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 as he spoke, the white-armed Goddess smil’d, And, smiling, from, his hand receiv’d the cup, Then to th’ Immortals all, in order due, He minister’d, and from the flagon pour’d The luscious nectar; while among the Gods Rose laughter irrepressible, at sight Of Vulcan hobbling round the spacious hall. Thus they till sunset pass’d the festive hours; Nor lack’d the banquet aught to please the sense, Nor sound of tuneful lyre, by Phoebus touch’d, Nor Muses’ voice, who in alternate strains Responsive sang: but when the sun had set, Each to his home departed, where for each The crippled Vulcan, matchless architect, With wondrous skill a noble house had rear’d. To his own couch, where he was wont of old, When overcome by gentle sleep, to rest, Olympian Jove ascended; there he slept, And, by his side, the golden-throned Queen. ARGUMENT. THE TRIAL OF THE ARMY AND CATALOGUE OF THE FORCES.