What better land will ye receive for this, If ye to foes resign This rich and fertile clime, And that Dirkæan stream, Goodliest of founts by great Poseidon sent, Who circleth earth, or those Who Tethys parent call?[93] 300 And therefore, O ye Gods that guard our city, Sending on those without Our towers a woe that robs men of their life, And makes them lose their shield, Gain glory for these countrymen of mine; And take your standing-ground, As saviours of the city, firm and true, In answer to our cry Of wailing and of prayer. STROPHE II For sad it were to hurl to Hades dark A city of old fame, 310 The spoil and prey of war, With foulest shame in dust and ashes laid, By an Achæan foe at God's decree; And that our women, old and young alike, Be dragged away, ah me! Like horses, by their hair Their robes torn off from them. And lo, the city wails, made desolate, While with confusèd cry 320 The wretched prisoners meet doom worse than death. Ah, at this grievous fate I shudder ere it comes. ANTISTROPHE II And piteous 'tis for those whose youth is fresh Before the rites that cull Their fair and first-ripe fruit, To take a hateful journey from their homes. Nay, but I say the dead far better fare Than these, for when a city is subdued It bears full many an ill. This man takes prisoner that, 330 Or slays, or burns with fire; And all the city is defiled with smoke, And Ares fans the flame In wildest rage, and laying many low, Tramples with foot unclean On all men sacred hold. STROPHE III And hollow din is heard throughout the town, Hemmed in by net of towers; And man by man is slaughtered with the spear, And cries of bleeding babes, Of children at the breast, 340 Are heard in piteous wail, And rapine, sister of the plunderer's rush, Spoiler with spoiler meets, And empty-handed empty-handed calls, Wishing for share of gain, Both eager for a portion no whit less, For more than equal lot With what they deem the others' hands have found. ANTISTROPHE III