Which lifted to the stars its threatening top,
And railed it from the clouds. In act to fall,
It shook its rocky crag, and with a crash
Whelmed all the lesser forest in its fall.
Within the forest was a certain oak,
Wide-spreading, vast, like that Chaonian tree
Of prophecy, whose shade shuts out the sun,
Embracing all the grove[1] within its arms. 1625
By many a blow beset, it groans at first
In threatening wise, and all the wedges breaks;
The smiting axe bounds back, its edges dulled,
Too soft for such a task. At length the tree,
Long wavering, falls with widespread ruin down.
Straightway the place admits the sun's bright rays; 1630
The birds, their tree o'erthrown, fly twittering round,
And seek their vanished homes on wearied wing.
Now every tree resounds; even the oaks
Feel in their sacred sides the piercing steel,
Nor does its ancient sanctity protect 1635
The grove. The wood into a pile is heaped;
Its logs alternate rising high aloft,
Make all too small a pyre for Hercules:
The pine inflammable, tough-fibered oak,
The ilex' shorter trunks. But poplar trees, 1640
Whose foliage adorned Alcides' brow,
Fill up the space and make the pyre complete.
But he, like some great lion in the woods
Of Libya lying, roaring out his pain,
Is borne along—but who would e'er believe
That he was hurrying to his funeral pyre?
His gaze wis fixed upon the stars of heaven, 1645
Not fires of earth, when to the mount he came
And with his eyes surveyed the mighty pyre.
The great beams groaned and broke beneath his weight.
Now he demands his bow. "Take this," he said,
"O son of Foeas, take this as the gift
And pledge of love from Hercules to thee.
These deadly shafts the poisonous hydra felt; 1650
- ↑ Reading, nemus.
