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Book XI. With the Immortal Gods, and in his arms Enfolds neat-footed Hebe, daughter fair Of Jove, and of his golden-sandal'd spouse. Around him, clamorous as birds, the dead Swarm'd turbulent; he, gloomy-brow'd as night, With uncased bow and arrow on the string Peer'd terrible from side to side, as one Ever in act to shoot; a dreadful belt He bore athwart his bosom, thong'd with gold. There, broider'd shone many a stupendous form, Bears, wild boars, lions with fire-flashing eyes, Fierce combats, battles, bloodshed, homicide. The artist, author of that belt, none such Before, produced, or after. Me his eye No sooner mark'd, than knowing me, in words By sorrow quick suggested, he began. Laertes' noble son, for wiles renown'd! Ah, hapless Hero! thou art, doubtless, charged, Thou also, with some arduous labour, such As in the realms of day I once endured. Son was I of Saturnian Jove, yet woes Immense sustain'd, subjected to a King Inferior far to me, whose harsh commands Enjoin'd me many a terrible exploit. He even bade me on a time lead hence The dog, that task believing above all Impracticable; yet from Ades him I dragg'd reluctant into light, by aid