To Heedfulness, of all Gods helpfullest,
That she will save this city, now we pray.
Chorus.
Ares the troublous, O whence is thy passion
For blood and for death, unattuned to the feasts of the Revelry-king?
Not for the dances, the circlings of beauty, in virginal fashion
Tossed are thy tresses abroad, nor to breathings of flutes dost thou sing
A strain to whose witchery dances are wreathing:
But with clangour of harness of fight through the
Argive array art thou breathing
War-lust for the blood of our Thebes athirst,790
As thou leadest the dance of a revel accurst
Where no flutes ring.
Thou art found not where fawnskin and thyrsus in mad reel mingle and sunder,
But with chariots and clashing of bits and with war-horses' footfall of thunder
By Ismenus' brimming marge
With the rushing of steeds dost thou charge,
Into Argives breathing the battle-hate
Against the sons of the Dragon-state;
And with harness of brass and with targe,
Fronting our ramparts of stone, dost array
A host for the fray.
A fearful Goddess in sooth is Strife,
Of whose devising the troublous life
Of the Labdakid kings of the land is anguish-rife.800
