His steeds, loud snorting in their frontlet-gear,
Eager to reach the gates, circling he drives;
Whistle their nozzles in barbaric guise,
With breath sonorous from their nostrils filled.
With no mean blazon is his shield adorned; 460
A man in armour, to his foeman's tower,
Eager to storm it, climbs a ladder's rungs;
And he too shouts in written characters,
That him not Ares from the walls shall hurl.
Against this man a trusty champion send,
The yoke of bondage from this town to ward.
Eteocles.
Him will I straight with happy omens send;
Yea, sent is Megareus, whose vaunts are deeds;
Scion of Creon, from the heroes sprung
Full-armed who rose from earth-sown dragon's teeth,
He from the gates will not retire dismayed 470
By noisy snorting of infuriate steeds;
But either, dying, will repay our land
His nurture-fee, or, seizing warriors twain,
Ay, and the city on his foeman's shield,
Will with the spoils his father's house adorn.
Now of another brag, nor grudge thy words.
Chorus. Strophe II.
For him success I pray,
O champion of my home; for them instead
Ill-fortune; and as they,
With frenzied spirit, utter 'gainst our town
