Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/262

244 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, 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, 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; 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, 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.  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,