Herakles.
To Athens, glad to have 'scaped the underworld.
Come, children, follow to the house your sire;
For fairer to you is your entering-in
Than your outgoing. Nay then, pluck up heart,
And shed the tear-floods from your eyes no more; 625
And rally thou, my wife, thy fainting spirit:
From trembling cease: and ye, let go my cloak.
I am no winged thing, nor would I fly my friends.
Ha!
These let not go, but hang upon my cloak
Only the more! Was doom so imminent then? 630
E'en must I lead them clinging to mine hands,
As ship that tows her boats. Not I reject
Care of my sons. Men's hearts be all like-framed:
They love their babes, as well the nobler sort,
As they that are but naught. In wealth they differ; 635
These have, those lack: their children all men love.
Chorus.
(Str. 1)
Ah, sweet is youth!—but always eld,
On mine head weighing, downward drags,
A heavier load than lay the crags
Of Etna on the Titan quelled, 640
Muffling mine eyes in mantle-fold
Of gloom. Not mine be wealth that lies
In Asian tyrants' treasuries;
Not mine be halls of hoarded gold,
If forfeit youth for these must fleet—
Youth, fairest gem of high estate,
