SOPH. CED. COL. 1048.

H

THE ARGUMENT.

CREON, having conveyed away by force the daughters of Edipus, is pursued by Theseus with an army. During their absence the Chorus sing the following Ode: they express a wish to join the Athenian host; conjecture the course probably pursued by them; predict their victory, and invoke the assistance of the Gods.

SOPH. CED. COL. 1048.

WAFT me hence, and set me down,
Where the lines of battle frown;
Waft me, where the brazen shout
Of the Lord of War rings out
On the Pythian coast, or where
Flickering torches wildly glare,
Where on mystic rites have smiled
Ceres, and her honoured child.
Many a priest attends their shrine,
Sprung of old Eumolpus' line,
While discretion's golden key1
Locks their lips in secrecy.
Round the virgin-sisters twain
Soon shall fall the crowded slain,

(1) Compare Hamlet, I. 3.

"'Tis in my memory locked,

And you yourself shall keep the key of it."

Theseus soon, in mailed might,
Wake the terrors of the fight.
Now, I ween, in haste they glide
Ea's snowy rocks beside;
There, beneath the western sky,
Swift their straining coursers fly,
Rapid roll their whirling cars;
Fleeter speeds pursuing Mars;
Theseus' train is on its way,
Keen to grasp the destined prey;
Every bit like lightning glancing,
Every mailed knight advancing,
Every charger's arched neck
Princely spoils and trappings deck.
Yours the vow for victory won,
Hippian Pallas! Rhea's son!
Thou, who, throned in coral caves,
Claspest earth, and rulest waves!
Is the awful stillness past?
Have they closed in fight at last?
Answer, my prophetic soul!

Thou canst secret fate unrol.

2

Soon, I ween, shall warrior sword,
Wielded by Athena's lord,

(2) Compare King John, V. 2.

"O nation! that thou couldst remove! That Neptune's arms, who clippeth thee about, Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself."

SOPH. D. COL.

Free the maid, by sorrow bowed,

Mocked and scorned by brethren proud:

Thus shall righteous Jove to-day

Judge for her the dubious fray;

So, across my spirit's dreams
Joy anticipated gleams.

Might I, like the soaring dove,
Roam the aërial fields above,
Her, who, borne on tempest wings,
Forth with rustling pinion springs,
Sweet it were, from clouds on high,
Battle's changeful tide to spy.
Jove! whose everlasting sway
Heaven's unchanging Gods obey,
Jove! before whose piercing eyes
Bare each thing created lies,
Let not, on the conflict plain,
Theseus spread his toils in vain ;
Grant to Athens' champions brave
Might to vanquish, strength to save.
Pallas! Jove's majestic child,
Phoebus! hunter of the wild,
Dian! still the woodland wooing,
Still the dappled stag pursuing,
Archer lord, and mountain maid,
Haste ye, haste ye to our aid!

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