Men of Cadmus’s city, he who guards from the stern the concerns of the State and guides its helm with eyes untouched by sleep must speak to the point. For if we succeed, the responsibility is heaven’s; but if—may it not happen—disaster is our lot, Eteocles would be the one name shouted many times throughout the city in the citizens’ resounding uproars and laments. From these evils may Zeus the Defender, upholding his name, shield the city of the Cadmeans! But now you—both he who is still short of his youthful prime, and he who, though past his prime, still strengthens the abundant growth of his body, and every man still in his prime, as is fitting—you must aid the State and the altars of your homeland’s gods so that their honors may never be obliterated. You must aid, too, your children, and Mother Earth, your beloved nurse. For welcoming all the distress of your childhood, when you were young and crept upon her kind soil, she raised you to inhabit her and bear the shield, and to prove yourselves faithful in this time of need. And so, until today, God has been favorably inclined, for though we have long been under siege, the war has gone well for the most part through the gods’ will. But now, as the seer, the herdsman of birds, informs us, using his ears and his mind to understand with unerring skill the prophetic birds unaided by sacrificial fire—he, master of such prophecy, declares that the greatest Argive attack is being planned in night assembly and that they will make plans to capture our city. Hurry each of you to the battlements and the gates of our towered walls! Rush with all your armor! Fill the parapets and take your positions on the platforms of the towers. Stand your ground bravely where the gates open out, and do not be afraid of this crowd of foreigners. God will bring it to a good end.
 I myself have dispatched scouts and men to observe their army, and I am confident that their going is not in vain. Once I have heard their report, I will not be taken by any trickery.
 Enter a Scout. Scout Eteocles, mighty prince of the Cadmeans, I have returned with a sure report of the army outside the walls; I myself am an eyewitness of their actions. Seven warriors, fierce regiment-commanders, slaughtered a bull over a black shield, and then touching the bull’s gore with their hands they swore an oath by Ares, by Enyo, Enyo is a personification of war, and hence sometimes called the mother or the daughter of Ares. and by Rout who delights in blood, that either they will level the city and sack the Cadmeans’ town by force, or will in death smear this soil with their blood. And on Adrastus’ chariot they were placing remembrances of themselves for their parents at home, and were shedding tears while so doing, but no piteous wailing escaped their lips. For their iron- hearted spirit heaved, blazing with courage, as of lions with war in their eyes. Your knowledge of these things was not delayed by fearfulness; for I left them casting lots to decide how each commander, his post assigned by chance, would lead his regiment against the gates. Therefore, choose the bravest men of the city and station them quickly at the outlets of the gates. For nearby already the Argive army in full armor 
 is advancing in a flurry of dust, and glistening foam splatters the plain in drops from the horses’ pantings. So you, like the careful helmsman of a ship, secure the city before Ares’ blasts storm down upon it; for the wave of their army now crashes over the dry land. Seize the first opportune moment for doing this. For all else, I, on my part, will keep a reliable eye on the lookout, and you, by learning from my certain report what happens beyond the gates, shall remain unharmed. Exit. 
 
 Eteocles O Zeus and Earth, and gods that guard our city, and Curse, The curse pronounced by Oedipus against his two sons (cp. 785 ff.) is a daemonic power, here identified with the vengeance it calls into being. potent agent of my father’s vengeance, do not destroy my city, ripping it up from its foundations, captive of the enemy, a city that speaks in Greece ’s tongue, and do not destroy our hearths and homes. May they never hold the free land and city of Cadmus beneath the yoke of slavery! Be our protection! I am certain that what I ask is in our common interest; for a State that prospers pays honors to its gods. Exit Eteocles, with citizens. The Chorus enters in fearful agitation. 
 
 Chorus In terror I wail loud cries of sorrow. Their army is let loose! Leaving camp, —look!—the mounted throng floods swiftly ahead. The dust whirling in the air tells me this is so—its message is speechless, yet clear and true.
 And now the plains of my native land under the blows of hooves send a roar to my ears; the sound flies and rumbles like a resistless torrent crashing down a mountainside.
 Ah, ah, you gods and goddesses, raise your war cry over our walls to drive away the onrushing evil!
 The army of the white shield, ready for battle, rushes at full speed against the city.
 Who then will rescue us, which of the gods or goddesses will help?
 Or shall I fall in supplication at the feet of our ancestral gods’ statues?
 Ah, blessed gods, firmly enthroned, the time has come to hold fast to your statues. Why do we delay, who are much to be lamented? Do you hear the clash of shields, or does it escape you? When, if not now, shall we place sacred robes and wreaths on the statues to accompany our prayers?
 I see the clash—it is not the clatter of a single spear. What will you do? Will you betray your own land, Ares, where you have dwelt since long ago? God of the golden helmet, look, look upon the city that you once cherished!
 Chorus Oh come all you gods who guard our city and its land! See this suppliant band of maidens praying to be saved from slavery. A torrent of men, their helmet plumes tossing, crashes around the city, sped on by the blasts of Ares. No! Father Zeus, all-accomplishing, fend from us altogether capture at the hands of the enemy.
 
 The Argives encircle the citadel of Cadmus. Terror of their weapons of war shakes us, as the bridles in the horse’s jaws rattle the sound of death. Seven bold captains, conspicuous among the army in spear-wielding harnesses, at the seven gates take their stand each according to his lot.