And now Minerva from the realms of air Descends impetuous, and renews the war; For, pleased at length the Grecian arms to aid, The lord of thunders sent the blue-eyed maid. As when high Jove denouncing future woe, O’er the dark clouds extends his purple bow, (In sign of tempests from the troubled air, Or from the rage of man, destructive war,) The drooping cattle dread the impending skies, And from his half-till’d field the labourer flies: In such a form the goddess round her drew A livid cloud, and to the battle flew. Assuming Phœnix’ shape on earth she falls, And in his well-known voice to Sparta calls: “And lies Achilles’ friend, beloved by all, A prey to dogs beneath the Trojan wall? What shame 'o Greece for future times to tell, To thee the greatest in whose cause he fell!” “O chief, O father! (Atreus’ son replies) O full of days! by long experience wise! What more desires my soul, than here unmoved To guard the body of the man I loved? Ah, would Minerva send me strength to rear This wearied arm, and ward the storm of war! But Hector, like the rage of fire, we dread, And Jove’s own glories blaze around his head!” Pleased to be first of all the powers address’d, She breathes new vigour in her hero’s breast, And fills with keen revenge, with fell despite, Desire of blood, and rage, and lust of fight. So burns the vengeful hornet (soul all o’er), Repulsed in vain, and thirsty still of gore; (Bold son of air and heat) on angry wings Untamed, untired, he turns, attacks, and stings. Fired with like ardour fierce Atrides flew, And sent his soul with every lance he threw. There stood a Trojan, not unknown to fame, Aëtion’s son, and Podes was his name: With riches honour’d, and with courage bless’d, By Hector loved, his comrade, and his guest; Through his broad belt the spear a passage found, And, ponderous as he falls, his arms resound. Sudden at Hector’s side Apollo stood, Like Phaenops, Asius’ son, appear’d the god; (Asius the great, who held his wealthy reign In fair Abydos, by the rolling main.) “Oh prince! (he cried) Oh foremost once in fame! What Grecian now shall tremble at thy name? Dost thou at length to Menelaus yield, A chief once thought no terror of the field? Yet singly, now, the long-disputed prize He bears victorious, while our army flies: By the same arm illustrious Podes bled; The friend of Hector, unrevenged, is dead!” This heard, o’er Hector spreads a cloud of woe, Rage lifts his lance, and drives him on the foe. But now the Eternal shook his sable shield, That shaded Ide and all the subject field Beneath its ample verge. A rolling cloud Involved the mount; the thunder roar’d aloud; The affrighted hills from their foundations nod, And blaze beneath the lightnings of the god: At one regard of his all-seeing eye The vanquish’d triumph, and the victors fly.