Avenged in full, Latona’s son can leave
the slopes of Tmolus. Now Apollo cleaves
the limpid air; before his flight has reached
the straits of Helle, daughter of Nephele,
he comes to earth.
Between two promontories—
right of Sigeum, left of those deep seas
that ring Rhoeteum—stands an ancient altar
to Jove the Thunderer, author of all
the oracles. From there Apollo saw
Laomedon beginning to build walls
for his new city, Troy. And he could tell
how hard those labors were, what means—not small—
were needed to complete those awesome walls.
At that, together with the god who bears
the trident, ruler of the swollen sea,
he took on human form and, for the king
of Phrygia, built those walls; it was agreed—
before they had begun—that they’d receive
the payment for their finished task in gold.
The work was done. But false Laomedon
defaulted on his debt: they did not get
the gold he owed; with perjured words he swore
that he had never promised a reward.
The sea-god answered: “You will pay for this!”
And he bent all his waters’ force against
Latin [189–208]
the shores of Troy the miserly; the flood
made all of Troy seem like a sea; it seized
the farmers’ crops and buried fields beneath
the surge. And even that was not enough,
for Neptune ordered them to offer up
Hesione, the daughter of the king;
they had to chain her fast to a hard reef
as prey for some fierce monster of the deep.
But she was saved by Hercules, who then
asked for the horses they had promised him
as payment. And again a task was left
unrecompensed. And he waged war against
twice-faithless Troy as punishment for that:
he, Hercules, the victor, razed their walls.