Gath’ring, with each repeated blast, the night, To make uncertain aim, and erring sight. The wrathful god then plunges from above, And, where in thickest waves the sparkles drove, There lights; and wades thro’ fumes, and gropes his way, Half sing’d, half stifled, till he grasps his prey. The monster, spewing fruitless flames, he found; He squeez’d his throat; he writh’d his neck around, And in a knot his crippled members bound; Then from their sockets tore his burning eyes: Roll’d on a heap, the breathless robber lies. The doors, unbarr’d, receive the rushing day, And thoro’ lights disclose the ravish’d prey. The bulls, redeem’d, breathe open air again. Next, by the feet, they drag him from his den. The wond’ring neighbourhood, with glad surprise, Behold his shagged breast, his giant size, His mouth that flames no more, and his extinguish’d eyes. From that auspicious day, with rites divine, We worship at the hero’s holy shrine. Potitius first ordain’d these annual vows: As priests, were added the Pinarian house, Who rais’d this altar in the sacred shade, Where honours, ever due, for ever shall be paid. For these deserts, and this high virtue shown, Ye warlike youths, your heads with garlands crown: Fill high the goblets with a sparkling flood, And with deep draughts invoke our common god.” This said, a double wreath Evander twin’d, And poplars black and white his temples bind. Then brims his ample bowl. With like design The rest invoke the gods, with sprinkled wine. Meantime the sun descended from the skies, And the bright evening star began to rise. And now the priests, Potitius at their head, In skins of beasts involv’d, the long procession led; Held high the flaming tapers in their hands, As custom had prescrib’d their holy bands; Then with a second course the tables load, And with full chargers offer to the god. The Salii sing, and cense his altars round With Saban smoke, their heads with poplar bound One choir of old, another of the young, To dance, and bear the burthen of the song. The lay records the labours, and the praise, And all th’ immortal acts of Hercules: First, how the mighty babe, when swath’d in bands, The serpents strangled with his infant hands; Then, as in years and matchless force he grew, Th’ Oechalian walls, and Trojan, overthrew. Besides, a thousand hazards they relate, Procur’d by Juno’s and Eurystheus’ hate: “Thy hands, unconquer’d hero, could subdue The cloud-born Centaurs, and the monster crew: Nor thy resistless arm the bull withstood, Nor he, the roaring terror of the wood. The triple porter of the Stygian seat, With lolling tongue, lay fawning at thy feet,