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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.

And now the train, their worship o'er,
Back to the city wend once more.