Hard by AEolian Lipare, before Sicania, looms an island from the deep, With smoking rocks.

There AEtna's caverns roar, Hewn by the Cyclop's forges from the steep.
There the steel hisses and the sparks upleap, And clanging anvils, smit with dexterous aim, Groan through the cavern, as their strokes they heap, And restless in the furnace pants the flame.
'Twas Vulcan's house, the land even yet bears Vulcan's name.
LVI.

Down to this cavern came the Lord of Flame, And found Pyracmon, naked as he strove, Brontes and Steropes.

Their hands still frame A thunderbolt unfinished, such as Jove Rains thickly from his armouries above, Tipt with twelve barbs and never known to fail.
Part still remain unwrought; three rays they wove Of ruddy fire, three of the Southern gale, Three of the watery cloud, and three of twisted hail.
LVII.

They blend the frightful flashes and the peals, Sound, fear, and fury with the flames behind.
These forge the War-Gods' chariot and swift wheels, Which stir up cities, and arouse mankind.
Here, burnished bright for wrathful Pallas, shined, With serpent scales, and golden links firm bound, Her dreadful AEgis, and the snakes entwined; And on her breast, with severed neck, still frowned Medusa's head, and rolled her dying eyes around.
LVIII.