Page:Statius (Mozley 1928) v1.djvu/571

wait till thy prowess be greater, thy years more firm, till the shadow come upon thy rosy cheeks and my likeness fade from off thy face. Then I myself will give thee the battles and the sword for which thou dost burn, and no mother’s tears shall call thee back. Now take back thy weapons home! But you, will you suffer him to go to war, ye Arcadians, O born assuredly of rock and oak?^[1]” More would she fain entreat; her son and the chieftains thronging round console her and lessen her fears, and already the bugles’ horrid signal blares forth. She cannot loose her son from her loving embrace, and commends him earnestly to his leader Adrastus.

But in another region the Martian folk of Cadmus, dismayed by the madness of the king and terrified by news that is grave indeed—for ’tis spread abroad how Argos is making descent in force—tardily in truth for shame of the monarch and his cause, nevertheless prepare for war. None rush to draw the sword, or take pleasure in covering their shoulders with their father’s shield or making trim the harness of wing-footed horses, delights such as war affords; despondent, without resolve or warlike temper, they vouchsafe a timorous aid; this one bewails a loving parent in his evil case, another his wife’s pleasant youth and the hapless babes ripening in her womb. In none does the war-god wax hot; even the walls crumbling with age-long neglect and Amphion’s mighty towers lay bare their worn and ancient sides, and a mean and unresponsive toil repairs those parapets once raised to heaven by the inspired harp. Yet the Boeotian cities are moved by the avenging lust of battle, and are stirred in behalf of their kindred race rather than to aid the unjust king.