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.”