"Where is now my strength of yesteryears?
Omphale wants me to be dressed now
with her yellow silk tunic more radiant
than the smile of Helios on the horizon.
Omphale bids me to wear her hoop earings,
silver bangles and blue-laced sandals.
She stealthily nicked my lion hide, my bow,
my long spear and all the legendary
vigour of my limbs now smelling
of scented resins and the cedar
aroma that give off all the Lydian maids...
One morning in the vineyards of Tmolos,
the god Pan did bless us:
I was bound to her like a jolly slave
To his golden fetters.
Shaded by the wings of a giant eagle,
we made love. The god Pan prancing
and playing a reed flute.
By and by, she forced me to be a woman
and put away my odorous clobbers.
Now all her maidens comb my long hair,
rub my limbs and loins with slick ointments
and makes me dance like a white-robed
virgin around a Goddess censers.
Where is my strength of yesteryears?
Shall I be able to kill someday
the voracious Stymphalian birds?
I want to be up and running again
with my flurry of furry hides stinking
of manure and bull entrails.
I want to pull off the Twelve Tasks
that will make me an hero kissed by Hera.
Hera,
Hera,
Hera
(infinite echo)
the goddess who I will love forever
even if burning like deadwood
down in the freezing Hades."
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