In this army there are seven champions. The Argive army is drawn out in array against the city in seven divisions, each division facing one of the seven gates of Thebes, and with a champion at its head. The champions are described to Eteocles by a Theban, who has been sent to watch the movements of the enemy. Under the name of Amphiaraus lurks a description of Aristides "the just," the head of the conservative party to which Aeschylus belonged, whose conscientiousness and moderation are obliquely contrasted with the revolutionary violence of the ultra-democratic party headed by Themistocles. The chorus consists of Theban maidens. * * * * * _THE CHAMPIONS._ LINES 370-673. MESSENGER. The order of our foemen you shall hear, And at which gate each champion has his post. Tydeus stands ready at the Proetian gate, Fuming, for still the seer forbids to ford Ismenus, since the omens are not fair. Thereat the chieftain, mad with warlike rage As is a snake with heat at noonday, raves; And on the prudent seer Oeclides heaps Taunts of faint-heartedness and craven fear. While thus he storms, wild on his helmet waves, The shaggy crest threefold, and on his shield The brazen bells ring out a fearful note. Upon that shield a proud device he wears, A firmament all luminous with stars, While in the centre shines the moon full-orbed, Empress of constellations, eye of night. Thus in his boastful panoply he stalks Along the river panting for the fray, As a proud charger at the trumpet sound Frets, paws the earth, and flecks his bit with foam. Think whom thou hast to cope with this dread chief, Who of that gate unbarred shall warder be. ETEOCLES. My spirit quails at no proud panoply. Escutcheons wound not, nor will waving crests Or clashing bells bite without thrust of spear. This night of which thou tellest on his shield, Albeit it blaze with all the stars of heaven, May to the bearer's self prove ominous; For if death's night should fall upon his eyes His boastfulness will turn to prophecy, And his device will have foreshown his doom. To cope with Tydeus and that post to guard, I send the gallant son of Astacus, Whose noble blood is loyal to the rule Of honour and abhors vainglorious words, Whose chivalry fears nothing but reproach, Sprung from that remnant of the Earth-born race, Which the sword spared, a true son of the soil, Melanippus. Ares' hand the die will cast, But nature sends our soldier to the field To drive the invader from his mother-land. CHORUS. Heaven shield our country's champion with its might, Him who will combat for the right, And guard our warriors all from perils of the fight. MESSENGER.