But now the hero of immortal birth
Fells Oete’s forests on the groaning earth;
A pile he builds; to Philoctetes’ care
He leaves his deathful instruments of war;
To him commits those arrows, which again
Shall see the bulwarks of the Trojan reign.
The son of Paeon lights the lofty pyre,
High round the structure climbs the greedy fire;
Placed on the top, thy nervous shoulders spread
With the Nemaean spoils, thy careless head
Raised on the knotty club, with look divine,
Here thou, dread hero of celestial line,
Wert stretch’d at ease; as when a cheerful guest,
Wine crown’d thy bowls, and flowers thy temples dress’d.
Now on all sides the potent flames aspire,
And crackle round those limbs that mock the fire.
A sudden terror seized the immortal host,
Who thought the world’s profess’d defender lost.
This when the Thunderer saw, with smiles he cries,
“ ’Tis from your fears, ye gods, my pleasures rise;
Joy swells my breast, that my all-ruling hand
O’er such a grateful people boasts command,
That you my suffering progeny would aid;
Though to his deeds this just respect be paid,
Me you’ve obliged. Be all your fears forborne,
The Oetean fires do thou, great hero, scorn.
Who vanquish’d all things shall subdue the flame
That part alone of gross material frame
Fire shall devour; while what from me he drew
Shall live immortal, and its force subdue
That, when he’s dead, I’ll raise to realms above;
May all the powers the righteous act approve!
If any god dissent, and judge too great
The sacred honours of the heavenly seat,
Ev’n he shall own his deeds deserve the sky,
Ev’n he reluctant shall at length comply.”
The assembled powers assent. No frown till now
Had mark’d with passion vengeful Juno’s brow.
Meanwhile whate’er was in the power of flame
Was all consumed; his body’s nervous frame
No more was known; of human form bereft,
The eternal part of Jove alone was left.
As an old serpent casts his scaly vest,
Writhes in the sun, in youthful glory dress’d,
So when Alcides mortal mould resign’d,
His better part enlarged, and grew refined;
August his visage shone; almighty Jove
In his swift car his honour’d offspring drove;
High o’er the hollow clouds the coursers fly,
And lodge the hero in the starry sky.