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Greek drew nigh His dreadful plumage nodded from on high The Pelian
javelin, in his better hand, Shot trembling rays that glitter'd o'er the
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land And on his breast the beamy splendour shone, Like Jove's own
lightning, or the rising sun. As Hector sees, unusual terrors rise, Struck
by some god, he fears, recedes, and flies. He leaves the gates, he leaves
the wall behind: Achilles follows like the winged wind. Thus at the
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