But now by the arrows of Herakles stricken he lay along {1400}
By the trunk of the apple-tree: only the tip of his tail had strength
To quiver yet, but adown from his head, through all the length
Of his dark chine, lifeless he lay. Where the arrows had left in his blood
The bitter gall of the Hydra of Lerna, a swarming brood
Of flies o’er the venom-festering wounds of him crawled and clung.
And thereby the Hesperides over their golden heads had flung
Their white arms, shrilling their wail. And the wanderers suddenly drew
Anear, and to dust and to earth straightway, when the hero-crew
Came hastily on, did they turn even there. But Orpheus was ware