Iliad I. 43-52

Thus spake the old man, praying, and Phœbus Apollo did hear him,— Down from the heights of Olympus the god, in anger, descended; Over his shoulders were flung the dreadful bow and the quiver Bristling with arrows, that rattled as onward he moved in his anger: Gloomy as night he went, and aloof from the Greeks’ broad encampment Sat down in silence,—then forth flashed the bow and swift sped the arrow— Loud thereupon rose the twang of the silver bow’s dreadful rebounding— Far sped the death-bearing darts; first perished the mules and the fleet dogs, Then at the Greeks did the angered god straightway aim his arrows— Dismal by night flared the gleaming red of the funeral pyres.