_Aphrodite_. _Eros_
_Aph_. Eros, dear, you have had your victories over most of the
Gods—Zeus, Posidon, Rhea, Apollo, nay, your own mother; how is it you
make an exception for Athene? against her your torch has no fire, your
quiver no arrows, your right hand no cunning.
_Eros_. I am afraid of her, mother; those awful flashing eyes! she is
like a man, only worse. When I go against her with my arrow on the
string, a toss of her plume frightens me; my hand shakes so that it
drops the bow.
_Aph_. I should have thought Ares was more terrible still; but you
disarmed and conquered him.
_Eros_. Ah, he is only too glad to have me; he calls me to him. Athene
always eyes me so! once when I flew close past her, quite by accident,
with my torch, 'If you come near me,' she called out, 'I swear by my
father, I will run you through with my spear, or take you by the foot
and drop you into Tartarus, or tear you in pieces with my own
hands'—and more such dreadful things. And she has such a sour look; and
then on her breast she wears that horrid face with the snaky hair; that
frightens me worst of all; the nasty bogy—I run away directly I see it.
_Aph_. Well, well, you are afraid of Athene and the Gorgon; at least so
you say, though you do not mind Zeus's thunderbolt a bit. But why do
you let the Muses go scot free? do _they_ toss their plumes and hold
out Gorgons' heads?
_Eros_. Ah, mother, they make me bashful; they are so grand, always
studying and composing; I love to stand there listening to their music.
_Aph_. Let them pass too, because they are grand. And why do you never
take a shot at Artemis?
_Eros_. Why, the great thing is that I cannot catch her; she is always
over the hills and far away. But besides that, her heart is engaged
already.
_Aph_. Where, child?
_Eros_. In hunting stags and fawns; she is so fleet, she catches them
up, or else shoots them; she can think of nothing else. Her brother,
now, though he is an archer too, and draws a good arrow—
_Aph_. I know, child, you have hit _him_ often enough.