Up to the citadel rise clash and din, The war-net closes in, The spear is in the heart: with blood imbrued Young mothers wail aloud, For children at their breast who scream and die! And boys and maidens fly, Yet scape not the pursuer, in his greed To thrust and grasp and feed! Robber with robber joins, each calls his mate Unto the feast of hate— _The banquet, lo! is spread— seize, rend, and tear! No need to choose or share!_ And all the wealth of earth to waste is poured— A sight by all abhorred! The grieving housewives eye it; heaped and blent, Earth’s boons are spoiled and spent, And waste to nothingness; and O alas, Young maids, forlorn ye pass— Fresh horror at your hearts—beneath the power Of those who crop the flower! Ye own the ruffian ravisher for lord, And night brings rites abhorred! Woe, woe for you! upon your grief and pain There comes a fouler stain. Enter on one side THE SPY; on the other ETEOCLES and the SIX CHAMPIONS. SEMI-CHORUS. Look, friends! methinks the scout, who parted hence To spy upon the foemen, comes with news, His feet as swift as wafting chariot-wheels. SEMI-CHORUS. Ay, and our king, the son of Oedipus, Comes prompt to time, to learn the spy’s report— His heart is fainter than his foot is fast! THE SPY. Well have I scanned the foe, and well can say Unto which chief, by lot, each gate is given. Tydeus already with his onset-cry Storms at the gate called Proetides; but him The seer Amphiaraus holds at halt, Nor wills that he should cross Ismenus’ ford, Until the sacrifices promise fair. But Tydeus, mad with lust of blood and broil, Like to a cockatrice at noontide hour, Hisses out wrath and smites with scourge of tongue The prophet-son of Oecleus—_Wise thou art, Faint against war, and holding back from death!_ With such revilings loud upon his lips He waves the triple plumes that o’er his helm Float overshadowing, as a courser’s mane; And at his shield’s rim, terror in their tone, Clang and reverberate the brazen bells. And this proud sign, wrought on his shield, he bears— The vault of heaven, inlaid with blazing stars; And, for the boss, the bright moon glows at full, The eye of night, the first and lordliest star. Thus with high-vaunted armour, madly bold, He clamours by the stream-bank, wild for war, As a steed panting grimly on his bit, Held in and chafing for the trumpet’s bray! Whom wilt thou set against him? when the gates Of Proetus yield, who can his rush repel?