Page:Four Plays of Aeschylus (Cookson).djvu/127

Dear to thee once, God golden-helmed, look down on thy city this day!

Hail, Godheads all that guard this realm and keep her fortress free!
Draw nigh! Behold! 'Gainst bondage pleads a virgin company!
For loud with hissing surges, by blasts of Ares sped,
A wave of men with combing crest our home hath compasséd!
Nevertheless, O Father,—Zeus, who o'er-rulest all,
Into the toils of foemen let not their quarry fall!
Round the strong place of Cadmus the Argive beaters close!
Men harry men ! The hunt is up for blood of human foes!
These bridles bind no flute-boys' cheeks, filled with soft music's breath!
They buckle bits in war-steeds' mouths! These pipes shrill woundy death!

As fell the lots helm-shaken, the pride of their great host,
Seven Champions clad in spearman's mail at the Seven Ports take post!
Hail, Power Zeus-born, that lovest battle! The city save,
Dread Pallas! Hail, Poseidon, Lord of the horse, the wave!
Smite them, as men smite fishes, even with thy forked spear!
Be for our trembling, trembling souls a strong deliverer!