Of all the gods who tread the spangled skies,
Thou most unjust, most odious in our eyes!
Inhuman discord is thy dire delight,
The waste of slaughter, and the rage of fight:
No bound, no law, thy fiery temper quells,
And all thy mother[1] in thy soul rebels.
In vain our threats, in vain our power, we use:
She gives the example, and her son pursues.
Yet long the inflicted pangs thou shalt not mourn,
Sprung since thou art from Jove, and heavenly born.
Else, singed with lightning, hadst thou hence been thrown,
Where chained on burning rocks the Titans groan."
Thus he who shakes Olympus with his nod;
Then gave to Pæon's care the bleeding god.
With gentle hand the balm he poured around,
And healed the immortal flesh, and closed the wound.
As when the fig's pressed juice, infused in cream,
To curds coagulates the liquid stream,
Sudden the fluids fix, the parts combined;
Such and so soon the ethereal texture joined.
Cleansed from the dust and gore, fair Hebé dressed
His mighty limbs in an immortal vest.
Glorious he sat, in majesty restored,
Fast by the throne of heaven's superior lord.
Juno and Pallas mount the blest abodes,
Their task performed, and mix among the gods.
- ↑ Juno.
