In very truth Alcides' mother." There, 1740 'Midst scorching heat and roaring flames he stood, Unmoved, unshaken, showing naught of pain, Encouraging, advising, active still. His own brave spirit animated all. You would have thought him burning with desire To burn. The crowd looked on in speechless awe, And scarce believed the flames to be true fire, 1745 So calm and so majestic was his mien. Nor did he hasten to consume himself; But when he deemed that fortitude enough Was shown in death, from every hand he dragged The burning logs which with least ardor glowed, Piled them together in a mighty fire, 1750 And to the very center of the blaze The dauntless hero went. Awhile he stood And feasted on the flames his eager eyes. Then from his heavy beard leaped gleaming fire. But even when the flames assailed his face, And licked his head with their hot, fiery tongues, He did not close his eyes. 1755 But what is this? 'Tis sad Alcmena. With what signs of woe She makes her way, while in her breast she bears The pitiful remains of Hercules. [_Enter_ Alcmena, _carrying in her bosom a funeral urn_.] _Alcmena:_ Ye powers of heaven, I bid you fear the fates. [_Holding up the urn._] How small a space Alcides' ashes fill! To this small compass has that giant come! O shining sun, how great a man has gone 1760 To nothingness. Alas, this agéd breast Is large enough to be Alcides' tomb. Behold, his ashes scarce can fill the urn. How small his weight, upon whose shoulders once The dome of heaven lay, a burden light. Thou once didst go, my son, to Tartara, 1765 The farthest realms of death--and come again. Oh, when wilt thou a second time return From that infernal stream? I ask thee not To come again with spoil, nor bring again Imprisoned Theseus to the light of day; But only that thou come again--alone. Will all the world, heaped on thee, hold thy shade, 1770 Or Cerberus avail to keep thee back? When wilt thou batter down the gates of hell, Or to what portals shall thy mother go? Where is the highway that leads down to death? E'en now thou tak'st thy journey to the shades, Which thou wilt ne'er retrace. Why waste the hours In vain complaints? And why, O wretched life, 1775 Dost thou endure? Why dost thou cling to day? What Hercules can I again bring forth To Jupiter? What son so great as he Will ever call Alcmena mother? Oh, Too happy thou, my Theban husband, thou Who didst to gloomy Tartara descend While still Alcides lived; at thine approach 1780 The infernal deities were filled with fear Of thee, though only the reputed sire Of Hercules.