“My son (coerulean Thetis made reply, To fate submitting with a secret sigh,) The host to succour, and thy friends to save, Is worthy thee; the duty of the brave. But canst thou, naked, issue to the plains? Thy radiant arms the Trojan foe detains. Insulting Hector bears the spoils on high, But vainly glories, for his fate is nigh. Yet, yet awhile thy generous ardour stay; Assured, I meet thee at the dawn of day, Charged with refulgent arms (a glorious load), Vulcanian arms, the labour of a god.”