The ilex' shorter trunks. But poplar trees,1640
Whose foliage adorned Alcides' brow,
Fill up the space and make the pyre complete.
But he, like some great lion in the woods
Of Libya lying, roaring out his pain,
Is borne along—but who would e'er believe
That he was hurrying to his funeral pyre?
His gaze was fixed upon the stars of heaven,1645
Not fires of earth, when to the mount he came
And with his eyes surveyed the mighty pyre.