But now the Thracian women – all had cast
the hides of beasts around their frenzied breasts –
down from a high hilltop, spied Orpheus
as he attuned his lyre and his sweet voice.
And one of these – hair streaming loose beneath
light winds – cried out: "He's there! The man who dares
to scorn us." Through the air she hurled her staff
against Apollo's poet; it was meant
to smash his singing mouth (11.3-8)
"Why must I open bitter wounds that time
had hidden, if not healed? I now confess
my hatred of your father, my deep sense
of harm and hurt he caused me. By the gods,
his deeds were glorious, beyond belief!
I would prefer to cancel – if I could –
the merits and just praise that he received,
the fame the world proclaimed (I can't deny
the truth). But we don't praise Deiphobus
or Polydamas; nor do we extol
even great Hector – who would praise a foe?" (12.542-548)
[Apollo] can see,
amid that slaughter, Paris aiming shafts
from time to time against a crowd of Greeks.
Revealing his identity, Apollo
asks: "Why waste arrows killing common folk?
If you are so devoted to your Trojans,
then aim your shafts at Peleus' son: avenge
your slaughtered brothers." So Apollo said,
and then he pointed out just where Achilles
was felling many Trojans with his lance;
the god turned Paris' bow in that direction;
and when the shaft was shot, Apollo guided
the well-aimed arrow with his deadly hand. (12.598-606)