Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/345

462—510 An ever-dear, an ever-honoured name.

When my proud mother hurled me from the sky

My awkward form, it seems, displeased her eye—

She and Eurynomé my griefs redressed,

And soft received me on their silver breast.

E'en then, these arts employed my infant thought;

Chains, bracelets, pendants, all their toys I wrought.

Nine years kept secret in the dark abode,

Secure I lay, concealed from man and god:

Deep in a caverned rock my days were led;

The rushing ocean murmured o'er my head.

Now since her presence glads our mansion, say,

For such desert what service can I pay?

Vouchsafe, O Thetis! at our board to share

The genial rites, and hospitable fare;

While I the labours of the forge forgo,

And bid the roaring bellows cease to blow."

Then from his anvil the lame artist rose;

Wide with distorted legs oblique he goes,

And stills the bellows, and, in order laid,

Locks in their chests his instruments of trade:

Then with a sponge the sooty workman dressed

His brawny arms imbrowned, and hairy breast.

With his huge sceptre graced, and red attire,

Came halting forth the sovereign of the fire:

The monarch's steps two female forms uphold,

That moved, and breathed, in animated gold;

To whom was voice, and sense, and science given

Of works divine—such wonders are in heaven!

On these supported, with unequal gait,

He reached the throne where pensive Thetis sat;

There placed beside her on the shining frame,

He thus addressed the silver-footed dame:

"Thee, welcome goddess, what occasion calls,

So long a stranger, to these honoured walls?

'Tis thine, fair Thetis, the command to lay,

And Vulcan's joy and duty to obey."

To whom the mournful mother thus replies:

The crystal drops stood trembling in her eyes:

"Oh Vulcan! say, was ever breast divine

So pierced with sorrows, so overwhelmed as mine?

Of all the goddesses, did Jove prepare

For Thetis only such a weight of care?

I, only I, of all the watery race,

By force subjected to a man's embrace,

Who, sinking now with age and sorrow, pays

The mighty fine imposed on length of days.

Sprung from my bed, a godlike hero came,

The bravest sure that ever bore the name;