How else could Heracles’ arm have wielded
Mace against Trident in battle-strain?—
When by Poseidon was Pylos shielded,
And the Sea-god pressed on the Hero amain,
When fast did the arrows of Phoebus fly
As the silver bow rang terribly,
Neither Hades refrained him from swinging on high
His staff, till his blows flashed down like rain—
The staff wherewithal through the cavernous portals
Of his mansion he leadeth, that Underworld-king,
The shadowy forms of perished mortals:—
Nay, nay, this slander afar from thee fling,
O mouth of mine! Him who dares impeach
The Gods, him hatefullest wisdom doth teach!
O yea, for untimely bold-mouthed speech
Doth with strains insensate of madness ring.