For I have honored him, and to his praise 1505 My mother brought me forth. Nay, Jove himself Is proud that he is held to be my sire. Then cease thy tears, O mother; thou shalt be Of high degree among Argolic dames. For no such son as thine has Juno borne, Though she may wield the scepter of the skies, 1510 The Thunderer's bride. And yet, though holding heaven, She grudged Alcides to a mortal birth, And wished that she might call him son of hers. Now, Titan, must thou go thy way alone; For I, who have thy constant comrade been, Am bound for Tartara, the world of shades. Yet down to hell I bear this noble praise: 1515 That openly no monster conquered me, But that I conquered all--and openly. * * * * * _Chorus:_ Bright sun, thou glory of the world, At whose first rays wan Hecate Unyokes the weary steeds of night, 1520 To east and west the message tell; To those who suffer 'neath the Bear, And who, beneath thy burning car Are tortured: Hercules prepares To speed him to the world of shades, 1525 The realm of sleepless Cerberus, Whence he will[40] ne'er again return. Let thy bright rays be overcast With clouds; gaze on the mourning world With pallid face; and let thy head In thick and murky mists be veiled. 1530 When, Titan, where, beneath what sky, Shalt thou behold upon the earth Another such as Hercules? Whom shall the wretched land invoke, If any hundred-headed pest, In Lerna born, spring up anew 1535 And spread destruction; if again Some boar in ancient Arcady Infest the woods; or if again Some son of Thracian Rhodope, With heart more hard than the frozen lands That lie 'neath snowy Helice, Should stain his stalls with human gore? 1540 Who will give peace to the trembling folk If angry gods with monstrous birth Should curse the world again? Behold, The mate for common man he lies, Whom earth produced a mate for Jove. Let lamentations loud resound 1545 Through all the world; with streaming hair Let women smite their naked arms; Let all the temples of the gods Be closed save Juno's; she alone Is free from care. To Lethe and the Stygian shore 1550 Now art thou going, whence no keel Will ever bring thee back. Thou goest, Lamented one, unto the shades, Whence, death o'ercome, thou once return'dst In triumph with thy prize; but now, An empty shade, with fleshless arms, Wan face, and slender, drooping neck, 1555 Thou goest back. Nor will the skiff (Which once bore only thee and feared