{"collection":"Classics","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/cla/aesch/sevent.htm","path":"cla/aesch/sevent.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/cla/aesch/sevent.htm","text":"Dramatis Personae\nETEOCLES, son of Oedipus, King of Thebes\nA SPY\nCHORUS OF THEBAN WOMEN\nANTIGONE\nISMENE\nsisters of ETEOCLES\nA HERALD\nWithin the Citadel of Thebes. There is an altar with the statues of\nseveral gods visible. A crowd of citizens are present as ETEOCLES\nenters with his attendants.\nETEOCLES Clansmen of Cadmus, at the signal given\nBy time and season must the ruler speak\nWho sets the course and steers the ship of State\nWith hand upon the tiller, and with eye\nWatchful against the treachery of sleep.\nFor if all go aright, thank Heaven, men say,\nBut if adversely-which may God forefend!-\nOne name on many lips, from street to street,\nWould bear the bruit and rumour of the time,\nDown witk Eteocles!-a clamorous curse,\nA dirge of ruin. May averting Zeus\nMake good his title here, in Cadmus' hold!\nYou it beseems now-boys unripened yet\nTo lusty manhood, men gone past the prime\nAnd increase of the full begetting seed,\nAnd those whom youth and manhood well combined\nArray for action-all to rise in aid\nOf city, shrines, and altars of all powers\nWho guard our land; that ne'er, to end of time,\nBe blotted out the sacred service due\nTo our sweet mother-land and to her brood.\nFor she it was who to their guest-right called\nYour waxing youth, was patient of the toil,\nAnd cherished you on the land's gracious lap,\nAlike to plant the hearth and bear the shield\nIn loyal service, for an hour like this.\nMark now! until to-day, luck rules our scale;\nFor we, though long beleaguered, in the main\nHave with our sallies struck the foemen hard.\nBut now the seer, the feeder of the birds\n(Whose art unerring and prophetic skill\nOf ear and mind divines their utterance\nWithout the lore of fire interpreted)\nForetelleth, by the mastery of his art,\nThat now an onset of Achaea's host\nIs by a council of the night designed\nTo fall in double strength upon our walls.\nUp and away, then, to the battlements,\nThe gates, the bulwarks! don your panoplies,\nArray you at the breast-work, take your stand\nOn the floorings of the towers, and with good heart\nStand firm for sudden sallies at the gates,\nNor hold too heinous a respect for hordes\nSent on you from afar: some god will guard!\nI too, for shrewd espial of their camp,\nHave sent forth scouts, and confidence is mine\nThey will not fail nor tremble at their task,\nAnd, with their news, I fear no foeman's guile. (A Spy enters.)\nTHE SPY Eteocles, high king of Cadmus' folk,\nI stand here with news certified and sure\nFrom Argos' camp, things by myself descried.\nSeven warriors yonder, doughty chiefs of might,\nInto the crimsoned concave of a shield\nHave shed a bull's blood, and, with hands immersed\nInto the gore of sacrifice, have sworn\nBy Ares, lord of fight, and by thy name,\nBlood-lapping Terror, Let our oath be heard-\nEither to raze the walls, make void the hold\nOf Cadmus-strive his children as they may-\nOr, dying here, to make the foemen's land\nWith blood impasted. Then, as memory's gift\nUnto their parents at the far-off home,\nChaplets they hung upon Adrastus' car,\nWith eyes tear-dropping, but no word of moan.\nFor their steeled spirit glowed with high resolve,\nAs lions pant, with battle in their eyes.\nFor them, no weak alarm delays the clear\nIssues of death or life! I parted thence\nEven as they cast the lots, how each should lead,\nAgainst which gate, his serried company.\nRank then thy bravest, with what speed thou may'st,\nHard by the gates, to dash on them, for now,\nFull-armed, the onward ranks of Argos come!\nThe dust whirls up, and from their panting steeds\nWhite foamy flakes like snow bedew the plain.\nThou therefore, chieftain! like a steersman skilled,\nEnshield the city's bulwarks, ere the blast\nOf war comes darting on them! hark, the roar\nOf the great landstorm with its waves of men\nTake Fortune by the forelock! for the rest,\nBy yonder dawn-light will I scan the field\nClear and aright, and surety of my word\nShall keep thee scatheless of the coming storm.\nETEOCLES O Zeus and Earth and city-guarding gods,\nAnd thou, my father's Curse, of baneful might,\nSpare ye at least this town, nor root it up,\nBy violence of the foemen, stock and stem!\nFor here, from home and hearth, rings Hellas' tongue.\nForbid that e'er the yoke of slavery\nShould bow this land of freedom, Cadmus' hold!\nBe ye her help! your cause I plead with mine-\nA city saved doth honour to her gods! (ETEOCLES, his attendants and\nmost of the crowd go out. The CHORUS OF THEBAN WOMEN enters. They\nappear terror-stricken.)\nCHORUS (singing) I wail in the stress of my terror, and shrill is\nmy cry of despair.\nThe foemen roll forth from their camp as a billow, and onward they\nbear!\nTheir horsemen are swift in the forefront, the dust rises up to the\nsky,\nA signal, though speechless, of doom, a herald more clear than a cry!\nHoof-trampled, the land of my love bears onward the din to mine ears.\nAs a torrent descending a mountain, it thunders and echoes and nears!\nThe doom is unloosened and cometh! O kings and O queens of high\nHeaven,\nPrevail that it fall not upon us! the sign for their onset is given-\nThey stream to the walls from without, white-shielded and keen for\nthe fray.\nThe rush of their feet? to what shrine shall I bow me in terror and\npray? (They rush to pray to the gods.) O gods high-throned in bliss,\nwe must crouch at the shrines in your home!\nNot here must we tarry and wail: shield clashes on shield as they\ncome\nAnd now, even now is the hour for the robes and the chaplets of prayer!\nMine eyes feel the flash of the sword, the clang is instinct with\nthe spear!\nIs thy hand set against us, O Ares, in ruin and wrath to o'erwhelm\nThine own immemorial land, O god of the golden helm?\nLook down upon us, we beseech thee, on the land that thou lovest of\nold.\n(strophe 1)\nAnd ye, O protecting gods, in pity your people behold!\nYea, save us, the maidenly troop, from the doom and despair of the\nslave,\nFor the crests of the foemen come onward, their rush is the rush of\na wave\nRolled on by the War-god's breath! almighty one, hear us and save\nFrom the grasp of the Argives' might! to the ramparts of Cadmus they\ncrowd,\nAnd, clenched in the teeth of the steeds, the bits clink horror aloud\nAnd seven high chieftains of war, with spear and with panoply bold,\nAre set, by the law of the lot, to storm the seven gates of our hold!\n(antistrophe 1)\nBe near and befriend us, O Pallas, the Zeus-born maiden of might!\nO lord of the steed and the sea, be thy trident uplifted to smite\nIn eager desire of the fray, Poseidon! and Ares come down,\nIn fatherly presence revealed, to rescue Harmonia's town!\nThine too, Aphrodite, we are! thou art mother and queen of our race,\nTo thee we cry out in our need, from thee let thy children have grace!\nYe too, to scare back the foe, be your cry as a wolf's howl wild,\nThou, O the wolf-lord, and thou, of she-wolf Leto the child!\n(strophe 2)\nWoe and alack for the sound, for the rattle of cars to the wall,\nAnd the creak of the griding axles! O Hera, to thee is our call!\nArtemis, maiden beloved! the air is distraught with the spears,\nAnd whither doth destiny drive us, and where is the goal of our fears?\n(antistrophe 2)\nThe blast of the terrible stones on the ridge of our wall is not\nstayed,\nAt the gates is the brazen clash of the bucklers-Apollo to aid!\nThou too, O daughter of Zeus, who guidest the wavering fray\nTo the holy decision of fate, Athena! be with us to-day!\nCome down to the sevenfold gates and harry the foemen away!\n(strophe 3)\nO gods and O sisters of gods, our bulwark and guard! we beseech\nThat ye give not our war-worn hold to a rabble of alien speech!\nList to the call of the maidens, the hands held up for the right,\n(antistrophe 3)\nBe near us, protect us, and show that the city is dear in your sight!\nHave heed for her sacrifice holy, and thought of her offerings take,\nForget not her love and her worship, be near her and smite for her\nsake! (ETEOCLES and his retinue re-enter.)\nETEOCLES (addressing the CHORUS) Hark to my question, things detestable!\nIs this aright and for the city's weal,\nAnd helpful to our army thus beset,\nThat ye before the statues of our gods\nShould fling yourselves, and scream and shriek your fears?\nImmodest, uncontrolled! Be this my lot-\nNever in troublous nor in peaceful days\nTo dwell with aught that wears a female form!\nWhere womankind has power, no man can house,\nWhere womankind feeds panic, ruin rules\nAlike in house and city! Look you now-\nYour flying feet, and rumour of your fears,\nHave spread a soulless panic on our walls,\nAnd they without do go from strength to strength,\nAnd we within make breach upon ourselves!\nSuch fate it brings, to house with womankind.\nTherefore if any shall resist my rule\nOr man, or woman, or some sexless thing-\nThe vote of sentence shall decide their doom,\nAnd stones of execution, past escape,\nShall finish all. Let not a woman's voice\nBe loud in council! for the things without,\nA man must care; let women keep within-\nEven then is mischief all too probable!\nHear ye? or speak I to unheeding ears?\nCHORUS (chanting) Ah, but I shudder, child of Oedipus!\nI heard the clash and clang!\nThe axles rolled and rumbled; woe to us,\nFire-welded bridles rang!\nSay-when a ship is strained and deep in brine,\nDid eer a seaman mend his chance, who left\nThe helm, t' invoke the image at the prow?\nCHORUS (chanting) Ah, but I fled to the shrines, I called to our\nhelpers on high,\nWhen the stone-shower roared at the portals!\nI sped to the temples aloft, and loud was my call and my cry,\nLook down and deliver, Immortals!\nETEOCLES Ay, pray amain that stone may vanquish steel!\nWhere not that grace of gods? ay, ay-methinks,\nWhen cities fall, the gods go forth from them!\nCHORUS (chanting) Ah, let me die, or ever I behold\nThe gods go forth, in conflagration dire!\nThe foemen's rush and raid, and all our hold\nWrapt in the burning fire!\nETEOCLES Cry not on Heaven, in impotent debate!\nWhat saith the saw?-Good saving Strength, in verity,\nOut of Obedience breeds the babe Prosperity.\nCHORUS (chanting) 'Tis true: yet stronger is the power divine,\nAnd oft, when man's estate is overbowed\nWith bitter pangs, disperses from his eyne\nThe heavy, hanging cloud!\nETEOCLES Let men with sacrifice and augury\nApproach the gods, when comes the tug of war:\nAlaids must be silent and abide within.\nCHORUS (chanting) By grace of the gods we hold it, a city untamed\nof the spear,\nAnd the battlement wards from the wall the foe and his aspect of fear!\nWhat need of displeasure herein?\nETEOCLES Ay, pay thy vows to Heaven; I grudge them not,\nBut-so thou strike no fear into our men-\nHave calm at heart, nor be too much afraid.\nAlack, it is fresh in mine ears, the clamour and crash of the fray,\nAnd up to our holiest height I sped on my timorous way,\nBewildered, beset by the din!\nETEOCLES Now, if ye hear the bruit of death or wounds,\nGive not yourselves o'ermuch to shriek and scream,\nFor Ares ravins upon human flesh.\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS Ah, but the snorting of the steeds I hear!\nETEOCLES Then, if thou hearest, hear them not too well\nLEADER Hark, the earth rumbles, as they close us round!\nETEOCLES Enough if I am here, with plans prepared.\nLEADER Alack, the battering at the gates is loud!\nETEOCLES Peace! stay your tongue, or else the town may hear!\nLEADER O warders of the walls, betray them not!\nETEOCLES Beshrew your cries! in silence face your fate.\nLEADER Gods of our city, see me not enslaved!\nETEOCLES On me, on all, thy cries bring slavery.\nLEADER Zeus, strong to smite, turn upon foes thy blow!\nETEOCLES Zeus, what a curse are women, wrought by thee!\nLEADER Weak wretches, even as men, when cities fall.\nWhat! clasping gods, yet voicing thy despair?\nLEADER In the sick heart, fear maketh prey of speech.\nETEOCLES Light is the thing I ask thee-do my will!\nLEADER Ask swiftly: swiftly shall I know my power.\nETEOCLES Silence, weak wretch! nor put thy friends in fear.\nLEADER I speak no more: the general fate be mine!\nETEOCLES I take that word as wiser than the rest.\nNay, more: these images possess thy will-\nPray, in their strength, that Heaven be on our side!\nThen hear my prayers withal, and then ring out\nThe female triumph-note, thy privilege-\nYea, utter forth the usage Hellas knows,\nThe cry beside the altars, sounding clear\nEncouragement to friends, alarm to foes.\nBut I unto all gods that guard our walls,\nLords of the plain or warders of the mart\nAnd to Ismenus' stream and Dirce's rills,\nI swear, if Fortune smiles and saves our town,\nThat we will make our altars reek with blood\nOf sheep and kine, shed forth unto the gods,\nAnd with victorious tokens front our fanes-\nCorslets and casques that once our foemen wore,\nSpear-shattered now-to deck these holy homes!\nBe such thy vows to Heaven-away with sighs,\nAway with outcry vain and barbarous,\nThat shall avail not, in a general doom!\nBut I will back, and, with six chosen men\nMyself the seventh, to confront the foe\nIn this great aspect of a poised war,\nReturn and plant them at the sevenfold gates,\nOr e'er the prompt and clamorous battle-scouts\nHaste to inflame our counsel with the need. (ETEOCLES and his retinue\ngo out.)\nCHORUS (singing, strophe 1)\nI mark his words, yet, dark and deep,\nMy heart's alarm forbiddeth sleep!\nClose-clinging cares around my soul\nEnkindle fears beyond control,\nPresageful of what doom may fall\nFrom the great leaguer of the wall!\nSo a poor dove is faint with fear\nFor her weak nestlings, while anew\nGlides on the snaky ravisher!\nIn troop and squadron, hand on hand,\nThey climb and throng, and hemmed we stand,\nWhile on the warders of our town\nThe flinty shower comes hurtling down!\nGods born of Zeus! put forth your might\nFor Cadmus' city, realm, and right!\n(antistrophe 1)\nWhat nobler land shall e'er be yours,\nIf once ye give to hostile powers\nThe deep rich soil, and Dirce's wave,\nThe nursing stream, Poseidon gave\nAnd Tethys' children? Up and save!\nCast on the ranks that hem us round\nA deadly panic, make them fling\nTheir arms in terror on the ground,\nAnd die in carnage! thence shall spring\nHigh honour for our clan and king!\nCome at our wailing cry, and stand\nAs throned sentries of our land!\n(strophe 2)\nFor pity and sorrow it were that this immemorial town\nShould sink to be slave of the spear, to dust and to ashes gone down,\nBy the gods of Achaean worship and arms of Achaean might\nSacked and defiled and dishonoured, its women the prize of the fight-\nThat, haled by the hair as a steed, their mantles dishevelled and\ntorn,\nThe maiden and matron alike should pass to the wedlock of scorn!\nI hear it arise from the city, the manifold wail of despair-\nWoe, woe for the doom that shall be-as in grasp of the foeman they\nfare!\n(antistrophe 2)\nFor a woe and a weeping it is, if the maiden inviolate flower\nIs plucked by the foe in his might, not culled in the bridal bower!\nAlas for the hate and the horror-how say it?-less hateful by far\nIs the doom to be slain by the sword, hewn down in the carnage of\nwar!\nFor wide, ah! wide is the woe when the foeman has mounted the wall;\nThere is havoc and terror and flame, and the dark smoke broods over\nall,\nAnd wild is the war-god's breath, as in frenzy of conquest he springs,\nAnd pollutes with the blast of his lips the glory of holiest things!\n(strophe 3)\nUp to the citadel rise clash and din,\nThe war-net closes in,\nThe spear is in the heart: with blood imbrued\nYoung mothers wail aloud,\nFor children at their breast who scream and die!\nAnd boys and maidens fly,\nYet scape not the pursuer, in his greed\nTo thrust and grasp and feed!\nRobber with robber joins, each calls his mate\nUnto the feast of hate-\nThe banquet, lo! is spread-seize, rend, and tear!\nNo need to choose or share!\n(antistrophe 3)\nAnd all the wealth of earth to waste is poured-\nA sight by all abhorred!\nThe grieving housewives eye it; heaped and blent,\nEarth's boons are spoiled and spent,\nAnd waste to nothingness; and O alas,\nYoung maids, forlorn ye pass-\nFresh horror at your hearts-beneath the power\nOf those who crop the flower!\nYe own the ruffian ravisher for lord,\nAnd night brings rites abhorred!\nWoe, woe for you! upon your grief and pain\nThere comes a fouler stain. (On one side the SPY enters; on the other,\nETEOCLES and the SIX CHAMPIONS.)\nLEADER OF THE FIRST SEMI-CHORUS Look, friends! methinks the scout,\nwho parted hence\nTo spy upon the foemen, comes with news,\nHis feet as swift as wafting chariot-wheels.\nLEADER OF THE SECOND SEMI-CHORUS Ay, and our king, the son of Oedipus,\nComes prompt to time, to learn the spy's report-\nHis heart is fainer than his foot is fast!\nTHE SPY Well have I scanned the foe, and well can say\nUnto which chief, by lot, each gate is given.\nTydeus already with his onset-cry\nStorms at the gate called Proetides; but him\nThe seer Amphiaraus holds at halt,\nNor wills that he should cross Ismenus' ford,\nUntil the sacrifices promise fair.\nBut Tydeus, mad with lust of blood and broil,\nLike to a cockatrice at noontide hour,\nHisses out wrath and smites with scourge of tongue\nThe prophet-son of Oecleus-Wise thou art,\nFaint against war, and holding back from death!\nWith such revilings loud upon his lips\nHe waves the triple plumes that o'er his helm\nFloat overshadowing, as a courser's mane;\nAnd at his shield's rim, terror in their tone,\nClang and reverberate the brazen bells.\nAnd this proud sign, wrought on his shield, he bears,-\nThe vault of heaven, inlaid with blazing stars;\nAnd, for the boss, the bright moon glows at full,\nThe eye of night, the first and lordliest star.\nThus with high-vaunted armour, madly bold,\nHe clamours by the stream-bank, wild for war,\nAs a steed panting grimly on his bit,\nHeld in and chafing for the trumpet's bray!\nWhom wilt thou set against him? when the gates\nOf Proetus yield, who can his rush repel?\nETEOCLES To me, no blazon on a foeman's shield\nShall e'er present a fear! such pointed threats\nAre powerless to wound; his plumes and bells,\nWithout a spear, are snakes without a sting.\nNay, more-that pageant of which thou tellest-\nThe nightly sky displayed, ablaze with stars,\nUpon his shield, palters with double sense\nOne headstrong fool will find its truth anon!\nFor, if night fall upon his eyes in death,\nYon vaunting blazon will its own truth prove,\nAnd he is prophet of his folly's fall.\nMine shall it be, to pit against his power\nThe loyal son of Astacus, as guard\nTo hold the gateways-a right valiant soul,\nWho has in heed the throne of Modesty\nAnd loathes the speech of Pride, and evermore\nShrinks from the base, but knows no other fear.\nHe springs by stock from those whom Ares spared,\nThe men called Sown, a right son of the soil,\nAnd Melanippus styled. Now, what his arm\nTo-day shall do, rests with the dice of war,\nAnd Ares shall ordain it; but his cause\nHath the true badge of Right, to urge him on\nTo guard, as son, his motherland from wrong. (MELANIPPUS goes out.)\nCHORUS (chanting) Then may the gods give fortune fair\nUnto our chief, sent forth to dare\nWar's terrible arbitrament!\nBut ah! when champions wend away,\nI shudder, lest, from out the fray,\nOnly their blood-stained wrecks be sent!\nTHE SPY Nay, let him pass, and the gods' help be his!\nNext, Capaneus comes on, by lot to lead\nThe onset at the gates Electran styled:\nA giant be, more huge than Tydeus' self,\nAnd more than human in his arrogance-\nMay fate forefend his threat against our walls!\nGod willing, or unwilling-such his vaunt-\nI will lay waste this city; Pallas' self,\nZeus's warrior maid, although she swoop to earth\nAnd plant her in my path, shall stay me not.\nAnd, for the flashes of the levin-bolt,\nHe holds them harmless as the noontide rays.\nMark, too, the symbol on his shield-a man\nScornfully weaponless but torch in hand,\nAnd the flame glows witbin his grasp, prepared\nFor ravin: lo, the legend, wrought in words,\nFire for the city bring I, flares in gold!\nAgainst such wight, send forth-yet whom? what man\nWill front that vaunting figure and not fear?\nETEOCLES Aha, this profits also, gain on gain!\nIn sooth, for mortals, the tongue's utterance\nBewrays unerringly a foolish pride!\nHither stalks Capaneus, with vaunt and threat\nDefying god-like powers, equipt to act,\nAnd, mortal though he be, he strains his tongue\nIn folly's ecstasy, and casts aloft\nHigh swelling words against the ears of Zeus.\nRight well I trust-if justice grants the word-\nThat, by the might of Zeus, a bolt of flame\nIn more than semblance shall descend on him.\nAgainst his vaunts, though reckless, I have set,\nTo make assurance sure, a warrior stern-\nStrong Polyphontes, fervid for the fray;-\nA sturdy bulwark, he, by grace of Heaven\nAnd favour of his champion Artemis!\nSay on, who holdeth the next gate in ward? (POLYPHONTES goes out.)\nCHORUS (chanting) Perish the wretch whose vaunt affronts our home!\nOn him the red bolt come,\nEre to the maiden bowers his way he cleave,\nTo ravage and bereave!\nTHE SPY I will say on. Eteoclus is third-\nTo him it fell, what time the third lot sprang\nO'er the inverted helmet's brazen rim,\nTo dash his stormers on Neistae gate.\nHe wheels his mares, who at their frontlets chafe\nAnd yearn to charge upon the gates amain.\nThey snort the breath of pride, and, filled therewith,\nTheir nozzles whistle with barbaric sound.\nHigh too and haughty is his shield's device-\nAn armed man who climbs, from rung to rung,\nA scaling ladder, up a hostile wall,\nAfire to sack and slay; and he too cries\n(By letters, full of sound, upon the shield)\nNot Ares' self shall cast me from the wall.\nLook to it, send, against this man, a man\nStrong to debar the slave's yoke from our town.\nETEOCLES (pointing to MEGAREUS) Send will I-even this man, with\nluck to aid- (MEGAREUS departs as soon as he has been marked out.)\nBy his worth sent already, not by pride\nAnd vain pretence, is he. 'Tis Megareus,\nThe child of Creon, of the Earth-sprung born!\nHe will not shrink from guarding of the gates,\nNor fear the maddened charger's frenzied neigh,\nBut, if he dies, will nobly quit the score\nFor nurture to the land that gave him birth,\nOr from the shield-side hew two warriors down-\nEteoclus and the figure that he lifts-\nAy, and the city pictured, all in one,\nAnd deck with spoils the temple of his sire!\nAnnounce the next pair, stint not of thy tongue!\nCHORUS (chanting) O thou, the warder of my home,\nGrant, unto us, Fate's favouring tide,\nSend on the foemen doom!\nThey fling forth taunts of frenzied pride,\nOn them may Zeus with glare of vengeance come\nTHE SPY Lo, next him stands a fourth and shouts amain,\nBy Pallas Onca's portal, and displays\nA different challenge; 'tis Hippomedon!\nHuge the device that starts up from his targe\nIn high relief; and, I deny it not,\nI shuddered, seeing how, upon the rim,\nIt made a mighty circle round the shield-\nNo sorry craftsman he, who wrought that work\nAnd clamped it all around the buckler's edge!\nThe form was Typhon: from his glowing throat\nRolled lurid smoke, spark-litten, kin of fire!\nThe flattened edge-work, circling round the whole,\nMade strong support for coiling snakes that grew\nErect above the concave of the shield:\nLoud rang the warrior's voice; inspired for war,\nHe raves to slay, as doth a Bacchanal,\nHis very glance a terror! of such wight\nBeware the onset! closing on the gates,\nHe peals his vaunting and appalling cry!\nETEOCLES Yet first our Pallas Onca-wardress she,\nPlanting her foot hard by her gate-shall stand,\nThe Maid against the ruffian, and repel\nHis force, as from her brood the mother-bird\nBeats back the wintered serpent's venom'd fang.\nAnd next, by her, is Oenops' gallant son,\nHyperbius, chosen to confront this foe,\nReady to seek his fate at Fortune's shrine!\nIn form, in valour, and in skill of arms,\nNone shall gainsay him. See how wisely well\nHermes hath set the brave against the strong!\nConfronted shall they stand, the shield of each\nBearing the image of opposing gods:\nOne holds aloft his Typhon breathing fire,\nBut, on the other's shield, in symbol sits\nZeus, calm and strong, and fans his bolt to flame-\nZeus, seen of all, yet seen of none to fail!\nHowbeit, weak is trust reposed in Heaven-\nYet are we upon Zeus' victorious side,\nThe foe, with those he worsted-if in sooth\nZeus against Typhon held the upper hand,\nAnd if Hyperbius (as well may hap\nWhen two such foes such diverse emblems bear)\nHave Zeus upon his shield, a saving sign. (HYPERBIUS goes out.)\nCHORUS (chanting) High faith is mine that he whose shield\nBears, against Zeus, the thing of hate.\nThe giant Typhon, thus revealed,\nA monster loathed of gods eterne\nAnd mortal men-this doom shall earn\nA shattered skull, before the gate!\nTHE SPY Heaven send it so! A fifth assailant now\nIs set against our fifth, the northern, gate,\nFronting the death-mound where Amphion lies\nThe child of Zeus. This foeman vows his faith,\nUpon a mystic spear-head which he deems\nMore holy than a godhead and more sure\nTo find its mark than any glance of eye,\nThat, will they, nill they, he will storm and sack\nThe hold of the Cadmeans. Such his oath-\nHis, the bold warrior, yet of childish years,\nA bud of beauty's foremost flower, the son\nOf Zeus and of the mountain maid. I mark\nHow the soft down is waxing on his cheek,\nThick and close-growing in its tender prime-\nIn name, not mood, is he a maiden's child-\nParthenopaeus; large and bright his eyes\nBut fierce the wrath wherewith he fronts the gate:\nYet not unheralded he takes his stand\nBefore the portal; on his brazen shield,\nThe rounded screen and shelter of his form,\nI saw him show the ravening Sphinx, the fiend\nThat shamed our city-how it glared and moved,\nClamped on the buckler, wrought in high relief!\nAnd in its claws did a Cadmean bear-\nNor heretofore, for any single prey,\nSped she aloft, through such a storm of darts\nAs now awaits her. So our foe is here-\nLike, as I deem, to ply no stinted trade\nIn blood and broil, but traffick as is meet\nIn fierce exchange for his long wayfaring!\nETEOCLES Ah, may they meet the doom they think to bring-\nThey and their impious vaunts-from those on high!\nSo should they sink, hurled down to deepest death!\nThis foe, at least, by thee Arcadian styled,\nIs faced by one who bears no braggart sign,\nBut his hand sees to smite, where blows avail-\nActor, own brother to Hyperbius!\nHe will not let a boast without a blow\nStream through our gates and nourish our despair,\nNor give him way who on his hostile shield\nBears the brute image of the loathly Sphinx!\nBlocked at the gate, she will rebuke the man\nWho strives to thrust her forward, when she feels\nThick crash of blows, up to the city wall.\nWith Heaven's goodwill, my forecast shall be true. (ACTOR goes out.)\nCHORUS (chanting) Home to my heart the vaunting goes,\nAnd, quick with terror, on my head\nRises my hair, at sound of those\nWho wildly, impiously rave!\nIf gods there be, to them I plead-\nGive them to darkness and the grave.\nTHE SPY Fronting the sixth gate stands another foe,\nWisest of warriors, bravest among seers-\nSuch must I name Amphiaraus: he,\nSet steadfast at the Homoloid gate,\nBerates strong Tydeus with reviling words-\nThe man of blood, the bane of state and home\nTo Argos, arch-allurer to all ill,\nEvoker of the Fury-fiend of hell,\nDeath's minister, and counsellor of wrong\nUnto Adrastus in this fatal field.\nAy, and with eyes upturned and mien of scorn\nHe chides thy brother Polyneices to\nAt his desert, and once and yet again\nDwells hard and meaningly upon his name\nWhere it saith glory yet importeth feud.\nYea, such thou art in act, and such thy grace\nIn sight of Heaven, and such in aftertime\nThy fame, for lips and ears of mortal men!\n\"He strove to sack the city of his sires\nAnd temples of her gods, and brought on her\nAn alien armament of foreign foes.\nThe fountain of maternal blood outpoured\nWhat power can staunck? even so, thy fatherland\nOnce by thine ardent malice stormed and ta'en,\nShall ne'er join force with thee.\" For me, I know\nIt doth remain to let my blood enrich\nThe border of this land that loves me not-\nBlood of a prophet, in a foreign grave!\nNow, for the battle! I foreknow my doom,\nYet it shall be with honour. So he spake,\nThe prophet, holding up his targe of bronze\nWrought without blazon, to the ears of men\nWho stood around and heeded not his word.\nFor on no bruit and rumour of great deeds,\nBut on their doing, is his spirit set,\nAnd in his heart he reaps a furrow rich,\nWherefrom the foison of good counsel springs.\nAgainst him, send brave heart and hand of might;\nFor the god-lover is man's fiercest foe.\nETEOCLES Out on the chance that couples mortal men,\nLinking the just and impious in one!\nIn every issue, the one curse is this-\nCompanionship with men of evil heart!\nA baneful harvest, let none gather it!\nThe field of sin is rank, and brings forth death\nAt whiles a righteous man who goes aboard\nWith reckless mates, a horde of villainy,\nDies by one death with that detested crew;\nAt whiles the just man, joined with citizens\nRuthless to strangers, recking nought of Heaven,\nTrapped, against nature, in one net with them,\nDies by God's thrust and all-including blow.\nSo will this prophet die, even Oecleus' child,\nSage, just, and brave, and loyal towards Heaven,\nPotent in prophecy, but mated here\nWith men of sin, too boastful to be wise!\nLong is their road, and they return no more,\nAnd, at their taking-off, by hard of Zeus,\nThe prophet too shall take the downward way.\nHe will not-so I deem-assail the gate-\nNot as through cowardice or feeble will,\nBut as one knowing to what end shall be\nTheir struggle in the battle, if indeed\nFruit of fulfilment lie in Loxias' word.\nHe speaketh not, unless to speak avails!\nYet, for more surety, we will post a man,\nStrong Lasthenes, as warder of the gate,\nStern to the foeman; he hath age's skill,\nMated with youthful vigour, and an eye\nForward, alert; swift too his hand, to catch\nThe fenceless interval 'twixt shield and spear!\nYet man's good fortune lies in hand of Heaven. (LASTHENES goes out.)\nCHORUS (chanting) Unto our loyal cry, ye gods, give ear!\nSave, save the city! turn away the spear,\nSend on the foemen fear!\nOutside the rampart fall they, rent and riven\nBeneath the bolt of heaven!\nTHE SPY Last, let me name yon seventh antagonist,\nThy brother's self, at the seventh portal set-\nHear with what wrath he imprecates our doom,\nVowing to mount the wall, though banished hence,\nAnd peal aloud the wild exulting cry-\nThe town is ta'en-then clash his sword with thine,\nGiving and taking death in close embrace,\nOr, if thou 'scapest, flinging upon thee,\nAs robber of his honour and his home,\nThe doom of exile such as he has borne.\nSo clamours he and so invokes the gods\nWho guard his race and home, to hear and heed\nThe curse that sounds in Polyneices' name!\nHe bears a round shield, fresh from forge and fire,\nAnd wrought upon it is a twofold sign-\nFor lo, a woman leads decorously\nThe figure of a warrior wrought in gold;\nAnd thus the legend runs-I Justice am,\nAnd I will bring the hero home again,\nTo hold once more his place within this town,\nOnce more to pace his sire's ancestral hall.\nSuch are the symbols, by our foemen shown-\nNow make thine own decision, whom to send\nAgainst this last opponent! I have said-\nNor canst thou in my tidings find a flaw-\nThine is it, now, to steer the course aright.\nETEOCLES Ah me, the madman, and the curse of Heaven\nAnd woe for us, the lamentable line\nOf Oedipus, and woe that in this house\nOur father's curse must find accomplishment!\nBut now, a truce to tears and loud lament,\nLest they should breed a still more rueful wail!\nAs for this Polyneices, named too well,\nSoon shall we know how this device shall end-\nWhether the gold-wrought symbols on his shield,\nIn their mad vaunting and bewildered pride,\nShall guide him as a victor to his home!\nFor had but justice, maiden-child of Zeus,\nStood by his act and thought, it might have been!\nYet never, from the day he reached the light\nOut of the darkness of his mother's womb,\nNever in childhood, nor in youthful prime,\nNor when his chin was gathering its beard,\nHath justice hailed or claimed him as her own.\nTherefore I deem not that she standeth now\nTo aid him in this outrage on his home!\nMisnamed, in truth, were justice, utterly,\nIf to impiety she lent her hand.\nSure in this faith, I will myself go forth\nAnd match me with him; who hath fairer claim?\nRuler, against one fain to snatch the rule,\nBrother with brother matched, and foe with foe,\nWill I confront the issue. To the wall!\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS O thou true heart, O child of Oedipus,\nBe not, in wrath, too like the man whose name\nMurmurs an evil omen! 'Tis enough\nThat Cadmus' clan should strive with Arges' host,\nFor blood there is that can atone that stain!\nBut-brother upon brother dealing death-\nNot time itself can expiate the sin!\nETEOCLES If man find hurt, yet clasp his honour still,\n'Tis well; the dead have honour, nought beside.\nHurt, with dishonour, wins no word of praise!\nCHORUS (chanting) Ah, what is thy desire?\nLet not the lust and ravin of the sword\nBear thee adown the tide accursed, abhorred!\nFling off thy passion's rage, thy spirit's prompting dire!\nETEOCLES Nay-since the god is urgent for our doom,\nLet Laius' house, by Phoebus loathed and scorned,\nFollow the gale of destiny, and win\nIts great inheritance, the gulf of hell!\nCHORUS (chanting) Ruthless thy craving is-\nCraving for kindred and forbidden blood\nTo be outpoured-a sacrifice imbrued\nWith sin, a bitter fruit of murderous enmities!\nETEOCLES Yea, my own father's fateful Curse proclaims-\nA ghastly presence, and her eyes are dry-\nStrike! honour is the prize, not life prolonged!\nCHORUS (chanting) Ah, be not urged of her! for none shall dare\nTo call thee coward, in thy throned estate!\nWill not the Fury in her sable pal\nPass outward from these halls, what time the gods\nWelcome a votive offering from our hands?\nETEOCLES The gods! long since they hold us in contempt,\nScornful of gifts thus offered by the lost!\nWhy should we fawn and flinch away from doom?\nCHORUS (chanting) Now, when it stands beside thee! for its power\nMay, with a changing gust of milder mood,\nTemper the blast that bloweth wild and rude\nAnd frenzied, in this hour!\nETEOCLES Ay, kindled by the curse of Oedipus-\nAll too prophetic, out of dreamland came\nThe vision, meting out our sire's estate!\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS Heed women's voices, though thou love them not!\nETEOCLES Say aught that may avail, but stint thy words.\nLEADER Go not thou forth to guard the seventh gate!\nETEOCLES Words shall not blunt the edge of my resolve.\nLEADER Yet the god loves to let the weak prevail.\nETEOCLES That to a swordsman, is no welcome word!\nLEADER Shall thine own brother's blood be victory's palm?\nETEOCLES Ill which the gods have sent thou canst no-shun! (ETEOCLES\ngoes out.)\nCHORUS (singing, strophe 1)\nI shudder in dread of the power, abhorred by the gods of high heaven,\nThe ruinous curse of the home till roof-tree and rafter be riven!\nToo true are the visions of ill, too true the fulfilment they bring\nTo the curse that was spoken of old by the frenzy and wrath of the\nking!\nHer will is the doom of the children, and Discord is kindled amain,\n(antistrophe 1)\nAnd strange is the Lord of Division, who cleaveth the birthright\nin twain,-\nThe edged thing, born of the north, the steel that is ruthless and\nkeen,\nDividing in bitter division the lot of the children of teen!\nNot the wide lowland around, the realm of their sire, shall they have,\nYet enough for the dead to inherit, the pitiful space of a grave!\n(strophe 2)\nAh, but when kin meets kin, when sire and child,\nUnknowing, are defiled\nBy shedding common blood, and when the pit\nOf death devoureth it,\nDrinking the clotted stain, the gory dye-\nWho, who can purify?\nWho cleanse pollution, where the ancient bane\nRises and reeks again?\n(antistrophe 2)\nWhilome in olden days the sin was wrought,\nAnd swift requital brought-\nYea on the children of the child came still\nNew heritage of ill!\nFor thrice Apollo spoke this word divine,\nFrom Delphi's central shrine,\nTo Laius-Die thou childless! thus alone\nCan the land's weal be won!\n(strophe 3)\nBut vainly with his wife's desire he strove,\nAnd gave himself to love,\nBegetting Oedipus, by whom he died,\nThe fateful parricide!\nThe sacred seed-plot, his own mother's womb,\nHe sowed, his house's doom,\nA root of blood! by frenzy lured, they came\nUnto their wedded shame.\n(antistrophe 3)\nAnd now the waxing surge, the wave of fate,\nRolls on them, triply great-\nOne billow sinks, the next towers, high and dark,\nAbove our city's bark-\nOnly the narrow barrier of the wal\nTotters, as soon to fall;\nAnd, if our chieftains in the storm go down,\nWhat chance can save the town?\n(strophe 4)\nCurses, inherited from long ago,\nBring heavy freight of woe:\nRich stores of merchandise o'erload the deck,\nNear, nearer comes the wreck-\nAnd all is lost, cast out upon the wave,\nFloating, with none to save!\n(antistrophe 4)\nWhom did the gods, whom did the chief of men,\nWhom did each citizen\nIn crowded concourse, in such honour hold,\nAs Oedipus of old,\nWhen the grim fiend, that fed on human prey,\nHe took from us away?\n(strophe 5)\nBut when, in the fulness of days, he knew of his bridal unblest,\nA twofold horror he wrought, in the frenzied despair of his breast-\nDebarred from the grace of the banquet, the service of goblets of\ngold\nHe flung on his children a curse for the splendour they dared to withhold.\n(antistrophe 5)\nA curse prophetic and bitter-The glory of wealth and of pride,\nWith iron, not gold, in your hands, ye shall come, at the last, to\ndivide!\nBehold, how a shudder runs through me, lest now, in the fulness of\ntime,\nThe house-fiend awake and return, to mete out the measure of crime!\n(THE SPY enters.)\nTHE SPY Take heart, ye daughters whom your mothers' milk\nMade milky-hearted! lo, our city stands,\nSaved from the yoke of servitude: the vaunts\nOf overweening men are silent now,\nAnd the State sails beneath a sky serene,\nNor in the manifold and battering waves\nHath shipped a single surge, and solid stands\nThe rampart, and the gates are made secure,\nEach with a single champion's trusty guard.\nSo in the main and at six gates we hold\nA victory assured; but, at the seventh,\nThe god that on the seventh day was born,\nRoyal Apollo, hath ta'en up his rest\nTo wreak upon the sons of Oedipus\nTheir grandsire's wilfulness of long ago.\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS What further woefulness besets our home?\nTHE SPY The home stands safe-but ah, the princes twain-\nLEADER Who? what of them? I am distraught with fear.\nTHE SPY Hear now, and mark! the sons of Oedipus-\nLEADER Ah, my prophetic soul! I feel their doom.\nTHE SPY Have done with questions!-with I-with their lives crushed\nout-\nLEADER Lie they out yonder? the full horror speak!\nDid hands meet hands more close than brotherly?\nCame fate on each. and in the selfsame hour?\nTHE SPY Yea, blotting out the lineage ill-starred!\nNow mix your exultation and your tears,\nOver a city saved, the while its lords,\nTwin leaders of the fight, have parcelled out\nWith forged arbitrament of Scythian steel\nThe full division of their fatherland,\nAnd, as their father's imprecation bade,\nShall have their due of land, a twofold grave.\nSo is the city saved; the earth has drunk\nBlood of twin princes, by each other slain.\nCHORUS (chanting) O mighty Zeus and guardian powers,\nThe strength and stay of Cadmus' towers!\nShall I send forth a joyous cry,\nHail to the lord of weal renewed?\nOr weep the misbegotten twain,\nBorn to a fatal destiny\nEach numbered now among the slain,\nEach dying in ill fortitude,\nEach truly named, each child of feud?\nO dark and all-prevailing ill,\nThat broods o'er Oedipus and all his line,\nNumbing my heart with mortal chill!\nAh me, this song of mine,\nWhich, Thyad-like, I woke, now falleth still,\nOr only tells of doom,\nAnd echoes round a tomb!\nDead are they, dead! in their own blood they lie\nIll-omened the concent that hails our victory!\nThe curse a father on his children spake\nHath faltered not, nor failed!\nNought, Laius! thy stubborn choice availed-\nFirst to beget, then, in the after day\nAnd for the city's sake,\nThe child to slay!\nFor nought can blunt nor mar\nThe speech oracular!\nChildren of teen! by disbelief ye erred-\nYet in wild weeping came fulfilment of the word! (ANTIGONE and ISMENE\napproach, with a train of mourners. bearing the bodies of ETEOCLES\nand POLYNEICES.) Look up, look forth! the doom is plain,\nNor spake the messenger in vain!\nA twofold sorrow, twofold strife-\nEach brave against a brother's life!\nIn double doom hath sorrow come\nHow shall I speak it?-on the home!\nAlas, my sisters! be your sighs the gale,\nThe smiting of your brows the plash of oars,\nWafting the boat, to Acheron's dim shores\nThat passeth ever, with its darkened sail,\nOn its uncharted voyage and sunless way,\nFar from thy beams, Apollo, god of day-\nThe melancholy bark\nBound for the common bourn, the harbour of the dark!\nLook up, look yonder! from the home\nAntigone, Ismene come,\nOn the last, saddest errand bound,\nTo chant a dirge of doleful sound,\nWith agony of equal pain\nAbove their brethren slain!\nTheir sister-bosoms surely swell,\nHeart with rent heart according well\nIn grief for those who fought and fell!\nYet-ere they utter forth their woe\nWe must awake the rueful strain\nTo vengeful powers, in realms below,\nAnd mourn hell's triumph o'er the slain!\nAlas! of all, the breast who bind,-\nYea, all the race of womankind-\nO maidens, ye are most bereaved!\nFor you, for you the tear-drops start-\nDeem that in truth, and undeceived,\nYe hear the sorrows of my heart! (To the dead) Children of bitterness,\nand sternly brave-\nOne, proud of heart against persuasion's voice,\nOne, against exile proof! ye win your choice-\nEach in your fatherland, a separate grave!\nAlack, on house and heritage\nThey brought a baneful doom, and death for wage!\nOne strove through tottering walls to force his way,\nOne claimed, in bitter arrogance, the sway,\nAnd both alike, even now and here,\nHave closed their suit, with steel for arbiter!\nAnd lo, the Fury-fiend of Oedipus, their sire,\nHath brought his curse to consummation dire\nEach in the left side smitten, see them laid-\nThe children of one womb,\nSlain by a mutual doom!\nAlas, their fate! the combat murderous,\nThe horror of the house,\nThe curse of ancient bloodshed, now repaid!\nYea, deep and to the heart the deathblow fell,\nEdged by their feud ineffable-\nBy the grim curse, their sire did imprecate\nDiscord and deadly hate!\nHark, how the city and its towers make moan-\nHow the land mourns that held them for its own!\nFierce greed and fell division did they blend,\nTill death made end!\nThey strove to part the heritage in twain,\nGiving to each a gain-\nYet that which struck the balance in the strife,\nThe arbitrating sword,\nBy those who loved the twain is held abhorred-\nLoathed is the god of death, who sundered each from life!\nHere, by the stroke of steel, behold! they lie-\nAnd rightly may we cry\nBeside their fathers, let them here be laid-\nIron gave their doom, witk iron their graves be made-\nA lack, the slaying sword, alack, th' entombing spade!\nAlas, a piercing shriek, a rending groan,\nA cry unfeigned of sorrow felt at heart!\nWith shuddering of grief, with tears that start,\nWith wailful escort, let them hither come-\nFor one or other make divided moan!\nNo light lament of pity mixed with gladness,\nBut with true tears, poured from the soul of sadness,\nOver the princes dead and their bereaved home\nSay we, above these brethren dead,\nOn citizen, on foreign foe,\nBrave was their rush, and stern their blow-\nNow, lowly are they laid!\nBeyond all women upon earth\nWoe, woe for her who gave them birth!\nUnknowingly, her son she wed-\nThe children of that marriage-bed,\nEach in the self-same womb, were bred-\nEach by a brother's hand lies dead!\nYea, from one seed they sprang, and by one fate\nTheir heritage is desolate,\nThe heart's division sundered claim from claim,\nAnd, from their feud, death came!\nNow is their hate allayed,\nNow is their life-stream shed,\nEnsanguining the earth with crimson dye-\nLo, from one blood they sprang, and in one blood they lie!\nA grievous arbiter was given the twain-\nThe stranger from the northern main,\nThe sharp, dividing sword,\nFresh from the forge and fire\nThe War-god treacherous gave ill award\nAnd brought their father's curse to a fulfilment dire!\nThey have their portion-each his lot and doom,\nGiven from the gods on high!\nYea, the piled wealth of fatherland, for tomb,\nShall underneath them lie!\nAlas, alas! with flowers of fame and pride\nYour home ye glorified;\nBut, in the end, the Furies gathered round\nWith chants of boding sound,\nShrieking, In wild defeat and disarray,\nBehold, ye pass away!\nThe sign of Ruin standeth at the gate,\nThere, where they strove with Fate-\nAnd the ill power beheld the brothers' fall,\nAnd triumphed over all! (ANTIGONE, ISMENE, and the CHORUS all take\npart in the following responsive dirge.) Thou wert smitten, in smiting,\nThou didst slay, and wert slain-\nBy the spear of each other\nYe lie on the plain,\nAnd ruthless the deed that ye wrought was, and ruthless the death\nof the twain!\nTake voice, O my sorrow!\nFlow tear upon tear-\nLay the slain by the slayer,\nMade one on the bier!\nOur soul in distraction is lost, and we mourn o'er the prey of the\nspear!\nAh, woe for your ending,\nUnbrotherly wrought!\nAnd woe for the issue,\nThe fray that ye fought,\nThe doom of a mutual slaughter whereby to the grave ye are brought!\nAh, twofold the sorrow-\nThe heard and the seen!\nAnd double the tide\nOf our tears and our teen,\nAs we stand by our brothers in death and wail for the love that has\nbeen!\nO grievous the fate\nThat attends upon wrong!\nStern ghost of our sire,\nThy vengeance is long!\nDark Fury of hell and of death, the hands of thy kingdom are. strong!\nO dark were the sorrows\nThat exile hath known!\nHe slew, but returned not\nAlive to his own!\nHe struck down a brother, but fell, in the moment of triumph hewn\ndown!\nO lineage accurst,\nO doom and despair!\nAlas, for their quarrel,\nThe brothers that were!\nAnd woe! for their pitiful end, who once were our love and our care!\nO grievous the fate\nThat attends upon wrong)\nStern ghost of our sire,\nThy vengeance is long!\nDark Fury of hell and of death, the hands of thy kingdom are strong!\nBy proof have ye learnt it!\nAt once and as one,\nO brothers beloved,\nTo death ye were, done!\nYe came to the strife of the sword, and behold! ye are both overthrown!\nO grievous the tale is,\nAnd grievous their fall,\nTo the house, to the land,\nAnd to me above all!\nAh, God! for the curse that hath come, the sin and the ruin withal!\nO children distraught,\nWho in madness have died!\nShall ye rest with old kings\nIn the place of their pride?\nAlas for the wrath of your sire if he findeth you laid by his side!\n(A HERALD enters.)\nHERALD I bear command to tell to one and all\nWhat hath approved itself and now is law,\nRuled by the counsellors of Cadmus' town.\nFor this Eteocles, it is resolved\nTo lay him on his earth-bed, in this soil,\nNot without care and kindly sepulture.\nFor why? he hated those who hated us,\nAnd, with all duties blanielessly performed\nUnto the sacred ritual of his sires,\nHe met such end as gains our city's grace,-\nWith auspices that do ennoble death.\nSuch words I have in charge to speak of him:\nBut of his brother Polyneices, this-\nBe he cast out unburied, for the dogs\nTo rend and tear: for he presumed to waste\nThe land of the Cadmeans, had not Heaven-\nSome god of those who aid our fatherland-\nOpposed his onset, by his brother's spear,\nTo whom, tho' dead, shall consecration come!\nAgainst him stood this wretch, and brought a horde\nOf foreign foemen, to beset our town.\nHe therefore shall receive his recompense,\nBuried ignobly in the maw of kites-\nNo women-wailers to escort his corpse\nNor pile his tomb nor shrill his dirge anew-\nUnhouselled, unattended, cast away\nSo, for these brothers, doth our State ordain.\nANTIGONE And I-to those who make such claims of rule\nIn Cadmus' town-I, though no other help, (Pointing to the body of\nPOLYNEICES) I, I will bury this my brother's corse\nAnd risk your wrath and what may come of it!\nIt shames me not to face the State, and set\nWill against power, rebellion resolute:\nDeep in my heart is set my sisterhood,\nMy common birthright with my brothers, born\nAll of one womb, her children who, for woe,\nBrought forth sad offspring to a sire ill-starred.\nTherefore, my soul! take thou thy willing share,\nIn aid of him who now can will no more,\nAgainst this outrage: be a sister true,\nWhile yet thou livest, to a brother dead!\nHim never shall the wolves with ravening maw\nRend and devour: I do forbid the thought!\nI for him, I-albeit a woman weak-\nIn place of burial-pit, will give him rest\nBy this protecting handful of light dust\nWhich, in the lap of this poor linen robe,\nI bear to hallow and bestrew his corpse\nWith the due covering. Let none gainsay!\nCourage and craft shall arm me, this to do.\nHERALD I charge thee, not to flout the city's law!\nANTIGONE I charge thee, use no useless heralding!\nHERALD Stern is a people newly 'scaped from death.\nANTIGONE Whet thou their sternness! burial he shall have.\nHERALD How? grace of burial, to the city's foe?\nANTIGONE God hath not judged him separate in guilt.\nHERALD True-till he put this land in jeopardy.\nANTIGONE His rights usurped, he answered wrong with wrong.\nHERALD Nay-but for one man's sin he smote the State.\nANTIGONE Contention doth out-talk all other gods!\nPrate thou no more-I will to bury him.\nHERALD Will, an thou wilt! but I forbid the deed. (The HERALD goes\nout.)\nCHORUS (singing) Exulting Fates, who waste the line\nAnd whelm the house of Oedipus!\nFiends, who have slain, in wrath condign,\nThe father and the children thus!\nWhat now befits it that I do,\nWhat meditate, what undergo?\nCan I the funeral rite refrain,\nNor weep for Polyneices slain?\nBut yet, with fear I shrink and thrill,\nPresageful of the city's will!\nThou, O Eteocles, shalt have\nFull rites, and mourners at thy grave,\nBut he, thy brother slain, shall he,\nWith none to weep or cry Alas,\nTo unbefriended burial pass?\nOnly one sister o'er his bier,\nTo raise the cry and pour the tear-\nWho can obey such stern decree?\nSEMI-CHORUS Let those who hold our city's sway\nWreak, or forbear to wreak, their will\nOn those who cry, Ah, well-a-day!\nLamenting Polyneices still!\nWe will go forth and, side by side\nWith her, due burial will provide!\nRoyal he was; to him be paid\nOur grief, wherever he be laid!\nThe crowd may sway, and change, and still\nTake its caprice for justice' will\nBut we this dead Eteocles,\nAs Justice wills and Right decrees,\nWill bear unto his grave!\nFor-under those enthroned on high\nAnd Zeus' eternal royalty-\nHe unto us salvation gave!\nHe saved us from a foreign yoke,-\nA wild assault of outland folk,\nA savage, alien wave!\nTHE END","title":"The Seven Against Thebes","type":"page"}