Then fierce Achilles, shouting to the skies, On Troy’s whole force with boundless fury flies. First falls Iphytion, at his army’s head; Brave was the chief, and brave the host he led; From great Otrynteus he derived his blood, His mother was a Nais, of the flood; Beneath the shades of Tmolus, crown’d with snow, From Hyde’s walls he ruled the lands below. Fierce as he springs, the sword his head divides: The parted visage falls on equal sides: With loud-resounding arms he strikes the plain; While thus Achilles glories o’er the slain: