Cassandra’s rescue) us for Trojans slew. 
Then from all parts Ulysses, Ajax then,
And then th’Atridae rally all their men; 400
As winds, that meet from sev’ral coasts, contest,
Their prisons being broke, the south and west,
And Eurus on his winged coursers borne,
Triumphing in their speed, the woods are torn,
And chasing Nereus with his trident throws
The billows from their bottom; then all those
Who in the dark our fury did escape,
Returning, know our borrow’d arms and shape,
And diff’ring dialect:  then their numbers swell
And grow upon us; first Choroebus fell 410
Before Minerva’s altar, next did bleed
Just Ripheus, whom no Trojan did exceed
In virtue, yet the gods his fate decreed. 
Then Hypanis and Dymas, wounded by
Their friends; nor thee, Pantheus! thy piety,
Nor consecrated mitre, from the same
Ill fate could save.  My country’s fun’ral flame
And Troy’s cold ashes I attest, and call
To witness for myself, that in their fall
No foes, no death, nor danger I declin’d, 420
Did, and deserv’d no less, my fate to find. 
Now Iphitus with me, and Pelias
Slowly retire; the one retarded was
By feeble age, the other by a wound;
To court the cry directs us, where we found
Th’ assault so hot, as if ’twere only there,
And all the rest secure from foes or fear: 
The Greeks the gates approach’d, their targets cast
Over their heads; some scaling ladders placed
Against the walls, the rest the steps ascend, 430
And with their shields on their left arms defend
Arrows and darts, and with their right hold fast
The battlement; on them the Trojans cast
Stones, rafters, pillars, beams; such arms as these,
Now hopeless, for their last defence they seize. 
The gilded roofs, the marks of ancient state,
They tumble down; and now against the gate
Of th’inner court their growing force they bring;
Now was our last effort to save the king,
Relieve the fainting, and succeed the dead. 440
A private gallery ’twixt th’apartments led,
Not to the foe yet known, or not observed,
(The way for Hector’s hapless wife reserved,
When to the aged king her little son
She would present); through this we pass, and run
Up to the highest battlement, from whence
The Trojans threw their darts without offence,
A tower so high, it seem’d to reach the sky,
Stood on the roof, from whence we could descry,
All Ilium—­both the camps, the Grecian fleet; 450
This, where the beams upon the columns meet,
We loosen, which like thunder from the cloud
Breaks on their heads, as sudden and as loud. 
But others still succeed:  meantime, nor stones
Nor any kind of weapons cease. 
Before the gate in gilded armour shone
Young Pyrrhus, like a snake, his skin new grown,