Aeschylus, Seven against Thebes 288–368: First stasimon: the Chorus fear the capture of Thebes

I heed him, but through terror my heart finds no repose. Anxieties border upon my heart and kindle my fear of the army surrounding our walls, as a trembling dove fears for her children in the nest because of snakes that are dangerous bed-fellows. For against our fortifications some are advancing with all their men, all in formation. Ah, what will become of me? Others are hurling jagged boulders at the citizens on all sides. O Gods born of Zeus, by every means rescue our city and people, sprung from Cadmus!

What more fertile plain will you find in place of ours, if you abandon to the enemy this deep-soiled land and the water of Dirce which is the most nourishing of the streams that earth-encircling Poseidon and Tethys’ children pour forth? Therefore, divine guardians of the city, hurl murderous destruction on the men outside our walls and panic that makes them throw away their weapons, and so win glory for these citizens. Defend the city and remain in possession of your home and throne in answer to our shrill, wailing prayers!

It is a great cause for grief to hurl a primeval city to Hades in this way, quarry and slave of the spear, ravaged shamefully in the dusty ashes by an Argive man through divine will. And grief, too, to let the women be led away captive—ah me!—young and old, dragged by the hair, like horses, with their cloaks torn off them. A city, emptied, shouts out as the human booty perishes with mingled cries. A heavy fate, indeed, my fear anticipates.

It is a lamentable thing that modest girls should be plucked unripe, before the customary rites, and should make a loathsome journey from their homes. What? I declare that the dead will do better than the captives; for when a city is subdued—ah, ah!—many and miserable are its sufferings. Man drags off man, or kills, or sets fires; the whole city is defiled with smoke. Mad Ares storms, subduing the people and polluting reverence.

Tumults swell through the town, and against it a towering net is advancing. Man falls before man beneath the spear. Sobs and wails over gore-covered babes, just nursed at their mothers’ breasts, resound. Rape and pillage of those fleeing through the city are the deeds of one’s own blood. Plunderer joins up with plunderer; the empty-handed calls to the empty-handed, wishing to have a partner, each greedy for neither less nor equal share. Reason exists for imagining what will come after this.

The earth’s varied fruits, fallen to the ground, give pain, a bitter sight for the maid-servants. In jumbled confusion the abundant gifts of earth are carried away by reckless looting waves. Young women, enslaved, suffer a new evil: a bed of misery, prize of the conquering enemy’s spear, as though of a prospering husband— they can expect the coming of the nightly rite, which gives aid to tears and anguish!