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HERCULES.
FROM THEOCRITUS: IDYLL. XXV.
And now, as broad enough for twoThe social path, inviting converse, grew,
He walk'd attentive by the hero's side,
Who thus, to gratify his wish, replied:
‘The Argive's story you recount, is true;
‘And hence, great Prince, the just surmise you drew:
‘Since then you ask, enamour'd of my fame,
‘How bled the furious beast, and whence he came;
‘My tongue shall tell you, in authentic strain,
‘What other Argives might attempt in vain.
‘Sent by some god, 'tis said, the monster flew
‘In vengeance, 'mid the base Phoronean crew,
‘For sacrifice unpaid; and rush'd amain,
‘One flood of carnage, thro' Pisæum's plain;
‘And o'er the Bembinœan glades, more fell,
‘Bade all the deluge of his fury swell!
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‘This beast, but wish'd me slain beneath his rage.
‘Arm'd with my bow, my quiver'd shafts, I went,
‘And grasp'd my club, on bold defiance bent—
‘My knotted club, of strong wild olive made,
‘That, rugged, its unpolisht rind display'd;
‘That with a wrench from Helicon I tore,
‘Its roots and all, and thence the trophy bore.
‘Soon as I reach'd the wood, I bent my bow,
‘Firm-strung its painted curve, and couching low,
‘Notch'd on the nerve, its arrow—look'd around,
‘And from my covert trac'd the forest-ground.
‘'Twas now high noon. No roar I heard, nor saw
‘One print that might betray the prowler's paw;
‘Nor rustic found, amidst his pastoral care,
‘Nor herdsman, who might shew the lion's lair.
‘Nor herds nor herdsmen venture to the plain;
‘All, fix'd by terror, in their stalls remain.
‘At length, as up the mountain-groves I go,
‘Amidst a thicket, I espy my foe:
‘Ere evening, gorg'd with carnage and with blood,
‘He sought his den deep-buried in the wood.
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‘And hang, still blacker, from his clotted mane;
‘While shooting out his tongue with foam besmear'd,
‘He licks the grisly gore that steep'd his beard.
‘Midst bowering shrubs I hid me from his view,
‘Then aim'd an arrow, as he nearer drew,
‘But from his flank the shaft rebounding flew.
‘His fiery eyes he lifted from the ground,
‘High rais'd his tawny head, and gaz'd around,
‘And gnash'd his teeth tremendous—when again,
‘(Vex'd that the first had spent its force in vain)
‘I launch'd an arrow at the monster's heart;
‘It flew—but left unpierc'd the vital part:
‘His shaggy hide repulsive of the blow,
‘The feather'd vengeance hiss'd, and fell below.
‘My bow, once more with vehemence I tried—
‘Then first he saw—and rising in the pride
‘Of lordly anger, to the fight impell'd,
‘Scour'd with his lashing tail his sides, and swell'd
‘His brindled neck, and bent into a bow
‘His back, in act to bound upon his foe!
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‘And flexile to a wheel each felly tends,
‘Thro' gradual heat—awhile the timber stands
‘In curves, then springs elastic from his hands;
‘Thus the fell beast, high bounding from afar,
Sprung, with a sudden impulse, to the war.
My left hand held my darts, and round my breast
‘Spread, thickly-wrought, my strong protecting vest.
‘My olive club I wielded in my right;
‘And his shagg'd temples struck, with all my might:
‘The olive snapp'd asunder on his head—
‘Trembling he reel'd—the savage fierceness fled
‘From his dimm'd eyes; and all contus'd his brain
‘Seem'd swimming in an agony of pain.
‘This—this I mark'd; and ere the beast respir'd,
‘Flung down my painted bow; with triumph fir'd,
‘Seiz'd instant his broad neck; behind him prest,
‘From his fell claws unsheath'd to guard my breast;
‘And twin'd, quick-mounting on his horrid back,
‘My legs in his, to guard from an attack
‘My griping thighs—then heav'd him (as the breath
‘Lost its last struggles in the gasp of death)
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‘Hell yawn'd—to hell his monster-spirit fled!
‘The conquest o'er, awhile I vainly tried
‘To strip with stone and steel the shaggy hide:
‘Some god inspir'd me, in the serious pause
‘Of thought, and pointed to the lion's claws.
‘With these full soon the prostrate beast I slay'd,
‘And in the shielding spoils my limbs array'd.
‘Thus drench'd with flocks and herds and shepherds' blood
‘Expir'd the monster of the Nemean wood.’
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