Page:Four Plays of Aeschylus (Cookson).djvu/126

114 Loudly the low-lying plain to their thunderous hoof-beat rings!

The sound draweth nigh! And its speed is the speed of a bird that hath wings!

It roars as waters roar down mountainous channels leaping!

Oh, raise for us your battle-cry! This evil onward sweeping

Turn back, dear Gods! Kind Goddesses, a rescue for our wall!

How the white shields of Argos gleam! How fierce this swift onfall

Of footmen doubling at the charge, in glamorous armour girt!

Oh, of all worshipped deities, who will this woe avert?

I will make haste to cast me down before your holy feet,

Ye shining shapes of old! Hail, Happy Ones, whose seat

Bideth the shock of times! This, the ripe hour to cling,

Cleaving close to your forms, why waste we way-menting?

Hear ye, or hear ye not, the bucklers clang full loud?

Proffer we now our prayers for the garlands erstwhile vowed,—

For the robes we wrought on the loom, with worship and delight!

I see—I hear—the brandished spear—and many there be that smite!

Wilt thou aid us, Ares long-in-the-land, or wilt thou thine own betray?