“Why, Hector, son of Priam, dost thou sit Languishing thus, apart from all the host? Has aught of evil overtaken thee?”
And then the crested Hector feebly said: “Who mayst thou be, O kindest of the gods, That thus dost question me? Hast thou not heard That the great warrior Ajax, with a stone, Smote me upon the breast, and made me leave The battle-field, where I o’ertook and slew His comrades by the galleys of the Greeks? I thought to be this day among the dead In Pluto’s mansion; even now it seemed That I was breathing my dear life away.”
Then spake again Apollo, archer-god:— “Take courage, for the son of Saturn sends From Ida’s summit one who will attend And aid thee—Phoebus of the golden sword, Long practised to defend thy Troy and thee. Rise now, encouraging thy numerous host Of charioteers to press with their swift steeds Straight toward the roomy galleys of the Greeks, I go before to smooth for them the way, And turn the Achaian bands, and make them flee.”
He spake, and into the great ruler’s breast Breathed strength and courage. As a stabled horse, Fed at his crib with barley, breaks the thong That fastened him, and, issuing, scours the plain Where he was wont in some smooth-flowing stream To bathe his sides—he holds his head aloft Proudly, and o’er his shoulders streams the mane— Consciously beautiful, he darts away On nimble knees, that bear him to the fields He knows so well, and pastures of the mares;— So after he had hearkened to the god Moved the swift feet of Hector, and he flew To cheer his horsemen on. As peasant men Rush with their dogs in chase of horned stag Or mountain goat, whose refuge is among Thickets and lofty rocks, nor can they take Their prey, for at their clamor there appears A maned lion in the way, and turns The chasers back, although in hot pursuit— Thus did the Greeks embattled close pursue The men of Ilium, striking with their swords And two-edged spears; but when at length they saw Hector among the ranks of armèd men, Their hearts were troubled, and their courage sank.