The weapon flew, its course unerring held, Unerring, but the heavenly* shield repell'd The mortal dart; resulting with a bound From off the ringing orb it struck the ground. Hector beheld his javelin fall in vain, Nor other lance, nor other hope remain; He calls Deïphobus, demands a spear-- In vain, for no Deïphobus was there. All comfortless he stands: then, with a sigh: "'Tis so--Heaven wills it, and my hour is nigh! I deem'd Deïphobus had heard my call, But he secure lies guarded in the wall. A god deceived me: Pallas, 'twas thy deed, Death and black fate approach; 'tis I must bleed. No refuge now, no succor from above. Great Jove deserts me, and the son of Jove,* Propitious once, and kind! Then welcome fate! 'Tis true I perish, yet I perish great: Yet in a mighty deed I shall expire, Let future ages hear it, and admire!" *[Footnote: The armor of Achilles had been made for him by Vulcan, god of fire.] *[Footnote: This reference is to Apollo.] [Illustration: BEFORE HIS BREAST THE FLAMING SHIELD HE BEARS] Fierce, at the word, his weighty sword he drew, And, all collected, on Achilles flew. So Jove's bold bird,* high balanced in the air, Stoops from the clouds to truss the quivering hare. Nor less Achilles his fierce soul prepares: Before his breast the flaming shield he bears Refulgent orb! above his fourfold cone The gilded horse-hair sparkled in the sun, Nodding at every step (Vulcanian frame!): And as he moved, his figure seem'd on flame. As radiant Hesper* shines with keener light, Far-beaming o'er the silver host of night, When all the starry train emblaze the sphere: So shone the point of great Achilles' spear. In his right hand he waves the weapon round, Eyes the whole man, and meditates the wound; But the rich mail Patroclus* lately wore Securely cased the warrior's body o'er. One space at length he spies, to let in fate, Where 'twixt the neck and throat the jointed plate Gave entrance: through that penetrable part Furious he drove the well-directed dart: Nor pierced the windpipe yet, nor took the power Of speech, unhappy! from thy dying hour. Prone on the field the bleeding warrior lies, While, thus triumphing, stern Achilles cries: *[Footnote: The eagle was sacred to Jove.] *[Footnote: _Hesper_ was the old name for Venus, the evening star, the brightest of the planets.] *[Footnote: Patroclus was the friend of Achilles, whom Hector had killed. Hector had, after the usual custom, taken possession of the armor of Patroclus, which had originally belonged to Achilles.]