CH. Stranger, depart at once! Thou hast done wrong, And wrong art doing.

CR. (to attendants). Now then, lead her away By force, if she refuse to go with you.

ANT. Ah me! unhappy! Whither shall I flee? What aid of God or mortal can I find?

CH. What dost thou, stranger?

CR. I will lay no hand On him, but on my kinswoman.

OED. Alas! Lords of Colonos, will ye suffer it?

CH. Thou art transgressing, stranger.

CR. Nay, I stand Within my right.

CH. How so?

CR. I take mine own.

OED. Athens to aid!

CH. Stranger, forbear! What dost thou? Let go, or thou shalt try thy strength with us.

CR. Unhand me!

CH. Not while this intent is thine.

CR. If you harm me, you will have war with Thebes.

OED. Did I not tell you this would come?

CH. Release The maid with speed.

CR. Command where you have power.

CH. Leave hold, I say!

CR. Away with her, say I!

CH. Come hither, neighbours, come! My city suffers violence. Wrongful men Are hurting her with force. Come hither to me!

ANT. Unhappy, I am dragged away,—O strangers!

OED. Where art thou, O my child?

ANT. I go away Against my will.

OED. Reach forth thy hands, my daughter!

ANT. I cannot.

CR. Off with her!

OED. Alas, undone! [Exit ANTIGONE, guarded

CR. Thou shalt not have these staves henceforth to prop Thy roaming to and fro. Take thine own way! Since thou hast chosen to thwart thy nearest kin,— Beneath whose orders, though a royal man, I act herein,—and thine own native land. The time will surely come when thou shalt find That in this deed and all that thou hast done In opposition to their friendly will, Thou hast counselled foolishly against thy peace, Yielding to anger, thy perpetual bane. [Going

CH. Stranger, stand where thou art!

CR. Hands off, I say!

CH. Thou shalt not go, till thou restore the maids.

CR. Soon, then, my city shall retain from you A weightier cause of war. I will lay hands Not on the maidens only.

CH. What wilt thou do?

CR. Oedipus I will seize and bear away.

CH. Great Heaven forfend!

CR. It shall be done forthwith, Unless the ruler of this land prevent me.

OED. O shameless utterance! Wilt thou lay thy hold On me?

CR. Be silent! Speak no more!

OED. No more? May these dread Goddesses not close my lips To this one prayer of evil against thee, Thou villain, who, when I have lost mine eyes, Bereavest me of all that I had left To make my darkness light! Therefore I pray, For this thy wrongful act, may He in heaven Whose eye sees all things, Helios, give to thee Slowly to wither in an age like mine!

CR. Men of this land, bear witness to his rage!

OED. They see us both, and are aware that I Repay thee but with words for deeds of wrong.

CR. No longer will I curb my wrath. Though lonely And cumbered by mine age, I will bear off This man!

OED. Me miserable!

CH. How bold thou art, If standing here thou think'st to do this thing!

CR. I do.

CH. Then Athens is to me no city.

CR. Slight men prevail o'er strength in a just cause.

OED. Hear ye his words?

CH. He shall not make them good. Be witness, Zeus!

CR. Zeus knows more things than thou.

OED. Is not this violence?

CR. Violence you must bear.

CH. Come, chieftain of our land! Come hither with all speed. They pass the bound.

Enter THESEUS.

THE. Wherefore that shouting? Daunted by what fear Stayed ye me sacrificing to the God[2] Who guards this deme Colonos? Let me know What cause so hastened my reluctant foot.

OED. Dear friend (I know thy voice addressing us), One here hath lately done me cruel wrong.

THE. Who is the wrong-doer, say, and what the deed?

OED. This Creon, whom thou seest, hath torn away Two children that were all in all to me.

THE. Can this be possible?

OED. Thou hear'st the truth.

THE. Then one of you run to the altar-foot Hard by, and haste the people from the rite, Horsemen and footmen at the height of speed To race unto the parting of the roads Where travellers from both gorges wont to meet. Lest there the maidens pass beyond our reach And I be worsted by this stranger's might And let him laugh at me. Be swift! Away! —For him, were I as wroth as he deserves, He should not go unpunished from my hand. But now he shall be ruled by the same law He thought to enforce. Thou goest not from this ground Till thou hast set these maids in presence here; Since by thine act thou hast disgraced both me And thine own lineage and thy native land, Who with unlicensed inroad hast assailed An ancient city, that hath still observed Justice and equity, and apart from law Ratifies nothing; and, being here, hast cast Authority to the winds, and made thine own Whate'er thou wouldst, bearing it off perforce,— Deeming of me forsooth as nothing worth, And of my city as one enslaved to foes Or void of manhood. Not of Thebe's will Come such wild courses. It is not her way To foster men in sin, nor would she praise Thy doing, if she knew that thou hast robbed Me and the gods, dragging poor suppliant wights From their last refuge at thy will—I would not, Had I perchance set foot within thy land, Even were my cause most righteous, have presumed, Without consent of him who bore chief sway, To seize on any man, but would have known How men should act who tread on foreign soil. Thou bring'st disgrace on thine own mother state All undeservedly, and the lapse of years Hath left thee aged, but not wise—Again I bid those maids now to be brought with speed, Unless thou would'st be made a sojourner In Athens by compulsion. This I speak Not with my lips alone, but from my will.

CH. Stranger, dost thou perceive? Thy parentage Is owned as noble, but thine evil deeds Are blazoned visibly.

CR. Great Aegeus' son! Not as misprising this thy city's strength In arms, or wisdom in debate, I dared This capture, but in simple confidence Thy citizens would not so envy me My blood relations, as to harbour them Against my will,—nor welcome to their hearths A man incestuous and a parricide, The proved defiler of his mother's bed Such was the mount of Ares that I knew, Seat of high wisdom, planted in their soil, That suffers no such lawless runaways To haunt within the borders of your realm. Relying on that I laid my hands upon This quarry, nor had done so, were it not That bitterly he cursed myself and mine. That moved me to requital, since even Age Still bears resentment, till the power of death Frees men from anger, as from all annoy. Being sovereign here thou wilt do thy pleasure. I, Though I have justice on my side, am weak Through being alone. Yet if you meddle with me, Old as I am, you'll find me dangerous.

OED. O boldness void of shame! Whom dost thou think Thy obloquy most harms, this aged head Or thine, who hast thus let pass thy lips the crimes I have borne unwittingly. So Heaven was pleased To wreak some old offence upon our race. Since in myself you will find no stain of sin For which such ruinous error 'gainst myself And mine own house might be the recompense. Tell me, I pray thee, if a word from Heaven Came to my father through the oracle That he should die by his son's hand,—what right Hast thou to fasten that reproach on me, The child not yet begotten of my sire, An unborn nothing, unconceived? Or if, Born as I was to misery, I encountered And killed my father in an angry fray, Nought knowing of what I did or whom I slew, What reason is't to blame the unwitting deed? And, oh, thou wretch! art not ashamed to force me To speak that of my mother, thine own sister, Which I will speak, for I will not keep silence, Since thou hast been thus impious with thy tongue. She was my mother, oh, the bitter word! Though neither knew it, and having borne me, she Became the mother of children to her son, An infamous birth! Yet this I know, thy crime Of speech against us both is voluntary. But all involuntary was my deed In marriage and is this mine utterance now. No,—that shall not be called a bosom-sin, Nor shall my name be sullied with the deed, Thy tongue would brand on me, against my sire. For answer me one question. If to-day, Here, now, one struck at thee a murderous stroke,— At thee, the righteous person,—wouldst thou ask If such assailant were thy sire, or strike Forthwith? Methinks, as one who cares to live, You would strike before you questioned of the right, Or reasoned of his kindred whom you slew. Such was the net that snared me: such the woes Heaven drew me to fulfil. My father's spirit, Came he to life, would not gainsay my word. But thou, to whom, beneath the garb of right, No matter is too dreadful or too deep For words, so rail'st on me, in such a presence. Well thou dost flatter the great name of Theseus, And Athens in her glory stablished here, But midst thy fulsome praises thou forgettest How of all lands that yield the immortal Gods Just homage of true piety, this land Is foremost. Yet from hence thou would'st beguile Me, the aged suppliant. Nay, from hence thou would'st drag Myself with violence, and hast reft away My children. Wherefore I conjure these powers, With solemn invocation and appeal, To come and take my part, that thou may'st know What men they are who guard this hallowed realm.

CH. My lord, the stranger deserves well. His fate Is grievous, but the more demands our aid.

THE. Enough of words. The captors and their prey Are hasting;—we, they have wronged, are standing still.

CR. I am powerless here. What dost thou bid me do?

THE. Lead us the way they are gone. I too must be Thine escort, that if hereabout thou hast Our maidens, thou mayest show them to my sight. But if men flee and bear them, we may spare Superfluous labour. Others hotly urge That business, whom those robbers shall not boast Before their Gods to have 'scaped out of this land. Come, be our guide! Thou hast and hast not. Fortune Hath seized thee seizing on thy prey. So quickly Passes the gain that's got by wrongful guile. Nay, thou shalt have no helper. Well I wot Thou flew'st not to this pitch of truculent pride Alone, or unsupported by intrigue; But thy bold act hath some confederate here. This I must look into, nor let great Athens Prove herself weaker than one single man. Hast caught my drift? Or is my voice as vain Now, as you thought it when you planned this thing?

CR. I will gainsay nought of what thou utterest here. But once in Thebes, I too shall know my course.

THE. Threaten, but go! Thou, Oedipus, remain In quietness and perfect trust that I, If death do not prevent me, will not rest Till I restore thy children to thy hand.

CHORUS. Soon shall the wheeling foes I 1 Clash with the din of brazen-throated War. Would I were there to see them close, Be the onset near or far! Whether at Daphne's gorge to Phoebus dear, Or by the torch-lit shore Where kind maternal powers for evermore Guard golden mysteries of holy fear To nourish mortal souls Whose voice the seal of silent awe controls Imprinted by the Eumolpid minister. There, on that sacred way, Shall the divinest head Of royal Theseus, rouser of the fray, And those free maids, in their two squadrons led, Meet in the valorous fight That conquers for the right.

Else, by the snow-capped rock, I 2 Passing to westward, they are drawing nigh The tract beyond the pasture high Where Oea feeds her flock. The riders ride, the rattling chariots flee At racing speed.—'Tis done! He shall be vanquished. Our land's chivalry Are valiant, valiant every warrior son Of Theseus.—On they run? Frontlet and bridle glancing to the light, Forward each steed is straining to the fight, Forward each eye and hand Of all that mounted band, Athena's knighthood, champions of her name And his who doth the mighty waters tame, Rhea's son that from of old Doth the Earth with seas enfold.

Strive they? Or is the battle still to be? II 1 An eager thought in me Is pleading, 'Soon must they restore The enduring maid, whose kinsmen vex her sore!' To-day shall Zeus perform his will. The noble cause wins my prophetic skill. Oh! had I wings, and like a storm-swift dove Poised on some aery cloud might there descry The conflict from above, Scouring the region with mine eye!

Sovran of Heaven, all-seeing Zeus, afford II 2 Unto this nation's lord Puissance to crown the fair emprise, Thou, and all-knowing Pallas, thy dread child! Apollo, huntsman of the wild, —Thou and thy sister, who doth still pursue Swift many-spotted stags,—arise, arise, With love we pray you, be our champions true! Yea, both together come To aid our people and our home!

LEADER OF CH. Ah! wanderer friend, thou wilt not have to accuse Thy seer of falsehood. I behold the maids This way once more in safe protection brought.

OED. Where? Is it true? How say you?

ANT. Father, father! Oh that some God would give thee once to see The man whose royal virtue brings us hither!

OED. My daughters, are ye there?

ANT. Saved by the arm Of Theseus and his most dear ministers.

OED. Come near me, child, and let your father feel The treasure he had feared for ever gone.

ANT. Not hard the boon which the heart longs to give.

OED. Where are ye, where?

ANT. Together we draw near.

OED. Loved saplings of a solitary tree!

ANT. A father's heart hides all.

OED. Staves of mine age!

ANT. Forlorn supporters of an ill-starred life!

OED. I have all I love; nor would the stroke of death Be wholly bitter, with you standing by. Press close to either side of me, my children; Grow to your sire, and ye shall give me rest From mine else lonely, hapless, wandering life. And tell your tale as briefly as ye may, Since at your age short speaking is enough.

ANT. Here is our saviour. He shall tell thee all, And shorten labour both for us and thee.

OED. Think it not strange, dear friend, that I prolong The unhoped-for greeting with my children here. Full well I know, the joy I find in them Springs from thee only, and from none beside. Thou, thou alone hast saved them. May the Gods Fulfil my prayer for thee and for thy land! Since only in Athens, only here i' the world, Have I found pious thought and righteous care, And truth in word and deed. From a full heart And thankful mind I thus requite thy love, Knowing all I have is due to none but thee. Extend to me, I pray thee, thy right hand, O King, that I may feel thee, and may kiss, If that be lawful, thy dear head! And yet What am I asking? How can one like me Desire of thee to touch an outlawed man, On whose dark life all stains of sin and woe Are fixed indelibly? I will not dare— No, nor allow thee!—None but only they Who have experience of such woes as mine May share their wretchedness. Thou, where thou art Receive my salutation, and henceforth Continue in thy promised care of me As true as to this moment thou hast proved.

THE. I marvel not at all if mere delight In these thy daughters lengthened thy discourse, Or led thee to address them before me. That gives me not the shadow of annoy. Nor am I careful to adorn my life With words of praise, but with the light of deeds. And thou hast proof of this. For I have failed In nought of all I promised, aged King! Here stand I with thy children in full life Unharmed in aught the foe had threatened them. And now why vaunt the deeds that won the day, When these dear maids will tell them in thine ear? But let me crave thy counsel on a thing That crossed me as I came. Small though it seem When told, 'tis worthy of some wonder, too. Be it small or great, men should not let things pass.

OED. What is it, O son of Aegeus? Let me hear, I am wholly ignorant herein.

THE. We are told One, not thy townsman, but of kin to thee, Hath come in unawares, and now is found Kneeling at great Poseidon's altar, where I sacrificed, what time ye called me hither.

OED. What countryman, and wherefore suppliant there?

THE. One thing alone I know. He craves of thee Some speech, they say, that will not hold thee long.

OED. His kneeling there imports no trivial suit.

THE. All he desires, they tell me, is to come, Have speech with thee, and go unharmed away.

OED. Who can he be that kneels for such a boon?

THE. Think, if at Argos thou a kinsman hast Who might desire to obtain so much of thee.

OED. Dear friend! Hold there! No more!

THE. What troubles thee?

OED. Ask it not of me!

THE. What? Speak plainly forth.

OED. Thy words have shown me who the stranger is.

THE. And who is he that I should say him nay?

OED. My son, O King,—hateful to me, whose tongue Least of the world I could endure to hear.

THE. What pain is there in hearing? Canst thou not Hear, and refuse to do what thou mislikest?

OED. My Lord, I have come to loathe his very voice. I pray thee, urge me not to yield in this.

THE. Think that the God must be considered too, The right of suppliants may compel thy care.

ANT. Father, give ear, though I be young that speak. Yield to the scruple of the King, who claims This reverence for his people's God, and yield To us who beg our brother may come near. Take heart! He will not force thee from thy will. What harm can come of hearkening? Wisdom's ways Reveal themselves through words. He is thy son. Whence, were his heartless conduct against thee Beyond redemption impious, O my sire, Thy vengeance still would be unnatural. Oh let him!—Others have had evil sons And passionate anger, but the warning voice Of friends hath charmed their mood. Then do not thou Look narrowly upon thy present griefs, But on those ancient wrongs thou didst endure From father and from mother. Thence thou wilt learn That evil passion ever ends in woe. Thy sightless eyes are no light argument To warn thee through the feeling of thy loss. Relent and hear us! 'Tis a mere disgrace To beg so long for a just boon. The King Is kind to thee. Be generous in return.

OED. Child, your dear pleading to your hard request Hath won me. Let this be as ye desire. Only, my lord, if he is to come near, Let no man's power molest my liberty.

THE. I need no repetition, aged friend, Of that request. Vaunt will I not, but thou Be sure, if Heaven protect me, thou art free.

CHORUS. Who, loving life, hath sought I 1 To outlive the appointed span, Shall be arraigned before my thought For an infatuate man. Since the added years entail Much that is bitter,—joy Flies out of ken, desire doth fail, The longed-for moments cloy. But when the troublous life, Be it less or more, is past, With power to end the strife Comes rescuing Death at last. Lo! the dark bridegroom waits! No festal choir Shall grace his destined hour, no dance, no lyre!

Far best were ne'er to be, I 2 But, having seen the day, Next best by far for each to flee As swiftly as each may, Yonder from whence he came: For once let Youth be there With her light fooleries, who shall name The unnumbered brood of Care? No trial spared, no fall! Feuds, battles, murders, rage, Envy, and last of all, Despised, dim, friendless age! Ay, there all evils, crowded in one room, Each at his worst of ill, augment the gloom.

Such lot is mine, and round this man of woe, II —As some grey headland of a northward shore Bears buffets of all-wintry winds that blow,— New storms of Fate are bursting evermore In thundrous billows, borne Some from the waning light, Some through mid-noon, some from the rising morn, Some from the realm of Night.

ANT. Ah! Who comes here? Sure 'tis the Argive man Approaching hitherward, weeping amain. And, father, it is he!

OED. Whom dost thou mean?

ANT. The same our thoughts have dwelt on all this while, Polynices. He is here.

POLYNICES. What shall I do? I stand in doubt which first I should lament, My own misfortune or my father's woe, Whom here I find an outcast in his age With you, my sisters, in the stranger land, Clothed in such raiment, whose inveterate filth Horridly clings, wasting his reverend form, While the grey locks over the eye-reft brow Wave all unkempt upon the ruffling breeze. And likewise miserable appears the store He bears to nourish that time-wasted frame. Wretch that I am! Too late I learn the truth, And here give witness to mine own disgrace, Which is as deep as thy distress. Myself Declare it. Ask not others of my guilt. But seeing that Zeus on his almighty throne Keeps Mercy in all he doth to counsel him, Thou, too, my father, let her plead with thee! The evil that is done may yet be healed; It cannot be augmented. Art thou silent? O turn not from me, father! Speak but once! Wilt thou not answer, but with shame dismiss me Voiceless, nor make known wherefore thou art wroth? O ye his daughters, one with me in blood, Say, will not ye endeavour to unlock The stern lips of our unrelenting sire? Let him not thus reject in silent scorn Without response the suppliant of Heaven!

ANT. Thyself, unhappy one, say why thou camest. Speech ofttimes, as it flows, touching some root Of pity or joy, or even of hate, hath stirred The dumb to utterance.

POL. I will tell my need:— First claiming for protector the dread God From whose high altar he who rules this land Hath brought me under safe-guard of his power, Scatheless to speak and hear and go my way. His word, I am well assured, will be made good, Strangers, by you, and by my sisters twain, And by our sire.—Now let me name mine errand. I am banished, father, from our native land, Because, being elder-born, I claimed to sit Upon thy sovereign throne. For this offence Eteocles, thy younger son, exiled me, Not having won the advantage in debate Or trial of manhood, but through guileful art Gaining the people's will. Whereof I deem Thy Fury the chief author; and thereto Prophetic voices also testify. For when I had come to Dorian Argolis, I raised, through marriage with Adrastus' child, An army bound in friendly league with me, Led by the men who in the Apian land Hold first pre-eminence and honour in war, With whose aid levying all that mighty host Of seven battalions, I have deeply sworn Either to die, or drive from Theban ground Those who such wrongs have wrought. So far, so well. But why come hither? Father, to crave thine aid With earnest supplication for myself And for my firm allies, who at this hour, Seven leaders of seven bands embattled there, Encompass Thebe's plain. Amphiaraus, Foremost in augury, foremost in war, First wields his warlike spear. Next, Oeneus' son, Aetolian Tydeus; then Eteoclus Of Argive lineage; fourth, Hippomedon, Sent by his father Talaues, and the fifth Is Capancus, who brags he will destroy Thebe with desolating fire. The sixth, Parthonopaeus, from the Arcadian glen Comes bravely down, swift Atalanta's child, Named from his mother's lingering maidenhood Ere she conceived him. And the seventh am I, Thy son, or if not thine, but the dire birth Of evil Destiny, yet named thy son, Who lead this dauntless host from Argolis Against the Theban land. Now one and all We pray thee on our knees, conjuring thee As thou dost love these maids and thine own life, My father, to forgive me, ere I go To be revenged upon my brother there Who drave me forth and robbed me of my throne. If aught in prophecy deserves belief, 'Tis certain, whom thou favourest, those shall win. Now by the wells whereof our fathers drank And by the Gods they worshipped, hear our prayer, Grant this petition: since alike in woe, Alike in poverty and banishment, Partakers of one destiny, thou and I Cringe to the stranger for a dwelling place. Whilst he at home, the tyrant, woe is me, Laughs at us both in soft luxurious pride. Whose might, so thou wilt favour my design, I will lightly scatter in one little hour; And plant thee in thy Theban palace home Near to myself, hurling the usurper forth. All this with thy consent I shall achieve, But without thee, I forfeit life and all.

CH. For his sake who hath brought him, Oedipus, Say what is meet, and let him go in peace.

OED. Ay, were it not the lord of all this land Theseus, that brought him to me and desired He might hear words from me,—never again Had these tones fallen upon his ear. But now That boon is granted him: he shall obtain, Ere he depart, such utterance of my tongue, As ne'er shall give him joy,—ne'er comfort thee, Villain, who when possessed of the chief power Which now thy brother holds o'er Theban land, Didst banish me, thy father, who stand here, To live in exile, clothed with such attire, That moves thy tears now that thine own estate Is fallen into like depth of struggling woe. But tears are bootless. Howsoe'er I live, I must endure, and hold thee still my murderer. 'Tis thou hast girt me round with misery, 'Tis thou didst drive me forth, and driven by thee I beg my bread, a wandering sojourner. Yea, had these daughters not been born to me To tend me, I were dead, for all thou hast done. They have rescued, they have nursed me. They are men, Not women, in the strength of ministry. Ye are another's, not my sons—For this The eye of Destiny pursues thee still Eager to light on thee with instant doom If once that army move toward the town Of ancient Thebes,—the town, no dearer name, 'City' or 'Country' shall beseem thy lip Till ye both fall, stained with fraternal gore Long since I launched that curse against you twain Which here again I summon to mine aid, That ye may learn what duty children owe To a parent, nor account it a light thing That ye were cruel sons to your blind sire. These maidens did not so. Wherefore my curse Prevails against thy prayer for Thebe's throne, If ancient Zeus, the eternal lawgiver, Have primal Justice for his counsellor. Begone, renounced and fatherless for me, And take with thee, vilest of villanous men, This imprecation:—Vain be thine attempt In levying war against thy father's race, Frustrate be thy return to Argos' vale: Die foully by a fratricidal hand And foully slay him who hath banished thee! Further, I bid the horror breathing gloom Tartarean, of the vault that holds my sire, To banish thee from that last home: I invoke The Spirits who haunt this ground, and the fierce God Who hath filled you both with this unnatural hate.— Go now with all this in thine ears, and tell The people of Cadmus and thy firm allies In whom thou trustest, what inheritance Oedipus hath divided to his sons.

CH. 'Tis pity for thee, prince, to have come at all; And now we bid thee go the way thou camest.

POL. Alas! Vain enterprise, and hope undone! Oh, my poor comrades! To what fatal end I led you forth from Argos, woe is me! I may not tell it you,—no, nor return. In silence I must go to meet my doom. Daughters of this inexorable sire, Since now ye have heard his cruel curse on me, Ah! in Heaven's name, my sisters, do not you Treat me despitefully, but if, one day, Our father's execration is fulfilled And ye shall be restored to Theban ground, Grace me with funeral honours and a tomb! So shall this ample praise which ye receive For filial ministration, in that day Be more than doubled through your care for me.

ANT. Brother, I beg thee, listen to my prayer!

POL. Dearest Antigone, speak what thou wilt.

ANT. Turn back thy host to Argos with all speed, And ruin not thyself and Thebe too.

POL. Impossible. If once I shrink for fear, No longer may I lead them to the war.

ANT. But why renew thy rage? What benefit Comes to thee from o'erturning thine own land?

POL. 'Tis shameful to remain in banishment, And let my brother mock my right of birth.

ANT. Then seest thou not how true unto their aim Our father's prophecies of mutual death Against you both are sped?

POL. He speaks his wish. 'Tis not for me to yield.

ANT. O me, unhappy! But who that hears the deep oracular sound Of his dark words, will dare to follow thee?

POL. They will not hear of danger from my mouth. Wise generals tell of vantage, not of bale.

ANT. Art thou then so resolved, O brother mine?

POL. I am. Retard me not! I must attend To my dark enterprise, blasted and foiled Beforehand by my father's angry curse. But as for you, Heaven prosper all your way, If ye will show this kindness in my death, For nevermore in life shall ye befriend me! Nay, cling to me no longer. Fare ye well. Ye will behold my living form no more.

ANT. O misery!

POL. Bewail me not.

ANT. And who That saw thee hurrying forth to certain death Would not bewail thee, brother?

POL. If Fate wills, Why, I must die.

ANT. Nay, but be ruled by me.

POL. Give me not craven counsel.

ANT. Woe is me, To lose thee!

POL. Heaven hath power to guide the event Or thus or otherwise. Howe'er it prove, I pray that ye may ne'er encounter ill. All men may know, ye merit nought but good. [Exit. The sky is overcast—a storm is threatened

CHORUS. New trouble, strange trouble, deep laden with doom, I 1 From the sight-bereft stranger seems dimly to loom! Or peers Fate through the gloom? She will move toward her mark or through shining or shade; Since no purpose of Gods ever idly was made. Time sees the fulfilment, who lifteth to-day What was lowly, and trampleth the lofty to clay. Thunder! Heavens! what a sound!

OED. My children! Would but some one in the place Haste hither Theseus, noblest among men!

ANT. Wherefore, my father? What is thy desire?

OED. These winged thunders of the Highest will soon Bear me away to the Unseen. Send quickly!

CHORUS. Again, yonder crash through the fire-startled air I 2 Wing'd from Zeus, rushes down, till my thin locks of hair, Stiff with fear, upward stare. My soul shrinks and cowers, for yon gleam from on high Darts again! Ne'er in vain hath it leapt from the sky, But flies forth amain to what task Zeus hath given. I fear the unknown fatal edict of Heaven! Lightning glares all around!

OED. My daughters, the divinely promised end Here unavoidably descends on me.

ANT. How dost thou know it? By what certain sign?

OED. I know it perfectly. Let some one go With speed to bring the lord of Athens hither.

CHORUS. Great Heaven, how above me, beside me, around, II 1 Peals redoubled the soul-thrilling sound! O our God, to this land, to our mother, if aught Thou wouldst send with some darkness of destiny fraught, Smile gently once more! With the good let me bear What of fortune soe'er,— Taste no cup, touch no food, the doomed sinner may share. Zeus, to thee, Lord, I cry!

OED. Is the King coming? Will he find me alive, My daughters, and with reason undisturbed?

ANT. Say wherefore dost thou crave with such desire The clearness of an undistracted mind?

OED. I would fully render from a grateful soul The boon I promised, when I gained my suit.

CHORUS (looking towards Athens). Come, my chief! come with speed! Or, if haply at hand, II 2 On the height where the curved altars stand, Thou art hallowing with oxen in sacrifice slain Yonder shrine of Poseidon, dread lord of the main, Hie thee hither! Be swift! The blind stranger intends To thee, to thy friends, To thy city, for burdens imposed, just amends. Haste thee, King! Hear our cry!

Enter THESEUS.

THE. Why sounds again from hence your joint appeal, Wherein the stranger's voice is loudly heard? Is it some lightning-bolt new-fallen from Zeus, Or cloud-born hail that is come rattling down? From Heavens so black with storm nought can surprise.

OED. Prince, thou art come to my desire. Some God Hath happily directed this thy way.

THE. What is befallen? Son of Laius, tell!

OED. My path slopes downward, and before my death I would confirm to Athens and to thee My promised boon.

THE. What sign dost thou perceive That proves thine end so near?

OED. The Gods themselves With herald voices are proclaiming it, Nought failing of the fore-appointed signs.

THE. What are these tokens, aged monarch, say?

OED. The loud continual thunder, and the darts That flash in volleys from the unconquered hand.

THE. I may not doubt thee; for thy speech, I feel, Hath ample witness of prophetic power. What must I do?

OED. I will instruct thee now, Aegeus' great son! in rites that shall remain An ageless treasure to thy countrymen. I will presently, with no man guiding me, Conduct thee to the spot, where I must die. This is thy secret, not to be revealed To any one of men, or where 'tis hid Or whereabout it lies. So through all time This neighbouring[3] mound shall yield thee mightier aid Than many a shield and help of alien spears. More shalt thou learn, too sacred to divulge, When yonder thou art come thyself alone. Since to none other of these citizens Nor even unto the children of my love May I disclose it. 'Tis for thee to keep Inviolate while thou livest, and when thy days Have ending, breathe it to the foremost man Alone, and he in turn unto the next Successively. So shalt thou ever hold Athens unravaged by the dragon brood[4]. Cities are numberless, and any one May lightly insult even those who dwell secure. For the eye of Heaven though late yet surely sees When, casting off respect, men turn to crime. Erechtheus' heir! let that be far from thee! A warning needless to a man so wise! Now go we—for this leading of the God Is urgent—to the place, nor loiter more. This way, my children! follow me! For I Am now your guide, as ye were mine. Come on! Nay, touch me not, but leave me of myself To find the holy sepulchre, wherein This form must rest beneath Athenian soil. Come this way! Come! This way are leading me Guide Hermes and the Queen of realms below. O Light, all dark to me! In former time Bright seemed thy shining! Now thy latest ray Sheds vital influence o'er this frame. I go To hide the close of my disastrous life With Hades. Kind Athenian friend, farewell! May'st thou, thy followers, and this glorious land Be happy, and in your endless happiness Remember him who blessed you in his death. [Exeunt

CHORUS. Prince of the Powers Unseen, 1 Durst we with prayers adore Thee and thy viewless Queen, Your aid, Aidoneus, would our lips implore! By no harsh-sounding doom Let him we love descend, With calm and cloudless end, In deep Plutonian dwelling evermore To abide among the people of the tomb! Long worn with many an undeserved woe, Just Gods will give thee glory there below.

Dread Forms, who haunt this floor, 2 And thou, the Unconquered Beast, That hugely liest at rest By the dim shining adamantine door, —Still from thy cavernous lair Gnarling, so legends tell, A tameless guard of Hell,— Mayest thou this once thy vigilance forbear, And leave large room for him now entering there. Hear us, great Son of Darkness and the Deep; On thee we call, God of the dreamless sleep!

Enter Messenger.

MESS. Athenian citizens, my briefest tale Were to say singly, Oedipus is gone; But to describe the scene enacted yonder Craves no brief speech, nor was the action brief.

CH. Then he is gone! Poor man!

MESS. Know it once for all, He hath left eternally the light of day.

CH. Poor soul! What? Ended he with peace divine?

MESS. Ay, there is the main marvel. How he moved From hence, thou knowest, for thou too wert here, And saw'st that of his friends none guided him, But he they loved was leader to them all. Now, when he came to the steep pavement, rooted With adamant foundation deep in Earth, On one of many paths he took his stand Near the stone basin, where Peirithoues And Theseus graved their everlasting league. There, opposite the mass of Laurian ore, Turned from the hollow pear-tree and the tomb Of marble, he sate down, and straight undid His travel-soiled attire, then called aloud On both his children, and bade some one fetch Pure water from a running stream. And they, Hasting together to the neighbouring hill Of green Demeter, goddess of the Spring, Brought back their sire's commission speedily, And bathed, and clothed him with the sacred robe. When he was satisfied, and nothing now Remained undone of all he bade them do, The God of darkness thundered, and the maids Stood horror-stricken on hearing; then together Fell at their father's knees and wept and wailed Loudly and long with beating of the breast. He, when that sound of sorrow pierced his ear, Caressed them in his arms and said:—'My daughters, From this day forth you have no more a father. All that was mine is ended, and no longer Shall ye continue your hard ministry Of labour for my life.—And yet, though hard, Not unendurable, since all the toil Was rendered light through love, which ye can never Receive on earth so richly, as from him Bereaved of whom ye now shall live forlorn.' Such was the talk, mingled with sobs and crying, As each clung fast to each. But when they came To an end of weeping and those sounds were stilled, First all was silent; then a sudden voice Hurried him onward, making each man's hair Bristle on end with force of instant fear. Now here, now there, not once but oftentimes, A God called loudly, 'Oedipus, Oedipus! Why thus delay our going? This long while We are stayed for and thou tarriest. Come away!' He, when he knew the summons of the God, Gave word for royal Theseus to go near; And when he came, said: 'Friend for ever kind, Reach thy right hand, I pray thee (that first pledge) To these my children:—daughters, yours to him!— And give thy sacred word that thou wilt never Betray these willingly: but still perform All that thou mayest with true thought for their good.' He, with grand calmness like his noble self, Promised on oath to keep this friendly bond. And when he had done so, Oedipus forthwith Stroking his children with his helpless hands Spake thus:—'My daughters, you must steel your hearts To noble firmness, and depart from hence, Nor ask to see or hear forbidden things. Go, go at once! Theseus alone must stay Sole rightful witness of these mysteries.' Those accents were the last we all might hear. Then, following the two maids, with checkless tears And groans we took our way. But by and by, At distance looking round, we saw,—not him, Who was not there,—but Theseus all alone Holding his hand before his eyes, as if Some apparition unendurable Had dazed his vision. In a little while, We marked him making reverence in one prayer To the Earth, and to the home of Gods on high. But by what fate He perished, mortal man, Save Theseus, none can say. No lightning-flash From heaven, no tempest rising from the deep, Caused his departure in that hour, but either Some messenger from heaven, or, from beneath, The lower part of Earth, where comes no pain, Opening kindly to receive him in. Not to be mourned, nor with a tearful end Of sickness was he taken from the Earth, But wondrously, beyond recorded fate. If any deem my words unwise, I care not In that man's judgement to be counted wise.

CH. Where are those maidens and their escort? Say.

MESS. They are not far off, but here. The voice of weeping Betokens all too plainly their approach.

ANT. Alas! How manifold, the inheritance of woe Drawn from the troubled fountain of our birth! Indelible, ineradicable grief! For him erewhile We had labour infinite and unrelieved, And now in his last hour we have to tell Of sights and sorrows beyond thought.

CH. How then?

ANT. Friends, ye might understand.

CH. Speak. Is he gone?

ANT. Gone! Even as heart could wish, had wishes power. How else, when neither war, nor the wide sea Encountered him, but viewless realms enwrapt him, Wafted away to some mysterious doom? Whence on our hearts a horror of night is fallen. Woe 's me! For whither wandering shall we find Hard livelihood, by land or over sea?

ISM. I know not. Let dark Hades take me off To lie in death with mine age honoured sire! Death were far better than my life to be.

CH. Noblest of maidens, ye must learn to bear Meekly the sending of the Gods. Be not On fire with grief. Your state is well assured.

ANT. If to be thus is well, then may one long For evil to return. Things nowise dear Were dear to me, whiles I had him to embrace. O father! loved one! that art wearing now The eternal robe of darkness underground, Old as thou wert, think not this maid and I Will cease from loving thee!

CH. He met his doom.

ANT. He met the doom he longed for.

CH. How was that?

ANT. In the strange land where he desired to die He died. He rests in shadow undisturbed; Nor hath he left a tearless funeral. For these mine eyes, father, unceasingly Mourn thee with weeping, nor can I subdue This ever-mounting sorrow for thy loss. Ah me! Would thou hadst not desired to die Here among strangers, but alone with thee There, in the desert, I had seen thee die!

ISM. Unhappy me! What destiny, dear girl, Awaits us both, bereaved and fatherless?

CH. His end was fortunate. He rests in peace. Dear maidens, then desist from your complaint. Sorrow is swift to overtake us all.

ANT. Thither again, dear girl, let us go speedily!

ISM. Say, for what end?

ANT. Desire possesses me—

ISM. Whereof?

ANT. To see the darksome dwelling-place—

ISM. Of whom?

ANT. Woe is me! Of him, our sire!

ISM. But how Can this be lawful? Seest thou not?

ANT. How say'st thou? Why this remonstrance?

ISM. Seest thou not, again, He hath no grave and no man buried him.

ANT. Take me but where he lies. Then slay me there.

ISM. Ah! woe is me, doubly unfortunate, Forlorn and destitute, whither henceforth For wretched comfort must we go?

CH. Fear nought, Dear maidens!

ISM. Where shall we find refuge?

CH. Here, Long since, your refuge is secure.

ANT. How so?

CH. No harm shall touch you.

ANT. I know that.

CH. What then Further engrosseth thee?

ANT. How to get home I know not.

CH. Seek not for it.

ANT. Weariness O'erweighs me.

CH. Hath it not before oppressed thee?

ANT. Before, it vexed me; now it overwhelms.

CH. A mighty sea of misery is your lot.

ANT. Woe is me! O Zeus! And whither must we go? Unto what doom doth my Fate drive me now?

CH. Children, lament no longer. 'Tis not well To mourn 'mongst those with whom the honoured dead Hath left the heirloom of his benison.

Enter THESEUS.

ANT. Theseus, behold us falling at thy feet.

THE. What boon, my children, are ye bent to obtain?

ANT. Our eyes would see our father's burial-place.

THE. 'Tis not permitted to go near that spot.

ANT. O Athens' sovereign lord, what hast thou said?

THE. Dear children, 'twas your father's spoken will That no man should approach his resting-place, Nor human voice should ever violate The mystery of the tomb wherein he lies. He promised, if I truly kept this word, My land would evermore be free from harm. The power which no man may transgress and live, The oath of Zeus, bore witness to our troth.

ANT. His wishes are enough. Then, pray thee, send An escort to convey us to our home, Primeval Thebes, if so we may prevent The death that menaces our brethren there.

THE. That will I; and in all that I may do To prosper you and solace him beneath,— Who even now passes to eternity,— I must not falter. Come, lament no more. His destiny hath found a perfect end.

* * * * *



NOTES

SOME PROPER NAMES

AIDONEUS, Hades or Pluto. ARES, The War-God, a destructive Power. DEO, Demeter. ERINYES, the Furies. HELIOS, The Sun-God. RHEA, the Mother of the Gods. THEBE, the town of Thebes personified.

ANTIGONE.

1 P. 6, l. 126. The serpent. The dragon, the emblem of Thebes.

2 l. 130. Idly caparisoned. Reading [Greek: huperopliais].

3 P. 7, l. 140. Self-harnessed helper. An allusion to the [Greek: seiraphoros], or side trace-horse, in a chariot-race.

4 P. 13, l. 342. Children of the steed. Mules are so-called by Homer.

5 P. 30, l. 955. Dryas' hasty son. Lycurgus. See Homer, Iliad, vi.

6 l. 971. Phineus' two sons. Idothea, the second wife of Phineus, persecuted his two sons by Cleopatra, a daughter of Boreas, whom he had repudiated and immured. The Argonauts saw them in the condition here described.

7 P. 34, l. 1120. The all-gathering bosom wide. The plain of Eleusis, where mysteries were held in honour of Deo or Demeter.

8 P. 39, l. 1301. Reading [Greek: *oxuthekto ... peri*xiphei].

9 l. 1303. The glorious bed of buried Megareus. Megareus, son of Creon and Eurydice, sacrificed himself for Thebes by falling into a deep cave called the Dragon's Lair.

AIAS.

1 P. 48, l. 172. Her blood-stained temple. In some of her temples Artemis was worshipped with sacrifices of bulls, and, according to an old tradition, also with human sacrifices.

2 P. 49. l. 190. The brood of Sisyphus. Amongst his enemies, Odysseus was reputed to be the offspring of Sisyphus and not of Laertes.

3 P. 59, l. 574. Named of the shield. Eurysakes means Broadshield.

4 P. 71, l. 1011. Who smiles no more. Compare a fragment of the Teucer of Sophocles (519, Nauck),

'How vain then, O my son, How vain was my delight in thy proud fame, While I supposed thee living! The fell Fury From her dark shroud beguiled me with sweet lies.'

KING OEDIPUS.

1 P. 86, l. 36. That stern songstress. The Sphinx. See also 'minstrel hound.'

2 P. 96, l. 402. Will hunt Pollution forth. The party cry of 'driving out the pollution' was raised against the Alcmaeonidae and other families in Athens, who were supposed to lie under a traditional curse.

3 P. 99. l. 525. Who durst declare it. [Greek: Tou pros d' ephanthe]. Though the emphatic order of words is unusual, this seems more forcible than the var. [Greek: toupos d' ephanthe].

4 P. 102, l. 625. [CR. You'll ne'er relent nor listen to my plea.] A line has here been lost in the original.

5 P. 113, l. 1025. Your purchase or your child? Oedipus is not to be supposed to have weighed the import of the Corinthian shepherd's words, 'Nor I nor he,' &c., supra.

6 P. 128. l. 1526. His envied fortune mounted beaming. Reading [Greek: en zelo politon] (with 2 MSS) and [Greek: epiphlegon] from my conjecture.

ELECTRA.

1 P. 131, l. 6. The wolf-slaying God. Apollo Lyceius, from Lycos, a wolf.

2 P. 140, l. 363. Ne'er be it mine, &c. Reading [Greek: toume me *lupoun monon boskema].

3 P. 143, l. 451. That lingers on my brow. A somewhat forced interpretation of [Greek: tende lipare tricha]. Possibly [Greek: tend' alamprunton tricha]: 'And this—unkempt and poor—yet give it to him.'

4 P. 144, l. 504. Chariot course of Pelops, full of toil. Pelops won his bride Hippodameia by bribing Myrtilus, his charioteer; whom, in order to conceal his fault, he flung into the sea.

5 P. 150, l. 722. That pulled the side-rope. See on Ant., p. 7, l. 140.

6 l. 151. In letting loose again the left-hand rein. The near horse (see above) knows his business, and, when the slackening of the rein shows that the goal is cleared, makes eagerly for the direct downward course. But if he is let go an instant too soon, he brings the car into contact with the stone.

7 l. 746. Caught in the reins. In an ancient chariot-race, the reins were often passed round the body of the charioteer, so as to give more purchase. See this described in the Hippolytus of Euripides.

8 P. 154, l. 837. One in a woman's toils was tangled. Amphiaraus, betrayed by Eriphyle for a necklace.

9 P. 160, l. 1085. Through homeless misery. I read [Greek: aion' aoikon] for [Greek: aiona koinon] of the MSS.

10 l. 1086. Purging the sin and shame. I read [Greek: kathagnisasa] for the impossible [Greek: kathoplisasa].

11 P. 172, l. 1478. Thou hast been taking, &c. Otherwise, reading with the MSS [Greek: zon tois thanousin ounek' antaudas isa], At point to die, thou art talking with the dead.

TRACHINIAN MAIDENS.

1 P. 180, l. 104. Bride of battle-wooing. 'Deanira' signifies 'Cause of strife to heroes.'

2 P. 185, l. 303. Ne'er may I see thee. The Spartan captives from Pylos had lately been at Athens, and some of them were reputed descendants of Hyllus, the son of Deanira.

3 P. 195, l. 654. Frees him for ever. His last contest brings his final deliverance.

4 P. 201, l. 860. From Love's dread minister, i.e. from Aphrodite, working through the concealed and silent Iole.

PHILOCTETES.

1 P. 222, l. 194. Through Chrysa's cruel sting. Chrysa was an island near the Troad, sacred to a goddess of the name. Her precinct was guarded by a serpent, whose bite, from which Philoctetes suffered, was incurable. See below p. 254, l. 1327.

2 P. 226, l. 344. The fosterer of my sire. Phoenix, the tutor of Achilles.

3 P. 227, l. 351. For I ne'er Had seen him. The legend which makes Achilles go to Troy from Scyros is probably ignored.

4 l. 384. Vile offset of an evil tree. Alluding to the supposed birth of Odysseus. See on Ai., l. 190, p. 60 [sic. should be p. 49].

5 P. 230, l. 489. Of old Chalcodon. One of the former generation, a friend and neighbour of Poeas the father of Philoctetes.

6 P. 237, l. 729. Of him, whose home is in the skies. Heracles, imagined as transfigured on Mount Oeta.

7 P. 254, l. 1328. The sky-roofed fold. The open precinct that was sacred to the goddess, merely surrounded by a wall. See above, note on p. 222, l. 194.

8 P. 255, l. 1333. Phoebus' child. Asclepius.

OEDIPUS AT COLONOS.

1 P. 265, l. 158. Mingles with draughts, &c. Where libations are mixed of water and honey.

2 P. 288, l. 888. The God. Poseidon. See above, p. 282 [sic. should be p. 262], l. 55.

3 P. 306, l. 1525. neighbouring. [Greek: geitonon] (the participle).

4 l. 1534. The dragon-brood. The Cadmeian race at Thebes, sprung from the dragon's teeth sown by Cadmus.

N.B.—For other questionable points the student is referred to the small edition of Sophocles, by Campbell and Abbott (2 vols., Clarendon Press, 1900).

Oxford: HORACE HART, Printer to the University.

THE END