“Vainly, and in our madness, do we strive With Father Jove. We come and seek by craft Or force to move his stubborn will; he sits Apart, unyielding, unregarding, proud Of the vast strength and power in which he stands Above all other of the deathless gods. Bear therefore patiently whatever ill He sends to each. Already, as I learn, Hath Mars his share of sorrow. In the war Ascalaphus hath perished, whom he loved Dearly, beyond all other men, and whom The fiery god acknowledged as his son.”

As thus she spake, Mars smote his sinewy thighs With his dropped hands, and sorrowfully said:⁠—

“Be not offended with me, ye who make Your dwelling on Olympus, if I go Down to the Achaian fleet, and there avenge The slaughter of my son, though I be doomed To fall before the thunderbolt of Jove, And lie in blood and dust among the dead.”