Hercules, finding his end approaching, bestows his bow and arrows on his friend Philoctetes, and expires on Mount Oeta; after which the hero is enrolled in the number of the gods.
But now the hero of immortal birth Fells Oeteâs forests on the groaning earth; A pile he builds; to Philoctetesâ care He leaves his deathful instruments of war; To him commits those arrows, which again Shall see the bulwarks of the Trojan reign. The son of Paeon lights the lofty pyre, High round the structure climbs the greedy fire; Placed on the top, thy nervous shoulders spread With the Nemaean spoils, thy careless head Raised on the knotty club, with look divine, Here thou, dread hero of celestial line, Wert stretchâd at ease; as when a cheerful guest, Wine crownâd thy bowls, and flowers thy temples dressâd.