Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/345

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Succour us who may,

Or god or goddess?

Prostrate shall I fall

Their shrines before?

Ye Blest ones here who reign

Now is the time to clasp your statues, now.

Burdened with sorrow, why, oh why delay?

The clash of shields meets it, or not your ear?

When, if not now, shall we our prayers begin

With sacred peplus and wool-tufted bough?

I mark the rattling din!

It is the clatter of no single spear.

Ares, tutelary god of old,

Thy proper soil betraying what wilt gain?

O golden-helmèd god, the State behold

Which once to count belovèd thou didst deign.