He said, and terror seiz'd the stag-ey'd Queen:
Silent she sat, curbing her spirit down,

And all the Gods in pitying sorrow mourn'd.
Vulcan, the skill'd artificer, then first

Broke silence, and with soothing words address'd

His mother, Juno, white-arm'd Queen of Heav'n : "Sad were't, indeed, and grievous to be borne,

If for the sake of mortal men you two

670

Should suffer angry passions to arise,

675

And kindle broils in Heav'n; so should our feast

By evil influence all its sweetness lack.

Let me advise my mother (and I know

That her own reason will my words approve)

680

To speak my father fair; lest he again

Reply in anger, and our banquet mar.

Nay, though Olympian Jove, the lightning's lord,
Should hurl us from our seats (for great his pow'r)

I yet should counsel gentle words, that so
We might propitiate best the King of Heav'n."

This said, he rose, and in his mother's hand
Placing the double goblet, thus he spoke :

685

"Have patience, mother mine! though much enforc❜d,
Restrain thy spirit, lest perchance these eyes,

Dear as thou art, behold thee brought to shame;
And I, though griev'd in heart, be impotent

To save thee;

for 'tis hard to strive with Jove.

When to thy succour once before I came,

690

He seiz'd me by the foot, and hurl'd me down

From Heav'n's high threshold; all the day I fell,

695

And with the setting sun, on Lemnos Isle

Lighted, scarce half-alive; there was I found,

And by the Sintian people kindly nurst."

Thus as he spoke, the white-arm'd Goddess smil❜d,

And, smiling, from his hand, receiv'd the cup.

700

Then to th' Immortals all, in order due,

He minister'd, and from the flagon pour'd
The luscious nectar; while among the Gods
Rose laughter irrepressible, at sight

Of Vulcan hobbling round the spacious hall.

Thus they till sunset pass'd the festive hours;

Nor lack'd the banquet aught to please the sense,
Nor sound of tuneful lyre, by Phoebus touch'd,

705

Nor Muses' voice, who in alternate strains
Responsive sang: but when the sun had set,

Each to his home departed, where for each
The crippled Vulcan, matchless architect,
With wondrous skill a noble house had rear'd.

To his own couch, where he was wont of old,

When overcome by gentle sleep, to rest,
Olympian Jove ascended; there he slept,
And, by his side, the golden-throned Queen.

710

715

717

FROM THE LATIN.