Classic Poem

Strophe I

Semi-Chor. A. Alas! alas!
Men of stern mood, who would not list to friends,
Unwearied in all ills,
Seizing your father's house, O wretched ones
With the spear's murderous point.
Semi-Chor. B. Yea, wretched they who found a wretched doom,
With havoc of the house.

A NTISTROPHE I

Semi-Chor. A. Alas! alas!
Ye who laid low the ancient walls of home,
On sovereignty, ill won,
Your eyes have looked, and ye at last are brought
To concord by the sword.
Semi-Chor. B. Yea, of a truth, the curse of oedipus
Erinnys dread fulfils.

Strophe II

Semi-Chor. A. Yea, smitten through the heart,
Smitten through sides where flowed the blood of brothers.
Ah me! ye doomed of God!
Ah me! the curses dire
Of deaths ye met with each at other's hands!
Semi-Chor. B. Thou tell'st of men death-smitten through and through,
Both in their homes and lives,
With wrath beyond all speech,
And doom of discord fell,
That sprang from out the curse their father spake.

A NTISTROPHE II

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;
And to their children's sons
The wealth will go for which
The strife of those ill-starred ones brought forth death.
Semi-Chor. B. Quick to resent, they shared their fortune so,
That each like portion won;
Nor can their friends regard
Their umpire without blame;
Nor is our voice in thanks to Ares raised.

Strophe III

Semi-Chor. A. By the sword smitten low,
Thus are they now;
By the sword smitten low,
There wait them ... Nay,
Doth one perchance ask what?
Shares in their old ancestral sepulchres.
Semi-Chor. B. The sorrow of the house is borne to them
By my heart-rending wail.
Mine own the cries I pour;
Mine own the woes I weep,
Bitter and joyless, shedding truest tears
From heart that faileth, even as they fall,
For these two kingly chiefs.

A NTISTROPHE III

Semi-Chor. A. Yes; one may say of them,
That wretched pair,
That they much ill have wrought
To their own host;
Yea, and to alien ranks
Of many nations fallen in the fray.
Semi-Chor. B. Ah! miserable she who bare those twain,
'Bove all of women born
Who boast a mother's name!
Taking her son, her own,
As spouse, she bare these children, and they both,
By mutual slaughter and by brothers' hands,
Have found their end in death.

Strophe IV

Semi-Chor. A. Yes; of the same womb born, and doomed both,
Not as friends part, they fell,
In strife to madness pushed
In this their quarrel's end.
Semi-Chor. B. The quarrel now is hushed,
And in the ensanguined earth their lives are blent;
Full near in blood are they.
Stern umpire of their strifes
Has been the stranger from beyond the sea,
Fresh from the furnace, keen and sharpened steel.
Stern, too, is Ares found,
Distributing their goods,
Making their father's curses all too true.

A NTISTROPHE IV

Semi-Chor. A. At last they have their share, ah, wretched ones!
Of burdens sent from God.
And now beneath them lies
A boundless wealth of — — earth.
Semi-Chor. B. O ye who your own race
Have made to burgeon out with many woes!
Over the end at last
The brood of Curses raise
Their shrill, sharp cry of lamentation loud,
The race being put to flight of utmost rout,
And Ate's trophy stands,
Where in the gates they fell;
And Fate, now both are conquered, rests at last.

Ant. Thou wast smitten, and thou smotest.
Ism. Thou did'st slaughter, and wast slaughtered.
Ant. Thou with spear to death did'st smite him.
Ism. Thou with spear to death wast smitten.
Ant. Oh, the woe of all your labours!
Ism. Oh, the woe of all ye suffered!
Ant. Pour the cry of lamentation.
Ism. Pour the tears of bitter weeping.
Ant. There in death thou liest prostrate.
Ism. Having wrought a great destruction.

Strophe

Ant. Ah! my mind is crazed with wailing.
Ism. Yea, my heart within me groaneth.
Ant. Thou for whom the city weepeth!
Ism. Thou too, doomed to all ill-fortune!
Ant. By a loved hand thou hast perished.
Ism. And a loved form thou hast slaughtered.
Ant. Double woes are ours to tell of.
Ism. Double woes too ours to look on.
Ant. Twofold sorrows from near kindred.
Ism. Sisters we by brothers standing.
Ant. Terrible are they to tell of.
Ism. Terrible are they to look on.
Chor. Ah me, thou Destiny,
Giver of evil gifts, and working woe,
And thou dread spectral form of oedipus,
And swarth Erinnys too,
A mighty one art thou.

A NTISTROPHE

Ant. Ah me! ah me! woes dread to look on ...
Ism. Ye showed to me, returned from exile.
Ant. Not, when he had slain, returned he.
Ism. Nay, he, saved from exile, perished.
Ant. Yea, I trow too well, he perished.
Ism. And his brother, too, he murdered.
Ant. Woeful, piteous, are those brothers!
Ism. Woeful, piteous, all they suffered!
Ant. Woes of kindred wrath enkindling!
Ism. Saturate with threefold horrors!
Ant. Terrible are they to tell of.
Ism. Terrible are they to look on.
Chor. Ah me, thou Destiny,
Giver of evil gifts, and stern of soul,
And thou dread spectral form of oedipus,
And swarth Erinnys too,
A mighty one art thou.

E PODE

Ant. Thou, then, by full trial knowest ...
Ism. Thou, too, no whit later learning. . . .
Ant. When thou cam'st back to this city. ...
Ism. Rival to our chief in warfare.
Ant. Woe, alas! for all our troubles!
Ism. Woe, alas! for all our evils!
Ant. Evils fallen on our houses!
Ism. Evils fallen on our country!
Ant. And on me before all others. ...
Ism. And to me the future waiting. ...
Ant. Woe for those two brothers luckless!
Ism. King Eteocles, our leader!
Ant. Oh, before all others wretched!
Ism. . . . . .
Ant. Ah, by Ate frenzy-stricken!
Ism. Ah, where now shall they be buried?
Ant. There where grave is highest honour.
Ism. Ah, the woe my father wedded!

Her. 'Tis mine the judgment and decrees to publish
Of this Cadmeian city's counsellors:
It is decreed Eteocles to honour,
For his goodwill towards this land of ours,
With seemly burial, such as friend may claim;
For warding off our foes he courted death;
Pure as regards his country's holy things,
Blameless he died where death the young beseems;
This then I'm ordered to proclaim of him.
But for his brother's, Polyneikes' corpse,
To cast it out unburied, prey for dogs,
As working havoc on Cadmeian land,
Unless some God had hindered by the spear
Of this our prince; and he, though, dead, shall gain
The curse of all his father's Gods, whom he
With alien host dishonouring, sought to take
Our city. Him by ravenous birds interred
Ingloriously, they sentence to receive
His full deserts; and none may take in hand
To heap up there a tomb, nor honour him
With shrill-voiced wailings; but he still must lie,
Without the meed of burial by his friends.
So do the high Cadmeian powers decree.
Ant. And I those rulers of Cadmeians tell,
That if no other care to bury him,
I will inter him, facing all the risk,
Burying my brother: nor am I ashamed
To thwart the State in rank disloyalty;
Strange power there is in ties of blood, that we,
Born of woe-laden mother, sire ill-starred,
Are bound by: therefore of thy full free-will,
Share thou, my soul, in woes he did not will,
Thou living, he being dead, with sister's heart.
And this I say, no wolves with ravening maw,
Shall tear his flesh — No! no! let none think that!
For tomb and burial I will scheme for him,
Though I be but weak woman, bringing earth
Within my byssine raiment's fold, and so
Myself will bury him; let no man think
(I say't again) aught else. Take heart, my soul!
There shall not fail the means effectual.
Her. I bid thee not defy the State in this.
Ant. I bid thee not proclaim vain words to me.
Her. Stern is the people now, with victory flushed.
Ant. Stern let them be, he shall not tombless lie.
Her. And wilt thou honour whom the State doth loathe?
Ant. Yea, from the Gods he gets an honour due.
Her. It was not so till he this land attacked.
Ant. He, suffering evil, evil would repay.
Her. Not against one his arms were turned, but all.
Ant. Strife is the last of Gods to end disputes:
Him I will bury; talk no more of it.
Her. Choose for thyself then, I forbid the deed.
Chor. Alas! alas! alas!
Ye haughty boasters, race-destroying,
Now Fates and now Erinnyes, smiting
The sons of oedipus, ye slew them,
With a root-and-branch destruction.
What shall I then do, what suffer?
What shall I devise in counsel?
How should I dare nor to weep thee,
Nor escort thee to the burial?
But I tremble and I shrink from
All the terrors which they threatened,
They who are my fellow-townsmen.
Many mourners thou shalt meet with;
But he, lost one, unlamented,
With his sister's wailing only
Passeth. Who with this complieth?
Semi-Chor. A. Let the city doom or not doom
Those who weep for Polyneikes;
We will go, and we will bury,
Maidens we in sad procession;
For the woe to all is common,
And our State with voice uncertain,
Of the claims of Right and Justice;
Hither, thither, shifts its praises.
Semi-Chor. B . We will thus, our chief attending,
Speak, as speaks the State, our praises:
Of the claims of Right and Justice;
For next those the Blessed Rulers,
And the strength of Zeus, he chiefly
Saved the city of Cadmeians
From the doom of fell destruction,
From the doom of whelming utter,
In the flood of alien warriors.