_Hercules_ [_waking up in his right mind_]: What place is this? What quarter of the world? Where am I? 'Neath the rising sun, or where The frozen Bear wheels slowly overhead? Or in that farthest land whose shores are washed 1140 By the Hesperian sea? What air is this I breathe? What soil supports my weary frame? For surely have I come again to earth. [_His eyes fall on his murdered children._] Whence came those bloody corpses in my house? Do I behold them, or not even yet Have those infernal visions left my mind? 1145 Even on earth the ghostly shapes of death Still flit before mine eyes. I speak with shame: I am afraid. Some great calamity, Some hidden ill my prescient soul forebodes. Where is my father? Where my faithful wife, Proud of that troop of children at her side? 1150 Why does my left side miss the lion's skin, My shield in danger and my couch in sleep? Where is my bow, my darts? Who, while I live Has dared remove my arms? Who so great spoils Has gained? Who then so bold as not to fear 1155 The very slumber of a Hercules? 'Twould please me well to see my victor--well. Arise, thou victor, whom my sire begot, A later wonder, leaving heaven behind; At whose begetting, longer than at mine, The night stood waiting. [_He recognizes his dead wife and children._] Oh, what sight is this? My sons lie murdered, weltering in their blood; 1160 My wife is slain. What Lycus rules the land? Who could have dared to do such things in Thebes, And Hercules returned? Whoever dwells Along Ismenus' stream, in Attic plains, Or in the land Dardanian Pelops rules, 1165 By two seas lapped, come to my aid, and tell The name of him who has this murder done. If not, my wrath will turn against you all; For he's my foe who shows me not my foe. Why dost thou hide, Alcides' vanquisher? I care not whether thou dost vengeance seek For those wild horses of the Thracian king, 1170 Or Geryon's flock, or Libya's vanquished lords; I do not shun the fight; see, here I stand, Defenseless, even though with my own arms Thou com'st against me, armorless. But why Do Theseus and my father shun my glance? Why do they turn away? Postpone your tears, 1175 And tell me who has given my loved ones all To death. What, father, art thou silent still? Then do thou tell me, Theseus, faithful friend. Each turns away in silence, and his face, As if in shame, conceals; while down his cheeks The tears flow stealthily. In so great ills What cause for shame can be? Is this the work 1180 Of him who ruthlessly at Argos rules? Has dying Lycus' hostile soldiery With such disaster overwhelmed our house?