Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/348

278 Apollo, our dear Lord!

With clang of brass-bound shields our gates resound.

Zeus only can accord

With righteous issue that the strife be crowned.

O Onca, here enthroned, blest Deity,

Do thou protect our seven-gated town.

O ye all-puissant powers,

Dread guardians of our towers,

Of either sex, oh hear us, nor betray

A city toiling 'neath the spear,