Page:Four Plays of Aeschylus (1908) Morshead.djvu/160

130 Nor wills that he should cross Ismenus' ford,

Until the sacrifices promise fair.

But Tydeus, mad with lust of blood and broil,

Like to a cockatrice at noontide hour,

Hisses out wrath and smites with scourge of tongue

The prophet-son of Oecleus—Wise thou art,

Faint against war, and holding back from death!

With such revilings loud upon his lips

He waves the triple plumes that o'er his helm

Float overshadowing, as a courser's mane;

And at his shield's rim, terror in their tone,

Clang and reverberate the brazen bells.

And this proud sign, wrought on his shield, he bears—

The vault of heaven, inlaid with blazing stars;

And, for the boss, the bright moon glows at full,

The eye of night, the first and lordliest star.

Thus with high-vaunted armour, madly bold,

He clamours by the stream-bank, wild for war,

As a steed panting grimly on his bit,

Held in and chafing for the trumpet's bray!

Whom wilt thou set against him? when the gates

Of Proetus yield, who can his rush repel?

To me, no blazon on a foeman's shield

Shall e'er present a fear! such pointed threats

Are powerless to wound; his plumes and bells,

Without a spear, are snakes without a sting.

Nay, more—that pageant of which thou tellest—

The nightly sky displayed, ablaze with stars,

Upon his shield, palters with double sense—

One headstrong fool will find its truth anon!

For, if night fall upon his eyes in death,

Yon vaunting blazon will its own truth prove,