Chor.  Unto us, O king,           776   
Unless our years have robbed us of our wit,      
Thou seemest to say wisely what thou say’st.      
    
HÆM.  The Gods, my father, have bestowed on man      
His reason, noblest of all earthly gifts;           780   
Nor dare I say nor prove that what thou speak’st      
Is aught but right. And yet another’s thoughts      
May have some reason. I am wont to watch      
What each man says or does, or blames in thee           784   
(For dread thy face to one of low estate),      
In words thou wouldst not much rejoice to hear.      
But I can hear the things in darkness said,      
How the whole city wails this maiden’s fate,           788   
As one “who of all women worthiest praise,      
For noblest deed must die the foulest death.      
She who, her brother fallen in the fray,      
Would neither leave unburied, nor expose           792   
To carrion dogs, or any bird of prey,      
May she not claim the meed of golden crown?”      
Such is the whisper that in secret runs      
All darkling. And for me, my father, naught           796   
Is dearer than thy welfare. What can be      
A nobler form of honour for the son      
Than a sire’s glory, or for sire than son’s?      
I pray thee, then, wear not one mood alone,           800   
That what thou say’st is right, and naught but that;      
For he who thinks that he alone is wise,      
His mind and speech above what others boast,      
Such men when searched are mostly empty found.           804   
But for a man to learn, though he be wise,      
Yea, to learn much, and know the time to yield,      
Brings no disgrace. When winter floods the streams,      
Thou seest the trees that bend before the storm,           808   
Save their last twigs, while those that will not yield      
Perish with root and branch. And when one hauls      
Too tight the mainsail sheet, and will not slack,      
He has to end his voyage with deck o’erturned.           812   
Do thou, then, yield. Permit thyself to change.      
Young though I be, if any prudent thought      
Be with me, I at least will dare assert      
The higher worth of one who, come what will,           816   
Is full of knowledge. If that may not be      
(For nature is not wont to take that bent),      
’Tis good to learn from those who counsel well.      
    
Chor.  My king! ’tis fit that thou shouldst learn from him,           820   
If he speaks words in season; and, in turn,      
That thou [to HÆMON] shouldst learn of him, for both speak well.      
    
CREON.  Shall we at our age stoop to learn from him,      
Such as he is, our lesson?           824   
    
HÆM.  ’Twere not wrong.      
And if I be but young, not age but deeds      
Thou shouldst regard.      
    
CREON.  Fine deeds, I trow, to pay           828   
Such honour to the lawless.      
    
HÆM.  ’Tis not I      
Would bid you waste your honour on the base.      
    
CREON.  And has she not been seized with that disease?           832   
    
HÆM.  The men of Thebes with one accord say, No.      
    
CREON.  And will my subjects tell me how to rule?      
    
HÆM.  Dost thou not see that these words fall from thee      
As from some beardless boy?           836   
    
CREON.  And who, then, else      
But me should rule this land?      
    
HÆM.  That is no state      
Which hangs on one man’s will.           840   
    
CREON.  The state, I pray,      
It is not reckoned his who governs it?      
    
HÆM.  Brave rule! Alone, and o’er an empty land!      
    
CREON.  Here, as it seems, is one who still will fight,           844   
A woman’s friend.      
    
HÆM.  If thou a woman be,      
For all my care I lavish upon thee.      
    
CREON.  Basest of base, who with thy father still           848   
Wilt hold debate!      
    
HÆM.  For, lo! I see thee still      
Guilty of wrong.      
    
CREON.  And am I guilty, then,           852   
Claiming due reverence for my sovereignty?      
    
HÆM.  Thou show’st no reverence, trampling on the laws      
The Gods hold sacred.      
    
CREON.  O thou sin-stained soul,           856   
A woman’s victim.      
    
HÆM.  Yet thou wilt not find      
In me the slave of baseness.      
    
CREON.  All thy speech           860   
Still hangs on her.      
    
HÆM.  Yes, and on thee, myself,      
And the great Gods below.      
    
CREON.  Of this be sure,           864   
Thou shalt not wed her in the land of life.      
    
HÆM.  She, then, must die, and in her death will slay      
Another than herself.      
    
CREON.  And dost thou dare           868   
To come thus threatening?      
    
HÆM.  Is it then a threat      
To speak to erring judgment?      
    
CREON.  To thy cost           872   
Thou shalt learn wisdom, having none thyself.      
    
HÆM.  If thou wert not my father, I would say      
Thou wert not wise.      
    
CREON.  Thou woman’s slave, I say,           876   
Prate on no longer.      
    
HÆM.  Dost thou wish to speak,      
And, speaking, wilt not listen? Is it so?      
    
CREON.  No, by Olympus! Thou shalt not go free           880   
To flout me with reproaches. Lead her out      
Whom my soul hates, that she may die forthwith      
Before mine eyes, and near her bridegroom here.      
    
HÆM.  No! Think it not! Near me she shall not die,           884   
And thou shalt never see my face alive,      
So mad art thou with all that would be friends.  [Exit.      
    
Chor.  The man has gone, O king, in hasty mood.      
A mind distressed in youth is hard to bear.           888   
    
CREON.  Let him do what he will, and bear himself      
Too high for mortal state, he shall not free      
Those maidens from their doom!      
    
Chor.  And dost thou mean           892   
To slay them both?      
    
CREON.  Not her who touched it not.      
    
Chor.  There thou say’st well: and with what kind of death      
Mean’st thou to kill her?           896   
    
CREON.  Where the desert path      
Is loneliest, there, alive, in rocky cave      
Will I immure her, just so much of food      
Before her set as may appease the Gods,           900   
And save the city from the guilt of blood;      
And there, invoking Hades, whom alone      
Of all the Gods she worships, she, perchance,      
Shall gain escape from death, or else shall know           904   
That all her worship is but labour lost.  [Exit.

STROPHE.


Chor.  O Love, in every battle victor owned;      
Love, now assailing wealth and lordly state,      
    Now on a girl’s soft cheek,           908   
    Slumbering the livelong night;      
    Now wandering o’er the sea,      
    And now in shepherd’s folds;      
    The Undying Ones have no escape from thee,           912   
    Nor men whose lives are measured as a day;      
    And who has thee is mad.      
   
ANTISTROPHE.


Thou makest vile the purpose of the just,      
    To his own fatal harm;           916   
Thou stirrest up this fierce and deadly strife,      
    Of men of nearest kin;      
    The glowing eyes of bride beloved and fair      
    Reign, crowned with victory,           920   
And dwell on high among the powers that rule,      
    Equal with holiest laws;      
For Aphrodite, she whom none subdues,      
    Sports in her might divine.           924   
I, even I, am borne      
Beyond the bounds of right;      
I look on this, and cannot stay      
The fountain of my tears.           928   
    For, lo! I see her, see Antigone      
  Wind her sad, lonely way      
To that dread chamber where is room for all.      
   
ANTIG.  Yes! O ye men of this my fatherland,           932   
  Ye see me on my way,      
  Life’s last long journey, gazing on the sun,      
His last rays watching, now and nevermore;      
Alone he leads me, who has room for all,           936   
  Hades, the Lord of Death,      
  To Acheron’s dark shore,      
With neither part nor lot in marriage rites,      
No marriage hymn resounding in my ears,           940   
But Acheron shall claim me as his bride.      
   
Chor.  And hast thou not all honour, worthiest praise,      
Who goest to the home that hides the dead,      
Not smitten by the sickness that decays,           944   
  Nor by the sword’s sharp edge,      
But of thine own free will, in fullest life,      
  To Hades tak’st thy way?      
   
ANTIG.  I heard of old her pitiable end,           948   
Where Sipylus rears high its lofty crag,      
The Phrygian daughter of a stranger land,      
Whom Tantalus begot;      
Whom growth of rugged rock,           952   
  Clinging as ivy clings,      
  Subdued, and made its own:      
And now, so runs the tale,      
There, as she melts in shower,           956   
  The snow abideth aye,      
And still bedews yon cliffs that lie below      
  Those brows that ever weep.      
With fate like hers doth Fortune bring me low.           960   
   
Chor.  Godlike in nature, godlike, too, in birth,      
  Was she of whom thou tell’st,      
And we are mortals, born of mortal seed.      
And, lo! for one who liveth but to die,           964   
To gain like doom with those of heavenly race      
  Is great and strange to hear.      
   
ANTIG.  Ye mock me, then. Alas! Why wait ye not?      
  By all our fathers’ Gods, I ask of you,           968   
Why wait ye not till I have passed away,      
  But flout me while I live?      
O city that I love, O men that dwell,      
  That city’s wealthiest lords,           972   
  O Dirkè, fairest fount,      
  O grove of Thebes, that boasts her chariot host,      
I take you all to witness, look and see,      
How, with no friends to weep,           976   
By what stern laws condemned,      
I go to that strong dungeon of the tomb,      
  For burial new and strange.      
      Oh, miserable me!           980   
Whom neither mortal men nor spirits own,      
Nor those that live, nor those that fall asleep.      
   
Chor.  Forward and forward still to farthest verge      
Of daring hast thou gone,           984   
And now, O child, thou fallest heavily      
  Where Right erects her throne;      
Surely thou payest to the uttermost      
  Thy father’s debt of guilt.           988   
   
ANTIG.  Ah! thou hast touched the quick of all my grief,      
  The thrice-told tale of all my father’s woe,      
  The fate which dogs us all,      
The race of Labdacus of ancient fame.           992   
  Woe for the curses dire      
  Of that defiled bed,      
  With foulest incest stained,      
Whence I myself have sprung, most miserable.           996   
  And now, I go to them,      
  To sojourn in the grave,      
  Bound by a curse, unwed;      

Lines 1000–1537   
    
    
Ah, brother, thou didst find           1000   
Thy marriage fraught with ill,      
And in thy death hast smitten down my life.      
    
Chor.  Acts reverent and devout      
May claim devotion’s name,           1004   
But power, in one who cares to keep his power,      
May never be defied;      
And thee thy stubborn mood,      
Self-chosen, layeth low.           1008   
    
ANTIG.  Unwept, without a friend,      
Unwed, and whelmed in woe,      
I journey on the road that open lies.      
No more shall it be mine (O misery!)           1012   
To look upon the holy eye of day,      
And yet, of all my friends,      
  Not one bewails my fate,      
  No kindly tear is shed.           1016   
    
Enter CREON


CREON.  And know ye not, if men can vantage gain      
By songs and wailings at the hour of death,      
That they will never stop? Lead, lead her on,      
And, as I said, without delay immure           1020   
In yon cavernous tomb, and then depart.      
Leave her, or lone and desolate to die,      
Or, living, in the tomb to find her home.      
Our hands are clean in all that touches her;           1024   
But she no more shall sojourn here with us.      
    
ANTIG.  [turning towards the cavern] O tomb, my bridal chamber, vaulted home,      
Guarded right well for ever, where I go      
To join mine own, of whom, of all that die,           1028   
As most in number Persephassa owns;      
And I, of all the last and lowest, wend      
My way below, life’s little span unfilled.      
And yet I go, and feed myself with hopes           1032   
That I shall meet them, by my father loved,      
Dear to my mother, well-beloved of thee,      
Thou dearest brother: I, with these my hands,      
Washed each dear corpse, arrayed you, poured the stream,           1036   
In rites of burial. And in care for thee,      
Thy body, Polynices, honouring,      
I gain this recompense. And yet ’twas well;      
I had not done it had I come to be           1040   
A mother with her children,—had not dared,      
Though ’twere a husband dead that mouldered there,      
Against my country’s will to bear this toil,      
and dost thou ask what law constrained me thus?           1044   
I answer, had I lost a husband dear,      
I might have had another; other sons      
By other spouse, if one were lost to me;      
But when my father and my mother sleep           1048   
In Hades, then no brother more can come.      
And therefore, giving thee the foremost place,      
I seemed in Creon’s eyes, O brother dear,      
To sin in boldest daring. So himself,           1052   
He leads me, having taken me by force,      
Cut off from marriage bed and marriage feast,      
Untasting wife’s true joy, or mother’s bliss,      
With infant at her breast, but all forlorn,           1056   
Bereaved of friends, in utter misery,      
Alive, I tread the chambers of the dead.      
What law of Heaven have I transgressed against?      
What use for me, ill-starred one, still to look           1060   
To any God for succour, or to call      
On any friend for aid? For holiest deed      
I bear this charge of rank unholiness.      
If acts like these the Gods on high approve,           1064   
We, taught by suffering, own that we have sinned;      
But if they sin [looking at CREON], I pray they suffer not      
Worse evils than the wrongs they do to me.      
    
Chor.  Still do the same wild blasts           1068   
Vex her poor storm-tossed soul.      
    
CREON.  Therefore shall these her guards      
Weep sore for this delay.      
    
ANTIG.  Ah me! this word of thine           1072   
Tells of death drawing nigh.      
    
CREON.  I cannot bid thee hope      
That other fate is thine.      
    
ANTIG.  O citadel of Thebes, my native land,           1076   
Ye Gods of old renown,      
I go, and linger not.      
Behold me. O ye senators of Thebes,      
The last, love scion of the kingly race,           1080   
What things I suffer, and from whom they come,      
Revering still where reverence most is due.  [Guards lead ANTIGONE away.      
    
STROPHE. I


Chor.  So Danæ’s form endured of old,      
In brazen palace hid,           1084   
To lose the light of heaven,      
And in her tomblike chamber was enclosed,      
And yet high honour came to her, O child,      
And on her flowed the golden shower of Zeus.           1088   
But great and dread the might of Destiny:      
Nor tempest-storm, nor war,      
Nor tower, nor dark-hulled ships      
That sweep the sea, escape.           1092   
    
ANTISTROPHE. I


Bitter and sharp in mood,      
The son of Dryas, king      
Of yon Edonian tribes,      
By Dionysus’ hands,           1096   
Was shut in prison cave,      
And so his frenzy wild and soul o’erbold      
Waste slowly evermore.      
And he was taught that he, with ribald tongue           1000   
In what wild frenzy, had attacked the Gods.      
For fain had he the Mænad throng brought low,      
And that bright flashing fire,      
And roused the wrath of Muses sweet in song.           1104   
    
STROPHE. II


And by Kyanean waters’ double sea      
Are shores of Bosphorus, and Thracian isle,      
As Salmydessus known, inhospitable,      
Where Ares, God of all the region round,           1108   
Saw the accursed wound      
That smote with blindness Phineus’ twin-born sons      
By a fierce stepdame’s hand,—      
Dark wound, upon the dark-doomed eyeballs struck,           1112   
Not with the stroke of sword,      
But blood-stained hands, on point of spindle sharp.      
    
ANTISTROPHE. II


And they in misery, miserable fate      
Lamenting, waste away,           1116   
Born of a mother wedded to a curse.      
And she who claimed descent      
From men of ancient fame,      
The old Erechteid race,           1120   
Daughter of Boreas, in far distant caves      
Amid her father’s woods,      
  Was reared, a child of Gods,      
Swift moving as the steed, o’er lofty crag,           1124   
And yet, my child, on her      
  Bore down the Destinies,      
  Whose years are infinite.

Enter TEIRESIAS, guided by a Boy.


TEIR.  Princes of Thebes, we come as travellers joined,           1128   
One seeing for both, for still the blind must use      
A guide’s assistance to direct his steps.      
    
CREON.  And what new thing, Teiresias, brings thee here?      
    
TEIR.  That I will tell thee, and do thou obey           1132   
The seer who speaks.      
    
CREON.  Of old I was not wont      
To differ from thy judgment.      
    
TEIR.  Therefore, well           1136   
And safely dost thou steer our good ship’s course.      
    
CREON.  I, from experience, bear my witness still      
Of good derived from thee.      
    
TEIR.  Bethink thee, them,           1140   
Thou walkest now upon a razor’s edge.      
    
CREON.  What means this? Lo! I shudder at thy speech.      
    
TEIR.  Soon shalt thou know, as I unfold the signs      
Of my dread art. For sitting, as of old,           1144   
Upon my ancient seat of augury,      
Where every bird has access, lo! I hear      
Strange cry of winged creatures, shouting shrill,      
In clamour sharp and savage, and I knew           1148   
That they were tearing each the other’s breast      
With bloody talons, for their whirring wings      
Made that quite clear; and straightway I, in fear,      
Made trial of the sacrifice that lay           1152   
On fiery altar. But the living flame      
Shone not from out the offering; then there oozed      
Upon the ashes, trickling from the bones,      
A moisture, and it bubbled, and it spat,           1156   
And, lo! the gall was scattered to the air,      
And forth from out the fat that wrapped them round,      
The thigh joints fell. Such omens of decay      
From strange mysterious rites I learnt from him,           1160   
This boy, who now stands here, for he is still      
A guide to me, as I to others am.      
And all this evil falls upon the state,      
From out thy counsels; for our altars all,           1164   
Our sacred hearths, are full of food for dogs      
And birds unclean, the flesh of that poor wretch      
Who fell, the son of Œdipus. And so      
The Gods no longer hear our solemn prayers,           1168   
Nor own the flame that burns the sacrifice;      
Nor do the birds give cry of omen good,      
But feed on carrion of a human corpse.      
Think thou on this, my son: to err, indeed,           1172   
Is common unto all, but having erred,      
He is no longer reckless or unblest,      
Who, having fallen into evil, seeks      
For healing, nor continues still unmoved.           1176   
Self-will must bear the guilt of stubbornness:      
Yield to the dead, and outrage not a corpse.      
What gain is it a fallen foe to slay?      
Good counsel give I, planning good for thee;           1180   
And of all joys the sweetest is to learn      
From one who speaketh well, should that bring gain.      
    
CREON.  Old man, as archers aiming at their mark,      
So ye shoot forth your venomed darts at me;           1184   
I know your augur’s skill, and by your arts      
Long since am tricked and sold. Yes, gain your gains,      
Get precious bronze from Sardis, Indian gold,      
That corpse ye shall not hide in any tomb.           1188   
Not though the eagles, birds of Zeus, should bear      
Their carrion morsels to their master’s throne,      
Not even fearing this pollution dire,      
Will I consent to burial. Well I know           1192   
That man is powerless to pollute the Gods.      
But many fall, Teiresias, dotard old,      
A shameful fall, who gloze their shameful words,      
For lucre’s sake, with surface show of good.           1196   
    
TEIR.  Ah, me! Does no man know, does none consider….      
    
CREON.  Consider what? What trite poor saw is this?      
    
TEIR.  How far good counsel heaped up wealth excels?      
    
CREON.  By just so far methinks the greatest hurt           1200   
Is sheer unwisdom.      
    
TEIR.  Thou, at least, hast grown      
From head to foot all full of that disease.      
    
CREON.  Loath am I with a prophet evil words           1204   
To bandy to and fro.      
    
TEIR.  And yet thou dost so,      
Saying that I utter speech that is not true.      
    
CREON.  The race of seers is ever fond of gold.           1208   
    
TEIR.  And that of tyrants loves the gain that comes      
Of filthy lucre.      
    
CREON.  Art thou ignorant, then,      
That what thou say’st, thou speak’st of those that rule?           1212   
    
TEIR.  I know it. ’Twas from me thou hadst the state,      
By me preserved.      
    
CREON.  Wise art thou as a seer,      
But too much given to wrong and injury.           1216   
    
TEIR.  Thou wilt provoke me in my wrath to speak      
Of things best left unspoken.      
    
CREON.  Speak them out!      
Only take heed thou speak them not for gain.           1220   
    
TEIR.  And dost thou, then, already judge me thus?      
    
CREON.  Know that my judgment is not bought and sold.      
    
TEIR.  Know, then, and know it well, that thou shalt see      
Not many winding circuits of the sun,           1224   
Before thou giv’st a quittance for the dead,      
A corpse by thee begotten; for that thou      
Hast trampled to the ground what stood on high,      
And foully placed within a charnel-house           1228   
A living soul. And now thou keep’st from them,      
The Gods below, the corpse of one unblest,      
Unwept, unhallowed. Neither part nor lot      
Hast thou in them, nor have the Gods who rule           1232   
The worlds above, but at thy hands they meet      
This outrage. And for this they wait for thee,      
The sure though slow avengers of the grave,      
The dread Erinyes of the Gods above,           1236   
In these same evils to be snared and caught.      
Search well if I say this as one who sells      
His soul for money. Yet a little while,      
And in thy house men’s wailing, women’s cry,           1240   
Shall make it plain. And every city stirs      
Itself in arms against thee, owning those      
Whose limbs the dogs have buried, or fierce wolves,      
Or winged birds have brought the accursèd taint           1244   
To city’s altar-hearth. Doom like to this,      
Sure darting as an arrow to its mark,      
I launch at thee (for thou dost grieve me sore),      
An archer aiming at the very heart,           1248   
And thou shalt not escape its fiery sting.      
And now, O boy, lead thou me home again,      
And let him vent his spleen on younger men,      
And learn to keep his tongue more orderly,           1252   
With better thoughts than this his present mood.  [Exit.

Chor.  The man has gone, O king, predicting woe,      
And well we know, since first our raven hair      
Was mixed with gray, that never yet his words           1256   
Were uttered to our state and failed of truth.      
    
CREON.  I know it too, ‘tis that that troubles me.      
To yield is hard, but, holding out, to smite      
One’s soul with sorrow, this is harder still.           1260   
    
Chor.  Much need is there, O Creon, at this hour,      
Of wisest counsel.      
    
CREON.  What, then, should I do?      
Tell me and I will hearken.           1264   
    
Chor.  Go thou first,      
Release the maiden from her cavern tomb,      
And give a grave to him who lies exposed.      
    
CREON.  Is this thy counsel? Dost thou bid me yield?           1268   
    
Chor.  Without delay, O king, for, lo! they come,      
The God’s swift-footed ministers of ill,      
And in an instant lay the wicked low.      
    
CREON.  Ah, me! ’tis hard; and yet I bend my will           1272   
To do thy bidding. With necessity      
We must not fight at such o’erwhelming odds.      
    
Chor.  Go, then, and act! Commit it not to others.      
    
CREON.  E’en as I am I’ll go. Come, come, my men,           1276   
Present or absent, come, and in your hands      
Bring axes. Come to yonder eminence,      
And I, since now my judgment leans that way,      
Who myself bound her, now myself will loose.           1280   
Too much I fear lest it should wisest prove      
To end my life, maintaining ancient laws.  [Exit.      
    
STROPHE. I


Chor.  O thou of many names,      
Of that Cadmeian maid           1284   
The glory and the joy,      
Child of loud-thundering Zeus,      
Who watchest over fair Italia,      
And reign’st o’er all the bays that open wide,           1288   
Which Deo claims on fair Eleusis’ coast:      
Bacchus, who dwell’st in Thebes,      
The mother city of thy Bacchant train,      
Among Ismenus’ stream that glideth on,           1292   
And with the dragon’s brood;      
    
ANTISTROPHE. I


Thee, o’er the double peak of yonder height,      
The flashing blaze beholds,      
Where nymphs of Corycus           1296   
Go forth in Bacchic dance,      
And by Castalia’s stream;      
And thee the ivied slopes of Nysa’s hills,      
And vine-clad promontory,           1300   
While words of more than mortal melody      
Shout out the well-known name,      
Send forth, the guardian lord      
Of all the streets of Thebes.           1304   
    
STROPHE. II


Above all cities thou,      
With her, thy mother, whom the thunder slew,      
Dost look on it with love;      
And now, since all the city bendeth low           1308   
Beneath the sullen plague,      
Come thou with cleansing tread      
O’er the Parnassian slopes,      
Or o’er the moaning straits.           1312   
    
ANTISTROPHE. II


O thou, who lead’st the band      
Of stars still breathing fire,      
Lord of the hymns that echo in the night,      
Offspring of highest Zeus,           1316   
Appear, we pray thee, with thy Naxian train,      
Of Thyian maidens, frenzied, passionate,      
Who all night long, in maddening chorus, sing      
Thy praise, their lord, Iacchus.           1320   
    
Enter Messenger


MESS.  Ye men of Cadmus and Amphion’s house,      
I know no life of mortal man which I      
Would either praise or blame. It is but chance      
That raiseth up, and chance that bringeth low,           1324   
The man who lives in good or evil plight,      
And none foretells a man’s appointed lot.      
For Creon, in my judgment, men might watch      
With envy and with wonder, having saved           1328   
This land of Cadmus from the bands of foes;      
And, having ruled with fullest sovereignty,      
He lived and prospered, joyous in a race      
Of goodly offspring. Now, all this is gone;           1332   
For when men lose the joys that sweeten life,      
I cannot count this living, rather deem      
As of a breathing corpse. His heaped-up stores      
Of wealth are large; so be it, and he lives           1336   
With all a sovereign’s state, and yet, if joy      
Be absent, all the rest I count as naught,      
And would not weigh them against pleasure’s charm,      
More than a vapour’s shadow.           1340   
    
Chor.  What is this?      
What new disaster tell’st thou of our chiefs?      
    
MESS.  Dead are they, and the living cause their death.      
    
Chor.  Who slays, and who is slaughtered? Tell thy tale.           1344   
    
MESS.  Hæmon is dead. His own hand sheds his blood.      
    
Chor.  Was it father’s hand that struck the blow,      
Or his own arm?      
    
MESS.  He by himself alone,           1348   
Yet in his wrath he charged his father with it.      
    
Chor.  O prophet! true, most true, those words of thine.      
    
MESS.  Since thus it stands, we may as well debate      
Of other things in council.           1352   
    
Chor.  Lo! there comes      
The wife of Creon, sad Eurydice.      
She from the house is come, or hearing speech      
About her son, or else by chance.           1356   
    

Enter EURYDICE


EURYD.  My friends,      
I on my way without, as suppliant bound      
To pay my vows at Pallas’ shrine, have heard      
Your words, and so I chanced to slip the bolt           1360   
Of the half-opened door, when, lo! a sound      
Falls on my ears of evil near at hand,      
And terror-struck I fell in deadly swoon      
Back in my handmaids’ arms; yet tell it me,           1364   
Tell the tale once again, for I shall hear,      
By long experience disciplined to grief.      
    
MESS.  Dear lady, I will tell thee: I was by,      
And will not leave one word of truth untold.           1368   
Why should we smooth and gloze, when all too soon      
We should be found as liars? Truth is still      
The best and wisest. Lo! I went with him,      
Thy husband, in attendance, to the height           1372   
Of yonder plain, where still all ruthlessly      
The corpse of Polynices tombless lay,      
Mangled by dogs. And, having prayed to her,      
The Goddess of all pathways, and to Pluto,           1376   
To look with favour on them, him they washed      
With holy water; and what yet was left      
We burnt in branches freshly cut, and heaped      
A high raised grave from out the soil around,           1380   
And then we entered on the stone-paved home,      
Death’s marriage-chamber for the ill-starred maid.      
And some one hears, while standing yet afar,      
Shrill voice of wailing near the bridal bower,           1384   
By funeral rites unhallowed, and he comes      
And tells my master, Creon. On his ears,      
Advancing nearer, falls a shriek confused      
Of bitter sorrow, and with grieving loud,           1388   
He utters one sad cry: “Me miserable!      
And am I, then, a prophet? Do I wend      
This day the dreariest way of all my life?      
My son’s voice greets me. Go, my servants, go,           1392   
Quickly draw near, and standing by the tomb,      
Search ye and see; and where the joined stones      
Still leave an opening, look ye in, and say      
If I hear Hæmon’s voice, or if my soul           1396   
Is cheated by the Gods.” And then we searched,      
As he, our master, in his frenzy, bade us;      
And, in the furthest corner of the vault,      
We saw her hanging by a twisted cord           1400   
Of linen threads entwined, and him we found      
Clasping her form in passionate embrace,      
And mourning o’er the doom that robbed him of her,      
His father’s deed, and that his marriage bed,           1404   
So full of sorrow. When he saw him there,      
Groaning again in bitterness of heart,      
He goes to him, and calls in wailing voice,      
“Ah! wretched me! what dost thou! Hast thou lost           1408   
Thy reason? In what evil sinkest thou?      
Come forth, my child, on bended knee I ask thee.”      
And then the boy, with fierce, wild gleaming eyes,      
Glared at him, spat upon his face, and draws,           1412   
Still answering naught, the sharp two-edged sword.      
Missing his aim (his father from the blow      
Turning aside), in anger with himself,      
The poor ill-doomed one, even as he was,           1416   
Fell on his sword, and drove it through his breast,      
Full half its length, and clasping, yet alive,      
The maiden’s arm, still soft, he there breathes out      
In broken gasps, upon her fair white cheek,           1420   
A rain of blood. And so at last they lie,      
Dead bridegroom with dead bride, and he has gained      
His marriage rites in Hades’ darksome home,      
And left to all men witness terrible,           1424   
That man’s worst ill is stubbornness of heart.  [Exit EURYDICE.      
    
Chor.  What dost thou make of this? She turns again,      
And not one word, or good or ill, will speak.      
    
MESS.  I, too, am full of wonder. Yet with hopes           1428   
I feed myself, she will not think it meet,      
Hearing her son’s woes, openly to wail      
Before her subjects, but beneath her roof      
Will think it best to bear her private griefs.           1432   
Too trained a judgment has she so to err.      
    
Chor.  I know not. To my mind, or silence hard,      
Or vain wild cries, are signs of bitter woe.      
    
MESS.  Soon we shall know, within the house advancing,           1436   
If, in the passion of her heart, she hides      
A secret purpose. Truly dost thou speak;      
There is a terror in that silence hard.      
    
Chor.  [seeing CREON approaching with the corpse of HÆMON in his arms]  And, lo! the king himself comes on,           1440   
And in his hands he bears a record clear,      
No woe (if I may speak) by others caused,      
  Himself the great offender.      
    
Enter CREON bearing HÆMON’S body           1444   
    
CREON.  Woe! for the sins of souls of evil mood,      
    Strong, mighty to destroy;      
  O ye who look on those of kindred race,      
    The slayers and the slain,           1448   
Woe for mine own rash plans that prosper not;      
Woe for thee, son; but new in life’s career,      
    And by a new fate dying.      
          Woe! woe!           1452   
  Thou diest, thou art gone,      
Not by thine evil counsel, but by mine.      
    
Chor.  Ah me! Too late thou seem’st to see the right.      
    
CREON.  Ah me!           1456   
I learn the grievous lesson. On my head,      
God, pressing sore, hath smitten me and vexed,      
In ways most rough and terrible (ah me!),      
Shattering the joy, and trampling underfoot.           1460   
Woe! woe! We toil for that which profits not.      
    
Enter Second Messenger


SEC. MESS.  My master! thou, as one who hast full store,      
One source of sorrow bearest in thine arms,      
And others in thy house, too soon, it seems,           1464   
Thou need’st must come and see.      
    
CREON.  And what remains      
Worse evil than the evils that we bear?      
    
SEC. MESS.  Thy wife is dead. Thy dead son’s mother true,           1468   
Ill starred one, smitten with a deadly blow,      
But some few moments since.      
    
CREON.  O agony?      
Thou house of Death, that none may purify,           1472   
Why dost thou thus destroy me?      
O thou who comest, bringing in thy train      
            Woes horrible to tell,      
Thou tramplest on a man already slain.           1476   
What say’st thou? What new tidings bring’st to me?      
          Ah me! ah me!      
Is it that over all the slaughter wrought      
My own wife’s death has come to crown it all?

Chor.  It is but all too clear! No longer now      
Does you recess conceal her.  [The gates open and show the dead body of EURYDICE.      
    
CREON.  Woe is me!      
This second stroke I gaze on, miserable,           1484   
What fate, yea, what still lies in wait for me?      
Here in my arms I bear what was my son;      
And there, O misery! look upon the dead.      
Ah, wretched mother! ah, my son! my son!           1488   
    
SEC. MESS.  Sore wounded, she around the altar clung,      
And closed her darkening eyelids, and bewailed      
The honoured bed of Megareus, who died      
Long since, and then again that corpse thou hast;           1492   
And last of all she cried a bitter cry      
Against thy deeds, the murderer of thy son.      
    
CREON.  Woe! woe! alas!      
I shudder in my fear: Will no one strike           1496   
A deadly blow with sharp two-edgèd sword?      
Fearful my fate, alas!      
And with a fearful woe full sore beset.      
    
SEC. MESS.  She in her death charged thee with being the cause           1500   
Of all their sorrows, his and hers alike.      
    
CREON.  And in what way struck she the murderous blow?      
    
SEC. MESS.  With her own hand below her heart she stabbed,      
Hearing her son’s most pitiable fate.           1504   
    
CREON.  Ah me! The fault is mine. On no one else,      
Of all that live, the fearful guilt can come;      
I, even I, did slay thee, wretched one,      
I; yes, I say it clearly. Come, ye guards,           1508   
Lead me forth quickly; lead me out of sight,      
More crushed to nothing than the dead unborn.      
    
Chor.  Thou counsellest gain, if gain there be in ills,      
For present evils then are easiest borne           1512   
When shortest lived.      
    
CREON.  Oh, come thou, then, come thou,      
Last of my sorrows, that shall bring to me      
Best boon, my life’s last day. Come, then, oh, come           1516   
That nevermore I look upon the light.      
    
Chor.  These things are in the future. What is near,      
That we must do. O’er what is yet to come      
They watch, to whom that work of right belongs.           1520   
    
CREON.  I did but pray for what I most desire.      
    
Chor.  Pray thou for nothing more. For mortal man      
There is no issue from a doom decreed.      
    
CREON.  [looking at the two corpses]  Lead me, then, forth,           1524   
vain shadow that I am,      
Who slew thee, O my son, unwittingly,      
And thee, too—(O my sorrow)—and I know not      
Which way to look. All near at hand is turned           1528   
Aside to evil; and upon my head      
There falls a doom far worse than I can bear.      
    
Chor.  Man’s highest blessedness      
In wisdom chiefly stands;           1532   
And in the things that touch upon the Gods,      
’Tis best in word of deed      
  To shun unholy pride;      
  Great words of boasting bring great punishments;           1536   
  And so to gray-haired age      
  Comes wisdom at the last.