ETEOCLES. Out on the chance that couples mortal men, Linking the just and impious in one! In every issue, the one curse is this— Companionship with men of evil heart! A baneful harvest, let none gather it! The field of sin is rank, and brings forth death At whiles a righteous man who goes aboard With reckless mates, a horde of villainy, Dies by one death with that detested crew; At whiles the just man, joined with citizens Ruthless to strangers, recking nought of Heaven, Trapped, against nature, in one net with them, Dies by God’s thrust and all-including blow. So will this prophet die, even Oecleus’ child, Sage, just, and brave, and loyal towards Heaven, Potent in prophecy, but mated here With men of sin, too boastful to be wise! Long is their road, and they return no more, And, at their taking-off, by hand of Zeus, The prophet too shall take the downward way. He will not—so I deem—assail the gate— Not as through cowardice or feeble will, But as one knowing to what end shall be Their struggle in the battle, if indeed Fruit of fulfilment lie in Loxias’ word. He speaketh not, unless to speak avails! Yet, for more surety, we will post a man, Strong Lasthenes, as warder of the gate, Stern to the foeman; he hath age’s skill, Mated with youthful vigour, and an eye Forward, alert; swift too his hand, to catch The fenceless interval ’twixt shield and spear! Yet man’s good fortune lies in hand of Heaven. CHORUS. Unto our loyal cry, ye gods, give ear! Save, save the city! turn away the spear, Send on the foemen fear! Outside the rampart fall they, rent and riven Beneath the bolt of heaven! THE SPY. Last, let me name yon seventh antagonist, Thy brother’s self, at the seventh portal set— Hear with what wrath he imprecates our doom, Vowing to mount the wall, though banished hence, And peal aloud the wild exulting cry— _The town is ta’en_—then clash his sword with thine, Giving and taking death in close embrace, Or, if thou ’scapest, flinging upon thee, As robber of his honour and his home, The doom of exile such as he has borne. So clamours he and so invokes the gods Who guard his race and home, to hear and heed The curse that sounds in Polynices’ name! He bears a round shield, fresh from forge and fire, And wrought upon it is a twofold sign— For lo, a woman leads decorously The figure of a warrior wrought in gold; And thus the legend runs—_I Justice am, And I will bring the hero home again, To hold once more his place within this town, Once more to pace his sire’s ancestral hall_. Such are the symbols, by our foemen shown— Now make thine own decision, whom to send Against this last opponent! I have said— Nor canst thou in my tidings find a flaw— Thine is it, now, to steer the course aright.