What god, O muse, assisted Hector’s force With fate itself so long to hold the course? Phœbus it was; who, in his latest hour, Endued his knees with strength, his nerves with power: And great Achilles, lest some Greek’s advance Should snatch the glory from his lifted lance, Sign’d to the troops to yield his foe the way, And leave untouch’d the honours of the day.