So talked they, while to sacred Ilium came Phoebus Apollo; ’twas his charge to watch The well-built city’s ramparts, lest the Greeks That day should lay it waste against the will Of fate. The other gods went back to heaven, Some angry, some exulting. They sat down Beside the All-Father, him who darkens heaven With gathered clouds. Meantime Achilles chased And slew the Trojans and their firm-paced steeds. As, when the smoke rolls heavenward from a town Given by the angry gods a prey to fire, Toil is the lot of all, and bitter woe The fate of many, such the woe and toil Caused by Achilles to the sons of Troy.

The aged Priam from a lofty tower Beheld the large-limbed son of Peleus range The field, and all the Trojans helplessly Fleeing in tumult. With a cry of grief He came from that high station to the ground, And gave commandment to the sturdy men Who stood to watch the gates along the wall:⁠—