_Philoctetes:_ With peaceful soul he lay, and scanned the skies, As searching from what quarter of the heavens His sire would look on him, and thus he spake, 1695 With hands outstretched: "O father, whencesoe'er From heaven thou lookest down upon thy son-- He truly is my father for whose sake One day of old was swallowed up in night-- If both the bounds of Phoebus sing my praise, If Scythia, and all the sun-parched lands; 1700 If peace fills all the world; if cities groan Beneath no tyrant's hand, and no one stains With blood of guests his impious altar stones; If horrid crimes have ceased: then, take, I pray, My spirit to the skies. I have no fear Of death, nor do the gloomy realms of Dis 1705 Affright my soul; but Oh, I blush with shame To go, a naked shade, unto those gods Whom I myself aforetime overcame. Dispel the clouds and ope the gates of heaven, That all the gods may see Alcides burn. Though thou refuse me place among the stars, Thou shalt be forced to grant my prayer. Ah no: 1710 If grief can palliate my impious words, Forgive; spread wide the Stygian pools for me, And give me up to death. But first, O sire, Approve thy son. This day at least shall show That I am worthy of the skies. All deeds Which I have done before seem worthless now; 1715 This day shall prove me worthy, or condemn." When he had spoken thus he called for fire: "Come hither now, comrade of Hercules, With willing hand take up the funeral torch. Why dost thou tremble? Does thy timid hand Shrink from the deed as from an impious crime? Then give me back my quiver, coward, weak. 1720 Is that the hand which fain would bend my bow? Why does such pallor sit upon thy cheeks? Come, ply the torch with that same fortitude That thou dost see in me. Thy pattern take, Poor soul, from him who faces fiery death. But lo, my father calls me from the sky And opens wide the gates. O sire, I come!" 1725 And as he spake his face was glorified. Then did I with my trembling hand apply The blazing torch. But see, the flames leap back, And will not touch his limbs. But Hercules Pursues the fleeing fires. You would suppose That Caucasus or Pindus was ablaze, 1730 Or lofty Athos. Still no sound was heard Save only that the flames made loud lament. O stubborn heart! Had Typhon huge been placed Upon that pyre, or bold Enceladus, Who bore uprooted Ossa on his back, He would have groaned aloud in agony. 1735 But Hercules amidst the roaring flames Stood up, all charred and torn, with dauntless gaze, And said: "O mother, thus 'tis meet for thee Beside the pyre of Hercules to stand. Such mourning fits him well. Now dost thou seem