Enjoyed the passing love of Hercules,370
But are forgotten. Soon, a wanderer
Upon Timolus, he caressed the queen
Of Lydia, and, smitten by her love,
He sat beside the whirling distaff there,
His doughty fingers on the moistened thread.
His neck no longer bears the lion's spoil;
But there he sits, a languid, love-sick slave,
His shaggy locks with Phrygian turban bound,375
And dripping with the costly oil of myrrh.