So spoke the guardian of the Trojan state, Then rush’d impetuous through the Scæan gate. Him Paris follow’d to the dire alarms; Both breathing slaughter, both resolved in arms. As when to sailors labouring through the main, That long have heaved the weary oar in vain, Jove bids at length the expected gales arise; The gales blow grateful, and the vessel flies. So welcome these to Troy’s desiring train, The bands are cheer’d, the war awakes again.