酷兔英语

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In their mad vaunting and bewildered pride,

Shall guide him as a victor to his home!
For had but justice, maiden-child of Zeus,

Stood by his act and thought, it might have been!
Yet never, from the day he reached the light

Out of the darkness of his mother's womb,
Never in childhood, nor in youthful prime,

Nor when his chin was gathering its beard,
Hath justice hailed or claimed him as her own.

Therefore I deem not that she standeth now
To aid him in this outrage on his home!

Misnamed, in truth, were justice, utterly,
If to impiety she lent her hand.

Sure in this faith, I will myself go forth
And match me with him; who hath fairer claim?

Ruler, against one fain to snatch the rule,
Brother with brother matched, and foe with foe,

Will I confront the issue. To the wall!
LEADER OF THE CHORUS

O thou true heart, O child of Oedipus,
Be not, in wrath, too like the man whose name

Murmurs an evil omen! 'Tis enough
That Cadmus' clan should strive with Arges' host,

For blood there is that can atone that stain!
But-brother upon brother dealing death-

Not time itself can expiate the sin!
ETEOCLES

If man find hurt, yet clasp his honour still,
'Tis well; the dead have honour, nought beside.

Hurt, with dishonour, wins no word of praise!
CHORUS (chanting)

Ah, what is thy desire?
Let not the lust and ravin of the sword

Bear thee adown the tide accursed, abhorred!
Fling off thy passion's rage, thy spirit's prompting dire!

ETEOCLES
Nay-since the god is urgent for our doom,

Let Laius' house, by Phoebus loathed and scorned,
Follow the gale of destiny, and win

Its great inheritance" target="_blank" title="n.继承(物);遗传;遗产">inheritance, the gulf of hell!
CHORUS (chanting)

Ruthless thy craving is-
Craving for kindred and forbidden blood

To be outpoured-a sacrifice imbrued
With sin, a bitter fruit of murderous enmities!

ETEOCLES
Yea, my own father's fateful Curse proclaims-

A ghastly presence, and her eyes are dry-
Strike! honour is the prize, not life prolonged!

CHORUS (chanting)
Ah, be not urged of her! for none shall dare

To call thee coward, in thy throned estate!
Will not the Fury in her sable pal

Pass outward from these halls, what time the gods
Welcome a votive offering from our hands?

ETEOCLES
The gods! long since they hold us in contempt,

Scornful of gifts thus offered by the lost!
Why should we fawn and flinch away from doom?

CHORUS (chanting)
Now, when it stands beside thee! for its power

May, with a changing gust of milder mood,
Temper the blast that bloweth wild and rude

And frenzied, in this hour!
ETEOCLES

Ay, kindled by the curse of Oedipus-
All too prophetic, out of dreamland came

The vision, meting out our sire's estate!
LEADER OF THE CHORUS

Heed women's voices, though thou love them not!
ETEOCLES

Say aught that may avail, but stint thy words.
LEADER

Go not thou forth to guard the seventh gate!
ETEOCLES

Words shall not blunt the edge of my resolve.
LEADER

Yet the god loves to let the weak prevail.
ETEOCLES

That to a swordsman, is no welcome word!
LEADER

Shall thine own brother's blood be victory's palm?
ETEOCLES

Ill which the gods have sent thou canst no-shun!
(ETEOCLES goes out.)

CHORUS (singing)
strophe 1

I shudder in dread of the power, abhorred by the gods of high
heaven,

The ruinous curse of the home till roof-tree and rafter be riven!
Too true are the visions of ill, too true the fulfilment they

bring
To the curse that was spoken of old by the frenzy and wrath of the

king!
Her will is the doom of the children, and Discord is kindled

amain,
antistrophe 1

And strange is the Lord of Division, who cleaveth the birthright
in twain,-

The edged thing, born of the north, the steel that is ruthless
and keen,

Dividing in bitter division the lot of the children of teen!
Not the wide lowland around, the realm of their sire, shall they

have,
Yet enough for the dead to inherit, the pitiful space of a grave!

strophe 2
Ah, but when kin meets kin, when sire and child,

Unknowing, are defiled
By shedding common blood, and when the pit

Of death devoureth it,
Drinking the clotted stain, the gory dye-

Who, who can purify?
Who cleanse pollution, where the ancient bane

Rises and reeks again?
antistrophe 2

Whilome in olden days the sin was wrought,
And swift requital brought-

Yea on the children of the child came still
New heritage of ill!

For thrice Apollo spoke this word divine,
From Delphi's central shrine,

To Laius-Die thou childless! thus alone
Can the land's weal be won!

strophe 3
But vainly with his wife's desire he strove,

And gave himself to love,
Begetting Oedipus, by whom he died,

The fateful parricide!
The sacred seed-plot, his own mother's womb,

He sowed, his house's doom,
A root of blood! by frenzy lured, they came

Unto their wedded shame.
antistrophe 3

And now the waxing surge, the wave of fate,
Rolls on them, triply great-

One billow sinks, the next towers, high and dark,
Above our city's bark-

Only the narrow barrier of the wal
Totters, as soon to fall;

And, if our chieftains in the storm go down,
What chance can save the town?

strophe 4
Curses, inherited from long ago,

Bring heavy freight of woe:
Rich stores of merchandise o'erload the deck,

Near, nearer comes the wreck-
And all is lost, cast out upon the wave,

Floating, with none to save!
antistrophe 4

Whom did the gods, whom did the chief of men,
Whom did each citizen

In crowded concourse, in such honour hold,
As Oedipus of old,

When the grim fiend, that fed on human prey,
He took from us away?

strophe 5
But when, in the fulness of days, he knew of his bridal unblest,

A twofold horror he wrought, in the frenzied despair of his
breast-

Debarred from the grace of the banquet, the service of goblets
of gold

He flung on his children a curse for the splendour they dared to
withhold.

antistrophe 5
A curse prophetic and bitter-The glory of wealth and of pride,

With iron, not gold, in your hands, ye shall come, at the last,
to divide!

Behold, how a shudder runs through me, lest now, in the fulness
of time,

The house-fiend awake and return, to mete out the measure of
crime!

(THE Spy enters.)
THE SPY

Take heart, ye daughters whom your mothers' milk
Made milky-hearted! lo, our city stands,

Saved from the yoke of servitude: the vaunts
Of overweening men are silent now,

And the State sails beneath a sky serene,
Nor in the manifold and battering waves

Hath shipped a single surge, and solid stands
The rampart, and the gates are made secure,

Each with a single champion's trusty guard.
So in the main and at six gates we hold

A victory assured; but, at the seventh,
The god that on the seventh day was born,

Royal Apollo, hath ta'en up his rest
To wreak upon the sons of Oedipus

Their grandsire's wilfulness of long ago.
LEADER OF THE CHORUS

What further woefulness besets our home?
THE SPY

The home stands safe-but ah, the princes twain-
LEADER

Who? what of them? I am distraught with fear.
THE SPY

Hear now, and mark! the sons of Oedipus-
LEADER

Ah, my prophetic soul! I feel their doom.
THE SPY

Have done with questions!-with I-with their lives crushed out-
LEADER



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