The threat that my lips utter.  If he still
Resolve to spare proud Ilium in despite
Of me, of Pallas, Goddess of the spoils, 265
Of Juno, Mercury, and the King of fire,
And will not overturn her lofty towers,
Nor grant immortal glory to the Greeks,
Then tell him thus—­hostility shall burn,
And wrath between us never to be quench’d. 270

    So saying, the Shaker of the shores forsook

The Grecian host, and plunged into the deep,
Miss’d by Achaia’s heroes.  Then, the cloud-Assembler
God thus to Apollo spake. 

    Hence, my Apollo! to the Trojan Chief 275

Hector; for earth-encircler Neptune, awed
By fear of my displeasure imminent,
Hath sought the sacred Deep.  Else, all the Gods
Who compass Saturn in the nether realms,
Had even there our contest heard, I ween, 280
And heard it loudly.  But that he retreats
Although at first incensed, shunning my wrath,
Is salutary both for him and me,
Whose difference else had not been healed with ease. 
Take thou my shaggy AEgis, and with force 285
Smiting it, terrify the Chiefs of Greece. 
As for illustrious Hector, him I give
To thy peculiar care; fail not to rouse
His fiercest courage, till he push the Greeks
To Hellespont, and to their ships again; 290
Thenceforth to yield to their afflicted host
Some pause from toil, shall be my own concern. 

    He ended, nor Apollo disobey’d

His father’s voice; from the Idaean heights,
Swift as the swiftest of the fowls of air, 295
The dove-destroyer falcon, down he flew. 
The noble Hector, valiant Priam’s son
He found, not now extended on the plain,
But seated; newly, as from death, awaked,
And conscious of his friends; freely he breathed 300
Nor sweated more, by Jove himself revived. 
Apollo stood beside him, and began. 

    Say, Hector, Priam’s son! why sittest here

Feeble and spiritless, and from thy host
Apart? what new disaster hath befall’n? 305

    To whom with difficulty thus replied

The warlike Chief.—­But tell me who art Thou,
Divine inquirer! best of powers above! 
Know’st not that dauntless Ajax me his friends
Slaughtering at yonder ships, hath with a stone 310
Surceased from fight, smiting me on the breast? 
I thought to have beheld, this day, the dead
In Ades, every breath so seem’d my last. 

    Then answer thus the Archer-God return’d. 

Courage this moment! such a helper Jove 315
From Ida sends thee at thy side to war
Continual, Phoebus of the golden sword,
Whose guardian aid both thee and lofty Troy
Hath succor’d many a time.  Therefore arise! 
Instant bid drive thy numerous charioteers