Page:Sophocles - Seven Plays, 1900.djvu/40

6

Beam of the mounting Sun!

O brightest, fairest ray

Seven-gated Thebè yet hath seen!

Over the vale where Dircè's fountains run

At length thou appearedst, eye of golden Day,

And with incitement of thy radiance keen

Spurredst to faster flight

The man of Argos hurrying from the fight.

Armed at all points the warrior came,

But driven before thy rising flame

He rode, reverting his pale shield,

Headlong from yonder battlefield.

In snow-white panoply, on eagle wing,

He rose, dire ruin on our land to bring,

Roused by the fierce debate

Of Polynices’ hate,

Shrilling sharp menace from his breast,

Sheathed all in steel from crown to heel,

With many a plumèd crest.

Then stooped above the domes,

With lust of carnage fired,

And opening teeth of serried spears

Yawned wide around the gates that guard our homes;

But went, or e’er his hungry jaws had tired

On Theban flesh,—or e’er the Fire-god fierce

Seizing our sacred town

Besmirched and rent her battlemented crown.

Such noise of battle as he fled

About his back the War-god spread;

So writhed to hard -fought victory

The serpent struggling to be free.

High Zeus beheld their stream that proudly rolled

Idly caparisoned with clanking gold: