Back through the valley by their tails,
And thus, the footprints all reversed,
Conceals them in his lair accursed.
No sign, no mark the foray gave
To lead the seeker to the cave:
Till when at last Amphitryon’s son
Removed his herd, their pasture done,
And stood prepared to go,
The oxen at departing fill
With noisy utterance grove and hill,
And breathe a farewell low:
When hark! a heifer from the den
Makes answer to the sound again,
And mocks her wily foe.
Black choler filled Alcides’ heart:
He snatches club and bow and dart,
And scales the mountain’s height:
Then, nor till then, was Cacus seen
With quailing eye, and troubled mien:
Swifter than swiftest wind he flies
At once, and to the cavern hies,
While terror wings his flight.
Scarce had he gained the cavern door
And lowered the rock that hung before
Fixed by his father’s art: the strain
Makes the stout doorposts start again:
When lo! the fierce Tirynthian came,
His vengeful spirit all on flame,
Darts here and there his blazing eye,
If haply entrance he may spy,
And grinds for rage his teeth;
And thrice the mountain he surveyed,
Thrice the blocked gate in vain essayed,
Thrice rested, and took breath.
A pointed rock, on all sides steep,
Rose high above that dungeon-keep,
Abrupt and craggy, fitted best
For noisome birds to build their nest.
This, as it frowned above the tide,
He pushed from the remoter side,
And from its socket tore:
Then hurled it down: the high heavens crack,
The river to its source runs back,
And shore recoils from shore.
Then Cacus’ mansion stood displayed;
The cave revealed its depth of shade;
As though by some strange might
Earth, parting to her inmost core,
Should show the realms that Gods abhor,
The vast abyss lie bare to day,
And spectres huddle in dismay
At influx of the light.
There as surprised with sudden glare
The monster, pent within his lair,
In hideous fashion roars,
Alcides plies him from on high
With all his dread artillery,
And trunk and millstone pours.
He, powerless to elude or flee,
Black smoke disgorges, dire to see,
With darkness floods the room,
Blots out all prospect from the sight,
And makes another, deeper night,
Half lightning and half gloom.
Alcides, chafing as for shame,
Dashed onward headlong through the flame,
Where thickest spout the jets of smoke,
And blackest clouds the cavern choke.
There, as in vain he fumed and hissed,
He locked him in a deadly twist,
And cleaving, clinging, throttling, strained
His starting eyes, his throat blood-drained.
The victor now, the doors down-torn,
The loathsome den reveals,
Displays the oxen, late forsworn,
And the foul carcase drags in scorn
To daylight by the heels.
The rustics view with wild surprise
The body o’er and o’er,
That shaggy breast, those dreadful eyes,
Those jaws that flame no more.
Henceforth our tribes observance pay
And keep with joy this solemn day,
Potitius foremost, and the line
Pinarian, wanders of the shrine.
’Twas here he fixed this altar-stone,
In name and fact our greatest known.
Come then, in memory of such worth
The garland don, the cup hold forth,
Invoke the God we both reverse,
And pour the wine with hearty cheer.’
He ceased: the popular’s sacred shade,
The blended white and green,
Hung from his brow: the cup displayed
High in his hand was seen:
With equal zeal his guests outpour
The votive wine, the gods adore.
And nears the downfall of the sky.
Potitius and the priestly band
Come, clad in skins, with torch in hand.
Once more the banquet is restored;
Rich dainties grace the second board;
The victim’s choicest parts, bestowed
On bending plates, the altars load.
The Salian minstrels come, their brows
Engarlanded with poplar boughs,
Two bands, one old, one young:
The deeds of Hercules they sing,
How, o’er his stepdame triumphing,
The serpent’s neck he wrung;
How mighty towns he overthrew,
Great Troy and great œchalia too;
What countless tasks, assigned
By king Eurystheus, he fulfilled,
When haughty Juno, iron-willed,
With Destiny combined.
‘Thy conquering arm the cloud-born twain,
Hylæus, Pholus, both has slain;
Thou lay’st the Cretan monster low,
And that fell beast, that met his foe
In Nemea’s mountain glen.
The Stygian lake beheld and feared,
And Orcus’ warder, blood-besmeared,
Growling o’er gory bones half- cleared
Down in his gloomy den.
No grisly shape thy soul could fright,
Nor e’en Typhoeus, as for fight
In arms he towered erect;
No lack was thine of counsel shrewd,
When like a legion round thee stood
The Hydra hundred-necked.
All hail, great Jove’s authentic race,
Who e’en to heaven canst lend a grace!
Vouchsafe thy presence here to-day
To us and to the rites we pay.’
So mingle they their praise and prayer,
And add, to crown his fame,
Grim Cacus in his robber-lair
Outbreathing smoke and flame.
The sacred forest, thrilled with sound,
Re-echoes and the hills rebound.
Back to the city wend once more.
Heavy with age, the king moves on,
And keeps Æneas and his son
Close at his side, while various talk
Makes light the burden of the walk.
Admiringly the Trojan plies
From side to side his glancing eyes,
Feels every charm, and asks and hears
Each record of departed years.
Then spoke the venerable king,
From whom, O Rome, thy glories spring:
‘This forest ground, from time’s first dawn,
Was held by natives, Nymph and Faun,
Men who from stalks their birth
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