Hyllus
749
' If I must,
Observe me well : when Hercules, returned
From conquest, had laid waste the noble city
i Ee to Euboea came, where o'er the sea,
Which beats on every side, Oenseum's top
Hangs dreadful, thither to paternal Jove
His new raised altars in the leafy wood
He came to visit : there did my glad eyes
Behold Alcides first. As he prepared
The frequent victim, from the palace came
Lichas thy messenger, and wath him brought
The fatal gift : wrapped in the deadly garment
Without a blemish, firstlings of the spoil,
He slew ; together next a hundred fell.
The mingled fiock. Pleased with his gaudy vest,
And happy in it, he awhile remained,
Offering with joy his grateful sacrifice ;
But, lo ! when from the holy victim rose
The bloody flame, and from the pitchy wood
Exhaled its moisture, sudden a cold sweat
Bedewed his limbs, and to his body stuck
As by the hand of some artificer
Close joined to every part, the fatal vest ;
Convulsion racked his bones, and through his veins,
Like the fell serpent's deadly venom, raged ;
Then questioned he the wretched guiltless Lichas
By what detested arts he had procured
The poisoned garb ; he, ignorant of all,
Could only say it was the gift he brought
From Deianira. When Alcides heard it.
Tortured with pain, he took him by the foot,
And hurled him headlong on a pointed rock
That o'er the ocean hung; his brains dashed forth
With mingled blood flowed through his clotted hair
In horrid streams ; the multitude with shrieks
Lamented loud the fury of Alcides,
And Lichas' hapless fate ; none durst oppose
His raging frenzy ; prostrate on the earth
Kow would he lay and groan ; and now uprising
"Would bellow forth his griefs ; the mountain-tops
Of Locris, and Euboea's rocks returned
His dreadful cries ; then on the ground outstretched,
In bitterest wrath he cursed the nuptial bed
Of QEneus, and his execrations poured
On thee his worst of foes : at length his eyes,
Distorted forth from the surrounding smoke,
He cast on me, who midst attending crowds
Wept his sad fate ; " Approach," he cried, " my son,
Do not forsake thy father ; rather come
And share his fate than leave me here, oh ! haste.
And take me hence ; bear me where never eye
Of mortal shall behold me. O my child,
Let me not perish here." Thus spake my father,
And I obeyed : distracted with his pains
A vessel brings him to this place, and soon
Living or dead you will behold him here.
This have thy horrid machinations done
For thy Alcides : Oh ! may justice doom thee
To righteous punishment, if it be lawful
For me to call down vengeance on a mother.
As sure it is on one who hath disclaimed
All piety like thee ; the earth sustains not
A better man than him whom thou has murdered,
Nor shalt thou e'er behold his like again.
Trachiniae. Sophocles. Thomas Francklin (Translator). London. 1758–1759.