Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/363

Rh High-sounding words, may Zeus, Avenger dread,

By wrathful ire possest, on them look down!

One more, a fourth, the neighbour-gate who holds,

Onca-Athena's, shouting stands hard by;

The mighty form of huge Hippomedon;

I shook with terror, I deny it not,

As the vast orb he whirled, his buckler's disk;

Certes no vulgar artist was the man

Who this device hath wrought upon his shield;

Typhon forth darting from fire-breathing lips

Flame's quivering sister, smoke of dusky hue;

And all around the hollow-bellied shield

Circled a coil of intertwining snakes.

Himself hath raised his war-cry, and inspired

By Ares, raves like Thyiad for the fight,

Death in his glance. Against such man's attack

Needs must we be prepared, for at our gates

Rout is already boastfully proclaimed.

First Onca-Pallas, near our city gates

Holding her seat, hating man's insolence,

Shall him ward off, like fell snake from her brood.

Him to oppose hath Œnops' valiant son,

Hyperbios, been chosen—man to man,

Willing at Fortune's call his fate to prove.

Neither in form, in courage, nor in arms

Blameworthy; them hath Hermes fairly matched