Chor. Him I wish good success,

O guardian of my home, and for his foes

And since against our land their haughty words

With maddened soul they speak,

May Zeus, the sovran judge,

With fiery, hot displeasure look on them!

Mess. Another stands as fourth at gates hard by,

Onca-Athenà's, with a shout of war,

Hippomedon's great form and massive limbs;

And as he whirled his orb, his vast shield's disk,

I shuddered; yea, no idle words I speak.

No cheap and common draughtsman sure was he

Who wrought this cunning ensign on his shield:

Typhon emitting from his lips hot blast

Of darkling smoke, the flickering twin of fire:

And round the belly of the hollow shield

A rim was made with wreaths of twisted snakes.

And he too shouts his war-cry, and in frenzy,

As man possessed by Ares, hastes to battle,

Like Thyiad, darting terror from his eyes.^[101]

'Gainst such a hero's might we well may guard;

Already at the gates men brag of rout.

Eteoc. First, the great Onca-Pallas, dwelling nigh

Our city's gates, and hating man's bold pride,

Shall ward him from her nestlings like a snake

Of venom dread; and next Hyperbios,

The stalwart son of Œnops, has been chosen,

A hero 'gainst this hero, willing found

To try his destiny at Fortune's hest.

No fault has he in form, or heart, or arms;

And Hermes with good reason pairs them off;

For man with man will fight as enemy,

And on their shields they'll bring opposing Gods;

For this man beareth Typhon, breathing fire,

And on Hyperbios' shield sits father Zeus,

Full firm, with burning thunderbolt in hand;

And never yet has man seen Zeus, I trow,

O'ercome. Such then the favour of the Gods,

We with the winners, they with losers are:^[102]

Good reason then the rivals so should fare,

If Zeus than Typhon stronger be in fight,

And to Hyperbios Zeus will saviour prove,

As that device upon his shield presents him.

Chor. Now do I trust that he

Who bears upon his shield the hated form

Antagonist to Zeus, unloved by men

To his own hurt may dash his haughty head.

Mess. So may it be! And now the fifth I tell,

Who the fifth gates, the Northern, occupies,

Hard by Amphion's tomb, the son of Zeus;

And by his spear he swears, (which he is bold

To honour more than God or his own eyes,)

That he will sack the fort of the Cadmeians

With that spear's might. So speaks the offspring fair

Of mother mountain-bred, a stripling hero;

And the soft down is creeping o'er his cheeks,

Youth's growth, and hair that floweth full and thick;

And he with soul, not maiden's like his name,^[103]

But stern, with flashing eye, is standing there.

Nor stands he at the gate without a vaunt;

For on his brass-wrought buckler, strong defence,

Full-orbed, his body guarding, he the shame

Of this our city bears, the ravenous Sphinx,

With rivets fixed, all burnished and embossed;^[104]

And under her she holdeth a Cadmeian,

That so on him most arrows might be shot.

No chance that he will fight a peddling fight,

Nor shame the long, long journey he hath come,

Parthenopæos, in Arcadia born:

This man did Argos welcome as a guest,

And now he pays her for her goodly rearing,

And threatens these our towers with ... God avert it!

Eteoc. Should the Gods give them what they plan 'gainst us,

Then they, with those their godless boastings high,

Would perish shamefully and utterly.

And for this man of Arcady thou tell'st of,

We have a man who boasts not, but his hand

Sees the right thing to do;—Actôr, of him

I named but now the brother,—who no tongue

Divorced from deeds will ever let within

Our gates, to spread and multiply our ills,

Nor him who bears upon his foeman's shield

The image of the hateful venomed beast;

But she without shall blame him as he tries

To take her in, when she beneath our walls

Gets sorely bruised and battered.^[105] And herein,

If the Gods will, I prophet true shall prove.

Chor. Thy words thrill through my breast;

Mess. A sixth I tell of, one of noblest mood,

Amphiaraos, seer and warrior famed;

He, stationed at the Homolôian gates,

Reproves the mighty Tydeus with sharp words

As 'murderer,' and 'troubler of the State,'^[106]

'To Argos teacher of all direst ills,

Erinnys' sumpnour,'^[107] 'murder's minister,'

Whose counsels led Adrastos to these ills.

*And at thy brother Polyneikes glancing

With eyes uplifted for his father's fate,

And ending, twice he syllabled his name,^[108]

And called him, and thus speaketh with his lips:—

“A goodly deed, and pleasant to the Gods,

Noble for after age to hear and tell,

Thy father's city and thy country's Gods

To waste through might of mercenary host!

And how shall Justice stay thy mother's tears?^[109]

And how, when conquered, shall thy fatherland,

Laid waste, become a true ally to thee?

As for myself, I shall that land make rich,^[110]

A prophet buried in a foeman's soil:

To arms! I look for no inglorious death.”

So spake the prophet, bearing full-orbed shield

Wrought all of bronze, no ensign on that orb.

He wishes to be just, and not to seem,^[111]

Reaping full harvest from his soul's deep furrows,

Whence ever new and noble counsels spring.

I bid thee send defenders wise and brave

Against him. Dread is he who fears the Gods.

Eteoc. Fie on the chance that brings the righteous man

Close-mated with the ungodly! In all deeds

Nought is there worse than evil fellowship,

A crop men should not reap. Death still is found

The harvest of the field of frenzied pride;

For either hath the godly man embarked

With sailors hot in insolence and guile,^[112]

And perished with the race the Gods did loathe;

Or just himself, with citizens who wrong

The stranger and are heedless of the Gods,

Falling most justly in the self-same snare,

By God's scourge smitten, shares the common doom.

And thus this seer I speak of, Œcleus' son,

Righteous, and wise, and good, and reverent,

A mighty prophet, mingling with the godless

*And men full bold of speech in reason's spite,

Who take long march to reach a far-off city,^[113]

If Zeus so will, shall be hurled down with them.

And he, I trow, shall not draw nigh the gates,

Not through faint-heart or any vice of mood,

But well he knows this war shall bring his death,

If any fruit is found in Loxias' words;

And He or holds his speech or speaks in season.

Yet against him the hero Lasthenes,

A foe of strangers, at the gates we'll set;

Old in his mind, his body in its prime,

His eye swift-footed, and his hand not slow

To grasp the spear from 'neath the shield laid bare:^[114]

Yet 'tis by God's gift men must win success.

Chor. Hear, O ye Gods! our prayers,

Mess. The seventh chief then who at the seventh gate stands,

Thine own, own brother, I will speak of now,

What curses on our State he pours, and prays

That he the towers ascending, and proclaimed

By herald's voice to all the territory,

And shouting out the captor's pæan-cry,

May so fight with thee, slay, and with thee die;

Or driving thee alive, who did'st him wrong,

May on thee a vengeance wreak like in kind.

So clamours he, and bids his father's Gods,

His country's guardians, look upon his prayers,

[And grant them all. So Polyneikes prays.]

And he a new and well-wrought shield doth bear,

And twofold sign upon it riveted;

For there a woman with a stately tread

Leads one who seems a warrior wrought in gold:

Justice she calls herself, and thus she speaks:

“I will bring back this man, and he shall have

The city and his father's dwelling-place.”

Such are the signs and mottoes of those men;

And thou, know well whom thou dost mean to send:

So thou shalt never blame my heraldings;

And thou thyself know how to steer the State.

Eteoc. O frenzy-stricken, hated sore of Gods!

O woe-fraught race (my race!) of Œdipus!

Ah me! my father's curse is now fulfilled;

But neither is it meet to weep or wail,

Lest cry more grievous on the issue come.

Of Polyneikes, name and omen true,

We soon shall know what way his badge shall end,

Whether his gold-wrought letters shall restore him,

His shield's great swelling words with frenzied soul.

An if great Justice, Zeus's virgin child,

Ruled o'er his words and acts, this might have been;

But neither when he left his mother's womb,

Nor in his youth, nor yet in ripening age,

Nor when his beard was gathered on his chin,

Did Justice count him meet for fellowship;

Nor do I think that she befriends him now

In this great outrage on his father's land.

Yea, justly Justice would as falsely named

Be known, if she with one all-daring joined.

In this I trust, and I myself will face him:

Who else could claim a greater right than I?

Brother with brother fighting, king with king,

And foe with foe, I'll stand. Come, quickly fetch

My greaves that guard against the spear and stones.

Chor. Nay, dearest friend, thou son of Œdipus,

Be ye not like to him with that ill name.

It is enough Cadmeian men should fight

Against the Argives. That blood may be cleansed;

But death so murderous of two brothers born,

This is pollution that will ne'er wax old.

Eteoc. If a man must bear evil, let him still

Be without shame—sole profit that in death.

[No glory comes of base and evil deeds].

Chor. What dost thou crave, my son? Let no ill fate,

Check the first onset of an evil lust.

Eteoc. Since God so hotly urges on the matter,

Let all of Laios' race whom Phœbos hates,

Drift with the breeze upon Cokytos' wave.

Chor. An over-fierce and passionate desire

Of guilt of blood thy hand should never shed.

Eteoc. Nay, my dear father's curse, in full-grown hate,

Dwells on dry eyes that cannot shed a tear,

And speaks of gain before the after-doom.

Chor. But be not thou urged on. The coward's name

Dark-robed Erinnys enters not the house,

Eteoc. As for the Gods, they scorned us long ago,

And smile but on the offering of our deaths;

What boots it then on death's doom still to fawn?

Chor. Nay do it now, while yet 'tis in thy power;^[115]

And come with spirit less implacable:

Eteoc. Yea, fierce and hot the Curse of Œdipus;

And all too true the visions of the night,

My father's treasured store distributing.

Chor. Yield to us women, though thou lov'st us not.

Eteoc. Speak then what may be done, and be not long.

Chor. Tread not the path that to the seventh gate leads.

Eteoc. Thou shall not blunt my sharpened edge with words.

Chor. And yet God loves the victory that submits.^[116]

Eteoc. That word a warrior must not tolerate.

Chor. Dost thou then haste thy brother's blood to shed?

Eteoc. If the Gods grant it, he shall not 'scape harm.

Chor. I fear her might who doth this whole house wreck,

The prophetess of evil all too true,

The Erinnys of thy father's imprecations,

And now a stranger doth divide the lots,

The Chalyb,^[117] from the Skythians emigrant,

The stern distributor of heaped-up wealth,

The iron that hath assigned them just so much

That mingle with the old woes of our house!

That dying childless, he should save the State.

But he by those he loved full rashly swayed,

And now the sea of evil pours its flood:

*And that atonement of the ancient curse

*And when they come, the evils pass not by.

E'en so the wealth of sea-adventurers,

For whom of mortals did the Gods so praise,

*And race of those who feed their flocks and herds^[120]

As much as then they honoured Œdipus,

Had driven the monster, murderess of men?

Ah, miserable man! his wedlock dire,

And with the hand that smote his father's life

*Blinded the eyes that might his sons have seen.

By nurture scant, he at his sons did hurl^[121]

Should one day share their father's wealth; and I

Fear now lest swift Erinnys should fulfil them.

Mess. Be of good cheer, ye maidens, mother-reared;

Our city has escaped the yoke of bondage,

The boasts of mighty men are fallen low,

And this our city in calm waters floats,

And, though by waves lashed, springs not any leak.

Our fortress still holds out, and we did guard

The gates with champions who redeemed their pledge.

In the six gateways almost all goes well;

But the seventh gate did King Apollo choose,^[122]

Seventh mighty chief, avenging Laios' want

Of counsel on the sons of Œdipus.

Chor. What new disaster happens to our city?^[123]

Mess. The city's saved, but both the royal brothers,...

Chor. Who? and what of them? I'm distraught with fear.

Mess. Be calm, and hear: the sons of Œdipus,...

Chor. Oh wretched me! a prophet I of ill!

Mess. Slain by each other, earth has drunk their blood.

Chor. Came they to that? 'Tis dire; yet tell it me.

Mess. Too true, by brother's hand our chiefs are slain.

Chor. What, did the brother's hands the brother lay?

Mess. No doubt is there that they are laid in dust.

Chor. Thus was there then a common fate for both?

Mess. *Yea, it lays low the whole ill-fated race.

Chor. These things give cause for gladness and for tears,

Seeing that our city prospers, and our lords,

The generals twain, with well-wrought Skythian steel,

Have shared between them all their store of goods,

And now shall have their portion in a grave,

Borne on, as spake their father's grievous curse.^[124]

Mess. [The city's saved, but of the brother-kings

The earth has drunk the blood, each slain by each.]

Chor. Great Zeus! and ye, O Gods!

Guardians of this our town,

Who save in very deed

The towers of Cadmos old,

The war-chiefs, childless and most miserable,

Of Polyneikes, died in impious mood,

That curse of Œdipus and all his race,^[125]

An evil chill is falling on my heart,

Over his grave I sing a dirge of grief,

Hearing the dead have died by evil fate,

Ah me! Ill-omened is the spear's accord.^[126]

And hath not failed, that prayer the father poured;

And Laios' reckless counsels work till now:

The oracles have not yet lost their edge;

O men of many sorrows, ye have wrought

This deed incredible;

Not now in word come woes most lamentable.

The herald's tale of woe comes full in sight;

Twofold our cares, twin evils born of pride,

Wrought unto full completeness all these ills.

Are they than woes that make this house their home?

But oh! my friends, ply, ply with swift, strong gale,

That even stroke of hands upon your head,^[127]

In funeral order, such as evermore

*That bark of State, dark-rigged, accursed its voyage,

Which nor Apollo visits nor the sun,^[128]

For see, they come to bitter deed called forth,

Ismene and the maid Antigone,

That they will pour from fond, deep-bosomed breasts

Should utter the harsh hymn Erinnys loves,

O ye, most evil-fated in your kin,

Of all who guard their robes with maiden's band,

I weep and wail, and feigning know I none,

Semi-Chor. A. Alas! alas!

Men of stern mood, who would not list to friends,

Seizing your father's house, O wretched ones

Semi-Chor. B. Yea, wretched they who found a wretched doom,

Semi-Chor. A. Alas! alas!

Ye who laid low the ancient walls of home,

Your eyes have looked, and ye at last are brought

Semi-Chor. B. Yea, of a truth, the curse of Œdipus

Semi-Chor. A. Yea, smitten through the heart,

Smitten through sides where flowed the blood of brothers.

Of deaths ye met with each at other's hands!

Semi-Chor. B. Thou tell'st of men death-smitten through and through,

That sprang from out the curse their father spake.

Semi-Chor. A. Yea, through the city runs

A wailing cry. The high towers wail aloud;

Wails all the plain that loves her heroes well;

The strife of those ill-starred ones brought forth death.

Semi-Chor. B. Quick to resent, they shared their fortune so,

Nor is our voice in thanks to Ares raised.

Semi-Chor. A. By the sword smitten low,

Shares in their old ancestral sepulchres.

Semi-Chor. B. *The sorrow of the house is borne to them

Bitter and joyless, shedding truest tears

From heart that faileth, even as they fall,

For these two kingly chiefs.

Semi-Chor. A. Yes; one may say of them,

Of many nations fallen in the fray.

Semi-Chor. B. Ah! miserable she who bare those twain,

By mutual slaughter and by brothers' hands,

Semi-Chor. A. Yes; of the same womb born, and doomèd both,

Semi-Chor. B. The quarrel now is hushed,

And in the ensanguined earth their lives are blent;

Has been the stranger from beyond the sea,^[129]

Fresh from the furnace, keen and sharpened steel.

Making their father's curses all too true.

Semi-Chor. A. At last they have their share, ah, wretched ones!

Semi-Chor. B. O ye who your own race

Have made to burgeon out with many woes!

Their shrill, sharp cry of lamentation loud,

The race being put to flight of utmost rout,

And Fate, now both are conquered, rests at last.