The Cyclades re-echoed with the sound, Caphereus' rocky crags and all the grove Resounded with the groans of Hercules. 805 We saw him weep. The common people deemed His former madness had come back to him. His servants fled away in fear. But he, With burning gaze, seeks one among them all, Ill-fated Lichas, who, with trembling hands 810 Upon the altar, even then forestalled Through deadly fear the bitter pangs of death, And so left meager food for punishment. Then did Alcides grasp the quivering corpse And cried: "By such a hand as this, ye fates, Shall it be said that I was overcome? Has Lichas conquered Hercules? See then Another slaughter: Hercules in turn 815 Slays Lichas. Be my noble deeds by this Dishonored; let this be my crowning task." He spake, and high in air the wretched boy Was hurled, the very heavens with his gore Besprinkling. So the Getan arrow flies, Far leaping from the bowman's hand; so flies The Cretan dart, but far within the mark. 820 His head against the jagged rocks is dashed, His headless body falls into the sea, Death[31] claiming both. "But hold," Alcides said, "No madness steals my reason as of yore; This is an evil greater far than rage Of madness; 'gainst myself alone I turn." 825 He stays him not to tell his cause of woe, But rages wildly, tearing at his flesh, His huge limbs rending with his savage hands. He strove to tear away the fatal robe; But this alone of all his mighty deeds Alcides could not do. Yet striving still To tear the garment off, he tore the flesh. The robe seemed part of that gigantic form, 830 Yea, part and parcel of the flesh itself. The cause of this dire suffering is hid, But yet there is a cause. His pain at length Unable to endure, prone on the earth He grovels; now for cooling water calls. But water has no power to soothe his pain. 835 He seeks the shore and plunges in the sea, The while his servant's hands direct his steps. Oh, bitter lot, that mighty Hercules Should come to be the mate of common men! And now a vessel from Euboea's shore Bears off the ponderous bulk of Hercules, The gentle southwind wafting it along. 840 His spirit from his mighty frame has fled, And o'er his eyes have fall'n the shades of night.