Cease from a prying unmeet, nor with rash curiosity question." Haughtily glancing on Zeus, thus answer'd majestical Hera:-- "Oh, ever dark and austere! What a word hast thou utter'd, Kronion! When was it ever my custom to pry or torment with a question? Only it now is my fear that the white-footed daughter of Nereus, Thetis, has led thee astray with the craft of her secret persuasion: Early she sat by thy side, and was grasping thy knees in entreaty-- Nor did she leave thee, I think, without pledge of revenge for Achilleus, And of destruction anon and of woe at the Danäid galleys." Thus to the Goddess again spake Cloud-compelling Kronion:-- "Pestilent! Ever the spy! not a motion is safe from thy peering! Yet shall it profit thee nothing, unless to estrange and remove me Further away from thy love, which perchance may have worse for its upshot. Now, if it be as thou say'st, thou hast strengthen'd the zeal of my purpose. Hear me, and seat thee in silence, nor vain be the word of my warning, Lest were the Gods of Olympus united, it nothing avail thee, Shrinking before my approach, and the hand irresistible lifted." So did he speak, and in fear was the heart of majestical Hera; Silent before him she sat amid bitterness curbing her spirit. Griev'd in the mansion of Zeus thereat were the heavenly Godheads; Then in the midst of them all the artificer famous, Hephæstus, Spake with a kindly intent toward white-armed Hera, his mother:-- "Plagueful to me is the sight, and already it passes endurance! Sure it is folly that thus ye should strive and contend about mortals Till there is tumult in heaven, nor the least satisfaction awaits us, Banqueting wholly forgot, and the pestilent rivalry upmost! This my advice to my mother, and wise though she be, let her hear it. Kindly approaching his throne, let her promise our Father obedience, Never to vex him again, and disturb the enjoyment of meal-time. If the Olympian Lord of the Thunder be minded against us, Down from our seats go we, for in might he surpasses us wholly. Come, if with softness of speech thou remove the Olympian's anger, Grace is at hand for us all, and returning benignity cheers us." So said Hephæstus, and sprang from his place, and a plentiful goblet Reach'd to the hand of his mother, and thus, as she took it, address'd her:-- "Patience! my mother! whatever the smart, be it borne with submission. Dear as thou art to my soul, let it never be mine to behold thee Under his chastising hand, for, however my will might incline me, Service were none--the Olympian's grasp is not easy to strive with. Once on a time my resistance avail'd not, when seizing me tightly, Here by the foot, I was hurl'd sheer down from the heavenly threshold! Down through the livelong day was I borne from the dawn to the sunset, Till upon Lemnos I fell, and but little of breath was remaining,