Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/138

120 My outraged soul shall kindle; and my grief, All hope of truce denying; endless wars Shall fiercely wage. But what avail my wars? Whatever savage things the hurtful earth, The sea or air produce, terrific shapes, Fierce, pestilential, horrible, and dire. The power of all is broken and subdued. Alcides towers above and thrives on woe; My wrath is his delight, and to his praise He turns my deadly hate. While I, too stern, Impose his dreadful tasks, I do but prove His origin, and opportunity For glorious achievement render him. Where Phoebus with his neighboring torch illumes The east and western shores of Aethiop's land, Alcides' dauntless courage is adored; While all the world considers him a god. And now have I no monsters more to send; And less his toil to do the tasks I bid, Than mine to set them. Joyfully he hears My several commands. But what dire tasks The tyrant may conceive can harm that youth Impetuous? His very arms, forsooth, Are torn from monsters which he feared—and slew; With spoils of lion and of hydra armed, He walks abroad. Nor are the lands of earth Enough for him: behold, the doors of Dis Are burst, and to the upper world he brings The booty taken from the vanquished king. 'Tis not enough that he returns alive: The law that binds the shades is set at naught. Myself I saw him, when he had o'ercome The king of hades and escaped the night Of that deep underworld, display to Jove The spoils of Dis. But why does he not lead, Oppressed and overcome, the king himself Who gained by lot an equal realm with Jove? Why rules he not in conquered Erebus? Why bares he not the Styx? His upward way