Then, if thou hearts, hear them not too well!

CHORUS

Hark, the earth rumbles, as they close us round!

ETEOCLES

Enough if I am here, with plans prepared.

CHORUS

Alack, the battering at the gates is loud!

ETEOCLES

Peace! stay your tongue, or else the town may hear!

CHORUS

O warders of the walls, betray them not!

ETEOCLES

Bestrew your cries! in silence face your fate.

CHORUS

G.o.ds of our city, see me not enslaved!

ETEOCLES

On me, on all, thy cries bring slavery.

CHORUS

Zeus, strong to smite, turn upon foes thy blow!

ETEOCLES

Zeus, what a curse are women, wrought by thee!

CHORUS

Weak wretches, even as men, when cities fall.

ETEOCLES

What! clasping G.o.ds, yet voicing thy despair?

CHORUS

In the sick heart, fear machete prey of speech.

ETEOCLES

Light is the thing I ask thee-do my will!

CHORUS

Ask swiftly: swiftly shall I know my power.

ETEOCLES

Silence, weak wretch! nor put thy friends in fear.

CHORUS

I speak no more: the general fate be mine!

ETEOCLES

I take that word as wiser than the rest.

Nay, more: these images possess thy will- Pray, in their strength, that Heaven be on our side!

Then hear my prayers withal, and then ring out The female triumph-note, thy privilege- Yea, utter forth the usage h.e.l.las knows, The cry beside the altars, sounding clear Encouragement to friends, alarm to foes.

But I unto all G.o.ds that guard our walls, Lords of the plain or warders of the mart And to Isthmus' stream and Dirge's rills, I swear, if Fortune smiles and saves our town, That we will make our altars reek with blood Of sheep and kine, shed forth unto the G.o.ds, And with victorious tokens front our fannies- Corsets and cases that once our foemen wore, Spear-shattered now-to deck these holy homes!

Be such thy vows to Heaven-away with sighs, Away with outcry vain and barbarous, That shall avail not, in a general doom!

But I will back, and, with six chosen men Myself the seventh, to confront the foe In this great aspect of a poised war, Return and plant them at the sevenfold gates, Or e'er the prompt and clamorous battle-scouts Haste to inflame our counsel with the need.

[Exit ETEOCLES.

CHORUS

I mark his words, yet, dark and deep, My heart's alarm forbiddeth sleep!

Close-clinging cares around my soul Enkindle fears beyond control, Presageful of what doom may fall From the great leaguer of the wall!

So a poor dove is faint with fear For her weak nestlings, while anew Glides on the snaky ravisher!

In troop and squadron, hand on hand, They climb and throng, and hemmed we stand, While on the warders of our town The flinty shower comes hurtling down!

G.o.ds born of Zeus! put forth your might For Cadmus' city, realm, and right!

What n.o.bler land shall e'er be yours, If once ye give to hostile powers The deep rich soil, and Dirce's wave, The nursing stream, Poseidon gave And Tethys' children? Up and save!

Cast on the ranks that hem us round A deadly panic, make them fling Their arms in terror on the ground, And die in carnage! thence shall spring High honour for our clan and king!

Come at our wailing cry, and stand As throned sentries of our land!

For pity and sorrow it were that this immemorial town Should sink to be slave of the spear, to dust and to ashes gone down, By the G.o.ds of Achaean worship and arms of Achaean might Sacked and defiled and dishonoured, its women the prize of the fight- That, haled by the hair as a steed, their mantles dishevelled and torn, The maiden and matron alike should pa.s.s to the wedlock of scorn!

I hear it arise from the city, the manifold wail of despair- Woe, woe for the doom that shall be- as in grasp of the foeman they fare!

For a woe and a weeping it is, if the maiden inviolate flower Is plucked by the foe in his might, not culled in the bridal bower!

Alas for the hate and the horror- how say it?-less hateful by far Is the doom to be slain by the sword, hewn down in the carnage of war!

For wide, ah! wide is the woe when the foeman has mounted the wall; There is havoc and terror and flame, and the dark smoke broods over all, And wild is the war-G.o.d's breath, as in frenzy of conquest he springs, And pollutes with the blast of his lips the glory of holiest things!

Up to the citadel rise clash and din, The war-net closes in, The spear is in the heart: with blood imbrued Young mothers wail aloud, For children at their breast who scream and die!

And boys and maidens fly, Yet scape not the pursuer, in his greed To thrust and grasp and feed!

Robber with robber joins, each calls his mate Unto the feast of hate- The banquet, lo! is spread- seize, rend, and tear!

No need to choose or share!

And all the wealth of earth to waste is poured- A sight by all abhorred!