With me and smite your breasts in woe,
And let your blows be heard afar,
By eastern and by western shores.
Ye dwellers in the whirling sky,
Ye gods above, do ye, too, weep
The fate of Hercules; for he1905
Your heavens upon his shoulders bore,
When Atlas, who was wont to bear
The spangled skies, was eased awhile
Of his vast load. Where now, O Jove,