crowd, then the son of magnanimous Tydeus, having stretched forward, wounded the feeble [goddess] in the extremity of the hand, bounding on with the sharp brass. Instantly the spear pierced through the skin, through her ambrosial robe (which the Graces themselves had wrought), at the extremity [of the hand] above the palm. Immortal blood flowed from the goddess, ichor, such, to wit, as flows from the blessed gods. For they eat not bread, nor drink dark wine; therefore are they bloodless, and are called immortal. But she screaming aloud, cast her son from her: and him Phœbus Apollo rescued in his hands in a sable cloud, lest any of the swift-horsed Greeks, casting the steel into his breast, should take away his life. But warlike Diomede shouted loudly after her:
"Withdraw, O daughter of Jove, from war and battle. Is it not sufficient that thou dost practice deception upon feeble women? But if thou wilt go to the war, I certainly think thou wilt hereafter dread battle, even though thou but hearest of it elsewhere."
Thus he spoke: but she departed, distracted [with pain], for she was grievously exhausted. But swift-footed Iris having taken her, led her outside the crowd, oppressed with griefs; but she began to turn livid as to her beauteous skin. Then she found impetuous Mars sitting at the left of the battle; and his spear and swift horses had been enveloped in darkness. But she, falling on her knees, with many entreaties besought from her dear brother his golden-frontleted steeds:
"Dear brother, render me a service, and give me thy steeds, that I may go to Olympus, where is the seat of the immortals. I am grievously oppressed with a wound which a mortal man, the son of Tydeus, inflicted on me, who now would fight even with father Jove."
Thus she spoke: but Mars gave her the golden-frontleted steeds. But she mounted the chariot, grieving in her heart; and Iris mounted beside her, and took the reins in her hands, and scourged them to go on, and they flew not unwillingly. And immediately then they reached the seat of the gods, the lofty Olympus. There nimble, swift-footed Iris staid the steeds, having loosed them from the chariot, and set before them ambrosial fodder. But the god-
