Antistrophe V.
And at his sons he flung,
By ignominious treatment vex'd at heart,
Curses, alas, with bitter tongue,
That they with iron-wielding hand should part
One day their wealth. I tremble lest that vow
Erinys, swift of foot, accomplish now.
Messenger.
Ye maidens, mother-nurtured, courage take,
Our city hath escaped the vassal yoke; 790
The boasts of haughty men are come to nought.
Our city floats in calm, and from the shock
Of many billows yet hath sprung no leak.
Staunch are our towers; the champions whom we set,
In single combat to defend our gates,
Their pledges have redeem'd. At the six gates
All prospers in the main; the seventh gate
Apollo, King, the awful seventh, chose,
Avenging on the sons of Œdipus
Laios' ill-counselled trespass wrought of old.
Chorus.
What new event hath to the city chanced? 800
Messenger.
Saved is the city, but the brother kings—
Chorus.
What sayest thou? Through fear I am distraught.
