MESSENGER. A wrathful god the luckless race destroys, And I for plaints no less than pæans bring thee[n43] Plentiful food. The state now stands secure, But the twin rulers, with hard-hammered steel, Have sharply portioned all their heritage, By the dire curse to sheer destruction hurried. What land they sought they find it in the grave, The hostile kings in one red woe are brothered; The soil that called them lord hath drunk their blood. [_Exit._ CHORUS. O Jove almighty! gods of Cadmus, By whose keeping Thebes is strong, Shall I sing a joyful pæan, Thee the god full-throated hymning That saved the state from instant harm? Or shall drops of swelling pity To a wail invert my ditty? O wretched, hapless, childless princes! Truly, truly was his name Prophet of your mutual shame![f20] Godless was the strife ye cherished, And in godless strife ye perished! CHORAL HYMN. STROPHE I. The curse that rides on sable wing, Hath done its part, And horror, like a creeping thing, Freezes my heart. Their ghastly death in kindred blood Doth pierce me thorough, And deeply stirs the Thyad flood[f21] Of wail and sorrow. An evil bird on boding wing Did darkly sway, When steel on steel did sternly ring In strife to-day. {286} ANTISTROPHE I. The voice that from the blind old king With cursing came, In rank fulfilment forth doth bring Its fruit of shame. O Laius, thou didst work our woe With faithless heart; Nor Phœbus with a half-dealt blow Will now depart. His word is sure, or pacing slow, Or winged with speed, And now the burthened cloud of woe, Bursts black indeed. [_The bodies of_ ETEOCLES _and_ POLYNICES _are brought on the stage._ EPODE. Lo! where it comes the murky pomp, No wandering voice, but clear, too clear The visible body of our fear! Twin-faced sorrow, twin-faced slaughter, And twin-fated woe is here. Ills on ills of monstrous birth Rush on Laius' god-doom'd-hearth. Sisters raise the shrill lament, Let your lifted arms be oars! Let your sighs be breezes lent, Down the wailing stream to float The black-sail'd Stygian boat; Down to the home which all receiveth, Down to the land which no man leaveth, By Apollo's foot untrodden, Sullen, silent, sunless shores! But I see the fair Ismene, And Antigone the fair, Moving to this place of mourning, Slow, a sorrow-guided pair. We shall see a sight for weeping (They obey a doleful hest) Lovely maids deep-bosomed pouring Wails from heavy-laden breast. Chaunts of sorrow, dismal prelude {287} Of their grief, to us belong: Let us hymn the dread Erinnys! To the gloomy might of Hades, Let us lift the sombre song.