Page:Four Plays of Aeschylus (Cookson).djvu/144

132 Cast in a mould of ample magnitude.

His shield might almost serve for a threshing-floor;

And while its round he threateningly revolved

I own a shudder ran through all my frame.

No despicable artist was the man

Who wrought its blazon. On the disk embossed

A Typhon, shooting forth his burning breath,—

A luminous darkness, half smoke and half fire;

The casing of its hollow-bellied orb

Securely hammered on with knots of snakes.

I heard his great voice thunder,—saw his eyes

Glare horribly: a frenzied votarist

He leaped, God Ares' reeling reveller,

By him possessed, mad-drunk for deeds of blood:

'Gainst his assault there needeth wary watch.

Even now before the Gates his vaunt is loud,

And swelling with the note that strikes dismay.

Suburban Pallas—Onka-Without-the-Walls—

Hard by the Gate, wroth with his insolence,

Shall keep him off,—a serpent, mailed and fanged,

Death in its coils, barred from a brood of birds.

But Oenops' trusty son, Hyperbius,

For mortal succour,—matching man with man—

Shall face him. All he asked was choice for service;

Time and the hour should teach him where to serve.

Faultless in form; of fearless courage, perfect

In martial trim, never did Hermes cast

A luckier throw than when with happy choice

He brought the pair together: for betwixt

Him and the man he meets is enmity,