Ch. Leader . Unless old age has stolen away our mind, What thou dost say is wisely said, I find.

Hæmon . Father, no higher faculty the gods implant In man than reason. That my father errs I could not say and would not if I could. Yet wisdom might be heard from others too, And as thy son, I naturally observe The words and acts of all the Thebans, what They find in thee to censure, what to praise. Thy look doth fill with dread the citizen And checks the frankness of his speech in things Unpleasant for the king to hear; but I Can hear them unperceived, how for this maid The pedpte all make moan, “no woman e’er Met death more undeserved, for glorious deeds E’er met so foul a death, who could not leave Her own dear brother uninterted, a prey For carrion dogs and vultures lying there Unheeded where he fell in bloody strife. Should she for this no golden guerdon gain? So speak the people guardedly, and still The rumor spreads. There is no treasure prized So highly as thy welfare, father, none That mortal time affords so dear to me. What greater ornament for children than Their father’s glory and prosperity, Or for the father than his children’s? Wear Not, then, one way of thinking in thy heart, That what thou sayst and nothing else is right. For if a man assume that he alone Is wise, in speech and judgment doth excel All others, when his mind is opened as a book, Naught else but emptiness is seen therein. ’T is no disgrace for e’en the wise to learn, To yield convinced, and not be overstiff In their opinions. By the swollen streams, Thou seest the reeds that yielding bend their heads, How they preserve themselves, whereas the trees, That stiff resist the current, fall and die. So too the sailor, if he tightly draws The sheet, and keeps it taut and never slack, Capsized, completes his voyage upside down. Recede, then, from thy wrath and change thy mood. If I, though younger, (and deemed competent To offer an opinion) be allowed to speak, I hold it best for man to be all-wise, But since omniscience does not tip the scale In human thinking, it is well to learn From those who well can speak and well discern.

Ch. Leader . Sire, heed his counsel, if he speaks in season, And thou, thy father’s; for in both there ’s reason.

Creon . Am I at my age to be schooled and taught Discretion by a stripling of his years?

Hæmon . No, not in what is wrong; but you should not My youth alone consider, service too.

Creon . To champion rebels?—You call that a service?

Hæmon . Respect for wicked men I would not urge.

Creon . And is she not infect with that disease?

Hæmon . No Theban born to that opinion holds.

Creon . Shall Thebes declare how I must reign in Thebes?

Hæmon . How like a very youth thou speakest now!

Creon . As I think, or another, must I rule?

Hæmon . The city one man owns alone is none.

Creon . Is not the city deemed the monarch’s own?

Hæmon . A desert thou couldst reign in well, indeed.

Creon . This boy, it seems, is fighting for the woman.

Hæmon . If thou ’rt a woman—my forethought is for thee.

Creon . Perverted youth! A plaintiff ’gainst thy sire?

Hæmon . Because I see him doing wrong, I plead.

Creon . Wrong? I? Respecting my authority?

Hæmon . Respecting? No! When trampling on the gods?

Creon . Milk-livered boy! Subservient to a wench!

Hæmon . But not subservient to shameful deeds.

Creon . Yet every word you speak is for that girl.

Hæmon . And thee and me, and all the gods below.

Creon . But marry her you shall not on this earth.

Hæmon . She dies, then, and in dying, slays another.

Creon . Are you so bold to plead and threaten too?

Hæmon . Resisting vain decrees implies no threat.

Creon . You shall not with impunity impugn My wisdom, puny wit.

Hæmon . If thou wert not My sire, I would have said thou hast no wit.

Creon . Thou woman’s puppet-slave, cajole not me!

Hæmon . Dost wish to speak and hear naught in reply?

Creon . Do you presume?—Now, by Olympus yonder, You shall not taunt and chide and blame me thus And then escape all punishment.—Bring forth That pest, to die at once before the eyes Of her bet betrothed in person, by his side!

Hæmon . Not by my side shall she be put to death— Believe it not—nor shall you ever see Me in your presence here again.—So rave And fret and fume alone, or find some friends To stay with who may care to stay with you.

[ Exit L.

Ch. Leader . The man is gone, my lord, in fury’s haste; And hearts so young, when stung, resentment feel.

Creon . Let him go work his will, conceiving thoughts Too great for man, if that be his desire, But these two women he shall never save.

Ch. Leader . The other also? You would slay them both?

Creon . No, not the maid who kept her hands off—Right!

Ch. Leader . And what shall be the manner of her death?

Creon . I ’ll take her where no human foot hath trod, And mew her up alive; there in a vault Of stone I ’ll give her food enough to keep The taint from all the town. And there, perchance, Entreating Hades—whom alone she worships— Release from death she may obtain; or else Will learn this truth, though late and to her cost: To honor those below is labor lost.

[ Exit into the palace by C. door .

CHORUS.

STROPHE.

O Love, unconquered in fight, the rich thou dost raid; Thou makest thy couch in the night on the cheeks of a maid; And thou rangest over the sea, in the rural home; And no one escapes thee where’er thou dost roam; Neither god nor mortal man thy will can resist; Thou assailest, inspiring with frenzy, the one thou dost list. E’en the souls of the just to their ruin thou turnest astray: ’T is thou that this feud hast excited ’mong kinsmen to-day; The love-light so clear in the eyes of the bride is victorious, It sits high enthroned by the side of the laws ever glorious, The unwritten laws acknowledged by men.—Aphrodite Is working her will, invincible, mighty.

Chorus . But I myself am carried amain Past the bound of laws, and cannot restrain The gush of the tears as I behold Antigone passing now to the hall Where Death receives and lodges all.

FIRST STROPHE.

Antigone . Ye behold me, citizens of my native land, Setting forth on my last journey, to that strand Where I gaze A farewell to these rays Of the sun, where the light I never again shall see; Dread Hades, who layeth all men to sleep, doth lead Me still living to Acheron’s shore; no marriage my meed, And no song To which bridals belong Hath been mine, for Acheron’s bride I shall be.

FIRST SYSTEMA.

Yea, but with glory and praise Dost thou depart to end thy days, Ne’er smitten with wasting disease, Nor finding the wage of the sword; but to these Who live in the silent home of the dead Thou dost descend of thy own free will, unwed, ’T is true, but alone shalt thou of all mortals Pass down still alive through the Grave’s dark portals.

FIRST ANTISTROPHE.

Antigone . I have heard of another in days of eld who died A miserable death, the Phrygian foreign bride Of the king, How the stone did cling Like the growth of embracing ivy around her; There high on Sipylus’ crest, they say, The daughter of Tantalus wastes away, And the rain As tears fall amain From her eyelids.—Like mine is the fate that bound her.

SECOND SYSTEMA.

Yet she was immortal, and born divine, While we are of earth, and of mortal line. And surely for thee to have the renown Of sharing the fate of a god, passing down To Hades from life, and praise after death,— This is something at least that comforteth.

SECOND STROPHE.

Antigone . Alas! I am mocked! In the name of the gods of my sires, Why torture the maiden before she expires, O my city, Men of wealth without pity? Dircæan fount, Thebé’s holy domain, My appeal to you will, I know, not be vain; How I go unwept, you at least witness will bear, For what reason I pass to the prison, No home with the dead, no home with the living can share.

THIRD SYSTEMA.

To the limit of rashness thou hast proceeded ’Gainst the throne where Law sits on high dashed unheeded With measureless force—but bequeathed to thee From thy father’s sin this ordeal may be.

SECOND ANTISTROPHE.

Antigone . Thou hast touched on the thought that pains most of all With thy thrice-told tale of my father’s fall, And the doom Long ago in the loom That was woven for all the Labdacidæ. Alas for the curse of the bed where the mother lay With her son, my sire, the bed where I first saw the day. To the dead I go curst and unwed— For thy bridal, dear brother, thy death, I must die.

FOURTH SYSTEMA.

Thy pious deed doth merit full praise; But a king must give heed that his subject obeys, Whenever his will has been once proclaimed— For thy death thy temper alone can be blamed.

EPODE.

Antigone . Unmourned, unbefriended, unwed I am led On the journey forlorn to the grave, alone, Ne’er again may behold the bright light of the sun, No tear for me falls, my race is run. For me, hapless girl, no friend maketh moan.

Creon re-enters from palace door C.

Do you not know that if it aught availed To sing their dirges thus and make their moans Before death, criminals would never cease Their lamentations? Quick! Away with her! And when the vaulted tomb has closed her in, Forsaken and alone, as I have said, Let her remain within the cell,—to die Or live, as she prefers, in such a tomb. She had my warning and my hands are clean, Without the taint of blood,—but she shall be At least deprived of living in the light.

[ Exit C.

Antigone . O grave, my bridal-chamber, prison-home Eternal in the rocky cavern, where I go to meet my own, the many whom In death Persephone among the dead Hath lodged; and last and by the cruellest fate Of all, I now pass down to her, before I reach my term of life. Yet when I come, I entertain the hope that I may win From thee a loving welcome, father, one From thee, my mother, and no less from thee My own dear brother, since this hand it was That washed and dressed you for the tomb and poured The last libations at your grave; and now, Dear Polyneices, this is my reward For tending thus thy corpse—for what transgression? What law of heaven have I broken? Why Should I, unhappy woman, raise my eye To Heaven any more? What god invoke To succor me?—when I have earned the name Of irreligion for my piety. Well, if such acts in Heaven find approval, Then, when I meet my doom, I ’ll recognize The fact that I have sinned; but if they sin Who judge, may they ne’er suffer—hear my prayer— More pain than they unjustly make me bear.

Ch. Leader . The same fierce gusts of passion blow And make this maiden’s soul to glow.

Creon re-enters from palace C.

Creon . Her guards then shall have cause to wail, If they to do my bidding fail.

Antigone . Ah me! That dread command comes near To death! To death!

Creon . With no hope can I give thee cheer, For unto death, indeed, thou ’rt near.

Antigone . O city of my fathers, Thebes, Ancestral gods, They lead me hence, they lead me—nay, Ye Theban princes!—Now away They drag me to my doom, behold! The only daughter of your old And glorious house of kings, the last, And in a dungeon to be cast, Alone,—the only princess left Of kindred and of aid bereft. See, what I suffer at their hands For doing what the law of holiness demands!

[ Antigone is led off R. by the guards .

CHORUS.

FIRST STROPHE.

E’en thus did the beautiful Danaë Endure to exchange the light of day For a dwelling bound with brass, And a prisoner in that grave-like room, Though of noble birth, was she held, while as groom To the bride did Zeus to her pass, In a shower of golden rain his seed Entrusted to her. Dread and mighty, indeed, Is the baneful force of fate; Neither wealth nor war nor towers strong Nor wave-beaten ships by the winds swept along Can deliver from powers so great.

FIRST ANTISTROPHE.

And immured in a prison of stone, and tamed, The king of Edonians, Quick-temper named, Son or Dryas, the god Dionysus Made atone for the taunt he in madness flung. There the wrath in his heart, for his rashness of tongue, Doth simmer down slow whence it rises. He found too late ’t was a god had appeared That with mocking tongue he rashly had jeered, When the Mænads all frenzied, possessed With the fire Bacchanalian, he began to abuse, And stirred to fierce anger the flute-loving Muse— Thus dearly he paid for his jest.

SECOND STROPHE.

By the double sea and the rocks dark-blue Stand Bosporus’ heights where the waters gush through— Salmydessus of Thrace. There Ares that hard by the city dwelt Saw the wound in savage fury dealt, The accursed blow in the face Of the two sons of Phineus by his cruel wife With her shuttle in bloody hands, like a knife— Full into the orbs of sight The blinding murderous dagger was driven; And those eyes appealed mutely for vengeance to Heaven Out of their darkness of night.

SECOND ANTISTROPHE.

Their pitiful doom, as the hours sped, Did those sons of a mother unhappily wed In misery pining bewail; Yet her ancestors came of a noble race, The Erechtheidæ—in a far distant place That child of the Northern Gale Fleet of foot as a steed o’er the hills, in a cave Mid the Thracian storms of her father that rave Round the mountain, was cradled and nursed— A child of the gods was she, O my daughter, Yet the fates all hoary with age, they sought her,— Be content, thy doom’s not the worst.

On the entrance of Teiresias the Chorus gathers on the R. side of stage. Teiresias, led by a boy, enters L.

My lords of Thebes, joint journey have we made, Directed by the eyes of one,—the blind Must ever walk depending on a guide.

Creon . What tidings, aged Teiresias, dost bring?

Teiresias . I ’ll teach thee—listen to the prophet’s voice.

Creon . Thy counsel I have never disregarded.

Teiresias . And for that reason steered the state aright.

Creon . Thy service my experience attests.

Teiresias . Take heed! Thou standest on the verge of fate.

Creon . What meanest thou? Thy message makes me quake.

Teiresias . Hear thou the warning tokens of my art And thou wilt know. No sooner had I ta’en My seat in my accustomed place, to hear The birds that flocked around my ancient seat Of divination, when I heard a strange And unfamiliar sound among the screams Of rage ill-omened, cries confused that made Their wonted language clear sound like a jargon. And I perceived that with their talons they Were clawing one another savagely; The whirr of wings proclaimed the carnage there. Alarmed, I tried at once burnt-sacrifice Upon a kindled altar, but no flame Leaped from the offerings—an ooze, instead, Of moisture forth upon the embers dripped, Exuding from the thigh-bones, smoked and spewed, The bursting gall was scattered through the air, While all the fat which had enwrapped the thighs Was melted off, ran down in streams, and left The thigh-bones bare. Such failing oracles Derived from auguries that failed to yield A sign, this boy informed me of; for he Doth act as guide to me, as I to others. And ’t is thy will that brings this malady Upon the state. For all our altars are defiled, Our hearths by dogs and vultures, with the food Torn from the fallen son of Œdipus Ill-starred. And so the gods do not accept Our prayers and sacrifices now, nor flame Of thigh-bones; and no bird shrieks forth its cry Of warning, forasmuch as all have made A slain man’s gore their succulent repast. Think then, my son, on this. A man may err; But erring, if he cure the ill, stiffnecked Remain not in his error quite immovable, No longer he insensate and unblest. For folly still is born of stubbornness: The stupid man is deaf to all advice. Yield to the dead man and concede his claim. Stab not the fallen—he is dead: to slay The slain again no valor manifests. ’T is my good will to thee that bids me speak. There ’s nothing sweeter than from him to learn Who gives advice that doth some profit earn.

Creon . Old man, as archers at their targets, all Direct your shafts at me, and in your plots Resort to seer-craft now to gain your ends. Am I to be the traffic of the tribe And bought and sold like merchandise? Heap up Your profits, drive your trade in Sardian silver, And in the gold of India, if you wish; But that man ye shall not entomb, I swear, Not even if the wingéd hounds of Zeus, The eagles, in their talons should desire To snatch him up, and morsels of his flesh Bear skyward to the throne of Zeus,—e’en so, In fear of even that defilement, none Shall bury him, for well I know that man Cannot defile a god. But shamefully The cunning fall, Teiresias, when they Make shameful words seem fair for sake of gain.

Teiresias . Ah! Knoweth any man, considereth—

Creon . Know what? Deliver, pray, the maxim whole.

Teiresias . Of all things prudence is how far the best!

Creon . As far as imprudence, methinks, the worst.

Teiresias . Yet with this very malady thou ’rt sick.

Creon . With taunt I would not meet the prophet’s taunt.

Teiresias . You do, pronouncing false my prophecy.

Creon . The whole seer tribe hath ever itching palms.

Teiresias . No less the tribe of tyrants loves base gain.

Creon . Do you not realize that means your king?

Teiresias . I do; from me you learned to save the state.

Creon . A clever seer, but fond of wickedness.

Teiresias . You ’ll stir me up to tell my soul’s dread secret.

Creon . Unlock your bosom—only not for gain.

Teiresias . No gain for you in what I ’ll say, methinks.

Creon . In me you shall not traffic for your profit.

Teiresias . ( solemnly ). And you shall not live through the time marked out By many rapid courses of the sun, Before you will have rendered up a corpse In one of thine own blood, in recompense For corpse, since children of the world above You thrust to Hades’ realm below, and lodged A living soul dishonored in the grave, And keep a man, belonging to the gods Beneath, still lying in the world above, A corpse unburied and unsanctified, Bereft of all the honors due the dead. Nor you, nor e’en the gods in Heaven, can Lay claim to him, since he belongs to none Except the nether gods, whom you offend. For this the fiends of Hades and of Heaven, Destroying and avenging Furies, lie In wait for you, that you may now be caught, Entangled likewise in the net of ruin. Think you my speech is prompted by a bribe? Consider well. A time will come, and soon, When shrieks of men and women’s wailings loud Shall in your house resound,—nay more, the realms Are roused against you in tumultuous hate Whose mangled sons wild beasts of prey and dogs Have consecrated, or some wingéd bird That soared aloft and bore pollution back To hearths at home, from corpses in the field. Such shafts unerring for your heart have I Discharged in anger—for I feel the smart Of your provoking words—and you will feel The pang of every barb the archer sends. Boy, lead me home, and leave him here to vent His rage on younger men, that he may learn Henceforth a tongue more temperate to nourish, A better mind within his breast to cherish.

Ch. Leader . The man hath uttered dreadful prophecies, My lord, and gone; and since these locks of mine, Once dark, have turned all white with age, I know Of not a single instance where the seer Hath spoken falsely to the town of Thebes.

Creon . I know it too, and in my soul am troubled: ’T is hard to yield, but to resist and strike My spirit with a curse is still more dire.

Ch. Leader . Son of Menœces, wisely shoutdst thou choose.

Creon . What must I do then? Speak and I obey.

Ch. Leader . Go, free the maiden from the prison-vault, And lay th’ unburied body in the grave.

Creon . You really counsel thus, advise to yield?

Ch. Leader . As quickly as you can; for swift of foot Runs Heaven’s vengeance after foolish men.

Creon . Oh, hard it is! But I obey and yield— I cannot wage a war with Destiny.

Ch. Leader . Go then and do —entrust it not to others.

Creon . I ’ll go at once. Come, servants, one and all, Get axes quickly, hasten to yon hill. I mewed her up, and now that my resolve Has changed, I ’ll come myself to give her freedom. I see that justice which the gods uphold, Should ever be the highest aim of life.

[ Exit R.

CHORUS.

FIRST STROPHE.

Offspring of Zeus on high That thunders so loud in the sky, Glory, delight, beside, Of the famed Cadmeian bride, God of many a name and fair! Thou that carest for all Who on Bacchus in Italy call And in Deo’s sheltered plain Of Eleusis lord dost reign, Whither worshippers repair! O Bacchus that dwellest in Thebes, On whose broad and fertile glebes Fierce warriors from the dragon’s teeth rose Where Ismenus softly flows, The city that Semele bare!

FIRST ANTISTROPHE.

Oft has the torches’ glare That flashes out bright in the air Full of smoke from the pine-wood flame Beheld thee in that place of fame, High o’er the twin-crested mount, Where the nymphs Corycian sport In a joyous worshipful sort Of Bacchanal frenzied dance, And dart to and fro and glance Hard by Castalia’s fount. And Nysa’s murmuring rills Her ivied slopes and hills And the shore dark-mantled with green Of the clustering vine hath seen Thee in visible presence there. Whence thou comest to visit the ways Of Thebé the holy, while praise Universal of mystic strains And exalted “Evoe” refrains Ring loud on the nocturnal air.

SECOND STROPHE.

The city thou holdest in highest regard, No other such love thou showest toward As the city of Thebes, no other So deeply loved by thy mother, Whom the red levin smote; And now that her people are held By a plague most grievous, unquelled, Bear us aid, no longer wait, Cross thou the groaning strait, Or down from Parnassus float.

SECOND ANTISTROPHE.

O leader of the heavenly chorus Of fire-breathing stars high o’er us Sympathetically moving with thee, O master of night-revelry Of song, thou begotten of Zeus, Come forth with thy votaries now, The Thyiads that unto thee bow, Frenzied in dance the livelong night, O Iacchus, appear to our sight, Dispenser of fortunes to us.

Messenger enters from R.

Ye neighbors to old Cadmus’ citadel And Amphion’s, no mortal man’s estate, As firm and stable could I praise or blame. For Chance lifts up and Chance casts down to earth The prosperous man and him who prospers not, And no man knows how long established things Will last. For Creon once was blest: he saved This land of Cadmus from its enemies, And when supreme dominion in his hands Was placed, he ruled the country, flourishing And blest with princely sons,— and now all gone! For when a man his joys hath forfeited, I count him not among the living,—nay, In my esteem he’s but a breathing corpse. Accumulate great wealth, and, if you will, Live like a king with pomp and ceremony; But if with these there be no joy, I would Not give a vapor’s shadow for the rest.

Ch. Leader . What new affliction ’s come upon our princes?

Messenger . Death! And the living guilty of that death.

Ch. Leader . And who ’s the slayer? Who the fallen? Speak!

Messenger . The prince is is dead, slain by no stranger’s hand.

Ch. Leader . Dead? Hæmon? By his father’s hand destroyed, Or by his own?

Messenger . His own. Enraged because His sire condemned to death the maid he loved.

Ch. Leader . Oh prophet, how hast thou thy word fulfilled!

Messenger . ’T is even as I say—decide what ’s best.

Ch. Leader . But look! Eurydice, the hapless wife Of Creon comes here from the house—by chance, Or has she heard the tidings of her son?

Eurydice enters from palace door C.

Ye Thebans all, I overheard your words, As I was coming forth to make my way To Pallas’ shrine and offer up my prayers. And I had just removed the bar, prepared To open wide the door, when words of woe Affecting me and mine fell on my ear; Shocked, my affrighted senses fled, and back I fell into my waiting-women’s arms. Repeat thy tale. What tidings dost thou bring? ’T will be no new experience for me: Not ignorant of sorrow I shall listen.

Messenger . Dear lady, I was there, and what I saw I ’ll tell without reserve and in detail. For why should I attempt to soothe thy heart And afterwards be proved a liar. Truth Is always best.—As guide I led thy lord Unto the summit of the plain, where still Unpitied lay the corpse of Polyneices, By dogs all mangled. To Persephone, The goddess of the Cross-ways, and to Pluto, We prayed to show us mercy and restrain Their wrath; then washing pure and clean the corpse With boughs fresh plucked we set to burning all The dogs had left of his poor body; then Of native earth heaped up a mound, and turned To enter that rockvaulted chamber, where The bridegroom, Death, awaited on a couch Of stone. And long before we reached it, one Of my companions heard a voice of wailing, Which seemed to come from that unhallowed room, Where funeral nuptial rites had not been paid. Returning quick, he told our master, Creon, Who, coming nearer, low unmeaning cries Perceived, which soon became distinct and clear, The bitter wailings of a human voice. And groaning with a cry of anguish, he Exclaimed: “O my prophetic heart! Alas! Is this to prove of all the journeys made By me the most disastrous? Listen! Still! My son’s voice greets me. Quick! My servants! On With speed, pass through the entrance of the tomb— The stones that blocked the passage up are torn Away. Peer in and learn if Hæmon’s voice Is that which greets my ear, or if my ear Be cheated by the gods.” At the behest Of our despairing lord we went and peered; And in the farthest corner of the tomb We saw her hanging by the neck in noose Of fine-wrought linen, while. around her waist In fond embrace had Hæmon thrown his arms,— Still clinging there, bewailing his lost love, His father’s deeds, his bride that was to be, Now numbered with the dead. The father, though, When he his son descried, rushed in with loud And bitter cry, and wailing, called to him: “Unhappy youth! What hast thou done? What prompts This deed? What stroke deprived thee of thy reason? Come out, my child! I beg thee—I implore!” But glaring at his father savagely, The boy made no reply, spat in his face, And drawing suddenly his hilted sword, An effort made to strike, but missed his aim; His father, rushing forth, escaped. Insane With anger at himself the wretched boy Then leaned against his sword with all his weight And drove full half the blade into his side; Then conscious still he in his faint Embrace the maiden folded, gasping, while A perfect stream of blood on her white cheek Shot forth and dyed it to a crimson hue. A corpse enclosing corpse he lies, his bride And he united—in the halls of Death; And he has shown to all the world, no ill That man is heir to transcends thoughtlessness.

[ Eurydice exit through palace door C.

Ch. Leader . What can this mean? The lady has gone back Into the house without a single word.

Messenger . I, too, am all amaze; yet cherish I The hope that, hearing of her son’s sad fate, She deems it quite unseemly to parade Her grief before the people, but retired Within the house, will make loud lamentation, With handmaids following in mournful strain. By judgment taught, she’s too discreet to err.

Ch. Leader . Perhaps; excessive silence though to me Seems perilous, as well as loud lament.

Messenger . Well, we shall soon discover whether we Are justified in fearing that concealed In her afflicted heart she aught restrains, For I shall go and see—yes, you are right— Excessive silence, too, is perilous.

[ Exit through side door L. into palace .

Chorus . Lo, yonder the monarch himself draws near, A memorial bearing all too clear Of the sin of his own infatuate mind: His own, not another’s misdeed, here I find.

FIRST STROPHE.

Creon . Woe is me! Woe! Oh, the sins of my misguided mind, Stubborn, teeming with death and pain! Oh, the son, and the sire, rash, blind, Behold! The slayer and slain! Woe! Woe is me! What have I won By my stern decree? O, my dear son! Here in thy youth Thou hast died, And now of a truth, Since life is denied, Thee to death I consign. Alas, Alas! Now thou art gone, Thou art dead! Thy spirit has fled, And slain, O my son, By my folly, not thine!

Chorus . Ah me, how all too late thou seest the right!

SECOND STROPHE.

Creon . Ah me! I have the bitter lesson fully learned. Yet a god, methinks, fair boy Downsmote me then, smote me full on the head With crushing force— Oh, the remorse!— And thrust me in paths that to cruelty led, O’erturning, downtrampling my joy. Woe! Woe for mortals who pain for their actions have earned.

Messenger . ( from the house ). My lord, in hand, in store, abundant woes Hast thou—this burden thou dost bear with thee, And more within the house thou ’rt soon to see.

Creon . What worser ill is now to follow this?

Messenger . The queen is dead, true mother of the dead, Death dealt the blow but now—her soul has fled.

FIRST ANTISTROPHE.

Creon . Oh, Woe! Oh, haven of Hades insatiate, Art thou merciless, merciless still? No means to atone, to ingratiate— Thou must kill, and kill, and kill? Can this be so, As thou hast said? Such a tale of woe! My wife is dead? Bitter the news, Bitter the woe! No mercy wilt choose Me ever to show, But wilt slay once more? What sayest my son? Still more to repent? O, my heart is rent! Wife, also gone? My wife now, my son before!

SECOND ANTISTROPHE.

Creon . Alas! Alas, what stroke of fate awaits me yet? Another, a new woe is here. Is there aught left of ill? I had scarcely upraised My poor dead child, Frantic and wild As I was with grief, when again I am dazed By the sight of another bier. Alas, poor mother, poor. child, what a fate have you met!

Messenger . There at the altar she with whetted knife Relaxing eyes to darkness, closed her life; First loud bewailed Megareus’ fate, Then Hæmon’s here, and last on thee breathed hate And curses, still invoking evils dire For her slain children on their murderous sire.

THIRD STROPHE.

Creon . Woe! Woe! I am thrilled with fright, O, the horrible sight! Is there none To lay me low— Alas! Undone! To give a blow Full in the breast With a two-edged glaive? Ill-starred, no rest, None, but the grave For the miserable wretch to share, Now plunged in the depths of despair!

Messenger . Ay, at thy door the death of both was laid By her thou seest here in death arrayed.

Creon . And what the manner of her violent taking off?

Messenger . Her own hand struck the blow, full in the heart, When for her son she felt of grief the smart.

FOURTH STROPHE.

Creon . Woe is me! Oh! the fault is mine! No other of mortal kind Can bear the guilt For the cruel blow! Thy blood I spilt, Laid thee low! I own it again! Now, servants, convey— O the pain!— The miserable wretch away! Take me away with all speed, I am nothing, nothing indeed!

Chorus . Thy counsel ’s good, if good in ill can be; For “best” means “briefest” in calamity.

THIRD ANTISTROPHE.

Creon . Oh, let it come! Oh, now appear, Of all days most dear, The brightest for me, Day supreme! Oh, that I could see But the gleam! Let it come, Fairest, best, Day of doom, When I rest! That never again these eyes May behold another sunrise.

Chorus . The future will decide. The present need Claims our attention,—ours naught else to heed.

Creon . My heart’s desires were summed up in that prayer.

Chorus . Pray then no more; for fate, in any shape, Hath mortal man no power to escape.

FOURTH ANTISTROPHE.

Creon . Away, lead away The rash fool, I pray, Who unwittingly slew His child, O my son, What am I now to do? See what I have done! Slain thee, my child; And thee, too, my wife! Woe myriad-piled Crushes out my life! Where shall I turn my gaze or my mind, Where support, where solace now find?

Chorus . The chiefest element of happiness Is wisdom. No impious words address To the gods, commit no impious deed. Big words from men presumptuous only breed Tribulation and trouble and sorrow intense: They are punished with blows, And the fool never knows Till, chastened, he ’s taught in old age good sense,

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