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And at his sons he flung,

By ignominious treatment vex'd at heart,

Curses, alas, with bitter tongue,

That they with iron-wielding hand should part

One day their wealth. I tremble lest that vow

Erinys, swift of foot, accomplish now.

[Enter

Ye maidens, mother-nurtured, courage take,

Our city hath escaped the vassal yoke;

The boasts of haughty men are come to nought.

Our city floats in calm, and from the shock

Of many billows yet hath sprung no leak.

Staunch are our towers; the champions whom we set,

In single combat to defend our gates,

Their pledges have redeem'd. At the six gates

All prospers in the main; the seventh gate

Apollo, King, the awful seventh, chose,

Avenging on the sons of Œdipus

Laios' ill-counselled trespass wrought of old.

What new event hath to the city chanced?

Saved is the city, but the brother kings—

What sayest thou? Through fear I am distraught.