Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/362

292 His steeds, loud snorting in their frontlet-gear,

Eager to reach the gates, circling he drives;

Whistle their nozzles in barbaric guise,

With breath sonorous from their nostrils filled.

With no mean blazon is his shield adorned;

A man in armour, to his foeman's tower,

Eager to storm it, climbs a ladder's rungs;

And he too shouts in written characters,

That him not Ares from the walls shall hurl.

Against this man a trusty champion send,

The yoke of bondage from this town to ward.

Him will I straight with happy omens send;

Yea, sent is Megareus, whose vaunts are deeds;

Scion of Creon, from the heroes sprung

Full-armed who rose from earth-sown dragon's teeth,

He from the gates will not retire dismayed

By noisy snorting of infuriate steeds;

But either, dying, will repay our land

His nurture-fee, or, seizing warriors twain,

Ay, and the city on his foeman's shield,

Will with the spoils his father's house adorn.

Now of another brag, nor grudge thy words.

For him success I pray,

O champion of my home; for them instead

Ill-fortune; and as they,

With frenzied spirit, utter 'gainst our town