Achilles the swift-footed made reply: “Be it as thou commandest, foster-child Of Jove, Scamander! Yet I shall not cease To slay these treaty-breakers till at length I shut them up within their town, and force Hector to meet me, that we may decide Which shall o’ercome the other—he or I.”
He spake, and rushed upon the men of Troy, Terrible as a god, while from his bed The eddying River called to Phoebus thus:—
“Why this, thou bearer of the silver bow, Thou son of Jove? Thou heedest not the will Of Saturn’s son, who strictly bade that thou Shouldst aid the Trojans till the latest gleam Of sunset, and till night is on the fields.”
And then Achilles, mighty with the spear, From the steep bank leaped into the mid-stream, While, foul with ooze, the angry River raised His waves, and pushed along the heaps of dead Slain by Achilles. These, with mighty roar As of a bellowing ox, Scamander cast Aground; the living with his whirling gulfs He hid, and saved them in his friendly streams. In tumult terribly the surges rose Around Achilles, beating on his shield, And made his feet to stagger, till he grasped A tall, fair-growing elm upon the bank. Down came the tree, and in its loosened roots Brought the earth with it; the fair stream was checked By the thick branches, and the prostrate trunk Bridged it from side to side. Achilles sprang From the deep pool, and fled with rapid feet Across the plain in terror. Nor did then The mighty river-god refrain, but rose Against him with a darker crest, to drive The noble son of Peleus from the field, And so deliver Troy. Pelides sprang A spear’s cast backward—sprang with all the speed Of the black eagle’s wing, the hunter-bird, Fleetest and strongest of the fowls of air. Like him he darted; clashing round his breast, The brazen