Champing fierce their fire-forged bits?
Eteocles.
What then? when with the storm the good ship labours,
Shall the wise helmsman leave his proper post,
To clasp the painted gods upon the prow?[n17]
ANTISTROPHE I.
Chorus.
When we heard war’s rattling hail-drift
Round our ramparts wildly rave,
Trusting to the gods of Cadmus,
Spurred by fear, we hither hurried,