On went the goddesses, with step as light As timid doves, and hastened toward the field To aid the Achaian army. When they came Where fought the bravest warriors in a throng Around the great horse-tamer Diomed, Like ravenous lions or wild boars whose rage Is terrible, the white-armed goddess stood, And called aloud⁠—for now she wore the form Of gallant Stentor, in whose brazen voice Was heard a shout like that of fifty men:⁠—

“Shame on you, Argives⁠—wretches, who in form, And form alone, are heroes. While we yet Had great Achilles in the war, the men Of Ilium dared not pass beyond their gates, So much they feared his mighty spear; but now They push the battle to our hollow ships, Far from the town.” As thus the goddess spake, New strength and courage woke in every breast.