Whom answer’d thus the laughter-loving Queen: “I ought not, and I cannot, say thee nay, Who liest encircled by the arms of Jove.” Thus Venus spoke; and from her bosom loos’d Her broider’d cestus, wrought with ev’ry charm To win the heart; there Love, there young Desire, There fond Discourse, and there Persuasion dwelt, Which oft enthralls the mind of wisest men. This in her hand she plac’d, as thus she spoke: “Take thou from me, and in thy bosom hide, This broider’d cestus; and, whate’er thy wish, Thou shalt not here ungratified return.” Thus Venus; smil’d the stag-ey’d Queen of Heav’n, And, smiling, in her bosom hid the gift. Then Venus to her father’s house return’d; But Juno down from high Olympus sped; O’er sweet Emathia, and Pieria’s range, O’er snowy mountains of horse-breeding Thrace, Their topmost heights, she soar’d, nor touch’d the earth. From Athos then she cross’d the swelling sea, Until to Lemnos, godlike Thoas’ seat, She came; there met she Sleep, twin-born with Death, Whom, as his hand she clasp’d, she thus address’d: “Sleep, universal King of Gods and men, If ever thou hast listen’d to my voice, Grant me the boon which now I ask, and win My ceaseless favour in all time to come. When Jove thou seest in my embraces lock’d, Do thou his piercing eyes in slumber seal. Rich guerdon shall be thine; a gorgeous throne, Immortal, golden; which my skilful son, Vulcan, shall deftly frame; beneath, a stool Whereon at feasts thy feet may softly rest.” Whom answer’d thus the gentle God of Sleep: “Daughter of Saturn, Juno, mighty Queen, On any other of th’ immortal Gods I can with ease exert my slumb’rous pow’r; Even to the stream of old Oceanus, Prime origin of all; but Saturn’s son, Imperial Jove, I dare not so approach, Nor sink in sleep, save by his own desire. Already once, obeying thy command, A fearful warning I receiv’d, that day When from the capture and the sack of Troy That mighty warrior, son of Jove, set sail; For, circumfus’d around, with sweet constraint I bound the sense of aegis-bearing Jove, While thou, with ill-design, rousing the force Of winds tempestuous o’er the stormy sea, Didst cast him forth on Coos’ thriving isle, Far from his friends; then Jove, awaking, pour’d His wrath, promiscuous, on th’ assembled Gods; Me chief his anger sought; and from on high Had hurl’d me, plung’d beneath th’ unfathom’d sea, But Night, the vanquisher of Gods and men, Her fugitive received me; he his wrath Repress’d, unwilling to invade the claims Of holy Night; and now thou fain wouldst urge That I another reckless deed essay.” Whom answer’d thus the stag-ey’d Queen of Heav’n: “Why, Sleep, with thoughts like these perplex thy mind Think’st thou that Jove as ardently desires To aid the men of Troy, as fiercely burn’d His anger on his valiant son’s behalf? Grant my request; and of the Graces one, The youngest and the fairest, have to wife, Pasithea, whom thy love hath long pursued.”