Full on the sire the goddess of the skies Roll’d the large orbs of her majestic eyes, And thus return’d:—“Austere Saturnius, say, From whence this wrath, or who controls thy sway? Thy boundless will, for me, remains in force, And all thy counsels take the destined course. But ’tis for Greece I fear: for late was seen, In close consult, the silver-footed queen. Jove to his Thetis nothing could deny, Nor was the signal vain that shook the sky. What fatal favour has the goddess won, To grace her fierce, inexorable son? Perhaps in Grecian blood to drench the plain, And glut his vengeance with my people slain.”