ŒDIP.  And is he living still that I might see him?      
    
MESS.  You, his own countrymen, should know that best.      
    
ŒDIP.  Is there of you who stand and listen here      
One who has known the shepherd that he tells of,           1084   
Or seeing him upon the hills or here?      
If so, declare it; ’tis full time to speak!      
    
CHORUS  I think that this is he whom from the hills      
But now thou soughtest. But Jocasta here           1088   
Could tell thee this with surer word than I.      
    
ŒDIP.  Knowest thou, my queen, the man whom late we sent      
To fetch; and him of whom this stranger speaks?      
    
JOC.  [with forced calmness] Whom did he speak of? Care not thou for it,           1092   
But wish his words may be but idle tales.      
    
ŒDIP.  I cannot fail, once getting on the scent,      
To track at last the secret of my birth.      
    
JOC.  Ah, by the Gods, if that thou valuest life           1096   
Inquire no further. Let my woe suffice.      
    
ŒDIP.  Take heart; though I should turn out thrice a slave,      
Born of a thrice vile mother, thou art still      
Free from all stain.           1000   
    
JOC.  Yet, I implore thee, pause!      
Yield to my counsels, do not do this deed.      
    
ŒDIP.  I may not yield, and fail to search it out.      
    
JOC.  And yet good counsels give I, for thy good.           1104   
    
ŒDIP.  This “for my good” has been my life’s long plague.      
    
JOC.  Who thou art, hapless, mayst thou never know!      
    
ŒDIP.  Will some one bring that shepherd to me here?      
Leave her to glory in her high descent.           1108   
    
JOC.  Woe! woe! ill-fated one! my last word this,      
This only, and no more for evermore.  [Rushes out.      
    
CHORUS  Why has thy queen, O Œdipus, gone forth      
In her wild sorrow rushing. Much I fear           1112   
Lest from such silence evil deeds burst out.      
    
ŒDIP.  Burst out what will, I seek to know my birth,      
Low though it be, and she perhaps is shamed      
(For, like a woman, she is proud of heart)           1116   
At thoughts of my low birth; but I, who count      
Myself the child of Fortune, fear no shame.      
My mother she, and she has prospered me.      
And so the months that span my life have made me           1120   
Both high and low; but whatsoe’er I be,      
Such as I am I am, and needs must on      
To fathom all the secret of my birth.      
    
STROPH


CHORUS  If the seer’s gift be mine,           1124   
    Or skill in counsel wise,      
Thou, O Kithæron, when the morrow comes,      
    Our full-moon festival,      
Shalt fail not to resound           1128   
    The voice that greets thee, fellow-citizen,      
  Parent and nurse of Œdipus;      
And we will on thee weave our choral dance,      
As bringing to our princes glad good news.           1132   
Hail, hail! O Phœbus, smile on this our prayer.      
    
ANTISTROPH


Who was it, child, that bore thee?      
Blest daughter of the ever-living Ones,      
Or meeting in the ties of love with Pan,           1136   
    Who wanders o’er the hills,      
    Or with thee, Loxias, for to thee are dear      
All the high lawns where roam the pasturing flocks;      
Or was it he who rules Kyllene’s height;           1140   
    Or did the Bacchic God,      
    Upon the mountain’s peak,      
Receive thee as the gift of some fair nymph      
    Of Helicon’s fair band,           1144   
With whom he sports and wantons evermore?      
    
ŒDIP.  If I must needs conjecture, who as yet      
Ne’er met the man, I think I see the shepherd,      
Whom this long while we sought for. With the years           1148   
His age fits well. And now I see, besides,      
My servants bring him. Thou perchance canst say      
From former knowledge yet more certainly.      
    
CHORUS  I know him well, O king! For this man stood,           1152   
If any, known as Laius’ faithful slave.      
    
Enter Shepherd


ŒDIP.  Thee first I ask, Corinthian stranger, say,      
Is this the man?      
    
MESS.  The very man thou seek’st.           1156   
    
ŒDIP.  Ho, there, old man. Come hither, look on me,      
And tell me all. Did Laius own thee once?      
    
SHEP  Not as a slave from market, but home-reared.      
    
ŒDIP.  What was thy work, or what thy mode of life?           1160   
    
SHEP  Near all my life I followed with the flock.      
    
ŒDIP.  And in what regions didst thou chiefly dwell?      
    
SHEP  Now ’twas Kithæron, now on neighbouring fields.      
    
ŒDIP.  Know’st thou this man? Didst ever see him there?           1164   
    
SHEP  What did he do? Of what man speakest thou?      
    
ŒDIP.  This man now present. Did ye ever meet?      
    
SHEP  My memory fails when taxed thus suddenly.      
    
MESS.  No wonder that, my lord. But I’ll remind him           1168   
Right well of things forgotten. Well I know      
He’ll call to mind when on Kithæron’s fields,      
He with a double flock, and I with one,      
I was his neighbour during three half years,           1172   
From springtide on to autumn; and in winter      
I drove my flocks to mine own fold, and he      
To those of Laius. [To SHEPHERD] Is this false or true?      
    
SHEP  Thou tell’st the truth, although long years have passed.           1176   
    
MESS.  Come, then, say, on. Rememberest thou a boy      
Thou gav’st me once, that I might rear him up      
As mine own child?      
    
SHEP  Why askest thou of this?           1180   
    
MESS.  Here stands he, fellow! that same tiny boy!      
    
SHEP  A curse befall thee! Wilt not hold thy tongue?      
    
ŒDIP.  Rebuke him not, old man; thy words need more      
The language of reproaches than do his.           1184   
    
SHEP  Say, good my lord, what fault have I committed?      
    
ŒDIP.  This, that thou tell’st not of the child he asks for.      
    
SHEP  Yes, for he speaks in blindness, wasting breath.      
    
ŒDIP.  Thou wilt not speak for favour, but a blow…  [Strikes him.           1188   
    
SHEP  By all the Gods, hurt not my feeble age.      
    
ŒDIP.  Will no one bind his hands behind his back?      
    
SHEP  O man most wretched! what, then, wilt thou learn?      
    
ŒDIP.  Gav’st thou this man the boy of whom he asks?           1192   
    
SHEP  I gave him. Would that day had been my last!      
    
ŒDIP.  That doom will soon be thine if thou speak’st wrong.      
    
SHEP  Nay, much more shall I perish if I speak.      
    
ŒDIP.  This fellow, as it seems, would tire us out.           1196   
    
SHEP  Not so. I said long since I gave it him.      
    
ŒDIP.  Whence came it? Was the child thine own or not?      
    
SHEP  Mine own ’twas not, but some one gave it me,      
    
ŒDIP.  Which of our people, or beneath what roof?           1200   
    
SHEP  Oh, by the Gods, my master, ask no more!      
    
ŒDIP.  Thou diest if I question this again.      
    
SHEP  Some one it was in Laius’ household born.      
    
ŒDIP.  Was it a slave, or some one born to him?           1204   
    
SHEP  Ah, me! I stand upon the very brink      
Where most I dread to speak.      
    
ŒDIP.  And I to hear:      
And yet I needs must hear it, come what may.           1208   
    
SHEP  The boy was said to be his son; but she,      
Thy queen within, could tell thee best the truth.      
    
ŒDIP.  What! was it she who gave it?      
    
SHEP  Yea, O king!           1212   
    
ŒDIP.  And to what end?      
    
SHEP  To make away with it.      
    
ŒDIP.  And dared a mother…?      
    
SHEP  Evil doom she feared.           1216   
    
ŒDIP.  What doom?      
    
SHEP  ’Twas said that he his sire should kill.      
    
ŒDIP.  Why, then, didst thou to this old man resign him?      
    
SHEP  I pitied him, O master, and I thought           1220   
That he would bear him to another land,      
Whence he himself had come. But him he saved      
For direst evil. For if thou be he      
Whom this man speaks of, thou art born to ill.           1224   
    
ŒDIP.  Woe! woe! woe! woe! all cometh clear at last.      
O light, may I ne’er look on thee again,      
Who now am seen owing my birth to those      
To whom I ought not, and with whom I ought not           1228   
In wedlock living, whom I ought not slaying.  [Exit.      
    
STROPH. I


CHORUS  Ah, race of mortal men,      
How as a thing of naught      
I count ye, though ye live;           1232   
For who is there of men      
That more of blessing knows      
Than just a little while      
In a vain show to stand,           1236   
And, having stood, to fall?      
With thee before mine eyes,      
Thy destiny, e’en thine,      
Ill-fated Œdipus,           1240   
I can count no man blest.      
    
ANTISTROPH. I


For thou, with wondrous skill,      
Taking thine aim, didst hit      
Success, in all things prosperous;           1244   
And didst, O Zeus! destroy      
The Virgin with her talons bent,      
And sayings wild and dark;      
And against many deaths           1248   
A tower and strong defence      
Didst for my country rise;      
And therefore dost thou bear the name of king,      
With highest glory crowned,           1252   
Ruling in mighty Thebes.      
    
STROPH. II


And now, who lives than thou more miserable?      
Who equals thee in wild woes manifold,      
In shifting turns of life?           1256   
Ah, noble one, our Œdipus!      
For whom the selfsame port      
Sufficed for sire and son,      
In wedlock’s haven met:           1260   
Ah how, ah how, thou wretched one, so long      
Could that incestuous bed      
Receive thee, and be dumb?      
    
ANTISTROPH. II


Time, who sees all things, he hath found thee out,           1264   
Against thy will, and long ago condemned      
The wedlock none may wed,      
Begetter and begotten      
In strange confusion joined.           1268   
Ah, child of Laius! ah!      
Would that I ne’er had looked upon thy face!      
For I mourn sore exceedingly,      
From lips with wailing full.           1272   
In simplest truth, by thee I rose from death,      
By thee I close mine eyes in deadly sleep.      
    
Enter Second Messenger


SEC. MESS.  Ye chieftains, honoured most in this our land,      
For all the deeds ye hear of, all ye see,           1276   
How great a wailing will ye raise, if still      
Ye truly love the house of Labdacus;      
For sure I think that neither Ister’s stream      
Nor Phasis’ floods could purify this house,           1280   
Such horrors does it hold. But all too soon,      
Will we or will we not, they’ll come to light.      
Self-chosen sorrows ever pain men most.

CHORUS  The ills we knew before lacked nothing meet           1284   
For plaint and moaning. Now, what add’st thou more?      
   
SEC. MESS.  Quickest for me to speak, and thee to learn;      
Our godlike queen Jocasta—she is dead.      
   
CHORUS  Ah, crushed with many sorrows! How and why?           1288   
   
SEC. MESS.  Herself she slew. The worst of all that passed      
I must pass o’er, for none were there to see.      
Yet, far as memory suffers me to speak,      
That sorrow-stricken woman’s end I’ll tell;           1292   
How, yielding to her passion, on she passed      
Within the porch, made straightway for the couch,      
Her bridal bed, with both hands tore her hair,      
And as she entered, dashing through the doors,           1296   
Calls on her Laius, dead long years ago,      
Remembering all that birth of long ago,      
Which brought him death, and left to her who bore,      
With his own son a hateful motherhood.           1300   
And o’er her bed she wailed, where she had borne      
Spouse to her spouse, and children to her child;      
And how she perished after this I know not;      
For Œdipus struck in with woeful cry,           1304   
And we no longer looked upon her fate,      
But gazed on him as to and fro he rushed,      
For so he comes, and asks us for a sword,      
Wherewith to smite the wife that wife was none,           1308   
The bosom stained by those accursed births,      
Himself, his children—so, as thus he raves,      
Some spirit shows her to him (none of us      
Who stood hard by had done so): with a shout           1312   
Most terrible, as some one led him on,      
Through the two gates he leapt, and from the hasp      
He slid the hollow bolt, and falls within;      
And there we saw his wife had hung herself,           1316   
By twisted cords suspended. When her form      
He saw, poor wretch! with one wild, fearful cry,      
The twisted rope he loosens, and she fell,      
Ill-starred one, on the ground. Then came a sight           1320   
Most fearful. Tearing from her robe the clasps,      
All chased with gold, with which she decked herself,      
He with them struck the pupils of his eyes,      
Such words as these exclaiming: “They should see           1324   
No more the ills he suffered or had done;      
But in the dark should look, in time to come,      
On those they ought not, not know whom they would.”      
With such like wails, not once or twice alone,           1328   
Raising the lids, he tore his eyes, and they,      
All bleeding, stained his cheek, nor ceased to pour      
Thick clots of gore, but still the purple shower      
Fell fast and full, a very rain of blood.           1332   
Such were the ills that fell on both of them,      
Not on one only, wife and husband both.      
His former fortune, which he held of old,      
Was rightly honoured; but for this day’s doom           1336   
Wailing and woe, and death and shame, all forms      
That man can name of evil, none have failed.      
   
CHORUS  And hath the wretched man a pause of ill?      
   
SEC. MESS.  He calls to us to ope the gates, and show           1340   
To all in Thebes his father’s murderer,      
His mother’s… Foul and fearful were the words      
He spoke. I dare not speak them. Then he said      
That he would cast himself adrift, nor stay           1344   
At home accursèd, as himself had cursed.      
Some stay he surely needs, or guiding hand,      
For greater is the ill than he can bear,      
And this he soon will show thee, for the bolts           1348   
Of the two gates are opening, and thou’lt see      
A sight to touch e’en hatred’s self with pity.      
   
The doors of the Palace are thrown open, and ŒDIPUS is seen within.


CHORUS  Oh, fearful, piteous sight!      
    Most fearful of all woes           1352   
      I hitherto have known! What madness strange      
Has come on thee, thou wretched one?      
What power with one fell swoop,      
Ills heaping upon ills,           1356   
Each greater than the last,      
Has marked thee for its prey?      
Woe! woe! thou doomed one, wishing much to ask,      
And much to learn, and much to gaze into,           1360   
    I cannot look on thee,      
    So horrible the sight!      
   
ŒDIP.  Ah, woe! ah, woe! ah, woe!      
    Woe for my misery!           1364   
Where am I wand’ring in my utter woe?      
Where floats my voice in air?      
Dread power, where leadest thou?      
   
CHORUS  To doom of dread nor sight nor speech may bear.           1368   
   
ŒDIP.  O cloud of darkest guilt      
That onwards sweeps with dread ineffable,      
Resistless, borne along by evil blast,      
    Woe, woe, and woe again!           1372   
How through my soul there darts the sting of pain,      
The memory of my crimes.      
   
CHORUS  And who can wonder that in such dire woes      
Thou mournest doubly, bearing twofold ills?           1376   
   
ŒDIP.  Ah, friend,      
Thou only keepest by me, faithful found,      
Nor dost the blind one slight.      
    Woe, woe,           1380   
For thou escap’st me not, I know thee well;      
Though all is dark, I still can hear thy voice.      
   
CHORUS  O man of fearful deeds, how couldst thou bear      
Thine eyes to outrage? What power stirred thee to it?           1384   
   
ŒDIP.  Apollo! oh, my friends, the God, Apollo!      
Who worketh all my woes—yes, all my woes.      
No human hand but mine has done this deed.      
    What need for me to see,           1388   
When nothing’s left that’s sweet to look upon?      
   
CHORUS  Too truly dost thou speak the thing that is.      
   
ŒDIP.  Yea, what remains to see,      
    Or what to love, or hear,           1392   
    With any touch of joy?      
Lead me away, my friends, with utmost speed,      
Lead me away, the foul polluted one,      
    Of all men most accursed,           1396   
    Most hateful to the Gods.      
   
CHORUS  Ah, wretched one, alike in soul and doom,      
Would that my eyes had never known thy face!      
   
ŒDIP.  Ill fate be his who loosed the fetters sharp,           1400   
    That ate into my flesh,      
    And freed me from the doom of death,      
    And saved me—thankless boon!      
    Ah! had I died but then,           1404   
Nor to my friends nor me had been such woe.      
   
CHORUS  That I, too, vainly wish!      
   
ŒDIP.  Yes; then I had not been      
    My father’s murderer:           1408   
Nor had men pointed to me as the man      
    Wedded with her who bore him.      
But now all god-deserted, born in sins,      
In incest joined with her who gave me birth;           1412   
Yea, if there be an evil worse than all,      
It falls on Œdipus!      
   
CHORUS  I may not call thy acts or counsels good,      
For better wert thou dead than living blind.           1416   
   
ŒDIP.  Persuade me not, nor counsel give to show      
That what I did was not the best to do.      
I know not how, on entering Hades dark,      
To look for my own father or my mother,           1420   
Crimes worse than deadly done against them both.      
And though my children’s face was sweet to see      
With their growth growing, yet these eyes no more      
That sight shall see, nor citadel, nor tower,           1424   
Nor sacred shrines of Gods whence I, who stood      
Most honoured one in Thebes, myself have banished,      
Commanding all to thrust the godless forth,      
Him whom the Gods do show accursed, the stock           1428   
Of Laius old. And could I dare to look,      
Such dire pollution fixing on myself,      
And meet them face to face? Not so, not so.      
Yea, if I could but stop the stream of sound,           1432   
And dam mine ears against it, I would do it,      
Closing each wretched sense that I might live      
Both blind, and hearing nothing, Sweet ’twould be      
To keep the soul beyond the reach of ills.           1436   
Why, O Kithæron, didst thou shelter me,      
Nor kill me out of hand? I had not shown,      
In that case, all men whence I drew my birth.      
O Polybus, and Corinth, and the home           1440   
I thought was mine, how strange a growth ye reared,      
All fair outside, all rotten at the core;      
For vile I stand, descended from the vile.      
Ye threefold roads and thickets half concealed,           1444   
The hedge, the narrow pass where three ways meet,      
Which at my hands did drink my father’s blood,      
Remember ye what deeds I did in you;      
What, hither come, I did?—the marriage rites           1448   
That gave me birth, and then, commingling all,      
In horrible confusion, showed in one      
A father, brother, son, all kindreds mixed,      
Mother, and wife, and daughter, hateful names,           1452   
All foulest deeds that men have ever done.      
But, since, where deeds are evil, speech is wrong,      
With utmost speed, by all the Gods, or hide,      
Or take my life, or cast me in the sea,           1456   
Where nevermore your eyes may look on me.      
Come, scorn ye not to touch my misery,      
But hearken; fear ye not; no soul but I      
Can bear the burden of my countless ills.           1460   
   
CHORUS  The man for what thou need’st is come in time,      
Creon, to counsel and to act, for now      
He in thy place is left our only guide.      
   
ŒDIP.  Ah, me! what language shall I hold to him,           1464   
What trust at his hands claim? In all the past      
I showed myself to him most vile and base.      
   
Enter CREON


CREON.  I have not come, O Œdipus, to scorn,      
Nor to reproach thee for thy former crimes;           1468   
But ye, if ye have lost your sense of shame      
For mortal men, yet reverence the light      
Of him, our King, the Sun-God, source of life,      
Nor sight so foul expose unveiled to view,           1472   
Which neither earth, nor shower from heaven nor light,      
Can see and welcome. But with utmost speed      
Convey him in; for nearest kin alone      
Can meetly see and hear their kindred’s ills.           1476

ŒDIP.  Oh, by the Gods! since thou, beyond my hopes,      
Dost come all noble unto me all base,      
In one thing hearken. For thy good I ask.      
   
CREON.  And what request seek’st thou so wistfully?           1480   
   
ŒDIP.  Cast me with all thy speed from out this land,      
Where nevermore a man may look on me!      
   
CREON.  Be sure I would have done so, but I wished      
To learn what now the God will bid us do.           1484   
   
ŒDIP.  The oracle was surely clear enough      
That I, the parricide, the pest, should die.      
   
CREON.  So ran the words. But in our present need      
’Tis better to learn surely what to do.           1488   
   
ŒDIP.  And will ye ask for one so vile as I?      
   
CREON.  Yea, now thou, too, wouldst trust the voice of God.      
   
ŒDIP.  And this I charge thee, yea, and supplicate,      
For her within, provide what tomb thou wilt,           1492   
For for thine own most meetly thou wilt care;      
But never let this city of my fathers      
Be sentenced to receive me as its guest;      
But suffer me on yon lone hills to dwell,           1496   
Where stands Kithæron, chosen as my tomb      
While still I lived, by mother and by sire,      
That I may die by those who sought to kill.      
And yet this much I know, that no disease,           1500   
Nor aught else could have killed me; ne’er from death      
Had I been saved but for this destined doom.      
But for our fate, whatever comes may come:      
And for my boys, O Creon, lay no charge           1504   
Of them upon me. They are grown, nor need,      
Where’er they be, feel lack of means to live.      
But for my two poor girls, all desolate,      
To whom their table never brought a meal           1508   
Without my presence, but whate’er I touched      
They still partook of with me; these I care for.      
Yea, let me touch them with my hands, and weep      
To them my sorrows. Grant it, O my prince,           1512   
    O born of noble nature!      
Could I but touch them with my hands, I feel      
Still I should have them mine, as when I saw.      
   
Enter ANTIGONE and ISMENE


What say I? What is this?           1516   
Do I not hear, ye Gods, their dear, loved tones,      
Broken with sobs, and Creon, pitying me,      
Hath sent the dearest of my children to me?      
Is it not so?           1520   
   
CREON.  It is so. I am he who gives thee this,      
Knowing the joy thou hadst in them of old.      
   
ŒDIP.  Good luck have thou! And may the powers on high      
Guard thy path better than they guarded mine!           1524   
Where are ye, O my children? Come, oh, come      
To these your brother’s hands, which but now tore      
Your father’s eyes, that once were bright to see,      
Who, O my children, blind and knowing naught,           1528   
Became your father—how, I may not tell.      
I weep for you, though sight is mine no more,      
Picturing in mind the sad and dreary life      
Which waits you in the world in years to come;           1532   
For to what friendly gatherings will ye go,      
Or festive joys, from whence, for stately show      
Once yours, ye shall not home return in tears?      
And when ye come to marriageable age,           1536   
Who is there, O my children, rash enough      
To make his own the shame that then will fall      
On those who bore me, and on you as well?      
What evil fails us here? Your father killed           1540   
His father, and was wed in incest foul      
With her who bore him, and ye owe your birth      
To her who gave him his. Such shame as this      
Will men lay on you, and who then will dare           1544   
To make you his in marriage? None, not one,      
My children! but ye needs must waste away,      
Unwedded, childless, Thou, Menœkeus’ son,      
Since thou alone art left a father to them           1548   
(For we, their parents, perish utterly),      
Suffer them not to wander husbandless,      
Nor let thy kindred beg their daily bread;      
But look on them with pity, seeing them           1552   
At their age, but for thee, deprived of all.      
O noble soul, I pray thee, touch my hand      
In token of consent. And ye, my girls,      
Had ye the minds to hearken I would fain           1556   
Give ye much counsel. As it is, pray for me      
To live where’er is meet; and for yourselves      
A brighter life than his ye call your sire.      
   
CREON.  Enough of tears and words. Go thou within.           1560   
   
ŒDIP.  I needs must yield, however, hard it be.      
   
CREON.  In their right season all things prospect best.      
   
ŒDIP.  Know’st thou my wish?      
   
CREON.  Speak and I then shall hear.           1564   
   
ŒDIP.  That thou shouldst send me far away from home.      
   
CREON.  Thou askest what the Gods alone can give.      
   
ŒDIP.  And yet I go most hated of the Gods.      
   
CREON.  And therefore it may chance thou gain’st thy wish.           1568   
   
ŒDIP.  And dost thou promise, then, to grant it me?      
   
CREON.  I am not wont to utter idle words.      
   
ŒDIP.  Lead me, then, hence.      
   
CREON.  Go thou, but leave the girls.           1572   
   
ŒDIP.  Ah, take them not from me!      
   
CREON.  Thou must not think      
To have thy way in all things all thy life.      
Thou hadst it once, yet went it ill with thee.           1576   
   
CHORUS  Ye men of Thebes, behold this Œdipus,      
Who knew the famous riddle and was noblest,      
Who envied no one’s fortune and success.      
And, lo,! in what a sea of direst woe           1580   
He now is plunged. From hence the lesson draw,      
To reckon no man happy till ye see      
The closing day; until he pass the bourn      
Which severs life from death, unscathed by woe.           1584

Antigone

Enter ANTIGONE and ISMENE


ANTIGONE  ISMENE, mine own sister, dearest one;      
Is there, of all the ills of Œdipus,      
One left that Zeus will fail to bring on us,      
While still we live? for nothing is there sad           4   
Or full of woe, or base, or fraught with shame,      
But I have seen it in thy woes and mine.      
And now, what new decree is this they tell,      
Our ruler has enjoined on all the state?           8   
Know’st thou? hast heard? or is it hid from thee,      
The doom of foes that comes upon thy friends?      
    
ISM.  No tidings of our friends, Antigone,      
Painful or pleasant since that hour have come           12   
When we, two sisters, lost our brothers twain,      
In one day dying by each other’s hand.      
And since in this last night the Argive host      
Has left the field, I nothing further know,           16   
Nor brightening fortune, nor increasing gloom.      
    
ANTIG.  That knew I well, and therefore sent for thee      
Beyond the gates, that thou mayst hear alone.      
    
ISM.  What meanest thou? It is but all to clear           20   
Thou broodest darkly o’er some tale of woe.      
    
ANTIG.  And does not Creon treat our brothers twain      
One with the rites of burial, one with shame?      
Eteocles, so say they, he interred           24   
Fitly, with wonted rites, as one held meet      
To pass with honour to the gloom below.      
But for the corpse of Polynices, slain      
So piteously, they say, he has proclaimed           28   
To all the citizens, that none should give      
His body burial, or bewail his fate,      
But leave it still unsepulchred, unwept,      
A prize full rich for birds that scent afar           32   
Their sweet repast. So Creon bids, they say,      
Creon the good, commanding thee and me,      
Yes, me, I say, and now is coming here,      
To make it clear to those who knew it not,           36   
And counts the matter not a trivial thing;      
But whoso does the things that he forbids,      
For him, there waits within the city’s walls      
The death of stoning. Thus, then, stands thy case;           40   
And quickly thou wilt show, if thou art born      
Of noble nature, or degenerate liv’st,      
Base child of honoured parents.      
    
ISM.  How could I,           44   
O daring in thy mood, in this our plight,      
Or doing or undoing, aught avail?      
    
ANTIG.  Wilt thou with me share risk and toil? Look to it.      
    
ISM.  What risk is this? What purpose fills thy mind?           48   
    
ANTIG.  Wilt thou with me go forth to help the dead?      
    
ISM.  And dost thou mean to give him sepulture,      
When all have been forbidden?      
    
ANTIG.  He is still           52   
My brother; yes, and thine, though thou, it seems,      
Wouldst fain he were not. I desert him not.      
    
ISM.  O daring one, when Creon bids thee not!      
    
ANTIG.  What right has he to keep me from mine own?           56   
    
ISM.  Ah me! remember, sister, how our sire      
Perished, with hate o’erwhelmed and infamy,      
From evils that he brought upon himself,      
And with his own hand robbed himself of sight,           60   
And how his wife and mother, both in one,      
With twist and cordage, cast away her life;      
And thirdly, how our brothers in one day      
In suicidal conflict wrought the doom,           64   
Each of the other. And we twain are left;      
And think, how much more wretchedly than all      
We twain shall perish, if, against the law,      
We brave our sovereign’s edict and his power.           68   
For this we need remember, we were born      
Women; as such, not made to strive with men.      
And next, that they who reign surpass in strength,      
And we must bow to this, and worse than this.           72   
I, then, entreating those that dwell below,      
To judge me leniently, as forced to yield,      
Will hearken to our rulers. Over-zeal      
In act or word but little wisdom shows.           76   
    
ANTIG.  I would not ask thee. No! if thou shouldst wish      
To do it, and wouldst gladly join with me.      
Do what thou wilt, I go to bury him;      
And good it were, this having done, to die.           80   
Loved I shall be with him whom I have loved,      
Guilty of holiest crime. More time have I      
In which to win the favour of the dead,      
Than that of those who live; for I shall rest           84   
For ever there. But thou, if thus thou please,      
Count as dishonoured what the Gods approve.      
    
ISM.  I do them no dishonour, but I find      
Myself too weak to war against the state.           88   
    
ANTIG.  Make what excuse thou wilt, I go to rear      
A grave above the brother whom I love.      
    
ISM.  Ah, wretched me! how much I fear for thee.      
    
ANTIG.  Fear not for me. Thine own fate guide aright.           92   
    
ISM.  At any rate, disclose this deed to none:      
Keep it close hidden. I will hide it too.      
    
ANTIG.  Speak out! I bid thee. Silent, thou wilt be      
More hateful to me than if thou shouldst tell           96   
My deed to all men.      
    
ISM.  Fiery is thy mood,      
Although thy deeds might chill the very blood.      
    
ANTIG.  I know I please the souls I seek to please.           100   
    
ISM.  If thou canst do it; but thy passion craves      
For things impossible.      
    
ANTIG.  I’ll cease to strive      
When strength shall fail me.           104   
    
ISM.  Even from the first,      
It is not meet to seek what may not be.      
    
ANTIG.  If thou speak thus, my hatred wilt thou gain,      
And rightly wilt be hated of the dead.           108   
Leave me and my ill counsel to endure      
This dreadful doom. I shall not suffer aught      
So evil as a death dishonourable.      
    
ISM.  Go, then, if so thou wilt. Of this be sure,           112   
Wild as thou art, thy friends must love thee still.  [Exeunt.      
    
Enter Chorus

STROPH. I


Chor.  Ray of the glorious sun,      
Brightest of all that ever shone on Thebes,      
Thebes with her seven high gates,           116   
Thou didst appear that day,      
  Eye of the golden dawn,      
O’er Dirkè’s streams advancing,      
Driving with quickened curb,           120   
In haste of headlong flight,      
The warrior who, in panoply of proof,      
From Argos came, with shield as white as snow;      
  Who came to this our land,           124   
Roused by the strife of tongues      
That Polynices stirred;      
Shrieking his shrill sharp cry,      
  The eagle hovered round,           128   
With snow-white wing bedecked,      
  Begirt with myriad arms,      
And flowing horsehair crests.      
   
ANTISTROPH. I


  He stood above our towers,           132   
Circling, with blood-stained spears,      
  The portals of our gates;      
He went, before he filled      
  His jaws with blood of men,           136   
Before Hephæstus with his pitchy flame      
Had seized our crown of towers.      
  So loud the battle din that Ares loves,      
Was raised around his rear,           140   
A conflict hard and stiff,      
E’en for his dragon foe.      
For breath of haughty speech      
Zeus hateth evermore exceedingly;           144   
And seeing them advance,      
Exulting in the clang of golden arms,      
With brandished fire he hurls them headlong down,      
In act, upon the topmost battlement           148   
  Rushing, with eager step,      
To shout out, ‘Victory!’      
   
STROPH. II


Crashing to earth he fell,      
Who came, with madman’s haste,           152   
Drunken, but not with wine,      
And swept o’er us with blasts,      
The whirlwind blasts of hate.      
Thus on one side they fare,           156   
And mighty Ares, bounding in his strength,      
  Dashing now here, now there,      
  Elsewhere brought other fate.      
For seven chief warriors at the seven gates met,           160   
  Equals with equals matched,      
To Zeus, the Lord of War,      
Left tribute, arms of bronze;      
All but the hateful ones           164   
Who, from one father and one mother sprung,      
Stood wielding, hand to hand,      
Their doubly pointed spears;      
They had their doom of death,           168   
In common, shared by both.      
   
ANTISTROPH. II


But now, since Victory, of mightiest name,      
Hath come to Thebes, of many chariots proud,      
  Joying and giving joy,           172   
After these wars just past,      
  Learn ye forgetfulness,      
And all night long, with dance and voice of hymns      
Let us go round to all the shrines of Gods,           176   
While Bacchus, making Thebes resound with shouts,      
  Begins the strain of joy;      
But, lo! the sovereign of this land of ours,      
CREON, Menœkeus’ son,           180   
He, whom strange change and chances from the God      
  Have nobly raised to power,      
Comes to us, steering on some new device;      
For, lo! he hath convened,           184   
  By herald’s loud command,      
This council of the elders of our land.      
   
Enter CREON


CREON.  My Friends, for what concerns our commonwealth,      
The Gods who vexed it with the billowing storms           188   
Have righted it again; but I have sent,      
By special summons, calling you to come      
Apart from all the others, This, in part,      
As knowing ye did all along uphold           192   
The might of Laius’ throne, in part again,      
Because when Œdipus our country ruled,      
And, when he perished, then towards his sons      
Ye still were faithful in your steadfast mind.           196   
And since they fell, as by a double death,      
Both on the selfsame day with murderous blow,      
Smiting and being smitten, now I hold      
Their thrones and all their power of sov’reignty           200   
By nearness of my kindred to the dead.      
And hard it is to learn what each man is,      
In heart and mind and judgment, till one gains      
Experience in the exercise of power.           204   
For me, whoe’er is called to guide a state,      
And does not catch at counsels wise and good,      
But holds his peace through any fear of man,      
I deem him basest of all men that are,           208   
Of all that ever have been; and whoe’er      
As worthier than his country counts his friend,      
I utterly despise him. I myself,      
Zeus be my witness, who beholdeth all,           212   
Will not keep silence, seeing danger come,      
Instead of safety, to my subjects true.      
Nor could I take as friend my country’s foe;      
For this I know, that there our safety lies,           216   
And sailing in her while she holds her course,      
We gather friends around us. By these rules      
And such as these will I maintain the state.      
And now I come, with edicts close allied           220   
To these in spirit, for my subjects all,      
Concerning those two sons of Œdipus.      
Eteocles, who died in deeds of might      
Illustrious, fighting for our fatherland,           224   
To honour him with sepulture, all rites      
Duly performed that to the noblest dead      
Of right belong. Not so his brother; him      
I speak of, Polynices, who, returned           228   
From exile, sought with fire and sword to waste      
His father’s city and the shrines of Gods,      
Yea, sought to glut his rage with blood of men,      
And lead them captives to the bondslave’s doom;           232   
Him I decree that none should dare entomb,      
That none should utter wail or loud lament,      
But leave his corpse unburied, by the dogs      
And vultures mangled, foul to look upon.           236   
Such is my purpose. Ne’er, if I can help,      
Shall the vile share the honours of the just;      
But whoso shows himself my country’s friend,      
Living or dead, from me shall honour gain.           240   
   
Chor.  This is thy pleasure, O Menœkeus’ son,      
For him who hated, him who loved our state;      
And thou hast power to make what laws thou wilt,      
Both for the dead and all of us who live.           244   
   
CREON.  Be ye, then, guardians of the things I speak.      
   
Chor.  Commit this task to one of younger years.      
   
CREON.  The watchmen are appointed for the corpse.      
   
Chor.  What duty, then, enjoin’st thou on another?           248   
   
CREON.  Not to consent with those that disobey.      
   
Chor.  None are so foolish as to seek for death.      
   
CREON.  And that shall be his doom; but love of gain      
Hath oft with false hopes lured men to their death.           252

   
Enter Guard


GUARD.  I will not say, O king, that I am come      
Panting with speed and plying nimble feet,      
For I had many halting-points of thought,      
Backwards and forwards turning, round and round;           256   
For now my mind would give me sage advice:      
“Poor wretch, and wilt thou go and bear the blame?”      
Or—“Dost thou tarry now? Shall Creon know      
These things from others? How wilt thou escape?”           260   
Resolving thus, I came in haste, yet slow,      
And thus a short way finds itself prolonged,      
But, last of all, to come to thee prevailed.      
And though I tell of naught, thou shalt hear all;           264   
For this one hope I cling to steadfastly,      
That I shall suffer nothing but my fate.      
    
CREON.  What is it, then, that causes such dismay?      
    
GUARD.  First, for mine own share in it, this I say,           268   
I did not do it, do not know who did,      
Nor should I rightly come to ill for it.      
    
CREON.  Thou tak’st good aim and fencest up thy tale      
All round and round. ’Twould seem thou hast some news.           272   
    
GUARD.  Yea, news of fear engenders long delay.      
    
CREON.  Tell thou thy tale, and then depart in peace.      
    
GUARD.  And speak I will. The corpse … Some one has been      
But now and buried it, a little dust           276   
O’er the skin scattering, with the wonted rites.      
    
CREON.  What say’st thou? Who has dared this deed of guilt?      
    
GUARD.  I know not. Neither was there stroke of spade,      
Nor earth cast up by mattock. All the soil           280   
Was dry and hard, no track of chariot wheel;      
But he who did it went and left no sign.      
But when the first day’s watchman showed it us,      
The sight caused wonder and sore grief to all,           284   
For he had disappeared. No tomb, indeed,      
Was over him, but dust all lightly strown,      
As by some hand that shunned defiling guilt;      
And no work was there of a beast of prey           288   
Or dog devouring. Evil words arose      
Among us, guard to guard imputing blame,      
Which might have come to blows, for none was there      
To check its course, and each to each appeared           292   
The man whose hand had done it. As for proof,      
That there was none, and so he ’scaped our ken.      
And we were ready in our hands to take      
Bars of hot iron, and to walk through fire,           296   
And call the Gods to witness none of us      
Had done the deed, nor knew who counselled it,      
Nor who had wrought it. Then at last, when naught      
Was gained by all our searching, some one says           300   
What made us bend our gaze upon the ground      
In fear and trembling; for we neither saw      
How to oppose it, nor, accepting it,      
How we might prosper in it. And his speech           304   
Was this, that all our tale should go to thee,      
Not hushed up anywise. This gained the day;      
And me, ill-starred, the lot condemns to win      
This precious prize. So here I come to thee           308   
Against my will; and surely do I trow      
Thou dost not wish to see me. Still ’tis true      
That no man loves the messenger of ill.      
    
Chor.  For me, my prince, my mind some time has thought           312   
That this perchance has some divine intent.      
    
CREON.  Cease thou, before thou fillest me with wrath,      
Lest thou be found a dastard and a fool.      
For what thou say’st is most intolerable,           316   
That for this corpse the providence of Gods      
Has any care. What! have they buried him,      
As to their patron paying honours high,      
Who came to waste their columned shrines with fire,           320   
To desecrate their offerings and their lands,      
And all their wonted customs? Dost thou see      
The Gods approving men of evil deeds?      
It is not so; but men of rebel mood,           324   
Lifting their head in secret long ago,      
Have stirred this thing against me. Never yet      
Had they their neck beneath the yoke, content      
To own me as their ruler. They, I know,           328   
Have bribed these men to let the deed be done.      
No thing in use by man, for power of ill,      
Can equal money. This lays cities low,      
This drives men forth from quiet dwelling-place,           332   
This warps and changes minds of worthiest stamp,      
To turn to deeds of baseness, teaching men      
All shifts of cunning, and to know the guilt      
Of every impious deed. But they who, hired,           336   
Have wrought this crime, have laboured to their cost,      
Or soon or late to pay the penalty.      
But if Zeus still claims any awe from me,      
Know this, and with an oath I tell it thee,           340   
Unless ye find the very man whose hand      
Has wrought this burial, and before mine eyes      
Present him captive, death shall not suffice,      
Till first, impaled still living, ye shall show           344   
The story of this outrage, that henceforth,      
Knowing what gain is lawful, ye may grasp      
At that, and learn it is not meet to love      
Gain from all quarters. By base profit won,           348   
You will see more destroyed than prospering.      
    
GUARD.  May I, then speak? Or shall I turn and go?      
    
CREON.  Dost thou not see how vexing are thy words?      
    
GUARD.  Is it thine ears they trouble, or thy soul?           352   
    
CREON.  Why dost thou gauge my trouble where it is?      
    
GUARD.  The doer grieves thy heart, but I thine ears.      
    
CREON.  Pshaw! what a babbler, born to prate, art thou.      
    
GUARD.  And therefore not the man to do this deed.           356   
    
CREON.  Yes, that too; selling e’en thy soul for pay.      
    
GUARD.  Ah me!      
How fearful ’tis, in thinking, false to think.      
    
CREON.  Prate about thinking; but unless ye show           360   
To me the doers, ye shall say ere long      
That evil gains still work their punishment.  [Exit.      
    
GUARD.  God send we find him! Should we find him not,      
As well may be, for this must chance decide,           364   
You will not see me coming here again;      
For now, being safe beyond all hope of mine,      
Beyond all thought, I owe the Gods much thanks.  [Exit.      
    
STROPH. I


Chor.  Many the forms of life,           368   
Fearful and strange to see,      
But man supreme stands out,      
For strangeness and for fear.      
He, with the wintry gales,           372   
O’er the foam-crested sea,      
’Mid billows surging round,      
Tracketh his way across:      
Earth, of all Gods, from ancient days, the first,           376   
Mightiest and undecayed,      
He, with his circling plough,      
Wears ever year by year.      
    
ANTISTROPH. I


The thoughtless tribe of birds,           380   
The beasts that roam the fields,      
The finny brood of ocean’s depths,      
He takes them all in nets of knotted mesh,      
  Man, wonderful in skill.           384   
And by his arts he holds in sway      
The wild beasts on the mountain’s height;      
And brings the neck-encircling yoke      
On horse with shaggy mane,           388   
Or bull that walks untamed upon the hills.

STROPH. II


And speech, and thought as swift as wind,      
And tempered mood for higher life of states,      
These he has learnt, and how to flee           392   
The stormy sleet of frost unkind,      
The tempest thunderbolts of Zeus.      
So all-preparing, unprepared      
He meeteth naught the coming days may bring;           396   
Only from Hades, still      
He fails to find a refuge at the last,      
Though skill of art may teach him to escape      
From depths of fell disease incurable.           400   
    
ANTISTROPH. II


So, gifted with a wondrous might,      
Above all fancy’s dreams, with skill to plan,      
Now unto evil, now to good,      
He wends his way. Now holding fast the laws,           404   
His country’s sacred rights,      
That rest upon the oath of Gods on high,      
High in the state he stands.      
An outlaw and an exile he who loves           408   
The thing that is not good,      
In wilful pride of soul:      
Ne’er may he sit beside my hearth,      
Ne’er may my thoughts be like to his,           412   
Who worketh deeds like this.      
    
Enter Guards, bringing in ANTIGONE


As to this portent which the Gods have sent,      
I stand in doubt. Can I, who know her, say      
That this is not the maid Antigone?           416   
O wretched one of wretched father born,      
What means this? Surely ’tis not that they bring      
Thee as a rebel ’gainst the king’s decree,      
And taken in the folly of thine act?           420   
    
GUARD.  Yes! She it was by whom the deed was done.      
We found her burying. Where is Creon, pray?      
    
Chor.  Forth from his palace comes he just in time.      
    
Enter CREON


CREON.  What chance is this with which my coming fits?           424   
    
GUARD.  Men, O my king, should pledge themselves to naught;      
For cool reflection makes their purpose void.      
I hardly thought to venture here again,      
Cowed by thy threats, which then fell thick on me;           428   
But since no joy is like the sweet delight      
Which comes beyond, above, against our hopes,      
I come, although I swore the contrary,      
Bringing this maiden, whom in act we found           432   
Decking the grave. No need for lots was now;      
The prize was mine, no other claimed a share.      
And now, O king, take her, and as thou wilt,      
Judge and convict her. I can claim a right           436   
To wash my hands of all this troublous coil.      
    
CREON.  How and where was it that ye seized and brought her?      
    
GUARD.  She was in act of burying. Now thou knowest      
All that I have to tell.           440   
    
CREON.  And dost thou know      
And rightly weigh the tale thou tellest me?      
    
GUARD.  I saw her burying that selfsame corpse      
Thou bad’st us not to bury. Speak I clear?           444   
    
CREON.  How was she seen, detected, prisoner made?      
    
GUARD.  The matter passed as follows: When we came,      
With all those dreadful threats of thine upon us,      
Sweeping away the dust which, lightly spread,           448   
Covered the corpse, and laying stript and bare      
The tained carcase, on the hill we sat      
To windward, shunning the infected air,      
Each stirring up his fellow with strong words,           452   
If any shirked his duty. This went on      
Some time, until the glowing orb of day      
Stood in mid-heaven, and the scorching heat      
Fell on us. Then a sudden whirlwind rose,           456   
A scourge from heaven, raising squalls on earth,      
And filled the plain, the leafage stripping bare      
Of all the forest, and the air’s vast space      
Was thick and troubled, and we closed our eyes           460   
Until the plague the Gods had sent was past;      
And when it ceased, a weary time being gone,      
The girl was seen, and with a bitter cry,      
Shrill as a bird’s, she wails, when it beholds           464   
Its nest all emptied of its infant brood;      
So she, when she beholds the corpse all stript,      
Groaned loud with many moanings. And she called      
Fierce curses down on those who did the deed,           468   
And in her hand she brings some sandlike dust,      
And from a well-chased ewer, all of bronze,      
She pours the three libations o’er the dead.      
And we, beholding, started up forthwith,           472   
And run her down, in nothing terrified.      
And then we charged her with the former deed,      
As well as this. And nothing she denied.      
But this to me both bitter is and sweet,           476   
For to escape one’s-self from ill is sweet,      
But to bring friends to trouble, this is hard      
And bitter. Yet my nature bids me count      
Above all these things safety for myself.           480   
    
CREON.  [to ANTIGONE] And thou, then, bending to the ground thy head,      
Confessest thou, or dost deny the deed?      
    
ANTIG.  I own I did it. I will not deny.      
    
CREON.  [to GUARD] Go thou thy way, where’er thy will may choose,           484   
Freed from a weighty charge.  [Exit GUARD.      
[To ANTIGONE] And now for thee,      
Say in few words, not lengthening out thy speech,      
Didst thou not know the edicts which forbade           488   
The things thou ownest?      
    
ANTIG.  Right well I knew them all.      
How could I not? Full clear and plain were they.      
    
CREON.  Didst thou, then, dare to disobey these laws?           492   
    
ANTIG.  Yes, for it was not Zeus who gave them forth,      
Nor Justice, dwelling with the Gods below,      
Who traced these laws for all the sons of men;      
Nor did I deem thy edicts strong enough,           496   
Coming from mortal man, to set at naught      
The unwritten laws of God that know not change.      
They are not of to-day nor yesterday,

But live for ever, nor can man assign           500   
When first they sprang to being. Not through fear      
Of any man’s resolve was I prepared      
Before the Gods to bear the penalty      
Of sinning against these. That I should die           504   
I knew (how should I not?), though thy decree      
Had never spoken. And, before my time      
If I should die, I reckon this a gain;      
For whoso lives, as I, in many woes,           508   
How can it be but death shall bring him gain?      
And so for me to bear this doom of thine      
Has nothing painful. But, if I had left      
My mother’s son unburied on his death,           512   
I should have given them pain. But as things are,      
Pain I feel none. And should I seem to thee      
To have done a foolish deed, ’tis simply this,—      
I bear the charge of folly from a fool.           516   
    
Chor.  The maiden’s stubborn will, of stubborn sire      
The offspring shows itself. She knows not yet      
To yield to evils.      
    
CREON.  Know, then, minds too stiff           520   
Most often stumble, and the rigid steel      
Baked in the furnace, made exceeding hard,      
Thou seest most often split and broken lie;      
And I have known the steeds of fiery mood           524   
With a small curb subdued. It is not meet      
That one who lives in bondage to his neighbours      
Should boast too loudly. Wanton outrage then      
She learnt when first these laws of mine she crossed,           528   
But, having done it, this is yet again      
A second outrage over it to boast,      
And laugh at having done it. Surely, then,      
She is the man, not I, if all unscathed           532   
Such deeds of might are hers. But be she child      
Of mine own sister, nearest kin of all      
That Zeus o’erlooks within our palace court,      
She and her sister shall not ’scape their doom           536   
Most foul and shameful; for I charge her, too,      
With having planned this deed of sepulture.      
Go ye and call her. ’Twas but now within      
I saw her raving, losing self-command.           540   
And still the mind of those who in the dark      
Plan deeds of evil is the first to fail,      
And so convicts itself of secret guilt.      
But most I hate when one found out in guilt           544   
Will seek to glaze and brave it to the end.      
    
ANTIG.  And dost thou seek aught else beyond my death?      
    
CREON.  Naught else for me. That gaining, I gain all.      
    
ANTIG.  Wilt thou delay? Of all thy words not one           548   
Pleases me now, nor aye is like to please,      
And so all mine must grate upon thine ears.      
And yet how could I higher glory gain      
Than giving my true brother all the rites           552   
Of solemn burial? These who hear would say      
It pleases them, did not their fear of thee      
Close up their lips. This power has sovereignty,      
That it can do and say whate’er it will.           556   
    
CREON.  Of all the race of Cadmus thou alone      
Look’st thus upon the deed.      
    
ANTIG.  They see it too      
As I do, but in fear of thee they keep           560   
Their tongue between their teeth.      
    
CREON.  And dost thou feel      
No shame to plan thy schemes apart from these?      
    
ANTIG.  There is no baseness in the act which shows           564   
Our reverence for our kindred.      
    
CREON.  Was he not      
Thy brother also, who against him fought?      
    
ANTIG.  He was my brother, of one mother born,           568   
And of the selfsame father.      
    
CREON.  Why, then, pay      
Thine impious honours to the carcase there?      
    
ANTIG.  The dead below will not accept thy words.           572   
    
CREON.  Yes, if thou equal honours pay to him,      
And that most impious monster.      
    
ANTIG.  ’Twas no slave      
That perished, but my brother.           576   
    
CREON.  Yes, in act      
To waste this land, while he in its defence      
Stood fighting bravely.      
    
ANTIG.  Not the less does death           580   
Crave equal rites for all.      
    
CREON.  But not that good      
And evil share alike?      
    
ANTIG.  And yet who knows           584   
If in that world these things are counted good?      
    
CREON.  Our foe, I tell thee, ne’er becomes our friend,      
Not even when he dies.      
    
ANTIG.  My bent is fixed,           588   
I tell thee, not for hatred, but for love.      
    
CREON.  Go, then, below. And if thou must have love,      
Love those thou find’st there. While I live, at least,      
A woman shall not rule.           592   
    
Enter ISMENE


Chor.  And, lo! Ismene at the gate      
Comes shedding tears of sisterly regard,      
And o’er her brow a gathering cloud      
Mars the deep roseate blush,           596   
Bedewing her fair cheek.      
    
CREON.  [to ISMENE]. And thou who, creeping as a viper creeps,      
Didst drain my life in secret, and I knew not      
That I was rearing two accursèd ones,           600   
Subverters of my throne: come, tell me, then,      
Dost thou confess thou took’st thy part in it?      
Or wilt thou swear thou didst not know of it?      
    
ISM.  I did the deed. Since she will have it so,           604   
I share the guilt; I bear an equal blame.      
    
ANTIG.  This, Justice will not suffer, since, in truth,      
Thou wouldst have none of it. And I, for one,      
Shared it not with thee.           608   
    
ISM.  I am not ashamed      
To count myself companion in thy woes.      
    
ANTIG.  Whose was the deed, Death knows, and those below.      
I do not love a friend who loves in words.           612   
    
ISM.  Do not, my sister, put me to such shame      
As not to let me share thy death with thee,      
And with thee pay due reverence to the dead.      
    
ANTIG.  Share not my death, nor make thine own this deed           616   
Thou hadst no hand in. Let my death suffice.      
    
ISM.  And what to me is life, bereaved of thee?      
    
ANTIG.  Ask Creon there. To him thy tender care      
Is given so largely.           620

ISM.  Why wilt thou torture me,      
In nothing bettered by it?      
    
ANTIG.  Yes—at thee,      
E’en while I laugh, I laugh with pain of heart.           624   
    
ISM.  But now, at least, how may I profit thee?      
    
ANTIG.  Save thou thyself. I grudge not thy escape.      
    
ISM.  Ah, woe is me! and must I miss thy fate?      
    
ANTIG.  Thou mad’st thy choice to live, and I to die.           628   
    
ISM.  ’Tis not through want of any words of mine.      
    
ANTIG.  To these thou seemest, doubtless, to be wise;      
I to those others.      
    
ISM.  Yet our fault is one.           632   
    
ANTIG.  Take courage. Thou wilt live. My soul long since      
Has given itself to Death, that to the dead      
I might bring help.      
    
CREON.  Of these two maidens here,           636   
The one, I say, hath lost her mind but now,      
The other ever since her life began.      
    
ISM.  Yea, O my king. No mind that ever lived      
Stands firm in evil days, but still it goes,           640   
Beside itself, astray.      
    
CREON.  So then did thine      
When thou didst choose thy evil deeds to do,      
With those already evil.           644   
    
ISM.  How could I.      
Alone, apart from her, endure to live?      
    
CREON.  Speak not of her. She stands no longer here.      
    
ISM.  And wilt thou slay thy son’s betrothed bride?           648   
    
CREON.  Full many a field there is which he may plough.      
    
ISM.  But none like that prepared for him and her.      
    
CREON.  Wives that are vile, I love not for my son.      
    
ANTIG.  Ah, dearest Hæmon, how thy father shames thee!           652   
    
CREON.  Thou art too vexing, thou, and these thy words,      
On marriage ever harping.      
    
ISM.  Wilt thou rob      
Thine own dear son of her whom he has loved?           656   
    
CREON.  ’Tis Death who breaks the marriage contract off.      
    
ISM.  Her doom is fixed, it seems, then. She must die.      
    
CREON.  So thou dost think, and I. No more delay,      
Ye slaves. Our women henceforth must be kept           660   
As women—suffered not to roam abroad;      
For even boldest natures shrink in fear      
When they behold the end of life draw nigh.  [Exeunt Guards with ANTIGONE and ISMENE.      
    
STROPHE. I


Chor.  Blessed are those whose life has known no woe!           664   
For unto those whose house      
The Gods have shaken, nothing fails of curse      
Or woe, that creepeth on,      
  To generations, far,           668   
As when a wave, where Thracian blasts blow strong      
  On that tempestuous shore,      
Up surges from the depths beneath the sea,      
  And from the deep abyss           672   
Rolls the black wind-vexed sand,      
And every jutting peak that drives it back      
  Re-echoes with the roar.      
    
ANTISTROPHE. I


I see the ancient doom           676   
That fell upon the seed of Labdacus,      
  Who perished long ago,      
  Still falling, woes on woes;      
That generation cannot rescue this;           680   
  Some God still urges on,      
  And will not be appeased.      
  So now there rose a gleam      
  Over the last weak shoots           684   
That sprang from out the race of Œdipus;      
And thus the blood-stained sword      
Of those that reign below      
Cuts off relentlessly           688   
Madness of speech, and fury of the soul.      
    
STROPHE. II


Thy power, O Zeus, what haughtiness of man      
  Could ever hold in check?      
Which neither sleep, that maketh all things old,           692   
Nor the long months of Gods that wax not faint,      
  Can for a moment seize.      
But still as Lord supreme,      
Through time that grows not old,           696   
Thou dwellest in thy sheen of radiancy      
  On far Olympus’ height.      
Through all the future and the coming years,      
As through all time that’s past,           700   
One law holds ever good,      
That nothing comes to life of man on earth,      
Unscathed throughout by woe.      
    
ANTISTROPHE. II


To many, hope may come, in wanderings wild,           704   
  A solace and a joy;      
To many, shows of fickle-hearted love;      
  But still it creepeth on,      
  On him who knows it not,           708   
  Until he brings his foot      
  Within the scorching flame.      
  Wisely from one of old      
  The far-famed saying came           712   
That evil ever seems to be as good      
  To those whose thoughts of heart      
  God leadeth unto woe,      
And without woe, but shortest time he spends.           716   
And here comes Hæmon, youngest of thy sons.      
Comes he bewailing sore      
The fate of her who should have been his wife,      
  His bride Antigone,           720   
Sore grieving at the failure of his joys?      
    
Enter HÆMON


CREON.  Soon we shall know much more than seers can tell.      
Surely thou dost not come, my son, to rage      
Against thy father, hearing his decree,           724   
Fixing her doom who should have been thy bride;      
Or are we still, whate’er we do, beloved?      
    
HÆMON.  My father, I am thine. Do thou direct      
With thy wise counsels, I will follow them.           728   
No marriage weighs one moment in the scales      
With me, while thou art prospering in thy reign.      
    
CREON.  This thought, my son, should dwell within thy breast,      
That all things stand below a father’s will:           732   
For this men pray that they may rear and keep      
Obedient offspring by their hearths and homes,      
That they may both requite their father’s foes,      
And pay with him like honours to his friend.           736   
But he who reareth sons that profit not,      
What could one say of him but this, that he      
Breeds his own sorrow, laughter to his foes?      
Lose not thy reason, then, my son, o’ercome           740   
By pleasure, for a woman’s sake, but know,      
A cold embrace is that to have at home      
A worthless wife, the partner of thy bed.      
What ulcerous sore is worse than one we love           744   
Who proves all worthless? No! with loathing scorn,      
As hateful to thee, let her go and wed      
A spouse in Hades. Taken in the act      
I found her, her alone of all the state,           748   
Rebellious. And I will not make myself      
False to the state. She dies. So let her call      
On Zeus, the lord of kindred. If I rear      
Of mine own stock things foul and orderless,           752   
I shall have work enough with those without.      
For he who in the life of home is good      
Will still be seen as just in things of state;      
While he who breaks or goes beyond the laws,           756   
Or thinks to bid the powers that be obey,      
He must not hope to gather praise from me.      
No! we must follow whom the state appoints      
In things or just and lowly, or, may be,           760   
The opposite of these. Of such a man      
I should be sure that he would govern well,      
And know well to be governed, and would stand,      
In war’s wild storm, on his appointed post,           764   
A just and good defender. Anarchy      
Is our worst evil, brings our commonwealth      
To utter ruin, lays whole houses low,      
In battle strife hurls men in shameful flight;           768   
But they who walk uprightly, these shall find      
Obedience saves most men. Sure help should come      
To what our rulers order; least of all      
Ought we to bow before a woman’s sway.           772   
Far better, if it must be so, to fall      
By a man’s hand, than thus to bear reproach,      
By woman conquered.