Publius Vergilius Maro - Aeneid (Hercules and Cacus) lyrics

King Evander explains the origins of an Italian festival "These solemn rites, This traditional feast, this altar sacred To a Power divine do not come to us From some empty superstition, ignoring The gods of old. No, my Trojan guest, Rescued from savage dangers, we observe This annual rite in memory of our deliverance. Look first at this rocky overhang, How the huge boulders are scattered, How the mountain stands in desolation And the crags have crumbled in avalanche. There was once a cave here, its depths Never fathomed by sunlight, the lair Of a half-human monster, an ogre named Cacus. The ground there always smoked with fresh blood, And nailed to the door hung human heads Moldering in decay. The monster's father Was Vulcan; it was his black fires Cacus belched As he moved his hulking form. Time at last Answered our prayers in the person Of a god, the mightiest avenger, Hercules, Glorying in the slaughter of Geryon And driving that triform ghoul's huge bulls In triumph, filling the Tiber's valley with cattle. Cacus, whose fiendish mind could leave No crime undared or trick untried, Rustled four superb bulls from their corral And as many equally outstanding heifers. He dragged these cattle by their tails to his cave So no one could track them back to him Then he hid the animals in the rocky No one searching could find any telltale marks Leading to that cave. Amphitryon's son, Meanwhile was moving the well-fed herds Out of their pens rounding them up for the trail. The cattle lowed as they headed out, the wood and hills were filled with their bellowing Until the echoes began to die away. And then one heifer lowed in response From the depths of the cave, undoing Cacus. The wrath of Hercules flared with black bile. He seized his weapons, his heavy, knotted club, And ran straight up the slope like the mountain wind. It was then we first saw Cacus afraid, Eyes shifting with terror. He flew to his cave Faster than the East Wind; fear lent wings to his feet. He shut himself in and broke the chains That held the giant rock suspended in iron By his father's craft. The rock dropped down Blocking the entrance, at just the moment When Hercules arrived raging mad. He scanned every approach looking around And gnashing his reerh. Three times he traversed The Aventine Mount, three times he tried The rock-solid entrance, three times he sank down In the valley, exhausted.
 On the cave's ridge stood an immense dagger of flint, tall Sheer rock, a perfect nesting place for vultures. It leaned left with the ridge's slope toward the river. The hero pushed from the right, shook it loose, Wrenched it up from its roots, and abruptly Heaved it forward. With that heave Heaven thundered, the banks below split apart, And the astonished river recoiled in terror. Cacus' immense lair lay open, revealing The shadowy depths of the cavern below: As if Earth itself were split apart By some unknown power, disclosing the Pit And the moldy horror loathed by the gods. The Abyss is laid open, and the pale ghosts Tremble at the light streaming in from above. Cacus was caught in the unexpected daylight. Penned in by rock walls, he howled eerily As Hercules rained down upon him Everything he could throw-weapons, Branches, colossal millstones. Cornered, Cacus did the only thing he could, belching out Clouds of smoke (an amazing display) That enshrouded his subterranean home In blinding smog shot through with dark flames. Undeterred, Hercules hurled himself Into the inferno where the huge cave was choked With roiling smoke. He found Cacus there Spewing forth his fiery vapors in vain. Hercules gripped him in a knotted hold And squeezed until Cacus' eyes bulged out And his throat was drained of blood. Then, With hardly a pause, he tore off the doors, And the den was laid bare. The stolen oxen (A theft Cacus had denied) were exposed To the sky, and the gruesome carca** Was dragged out by the feet. Men could not get enough Of looking at those terrible eyes, that face, The brute's bristled chest and his throat's quenched fires. From that time on this has been a festival day Kept by every generation, foremost by Potitius, Who founded the rite, and the Pinarian house, Priests of Hercules. The hero himself Established this altar, which we will always call Mightiest, and always mightiest shall be. Come then, young men, wreathe your hair with leaves In honor of these glorious deeds. Hold out your cups, Call on the god to share our feast, and pour the wine."