But round about him all his friends, as well as ever known. And this was with the mind of Jove, that flew to him before Apollo came; who, as he saw no sign of any sore, Ask’d, like a cheerful visitant: “Why in this sickly kind, Great Hector, sitt’st thou so apart? Can any grief of mind Invade thy fortitude?” He spake, but with a feeble voice: “O thou, the best of Deities! Why, since I thus rejoice By thy so serious benefit, demand’st thou, as in mirth, And to my face, if I were ill? For, more than what thy worth Must needs take note of, doth not Fame from all mouths fill thine ears, That, as my hand at th’ Achive fleet was making massacres Of men whom valiant Ajax led, his strength strook with a stone All pow’r of more hurt from my breast? My very soul was gone, And once to-day I thought to see the house of Dis and Death.” “Be strong,” said he, “for such a spirit now sends the God of breath From airy Ida, as shall run through all Greek spirits in thee. Apollo with the golden sword, the clear Far-seer, see, Him, who betwixt death and thy life, ’twixt ruin and those tow’rs, Ere this day oft hath held his shield. Come then, be all thy pow’rs In wonted vigour, let thy knights with all their horse assay The Grecian fleet, myself will lead, and scour so clear the way, That flight shall leave no Greek a rub.” Thus instantly inspir’d Were all his nerves with matchless strength; and then his friends he fir’d Against their foes, when to his eyes his ears confirm’d the God. Then, as a goodly-headed hart, or goat, bred in the wood, A rout of country huntsmen chase, with all their hounds in cry, The beast yet or the shady woods, or rocks excessive high, Keep safe, or our unwieldy fates (that ev’n in hunters sway) Bar them the poor beast’s pulling down; when straight the clam’rous fray Calls out a lion, hugely-man’d, and his abhorréd view Turns headlong in unturning flight (though vent’rous) all the crew; So hitherto the chasing Greeks their slaughter dealt by troops; But, after Hector was beheld range here and there, then stoops The boldest courage, then their heels took in their drooping hearts, And then spake Andræmonides, a man of far-best parts Of all the Ætolians, skill’d in darts, strenuous in fights of stand, And one of whom few of the Greeks could get the better hand For rhetoric, when they fought with words; with all which being wise, Thus spake he to his Grecian friends: “O mischief! Now mine eyes Discern no little miracle; Hector escap’d from death, And all-recover’d, when all thought his soul had sunk beneath The hands of Ajax. But some God hath sav’d and freed again Him that but now dissolv’d the knees of many a Grecian, And now I fear will weaken more; for, not without the hand Of Him that thunders, can his pow’rs thus still the forefights stand, Thus still triumphant. Hear me then: Our troops in quick retreat Let’s draw up to our fleet, and we, that boast ourselves the great, Stand firm, and try if these that raise so high their charging darts