To whom Earth-shaking Neptune thus replied: “Immortal Iris, weighty are thy words, And in good season spoken; and ’tis well When envoys are by sound discretion led. Yet are my heart and mind with grief oppress’d, When me, his equal both by birth and fate, He seeks with haughty words to overbear. I yield, but with indignant sense of wrong. This too I say, nor shall my threat be vain: Let him remember, if in my despite, ’Gainst Pallas’, Juno’s, Hermes’, Vulcan’s will, He spare to overthrow proud Ilium’s tow’rs, And crown with victory the Grecian arms, The feud between us never can be heal’d.” Th’ Earth-shaker said, and from the field withdrew Beneath the ocean wave, the warrior Greeks His loss deploring; to Apollo then The Cloud-compeller thus his speech address’d: “Go straight to Hector of the brazen helm, Good Phoebus; for beneath the ocean wave Th’ Earth-shaker hath withdrawn, escaping thus My high displeasure; had he dar’d resist, The tumult of our strife had reach’d the Gods Who in the nether realms with Saturn dwell. Yet thus ’tis better, both for me and him, That, though indignant, to my will he yields; For to compel him were no easy task. Take thou, and wave on high thy tassell’d shield, The Grecian warriors daunting: thou thyself, Far-darting King, thy special care bestow On noble Hector; so restore his strength And vigour, that in panic to their ships, And the broad Hellespont, the Greeks be driv’n. Then will I so by word and deed contrive That they may gain fresh respite from their toil.” He said, nor did Apollo not obey His Sire’s commands; from Ida’s heights he flew, Like to a falcon, swooping on a dove, Swiftest of birds; then Priam’s son he found, The godlike Hector, stretch’d at length no more, But sitting, now to consciousness restor’d, With recognition looking on his friends; The cold sweat dried, nor gasping now for breath, Since by the will of Ægis-bearing Jove To life new waken’d; close beside him stood The Far-destroyer, and address’d him thus: “Hector, thou son of Priam, why apart From all thy comrades art thou sitting here, Feeble and faint? What trouble weighs thee down?” To whom thus Hector of the glancing helm With falt’ring voice: “Who art thou, Prince of Gods, Who thus enquirest of me? know’st thou not How a huge stone, by mighty Ajax hurl’d, As on his comrades by the Grecian ships I dealt destruction, struck me on the breast, Dash’d to the earth, and all my vigour quell’d? I deem’d in sooth this day my soul, expir’d, Should see the dead, and Pluto’s shadowy realm.” To whom again the far-destroying King: “Be of good cheer; from Saturn’s son I come From Ida’s height to be thy guide and guard; Phoebus Apollo, of the golden sword, I, who of old have thy protector been, Thee and thy city guarding. Rise then straight; Summon thy num’rous horsemen; bid them drive Their flying cars to assail the Grecian ships: I go before: and will thy horses’ way Make plain and smooth, and daunt the warrior Greeks.”