he turned my foe, I loved him, yes! in spite of all. Bury me, mother
mine, and thou, my sister dear, in my native soil; pacify the city's
wrath that may get at least that much of my own fatherland, although I
lost my home. With thy hand, mother, close mine eyes (therewith he
himself places her fingers on the lids); and fare ye well; for already
the darkness wraps me round."
So both at once breathed out their life of sorrow. But when
their mother saw this sad mischance, in her o'ermastering grief she
snatched from a
corpse its sword and
wrought an awful deed, driving
the steel right through her
throat; and there she lies, dead with
the dead she loved so well, her arms thrown round them both.
Thereon the host
sprang to their feet and fell to wrangling, we
maintaining that
victory rested with my master, they with theirs;
and amid our leaders the
contention raged, some
holding that
Polyneices gave the first wound with his spear, others that, as both
were dead,
victory rested with neither. Meantime Antigone crept away
from the host; and those others rushed to their
weapons, but by some
lucky forethought the folk of Cadmus had sat down under arms; and by a
sudden attack we surprised the Argive host before it was fully
equipped. Not one withstood our onset, and they filled the plain
with fugitives, while blood was
streaming from the
countless dead
our spears had slain. Soon as
victory crowned our
warfare, some
began to rear an image to Zeus for the foe's defeat, others were
stripping the Argive dead of their
shields and sending their spoils
inside the battlements; and others with Antigone are bringing her dead
brothers
hither for their friends to mourn. So the result of this
struggle to our city hovers between the two extremes of good and
evil fortune.
(The MESSENGER goes out.)
CHORUS (chanting)
No longer do the misfortunes of this house extend to hearsay only;
three
corpses of the slain lie here at the palace for all to see,
who by one common death have passed to their life of gloom.
(During the
lament, ANTIGONE enters, followed by servants who hear
the bodies Of JOCASTA, ETEOCLES, and POLYNEICES.)
ANTIGONE (chanting)
No veil I draw o'er my tender cheek shaded with its clustering
curls; no shame I feel from
maidenmodesty at the hot blood mantling
'neath my eyes, the blush upon my face, as I hurry wildly on in
death's train, casting from my hair its tire and letting my delicate
robe of saffron hue fly loose, a tearful
escort to the dead. Ah me!
Woe to thee, Polyneices!
rightly named, I trow; woe to thee,
Thebes! no mere
strife to end in
strife was thine; but murder
completed by murder hath brought the house of Oedipus to ruin with
bloodshed dire and grim. O my home, my home! what
minstrel can I
summon from the dead to chant a
fitting dirge o'er my tearful fate, as
I bear these three
corpses of my kin, my mother and her sons,
welcome sight to the avenging fiend that destroyed the house of
Oedipus, root and branch, in the hour that his shrewdness solved the
Sphinx's riddling rhyme and slew that
savage songstress. Woe is me! my
father! what other Hellene or
barbarian, what noble soul among the
bygone tribes of man's poor
mortal race ever endured the
anguish of
such
visible afflictions?
Ah! poor maid, how piteous is thy plaint! What bird from its
covert 'mid the leafy oak or soaring pine-tree's branch will come to
mourn with me, the maid left motherless, with cries of woe,
lamenting,
ere it comes, the piteous
lonely life, that
henceforth must be
always mine with tears that ever
stream? On which of these
corpses
shall I throw my offerings first, plucking the hair from my head? on
the breast of the mother that suckled me, or beside the ghastly
death-wounds of my brothers'
corpses? Woe to thee, Oedipus, my aged
sire with sightless orbs, leave thy roof,
disclose the
misery of thy
life, thou that draggest out a weary
existence within the house,
having cast a mist of darkness o'er thine eyes. Dost hear, thou
whose aged step now gropes its way across the court, now seeks
repose on
wretched pallet couch?
(OEDIPUS enters from the palace. He chants the following lines
responsively with ANTIGONE.)
OEDIPUS
Why, daughter, hast thou dragged me to the light, supporting my
blind footsteps from the gloom of my
chamber, where I lie upon my
bed and make piteous moan, a hoary
sufferer, in
visible as a
phantom of
the air, or as a spirit from the pit, or as a dream that flies?
ANTIGONE
Father, there are
tidings of sorrow for thee to bear; no more
thy sons behold the light, or thy wife who ever would toil to tend thy
blind footsteps as with a staff. Alas for thee, my sire!