Together, front to front,
    Hurled, eager both to win the beauteous prize;
        And Cypris ’mid the fray
        Alone, that dreadful day,
    Sate umpire, holding promise in her eyes.

    Then clashed the fist, then clanged the bow; II
    Then horns gave crashing blow for blow,
        Whilst, as they clung,
    The twining hip throw both essay
    And hurtling foreheads’ fearful play,
        And groans from each were wrung.

    But the tender fair one far away
        Sate watching with an eye of piteous cheer
    (A mother’s heart will heed the thing I say,)
      Till won by him who freed her from her fear. 
    Sudden she leaves her mother’s gentle side,
    Borne through the waste, our hero’s tender bride.

Enter DEANIRA.

DE.  Dear friends, while yonder herald in the house
Holds converse with the captives ere he go,
I have stol’n forth to you, partly to tell
The craft my hand hath compassed, and in part,
To crave your pity for my wretchedness. 
For I have taken to my hearth a maid,—­
And yet, methinks, no maiden any more,
Like some fond shipmaster, taking on board
A cargo fraught with treason to my heart. 
And now we two are closed in one embrace
Beneath one coverlet.  Such generous meed
For faith in guarding home this dreary while
Hath the kind Heracles our trusty spouse,
Sent in return!  Yet, oft as he hath caught
This same distemperature, I know not how
To harbour indignation against him. 
But who that is a woman could endure
To dwell with her, both married to one man? 
One bloom is still advancing, one doth fade. 
The budding flower is cropped, the full-blown head
Is left to wither, while love passeth by
Unheeding.  Wherefore I am sore afraid
He will be called my husband, but her mate,
For she is younger.  Yet no prudent wife
Would take this angerly, as I have said. 
But, dear ones, I will tell you of a way,
Whereof I have bethought me, to prevent
This heart-break.  I had hidden of long time
In a bronze urn the ancient Centaur’s gift,
Which I, when a mere girl, culled from the wound
Of hairy-breasted Nessus in his death. 
He o’er Evenus’ rolling depths, for hire,
Ferried wayfarers on his arm, not plying
Or rowing-boat, or canvas-winged bark. 
Who, when with Heracles, a new-made bride,
I followed by my father’s sending forth,
Shouldering me too, in the mid-stream, annoyed
With wanton touch.  And I cried out; and he,
Zeus’ son, turned suddenly, and from his bow
Sent a wing’d shaft, that whizzed into his chest
To the lungs.  Then the weird Thing, with dying voice
Spake to me:—­’Child of aged Oeneues,
Since thou wert my last burden, thou shalt win
Some profit from mine act, if thou wilt do
What now I bid thee.  With a careful hand