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, Who, fed on pois'nous herbs, all winter lay Under the ground, and now reviews the day, Fresh in his new apparel, proud and young, 460 Rolls up his back, and brandishes his tongue, And lifts his scaly breast against the sun; With him his father's squire, Automedon, And Peripas who drove his winged steeds, Enter the court; whom all the youth succeeds Of Scyros' isle, who naming firebrands flung Up to the roof; Pyrrhus himself among The foremost with an axe an entrance hews Through beams of solid oak, then freely views The chambers, galleries, and rooms of state, 470 Where Priam and the ancient monarchs sate. At the first gate an armed guard appears; But th'inner court with horror, noise and tears, Confus'dly fill'd, the women's shrieks and cries