Page:Four Plays of Aeschylus (1908) Morshead.djvu/161

Rh And he is prophet of his folly's fall.

Mine shall it be, to pit against his power

The loyal son of Astacus, as guard

To hold the gateways—a right valiant soul,

Who has in heed the throne of Modesty

And loathes the speech of Pride, and evermore

Shrinks from the base, but knows no other fear.

He springs by stock from those whom Ares spared,

The men called Sown, a right son of the soil,

And Melanippus styled. Now, what his arm

To-day shall do, rests with the dice of war,

And Ares shall ordain it; but his cause

Hath the true badge of Right, to urge him on

To guard, as son, his motherland from wrong.

Then may the gods give fortune fair

Unto our chief, sent forth to dare

War's terrible arbitrament!

But ah! when champions wend away,

I shudder, lest, from out the fray,

Only their blood-stained wrecks be sent!

Nay, let him pass, and the gods' help be his!

Next, Capaneus comes on, by lot to lead

The onset at the gates Electran styled:

A giant he, more huge than Tydeus' self,

And more than human in his arrogance—

May fate forefend his threat against our walls!

God willing, or unwilling—such his vaunt—

I will lay waste this city; Pallas' self,

Zeus' warrior maid, although she swoop to earth

And plant her in my path, shall stay me not.