"Why fish thy reasons from the deep? where is thy trust in me, I prithee, O my God and Love? Had such wish weighed on thee, Then, also, had it been my part to arm the Teucrian hand, Nor had the Almighty Sire nor Fate forbidden Troy to stand, And Priam might have held it out another ten years yet. And now if thou wouldst wage the war, if thus thy soul is set, 400 Thy longing shall have whatsoe'er this craft of mine may lend; Whatever in iron may be done, or silver-golden blend; Whatever wind and fire may do: I prithee pray no more, But trust the glory of thy might." So when his words wore o'er He gave the enfolding that she would, and shed upon her breast He lay, and over all his limbs he drew the sleepy rest. But when the midmost night was worn, and slumber, past its prime, Had faded out, in sooth it was that woman's rising-time, Who needs must prop her life with rock and slender mastery 409 That Pallas gives: she wakes the ash and flames that smouldering lie, And, adding night unto her toil, driveth her maids to win Long task before its kindled light, that she may keep from sin Her bride-bed; that her little ones well waxen-up may be. Not otherwise that Might of Fire, no sluggard more than she, To win his art and handicraft from that soft bed arose. Upon the flank of Sicily there hangs an island close To Lipari of Æolus, with shear-hewn smoky steep; Beneath it thunder caves and dens Ætnæan, eaten deep With forges of the Cyclops: thence men hear the anvils cry 'Neath mighty strokes, and through the cave the hissing sparkles fly 420 From iron of the Chalybes, and pants the forge with flame. The house is Vulcan's, and the land Vulcania hath to name.