the heavens tremble with the shock.
Nay, death itself, wherein thou hop'st to find
A place of safe retreat—fear that as well;
For there Alcides' uncle reigns supreme.
Turn where thou wilt, O wretched woman; there
Shalt thou behold thy husband's kindred gods. 330
Deianira: ⁠A fearful crime it is, I do confess;
But Oh, my passion bids me do it still.
Nurse: ⁠Thou'lt die.
Deianira: ⁠But as the wife of Hercules
I'll die; no night shall ever bring the day
That shall behold me cheated of my own,
Nor shall a captive mistress have my bed.
Sooner shall western skies give birth to day; 335
Sooner shall men of India make their home
Beneath the icy pole, and Phoebus tan
With his hot rays the shivering Scythians,
Than shall the dames of Thessaly behold
My downfall. For with my own blood I'll quench
The marriage torches. Either he shall die,
Or slay me with his hand. To all the beasts 340
Whom he has slaughtered let him add his wife;
Let me be numbered 'mongst his mighty deeds;
But in my death my body still shall claim
The couch of Hercules. Oh, sweet, 'tis sweet
To fare to Hades as Alcides' bride,
And not without my vengeance. If, indeed, 345
From Hercules my rival has conceived,
With my own hands I'll tear the child away
Untimely, and that shameless harlot face
Within her very wedding torches' glare.
And though in wrath upon his nuptial day
He slay me as a victim at the shrine,
Let me but fall upon my rival's corse,
And I shall die content. For happy he
​Who drags with him his enemy to death. 350
Nurse: ⁠Why dost thou feed thy passion's flames, poor child,
And nurse thy grief? Why cherish needless fear?
He did feel love for Iole, 'tis true;
But in the time while yet her father reigned,
And while she was a haughty monarch's child.
The princess now has fallen to the place
Of slave, and love has lost its power to charm, 355
Since her unhappy state has stol'n from her
Her loveliness. The unattainable
Is ever sought in love. But from the thing
That is within his reach love turns away.
Deianira: ⁠Nay: fallen fortunes fan the flames of love;
And for this very reason does he love,
Because her home is lost, and from her head
The crown of gleaming gold and gems has fallen. 360
For these her woes he pities her—and loves.
'Twas e'er his wont to love his captive maids.
Nurse: ⁠'Tis true, he loved the captive Trojan maid,
Young Priam's sister; but he gave her up.
Recall how many dames, how many maids
Aforetime he has loved, this wandering swain. 365
The Arcadian maiden Auge, while she led
The choral dance of Pallas, roused his love
And suffered straight his passionate embrace.
But from his heart she quickly fell away,
And now retains no traces of his love.
Why mention others? The Thespiades
Enjoyed the passing love of Hercules, 370
But are forgotten. Soon, a wanderer
Upon Timolus, he caressed the queen
Of Lydia, and, smitten by her love,
He sat beside the whirling distaff there,
His doughty fingers on the moistened thread.
His neck no longer bears the lion's spoil;
But there he sits, a languid, love-sick slave,
His shaggy locks with Phrygian turban bound, 375
And dripping with the costly oil of myrrh.
Yes, everywhere he feels the fires of love,
​But always does he glow with transient flame.
Deianira: ⁠But lovers after many transient flames,
Are wont at last to choose a single love.
Nurse: ⁠And could Alcides choose instead of thee
A slave, the daughter of his enemy? 380
Deianira: ⁠As budding groves put on a joyous form
When spring's warm breezes clothe the naked boughs;
But, when the northwind rages in their stead,
And savage winter strips the leaves away,
Thou seest naught but bare and shapeless trunks:
So this my beauty, which has traveled far 385
Along the road of life, has lost its bloom,
And gleams less brightly than in former years.
Behold that loveliness—but Oh, whate'er
Was once by many suitors sought in me,
Has vanished quite; for toils of motherhood
Have stolen my beauty, and with speeding foot
Advancing age has hurried it away. 390
But, as thou seest, this slave has not yet lost
Her glorious charms. Her queenly robes, 'tis true,
Have yielded to the garb of poverty;
Still, through her very grief her beauty shines,
And nothing save her kingdom has she lost
By this hard stroke of fate. This fear of her 395
Doth vex my heart and take away my sleep.
I once was in the eyes of all the world
The wife most to be praised; and every bride
Longed for a mate like mine with envious prayers;
And every soul that asked the gods for aught,
Took me as type and measure of her vows. 400
What father shall I ever find, O nurse,
To equal Jove? What husband like to mine
In all the world? Though he, Eurystheus' self,
Beneath whose power my Hercules is placed,
Should take me for his wife, 'twould not suffice.
A trifling thing, to miss a royal couch; 405
But far she falls who loses Hercules.
Nurse: ⁠But children often win a husband's love.
Deianira: ⁠My rival's child perchance will win him too.
​Nurse: ⁠I think that slave is but a gift for thee.
Deianira: ⁠This fellow whom thou seest wandering 410
Throughout our Grecian cities, big with fame,
A tawny lion's spoils upon his back,
And in his dreadful hand a massive club;
Who takes their realms away from haughty kings,
And gives them to the weak; whose praise is sung
By men of every land throughout the world: 415
This man is but a trifler, without thought
Of winning deathless glory for himself.
He wanders through the earth, not in the hope
That he may rival Jupiter, or go
With great renown throughout the towns of Greece;
His quest is ever love, the maiden's couch.
He takes by force what is refused to him; 420
He rages 'gainst the nations, seeks his brides
Amidst the ruins of a people's hopes.
And this wild carnival of lustful crime
Is by the honored name, heroic, called.
But now, illustrious Oechalia fell;
One sun, one day beheld it stand—and fall.
And of the strife the only cause was love.
As often as a father shall refuse 425
To give his daughter unto Hercules,
And be the father of his enemy,
So often need he be in mortal fear.
If he is not accepted as a son,
He smites in rage. Why then do I preserve
In harmless inactivity these hands,
Until he feign another fit of rage,
And stretch his bow with deadly aim at me,
And slaughter both his wife and child at once? 430
Thus 'tis his wont to put away his wives;
And such his cruel method of divorce.
But he cannot be held the guilty one!
For he contrives to make the world believe
That Juno is the cause of all his crimes.
O sluggish passion, why inactive stand?
Anticipate his crime, and act at once
​While still thy hands are burning for the deed. 435
Nurse: ⁠Wilt kill thy husband?
Deianira: ⁠And my rival's too.
Nurse: ⁠The son of Jove?
Deianira: ⁠Alcmena's son as well.
Nurse: ⁠With the sword?
Deianira: ⁠The sword.
Nurse: ⁠If not?
Deianira: ⁠With guile I'll slay.
Nurse: ⁠What madness this?
Deianira: ⁠That which I learned of him.
Nurse: ⁠Whom Juno could not harm wilt thou destroy? 440
Deianira: ⁠Celestial anger only wretched makes
Those whom it touches; mortal wrath destroys.
Nurse: ⁠Oh, spare thy husband, wretched one, and fear.
Deianira: ⁠The one who first has learned the scorn of death,
Scorns everything. 'Tis sweet to meet the sword.
Nurse: ⁠Thy grief is all too great, my foster-child;
Let not his fault claim more than equal hate. 445
Why dost so sternly judge a light offense?
Nay, suit thy grieving to thine injury.
Deianira: ⁠But dost thou call a mistress light offense?
Of all that feeds my grief, count this the worst.
Nurse: ⁠And has thy love for great Alcides fled?
Deianira: ⁠Not fled, dear nurse, believe me; still it lies 450
Securely fixed within my inmost heart.
But outraged love is poignant misery.
Nurse: ⁠By magic arts united to their prayers
Do wives full oft their wandering husbands bind.
I have myself in midst of winter's cold
Commanded trees to clothe themselves in green,
The thunderbolt to stop; I've roused the sea 455
When no wind blew, and calmed the swollen waves;
The thirsty plain has opened at my touch
To springs of water; rocks give way to me,
And doors fly open; when I bid them stand
The shades of hell obey, and talk with me;
The infernal dog is still at my command; 460
Midnight has seen the sun, midday the night.
​For sea, land, heaven, and hell obey my will,
And nothing can withstand my potent charms.
Then let us bend him; charms will find the way.
Deianira: ⁠What magic herbs does distant Pontus yield, 465
Or Pindus 'neath the rocks of Thessaly,
Where I may find a charm to bend his will?
Though Luna leave the stars and fall to earth,
Obedient to thy magic; though the crops
In winter ripen; though the hurtling bolt
Stand still at thy command; though all the laws 470
Of nature be reversed, and stars shine out
Upon the noonday skies—he would not yield.
Nurse: ⁠But Love has conquered e'en the heavenly gods.
Deianira: ⁠Perhaps by one alone he will himself
Be conquered, and give spoils of war to him,
And so become Alcides' latest task.
But by each separate god of heaven I pray, 475
By this my fear: what secret I disclose
Keep hidden thou and close within thy breast.
Nurse: ⁠What secret wouldst thou then so closely guard?
Deianira: ⁠I mean no weapons, arms, or threatening flames.
Nurse: ⁠I can give pledge of faith, if it be free 480
From sin; for sometimes faith itself is sin.
Deianira: ⁠Lest someone hear my secret, look about;
In all directions turn thy watchful gaze.
Nurse: ⁠Behold, the place is free from curious eyes.
Deianira: ⁠Deep hidden, far within this royal pile, 485
There is a cave that guards my secret well.
Neither the rising sun can reach the spot
With its fresh beams; nor can its latest rays,
When Titan leads the weary day to rest,
And plunges 'neath the ruddy ocean's waves.
There lies a charm that can restore to me 490
The love of Hercules. I'll tell thee all.
The giver of the charm was Nessus, he
Whom Nephele to bold Ixion bore,
Where lofty^[3] Pindus towers to the skies,
And high above the clouds cold Othrys stands.
​For when, compelled by dread Alcides' club 495
To shift with ready ease from form to form
Of beasts, and, overcome in every form,
At last bold Achelous bowed his head
With its one horn defiled; then Hercules,
Exulting in his triumph, claimed his bride
And bore me off to Argos. Then, it chanced, 500
Evenus' stream that wanders through the plain,
Its whirling waters bearing to the sea,
Was swollen beyond its banks^[4] with turbid flood.
Here Nessus, well accustomed to the stream,
Required a price for bearing me across; 505
And on his back, where beast and human join,
He took me, boldly stemming every wave.
Now was fierce Nessus well across the stream,
And still in "middle flood Alcides fared,
Breasting with mighty strides the eager waves;
When he, beholding Hercules afar, 510
Cried, "Thou shalt be my wife, my booty thou,
For Hercules is held within the stream;"
And clasping me was galloping away.
But now the waves could not thwart Hercules.
"O faithless ferryman," he shouted out,
"Though Ganges and the Ister join their floods, 515
I shall o'ercome them both and check thy flight."
His arrow sped before his words were done,
Transfixing Nessus with a mortal wound,
And stayed his flight. Then he, with dying eyes
Seeking the light, within his hand caught up 520
The flowing^[5] gore; and in his hollow hoof,
Which he with savage hand had wrenched away,
He poured and handed it to me, and said:
"This blood, magicians say, contains a charm,
Which can a wavering love restore; for so
Thessalian dames by Mycale were taught, 525
Who only, 'midst all wonder-working crones,
Could lure the moon from out the starry skies.
A garment well anointed with this gore
​Shalt thou present to him," the centaur said,
"If e'er a hated rival steal thy couch,
If e'er thy husband in a fickle mood
To heavenly Jove another daughter give. 530
Let not the light of day shine on the charm,
But in the thickest darkness let it lie.
So shall the blood its magic power retain."
So spake he; o'er his words a silence fell,
And the sleep of death upon his weary limbs.
Do thou, who knowest now my secret plans, 535
Make haste and bring this charm to me, that so
Its force, imparted to a gleaming robe,
May at the touch dart through his soul, his limbs,
And through the very marrow of his bones.
Nurse: ⁠With speed will I thy bidding do, dear child.
And do thou call upon the god of love,
Invincible, who with his tender hand 540
Doth speed his arrows with unerring aim.
⁠[Exit Nurse.]
Deianira: [invoking Cupid]: O wingéd boy, by earth and heaven feared,
By creatures of the sea, and him who wields
The bolts in Aetna forged; and dreaded too
By thy relentless mother, queen of love:
Aim with unerring hand thy swiftest dart.
Not harmless be the shaft, but choose, I pray 545
One of thy keenest arrows, which thy hand
Has never used; for such must be thy dart
If mighty Hercules be forced to love.
Make firm thy hands and strongly bend thy bow;
Now, now that shaft let loose which once thou aim'dst 550
At Jove the terrible, what time the god
Laid down his thunderbolts, and as a bull
With swelling forehead clove the boisterous sea,
And bore the Assyrian maiden as his prize.
Now fill his heart with love; let him surpass
All who have ever felt thy passion's power—
And learn to love his wife. If Iole 555
Has kindled flames of love within his heart,
Extinguish them, and let him dream alone
​Of me. Thou who hast often conquered Jove,
The Thunderer, and him whose scepter dark
Holds sway within the gloomy underworld,
The king of countless throngs, the lord of Styx; 560
Whom angry Juno cannot quell: win thou
Alone this triumph over Hercules.
Nurse [returning with robe and charm ready]: The charm from its dark
⁠hiding-place is brought,
And that fair robe upon whose cunning web
Thy maidens all have wrought with wearied hands.
Now bring the poisoned blood and let the robe 565
Drink in its magic power, while by my prayers
Will I the charm augment.
⁠[Enter Lichas.]
⁠But at the word
The faithful Lichas comes. Quick! hide the charm,
Lest by his mouth our plot may be revealed.
Deianira [to Lichas]: O Lichas, ever faithful to thy lord,
A name which mighty houses may not boast: 570
Take thou this garment woven by my hands,
While Hercules was wandering o'er the earth,
Or, spent with wine, was holding in his arms
The Lydian queen, or calling Iole.
And yet, perchance, I still may turn his heart
To me again by wifely service. Thus
Have evil men full often been reclaimed. 575
Before my husband puts this tunic on,
Bid him burn incense and appease the gods,
His rough locks wreathed with hoary poplar leaves.
[Lichas takes the robe and departs upon his mission.]
I will myself within the palace go
And pray the mother of relentless love. 580
⁠[To her Aetolian attendants.]
Do ye, who from my father's house have come,
Bewail the sad misfortunes of your queen.
⁠[Exit.]

Chorus of Aeolian women: We weep for thee, O lady dear,
And for thy couch dishonored—we,
The comrades of thy earliest years,
​Weep and lament thy fate. 585
How often have we played with thee
In Acheloüs' shallow pools,
When now the swollen floods of spring
Had passed away, and gently now,
Withi graceful sweep, the river ran;
When mad Lycormas ceased to roll 590
His headlong waters on.
How oft have we, a choral band,
To Pallas' altars gone with thee;
How oft in Theban baskets borne 595
The sacred Bacchic mysteries,
When now the wintry stars have fled,
When each third summer calls the sun;
And when, the sacred rites complete
To Ceres, queen of golden grain,
Eleusin hides her worshipers
Within her mystic cave.
Now too, whatever fate thou fear'st, 600
Accept us as thy trusted friends;
For rare is such fidelity
When better fortune fails.
O thou, who wield'st the scepter's power,
Whoe'er thou art, though eagerly
The people throng within thy courts, 605
And press for entrance at thy doors;
And though the crowds press thick about
Where'er thou tak'st thy way: be sure
That in so many seeming friends,
Scarce one is true.
Erinys keeps the gilded gate;
And when the great doors swing apart, 610
Then cunning treachery creeps in
And fraud, and murderous dagger points.
Whene'er thou think'st to walk abroad,
Base envy as thy comrade goes.
As often as the morning dawns
Be sure a king from fear of death 615
Has been delivered. Few there are
​Who love the king, and not his power.
For 'tis the glitter of the throne
That fires most hearts to loyally.
Now one is eager next the king
To walk before the gaze of men,
And so gain luster for himself;
For greed of glory burns his heart. 620
Another from the royal stores
Seeks to supply his own desires;
And yet not all the precious sands
Of Hister's streams could satisfy,
Nor Lydia sate his thirst for gold;
Nor that far land where Zephyr blows,
Which looks in wonder on the gleam 625
Of Tagus' golden sands.
Were all the wealth of Hebrus his;
If rich Hydaspes were his own;
If through his fields, with all its stream,
He saw the Ganges flowing: still 630
For greed, base greed 'twould not suffice.
One honors kings and courts of kings,
Not that his careful husbandmen
Forever stooping o'er the plow
May never cease their toil for him;
Or that his peasantry may till 635
His thousand fields: but wealth alone,
Which he may hoard away, he seeks.
Another worships kings, that so
All other men he may oppress,
May ruin many, none assist;
And with this sole aim covets power,
That he may use it ill.
How few live out their fated span! 640
Whom yesternight saw radiant
With joy, the newborn day beholds
In wretched case. How rare it is
To find old age and happiness
Combined. More soft than Tyrian couch,
The greensward soothes to fearless sleep; 645
​But gilded ceilings break our rest,
And sleepless through the night we lie
On beds of luxury.
Oh, should the rich lay bare their hearts,
What fears which lofty fortune breeds
Would be revealed! The Bruttian coast 650
When Corus lashes up the sea
Is calmer far. Not so the poor:
His heart is ever full of peace.
From shallow beechen cups he drinks,
But not with trembling hands; his food
Is cheap and common, but he sees 655
No naked sword above his head.
'Tis in the cup of gold alone
That blood is mingled with the wine.
The poor man's wife no necklace wrought
Of costly pearls, the red sea's gift, 660
May wear; no gems from eastern shores
Weigh down her ears; nor does she wear
Soft scarlet wools in Tyrian dye
Twice dipped; not hers with Lydian art
To 'broider costly silks whose threads 665
The Serians under sunlit skies
From orient treetops gather; she
With common herbs must dye the web
Which she with unskilled hands has wov'n:
But still her husband is her own, 670
Her couch by rivals undisturbed.
But favored brides, whose wedding day
The thronging people celebrate,
Fate, with her cruel torch pursues.
The poor no happiness can know
Unless he sees the fortunate
From their high station fallen.
Whoever shuns the middle course 675
Can never in safe pathways go.
When once bold Phaethon essayed
Within his father's car to stand
And give the day, and did not fare
​Along the accustomed track, but sought
With wandering wheels to make his way 680
With Phoebus' torch 'midst unknown stars—
Himself he ruined and the earth
In one destruction. Daedalus
The middle course of heaven pursued,
And so to peaceful shores attained
And gave no sea its name. His son, 685
Young Icarus, dared rival birds
In flight, despised his father's wings,
And soared high up into the realm
Of Phoebus' rays: headlong he fell
And to an unknown sea his name
He gave. So are great fortunes joined 690
To mighty ills.
Let others then as fortunate
And great be hailed; I wish no share
Of popular renown. My boat
Is frail and needs must hug the shore.
And let no strong wind force my bark 695
Far out to sea; for fortune spares
Safe-harbored boats, but seeks the ships
In mid sea proudly sailing on,
Their topsails in the clouds.
But why with pallid face, in fear, 700
Like some Bacchante smitten sore
With madness, comes our princess forth?
What new reverse of fortune's wheel
Has come to vex thy tortured soul?

For though thou speakest ne'er a word, poor queen,
Whate'er thou hidest, in thy face is seen.

ACT III

Deianira: [hurrying distractedly out of the palace]: A nameless terror 705
⁠fills my stricken limbs,
My hair stands up in horror, and my soul,
But now so passion tossed, is dumb with fear;
My heart beats wildly, and my liver throbs
​With pulsing veins. As when the storm-tossed sea 710
Still heaves and swells, although the skies are clear
And winds have died away; so is my mind
Still tossed and restless, though my fear is stayed.
When once the fortunate begin to feel
The wrath of god, their sorrows never cease.
For so does fortune ever end in woe.
Nurse: ⁠What new distress, poor soul, has come to thee? 715
Deianira: ⁠But now, when I had sent away the robe
With Nessus' poisoned blood besmeared, and I,
With sad forebodings, to my chamber went,
Some nameless fear oppressed my anxious heart,
A fear of treachery. I thought to prove
The charm. Fierce Nessus, I bethought me then,
Had bidden me to keep the blood from flame; 720
And this advice itself foreboded fraud.
It chanced the sun was shining, bright and warm,
Undimmed by clouds. As I recall it now,
My fear scarce suffers me to tell the tale.
^[6]Into the blazing radiance of the sun 725
I cast the blood-stained remnant of the cloth
With which the fatal garment had been smeared.
The thing writhed horribly, and burst aflame
As soon as Phoebus warmed it with his rays.
Oh, 'tis a dreadful portent that I tell!
As when the snows on Mimas' sparkling sides
Are melted by the genial breath of spring; 730
As on Leucadia's crags the heaving waves
Are dashed and break in foam upon the beach;
Or as the incense on the holy shrines
Is melted by the warming altar fires:
So did the woolen fragment melt away. 735
And while in wonder and amaze I looked,
The object of my wonder disappeared.
Nay, e'en the ground itself began to foam,
And what the poison touched to shrink away.
⁠[Hyllus is seen approaching.]
But hither comes my son with face of fear, 740
​And hurrying feet.
⁠[To Hyllus.]
⁠What tidings dost thou bear?
Hyllus: ⁠Oh, speed thee, mother, to whatever place
On land or sea, among the stars of heaven,
Or in the depths of hell, can keep thee safe
Beyond the deadly reach of Hercules.
Deianira: ⁠Some great disaster doth my mind presage. 745
Hyllus: ⁠Hie thee to Juno's shrine, the victor's realm;
This refuge waits thee 'midst the loss of all.
Deianira: ⁠Tell what disaster hath o'erta'en me now.
Hyllus: ⁠That glory and sole bulwark of the world,
Whom in the place of Jove the fates had given 750
To bless the earth, O mother, is no more.
A strange infection wastes Alcides' limbs;
And he who conquered every form of beast,
He, he, the victor is o'ercome with woe.
What wouldst thou further hear?
Deianira: ⁠All wretched souls
Are e'er in haste to know their miseries.
Come, tell, what present fate o'erhangs our house? 755
O wretched, wretched house! Now, now indeed,
Am I a widow, exiled, fate-o'ercome.
Hyllus: ⁠Not thou alone dost weep for Hercules;
For in his fall the universe laments.
Think not on private griefs; the human race
Lifts up the voice of mourning. All the world 760
Is grieving with the selfsame grief thou feel'st.
Thou shar'st thy misery with every land.
Thou hast, indeed, forestalled their grief, poor soul;
Thou first, but not alone, dost weep for him.
Deianira: ⁠Yet tell me, tell, I pray, how near to death 765
Lies my Alcides now.
Hyllus: ⁠Death flees his grasp,
Death whom he conquered once in its own realm;
Nor will the fates permit so great a crime.
Perchance dread Clotho from her trembling hand
Has thrown aside her distaff, and in fear
Refuses to complete Alcides' fate. 770
​O day, O awful day! and must this be
The final day for mighty Hercules?
Deianira: ⁠To death and the world of shades, to that dark realm,
Dost say that he has gone already? Why,
Oh, why may I not be the first to go?
But tell me truly, if he still doth live.
Hyllus: ⁠Euboea stands with high uplifted head, 775
On every side lashed by the tossing waves.
Here high Caphereus faces Phrixus' sea,
And here rough Auster blows. But on the side
Which feels the blast of snowy Aquilo,
Euripus restless leads his wandering waves;
Seven times his heaving tides he lifts on high, 780
Seven limes they sink again, before the sun
His weary horses plunges in the sea.
Here on a lofty cliff, 'midst drifting clouds,
An ancient temple of Cenaean Jove
Gleams far and wide. When at the altars stood
The votive herd, and all the grove was full
Of hollow bellowings of the gilded bulls; 785
Then Hercules put off his lion's skin
With gore besmeared, his heavy club laid down,
And freed his shoulders of the quiver's weight.
Then, gleaming brightly in the robe thou gav'st,
His shaggy locks with hoary poplar wreathed,
He lit the altar fires, and prayed: "O Jove, 790
Not falsely called my father, take these gifts
And let the sacred fire blaze brightly up
With copious incense, which the Arab rich
From Saba's trees in worship of the sun
Collects. All monsters of the earth, the sea,
The sky have been subdued at last, and I,
As victor over all, am home returned. 795
Lay down thy thunderbolt." So prayed he then.
But even as he prayed a heavy groan
Fell from his lips, and he was horror struck
And mute awhile. And then with dreadful cries
He filled the air. As when a votive bull
Feels in his wounded neck the deep-driven ax,
​And flees away, retaining still the steel,
And fills with loud uproar the spacious hall; 800
Or as the thunder rumbles round the sky:
So did Alcides smite the very stars
And sea with his loud roarings. Chalcis heard,
The Cyclades re-echoed with the sound,
Caphereus' rocky crags and all the grove
Resounded with the groans of Hercules. 805
We saw him weep. The common people deemed
His former madness had come back to him.
His servants fled away in fear. But he,
With burning gaze, seeks one among them all,
Ill-fated Lichas, who, with trembling hands 810
Upon the altar, even then forestalled
Through deadly fear the bitter pangs of death,
And so left meager food for punishment.
Then did Alcides grasp the quivering corpse
And cried: "By such a hand as this, ye fates,
Shall it be said that I was overcome?
Has Lichas conquered Hercules? See then
Another slaughter: Hercules in turn 815
Slays Lichas. Be my noble deeds by this
Dishonored; let this be my crowning task."
He spake, and high in air the wretched boy
Was hurled, the very heavens with his gore
Besprinkling. So the Getan arrow flies,
Far leaping from the bowman's hand; so flies
The Cretan dart, but far within the mark. 820
His head against the jagged rocks is dashed,
His headless body falls into the sea,
Death^[7] claiming both. "But hold," Alcides said,
"No madness steals my reason as of yore;
This is an evil greater far than rage
Of madness; 'gainst myself alone I turn." 825
He stays him not to tell his cause of woe,
But rages wildly, tearing at his flesh,
His huge limbs rending with his savage hands.
He strove to tear away the fatal robe;
​But this alone of all his mighty deeds
Alcides could not do. Yet striving still
To tear the garment off, he tore the flesh.
The robe seemed part of that gigantic form, 830
Yea, pail and parcel of the flesh itself.
The cause of this dire suffering is hid,
But yet there is a cause. His pain at length
Unable to endure, prone on the earth
He grovels; now for cooling water calls.
But water has no power to soothe his pain. 835
He seeks the shore and plunges in the sea,
The while his servant's hands direct his steps.
Oh, bitter lot, that mighty Hercules
Should come to be the mate of common men!
And now a vessel from Euboea's shore
Bears off the ponderous bulk of Hercules,
The gentle southwind wafting it along. 840
His spirit from his mighty frame has fled,
And o'er his eyes have fall'n the shades of night.
Deianira: ⁠Why dost thou hesitate? why stand amazed,
O soul, that thus at last the deed is done?^[8]
But Jove demands again his son of thee;
Juno, her rival; yea, to all the world
Must he be given back. Vain such appeal.
Make then what reparation^[9] yet thou mayst:
Through this my guilty body let the sword 845
Be driven. Thus, thus, 'tis well that it be done.
But can this puny hand of mine atone
For crime so great? O sire of Hercules,
Destroy me with thy hurtling thunderbolt,
Thy guilty daughter. With no common dart
Arm thine avenging hand; but use that shaft
With which, had Hercules ne'er sprung from thee, 850
Thou wouldst have scorched the hydra. As a pest
Unprecedented smite me, as a scourge
Far worse to bear than any stepdame's wrath.
Such bolt as once at wandering Phaethon
Thou hurledst, aim at me. For I myself
​Have ruined all mankind in Hercules. 855
But why demand a weapon of the gods?
For 'tis her shame that great Alcides' wife
Should pray for death. Let prayers give way to deeds,
And from myself let me demand my death.
Take then the sword in haste. But why the sword?
Whate'er can work my death is sword enough.
From some heaven-piercing cliff I'll cast me down. 860
Yea, let our neighboring Oeta be my choice,
Whose top is first to greet the newborn day.
From its high peak I'll hurl me down to death.
May I be rent asunder on its crags,
And every rock demand some part of me;
Let sharp projections pierce my mangled hands,
And all the rugged mountainside be red 865
With blood. One death is not enough, 'tis true;
But still its agony can be prolonged.
O hesitating soul, thou canst not choose
What form of death to die. Oh, that the sword
Of Hercules within my chamber hung!
How fitting 'twere by such a sword to die!
But is't enough that by one hand I fall? 870
Assemble, all ye nations of the world,
And hurl upon me rocks and blazing brands;
Let no hand shirk its task of punishment,
For your avenger have I done to death.
Now with impunity shall cruel kings
Their scepters wield; and monstrous ills shall rise 875
With none to let; again shall shrines be sought,
Where worshiper and victim are alike
In human form. A broad highway for crime
Have I prepared; and, by removing him
Who was their bulwark, have exposed mankind
To every form of monstrous man and beast
And savage god. Why dost thou cease thy work, 880
O wife of thundering Jove? Why dost thou not,
In imitation of thy brother, snatch
from his own hand the fiery thunderbolt,
And slay me here thyself? For thou hast lost
​Great praise and mighty triumph by my act:
I have forestalled thee, Juno, in the death
Of this thy rival.
Hyllus: ⁠Wouldst to ruin doom
Thy house already tottering? This crime,
Whate'er it is, is all from error sprung. 885
He is not guilty who unwilling sins.
Deianira: ⁠Whoe'er ignores his fate and spares himself,
Deservedly has erred, deserves to die.
Hyllus: ⁠He must be guilty who desires to die.
Deianira: ⁠Death, only, makes the erring innocent. 890
Hyllus: ⁠Fleeing the sun—
Deianira: ⁠The sun himself flees me.
Hyllus: ⁠Wouldst leave thy life?
Deianira: ⁠A wretched life indeed;
I long to go where Hercules has gone.
Hyllus: ⁠He still survives, and breathes the air of heaven.
Deianira: ⁠Alcides died when first he was o'ercome.
Hyllus: ⁠Wilt leave thy son behind? forestall thy fates? 895
Deianira: ⁠She whom her own son buries has lived long.
Hyllus: ⁠Follow thy husband.
Deianira: ⁠Chaste wives go before.
Hyllus: ⁠Who dooms himself to death confesses sin.
Deianira: ⁠No sinner seeks to shirk his punishment.
Hyllus: ⁠The life of many a man has been restored 900
Whose guilt in judgment not in action lay.
Who blames the lot by fate assigned to him?
Deianira: ⁠He blames it to whom Catenas been unkind.
Hyllus: ⁠But Hercules himself killed Megara,
And by his raging hands with deadly darts 905
Transfixed his sons. Still, though a parricide,
Thrice guilty, he forgave himself the deed,
Blaming his madness. In Cinyphian waves
In Libya's land he washed his sin away,
And cleansed his hands. Then why, poor soul, shouldst thou
So hastily condemn thine own misdeeds?
Deianira: ⁠The fact that I have ruined Hercules 910
Condemns my deeds. I welcome punishment.
​Hyllus: ⁠If I know Hercules, he soon will come
Victorious over all his deadly woe;
And agony, o'ercome, will yield to him.
Deianira: ⁠The hydra's venom preys upon his frame;
A boundless pestilence consumes his limbs. 915
Hyllus: ⁠Think'st thou the poison of that serpent, slain,
Cannot be overcome by that brave man
Who met the living foe and conquered it?
He slew the hydra, and victorious stood,
Though in his flesh the poisonous fangs were fixed,
And o'er his limbs the deadly venom flowed. 920
Shall he, who overcame dread Nessus' self,
By this same Nessus' blood be overcome?
Deianira: ⁠'Tis vain to stay one who is bent on death.
It is my will at once to flee the light.
Who dies with Hercules has lived enough.
Nurse:⁠ Now by these hoary locks, as suppliant, 925
And by these breasts which suckled thee, I beg:
Abate thy wounded heart's wild threatenings,
Give o'er thy dread resolve for cruel death.
Deianira: ⁠Whoe'er persuades the wretched not to die
Is cruel. Death is sometimes punishment, 930
But oft a boon, and brings forgiveness oft.
Nurse: ⁠Restrain at least thy hand, unhappy child,
That he may know the deed was born of fraud,
And was not purposed by his wife's design.
Deianira: ⁠I'll plead my cause before the bar of hell,
Whose gods, I think, will free me from my guilt,
Though I am self-condemned; these guilty hands 935
Will Pluto cleanse for me. Then, on thy banks,
O Lethe, with my memory clean I'll stand,
A grieving shade, awaiting him I love.
But thou, who rulest o'er the world of gloom,
Prepare some toil for me, some dreadful toil;
For this my fault outweighs all other sins
That heart of man has ever dared to do.
Nay, Juno's self was never bold enough 940
To rob the grieving world of Hercules.
Let Sisyphus from his hard labor cease,
​And let his stone upon my shoulders press;
Let vagrant waves flee from my eager lips,
And that elusive water mock my thirst.
Upon thy winding spokes have I deserved 945
To be stretched out, O king of Thessaly.
Let greedy vultures feed upon my flesh.
One from the tale of the Danaïdes
Is lacking^[10] yet; let me the number fill.
Ye shades, make room for me; O Colchian wife,
Receive me as thy comrade there below. 950
My deed is worse, far worse than both thy crimes,
Though thou as mother and as sister, too,
I last sinned. Thou also, cruel queen of Thrace,
Take me as comrade of thy crimes. And thou,
Althaea, take thy daughter, for indeed
Thou shalt discern in me thy daughter true.
And yet not one of you has ever done 955
Such deed as mine. O all ye faithful wives,
Who have your seats within the sacred groves,
Expel me from Elysium's blessed fields.
But faithless wives, who with their husbands' blood
Have stained their hands, who have forgotten quite
Their marriage vows and stood with naked sword 960
Like Belus' bloody daughters, they will know
My deeds for theirs and praise them as their own.
To such a company of wives 'tis meet
That I betake myself; but even they
Will shun such dire companionship as mine.
O husband, strong, invincible, believe
My soul is innocent, although my hands
Are criminal. O mind too credulous! 965
Nessus, false and skilled in bestial guile!
Striving my hated rival to remove,
I have destroyed myself. O beaming sun,
And thou, O life, that by thy coaxing arts
Dost strive to hold the wretched in the light,
Begone! for every day is vile to me
That shineth not upon my Hercules. 970
​Oh, let me bear, myself, thy sufferings
And give my life for thee. Or shall I wait
And keep myself for death at thy right hand?
Hast still some strength in thee, and can thy hands
Still bend the bow and speed the fatal shaft?
Or do thy weapons lie unused, thy bow 975
No more obedient to thy nerveless hand?
But if, perchance, thou still art strong to slay,
Undaunted husband, I await thy hand;
Yea, for this cause will I postpone my death.
As thou didst Lichas crush, though innocent,
Crush me, to other cities scatter me,
Yea, hurl me to a land to thee unknown. 980
Destroy me as thou didst the Arcadian boar,
And every monster that resisted^[11] thee.
But Oh, from them, my husband, thou didst come
Victorious and safe.
Hyllus: ⁠Give o'er, I pray,
My mother; cease to blame thy guiltless fates.
Thy deed was but an error, not a fault.
Deianira: ⁠My son, if thou wouldst truly filial be,
Come, slay thy mother. Why with trembling hand 985
Dost thou stand there? Why turn away thy face?
Such crime as this is truest piety.
Still dost thou lack incentive for the deed?
Behold, this hand took Hercules from thee,
Took that great sire through whom thou dost derive
Thy blood from thundering Jove. I've stolen from thee
A greater glory than the life I gave 990
At birth. If thou art all unskilled in crime,
Learn from thy mother; wouldst thou thrust the sword
Into my neck, or sheath it in my womb,
I'll make thy soul courageous for the deed.
Thou wilt not be the doer of this crime;
For though 'tis by thy hand that I shall fall, 995
'Twill be my will. O son of Hercules,
Art thou afraid? Wilt thou not be like him,
Perform thy bidden tasks, the monsters slay?
​Prepare thy dauntless hand. Behold my breast,
So full of cares, lies open to thy stroke. 1000
Smite: I forgive the deed; the very fiends,
The dread Eumenides, will spare thy hand.
But hark! I hear their dreadful scourges sound.
Sir! Who is that who coils her snaky locks,
And at her ugly temples brandishes
Two deadly^[12] darts? Why dost thou follow me, 1005
O dire Megaera, with thy blazing brand?
Dost thou seek penalty for Hercules?
I will discharge it. O thou dreadful one,
Already have the arbiters of hell
Passed judgment on me? Lo, I see the doors
Of that sad prison-house unfold for me.
Who is that ancient man who on his back,
Worn with the toil, the stone's huge burden heaves? 1010
And even as I look the conquered stone
Rolls back again. Who on the whirling wheel
Is racked? And see! There stands Tisiphone,
With ghastly, cruel face; she seeks revenge.
Oh, spare thy scourge, Megaera, spare, I pray,
Thy Stygian brands. 'Twas love that prompted me. 1015
But what is this? The earth is tottering,
The palace roof is crashing to its fall.
Whence comes that threatening throng? Against me comes
The whole world rushing; see, on every side
The nations gnash at me, demanding back
Their savior. O ye cities, spare, I pray. 1020
Oh, whither shall I hide me from their rage?
Death is the only haven left to me.
By gleaming Phoebus' fiery disk I swear,
By all the gods of heaven: I go to death,
But leave Alcides still upon the earth.
⁠[She rushes from the scene.]
Hyllus: ⁠Ah me, in mood of frenzy has she fled.
My mother's part in this sad tragedy 1025
Is self-assigned; she is resolved to die.
My part remains to thwart her dread resolve.
​O wretched piety! O filial love!
If now my mother's death I should prevent,
I wrong my father; if I let her die,
'Gainst her I sin. Crime stands on either hand;
Yet must I check her and true crime withstand. 1030

Chorus: ⁠The sacred singer's word was true
Which once on Thracian Rhodope,
Orpheus, the heavenly Muse's son,
Sang to his lute Pierian:
That naught for endless life is made. 1035
At his sweet strains the rushing stream
Its uproar stilled, and all its waves
Paused in forgetfulness of flight;
And while the waters stayed to hear, 1040
The tribes far down the Hebrus' stream
Deemed that their river was no more.
All wingéd creatures of the wood
And e'en the woods themselves came near
To listen; or, if far on high
Some bird was wheeling through the air, 1045
To that sweet music swift he fell
On drooping wings. The mountains came:
Rough Athos with its Centaur herd,
And Rhodope, its drifted snows
Loosed by the magic of that song, 1050
Stood by to hear. The Dryads left
The shelter of their oaken trunks
And gathered round the tuneful bard.
The beasts came, too, and with them came 1055
Their lairs; hard by the fearless flocks
The tawny Afric lion crouched;
The timid does feared not the wolves;
And serpents crawled forth to the light,
Their venom quite forgot. 1060
When through the doors of Taenara
He made his way to the silent land,
Sounding his mournful lyre the while,
The glooms of Tartara were filled
​With his sad song; and the sullen gods
Of Erebus were moved to tears. 1065
He feared not the pool of the Stygian stream
By whose dread waves the heavenly gods
Make oath unbreakable.
The whirling rim of the restless wheel
Stood still, its breathless speed at rest. 1070
The immortal liver of Tityos
Grew, undevoured, while at the song
The spellbound birds forgot their greed.
Thou, too, didst hear, O boatman grim,
And thy bark that plies the infernal stream
With oars all motionless came on.
Then first the hoary Phrygian 1075
Forgot his thirst, although no more
The mocking waters fled his lips
But stood enchanted; now no more
He reaches hungry hands to grasp
The luscious fruit.
When thus through that dark world of souls
Sweet Orpheus poured such heavenly strains 1080
That the impious rock of Sisyphus
Was moved to follow him;
Then did the goddesses of fate
Renew the exhausted thread of life
For fair Eurydice. But when,
Unmindful of the law they gave, 1085
And scarce believing that his wife
Was following, the hapless man
Looked back, he lost his prize of song;
For she, who to the very verge
Of life had come again, fell back
And died again.
Then, seeking solace still in song, 1090
Orpheus unto the Getans sang:

The gods themselves are under law,
Yea he, who through the changing year
Directs the seasons in their course. 1095

The bard, that not for any man
The fates reweave the broken web;
And that all things which have been born, 1100
And shall be, are but born to die.
When to the world the day shall come
On which the reign of law shall cease,
Then shall the southern heavens fall,
And overwhelm broad Africa 1105
With all her tribes; the northern skies
Shall fall upon those barren plains
Where sweep the blasts of Boreas.
Then from the shattered heaven the sun
Shall fall, and day shall be no more. 1110
The palace of the heavenly ones
Shall sink in ruins, dragging down
The east and western skies. Then death
And chaos shall o'erwhelm the gods 1115
In common ruin; and at last,
When all things else have been destroyed,
Death shall bring death unto itself.
Where shall the earth find haven then?
Will hades open wide her doors
To let the shattered heavens in? 1120
Or is the space 'twixt heaven and earth
Not great enough (perchance too great)
For all the evils of the world?
What place is great enough to hold
Such monstrous ills of fate?^[13] What place
Will hold the gods? Shall one place then 1125
Contain three kingdoms—sea and sky
And Tartara?—
But what outrageous clamor this
That fills our frightened ears? Behold,
It is the voice of Hercules. 1130

ACT IV

Hercules: ⁠Turn back thy panting steeds, thou shining sun,
And bid the night come forth. Blot out the day,
And let the heavens, with pitchy darkness filled,
Conceal my dying pains from Juno's eyes.
Now, father, wire it fitting to recall
Dark chaos; now the joinings of the skies 1135
Should be asunder rent, and pole from pole
Be cleft. Why, father, dost thou spare the stars?
Thy Hercules is lost. Now, Jupiter,
Look well to every region of the heavens,
Lest any Gyas hurl again the crags
Of Thessaly, and Othrys be again 1140
An easy missile for Enceladus.
Now, even now will haughty Pluto loose
The gates of hell, strike off his father's chains,
And give him back to heaven. Since Hercules,
Who on the earth has seen thy thunderbolt
And lightning flash, must turn him back to Styx;
Enceladus the fierce will rise again, 1145
And hurl against the gods that mighty weight
Which now oppresses him. O Jupiter,
My death throughout the kingdom of the sky
Shall shake thy sovereignty. Then, ere thy throne
Become the giants' spoil, give burial
Beneath the ruined universe to me;
Oh, rend thy kingdom ere 'tis rent from thee. 1150

Chorus: ⁠No empty fears, O Thunderer's son,
Dost thou express: for soon again
Shall Pelion on Ossa rest;
And Athos, heaped on Pindus, thrust
Its woods amidst the stars of heaven.
Then shall Typhoeus heave aside 1155
The crags of Tuscan Ischia;
Enceladus, not yet o'ercome
By thunderbolts, shall bear aloft
The huge Aetnaean furnaces,
And rend the gaping mountain side.
​So shall it be; for even now
The skies are tottering with thy fall. 1160

Hercules: ⁠Lo I, who have escaped the hands of death,
Who scorned the Styx, and thence through Lethe's pool
Returned with spoil so grim and terrible,
That Titan from his reeling chariot
Was well-nigh thrown; I, whom three realms have felt:
I feel the pangs of death, and yet no sword 1165
Has pierced my side, nor has some mighty crag,
All Othrys, been the weapon of my death;
No giant with his fierce and gaping jaws
Has heaped high Pindus on my lifeless corpse.
Without an enemy am I o'erwhelmed; 1170
And, what brings greater anguish to my soul
(Shame to my manhood!), this my final day
Has seen no monster slain. Ah, woe is me.
My life is squandered—and for no return.
O thou, whose rule is over all the world;
Ye gods of heaven who have beheld my deeds;
O earth, is't fitting that your Hercules 1175
Should die by such a death? Oh, cruel shame!
Oh, base and bitter end—that fame should say
Great Hercules was by a woman slain,
He who in mortal combat has o'ercome^[14]
So many men and beasts! If changeless fate
Had willed that I by woman's hand should die, 1180
And if to such base end my thread of life,
Alas, must lead, Oh, that I might have fallen
By Juno's hate. 'Twould be by woman's hand,
But one who holds the heavens in her sway.
If that, ye gods, were more than I should ask,
The Amazon, beneath the Scythian skies
Brought forth, might better have o'ercome my strength.
But by what woman's hand shall I be said, 1185
Great Juno's enemy, to have been slain?
This is for thee, my stepdame, deeper shame.
Why shouldsl thou call this day a day of joy?
What baleful thing like this has earth produced
​To sate thy wrath? A mortal woman's hate
Has far excelled thine own. 'Twas late thy shame, 1190
To feel thyself by Hercules alone
Outmatched; but now must thou confess thyself
By two o'ercome. Shame on such heavenly wrath!
Oh, that the Nemean lion of my blood
Had drunk his till, and Oh, that I had fed
The hydra with his hundred snaky heads
Upon my gore! Oh, that the centaurs fierce 1195
Had made a prey of me; or 'midst the shades
I, bound upon the everlasting rock,
Were sitting, lost in misery! But no:
From every distant land I've taken spoil,
While fate looked on amazed; from hellish Styx
Have I come back to earth; the bonds of Dis
I have o'ercome. Death shunned me everywhere, 1200
That I might lack at last a glorious end.
Alas for all the monsters I have slain!
Oh, why did not three-headed Cerberus,
When he had seen the sunlight, drag me back
To hell? Why, far away 'neath western skies,
Did not the monstrous shepherd lay me low?
And those twin serpents huge—ah, woe is me,
How often have I 'scaped a glorious death! 1205
What honor comes from such an end at this?

Chorus: ⁠Dost see how, conscious of his fame,
He does not shrink from Lethe's stream?
Not grief for death, but shame he feels
At this his cause of death; he longs
Beneath some giant's vasty bulk 1210
To draw his final breath, to feel
Some mountain-heaving Titan's weight
Oppressing him, to owe his death
To some wild, raging beast. But no,
Poor soul, because of thine own hand
There is no deadly monster more. 1215
What worthy author of thy death,
Save that right hand of thine, is left?

Hercules: ⁠Alas, what Scorpion, what Cancer, torn
​From Summer's burning zone, inflames my breast?
My lungs, once filled with pulsing streams of blood, 1220
Are dry and empty now; my liver burns,
Its healthy juices parched and dried away;
And all my blood is by slow creeping fires
Consumed. Destruction on my skin feeds first,
Then deep within my flesh it eats its way, 1225
Devours my sides, my limbs and breast consumes,
Dries up the very marrow of my bones.
There in my empty bones the pest remains;
Nor can my massive frame for long endure,
But even now, with broken, crumbling joints,
Begins to fall away. My strength is gone, 1230
And e'en the limbs of mighty Hercules
Arc not enough to satisfy this pest.
Alas, how mighty must that evil be,
When I confess it great! Oh, cruel wrong!
Now see, ye cities, see what now remains
Of famous Hercules. Dost know thy son,
O father Jove? Was't with such arms as these 1235
That I crushed out the Nemean monster's life?
Did this hand stretch that mighty bow of mine
Which brought to earth from out the very stars
The vile Stymphalian birds? These sluggish feet—
Did they outstrip the swiftly fleeing stag,
With golden antlers gleaming on his head?
Did rocky Calpe, shattered by these hands, 1240
Let out the sea? So many monstrous beasts,
So many cruel men, so many kings—
Did these poor hands of mine destroy them all?
Upon these shoulders did the heavens rest?
Is this my mighty frame? Is this my neck?
Are these the hands which once the tottering skies
Upheld? Oh, can it be that ever I
The Stygian watchdog dragged into the light? 1245
Where are those powers, which ere their proper time
Are dead and buried? Why on Jupiter
As father do I call? Why, wretched one,
Do I lay claim to heaven by right of him?
​For now, Oh, now will I be thought the son
Of old Amphitryon. O deadly pest,
Whate'er thou art which in my vitals lurk'st,
Come forth. Why with a hidden agony 1250
Dost thou afflict my heart? What Scythian sea
Beneath the frozen north, what Tethys slow,
What Spanish Calpe nigh the Moorish shore
Begot and brought thee forth? O evil dire!
Art thou some crested serpent brandishing
Its hideous head; or some fell thing of ill 1255
As yet unknown to me, produced perchance
From Hydra's poisonous gore, or left on earth
By Cerberus, the deadly dog of Styx?
Oh, every ill art thou, and yet no ill.
What are thy form and features? Grant at least
That I may know the thing by which I die.
Whate'er thy name, whatever monster thou, 1260
Come out, and show thy terror to my face.
What enemy has made a way for thee
Unto my inmost heart? Behold my hands
Have torn aside my burning skin and so
My bleeding flesh disclosed. But deeper yet
Its hiding-place. Oh, woe invincible
As Hercules! But whence these grievous cries? 1265
And whence these tears which trickle down my cheeks?
Mv face, unmoved by grief, has never yet
Been wet with tears; but now, Oh, shame to me,
Has learned to weep. Where is the day, the land,
That has beheld the tears of Hercules?
Dry-eyed have I my troubles ever borne.
To thee alone, dire pest, to thee alone 1270
That strength has yielded which so many ills
Has overcome. Thou first, yea, first of all
Hast forced the tear-drops from these stubborn eyes.
For, harder than the bristling crag, or steel,
Or than the wandering Symplegades,
Hast thou my stern face softened, and my tears,
Unwilling, forced to flow. And now the world, 1275
O thou most mighty ruler of the skies,
​Has seen me giving way to tears and groans;
And, that which brings me greater anguish still,
My stepdame too has seen. But lo, again
The scorching heat flames up and burns my heart.
Oh, slay me, father, with thy heavenly dart.

Chorus: ⁠Where is the strength that can withstand
The power of suffering? But now
More hard than Thracian Haemus' crags, 1280
Sterner than savage northern skies,
He is by agony subdued.
His fainting head upon his breast
Falls low; his massive frame he shifts
From side to side; now and again
His manly courage dries his tears. 1285
So, with however warm a flame
Bright Titan labors to dissolve
The arctic snows, still are his fires
By those bright, icy rays outshone.

Hercules: ⁠O father, turn and look upon my woes. 1290
Never till now has great Alcides fled
To thee for aid; not when around my limbs
The deadly hydra, fertile in its death,
Its writhing serpents folded. 'Mid the pools
Of hell, by that thick pall of death I stood
Surrounded close; and yet I called thee not.
How many dreadful beasts have I o'ercome, 1295
How many kings and tyrants; yet my face
Have I ne'er turned in suppliance to the sky.
This hand of mine alone has been the god
Who heard my prayers. No gleaming thunderbolts
Have ever flashed from heaven on my account.
But now at last has come a woeful time
Which bids me ask for aid. This day, the first 1300
And last, shall hear the prayers of Hercules.
One thunderbolt I ask, and only one.
Consider me a giant storming heaven.
Yea, heaven I might have stormed in very truth;
But, since I deemed thee sire, I spared the skies.
Oh, whether thou be harsh or merciful, 1305
​Stretch forth thy hand and grant me speedy death,
And gain this great renown unto thy name
Or, if thy righteous hand refuse a task
So impious, send forth from Sicily
Those burning Titans, who with giant hands
May Pindus huge upheave, and Ossa too, 1310
And overwhelm me with their crushing weight.
Let dire Bellona burst the bars of hell,
And with her gleaming weapon pierce my heart;
Or let fiece Mars be arméd for my death;
He is my brother; true, but Juno's son.
Thou also, sprung from father Jove, and so
Alcides' sister, bright Athene, come, 1315
And hurl thy spear against thy brother's breast.
And e'en to thee I stretch my suppliant hands,
O cruel stepdame; thou at least, I pray,
Let fly thy dart (so by a woman's hand
I may be slain), thine anger soothed at last,
Thy thirst for vengeance sated. Why dost thou
Still nurse thy wrath? Why further seek revenge? 1320
Behold Alcides suppliant to thee,
Which no wild beast, no land has ever seen.
But now, O Juno, when I need thy wrath,
Is now thine anger cooled, thy hate forgot?
Thou giv'st me life when 'tis for death I pray.
O lands, and countless cities of the earth, 1325
Is there no one among you all to bring
A blazing torch for mighty Hercules?
Will no one give me arms? Why take away
My weapons from my hands? Then let no land
Bring forth dire monsters more when I am dead,
And let the world not ask for aid of mine.
If other ills are born into the world,
Then must another savior come as well. 1330
Oh, bring ye heavy stones from every side
And hurl them at my wretched head; and so
O'erwhelm at last my woes. Ungrateful world,
Dost thou refuse? Hast thou forgot me quite?
Thou wouldst thyself have been a helpless prey
​To evil monsters, had not I been born.
Then, O ye peoples, rescue me from ill, 1335
Your champion. This chance is given you,
By slaying me to cancel all you owe.
⁠[Enter Alcmena.]
Alcmena: ⁠Where shall Alcides' wretched mother go?
Where is my son? Lo, if I see aright,
Yonder he lies with burning fever tossed
And throbbing heart. I hear his groans of pain. 1340
Ah me, his life is at an end. My son,
Come, let me fold thee in a last embrace,
And catch thy parting spirit in my mouth;
These arms of mine upon thine own I'll lay.
But where are they? Where is that sturdy neck
Which bore the burden of the starry heavens?
What cause has left to thee so small a part
Of thy once massive frame? 1345
Hercules: ⁠Thou seest, indeed,
The shadow and the piteous counterfeit
Of thine Alcides. Come, behold thy son.
But why dost turn away and hide thy face?
Art thou ashamed that such as I am called
Thy son?
Alcmena: ⁠What land, what world has given birth
To this new monster? What so dire a thing 1350
Has triumphed over mighty Hercules?
Hercules: ⁠By my own wife's deceits am I undone.
Alcmena: ⁠What fraud is great enough to conquer thee?
Hercules: ⁠Whate're is great enough for woman's wrath.
Alcmena: ⁠How got the pest so deep within thy frame? 1355
Hercules: ⁠Through a poisoned robe sent by a woman's hands.
Alcmena: ⁠Where is the robe? I see thy limbs are bare.
Hercules: ⁠With me 'tis all consumed.
Alcmena: ⁠How can it be?
Hercules: ⁠I tell thee, mother, through my vitals roam
The hydra and a thousand poisonous beasts. 1360
What flames as hot as these invade the clouds
O'er Aetna's top? What glowing Lemnian fires,
What torrid radiance of the burning heavens,
​Within whose scorching zone the day comes not?
O comrades, take and throw me in the sea,
Or in the river's rushing stream alas, 1365
Where is the stream that will suffice for me?
Though greater than all lands, not ocean's self
Can cool my burning pains. To ease my woe
All streams were not enough, all springs would fail.
Why, O thou lord of Erebus, didst thou
To Jove return me? Better had it been
To hold me fast. Oh, take me back again, 1370
And show me as I am to those fell shades
Whom I subdued. Naught will I take away.
Thou hast no need to fear Alcides more.
Come death, attack me; have no fear of me;
For I at length am fain to welcome thee.
Alcmena: ⁠Restrain thy tears at least; subdue thy pains.
Come, show thyself unconqucred still by woe; 1375
And death and hell, as is thy wont, defy.
Hercules: ⁠If on the heights of Caucasus I lay
In chains, to greedy birds of prey exposed,
While Scythia wailed in sympathy with me,
No sound of woe should issue from my lips;
Or should the huge, unfixed Symplegades 1380
Together clash and threaten me with death,
I'd bear unmoved the threatened agony.
Should Pindus fall upon me, Haemus too,
Tall Athos which defies the Thracian seas,
And Mimas at whose towering peaks are hurled
The bolts of Jove—if e'en the sky itself 1385
Should fall upon my head, and Phoebus' car
In blazing torture on my shoulders lie:
No coward cry of pain would ever show
The mind of Hercules subdued. Nay more:
Although a thousand monstrous beasts at once
Should rush upon and rend me limb from limb;
Though here Stymphalus' bird with clangor wild, 1390
And there with all his strength the threat'ning bull,
And all fierce, monstrous things, should press me hard;
Nay, though the very soil of earth should rise
​And shriek^[15] its rage at me from every side;
Though Sinis dire should hurl me through the air:
Though sore bestead and mangled, still would I
In silence bear it all. No beasts, no arms,
No weapon wielded by the hand of man,
Could force from me a single word of pain. 1395
Alcmena: ⁠No woman's poison burns thy limbs, my son;
But thy long years of work, thy constant toils,
Have for thy woe some evil sickness bred.
Hercules: ⁠Sickness, say'st thou? Where may this sickness be?
Does any evil still upon the earth
Exist, with me alive? But let it come.
Let someone quickly bring my bow to me— 1400
But no: my naked hands will be enough.
Now bid the monster come.
Alcmena: ⁠Alas, his pains,
Too great, have reft his senses quite away.
Remove his weapons, take those deadly shafts
Out of his reach, I pray. His burning cheeks 1405
Some violence portend. Oh, where shall I,
A helpless, agéd woman hide myself?
That grief of his has changed to maddened rage,
And that alone is master of him now.
Why should I, therefore, foolish that I am,
Seek hiding-place or flight? By some brave hand
Alcmena has deserved to meet her death.
So let me perish even impiously, 1410
Before some craven soul command my death,
Or some base creature triumph over me.
But sec, outworn by woe, his weary heart
Is in the soothing bonds of slumber bound;
His panting chest with labored breathing heaves.
Have mercy, O ye gods. If ye from me 1415
Have willed to take my glorious son, at least
Spare to the world, I pray, its champion.
Let all his pains depart, and once again
Let great Alcides' frame renew its strength.
⁠[Enter Hyllus.]
​Hyllus: ⁠O bitter light, O day with evil filled!
Dead is the Thunderer's daughter, and his son
Lies dying! I alone of all survive.
By my own mother's crime my father dies,
But she by guile was snared. What agéd man,
Throughout the round of years, in all his life,
Will e'er be able to recount such woes?
One day has snatched away my parents both. 1435
But though I say naught of my other ills,
And cease to blame the fates, still must I say:
My sire, the mighty Hercules, is gone.
Alcmena: ⁠Restrain thy words, child of illustrious sire,
And matched with sad Alcmena in her grief;
Perchance long slumber will assuage his pain.
But see, repose deserts his weary heart, 1430
And gives him back to suffering, me to grief.
Hercules [awakening in delirium]: Why, what is this? Do I with
⁠waking eyes
See little Trachin on her craggy seat,
Or, set amongst the stars, have I at length
Escaped the race of men? Who opes for me
The gate of heaven? Thee, father, now I see, 1435
Thee, and my stepdame too at last appeased.
What heavenly sound is this that fills my ears?
Great Juno calls me son! Now I behold
The gleaming palace of the heavenly world,
And Phoebus' path worn by his burning wheels.
⁠[Beginning to come out of his delirium.]
I see night's couch; her shadows call me hence. 1440
But what is this? who shuts me out of heaven,
And from the stars, O father, leads me down?
I felt the glow of Phoebus on my face,
So near to heaven was I; but now, alas,
'Tis Trachin that I see. Oh, who to earth
Has given me back again? A moment since, 1445
And Oeta's lofty peak stood far below,
And all the world was lying at my feet.
How sweet the respite that I had from thee,
O grief. Thou mak'st me to confess—but stay,
​Let not such shameful words escape thy lips.
⁠[To Hyllus.]
This woe, my son, is of thy mother's gift.
Oh, that I might crush out her guilty life
With my great club, as once the Amazons 1450
I smote upon the snowy Caucasus.
O well-loved Megara, to think that thou
Wast wife of mine when in that fit I fell
Of maddened rage! Give me my club and bow;
Let my hand be disgraced, and with a blot
Let me destroy the luster of my praise—
My latest conquest on a woman gained! 1455
Hyllus: ⁠Now curb the dreadful threatenings of thy wrath;
She has her wound—'tis over—and has paid
The penalty which thou wouldst have her pay:
For now, self-slain, my mother lies in death.
Hercules: ⁠O grief, still with me! She deserved to die 1460
Beneath the hands of angry Hercules.
Lichas, thou hast lost thy mate in death.
So hot my wrath, against her helpless corpse
I still would rage. Why does her body lie
Secure from my assaults? Go cast it out
To be a banquet for the birds of prey.
Hyllus: ⁠She suffered more than even thou wouldst wish.
Self-slain, and grieving sore for thee, she died. 1465
But 'tis not by a cruel wife's deceit,
Nor by my mother's guile, thou liest low.
By Nessus was this deadly plot conceived,
Who, smitten by thine arrow, lost his life.
'Twas in the centaur's gore the robe was dipped, 1470
And by thy pains he doth requite his own.
Hercules: ⁠Then truly are his pains well recompensed,
And my own doubtful oracles explained.
This fate the talking oak foretold to me,
And Delphi's oracle, whose sacred voice
Shook Cirrha's temples and Parnassus' slopes: 1475
"By hand of one whom thou hast slain, some day,
Victorious Hercules, shalt thou lie low.
This end, when thou hast traversed sea and land,
​And the realm of spirits, is reserved for thee."
Now will we grieve no more; such end is meet;
Thus shall no conqueror of Hercules 1480
Survive to tell the tale. Now shall my death
Be glorious, illustrious, renowned,
And worthy of myself. This final day
Will I make famous in the ears of men.
Go, cut down all the woods, and Oeta's groves
Bring hither, that a mighty funeral pyre
May hold great Hercules before he dies.
And thee, dear son of Poeas, thee I ask 1485
To do this last, sad office for thy friend,
And all the sky illumine with the flames
Of Hercules. And now to thee this prayer,
This last request, Hyllus, my son, I make:
Among my captives is a beauteous maid,
Of noble breeding and of royal birth.
'Tis Iole, the child of Eurytus. 1490
Her would I have thee to thy chamber lead
With fitting marriage rites; for, stained with blood,
Victorious, I robbed her of her home
And fatherland; and in return, poor girl,
Naught save Alcides have I given her;
And he is gone. Then let her soothe her woes
In the embrace of him who boasts the blood 1495
Of Jove and Hercules. Whatever seed
She has conceived of me let her to thee
Bring forth.
⁠[To Alcmena.]
⁠And do thou cease thy plaints, I pray,
For me, great mother; thy Alcides lives;
And by my might have I my stepdame made
To seem but as the concubine of Jove. 1500
Whether the story of the night prolonged
At Hercules' begetting be the truth,
Or whether I was got of mortal sire—
Though I be falsely called the son of Jove,
I have indeed deserved to be his son;
For I have honored him, and to his praise 1505
​My mother brought me forth. Nay, Jove himself
Is proud that he is held to be my sire.
Then cease thy tears, O mother; thou shalt be
Of high degree among Argolic dames.
For no such son as thine has Juno borne,
Though she may wield the scepter of the skies, 1510
The Thunderer's bride. And yet, though holding heaven,
She grudged Alcides to a mortal birth,
And wished that she might call him son of hers.
Now, Titan, must thou go thy way alone;
For I, who have thy constant comrade been,
Am bound for Tartara, the world of shades.
Yet down to hell I bear this noble praise: 1515
That openly no monster conquered me,
But that I conquered all—and openly.

Chorus: ⁠Bright sun, thou glory of the world,
At whose first rays wan Hecate
Unyokes the weary steeds of night, 1520
To east and west the message tell;
To those who suffer 'neath the Bear,
And who, beneath thy burning car
Are tortured: Hercules prepares
To speed him to the world of shades, 1525
The realm of sleepless Cerberus,
Whence he will^[16] ne'er again return.
Let thy bright rays be overcast
With clouds; gaze on the mourning world
With pallid face; and let thy head
In thick and murky mists be veiled. 1530
When, Titan, where, beneath what sky,
Shalt thou behold upon the earth
Another such as Hercules?
Whom shall the wretched land invoke,
If any hundred-headed pest,
In Lerna born, spring up anew 1535
And spread destruction; if again
Some boar in ancient Arcady
Infest the woods; or if again
​Some son of Thracian Rhodope,
With heart more hard than the frozen lands
That lie 'neath snowy Helice,
Should stain his stalls with human gore? 1540
Who will give peace to the trembling folk
If angry gods with monstrous birth
Should curse the world again? Behold,
The mate for common man he lies,
Whom earth produced a mate for Jove.
Let lamentations loud resound 1545
Through all the world; with streaming hair
Let women smite their naked arms;
Let all the temples of the gods
Be closed save Juno's; she alone
Is free from care.
To Lethe and the Stygian shore 1550
Now art thou going, whence no keel
Will ever bring thee back. Thou goest,
Lamented one, unto the shades,
Whence, death o'ercome, thou once return'dst
In triumph with thy prize; but now,
An empty shade, with fleshless arms,
Wan face, and slender, drooping neck, 1555
Thou goest back. Nor will the skiff
(Which once bore only thee and feared
That even so 'twould be o'erturned)
Bear thee alone across the stream.
But not with common shades shalt thou
Be herded. Thou with Aeacus^[17]
And pious kings of Crete shalt sit
In judgment on the deeds of men,
And punish tyrants. O ye kings, 1560
Be merciful, restrain your hands.
'Tis worthy praise to keep the sword
Unstained with blood; while thou didst reign,
Upon thy realm to have allowed
Least privilege to bloody^[18] fate.
But place among the stars is given
​To manly virtue. Shall thou hold 1565
Thy seat within the northern skies,
Or where his fiercest rays the sun
Sends forth? Or in the balmy west
Wilt shine, where thou mayst hear the waves
On Calpe's shore resound? What place
In heaven serene shalt thou obtain? 1570
When great Alcides is received
Among the stars, who will be free
From fear? May Jove assign thy place
Far from the raging Lion's seat,
And burning Crab, lest at sight of thee
The frightened stars confuse their laws
And Titan quake with fear. 1575
So long as blooming flowers shall come
With wakening spring; while winter's frosts
Strip bare the trees, and summer suns
Reclothe them with their wonted green;
While in the autumn ripened fruits
Fall to the ground: no lapse of time 1580
Shall e'er destroy thy memory
Upon the earth. For thou shalt live
As comrade of the sun and stars.
Sooner shall wheat grow in the sea,
Or stormy straits with gentle waves
Beat on the shore; sooner descend
The Bear from out his frozen sky
And bathe him in forbidden waves: 1585
Than shall the thankful people cease
To sing thy praise.
⁠And now to thee,
O father of the world, we pray:
Let do dread beast be born on earth,
No monstrous pest; keep this poor world
Prom abject fear of heartless kings;
Let no one hold the reins of power 1590
Who deems his kingdom's glory lies
In the terror of his naked sword.
But if again some thing of dread
​Appear upon the earth, Oh, give,
We pray, another champion.
But what is this? The heavens resound. 1595
Behold Alcides' father mourns,
He mourns his son. Or is't the sound
Of grieving gods, or the cry of fear
Of the timid stepdame? Can it be
That at the sight of Hercules
Great Juno flees the stars? Perchance
Beneath the added weight of heaven
Tall Atlas reels. Or do the shades 1600
Cry out in fear of Hercules,
While Cerberus with broken chains
In panic flees the sight? Not so:
Behold, 'tis Poeas' son, who comes
With looks of gladness. See, he bears
The well-known quiver and the shafts 1605
Of Hercules.

ACT V

⁠[Enter Philoctetes.]
Nurse: ⁠Speak out, good youth, and tell the end, I pray,
Of Hercules. How did he meet his death?
Philoctetes: More gladly than another meets his life.
Nurse: ⁠What? Did he then rejoice him in the fire?
Philoctetes: He showed that burning flames were naught to him. 1610
What is there in the world which Hercules
Has left unconquered? He has vanquished all.
Nurse: ⁠ What chance for glory on the funeral pyre?
Philoctetes: One evil thing remained upon the earth
Which he had not o'ercome—the power of fire. 1615
But this has now been added to the beasts,
And fire is one of great Alcides' toils.
Nurse: ⁠But tell us in what way he conquered fire.
Philoctetes: When all his sorrowing friends began to fell
The trees on Oeta's slopes, beneath one hand
The beech-tree lost its foliage and lay,
Its mighty trunk prone on the ground. One hand
With deadly stroke attacked the towering pine, 1620
​Which lifted to the stars its threatening top,
And railed it from the clouds. In act to fall,
It shook its rocky crag, and with a crash
Whelmed all the lesser forest in its fall.
Within the forest was a certain oak,
Wide-spreading, vast, like that Chaonian tree
Of prophecy, whose shade shuts out the sun,
Embracing all the grove^[19] within its arms. 1625
By many a blow beset, it groans at first
In threatening wise, and all the wedges breaks;
The smiting axe bounds back, its edges dulled,
Too soft for such a task. At length the tree,
Long wavering, falls with widespread ruin down.
Straightway the place admits the sun's bright rays; 1630
The birds, their tree o'erthrown, fly twittering round,
And seek their vanished homes on wearied wing.
Now every tree resounds; even the oaks
Feel in their sacred sides the piercing steel,
Nor does its ancient sanctity protect 1635
The grove. The wood into a pile is heaped;
Its logs alternate rising high aloft,
Make all too small a pyre for Hercules:
The pine inflammable, tough-fibered oak,
The ilex' shorter trunks. But poplar trees, 1640
Whose foliage adorned Alcides' brow,
Fill up the space and make the pyre complete.
But he, like some great lion in the woods
Of Libya lying, roaring out his pain,
Is borne along—but who would e'er believe
That he was hurrying to his funeral pyre?
His gaze wis fixed upon the stars of heaven, 1645
Not fires of earth, when to the mount he came
And with his eyes surveyed the mighty pyre.
The great beams groaned and broke beneath his weight.
Now he demands his bow. "Take this," he said,
"O son of Foeas, take this as the gift
And pledge of love from Hercules to thee.
These deadly shafts the poisonous hydra felt; 1650
​With these the vile Stymphalian birds lie low;
And every other monster which I slew
With distant aim. O noble youth, go on
In victory, for never 'gainst thy foes
Shalt thou send these in vain. Wouldst wish to bring
Birds from the very clouds? Down shall they fall,
And with them come thine arrows sure of prey. 1655
This bow shall never disappoint thy hand.
Well has it learned to poise the feathered shaft
And send it flying in unerring course.
The shafts themselves as well, loosed from the string,
Have never failed to find their destined mark.
But do thou in return, my only prayer,
Bring now the funeral torch and light the pyre. 1660
This club," he said, "which never hand but mine
Has wielded, shall the flames consume with me.
This weapon, only, shall to Hercules
Belong. But this, too, thou shouldst have from me
If thou couldst bear its weight. But let it serve
To aid its master's pyre." Then he required 1665
The shaggy spoil of the dire Nemean beast
To burn with him. The huge skin hid the pyre.
Now all the gazing crowd begin to groan,
And tears of woe to fall from every eye.
His mother bares her breast in eager grief
And smites her body stripped e'en to the loins 1670
For unrestrained lament; then all the gods
And Jupiter himself she supplicates,
While all the place re-echoes with her shrieks.
"Thou dost disgrace the death of Hercules,
O mother, check thy tears," Alcides said;
"Within thy heart thy woman's grief confine.
Why shouldst thou make this day a time of joy 1675
For Juno with thy tears? For she, be sure,
Rejoices to behold her rival weep.
Then this unworthy grief, my mother, check.
It is not meet to abuse the breast that nursed,
And the womb that bore Alcides." Thus he spake;
Then with a dreadful cry, as when he led 1680
​The awful dog throughout the towns of Greece,
Returned triumphant o'er the shades of hell,
Scorning the lord of death and death itself,
So did he lay him down upon the pyre.
What victor in his chariot ever shone
With such triumphant joy? What tyrant king
With such a countenance e'er uttered laws
Unto his subject tribes? So deep his calm 1685
Of soul. All tears were dried, our sorrows shamed
To silence, and we groaned no more to think
That he must perish. E'en Alcmena's self,
Whose sex is prone to mourn, now tearless stood,
A worthy mother of her noble son. 1690
Nurse: ⁠But did he, on the verge of death, no prayer
To heaven breathe, no aid from Jove implore?
Philoctetes: With peaceful soul he lay, and scanned the skies,
As searching from what quarter of the heavens
His sire would look on him, and thus he spake, 1695
With hands outstretched: "O father, whencesoe'er
From heaven thou lookest down upon thy son—
He truly is my father for whose sake
One day of old was swallowed up in night—
If both the bounds of Phoebus sing my praise,
If Scythia, and all the sun-parched lands; 1700
If peace fills all the world; if cities groan
Beneath no tyrant's hand, and no one stains
With blood of guests his impious altar stones;
If horrid crimes have ceased: then, take, I pray.
My spirit to the skies. I have no fear
Of death, nor do the gloomy realms of Dis 1705
Affright my soul; but Oh, I blush with shame
To go, a naked shade, unto those gods
Whom I myself aforetime overcame.
Dispel the clouds and ope the gates of heaven,
That all the gods may see Alcides burn.
Though thou refuse me place among the stars,
Thou shalt be forced to grant my prayer. Ah no: 1710
If grief can palliate my impious words,
Forgive; spread wide the Stygian pools for me,
​And give me up to death. But first, O sire,
Approve thy son. This day at least shall show
That I am worthy of the skies. All deeds
Which I have done before seem worthless now; 1715
This day shall prove me worthy, or condemn."
When he had spoken thus he called for fire:
"Come hither now, comrade of Hercules,
With willing hand take up the funeral torch.
Why (lost thou tremble? Does thy timid hand
Shrink from the deed as from an impious crime?
Then give me back my quiver, coward, weak. 1720
Is that the hand which fain would bend my bow?
Why does such pallor sit upon thy checks?
Come, ply the torch with that same fortitude
That thou dost see in me. Thy pattern take,
Poor soul, from him who faces fiery death.
But lo, my father calls me from the sky
And opens wide the gates. O sire, I come!" 1725
And as he spake his face was glorified.
Then did I with my trembling hand apply
The blazing torch. But see, the flames leap back,
And will not touch his limbs. But Hercules
Pursues the fleeing fires. You would suppose
That Caucasus or Pindus was ablaze, 1730
Or lofty Athos. Still no sound was heard
Save only that the flames made loud lament.
O stubborn heart! Had Typhon huge been placed
Upon that pyre, or bold Enceladus,
Who bore uprooted Ossa on his back,
He would have groaned aloud in agony. 1735
But Hercules amidst the roaring flames
Stood up, all charred and torn, with dauntless gaze,
And said: "O mother, thus 'tis meet for thee
Beside the pyre of Hercules to stand.
Such mourning fits him well. Now dost thou seem
In very truth Alcides' mother." There, 1740
'Midst scorching heat and roaring flames he stood,
Unmoved, unshaken, showing naught of pain,
Encouraging, advising, active still.
​His own bravo spirit animated all.
You would have thought him burning with desire
To burn. The crowd looked on in speechless awe,
And scarce believed the flames to be true fire, 1745
So calm and so majestic was his mien.
Nor did he hasten to consume himself;
But when he deemed that fortitude enough
Was shown in death, from every hand he dragged
The burning logs which with least ardor glowed,
Piled them together in a mighty fire, 1750
And to the very center of the blaze
The dauntless hero went. Awhile he stood
And feasted on the flames his eager eyes.
Then from his heavy beard leaped gleaming fire.
But even when the flames assailed his face,
And licked his head with their hot, fiery tongues,
He did not close his eyes. 1755
⁠But what is this?
'Tis sad Alcmena. With what signs of woe
She makes her way, while in her breast she bears
The pitiful remains of Hercules.
[Enter Alcmena, carrying in her bosom a funeral urn.]
Alcmena: ⁠Ye powers of heaven, I bid you fear the fates.
⁠[Holding up the urn.]
How small a space Alcides' ashes fill!
To this small compass has that giant come!
O shining sun, how great a man has gone 1760
To nothingness. Alas, this aged breast
Is large enough to be Alcides' tomb.
Behold, his ashes scarce can fill the urn.
How small his weight, upon whose shoulders once
The dome of heaven lay, a burden light.
Thou once didst go, my son, to Tartara, 1765
The farthest realms of death—and come again.
Oh, when wilt thou a second time return
From that infernal stream? I ask thee not
To come again with spoil, nor bring again
Imprisoned Theseus to the light of day;
But only that thou come again—alone.
​Will all the world, heaped on thee, hold thy shade, 1770
Or Cerberus avail to keep thee back?
When wilt thou batter down the gates of hell,
Or to what portals shall thy mother go?
Where is the highway that leads down to death?
E'en now thou tak'st thy journey to the shades,
Which thou wilt ne'er retrace. Why waste the hours
In vain complaints? And why, O wretched life, 1775
Dost thou endure? Why dost thou cling to day?
What Hercules can I again bring forth
To Jupiter? What son so great as he
Will ever call Alcmena mother? Oh,
Too happy thou, my Theban husband, thou
Who didst to gloomy Tartara descend
While still Alcides lived; at thine approach 1780
The infernal deities were filled with fear
Of thee, though only the reputed sire
Of Hercules. What land will welcome me,
Now old and hated by all cruel kings
(If any cruel king remains alive)?
Oh, woe is me! Whatever orphaned son
Laments his sire will strive to seek revenge 1785
From me, and I shall be the prey of all.
If any young Busiris or the son
Of dread Antaeus terrifies the land,
His booty shall I be. If anyone
Would make reprisal for the Thracian steeds
Of bloody Diomede, I shall be given 1790
To feed those cruel herds. Juno perchance
Will be by passion pricked to seek revenge.
Now all her anger will be turned on me;
For, though her soul no longer is disturbed
Because of Hercules, I still am left,
Her hated rival. Ah, what punishment
Will she inflict, in fear lest I bring forth 1795
Another son! The mighty Hercules
Has made my womb a thing of terror still.
Where shall Alcmena take herself? What place,
What region of the universe will keep,
​What hiding-place conceal thy mother now,
Since she is known through thee in every land?
Shall I return unto my native shores,
My wretched lares? There Eurystheus reigns. 1800
Shall I seek out my husband's city, Thebes,
Ismenus' stream, and my own bridal bed
Where once, beloved, I saw great Jupiter?
Oh, happy, far too happy had I been,
If I myself, like Semele, had felt
The blasting presence of the thundering Jove!
Oh, would that from my womb Alcides, too, 1805
Untimely had been torn! But now 'tis given,
'Tis given to see my son with mighty Jove
Vying in praise; would that this might be given,
To know from what fate he could rescue me.
What people now will live remembering thee,
O son? Ungrateful are they all alike. 1810
Cleonae shall I seek? the Arcadians,
And the lands ennobled by thy mighty deeds?
Here fell the serpent dire, here monstrous birds,
Here fell the bloody king; and here, subdued
By thy right hand, the lion, who in heaven
Is given a place, whilst thou in earth remain'st. 1815
If earth is grateful, then let every race
Defend Alcmena for thy sake. Shall I
To Thracian peoples go, to Hebrus' tribes?
For this land, too, was by thy mighty works
Defended. Low the bloody stables lie,
And low the kingdom; peace was granted it, 1820
What time the cruel king was overthrown.
What land, indeed, has not gained peace through thee?
Where shall I seek for thee a sepulcher,
Unhappy, aged woman that I am?
Let all the world contend for these remains
Collected from the pyre of Hercules.
What race, what temples, or what nations ask
For them? Who asks to have Alcmena's load? 1825
What sepulcher, O son, what tomb for thee
Is great enough? Naught save the world itself;
​And lasting fame shall be thine epitaph.
But why, O soul of mine, art thou in fear?
Thou hast the ashes of thy Hercules.
Embrace his bones, and they will give thee help,
Will be thy sure defense. For e'en the shade 1830
Of great Alcides will make kings afraid.
Philoctetes: O mother of illustrious Hercules,
Restrain the tears thou deemest due thy son;
For neither grieving tears nor mournful prayers
Should follow him who by his noble worth
Has forced his way to heaven in spite of fate.
Alcides' deathless valor checks your tears. 1835
Alcmena: ⁠Why should I bate my grief? For I have lost
My savior,^[20] yea, the savior of the land
And sea,^[21] and wheresoe'er the shining day
From his resplendent car, in east or west,
Looks down upon the earth. How many sons
In him, O wretched mother, have I lost! 1840
Without a kingdom, I could kingdoms give.
I only, 'midst all mothers of the earth,
Had never need of prayer; naught from the gods
I asked, while Hercules remained alive;
For what could his devotion not bestow?
What god in heaven could e'er deny me aught? 1845
In my own hands was answer of my prayer;
For what great Jove denied, Alcides gave.
What mortal mother e'er bore such a son?
A mother once with grief was turned to stone,
When, 'midst her brood of fourteen children slain,
She stood, one mother, and bewailed them all. 1850
To many families like hers my son
Could be compared. Till now for mother's grief
A measure vast enough could not be found;
But now will I, Alcmena, furnish it.
Then cease, ye mothers, though persistent grief
Till now has bidden you weep; though heavy woe 1855
Has turned your hearts to stone; and yield you all
Unto my woes.
​⁠Then come, ye wretched hands,
And beat this agéd breast. But can it be
That thou alone canst for so great a loss
Lament, so old and worn, which^[22] all the world 1860
Will presently attempt? Yet raise thy arms,
However weary, to their mournful task.
And to thy wailing summon all the earth,
And so excite the envy of the gods.

Bewail Alcmena's son, the seed
Of Jove, for whose conception, long, 1865
Day perished and the lingering dawn
Combined two nights in one. But now
A greater than the day is dead.
Ye nations, join in common grief,
Whose cruel lords he bade descend
To Stygian realms, and lay aside 1870
Their red swords reeking with the blood
Of subject peoples. With your tears
Repay his services; let earth,
The whole round earth, with woe resound.
Let sea-girt Crete bewail him, Crete,
The Thunderer's beloved land; 1875
Beat, beat your breasts, ye hundred tribes;
Ye Cretans, Corybantes, now
Clash Ida's cymbals; for 'tis meet
To mourn him thus. Now, now lament
His funeral; for low he lies, 1880
A mate, O Crete, for Jove himself.
Bewail the death of Hercules,
Ye sons of Arcady, whose race
Is older than Diana's birth.
Let your cries from high Parthenius
And Nemea's halls resound afar; 1885
Let Maenala re-echo loud
Your sounds of woe. The bristly boar
Within your borders overthrown
​Demands lament for Hercules;
And the monster of Stympnalus' pool,
Whose spreading wings shut out the day,
By great Alcides' arrows slain. 1890
Weep thou, Cleonae, weep and wail
For him; for once the lion huge
Which held your walls in terror, he,
By his strong hand, o'ercame and slew.
Ye Thracian matrons, beat your breasts,
And let cold Hebrus resound to your beating. 1895
Lament for Alcides: no longer your children
Are born for the stables; no longer your vitals
Wild horses devour. O ye African lands,
From Antaeus delivered, ye regions of Spain
From Geryon saved, come, weep for your hero. 1900
Yea, all ye wretched nations, weep
With me and smite your breasts in woe,
And let your blows be heard afar,
By eastern and by western shores.
Ye dwellers in the whirling sky,
Ye gods above, do ye, too, weep
The fate of Hercules; for he 1905
Your heavens upon his shoulders bore,
When Atlas, who was wont to bear
The spangled skies, was eased awhile
Of his vast load. Where now, O Jove,
Is the promised palace of the sky, 1910
Those heavenly heights? Alcides dies
And is entombed—the common lot.
How often has he spared for thee
The deadly thunderbolt of wrath!
How seldom wast thou forced to hurl
Thy fires! But hurl 'gainst me at least
One shaft, and think me Semele. 1915
And now, O son, hast thou obtained
The fields Elysian, the shore
To which the voice of nature calls
All nations? Or has gloomy Styx
Hemmed in thy way in vengeful wrath
​Because of stolen Cerberus,
And in the outer court of Dis 1920
Do jealous fates detain thee still?
Oh, what a rout among the shades
And frightened manes must there be!
Does Charon flee in his ghostly skiff?
With flying hoofs do the Centaurs rush 1925
Through the wandering shades? Does the hydra seek
In fear to plunge his snaky heads
'Neath the murky waves? Do all thy tasks
Hold thee in fear?
⁠Ah me! Ah me!
What foolish, raving madness this!
I am mistaken quite. I know 1930
The shades and manes fear thee not;
For neither does the tawny skin
Stripped from the fierce Argolic beast
Protect thy left with its streaming mane,
Nor do its savage teeth surround 1935
Thy head. Thy quiver with its darts
Thou hast given away, and a weaker hand
Will aim thy bow. Alas, my son,
Unarmed through the shades thou tak'st thy way;
And with the shades shalt thou dwell for aye.
The Voice of Hercules [sounding from heaven]: Why, since I hold the 1940
starry realms of sky,

And have at last attained a heavenly seat,
Dost thou by wailing bid me feel again
Mortality? Give o'er, since valor now
Has made for me a passage to the gods.

Alcmena [bewildered]: Whence fall upon my startled ears
These sounds? Whence come these thunder tones
That bid me check my tears? Ah, now 1945
I know that chaos is o'ercome.
From Styx art thou once more returned,
O son? And hast thou once again
Vanquished the grizzly power of death?
Hast thou escaped the grim abode
Of death once more, the gloomy pools
​Where sailed the dark infernal skiff? 1950
Does Acheron's wan stream allow
To thee alone a backward way?
And after death has greedy fate
No hold upon thy dauntless soul?
Perchance thy way to hell was barred
By Pluto's self, who trembled sore
For his own realm? Upon the pyre 1955
Of blazing woods I saw thee lie;
While to the stars the raging flames
Shot up. Thou wast indeed consumed.
Then why does not the far abode
Of death retain thy spirit still? 1960

What part of thee do trembling manes fear?
Is e'en thy shade too terrible for Dis?
Hercules [his form now taking shape in the air above]: The pools of
⁠grim Cocytus hold me not,
Nor has the dusky skiff contained my ghost.
Then cease thy mourning, mother; once for all
Have I beheld the manes and the shades. 1965
The mortal part of me, the part thou gav'st,
Was by the overmastering flames consumed;
Thy part to fire, my father's part to heaven
Has been consigned. Then cease thy loud laments,
Which it were fitting to a worthless son
To give. To inglorious souls such grief is due; 1970
For courage heavenward tends; base fear, to death.
Hear now, as from the stars I prophesy:
Soon shall the bloody king, Eurystheus, pay
Fit penalty to thee for all his deeds;
For over his proud head shalt thou be borne
In thy triumphant car. But now 'tis meet
That I return to the celestial realms; 1975
Alcides once again has conquered hell.
⁠[He vanishes from sight.]
Alcmena: ⁠Stay but a little—ah, from my fond eyes
He has departed, gone again to heaven.
Am I deceived, and do my eyes but dream
They saw my son? My soul for very grief
​Is faithless still. Not so, thou art a god, 1980
And holdest even now the immortal skies.
I trust thy triumph still. But quickly now
Unto the realm of Thebes will I repair,
And proudly tell thy new-made godhead there.
⁠[Exit.]

Chorus: ⁠Never is glorious manhood borne
To Stygian shades. The brave live on,
Nor over Lethe's silent stream 1985
Shall they by cruel fate be drawn.
But when life's days are all consumed,
And comes the final hour, for them
A pathway to the gods is spread
By glory.
⁠Be thou with us yet,
O mighty conqueror of beasts, 1990
Subduer of the world. Oh, still
Have thought unto this earth of ours.
And if some strange, new monster come
And fill the nations with his dread,
Do thou with forked lightnings crush
The beast; yea, hurl thy thunderbolts 1995
More mightily than Jove himself.