Jupiter And The Thunderbolts.

Said Jupiter, one day,      As on a cloud he lay,      'Observing all our crimes,      Come, let us change the times,      By leasing out anew      A world whose wicked crew      Have wearied out our grace,      And cursed us to our face.      Hie hellward, Mercury;      A Fury bring to me,      The direst of the three.      Race nursed too tenderly,      This day your doom shall be!'      E'en while he spoke their fate,      His wrath began to moderate.      O kings, with whom His will      Hath lodged our good and ill,      Your wrath and storm between      One night should intervene!      The god of rapid wing,      And lip unfaltering,      To sunless regions sped,      And met the sisters dread.      To grim Tisiphone,      And pale Megaera, he      Preferr'd, as murderess,      Alecto, pitiless.      This choice so roused the fiend,      By Pluto's beard she swore      The human race no more      Should be by handfuls glean'd,      But in one solid mass      Th' infernal gates should pass.      But Jove, displeased with both      The Fury and her oath,      Despatched her back to hell.      And then a bolt he hurl'd,      Down on a faithless world,      Which in a desert fell.      Aim'd by a father's arm,      It caused more fear than harm.      (All fathers strike aside.)      What did from this betide?      Our evil race grew bold,      Resumed their wicked tricks,      Increased them manifold,      Till, all Olympus through,      Indignant murmurs flew.      When, swearing by the Styx,      The sire that rules the air      Storms promised to prepare      More terrible and dark,      Which should not miss their mark.      'A father's wrath it is!'      The other deities      All in one voice exclaim'd;      'And, might the thing be named,      Some other god would make      Bolts better for our sake.'      This Vulcan undertook.      His rumbling forges shook,      And glow'd with fervent heat,      While Cyclops blew and beat.      Forth, from the plastic flame      Two sorts of bolts there came.      Of these, one misses not:      'Tis by Olympus shot, -      That is, the gods at large.      The other, bearing wide,      Hits mountain-top or side,      Or makes a cloud its targe.      And this it is alone      Which leaves the father's throne.