f my tresses, in the ministry
of Apollo. O blazing rock, the flame of fire that seems[17] double above
the Dionysian heights of Bacchus, and thou vine, who distillest the daily
nectar, producing the fruitful cluster from the tender shoot; and ye divine
caves of the dragon,[18] and ye mountain watch-towers of the Gods, and thou
hallowed snowy mountain, would that I were the chorus of the immortal God
free from alarms encompassing thee around, by the caves of Apollo in the
centre of the earth, having left Dirce. But now impetuous Mars having
advanced before the walls lights up against this city, which may the Gods
avert, hostile war; for common are the misfortunes of friends, and common
is it, if this land defended by its seven turrets should suffer any
calamity, to the Phoenician country, alas! alas! common is the
affinity,[19] common are the descendants of Io bearing horns; of which woes
I have a share. But a thick cloud of shields glares around the city, the
likeness of gory battle, bearing which destruction from the Furies to the
children of Oedipus Mars shall quickly advance. O Pelasgian Argos, I dread
thy power, and vengeance from the Gods, for he rushes not his arms to this
war unjustly, who seeks to recover his home.

POLYNICES, CHORUS.

POL. The bolts indeed of the gate-keepers have with ease admitted me, that
I might come within the walls; wherefore also I fear, lest, having caught
me within their nets, they let[19a] not my body go without bloodshed. On
which account my eye must be turned about on every side, both that way and
this, lest there be treachery. But armed in my hand with this sword, I will
give myself confidence of daring. Ha! Who is this; or do we fear a noise?
Every thing appears terrible even to the bold, when his foot shall pass
across a hostile country. I trust however in my mother, at the same time I
scarce trust, who persuaded me to come hither confiding in a truce. But
protection is nigh; for the hearths of the altars are at hand, and houses
not deserted. Come. I will let go my sword into its dark scabbard, and will
question these who they are, that are standing at the palace. Ye female
strangers, tell me, from what country do ye approach Grecian habitations?

CHOR. The Phoenician is my paternal country, she that nurtured me: and the
descendants of Agenor sent me hither from the spoils, the first-fruits to
Apollo. And while the renowned son of Oedipus was preparing to send me to
the revered