When hunger Was satisfied, and the wine went round, Evander Told them a story:--“No vain superstition, No ignorance of the gods, enjoins upon us These solemn rites, this feast, this deep devotion To a mighty power’s altar. O Trojan guest, We are grateful men, saved from a cruel danger, We pay these rites each year, each year renewing A worship justly due. Look up at the cliff Hung on the high rocks yonder, see the scattered Rubble of rock, the ruin of a dwelling, The jumble of toppled crags. There was a cave there Once on a time; no man had ever measured Its awful depth, no sunlight ever cheered it. The half-man, Cacus, terrible to look at, Lived in that cave, and the ground was always reeking With the smell of blood, and nailed to the doors, the faces Of men hung pale and wasted. Vulcan fathered This monster; you would know it if you saw him With the black fire pouring from mouth and nostrils, A bulk of moving evil. But time at last Brought us the help we prayed for; a great avenger, A god, came to our rescue, Hercules, Proud in the death and spoil of triple Geryon, Drove his huge bulls this way, the great herd filling Valley and river. And the crazy Cacus, Who never would lose a chance for crime or cunning, Made off with four of the bulls and four sleek heifers, Dragging them by their tails; the tracks would never Prove he had driven them to his rocky cavern. He hid them in the darkness; whoever looked Would think they had gone not to, but from, the cave. Meanwhile, as Hercules drove the well-fed herd Out of the stables to the road again, Some of them lowed in protest; hill and grove Gave back the sound, and from the cave one heifer Lowed in return. That was the doom of Cacus. Black bile burned hot in Hercules; he grabbed His weapons, his great knotted club, went rushing Up to the mountain-top. Never before Had men seen terror in the eyes of Cacus. Swifter than wind, he dove into his cavern, Shut himself in, shattered the links of iron That held aloft the giant boulder, dropped it To block the doorway, and Hercules came flinging His angry strength against it, to no purpose. This way he faced, and that, and gnashed his teeth In sheer frustration; he went around the mountain Three times, in burning rage; three times he battered The bulkhead of the door; three times he rested, Breathless and weary, on the floor of the valley. Above the cavern ridge, a pointed rock, All flint, cut sharp, with a sheer drop all around it, Rose steep, a nesting place for kites and buzzards. It leaned a little leftward toward the river. This Hercules grabbed and shook, straining against it; His right hand pushed and wrenched it loose; he shoved it, With a sudden heave, down hill, and the heaven thundered,