In solid hail result upon the ground.
Thus, whirl’d with nervous force through distant air,
The purple tide forsook his veins with fear;
All moisture left his limbs. Transform’d to stone,
In ancient days the craggy flint was known:
Still in the Euboean waves his front he rears,
Still the small rock in human form appears,
And still the name of hapless Lychas bears.
Apotheosis of Hercules
Hercules, finding his end approaching, bestows his bow and arrows on his friend Philoctetes, and expires on Mount Oeta; after which the hero is enrolled in the number of the gods.
But now the hero of immortal birth
Fells Oete’s forests on the groaning earth;
A pile he builds; to Philoctetes’ care
He leaves his deathful instruments of war;
To him commits those arrows, which again
Shall see the bulwarks of the Trojan reign.
The son of Paeon lights the lofty pyre,
High round the structure climbs the greedy fire;
Placed on the top, thy nervous shoulders spread
With the Nemaean spoils, thy careless head
Raised on the knotty club, with look divine,
Here thou, dread hero of celestial line,
Wert stretch’d at ease; as when a cheerful guest,
Wine crown’d thy bowls, and flowers thy temples dress’d.
Now on all sides the potent flames aspire,
And crackle round those limbs that mock the fire.
A sudden terror seized the immortal host,
Who thought the world’s profess’d defender lost.
This when the Thunderer saw, with smiles he cries,
“ ’Tis from your fears, ye gods, my pleasures rise;
Joy swells my breast, that my all-ruling hand
O’er such a grateful people boasts command,
That you my suffering progeny would aid;
Though to his deeds this just respect be paid,
Me you’ve obliged. Be all your fears forborne,
The Oetean fires do thou, great hero, scorn.
Who vanquish’d all things shall subdue the flame
That part alone of gross material frame
Fire shall devour; while what from me he drew
Shall live immortal, and its force subdue
That, when he’s dead, I’ll raise to realms above;
May all the powers the righteous act approve!
If any god dissent, and judge too great
The sacred honours of the heavenly seat,
Ev’n he shall own his deeds deserve the sky,
Ev’n he reluctant shall at length comply.”
The assembled powers assent. No frown till now
Had mark’d with passion vengeful Juno’s brow.
Meanwhile whate’er was in the power of flame
Was all consumed; his body’s nervous frame
No more was known; of human form bereft,
The eternal part of Jove alone was left.
As an old serpent casts his scaly vest,
Writhes in the sun, in youthful glory dress’d,
So when Alcides mortal mould resign’d,
His better part enlarged, and grew refined;
August his visage shone; almighty Jove
In his swift car his honour’d offspring drove;
High o’er the hollow clouds the coursers fly,
And lodge the hero in the starry sky.
Transformation of Galanthis
The delivery of Alcmena is effected by the sagacity of a servant-maid, named Galanthis, whose fidelity excites the displeasure of Juno, who converts her into a weasel.
Atlas perceived the load of heaven’s new guest.
Revenge still rancour’d in Eurystheus’ breast
Against Alcides’ race. Alcmena goes
To Iole, to vent maternal woes;
Here she pours forth her grief, recounts the spoils
Her son had bravely reap’d in glorious toils.
This Iole, by Hercules’ commands,
Hyllus had loved, and join’d in nuptial bands.
Her swelling sides the teeming birth confess’d,
To whom Alcmena thus her speech address’d:
“O may the gods protect thee, in that hour,
When, midst thy throes, thou call’st the Ilithyian power!
May no delays prolong thy racking pain,
As when I sued for Juno’s aid in vain.
“When now Alcides’ mighty birth drew nigh,
And the tenth sign roll’d forward on the sky,
My sides extend with such a mighty load,
As Jove the parent of the burden show’d.
I could no more the increasing smart sustain,
My horror kindles to recount the pain;
Cold chills my limbs while I the tale pursue,
And now methinks I feel my pangs anew.
Seven days and nights amid incessant throes,
Fatigued with ills I lay, nor knew repose;
When lifting high my hands, in shrieks I pray’d,
Implored the gods, and call’d Lucina’s aid.
She came, but prejudiced, to give my fate
A sacrifice to vengeful Juno’s hate.
She hears the groaning anguish of my fits,
And on the altar at my door she sits.
O’er her left knee her crossing leg she cast,
Then knits her fingers close, and wrings them fast:
This stay’d the birth; in mutt’ring verse she pray’d;
The mutt’ring verse the unfinish’d birth delay’d.
Now with fierce struggles, raging with my pain,
At Jove’s ingratitude I rage in vain.
How did I wish for death! such groans I sent,
As might have made the flinty heart relent.
“Now the Cadmeian matrons round me press,
Offer their vows, and seek to bring redress;
Among the Theban dames Galanthis stands,
Strong-limb’d, red-hair’d, and just to my commands:
She first perceived that all these racking woes
From the persisting hate of Juno rose.
As here and there she pass’d, by chance she sees
The seated goddess; on her close-press’d knees
Her fast-knit hands she leans; with cheerful voice
Galanthis cries, ‘Whoe’er thou art, rejoice,
Congratulate the dame, she lies at rest,
At length the gods Alcmena’s prayers have bless’d.’
Swift from her seat the startled goddess springs;
No more conceal’d, her hands abroad she flings:
The charm unloosed, the birth my pangs relieved;
Galanthis’ laughter vex’d the power deceived.
Fame says, the goddess dragg’d the laughing maid
Fast by the hair; in vain her force essay’d
Her grovelling body from the ground to rear;
Changed to forefeet her shrinking arms appear:
Her hairy back her former hue retains,
The form alone is lost; her strength remains;
Who, since the lie did from her mouth proceed,
Shall from her pregnant mouth bring forth her breed;
Nor shall she quit her long-frequented home,
But haunt those houses where she loved to roam.”
Fable of Dryope
Dryope, who incautiously plucks a branch of the lotus-tree for the amusement of her infant son, is herself transformed by the angry sylvan deities into a tree of the same species.
She said, and for her lost Galanthis sighs;
When the fair consort of her son replies;
“Since you a servant’s ravish’d form bemoan,
And kindly sigh for sorrows not your own,
Let me (tears and grief permit) relate
A nearer wo, a sister’s stranger fate.
No nymph of all Oechalia could compare,
For beauteous form, with Dryope the fair;
Her tender mother’s only hope and pride
(Myself the offspring of a second bride),
This nymph, compress’d by him who rules
