aceful leader of the Rhodian
fleet?[50] Yet I will no further avenge my brothers, than by being
silent on his brave deeds: with thyself I have a firm friendship." After
the son[51] of Neleus had said these things with his honied tongue, the
gifts of Bacchus being resumed after the discourse of the aged man, they
arose from their couches: the rest of the night was given to sleep.

But the God who commands the waters of the sea with his trident,
laments, with the affection of a father, the body of his son, changed
into the bird of the son of Sthenelus; and abhorring the ruthless
Achilles, pursues his resentful wrath in more than an ordinary manner.
And now, the war having been protracted for almost twice five years,
with such words as these he addresses the unshorn Smintheus:[52]
"O thou, most acceptable to me, by far, of the sons of my brother, who,
together with me, didst build the walls of Troy in vain; and dost thou
not grieve when thou lookest upon these towers so soon to fall? or dost
thou not lament that so many thousands are slain in defending these
walls? and (not to recount them all) does not the ghost of Hector,
dragged around his Pergamus, recur to thee? Though still the fierce
Achilles, more blood-stained than war itself, lives on, the destroyer of
our toil, let him but put himself in my power, I will make him feel what
I can do with my triple spear. But since it is not allowed us to
encounter the enemy in close fight, destroy him, when off his guard,
with a secret shaft."

He nodded his assent; and the Delian {God}, indulging together both his
own resentment and that of his uncle, veiled in a cloud, comes to the
Trojan army, and in the midst of the slaughter of the men, he sees
Paris, at intervals, scattering his darts among the ignoble Greeks; and,
discovering himself to be a Divinity, he says, "Why dost thou waste thy
arrows upon the blood of the vulgar? If thou hast any concern for thy
friends, turn upon the grandson of AEacus, and avenge thy slaughtered
brothers." {Thus} he said; and pointing at the son of Peleus, mowing
down the bodies of the Trojans with the sword, he turned his bow towards
him, and directed his unerring arrow with a fatal right hand. This was
{the only thing} at which, after {the death of} Hector, the aged Priam
could rejoice. And art thou then, Achilles, the conqueror of men so
great, conquered by the cowardly ravisher of a Grecian wife? But if it
had been fated for thee to fall by