that the god might fail To see her. As that curse of humankind Beheld the approach of noble Diomed, He left the corpse of Periphas unspoiled Where he had fallen, and where he breathed his last, And came in haste to meet the Grecian knight. And now, when they were near, and face to face, Mars o’er the chariot-yoke and horses’ reins First hurled his brazen spear, in hope to take His enemy’s life; but Pallas with her hand Caught it and turned it, so that it flew by And gave no wound. The valiant Diomed Made with his brazen spear the next assault, And Pallas guided it to strike the waist Where girded by the baldric. In that part She wounded Mars, and tore the shining skin, And drew the weapon back. The furious god Uttered a cry as of nine thousand men, Or of ten thousand, rushing to the fight. The Greeks and Trojans stood aghast with fear, To hear that terrible cry of him whose thirst Of bloodshed never is appeased by blood.
As when, in time of heat, the air is filled With a black shadow from the gathering clouds And the strong-blowing wind, so furious Mars Appeared to Diomed, as in a cloud He rose to the broad heaven and to the home Of gods on high Olympus. Near to Jove He took his seat in bitter grief, and showed The immortal blood still dropping from his wound, And thus, with wingèd words, complaining said:—
“O Father Jupiter! Does not thy wrath Rise at these violent deeds? ’Tis ever thus That we, the gods, must suffer grievously From our own rivalry in favoring man; And yet the blame of all this strife is thine, For thou hast a mad daughter, ever wrong, And ever bent on mischief. All the rest Of the immortals dwelling on this mount Obey thee and are subject to thy will. Her only thou hast never yet restrained By word or act, but dost indulge her freaks Because the pestilent creature is thy child. And now she moves the insolent Diomed To raise his hand against the immortal gods. And first he wounded Venus in the wrist, Contending hand to hand; and then he sought To encounter me in arms, as if he were The equal of a god. My own swift feet Carried me thence, else might I long have lain, In anguish, under heaps of carcasses, Or helplessly been mangled by his sword.”