nd little children, and to guard holy Ilium. Thou, too, perhaps,
mighty as thou art, mayest here meet death."

He spake and hurled a spear at Achilles with his strong hand. And it smote
him below the knee, and the tin-wrought greave rang loudly; but the stout
spear bounded off, for it could not pierce the work of Vulcan.

Then Achilles rushed on godlike Agenor; but him Apollo caught in a mist,
and carried him safely out of the fray. And the god took the form of
Agenor, and ran a little way before Achilles, towards the deep-flowing
Scamander. And while Apollo thus deceived the mighty son of Peleus, the
routed Trojans ran, well pleased, to their stronghold, and the great city
was filled with their multitude.

Then as he ran before Achilles, the mighty Far-Darter addressed him, and
spake: "O son of Peleus! why dost thou, being a mortal man, pursue _me_
with thy swift feet, who am a deathless god?" Then, in wrath, the son of
Peleus answered him: "Thou hast blinded me, most mischievous of all the
Gods! and lured me away from the walls; else would many a Trojan have
fallen, or ever he had reached the city." He then went towards the city,
with a proud heart, like a war-horse victorious in a chariot race; and the
aged Priam saw him, blazing like the star in autumn brightest of all,
which men call "Orion's Dog," that bringeth fever upon wretched mortals.

And the old man cried aloud, in his agony, and beat his head with his
fists, and called in a piercing voice to his dear son Hector. For the
brave hero, when all the others had escaped into the city, remained alone
at the Scaean Gate eager to fight with Achilles. And his wretched father
stretched forth his withered hands, and pleaded piteously to his son:--

"Hector! dear Hector! do not meet this terrible man alone, for he is far
mightier than thou, and knoweth no pity. Already hath he robbed me of many
a brave son; and now I no longer see two of my children, Lycaon and the
goodly Polydorus, whom Laothoe, princess among women, bare to me. But the
death of others will cause us briefer grief, if thou, dear Hector, art not
slain. Come, then, within the walls, and save the men and women of Troy!
And have pity on me, too, to whom the son of Cronos hath allotted a
terrible doom in my old age--to see my brave sons dragged away, and my
fair daughters carried off, as captives, by the cruel hands of the
Achaians. Last of all, I too shall be torn, on my own threshold, by
ravenous dogs--