Page:Four Plays of Aeschylus (1908) Morshead.djvu/157

Rh

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!

Gods born of Zeus! put forth your might

For Cadmus' city, realm, and right!

What nobler 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 thronèd 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 gods of Achaean worship and arms of Achaean might

Sacked and defiled and dishonoured, its women the prize of the fight—