HERAKLES
O you hands of mine, you hands and shoulders,
chest, and lovely arms. These are the same arms
whose power overwhelmed that creature
that terrorized all herdsmen in Nemea,
a savage lion no man would approach
or dare confront. You triumphed in that fight
with the Lernaean Hydra and held off
that vicious, insolent, and lawless horde
of wild beasts with a double form, who move
like horses and whose strength is unsurpassed.
You overcame the Erymanthian boar,
captured the three-headed whelp of Hades,
fierce Echidna’s child, a monstrous hound
no man could defeat, and killed that serpent
in the remotest corner of the world
guarding the golden fruit. I have endured
these hardships and a thousand other trials.
No one has ever been declared the winner
in any fight against these hands of mine.
But now in this miserable condition,
my arms and legs have lost their strength,
and my body has been torn to pieces,
ravaged by destruction no one can see!
I, who, according to what people say,
was born from the very noblest mother.
I, who am called a son of starry Zeus.
But there is one thing you can be sure of—
although I cannot move and may be nothing,
the woman who has brought all this about
will feel the strength I still have in my hands.
Just let her come out here. She’ll soon learn
and let all people know that that in my death,
as in my life, I made the guilty pay.
- Sophocles, Women of Trachis