“Renowned Achilles! Thou dost fondly know That thou today wilt overthrow the town Of the magnanimous Trojans. Many toils, Thou fool! must be endured ere that can be; For we are many and are brave who dwell Within it, and shall well defend the town For our beloved parents and our wives And little ones. Here shall thou meet thy doom, Brave as thou art, and terrible in war.”
As thus he spake, his powerful hand dismissed The keen-edged spear, nor missed his aim; it struck The son of Peleus just below the knee. The tin of which the greave was newly forged Rang shrilly, and sent back the brazen point; It could not pierce the armor which a god Had given. And then the son of Peleus aimed His weapon at Agenor. Phoebus came And snatched away his triumph, bearing off The godlike youth, Agenor, in a veil Of darkness from the perils of the war. Then he decoyed Achilles from the host Of Troy; the archer of the skies put on Agenor’s perfect semblance, and appeared Before the Greek, and fled; his hasty flight Was followed close. Achilles chased the god Ever before him, yet still near, across The fruitful fields, to the deep-eddied stream Of Xanthus; for Apollo artfully Made it to seem that he should soon o’ertake His flying foe, and thus beguiled him on. Meantime the routed Trojans gladly thronged Into the city, filled the streets, and closed The portals. None now dared without the walls To wait for others, or remain to know Who had escaped with life, and who were slain In battle; eagerly they flung themselves Into the city—everyone whose feet And knees had borne him from the field alive.