Poems By Alfred Domett |
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| CHORUS IN THE ‘SEVEN AGAINST THEBES’
OF ÆSCHYLUS. |
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18
CHORUS IN THE ‘SEVEN AGAINST THEBES’ OF ÆSCHYLUS.
An Argive army before the walls of Thebes, advancing to the assault. The Chorus of Virgins looking out from the battlements, pours forth a medley of description, prayers, and ejaculations.
Θρουμαι φοβερα μεγαλα τ'αχη. κ. τ. λ.
78
78
Woes impend too great to name!
The warrior-hosts upon the plain,
Are moving to their ranks again.
Successive crowds of cavalry
Pour onward like a raging sea
Whose waves with wildly-hollow roar
Chase each other to the shore.
I know it by the thick clouds curling,
Wide their slugglish folds unfurling!
I see them slowly from the tents,
Uprising to the battlements!
Dense and slow—they clearly tell,
And deadly still—they speak too well—
Too well they tell of foemen nearing,
Crimson War and Death appearing!
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The steady tramp that shakes the ground!
The heavy tread of horses prancing,
Hundred steeds at once advancing!
Hearken to the fearful hum
Gathering as they fiercely come,
Like waves that dash with boisterous shock
On the wet, spray-dripping rock!
Oh ye that in Olympus dwell!
Ye gods! ye gods! our foes repel!
Their efforts crush, their fury quell,
And calm the rising storm!
See! see! how backward flash the rays—
A circle wide of dazzling blaze—
As high their glittering shields they raise
And round the city form!
Who is now our aid?
Who for our defence arrayed?
Of all the gods on high
On whom shall we rely?
Shall we to the shrines repair,
And clinging to the statues, there
Supplicate with earnest prayer?
Oh ye who from the blissful plains
Descend to illume our sacred fanes,
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Our own, our chief, our guardian gods!
Oh is not this the time to clasp
With entreating trembling grasp,
Made by depth of terror bold,
Those statues of terrestrial mould
In which revering mortals see
Personified divinity?
Why—why do we delay
With bursting sigh and trickling tear
To wend the mournful way?
First Three of the Choir,
(addressing the others).
Do ye not hear
The clashing sword—the whirring spear?—
When shall we go, with footsteps slow,
Clad in gloomy garb of woe—
On brows declining, chaplets twining,
At the sanctuaries to bow?
Oh never if not now!
Second Three,
(answering).
I hear—I hear!
The clashing sword—the whirring spear!
Hark! hark! the air around
So teems with horrid sound,
It may be felt and seen!
Not one—not one! a thousand spears
With clashing din assault the ears—
Sharp cries and shouts between!
The clashing sword—the whirring spear!
Hark! hark! the air around
So teems with horrid sound,
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Not one—not one! a thousand spears
With clashing din assault the ears—
Sharp cries and shouts between!
Lord of War! to thee we pray!
Lord of War! wilt thou betray
Thine own peculiar people—they
Who more than all thy rule obey?
Oh golden-helmëd god—look down—look down
Upon the city once thine own!
Come all ye Powers of Light!
Come in glorious might!
Come, every radiant Lord of heaven
Till wide the scattered foe be driven!
Till the virgin-band shall be
From the chilling terror free
Of soul-debasing slavery!
Lord of War! wilt thou betray
Thine own peculiar people—they
Who more than all thy rule obey?
Oh golden-helmëd god—look down—look down
Upon the city once thine own!
Come all ye Powers of Light!
Come in glorious might!
Come, every radiant Lord of heaven
Till wide the scattered foe be driven!
Till the virgin-band shall be
From the chilling terror free
Of soul-debasing slavery!
Against the walls, a roaring sea
Of proud-plumed men beats clamorously,
Lashed to fury, fierce and far
By the rushing breeze of war!
But oh! thou King of Gods, to whom, below,
Above, all things performance owe,
Our battles wage, our fears assuage
And baffle the besiegers' rage!
The Theban towers encircled stand
By a threatening Argive band
Gathering in increasing swarms—
And oh! those horrid arms!
Hark! the bits and trappings playing
Freely, as the chargers neighing
Proudly prance in furious mood,
Ring querulous for blood!
At every one of seven gates,
One of seven champions waits,
Breathing terrors fierce and high,
In spear-repulsing panoply!
Of proud-plumed men beats clamorously,
Lashed to fury, fierce and far
By the rushing breeze of war!
But oh! thou King of Gods, to whom, below,
Above, all things performance owe,
Our battles wage, our fears assuage
And baffle the besiegers' rage!
The Theban towers encircled stand
By a threatening Argive band
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And oh! those horrid arms!
Hark! the bits and trappings playing
Freely, as the chargers neighing
Proudly prance in furious mood,
Ring querulous for blood!
At every one of seven gates,
One of seven champions waits,
Breathing terrors fierce and high,
In spear-repulsing panoply!
Oh Jove-descended power!
To whose delighted ear
The deafening bray of battle-hour
Is ravishingly dear!—
Minerva! be our trusty tower
In time of weakness near!
To whose delighted ear
The deafening bray of battle-hour
Is ravishingly dear!—
Minerva! be our trusty tower
In time of weakness near!
And thou, the God, whose mighty nod
The generous courser gave,
Without whose will the winds lie still,
The great Deep dare not rave—
Awed by the trident vast, whose sway
Upreared above the wave
The Monsters of the Main obey—
Thine anxious people save!
The generous courser gave,
Without whose will the winds lie still,
The great Deep dare not rave—
Awed by the trident vast, whose sway
Upreared above the wave
The Monsters of the Main obey—
Thine anxious people save!
Sire of our Cadmeian line!
Warrior God! thine ear incline;
Let our state thy power attest
Make thy glory manifest!
Venus too! we bow before thee,
Venus, ever we adore thee!
In thine ambrosial form we trace
The mother of the Theban race!
Oh then deeply we implore thee
Defend our long-loved dwelling place!
Mighty with the matchless bow!
Archer-king, assist us now!
And thou the chaste Latona-born!
Maiden of the mountain horn!
Diana! can the foe withstand
Shaft from thine unerring hand!
Warrior God! thine ear incline;
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Make thy glory manifest!
Venus too! we bow before thee,
Venus, ever we adore thee!
In thine ambrosial form we trace
The mother of the Theban race!
Oh then deeply we implore thee
Defend our long-loved dwelling place!
Mighty with the matchless bow!
Archer-king, assist us now!
And thou the chaste Latona-born!
Maiden of the mountain horn!
Diana! can the foe withstand
Shaft from thine unerring hand!
Strophe 1.
Hark! rolling through the streets afar,Comes the clattering of the car!
Oh Juno, Juno hear!
Heavily creaking o'er the stones,
How the loaded axle groans!
Be thou, Diana, near!
The air is maddened with the sound
Of showers of spears that ring around!
What will be our city's fate!
What doom doth its defenders wait!
What dread result will soon be given
By the ruling powers of Heaven!
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Antistrophe 1.
See! clouds of stones are thickly soaring,Against the ramparts, crashing, roaring—
Nearer rolls the desperate fight!
'Tis at the gate those falchions bright
Are clashing on the brass-bound shields—
Who now, Apollo, wins or yields?
Mistress of the Conflict! hear!
Fray-enchanted Queen! appear!
Yield not thus to adverse Fates
The City of the Seven Gates!
Strophe 2.
Hail all ye tutelary powers!Guardians of our ancient towers!
Ye for whom our victims bleed,
Help us in the hour of need;
When the spoiler at the gates
The foreign foe terrific waits!
Our trembling arms are raised and bare,
Oh listen to the virgins' prayer!
Antistrophe 2.
Come all in one resistless band!Mars! who loves the battle-brand—
Archer-King and Mountain Maid—
Thou who mak'st the depths afraid!
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Ever-ruling Beauty's Queen—
All who make our land your care,
For that land your love declare!
If ye the rites of worship heed,
If ye would have the victim bleed,
If ye would have a nation bow,
Protect those rites—that nation now!
July, 1829.
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