_Deianira:_ But now, when I had sent away the robe With Nessus' poisoned blood besmeared, and I, With sad forebodings, to my chamber went, Some nameless fear oppressed my anxious heart, A fear of treachery. I thought to prove The charm. Fierce Nessus, I bethought me then, Had bidden me to keep the blood from flame; 720 And this advice itself foreboded fraud. It chanced the sun was shining, bright and warm, Undimmed by clouds. As I recall it now, My fear scarce suffers me to tell the tale.[30] Into the blazing radiance of the sun 725 I cast the blood-stained remnant of the cloth With which the fatal garment had been smeared. The thing writhed horribly, and burst aflame As soon as Phoebus warmed it with his rays. Oh, 'tis a dreadful portent that I tell! As when the snows on Mimas' sparkling sides Are melted by the genial breath of spring; 730 As on Leucadia's crags the heaving waves Are dashed and break in foam upon the beach; Or as the incense on the holy shrines Is melted by the warming altar fires: So did the woolen fragment melt away. 735 And while in wonder and amaze I looked, The object of my wonder disappeared. Nay, e'en the ground itself began to foam, And what the poison touched to shrink away. [Hyllus _is seen approaching_.] But hither comes my son with face of fear, 740 And hurrying feet. [_To_ Hyllus.] What tidings dost thou bear? _Hyllus:_ Oh, speed thee, mother, to whatever place On land or sea, among the stars of heaven, Or in the depths of hell, can keep thee safe Beyond the deadly reach of Hercules. _Deianira:_ Some great disaster doth my mind presage. 745 _Hyllus:_ Hie thee to Juno's shrine, the victor's realm; This refuge waits thee 'midst the loss of all. _Deianira:_ Tell what disaster hath o'erta'en me now. _Hyllus:_ That glory and sole bulwark of the world, Whom in the place of Jove the fates had given 750 To bless the earth, O mother, is no more. A strange infection wastes Alcides' limbs; And he who conquered every form of beast, He, he, the victor is o'ercome with woe. What wouldst thou further hear? _Deianira:_ All wretched souls Are e'er in haste to know their miseries. Come, tell, what present fate o'erhangs our house? 755 O wretched, wretched house! Now, now indeed, Am I a widow, exiled, fate-o'ercome.