MESSENGER. So grant the gods! The fifth proud foe is stationed Before the Borean gate, hard by the tomb Of the Jove-born Amphion. By his spear He swears, his spear more dear to him than gods, Or light of day, that he will sack the city In Jove's despite: thus speaks half-man, half-boy, The fair-faced scion of a mountain mother. The manly down, luxuriant, bushy, sprouts Full from his blooming cheek: no virgin he In aspect, though most virgin-like his name.[f15] Keen are his looks, and fierce his soul; he too Comes not without a boast against the gates; For on his shield, stout forgery of brass, A broad circumference of sure defence, He shows, in mockery of Cadméan Thebes, The terrible Sphynx, in gory food delighting, Hugely embossed, with terror brightly studded, And in her mortal paw the monster rends A Theban man: for which reproachful sign Thick-showered the bearer bears the keenest darts,-- Parthenopæus, bold Arcadian chief. No man seems he to shame the leagues he travelled By petty war's detail. Not born an Argive, In Argos nursed, he now her love repays, By fighting 'gainst her foes. His threats--the god Grant they be only threats! ETEOCLES. Did they receive What punishment their impious vaunts deserve, Ruin with one wide swoop should swamp them all. This braggart stripling, fresh from Arcady, The brother of Hyperbius shall confront, Actor, a man whose hand pursues its deed, {278} Not brandishing vain boasts. No enemy, Whose strength is in his tongue, shall sap these walls, While Actor has a spear: nor shall the man Who bears the hated portent on his shield Enter our gate, but rather the grim sign Frown on its bearer, when thick-rattling hail Showered from our walls shall dint it. If the gods Are just, the words I speak are prophecy. STROPHE III. CHORUS. The eager cry doth rend my breast, And on end stands every hair, When I hear the godless vaunting Of unholy men! May Até Fang them in her hopeless snare!