And cease to blame the fates, still must I say:
My sire, the mighty Hercules, is gone.
Alcmena: Restrain thy words, child of illustrious sire,
And matched with sad Alcmena in her grief;
Perchance long slumber will assuage his pain.
But see, repose deserts his weary heart,1430
And gives him back to suffering, me to grief.
Hercules [awakening in delirium]: Why, what is this? Do I with waking eyes
See little Trachin on her craggy seat,
Or, set amongst the stars, have I at length