Loss of his horn had greatly humbled him,
it was so cherished though his only loss, —
but he could hide the sad disgrace with reeds
and willow boughs entwined about his head.
O, Nessus! your fierce passion for the same
maid utterly destroyed even you, pierced through
the body by a flying arrow-point.
Returning to the city of his birth
great Hercules, the son of Jupiter,
with his new bride, arrived upon the bank
of swift Evenus—after winter rains
had swollen it so far beyond its wont,
that, full of eddies, it was found to be
impassable. The hero stood there, brave
but anxious for his bride. Nessus, the centaur,
strong-limbed and well-acquainted with those fords,
came up to him and said, “Plunge in the flood
and swim with unimpeded strength—for with
my help she will land safely over there.”
And so the hero, with no thought of doubt,
trusted the damsel to the centaur's care,
though she was pale and trembling with her fear
of the swift river and the centaur's aid.
This done, the hero, burdened as he was
with quiver and the lion skin (for he
had tossed his club and curving bow across
the river to the other bank), declared,
“Since I have undertaken it, at once
this rushing water must be overcome.”
And instantly, he plunged in without thought
of where he might cross with most ease, for so
he scorned to take advantage of smooth water.
And after he had gained the other bank,
while picking up his bow which there was thrown,
he heard his wife's voice, anxious for his help.
He called to Nessus who was in the act
then to betray his trust: “Vain confidence!
You are not swift enough, vile ravisher!
You two-formed monster Nessus, I warn you!
Hear me, and never dare to come between
me and my love. If fear has no restraint,
your father's dreadful fate on whirling wheel,
should frighten you from this outrageous act:
for you cannot escape, although you trust
the fleet-foot effort of a rapid horse.
I cannot overtake you with my feet
but I can shoot and halt you with a wound.”
his deed sustained the final warning word.
He shot an arrow through the centaur's back,
so that the keen barb was exposed beyond
his bleeding breast. He tore it from both wounds,
and life-blood spurted instantly, mixed with
the deadly poison of Lernaean hydra.
This Nessus caught, and muttering, “I shall not
die unavenged”, he gave his tunic, soaked
with blood to Deianira as a gift;
and said, “Keep this to strengthen waning love.”
Now many years passed by, and all the deeds,
and labors of the mighty Hercules,
gave to the wide world his unequalled fame;
and finally appeased the hatred of
his fierce stepmother.
All victorious
returning from Oechalia, he prepared
to offer sacrifice, when at Cenaeum,
upon an altar he had built to Jupiter,
but tattling Rumor, swollen out of truth
from small beginning to a wicked lie,
declared brave Hercules, Amphitryon's son,
was burning for the love of Iole.
And Deianira—his fond wife—convinced
herself, the wicked rumor must be true.
Alarmed at the report of his new love,
at first, poor wife, she was dissolved in tears,
and then she sank in grievous misery.
But soon in angry mood, she rose and said:
“Why should I give up to my sorrow while
I drown my wretched spirit in weak tears?
Let me consider an effectual check—
while it is possible—even before
she comes, invader of my lawful bed:
shall I be silent or complain of it?
Must I go back to Calydon or stay?
Shall I depart unbidden, from my house?
Or, if no other method can prevail,
shall I oppose my rival's first approach?
O shade of Meleager, let me prove
I am yet worthy to be called your sister;
and in the desperate slaughter of this rival,
the world, astonished, may be taught to fear
the vengeance of an injured woman's rage.”
So, torn by many moods, at last her mind
fixed on one thought:—she might still keep his love,
could certainly restore it, if she sent
to him the tunic soaked in Nessus' blood.
Unknowingly, she gave the fatal cause
of her own woe to trusting Lichas, whom
she urged in gentle words to take the gift,
from her to her loved husband Hercules.
He, unsuspecting, put the tunic on,
all covered with Lernaean hydra's poison.
The hero then was casting frankincense
into the sacred flames, and pouring wine
on marble altars, as his holy prayers
were floating to the Gods. The hallowed heat
striking upon his poisoned vesture, caused
Echidna-bane to melt into his flesh.
As long as he was able he withstood
the torture. His great fortitude was strong.
But when at last his anguish overcame
even his endurance, he filled all the wild
of Oeta with his cries: he overturned
those hallowed altars, then in frenzied haste
he strove to pull the tunic from his back.
The poisoned garment, cleaving to him, ripped
his skin, heat-shriveled, from his burning flesh.
Or, tightening on him, as his great strength pulled,
stripped with it the great muscles from his limbs,
leaving his huge bones bare.
Even his blood
audibly hissed, as red-hot blades when they
are plunged in water, so the burning bane
boiled in his veins. Great perspiration streamed
from his dissolving body, as the heat
consumed his entrails; and his sinews cracked,
brittle when burnt. The marrow in his bones
dissolved, as it absorbed the venom-heat.
There was no limit to his misery;
raising both hands up towards the stars of heaven,
he cried, “Come Juno, feast upon my death;
feast on me, cruel one, look down from your
exalted seat; behold my dreadful end
and glut your savage heart! Oh, if I may
deserve some pity from my enemy,
from you I mean, this hateful life of mine
take from me—sick with cruel suffering
and only born for toil. The loss of life
will be a boon to me, and surely is
a fitting boon, such as stepmothers give!
“Was it for this I slew Busiris, who
defiled his temples with the strangers' blood?
For this I took his mother's strength from fierce
antaeus—that I did not show a fear
before the Spanish shepherd's triple form?
Nor did I fear the monstrous triple form
of Cerberus.—And is it possible
my hands once seized and broke the strong bull's horns?
And Elis knows their labor, and the waves
of Stymphalus, and the Parthenian woods.
For this the prowess of these hands secured
the Amazonian girdle wrought of gold;
and did my strong arms, gather all in vain
the fruit when guarded by the dragon's eyes.
The centaurs could not foil me, nor the boar
that ravaged in Arcadian fruitful fields.
Was it for this the hydra could not gain
double the strength from strength as it was lost?
And when I saw the steeds of Thrace, so fat
with human blood, and their vile mangers heaped
with mangled bodies, in a righteous rage
I threw them to the ground, and slaughtered them,
together with their master! In a cave
I crushed the Nemean monster with these arms;
and my strong neck upheld the wide-spread sky!
And even the cruel Juno, wife of Jove—
is weary of imposing heavy toils,
but I am not subdued performing them.
“A new calamity now crushes me,
which not my strength, nor valor, nor the use
of weapons can resist. Devouring flames
have preyed upon my limbs, and blasting heat
now shrivels the burnt tissue of my frame.
But still Eurystheus is alive and well!
And there are those who yet believe in Gods!”
Just as a wild bull, in whose body spears
are rankling, while the frightened hunter flies
away for safety, so the hero ranged
over sky-piercing Oeta; his huge groans,
his awful shrieks resounding in those cliffs.
At times he struggles with the poisoned robe.
Goaded to fury, he has razed great trees,
and scattered the vast mountain rocks around!
And stretched his arms towards his ancestral skies!
So, in his frenzy, as he wandered there,
he chanced upon the trembling Lichas, crouched
in the close covert of a hollow rock.
Then in a savage fury he cried out,
“Was it you, Lichas, brought this fatal gift?
Shall you be called the author of my death?”
Lichas, in terror, groveled at his feet,
and begged for mercy—“Only let me live!”
But seizing on him, the crazed Hero whirled
him thrice and once again about his head,
and hurled him, shot as by a catapult,
into the waves of the Euboic Sea.
While he was hanging in the air, his form
was hardened; as, we know, rain drops may first
be frozen by the cold air, and then change
to snow, and as it falls through whirling winds
may press, so twisted, into round hailstones:
even so has ancient lore declared that when
strong arms hurled Lichas through the mountain air
through fear, his blood was curdled in his veins.
No moisture left in him, he was transformed
into a flint-rock. Even to this day,
a low crag rising from the waves is seen
out of the deep Euboean Sea, and holds
the certain outline of a human form,
so sure]y traced, the wary sailors fear
to tread upon it, thinking it has life,
and they have called it Lichas ever since.
But, O illustrious son of Jupiter!
How many of the overspreading trees,
thick-growing on the lofty mountain-peak
of Oeta, did you level to the ground,
and heap into a pyre! And then you bade
obedient Philoctetes light a torch
beneath it, and then take in recompense
your bow with its capacious quiver full
of arrows, arms that now again would see
the realm of Troy. And as the pyre began
to kindle with the greedy flames, you spread
the Nemean lion skin upon the top,
and, club for pillow, you lay down to sleep,
as placid as if, with abounding cups
of generous wine and crowned with garlands, you
were safe, reclining on a banquet-couch.
And now on every side the spreading flames
were crackling fiercely, as they leaped from earth
upon the careless limbs of Hercules.
He scorned their power. The Gods felt fear
for earth's defender and their sympathy
gave pleasure to Saturnian Jove — he knew
their thought—and joyfully he said to them:
“Your sudden fear is surely my delight,
O heavenly Gods! my heart is lifted up
and joy prevails upon me, in the thought
that I am called the Father and the King
of all this grateful race of Gods.
I know
my own beloved offspring is secure
in your declared protection: your concern
may justly evidence his worth, whose deeds
great benefits bestowed. Let not vain thoughts
alarm you, nor the rising flames of Oeta;
for Hercules who conquered everything,
shall conquer equally the spreading fires
which now you see: and all that part of him,
celestial — inherited of me—
immortal, cannot feel the power of death.
It is not subject to the poison-heat.
And therefore, since his earth-life is now lost,
him I'll translate, unshackled from all dross,
and purified, to our celestial shore.
I trust this action seems agreeable
to all the Deities surrounding me.
If any jealous god of heaven should grieve
at the divinity of Hercules,
he may begrudge the prize but he will know
at least 'twas given him deservedly,
and with this thought he must approve the deed.”
The Gods confirmed it: and though Juno seemed
to be contented and to acquiesce,
her deep vexation was not wholly hid,
when Jupiter with his concluding words
so plainly hinted at her jealous mind.
Now, while the Gods conversed, the mortal part
of Hercules was burnt by Mulciber;
but yet an outline of a spirit-form
remained. Unlike the well-known mortal shape
derived by nature of his mother, he
kept traces only of his father, Jove.
And as a serpent, when it is revived
from its old age, casts off the faded skin,
and fresh with vigor glitters in new scales,
so, when the hero had put off all dross,
his own celestial, wonderful appeared,
majestic and of godlike dignity.
And him, the glorious father of the Gods
in the great chariot drawn by four swift steeds,
took up above the wide-encircling clouds,
and set him there amid the glittering stars.
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