To perish by the might of Peleus’ son? 205
    Whom answer’d thus Pallas cerulean-eyed. 
  Dread Sovereign of the storms! what hast thou said? 
  Wouldst thou deliver from the stroke of fate
  A mortal man death-destined from of old? 
  Do it; but small thy praise shall be in heaven. 210
    Then answer thus, cloud-gatherer Jove return’d. 
  Fear not, Tritonia, daughter dear! that word
  Spake not my purpose; me thou shalt perceive
  Always to thee indulgent.  What thou wilt
  That execute, and use thou no delay. 215
    So roused he Pallas of herself prepared,
  And from the heights Olympian down she flew. 
  With unremitting speed Achilles still
  Urged Hector.  As among the mountain-height
  The hound pursues, roused newly from her lair 220
  The flying fawn through many a vale and grove;
  And though she trembling skulk the shrubs beneath,
  Tracks her continual, till he find the prey,
  So ‘scaped not Hector Peleus’ rapid son. 
  Oft as toward the Dardan gates he sprang 225
  Direct, and to the bulwarks firm of Troy,
  Hoping some aid by volleys from the wall,
  So oft, outstripping him, Achilles thence
  Enforced him to the field, who, as he might,
  Still ever stretch’d toward the walls again. 230
  As, in a dream,[10] pursuit hesitates oft,
  This hath no power to fly, that to pursue,
  So these—­one fled, and one pursued in vain. 
  How, then, had Hector his impending fate
  Eluded, had not Phoebus, at his last, 235
  Last effort meeting him, his strength restored,
  And wing’d for flight his agile limbs anew? 
  The son of Peleus, as he ran, his brows
  Shaking, forbad the people to dismiss
  A dart at Hector, lest a meaner hand 240
  Piercing him, should usurp the foremost praise. 
  But when the fourth time to those rivulets. 
  They came, then lifting high his golden scales,
  Two lots the everlasting Father placed
  Within them, for Achilles one, and one 245
  For Hector, balancing the doom of both. 
  Grasping it in the midst, he raised the beam. 
  Down went the fatal day of Hector, down
  To Ades, and Apollo left his side. 
  Then blue-eyed Pallas hasting to the son 250
  Of Peleus, in wing’d accents him address’d. 
    Now, dear to Jove, Achilles famed in arms! 
  I hope that, fierce in combat though he be,
  We shall, at last, slay Hector, and return
  Crown’d with great glory to the fleet of Greece. 255
  No fear of his deliverance now remains,
  Not even should the King of radiant shafts,
  Apollo, toil in supplication, roll’d
  And roll’d again[11] before the Thunderer’s feet. 
  But stand, recover breath; myself, the