Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/367

Rh Can Justice the maternal fountain quench?

Thy Fatherland, if captur'd through thy zeal,

How can it e'er again be thine ally?

Myself I shall this land enrich, a seer

'Neath hostile earth sepulchred. Fight we now!

For no dishonourable doom I look."

Thus spake the seer, wielding his rounded shield,

All brass, but no device was on its orb;

For just to be, he longs, not just to seem,

Ripe wisdom reaping from his deep-plough'd mind,

Whence honest counsels grow. Against this man

Champions, I charge thee, send, skilful and brave,

For terrible is he who fears the gods.

Woe for the omen which the righteous makes

Companion of the impious; nought is worse

In any cause than evil fellowship;

Its fruit may not be garner'd; Até's field

Yields death for harvest; yea, the godly man,

With headstrong sailors bent on villainy,

Mounting the bark, sinks with the heaven-loathed crew;

Or, just himself, but leagued with citizens

Ruthless to strangers, heedless of the gods,

Caught in the self-same snare, he prostrate lies,

Smitten with them by God's impartial scourge.

So too this seer himself, Oïcles' son,