STROPHE III. But he to foolish words gave ear, And ruin to himself begot, The parricidal Oedipus, who joined A frenzied bond in most unholy kind, Sowing where he was sown; whence sprung a bud Of bitterness and blood. ANTISTROPHE III. The city tosses to and fro, Like a drifted ship; wave after wave, Now high, now low, with triple-crested flow Now reared sublime, brays round the plunging prow. These walls are but a plank: if the kings fall 'Tis ruin to us all. STROPHE IV. The ancestral curse, the hoary doom is ripe. Who now shall smooth such hate? What hand shall stay, when it hath willed to strike, The uplifted arm of Fate? When the ship creaks beneath the straining gale, The wealthy merchant[f18] flings the well-stowed bale Into the gulf below.[f19] ANTISTROPHE IV. When the enigma of the baleful Sphynx By Oedipus was read, {284} And the man-rending monster on a stone Despairful dashed her head; What mortal man by herd-possessing men, What god by gods above was honoured then, Like Oedipus below! STROPHE V. But when his soul was conscious, and he saw The monstrous wedlock made 'gainst Nature's law, Him struck dismay, In wild deray, He from their socket roots uptore His eyes, more dear than children, worthy no more To look upon the day. ANTISTROPHE V. And he, for sorry tendance wrathful,[n41] flung Curses against his sons with bitter tongue, "THEY SHALL DISPUTE A DIRE DISPUTE, AND SHARE THEIR LAND WITH STEEL." I fear The threatened harm; with boding heart I hear The Fury's sleepless foot. [_Re-enter_ MESSENGER. MESSENGER. Fear not, fair maids of Theban mothers nursed! The city hath 'scaped the yoke; the insolent boasts Of violent men hath fallen; the ship o' the state Is safe; in sunshine calm we float; in vain Hath wave on wave lashed our sure-jointed beams, No leaky gap our close-lipped timbers knew, Our champions with safety hedged us round, Our towers stand firm. Six of the seven gates Show all things prosperous; the seventh Phœbus Chose for his own (for still in four and three The god delights),[n42] he led the seventh pair, Crowning the doom of evil-counselled Laius. CHORUS. What sayst thou? What new ills to ancient Thebes? MESSENGER. Two men are dead--by mutual slaughter slain. CHORUS. Who?--what?--my wit doth crack with apprehension. MESSENGER. Hear soberly: the sons of Oedipus-- CHORUS. O wretched me! true prophet of true woe. MESSENGER. Too true. They lie stretched in the dust. {285} CHORUS. Sayst so? Sad tale! yet must I school mine ears to hear it. MESSENGER. Brother by brother's hand untimely slain. CHORUS. The impartial god smote equally the twain.