The Iliad. Homer

mindful of her son's request,

       Rose from the ocean wave, and sped in haste

       To high Olympus, and the courts of Heav'n.

       Th' all-seeing son of Saturn there she found

       Sitting apart upon the topmost crest

       Of many-ridg'd Olympus; at his feet

       She sat, and while her left hand clasp'd his knees,

       Her right approached his beard, and suppliant thus

       She made her pray'r to Saturn's royal son:

      "Father, if e'er amid th' immortal Gods

       By word or deed I did thee service true,

       Hear now my pray'r! Avenge my hapless son,

       Of mortals shortest-liv'd, insulted now

       By mighty Agamemnon, King of men,

       And plunder'd of his lawful spoils of war.

       But Jove, Olympian, Lord of counsel, Thou

       Avenge his cause; and give to Trojan arms

       Such strength and pow'r, that Greeks may learn how much

       They need my son, and give him honour due."

      She said: the Cloud-compeller answer'd not,

       But silent sat; then Thetis clasp'd his knees,

       And hung about him, and her suit renew'd:

      "Give me thy promise sure, thy gracious nod,

       Or else refuse (for thou hast none to fear),

       That I may learn, of all th' immortal Gods,

       How far I stand the lowest in thine eyes."

      Then, much disturb'd, the Cloud-compeller spoke:

       "Sad work thou mak'st, in bidding me oppose

       My will to Juno's, when her bitter words

       Assail me; for full oft amid the Gods

       She taunts me, that I aid the Trojan cause.

       But thou return, that Juno see thee not,

       And leave to me the furth'rance of thy suit.

       Lo, to confirm thy faith, I nod my head;

       And well among th' immortal Gods is known

       The solemn import of that pledge from me:

       For ne'er my promise shall deceive, or fail,

       Or be recall'd, if with a nod confirm'd."

      He said, and nodded with his shadowy brows;

       Wav'd on th' immortal head th' ambrosial locks,

       And all Olympus trembled at his nod.

       They parted thus: from bright Olympus' heights

       The Goddess hasted to her ocean-caves,

       Jove to his palace; at his entrance all

       Rose from their seats at once; not one presum'd

       To wait his coming, but advanc'd to meet.

       Then on his throne he sat; but not unmark'd

       Of Juno's eye had been the council held

       In secret with the silver-footed Queen,

       The daughter of the aged Ocean-God;

       And with sharp words she thus addressed her Lord:

      "Tell me, deceiver, who was she with whom

       Thou late held'st council? ever 'tis thy way

       Apart from me to weave thy secret schemes,

       Nor dost thou freely share with me thy mind."

      To whom the Sire of Gods and men replied:

       "Expect not, Juno, all my mind to know;

       My wife thou art, yet would such knowledge be

       Too much for thee; whate'er I deem it fit

       That thou shouldst know, nor God nor man shall hear

       Before thee; but what I in secret plan,

       Seek not to know, nor curiously inquire."

      Whom answer'd thus the stag-ey'd Queen of Heav'n:

       "What words, dread son of Saturn, dost thou speak?

       Ne'er have I sought, or now, or heretofore,

       Thy secret thoughts to know; what thou think'st fit

       To tell, I wait thy gracious will to hear.

       Yet fear I in my soul thou art beguil'd

       By wiles of Thetis, silver-footed Queen,

       The daughter of the aged Ocean-God;

       For she was with thee early, and embrac'd

       Thy knees, and has, I think, thy promise sure,

       Thou wilt avenge Achilles' cause, and bring

       Destructive slaughter on the Grecian host."

      To whom the Cloud-compeller thus replied:

       "Presumptuous, to thy busy thoughts thou giv'st

       Too free a range, and watchest all I do;

       Yet shalt thou not prevail, but rather thus

       Be alien'd from my heart—the worse for thee!

       If this be so, it is my sov'reign will.

       But now, keep silence, and my words obey,

       Lest all th' Immortals fail, if I be wroth,

       To rescue thee from my resistless hand."

      He said, and terror seiz'd the stag-ey'd Queen:

       Silent she sat, curbing her spirit down,

       And all the Gods in pitying sorrow mourn'd.

       Vulcan, the skill'd artificer, then first

       Broke silence, and with soothing words address'd

       His mother, Juno, white-arm'd Queen of Heav'n:

       "Sad were't, indeed, and grievous to be borne,

       If for the sake of mortal men you two

       Should suffer angry passions to arise,

       And kindle broils in Heav'n; so should our feast

       By evil influence all its sweetness lack.

       Let me advise my mother (and I know

       That her own reason will my words approve)

       To speak my father fair; lest he again

       Reply in anger, and our banquet mar.

       For Jove, the lightning's Lord, if such his will,

       Might hurl us from our seats (so great his pow'r),

       But thou address him still with gentle words;

       So shall his favour soon again be ours."

      This said, he rose, and in his mother's hand

       A double goblet plac'd, as thus he spoke:

       "Have patience, mother mine! though much enforc'd,

       Restrain thy spirit, lest perchance these eyes,

       Dear as thou art, behold thee brought to shame;

       And I, though griev'd in heart, be impotent

       To save thee; for 'tis hard to strive with Jove.

       When to thy succour once before I came,

       He seiz'd me by the foot, and hurl'd me down

       From Heav'n's high threshold; all the day I fell,

       And with the setting sun, on Lemnos' isle

       Lighted, scarce half alive; there was I found,

       And by the Sintian people kindly nurs'd."

      Thus