STROPHE I _Chor._ Dear son of Œdipus, 190 I shuddered as I heard the din, the din Of many a chariot's noise, When on the axles creaked the whirling wheels, *And when I heard the sound *Of fire-wrought curbs within the horses' mouths. _Eteoc._ What then? Did ever yet the sailor flee From stern to stem, and find deliverance so, While his ship laboured in the ocean's wave?[87] ANTISTROPHE I _Chor._ Nay, to the ancient forms Of mighty Powers I rushed, as trusting Gods; And when behind the gates Was heard the crash of fierce and pelting storm, 200 Then was it, in my fear, I prayed the Blessed Ones to guard our city. _Eteoc._ Pray that our towns hold out 'gainst spear of foes.[88] _Chor._ Do not the Gods grant these things? _Eteoc._ Nay the Gods, So say they, leave the captured city's walls.[89] STROPHE II _Chor._ Ah! never in my life May all this goodly company of Gods Depart; nor may I see This city scene of rushings to and fro, 210 *And hostile army burning it with fire! _Eteoc._ Nay, call not on the Gods with counsel base; Obedience is the mother of success, Child strong to save. 'Tis thus the saying runs. ANTISTROPHE II _Chor._ True is it; but the Gods Have yet a mightier power, and oftentimes, In pressure of sore ill, It raises one perplexed from direst woe, When dark clouds gather thickly o'er his eyes. _Eteoc._ 'Tis work of men to offer sacrifice And victims to the Gods, when foes press hard; 220 Thine to be dumb and keep within the house. STROPHE III _Chor._ 'Tis through the Gods we live In city unsubdued, and that our towers Ward off the multitude of jealous foes. What Power will grudge us this? _Eteoc._ I grudge not your devotion to the Gods; But lest you make my citizens faint-hearted Be tranquil, nor to fear's excess give way. ANTISTROPHE III _Chor._ Hearing but now a din Strange, wildly mingled, I with shrinking fear Here to our city's high Acropolis, Time-hallowed spot, have come. 230 _Eteoc._ Nay, if ye hear of wounded men or dying, Bear them not swiftly off with wailing loud; *For blood of men is Ares' chosen food.[90] _Chor._ Hark! now I hear the panting of the steeds. _Eteoc._ Clear though thou hear, yet hear not overmuch. _Chor._ Lo! from its depths the fortress groans, beleaguered. _Eteoc._ It is enough that I provide for this. _Chor._ I fear: the din increases at the gates. _Eteoc._ Be still, say nought of these things in the city. _Chor._ O holy Band![91] desert ye not our towers. 240 _Eteoc._ A curse fall on thee! wilt thou not be still?