How well have I my father's fears allayed With fraudulent words to compass my own will! Lo, he would filch me hence, with shame to me, Loss to my fatherland. An old man's heart Deserves some pity.--What pity can I claim If I betray the land that gave me birth? Know then that I shall go and save the state, Giving my life and dying for this land. For this is shameful; if beneath no ban Of oracles, bound by no force of fate, But standing to their shields, men dare to die Under the ramparts of the town they love; While I, untrue to brother and to sire, And to my country, like a felon slink Far hence in exile! Lo, where'er I roam, All men would call me coward! By great Zeus, Who dwells among the stars, by bloody Ares, Who made the dragon-seed in days of old Lords of the land, I swear this shall not be! But I will go, and on the topmost towers Standing, will dash into the murky den Where couched the dragon, as the prophet bade. Thus will I free my country. I have spoken. See, then, I leave you: it is no mean gift In death I give the city; but my land I purge of sickness. If all men were bold Of their good things to work the public weal, I ween our towns had less of ills to bear, And more of blessings for all days to be. With the _Phoenissæ_ in our hands, one other passage may be translated which displays the power possessed by Euripides of composing a dramatic picture, and presenting pathos to the eye. Eteocles and Polyneices have been wounded to the death. Jocasta, their mother, and Antigone, their sister, go forth to the battlefield to find them: