Ilion

Yet aged Priam, rich in courage, mounted up
The battlements of Troy, his daughter,
Cursed Cassandra, at his side.
And there before him spread the wreckage of his land,
Set ablaze and crumbling in the dark.
The scurrying Myrmidons, like ants, ventured to and fro,
Raising their war cries as they plagued
The outskirts of the city, famed Troy.
The last Trojans were taken to the sword
And spewed black blood as they gave up the ghost
And descended in a troop to twilit Hades;
And Priam hid his face, and wept.