Fleetest and strongest of the fowls of air. Like him he darted; clashing round his breast, The brazen mail rang fearfully. Askance He fled; the water with a mighty roar Followed him close. As, when a husbandman Leads forth, from some dark spring of earth, a rill Among his planted garden-beds, and clears Its channel, spade in hand, the pebbles there Move with the current, which runs murmuring down The sloping surface and outstrips its guide⁠— So rushed the waves where’er Achilles ran, Swift as he was; for mightier are the gods Than men. As often as the noble son Of Peleus made a stand in hope to know Whether the deathless gods of the great heaven Conspired to make him flee, so often came A mighty billow of the Jove-born stream And drenched his shoulders. Then again he sprang Away; the rapid torrent made his knees To tremble, while it swept, where’er he trod, The earth from underneath his feet. He looked To the broad heaven above him, and complained:⁠—