The silver-footed Thetis thus rejoined: “Truly, my son, thy purpose is not ill, To rescue thy endangered friends from death. But with the Trojans are thy beautiful arms, Brazen and dazzling bright; their crested chief, Hector, exults to wear them: no long space, I think, will he exult; his death is near. Yet go not to the battle-field until Thine eyes shall look upon me yet again. I come tomorrow with the sun, and bring Bright arms, the work of Vulcan’s royal hand.”

So having said, and turning from her son, She thus bespake her sisters of the sea: “Return to the broad bosom of the deep, To its gray Ancient and my father’s halls, And tell him all. I hasten to ascend The summits of Olympus, there to ask Of Vulcan, the renowned artificer, Armor of glorious beauty for my son.”