But having finished each adventurous strife,
At length in evil hour he steers
To Pluto’s mansion, to the house of tears,
The goal of labour, there to end his life,
Thence never, never to return;
His friends dismayed forsake these gates,
In hopeless solitude we mourn.
Hell’s stern award is passed, the boat of Charon waits
To their eternal home his sons to bear,
Most impious lawless homicide!
For thee, O Hercules, thee erst his pride,
Thy sire now looks with impotent despair.
Had I the strength which I possessed of yore,
I with my Theban friends, arrayed
In brazen arms, thy sons would aid:
But youth’s blest days are o’er.
Clad in funereal vestments I behold
The children of Alcides erst the great,
With his loved wife and his decrepit sire
Conducting them. O wretched me! no longer
Can I restrain the fountain of these tears
Which gush incessant from my aged eyes.