The Illiad, I.
Bare he the wine, forth-pouring the nectar sweet from the goblet.
Loud and incessant the mirth of the Gods, of the happy Immortals,
E'en at the sight of Hephaestus, thus puffing along at the banquets.[1]
Thus thro' the livelong day, till the Sun sank down to his setting,
Feasted the Gods upon high ; — nor did any lack ample refreshment.
Lack'd not the sound of the lyre, for the master of music, Apollo,
Stood with the Muses, responsive in song and harmonious numbers.
But when the burning orb of the Sun sank again to his setting,
Wearied and ready for rest went each God apart to his dwelling,
Each to his beautiful home ; to the home which the artist Hephaestus,
Lame as he was, had framed ; the design of his subtle invention.
And to his couch went Zeus, the Olympian, Lord of the Thunder.
E'en to the couch that he sought, when sleep came sweetly upon him : 61 °
There lay he down to repose ; and the golden-thron'd Here beside him.
23
- ↑ At lame Vulcan thus assuming the office of Hebe or Ganymede:—or at his address to Hère.
