And Vulcan, the great artist, answered her: “Be comforted, and take no further thought Of this; for would I could as certainly Shield him from death’s dread summons when his hour Is come at last, as I shall have for him Beautiful armor ready to put on, And such as every man, of multitudes Who look on it hereafter, shall admire.”

So speaking he withdrew, and went where lay The bellows, turned them toward the fire, and bade The work begin. From twenty bellows came Their breath into the furnaces⁠—a blast Varied in strength as need might be; for now They blew with violence for a hasty task, And then with gentler breath, as Vulcan pleased And as the work required. Upon the fire He laid impenetrable brass, and tin, And precious gold and silver; on its block Placed the huge anvil, took the ponderous sledge, And held the pincers in the other hand.