MESSENGER. Eteocles, Most excellent lord of Thebes! what I have seen With mine own eyes, no idle unvouched tale, I bring thee from the camp. Seven warlike chiefs I saw, in solemn sacrifice assembled: Holding the head of the devoted ox, Over the shield with iron rimmed they dipped Their hands in the steaming blood, and swore an oath, By Mars, Enýo, and blood-loving Terror,[n3] Either to raze the walls of Thebes, and plunder The citadel of Cadmus, or else drench This soil with Argive blood. Then, as for death Prepared, they decked the chariot of Adrastus[n4] With choice love-tokens to their Argive kin, Dropping a tear, but with their mouths they gave No voice. An iron-hearted band are they, Breathing hot war, like lions when their eye Looks instant battle. Such my news; nor I Slow to report; for in the camp I left them Eager to share among their several bands Our gates by lot. Therefore, bestir thee; fence Each gate with the choicest men: dash all delay; For now the Argive host, near and more near, All panoplied comes on; the dark-wreathed dust Rolls, and the snowy foam of snorting chargers Stains the pure Theban soil. Like a wise pilot That scents the coming gale, hold thou the city Tight, ere the storm of Ares on our heads Burst pitiless. Loud the mainland wave is roaring. This charge be thine: myself, a sleepless spy, Will bring thee sure word from the hostile camp: Safe from without, so ye be strong within. [_Exit._ ETEOCLES. O Jove! O Earth! O Gods that keep the city! And thou fell Fury of my father's curse![f11] Destroy not utterly this Cadméan seat Rent, razed, deracinated by the foe! Yield not our pious hearths, where the loved speech Of Hellas echoes, to a stranger host! Let not the free-born Theban bend the neck, To slavery thralled, beneath a tyrant's yoke! Be ye our strength! our common cause we plead; A prosperous state hath cause to bless the gods. [_Exit._ {265} I. _The_ CHORUS[n5] _enter the scene in great hurry and agitation._ O wailing and sorrow, O wailing and woe! Their tents they have left, many-banded they ride, And onward they tramp with the prance of pride, The horsemen of the foe. The dark-volumed dust-cloud that rides on the gale, Though voiceless, declares a true messenger's tale; With clattering hoofs, on and on still they ride;[n6] It swells on my ear, loud it rusheth and roareth, As a fierce wintry torrent precipitous poureth, Rapidly lashing the mountain side. Hear me ye gods, and ye goddesses hear me! The black harm prevent that swells near and more near me! As a wave on the shore when the blast beats the coast, So breaks o'er the walls, from the white-shielded host,[n7] The eager war-cry, the sharp cry of fear, As near still it rolls, and more near. II. _The_ CHORUS _become more and more agitated. They speak one to another in short hurried exclamations, and in great confusion._