Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/344

274 My city, where the speech of Hellas flows,

With utter ruin, captured by the foe,

Uproot ye not, nor our domestic hearths,

But grant that our free land and Cadmos' town

In vassal bondage never may be held.

Be ye our strength;—our common weal, I urge,

For thriving cities honour best the gods. [Exit.

I wail forth mighty, fear-inspiring woes!

An army hurries, from its camp set free!

A mounted host onward in ample tide

Towards our city flows.

Dust that on air doth ride,

Dumb herald, clear and true, persuadeth me.

Clatter of horse-hoofs on my natal plain

Brings to mine ear war's dismal sound;

Air-borne it floats around;

Like mountain-lashing flood's resistless flow

It roars amain.

Alas! ah me!

Ye gods and goddesses, oh turn aside

The impending woe.

With battle-shout, straight to our city-wall

The host white-shielded speeds in fair array.

Who will deliver?