“Say, Thetis of the flowing robe, belov’d And honour’d, whence this visit to our house. An unaccustom’d guest? say what thy will, And, if within my pow’r, esteem it done.” To whom in answer Thetis, weeping, thus: “Vulcan, of all the Goddesses who dwell On high Olympus, lives there one whose soul Hath borne such weight of woe, so many griefs, As Saturn’s son hath heap’d on me alone? Me, whom he chose from all the sea-born nymphs, And gave to Peleus, son of Æacus, His subject; I endur’d a mortal’s bed, Though sore against my will; he now, bent down By feeble age, lies helpless in his house. Now adds he farther grief; he granted me To bear, and rear, a son, of heroes chief; Like a young tree he throve; I tended him, In a rich vineyard as the choicest plant: Till in the beaked ships I sent him forth To war with Troy; him ne’er shall I receive, Returning home, in aged Peleus’ house. E’en while he lives, and sees the light of day, He lives in sorrow; nor, to soothe his grief, My presence can avail; a girl, his prize, Selected for him by the sons of Greece, Great Agamemnon wrested from his arms: In grief and rage he pin’d his soul away; Then by the Trojans were the Greeks hemm’d in Beside their ships, and from within their camp No outlet found; the Grecian Elders then Implor’d his aid, and promis’d costly gifts. With his own hand to save them he refus’d; But, in his armour clad, to battle sent His friend Patroclus, with a num’rous band. All day they fought before the Scaean* gates; And in that day had Ilium been destroy’d, But in the van, Menoetius’ noble son. After great deeds achiev’d, Apollo slew, And crown’d with glory Hector, Priam’s son. Therefore a suppliant to thy knees I come, If to my son, to early death condemn’d, Thou wilt accord the boon of shield and helm, And well-wrought greaves with silver clasps secur’d, And breastplate; for his own, his faithful friend, By Trojan hands subdued, hath lost; and he, O’erwhelm’d with grief, lies prostrate on the earth.” Whom answer’d thus the skill’d artificer: “Take comfort, nor let this disturb thy mind; Would that as surely, when his hour shall come, I could defend him from the stroke of death, As I can undertake that his shall be Such arms as they shall marvel who behold.” He left her thus, and to his forge return’d; The bellows then directing to the fire, He bade them work; through twenty pipes at once Forthwith they pour’d their diverse-temper’d blasts; Now briskly seconding his eager haste, Now at his will, and as the work requir’d. The stubborn brass, and tin, and precious gold, And silver, first he melted in the fire, Then on its stand his weighty anvil plac’d; And with one hand the hammer’s pond’rous weight He wielded, while the other grasp’d the tongs.