He spake, and from his anvil-block arose, A mighty bulk; his weak legs under him, Halting, moved painfully. He laid apart His bellows from the fire, and gathered up The scattered implements with which he wrought, And locked them in a silver chest, and wiped With a moist sponge his face and both his hands, Stout neck and hairy chest. He then put on His tunic, took his massive regal wand Into his hand, and, tottering, sallied forth. Two golden statues, like in form and look To living maidens, aided with firm gait The monarch’s steps. And mind was in their breasts, And they had speech and strength, and from the gods Had learned becoming arts. Beside their lord They walked and tended him. As he drew near, Halting, to Thetis on the shining throne, He took the goddess by the hand and said:⁠—