Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/390

And strong, and many, are the sons of Troy:
Great as thou art, e'en thou may'st stain with gore
These Phrygian fields, and press a foreign shore."
⁠He said; with matchless force the javelin flung
Smote on his knee, the hollow cuishes rung
Beneath the pointed steel; but safe from harms
He stands impassive in ethereal arms.
Then, fiercely rushing on the daring foe,
His lifted arm prepares the fatal blow;
But, jealous of his fame, Apollo shrouds
The godlike Trojan in a veil of clouds:
Safe from pursuit, and shut from mortal view,
Dismissed with fame the favoured youth withdrew.
Meanwhile the god, to cover their escape,
Assumes Agenor's habit, voice, and shape,
Flies from the furious chief in this disguise;
The furious chief still follows where he flies.
Now o'er the fields they stretch with lengthened strides,
Now urge the course where swift Scamander glides:
The god, now distant scarce a stride before,
Tempts his pursuit, and wheels about the shore
While all the flying troops their speed employ,
And pour on heaps into the walls of Troy:
No stop, no stay : no thought to ask, or tell,
Who 'scaped by flight, or who by battle fell.
'Twas tumult all, and violence of flight;
And sudden joy confused, and mixed affright:
Pale Troy against Achilles shuts her gate;
And nations breathe, delivered from their fate.