From Ida Jupiter beheld, in wrath, And summoned Iris of the golden wings, And bade her do this errand: “Speed thee hence, Fleet Iris! Turn them back; allow them not Thus to defy me: it is not for them To engage with me in war. I give my word⁠— Nor shall it lack fulfilment⁠—I will make The swift steeds lame that draw their car, and hurl The riders down, and dash the car itself To fragments. Ten long years shall wear away Before they cease to suffer from the wounds Made by the thunderbolt. Minerva thus May learn the fate of those who strive with Jove. With Juno I am less displeased, for she Is ever bent to thwart my purposes.”

He spake; and Iris, with the tempest’s speed Departing, bore the message from the heights Of Ida to the great Olympus, where, Among the foremost passes of the mount, All seamed with hollow vales, she met and stayed The pair, delivering thus the word of Jove:⁠—