To reverence above the god or his own eyes—
The town of the Cadmeans he will surely sack
In spite of Zeus. Thus cries aloud this fair-faced shoot
Of mother mountain-bred, a man though boy in years.
His downy beard is just appearing on his cheeks,
As youth’s prime makes it grow, the thick hair cropping out,
But he with spirit fierce, no maiden’s namesake this,
And terrible bright eye, comes up to take his post.
Nor yet without a vaunt stands he beside the gate,
For on his bronze-wrought shield, his body’s circled screen,