hold,
  But rather to engage in combat fierce
  Incontinent; so shall we soonest learn 150
  Whom Jove will make victorious, him or me. 
    Thus pondering he stood; meantime approach’d
  Achilles, terrible as fiery Mars,
  Crest-tossing God, and brandish’d as he came
  O’er his right shoulder high the Pelian spear. 155
  Like lightning, or like flame, or like the sun
  Ascending, beam’d his armor.  At that sight
  Trembled the Trojan Chief, nor dared expect
  His nearer step, but flying left the gates
  Far distant, and Achilles swift pursued. 160
  As in the mountains, fleetest fowl of air,
  The hawk darts eager at the dove; she scuds
  Aslant, he screaming, springs and springs again
  To seize her, all impatient for the prey,
  So flew Achilles constant to the track 165
  Of Hector, who with dreadful haste beneath
  The Trojan bulwarks plied his agile limbs. 
  Passing the prospect-mount where high in air
  The wild-fig waved,[6] they rush’d along the road,
  Declining never from the wall of Troy. 170
  And now they reach’d the running rivulets clear,
  Where from Scamander’s dizzy flood arise
  Two fountains,[7] tepid one, from which a smoke
  Issues voluminous as from a fire,
  The other, even in summer heats, like hail 175
  For cold, or snow, or crystal-stream frost-bound. 
  Beside them may be seen the broad canals
  Of marble scoop’d, in which the wives of Troy
  And all her daughters fair were wont to lave
  Their costly raiment,[8] while the land had rest, 180
  And ere the warlike sons of Greece arrived. 
  By these they ran, one fleeing, one in chase. 
  Valiant was he who fled, but valiant far
  Beyond him he who urged the swift pursuit;
  Nor ran they for a vulgar prize, a beast 185
  For sacrifice, or for the hide of such,
  The swift foot-racer’s customary meed,
  But for the noble Hector’s life they ran. 
  As when two steeds, oft conquerors, trim the goal
  For some illustrious prize, a tripod bright 190
  Or beauteous virgin, at a funeral game,
  So they with nimble feet the city thrice
  Of Priam compass’d.  All the Gods look’d on,
  And thus the Sire of Gods and men began. 
    Ah—­I behold a warrior dear to me 195
  Around the walls of Ilium driven, and grieve
  For Hector, who the thighs of fatted bulls
  On yonder heights of Ida many-valed
  Burn’d oft to me, and in the heights of Troy:[9]
  But him Achilles, glorious Chief, around 200
  The city walls of Priam now pursues. 
  Consider this, ye Gods! weigh the event. 
  Shall we from death save Hector? or, at length,
  Leave him, although in battle high renown’d,