and imperious still, She claims some title to transgress our will." Swift as the wind, the various-colour'd maid From Ida's top her golden wings display'd; To great Olympus' shining gate she flies, There meets the chariot rushing down the skies, Restrains their progress from the bright abodes, And speaks the mandate of the sire of gods. "What frenzy goddesses! what rage can move Celestial minds to tempt the wrath of Jove? Desist, obedient to his high command: This is his word; and know his word shall stand: His lightning your rebellion shall confound, And hurl ye headlong, flaming, to the ground; Your horses crush'd beneath the wheels shall lie, Your car in fragments scatter'd o'er the sky; Yourselves condemn'd ten rolling years to weep The wounds impress'd by burning thunder deep. So shall Minerva learn to fear his ire, Nor dare to combat hers and nature's sire. For Juno, headstrong and imperious still, She claims some title to transgress his will: But thee, what desperate insolence has driven To lift thy lance against the king of heaven?" Then, mounting on the pinions of the wind, She flew; and Juno thus her rage resign'd: "O daughter of that god, whose arm can wield The avenging bolt, and shake the dreadful shield No more let beings of superior birth Contend with Jove for this low race of earth; Triumphant now, now miserably slain, They breathe or perish as the fates ordain: But Jove's high counsels full effect shall find; And, ever constant, ever rule mankind." She spoke, and backward turn'd her steeds of light, Adorn'd with manes of gold, and heavenly bright. The Hours unloosed them, panting as they stood, And heap'd their mangers with ambrosial food. There tied, they rest in high celestial stalls; The chariot propp'd against the crystal walls, The pensive goddesses, abash'd, controll'd, Mix with the gods, and fill their seats of gold. [Illustration: THE HOURS TAKING