Thither the Master of the Fire went down from upper air, Where Cyclop folk in mighty den were forging iron gear; Pyracmon of the naked limbs, Brontes and Steropes. A thunderbolt half-fashioned yet was in the hands of these, Part-wrought, suchwise as many an one the Father casts on earth From all the heaven, but otherwhere unfinished from the birth, Three rays they wrought of writhen storm, three of the watery wrack; Nor do the three of ruddy flame nor windy winging lack: 430 And now the work of fearful flash, and roar, and dread they won, And blent amid their craftsmanship the flame that followeth on. But otherwhere they dight the wain and wingèd wheels of Mars, Wherewith the men and walls of men he waketh up to wars. There angry Pallas's arms they wrought and Ægis full of fear, And set the gold and serpent scales, and did with mighty care The knitted adders, and for breast of very God did deck The Gorgon rolling eyen still above her severed neck. "Do all away," he said, "lay by the labour so far done; Cyclops of Ætna, turn your minds to this one thing alone: 440 Arms for a great man must be wrought; betake ye to your might; Betake ye to your nimble hands and all your mastery's sleight, And hurry tarrying into haste." No more he spake: all they Fall swift to work and portion out the labour of the day: The brazen rivers run about with metal of the gold, And soft the Chalyb bane-master flows in the forges' hold. A mighty shield they set on foot to match all weapons held By Latin men, and sevenfold ring on ring about it weld. Meanwhile, in windy bellows' womb some in the breezes take And give them forth, some dip the brass all hissing in the lake, 450 And all the cavern is agroan with strokes on anvil laid. There turn and turn about betwixt, with plenteous might to aid, They rear their arms; with grip of tongs they turn the iron o'er.