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His own bravo spirit animated all.
You would have thought him burning with desire
To burn. The crowd looked on in speechless awe,
And scarce believed the flames to be true fire, 1745
So calm and so majestic was his mien.
Nor did he hasten to consume himself;
But when he deemed that fortitude enough
Was shown in death, from every hand he dragged
The burning logs which with least ardor glowed,
Piled them together in a mighty fire, 1750
And to the very center of the blaze
The dauntless hero went. Awhile he stood
And feasted on the flames his eager eyes.
Then from his heavy beard leaped gleaming fire.
But even when the flames assailed his face,
And licked his head with their hot, fiery tongues,
He did not close his eyes. 1755
⁠But what is this?
'Tis sad Alcmena. With what signs of woe
She makes her way, while in her breast she bears
The pitiful remains of Hercules.
[Enter Alcmena, carrying in her bosom a funeral urn.]
Alcmena: ⁠Ye powers of heaven, I bid you fear the fates.
⁠[Holding up the urn.]
How small a space Alcides' ashes fill!
To this small compass has that giant come!
O shining sun, how great a man has gone 1760
To nothingness. Alas, this aged breast
Is large enough to be Alcides' tomb.
Behold, his ashes scarce can fill the urn.
How small his weight, upon whose shoulders once
The dome of heaven lay, a burden light.
Thou once didst go, my son, to Tartara, 1765
The farthest realms of death—and come again.
Oh, when wilt thou a second time return
From that infernal stream? I ask thee not
To come again with spoil, nor bring again
Imprisoned Theseus to the light of day;
But only that thou come again—alone.