Page:Sophocles (Storr 1912) v1.djvu/269



O when the flying foe,

Turning at last to bay,

Soon will give blow for blow,

Might I behold the fray;

Hear the loud battle roar

Swell, on the Pythian shore,

Or by the torch-lit bay,

Where the dread Queen and Maid

Cherish the mystic rites,

Rites they to none betray,

Ere on his lips is laid

Secrecy’s golden key

By their own acolytes,

Priestly Eumolpidae.

There I might chance behold

Theseus our captain bold

Meet with the robber band,

Ere they have fled the land,

Rescue by might and main

Maidens, the captives twain.

Haply on swiftest steed,

Or in the flying car,

Now they approach the glen,

West of white Oea’s scaur.

They will be vanquishèd:

Dread are our warriors, dread

Theseus our chieftain’s men.

Flashes each bridle bright,

Charges each gallant knight,

All that our Queen adore, 247