He said; and promptly on his errand sprang The storm-swift Iris; in the dark-blue sea She plung’d, midway ’twixt Imbros’ rugged shore And Samos’ isle; the parting waters plash’d. As down to ocean’s lowest depths she dropp’d, Like to a plummet, which the fisherman Lets fall, encas’d in wild bull’s horn, to bear Destruction to the sea’s voracious tribes. There found she Thetis in a hollow cave, Around her rang’d the Ocean Goddesses: She, in the midst, was weeping o’er the fate Her matchless son awaiting, doom’d to die Far from his home, on fertile plains of Troy. Swift-footed Iris at her side appear’d, And thus address’d her: “Hasten, Thetis; Jove, Lord of immortal counsel, summons thee.” To whom the silver-footed Goddess thus: “What would with me the mighty King of Heav’n? Press’d as I am with grief, I am asham’d To mingle with the Gods; yet will I go: Nor shall he speak in vain, whate’er his words.” Thus as she spoke, her veil the Goddess took, All black, than which none deeper could be found; She rose to go; the storm-swift Iris led The way before her; ocean’s parted waves Around their path receded; to the beach Ascending, upwards straight to Heav’n they sprang. Th’ all-seeing son of Saturn there they found, And rang’d around him all th’ immortal Gods. Pallas made way; and by the throne of Jove Sat Thetis, Juno proff’ring to her hand A goblet fair of gold, and adding words Of welcome; she the cup receiv’d, and drank. Then thus began the sire of Gods and men: “Thou, Thetis, sorrowing to Olympus com’st, Borne down by ceaseless grief; I know it well; Yet hear the cause for which I summon’d thee. About Achilles, thy victorious son, And valiant Hector’s body, for nine days Hath contest been in Heav’n; and some have urg’d That Hermes should by stealth the corpse remove. This to Achilles’ praise I mean to turn, And thus thy rev’rence and thy love retain. Then haste thee to the camp, and to thy son My message bear; tell him that all the Gods Are fill’d with wrath; and I above the rest Am angry, that beside the beaked ships, He, mad with rage, the corpse of Hector keeps: So may he fear me, and restore the dead. Iris meantime to Priam I will send, And bid him seek the Grecian ships, and there Obtain his son’s release: and with him bring Such presents as may melt Achilles’ heart.”