And in that land where the sun rides high In middle heaven, and the shadows fail. 885 Whatever region Tethys laves In her long reach has been o'ercome By great Alcides' toils. Borne now Across the shoals of Tartarus, With hell subdued, he comes again. 890 No room is left for fear; for what Beyond the world of death remains? And now ye priests, adorn your bristling hair With poplar which Alcides loves to wear. ACT IV [_Enter_ Hercules, _fresh from the slaying of_ Lycus, _intending to offer sacrifices to the gods_.] _Hercules:_ By my avenging hand lies Lycus slain; 895 And all, who in his life the tyrant claimed As comrades, now by death are comrades still In punishment. Now will I offerings pay Unto my father and the gods of heaven For victory, and heap the altars high With bleeding victims to their kindness due. 900 Thee, thee, O friend and helper in my toils, O warlike Pallas, unto thee I pray, Upon whose left the petrifying shield Makes direful threats. And be thou here I pray, Thou tamer of Lycurgus, who didst cross The ruddy sea, who in thy hand dost bear The thyrsus, ivy-wreathed; and ye twin gods, Apollo and Diana, hear my prayer. 905 (Her hand the bow adorns, but his, the lyre.) Ye, too, I worship, all ye brothers mine, Who dwell in heaven; but not my stepdame's sons. [_To his attendants._] And do ye hither drive my richest flocks; Whatever fragrant spices India bears 910 And far Arabia, to the altars bring, And let the savory smoke of sacrifice To heaven ascend. Now let us crown our locks With wreaths of poplar; but the olive leaves, Thy nation's symbol, should adorn thy head, O Theseus. Now in prayer we lift our hands To Jove the Thunderer: do thou protect 915 The founders of our state, the wooded caves Of savage Zethus, Dirce's famous fount, And the Tyrian lares of our pilgrim king. [_To the attendants._] Now throw the fragrant incense on the flames. _Amphitr.:_ O son, thy hands, all dripping with the blood Of thy slain foe, thou first shouldst purify. _Hercules:_ Would that his hateful blood I might pour out 920 Unto the gods; for no libation poured Could stain the altars more acceptably. No ampler, richer victim could be paid To mighty Jove, than this unrighteous king. _Amphitr.:_ Beseech thy father that he end thy tasks; Pray that at last he give surcease of toil, 925 And to the wearied rest.