Messenger monologue — Specimens of Greek Tragedy — Aeschylus and Sophocles

So may it be, now to the fifth I come Whose station is at the Borraean gates, Hard by the tomb that holds Amphion's dust. This champion swears by what he higher deems Than god and dearer than his eyes, his spear, That he will Cadmus' city storm and sack In heaven's despite. So vows the wood nymph's son, That fair-faced stripling, scarcely yet a man, For on his cheek still blooms the down of youth. Marshal his mood and fierce his countenance, And all unlike the maiden name he bears. Nor does he lack his share of boastfulness, For on the shield that with its brazen round His body fenced, he bore our city's shame, The rav'ning Sphynx, in burnished effigy Empaled, and grasping in her felon claws The limbs of a Cadmean citizen; Which on the bearer drew a shower of darts. Battle to huckster is not his intent, Nor to have marched so far and marched in vain. His name Parthenopaeus, Arcady His home, Argos his nurse, whom to requite He threatens that from which heaven save our towers.