THE SEVEN AGAINST THEBES
Eteocles.
Ye citizens of Cadmus! he who sits
Holding the helm in the high poop of state,
Watchful, with sleepless eyes, must, when he speaks,
Speak words that suit the time. If we succeed,
The gods will have the praise; but should we fail
(Which may averting Jove from me avert,[n1]
And from this Theban city!), I alone
Must bear the up-heaped murmurings of the whole,
A motley-voiced lament. Ye men of Thebes,
Not manhood’s vigour only, but ye also
Who lack ripe years, and ye whose green old age
Nurses unwithered strength,[f10] arm, and redeem
Your country’s honor from a cruel blot.
Let not the citadel of your ancient sires,
The altars of your native gods, your children,
Nor the dear mother Earth, that nursed you, blame
The slackness of your love—the nurse who bore
Your creeping childhood on her fostering soil,
And through your slow growth up to firmer years,
Toiled that the strong arms of her faithful sons,
Might shield her need. Up to this hour the god
Inclines to us; though close hedged in by the foe,
The vantage hath been ours. But now the seer,
The shepherd of prophetic birds’ revolving
In his ear and inward sense deep-pondered truths,[n2]
By no false art, though without help from fire,
Even he soothsaying sings that the Argive camp
Holds midnight council to attack the city.
Therefore be ready; mount the battlements;
Top every tower; crown every parapet;
Fence every gate with valiant-hearted men,
Well harnessed for the fight: and never fear
This trooping alien foe. The gods will give
A happy issue. Myself have sent out scouts,
Sure men, not wont to linger. Their advice
Shall shield us from surprise.
Enter Messenger.
Messenger.
Eteocles,
Most excellent lord of Thebes! what I have seen
With mine own eyes, no idle unvouched tale,
I bring thee from the camp. Seven warlike chiefs
I saw, in solemn sacrifice assembled:
Holding the head of the devoted ox,
Over the shield with iron rimmed they dipped
Their hands in the steaming blood, and swore an oath,
By Mars, Enýo, and blood-loving Terror,[n3]
Either to raze the walls of Thebes, and plunder
The citadel of Cadmus, or else drench
This soil with Argive blood. Then, as for death
Prepared, they decked the chariot of Adrastus[n4]
With choice love-tokens to their Argive kin,
Dropping a tear, but with their mouths they gave
No voice. An iron-hearted band are they,
Breathing hot war, like lions when their eye
Looks instant battle. Such my news; nor I
Slow to report; for in the camp I left them
Eager to share among their several bands
Our gates by lot. Therefore, bestir thee; fence
Each gate with the choicest men: dash all delay;
For now the Argive host, near and more near,
All panoplied comes on; the dark-wreathed dust
Rolls, and the snowy foam of snorting chargers
Stains the pure Theban soil. Like a wise pilot
That scents the coming gale, hold thou the city
Tight, ere the storm of Ares on our heads
Burst pitiless. Loud the mainland wave is roaring.
This charge be thine: myself, a sleepless spy,
Will bring thee sure word from the hostile camp:
Safe from without, so ye be strong within. [Exit.
Eteocles.
O Jove! O Earth! O Gods that keep the city!
And thou fell Fury of my father’s curse![f11]
Destroy not utterly this Cadméan seat
Rent, razed, deracinated by the foe!
Yield not our pious hearths, where the loved speech
Of Hellas echoes, to a stranger host!
Let not the free-born Theban bend the neck,
To slavery thralled, beneath a tyrant’s yoke!
Be ye our strength! our common cause we plead;
A prosperous state hath cause to bless the gods. [Exit.
I.
The Chorus[n5] enter the scene in great hurry and agitation.
O wailing and sorrow, O wailing and woe!
Their tents they have left, many-banded they ride,
And onward they tramp with the prance of pride,
The horsemen of the foe.
The dark-volumed dust-cloud that rides on the gale,
Though voiceless, declares a true messenger’s tale;
With clattering hoofs, on and on still they ride;[n6]
It swells on my ear, loud it rusheth and roareth,
As a fierce wintry torrent precipitous poureth,
Rapidly lashing the mountain side.
Hear me ye gods, and ye goddesses hear me!
The black harm prevent that swells near and more near me!
As a wave on the shore when the blast beats the coast,
So breaks o’er the walls, from the white-shielded host,[n7]
The eager war-cry, the sharp cry of fear,
As near still it rolls, and more near.
II.
The Chorus become more and more agitated. They speak one to another in short hurried exclamations, and in great confusion.
Chorus 1.
To which of the gods and the goddesses now
Shall I pay my vow?
Chorus 2.
Shall I cling to the altar, and kneeling embrace
The guardian gods of the Theban race?
Tutti.
Ye blissful Olympians, throned sublime,
In the hour of need, in the urgent time,
May the deep drawn sigh,
And the heart’s strong cry
Ascend not in vain to your seats sublime!
Chorus 1.
Heard ye the shields rattle, heard ye the spear?
In this dark day of dole,
With chaplet and stole[n8]
Let us march to the temples, and worship in fear!
Chorus 2.
I heard the shield’s rattle, and spear clashed on spear
Came stunning my ear.
Tutti.
O Ares, that shines in the helmet of gold,[n9]
Thine own chosen city wilt thou behold
To slavery sold?
O Ares, Ares, wilt thou betray
Thy Theban home to-day?
III.
The Chorus crown the altars of the gods, and then, falling on their knees, sing the following Theban Litany, in one continuous chaunt.
Patron gods that keep the city,
Look, look down upon our woe,
Save this band of suppliant virgins
From the harsh-enslaving foe!
For a rush of high-plumed warriors
Round the city of the free,
By the blast of Ares driven,
Roars, like billows of the sea.
Father Jove the consummator,[f12]
Save us from the Argive spear;
For their bristling ranks enclose us,
And our hearts do quake with fear,
And their steeds with ringing bridles[n10]
Knell destruction o’er the land;
And seven chiefs, with lance in hand,
Fixed by lot to share the slaughter,
At the seventh gate proudly stand.
Save us, Pallas, war-delighting
Daughter of immortal Jove!
Save us, lord of billowy ocean!
God of pawing steeds, Poseidon,[n11]
Join thine aid to his above,
And with thy fish-piercing trident
Still our hearts, our fears remove.
Save us Ares! father Ares,
Father now thy children’s need!
Save us Cypris, mother of Thebans,[n12]
For we are thy blood indeed!
Save us, save us, Wolf-Apollo,[n13]
Be a wolf against the foe!
Whet thine arrows, born of Leto,
Leto’s daughter bend thy bow!
IV.
The Litany is here interrupted by the noise of the besiegers storming the city, and is continued in a hurried irregular manner.
Chorus 1.
I hear the dread roll of the chariots of war!
Tutti.
O holy Hera!
Chorus 2.
And the axles harsh-creaking with dissonant jar!
Tutti.
O Artemis dear!
Chorus 1.
And the vext air is madded with quick-brandished spears.
Semi-Chorus 1.
To Thebes, our loved city, what hope now appears?
Semi-Chorus 2.
And when shall the gods bring an end of our fears?
Chorus 1.
Hark! hark! stony hail the near rampart is lashing!
Tutti.
O blest Apollo!
Chorus 2.
And iron-bound shield against shield is clashing!
Tutti.
The issue of war with the gods abideth,
The doubtful struggle great Jove decideth.
O Onca, blest Onca,[n14] whose worshippers ever
Invoke thee, the queen of the Oncan gate,
The seven-gated city deliver, deliver,[n15]
Thou guardian queen of the gate.
V.
The Chorus unite again into a full band, and sing the Finale of the Litany in regular Strophe and Antistrophe.
STROPHE.
Gods and goddesses almighty!
Earthly and celestial powers!
Of all good things consummators,
Guardians of the Theban towers!
Save the spear-encompassed city
From a foreign-speaking foe![n16]
Hear the virgin band, that prays thee
With the out-stretched arms of woe!
ANTISTROPHE.
Gods and demigods! the city
Aid that on your aid depends,
Watch around us, and defend us;
He is strong whom God defends.
Bear the incense in remembrance
Of our public sacrifice;
From a people rich in offerings
Let no prayer unanswered rise!
Re-enter Eteocles.
Eteocles.
Answer me this, insufferable brood!
Is this your wisdom, this your safety-note
To Theban soldiers, this your war-cry, thus
In prostrate woe clasping the guardian gods,
To scream and wail the vain lament of fools?
I pray the gods, in good or evil days,
May never fate be mine to lodge with women.
When fortune’s brave, their pride’s unbearable;
But, comes a thought of fear, both hall and forum
Must ring with their laments. Why run ye thus
From street to street, into the hearts of men
Scattering dastardy, and bruiting fear?
Nay, but ye chiefly help the enemy’s cause
Without the gate, and we by friends within
Are more besieged; such aid expect from women!
Thebans give ear; whoso shall disobey
My word in Thebes, man, woman, old, or young,
Whoe’er he be, against himself he writes
Black sentence to be stoned by the public hand.
Without the gates let brave men fight; within
Let women tend their children, and their webs.
Hear ye, or hear ye not? or do I speak
To the deaf?
STROPHE I.
Chorus.
Son of Oedipus be witness!
Should not terror rob our wits,
When we hear the roll of chariots,
Whirling wheels, and creaking axles,
And the unresting tramp of horses
Champing fierce their fire-forged bits?
Eteocles.
What then? when with the storm the good ship labours,
Shall the wise helmsman leave his proper post,
To clasp the painted gods upon the prow?[n17]
ANTISTROPHE I.
Chorus.
When we heard war’s rattling hail-drift
Round our ramparts wildly rave,
Trusting to the gods of Cadmus,
Spurred by fear, we hither hurried,
Here to pray, and clasp the statues
Of the good gods strong to save.
Eteocles.
Pray that our well-manned walls be strong to save us,
Else will the gods help little. Who knows not
That, when a city falls, they pass to the Victor?[n18]
STROPHE II.
Chorus.
Never, never may the council
Of the assembled gods desert us,
While I live, and look on day!
Never, never may the stranger
Rush through the streets, while midnight burning
Lights the robber to his prey!
Eteocles.
Weak prayers confound wise counsel. Know ye not
Obedience is the mother of success,
And pledge of victory. So the wise have spoken.
ANTISTROPHE II.
Chorus.
But the gods are strong. When mortals
Stretch the arm in vain to save us,
Help is waiting from above.
When dark night enveils the welkin,
And thick-mantled ruin gathers,
They enclasp us round with love.
Eteocles.
Leave sacrifice and oracles to men,
And ’gainst the imminent foe pray to the gods.
Women should hold their tongues, and keep their homes.
STROPHE III.
Chorus.
By the strength of gods the city
Each rude tide hath learnt to stem;
Who shall charge us with offending,
When we make our vows to them?
Eteocles.
Your vows I grudge not, nor would stint your prayers;
But this I say, blow not your fears about,
Nor taint the general heart with apprehension.
ANTISTROPHE III.
Chorus.
Startled by the blare of battle,
Hearing clash of combat fell,
With a quaking heart I hied me
To this sacred citadel.
Eteocles.
And when ye hear that some are dead or wounded,
Drag not the news with wailings through the town;
For blood of mortals is the common food[n19]
Of the war god.
Chorus.
Hark! the angry steeds are snorting.
Eteocles.
Hear what thou wilt; but do not hear aloud.
Chorus.
The Earth beneath me groans, the wall is shaking.
Eteocles.
The walls are mine to uphold. Pray you, be silent.
Chorus.
Woe’s me, the clash of arms, loud and more loud,
Rings at the gate!
Eteocles.
And thou the loudest!—Peace!
Chorus.
Great council of the gods, O save us! save us!
Eteocles.
Perdition seize thee! thy words flow like water.
Chorus.
O patron gods, save me from captive chains!
Eteocles.
Thy fear makes captive me, and thee, and all.
Chorus.
O mighty Jove, fix with thy dart the foe!
Eteocles.
O Jove, of what strange stuff hast thou made women!
Chorus.
Men are no better, when their city’s captured.
Eteocles.
Dost clasp the gods again, and scream and howl?
Chorus.
Fear hurries on my overmastered tongue.
Eteocles.
One small request I have; beseech you hear me.
Chorus.
Speak: I am willing, if I can, to please thee.
Eteocles.
Please me by silence; do not fright thy friends.
Chorus.
I speak no more: and wait my doom with them.
Eteocles.
This word is wiser than a host of wails.
And now, instead of running to and fro,
Clinging to every image as you pass,
Pray to the gods with sober supplication,
To aid the Theban cause: and, when ye hear
My vow, lift up a blithe auspicious shout,
A sacred hymn, a sacrificial cry,
As brave Greek hearts are wont, whose voice shall speak
Sure confidence to friends, and to the foe
Dismay. Now, hear my vow. If they who keep
The city, keep it now from the Argive spear,
I vow to them, and to the patron gods
Of field and forum, and the holy fount
Of Dirce and Ismenus’ sacred stream,[n20]
That blood of lambs and bulls shall wash their altars,
And spear-pierced trophies, Argive harnesses,
Bedeck their holy halls. Such be your prayers;
Not sighs and sobs, and frantic screams, that shake
The hearts of men, but not the will of gods.
Meanwhile, with six choice men, myself the seventh,
I’ll gallantly oppose these boastful chiefs
That block our outlets. Timely thus I’ll gag
The swift-winged rush of various-bruited news,
That in the hour of danger blazes fear. [Exit.
CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.
Well thou speakest; but unsleeping
Terrors shake my virgin frame,
And the blasts of war around me
Fan my fears into a flame.
As the dove her dovelets nursing,
Fears the tree-encircling serpent,
Fatal neighbour of her nest;
Thus the foe, our walls enclosing,
Thrills with ceaseless fears my breast.
Hark I in hurrying throngs careering
Rude they beat our Theban towers,
And a rain of rock-torn fragments
On the roofs of Cadmus showers!
Save us, gods that keep the city,
Save us, Jove-begotten Powers!
ANTISTROPHE I.
Say what region shall receive ye,
When the Theban soil is waste?
When pure Dirce’s fount is troubled,
From what waters shall ye taste?
Theban soil, the deepest, richest,
That with fruits of joy is pregnant,
Dirce, sweetest fount that runs,
From Poseidon earth-embracing,
And from Tethys’ winding sons.[n21]
Patron-gods maintain your glory,
Sit in might enthroned to-day:
Smite the foe with fear; fear stricken
Let them fling their arms away:
Hear our sharp shrill-piercing wailings,
When for Cadmus’ weal we pray!
STROPHE II.
Sad it were, and food for weeping,
To behold these walls Ogygian,
By the stranger spearman mounted,
Levelled by the Argive foe,
And these towers by god-sent vengeance
Laid in crumbling ashes low.
Sad it were to see the daughters,
And the sonless mothers grey,
Of old Thebes, with hair dishevelled,
And rent vestments, even as horses
Dragged by the mane, a helpless prey;
Sad to hear the victors’ clamour
Mingling with the captive’s moan,
And the frequent-clanking fetter
Struggling with the dying groan.
ANTISTROPHE II.
Sad, most sad, should hands unlicensed
Rudely pluck our opening blossom;
Sad—yea better far to die!
Changing nuptial torch and chamber
For dark homes of slavery.
Ah! my soul within me trembles,
When it shapes the sight of shame,
Swift the chase of lawless murder,
And the swifter chase of flame;
Black the surly smoke upwreathing,
Cries, confusion, choking heat;
Shrine-polluting, man-subduing
Mars, wild borne from street to street!
STROPHE III.
Towers and catapults surrounding,
And the greedy spear upswallowing
Man by man, its gory food:
And the sucking infants clinging
To the breasts that cannot bear them,
Cries to ears that cannot hear them
Mingle with their mother’s blood.
Plunder, daughter of Confusion,
Startles Plenty from his lair,
And the robber with the robber
Bargains for an equal share;
Gods! in such a night of terrors
How shall helpless maidens fare?
ANTISTROPHE III.
Planless is the strife of Plunder.
Fruits of patient years are trampled
Reckless in the moment’s grave;
And the maids that tend the household,
With a bitter eye of weeping,
See the treasured store of summers
Hurried by the barren wave.
Woe, deep woe, waits captive maidens,
To an untried thraldom led,
Bound, by chains of forced affection,
To some haughty husband’s bed:
Sooner, sooner may I wander
Sister of the sunless dead!
Semi-Chorus 1.
Methinks I see the scout sent by the king:
Doubtless he brings us news; his tripping feet
Come swift as wheels that turn on willing axles.
Semi-Chorus 2.
The king himself, the son of Oedipus,
Comes in the exact nick to hear his tidings:
With rapid and unequal steps he too
Urges the way.
Enter Messenger and Eteocles from opposite sides.
Messenger.
What I have seen I come
To tell; the movements of the foe, the station
That lot hath given each champion at the gates.
First at the Prœtian portal Tydeus stands,[n22]
Storming against the seer, who wise forbids
To pass Ismenus’ wave, before the sacrifice
Auspicious smiles. But he, for battle burning,
Fumes like a fretful snake in the sultry noon,
Lashing with gibes the wise Oiclidan seer,[n23]
Whose prudence he interprets dastardy,
Cajoling death away. Thus fierce he raves,
And shakes the overshadowing crest sublime,
His helmet’s triple mane, while ’neath his shield
The brazen bells ring fear.[n24] On his shield’s face
A sign he bears as haughty as himself,
The welkin flaming with a thousand lights,
And in its centre the full moon shines forth,
Eye of the night, and regent of the stars.
So speaks his vaunting shield: on the stream’s bank
He stands, loud-roaring, eager for the fight,
As some fierce steed that frets against the bit,
And waits with ruffling neck, and ears erect,
To catch the trumpet’s blare. Who will oppose
This man? what champion, when the bolts are broken,
Shall plant his body in the Prœtian gate?
Eteocles.
No blows I fear from the trim dress of war,
No wounds from blazoned terrors. Triple crests
And ringing bells bite not without the spear;
And for this braggart shield, with starry night
Studded, too soon for the fool’s wit that owns it
The scutcheon may prove seer. When death’s dark night
Shall settle on his eyes, and the blithe day
Beams joy on him no more, hath not the shield
Spoken significant, and pictured borne
A boast against its bearer? I, to match
This Tydeus, will set forth the son of Astacus,
A noble youth not rich in boasts, who bows
Before the sacred throne of Modesty,
In base things cowardly, in high virtue bold.
His race from those whom Ares spared he draws,[n25]
Born from the sown field of the dragon’s teeth,
His name Melanippus. Mars shall throw the dice
Bravely for him, and Justice call him brother,
While girt he goes from his loved Theban mother
To ward the Argive spear.
STROPHE I.
Chorus.
May the gods protect our champion!
Be the cause of Right his shield!
But I fear to see the breathless
Bleeding bodies of true warriors
Strewn upon the battle field.
Messenger.
Speed well your pious prayers! The lot hath placed
Proud Capaneus before the Electran gate,[n26]
A giant warrior mightier than the first,
And boasting more than mortal. His high threats
May never Chance[f13] fulfil! for with the aid
Of gods, or in the gods’ despite, he vows
To sack the city, and sets the bolted wrath
Of Jove at nought, his lightnings and his thunders
Recking no more—so speaks the vauntful tongue—
Than vulgar noonday heat. His orbéd shield
The blazon of a naked man displays,
Shaking a flaring torch with lofty threat
In golden letters—i will burn the city.
Such is the man: who shall not quail before
A pride that flings defiance to the gods?
Eteocles.
Here, too, we meet the strong with something stronger.
When men are proud beyond the mark of right,
They do proclaim with forward tongue their folly,
Themselves their own accuser. This brave Capaneus
With empty threats and wordy exercise,
Fights mortal ’gainst immortals, and upcasts
Loud billowy boasts in Jove’s high face. But I
In Jove have faith that he will smite this boaster
With flaming bolts, to vulgar heat of noon
In no wise like. The gallant Polyphontus,
A man of glowing heart, against this blusterer
I’ll send, himself a garrison to pledge
Our safety, by the grace of Artemis,
And the protecting gods. Name now the others.
ANTISTROPHE I.
Chorus.
Perish, with his boasts, the boaster,
By strong thunder prostrate laid!
Never, never may I see him
Into holy homes of virgins
Rushing, with his godless blade!
Messenger.
Hear more. The third lot to Eteocles
Leapt from the upturned brazen helm,[n27] and fixed him
At the Netaean gate.[n28] His eager steeds,
Their frontlets tossed in the breeze, their swelling nostrils
High-snorting with the impatient blast of war,
Their bridles flapping with barbaric clang,
He curbs, and furious ’gainst the city wheels them,
Even as a whirling storm. His breadth of shield,
Superbly rounded, shows an armed man
Scaling a city, with this proud device,
Not Mars himself shall hurl me from these towers.
Choose thou a champion worthy to oppose
This haughty chief, and pledge his country’s weal.
Eteocles.
Fear not: with happy omen, I will send,
Have sent already, one to meet this foe,
Whose boasts are deeds, brave Megareus, a son
Of the dragon’s race, a warrior recking nothing
The snortings of impatient steeds. This man
Will, with his heart’s blood, pay the nursing fee
Due to his Theban mother,[f14] or come back—
Which grant the gods!—bearing on that proud shield
Rich spoil to garnish forth his father’s halls,
The painted champion, and the painted city,
And him that living bore the false-faced sign.
Now name the fourth, and spare me not your boasts.
STROPHE II.
Chorus.
May the gods protect my champion!
Ruin seize the ruthless foe!
As they boast to raze the city,
So may Jove with wrathful vengeance
Lay their frenzied babblings low!
Messenger.
The fourth’s Hippomedon. Before the gate
He stands of Onca Pallas, clamouring on
With lordly port. His shield’s huge round he waved,
(Fearful to view), a halo not a shield.
No vulgar cunning did his hand possess
Who carved the dread device upon its face,
Typhon, forth-belching, from fire-breathing mouth,
Black smoke, the volumed sister of the flame;[n29]
And round its hollow belly was embossed[n30]
A ring of knotted snakes. Himself did rage,
Shouting for battle, by the god of war
Indwelt,[n31] and, like a Maenad, his dark eyes
Look fear. Against this man be doubly armed,
For, where he is, grim Fear is with him.
Eteocles.
Onca
Herself will guard the gate that bears her name,
From her own ramparts hurl the proud assailer,
And shield her nurslings from this crested snake.
Hyperbius, the right valiant son of Oenops,
Shall stand against this foe, casting his life
Into the chance of war; in lordly port,
In courage, in all the accoutrements of fight
Hippomedon’s counterpart—a hostile pair
Well matched by Hermes.[n32] But no equal match
Their shields display—two hostile gods—the one
Fire-breathing Typhon, father Jove the other,
Erect, firm-planted, in his flaming hand
Grasping red thunder, an unvanquished god.
Such are the gods beneath whose wing they fight,
For us the strong, for them the weaker power.
And as the gods are, so the men shall be
That on their aid depend. If Jove hath worsted
This Typhon in the fight, we too shall worst
Our adverse. Shall the king of gods not save
The man whose shield doth bear the Saviour Jove.
ANTISTROPHE II.
Chorus.
Earth-born Typhon, hateful monster,
Sight that men and gods appals,
Whoso bears in godless blazon
Great Jove’s foe, shall Jove almighty
Dash his head against the walls.
Messenger.
So grant the gods! The fifth proud foe is stationed
Before the Borean gate, hard by the tomb
Of the Jove-born Amphion. By his spear
He swears, his spear more dear to him than gods,
Or light of day, that he will sack the city
In Jove’s despite: thus speaks half-man, half-boy,
The fair-faced scion of a mountain mother.
The manly down, luxuriant, bushy, sprouts
Full from his blooming cheek: no virgin he
In aspect, though most virgin-like his name.[f15]
Keen are his looks, and fierce his soul; he too
Comes not without a boast against the gates;
For on his shield, stout forgery of brass,
A broad circumference of sure defence,
He shows, in mockery of Cadméan Thebes,
The terrible Sphynx, in gory food delighting,
Hugely embossed, with terror brightly studded,
And in her mortal paw the monster rends
A Theban man: for which reproachful sign
Thick-showered the bearer bears the keenest darts,—
Parthenopæus, bold Arcadian chief.
No man seems he to shame the leagues he travelled
By petty war’s detail. Not born an Argive,
In Argos nursed, he now her love repays,
By fighting ’gainst her foes. His threats—the god
Grant they be only threats!
Eteocles.
Did they receive
What punishment their impious vaunts deserve,
Ruin with one wide swoop should swamp them all.
This braggart stripling, fresh from Arcady,
The brother of Hyperbius shall confront,
Actor, a man whose hand pursues its deed,
Not brandishing vain boasts. No enemy,
Whose strength is in his tongue, shall sap these walls,
While Actor has a spear: nor shall the man
Who bears the hated portent on his shield
Enter our gate, but rather the grim sign
Frown on its bearer, when thick-rattling hail
Showered from our walls shall dint it. If the gods
Are just, the words I speak are prophecy.
STROPHE III.
Chorus.
The eager cry doth rend my breast,
And on end stands every hair,
When I hear the godless vaunting
Of unholy men! May Até
Fang them in her hopeless snare!
Messenger.
The sixth a sober man, a seer of might,
Before the Homoloidian gate stands forth,[n33]
And speaks harsh words against the might of Tydeus,
Rating him murderer, teacher of all ill
To Argos, troubler of the city’s peace,
The Furies’ herald, crimson slaughter’s minion,
And councillor of folly to Adrastus.
Thy brother too, the might of Polynices,
He whips with keen reproaches, and upcasts
With bitter taunts his evil-omened name,
Making it spell his ugly sin that owns it.[n34]
O fair and pious deed, even thus he cries,
To blot thy native soil with war, and lead
A foreign host against thy country’s gods!
Soothly a worthy deed, a pleasant tale
For future years to tell! Most specious right,
To stop the sacred fountain up whence sprung
Thy traitor life! How canst thou hope to live
A ruler well acknowledged in the land,
That thou hast wounded with invading spear?
Myself this foreign soil, on which I tread,
Shall feed with prophet’s blood. I hope to die,
Since die I must, an undishonoured death.
Thus spake the seer, and waved his full-orb’d shield
Of solid brass, but plain, without device.
Of substance studious, careless of the show,
The wise man is what fools but seem to be,[n35]
Reaping rich harvest from the mellow soil
Of quiet thought, the mother of great deeds.
Choose thou a wise and virtuous man to meet
The wise and virtuous. Whoso fears the gods
Is fearful to oppose.
Eteocles.
Alas! the fate
That mingles up the godless and the just
In one companionship! wise was the man
Who taught that evil converse is the worst
Of evils, that death’s unblest fruit is reaped
By him who sows in Até’s fields.[f16] The man
Who, being godly, with ungodly men
And hot-brained sailors mounts the brittle bark,
He, when the god-detested crew goes down,
Shall with the guilty guiltless perish. When
One righteous man is common citizen
With godless and unhospitable men,
One god-sent scourge must smite the whole, one net
Snare bad and good. Even so, Oïcleus’ son,
This sober, just, and good, and pious man,
This mighty prophet and soothsayer, he,
Leagued with the cause of bad and bold-mouthed men
In his own despite—so Jove hath willed—shall lead
Down to the distant city of the dead
The murky march with them. He will not even
Approach the walls, so I may justly judge.
No dastard soul is his, no wavering will;
But well he knows, if Loxias’ words bear fruit,
(And, when he speaks not true, the god is dumb)
Amphiaraus dies by Theban spear.
Yet to oppose this man I will dispatch
The valiant Lasthenes, a Theban true,
Who wastes no love on strangers; swift his eye,
Nor slow his hand to make the eager spear
Leap from behind the shield. The gods be with him!
ANTISTROPHE III.
Chorus.
May the gods our just entreaties
For the cause of Cadmus hear!
Jove! when the sharp spear approaches,
Sit enthroned upon our rampires,
Darting bolts, and darting fear!
Messenger.
Against the seventh gate the seventh chief
Leads on the foe, thy brother Polynices;
And fearful vows he makes, and fearful doom
His prayers invoke. Mounted upon our walls,
By herald’s voice Thebes’ rightful prince proclaimed,
Shouting loud hymns of capture, hand to hand
He vows to encounter thee, and either die
Himself in killing thee, or should he live
And spare thy recreant life, he will repay
Like deed with like, and thou in turn shalt know
Dishonouring exile. Thus he speaks and prays
The family gods, and all the gods of Thebes,
To aid his traitor suit. Upon his shield,
New-forged, and nicely fitted to the hand,
He bears this double blazonry—a woman
Leading with sober pace an armed man
All bossed in gold, and thus the superscription,
“I, Justice, bring this injured exile back,
To claim his portion in his father’s hall.”
Such are the strange inventions of the foe.
Choose thou a man that’s fit to meet thy brother;
Nor blame thy servant: what he saw he says:
To helm the state through such rude storm be thine!
Eteocles.
O god-detested! god-bemadded race![n36]
Woe-worthy sons of woe-worn Oedipus!
Your father’s curse is ripe! but tears are vain,
And weeping might but mother worser woe.
O Polynices! thy prophetic name
Speaks more than all the emblems of thy shield;
Soon shall we see if gold-bossed words can save thee,
Babbling vain madness in a proud device.
If Jove-born Justice, maid divine, might be
Of thoughts and deeds like thine participant,
Thou mightst have hope; but, Polynices, never,
Or when the darkness of the mother’s womb
Thou first didst leave, or in thy nursling prime,
Or in thy bloom of youth, or in the gathering
Of beard on manhood’s chin, hath Justice owned thee,
Or known thy name; and shall she know thee now
Thou leadst a stranger host against thy country?
Her nature were a mockery of her name
If she could fight for knaves, and still be Justice.
In this faith strong, this traitor I will meet
Myself: the cause is mine, and I will fight it.
For equal prince to prince, to brother brother,
Fell foe to foe, suits well. And now to arms!
Bring me my spear and shield, hauberk and greaves!
[Exit Messenger.
Chorus.
Dear son of Oedipus! let not thy wrath
Wax hot as his whom thou dost chiefly chide!
Let the Cadméans with the Argives fight;
This is enough: their blood may be atoned.
But, when a brother falls by brother’s hands,
Age may not mellow such dark due of guilt.
Eteocles.
If thou canst bear an ill, and fear no shame,
Bear it: but if to bear is to be base,
Choose death, thy only refuge from disgrace.
STROPHE IV.
Chorus.
Whither wouldst thou? calm thy bosom,
Tame the madness of thy blood;
Ere it bear a crimson blossom,
Pluck thy passion in the bud.
Eteocles.
Fate urges on; the god will have it so.[n37]
Now drift the race of Laius, with full sail,
Abhorred by Phœbus, down Cocytus’ stream!
ANTISTROPHE IV.
Chorus.
Let not ravening rage consume thee!
Bitter fruit thy wrath will bear;
Sate thy hunger with the thousands,
But of brother’s blood beware!
Eteocles.
The Curse must work its will: and thus it speaks,
Watching beside me with dry tearless eyes,
Death is thy only gain, and death to-day
Is better than to-morrow![n38]
STROPHE V.
Chorus.
Save thy life: the wise will praise thee;
To the gods with incense come,
And the storm-clad black Erinnys
Passes by thy holy home.
Eteocles.
The gods will reck the curse, but not the prayers
Of Laius’ race. Our doom is their delight.
’Tis now too late to fawn the Fate away.
ANTISTROPHE V.
Chorus.
Nay! but yet thou mayst: the god,
That long hath raged, and burneth now,
With a gentler sway soft-wafted,
Soon may fan thy fevered brow.
Eteocles.
The Curse must sway, my father’s burning curse.
The visions of the night were true, that showed me
His heritage twin-portioned by the sword.
Chorus.
We are but women: yet we pray thee hear us.
Eteocles.
Speak things that may be, and I’ll hear. Be brief.
Chorus.
Fight not before the seventh gate, we pray thee.
Eteocles.
My whetted will thy words may never blunt.
Chorus.
Why rush on danger? Victory’s sure without thee.
Eteocles.
So speak to slaves; a soldier may not hear thee.
Chorus.
But brother’s blood—pluck not the bloody blossom.
Eteocles.
If gods are just, he shall not ’scape from harm. [Exit.
CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.
I fear the house-destroying power; I fear
The goddess most ungodlike,[n39]
The all-truth-speaking seer
Of evil things, whose sleepless wrath doth nurse
Fulfilment of the frenzied father’s curse.
The time doth darkly lower;
This strife of brother’s blood with brother’s blood
Spurs the dread hour.
ANTISTROPHE I.
O son of Scythia, must we ask thine aid?
Chalybian stranger thine,[n40]
Here with the keen unsparing blade
To part our fair possessions? thou dost deal
A bitter lot, O savage-minded steel!
Much loss is all the gain,
When mighty lords with their stark corpses measure
Their whole domain.
STROPHE II.
When the slain shall slay the slayer,
And kindred blood with blood
Shall mingle, when the thirsty Theban soil
Drinks eager the black-clotting sanguine flood,
Who then shall purge the murderous stain,
Who wash it clean again?
When ancient guilt and new shall burst,
In one dire flood of woe?
ANTISTROPHE II.
With urgent pace the Fury treadeth,
To generations three
Avenging Laius’ sin on Laius’ race;
What time he sinned against the gods’ decree,
When Phœbus from Earth’s central shrine[f17]
Thrice sent the word divine—
Live childless, Laius, for thy seed
Shall work thy country’s woe.
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,
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.
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.
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.
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
Of their grief, to us belong:
Let us hymn the dread Erinnys!
To the gloomy might of Hades,
Let us lift the sombre song.
[Enter Antigone and Ismene in sorrowful silence.
Hapless sisters! maids more hapless
Ne’er were girded with a zone:
I weep, and wail, and mine, believe me,
Is a heart’s sigh, no hireling moan.[f22]
[Here commences the Funeral Wail over the dead bodies of Eteocles and Polynices with mournful music.
STROPHE I.
Semi-Chorus 1.
Alas! alas! the hapless pair.
To friendly voice and warning Fate
They stopped the ear: and now too late
Dear bought with blood their father’s wealth
In death they share.
Semi-Chorus 2.
Outstretched in death, and prostrate low
Them and their house the iron Woe
Hath sternly crushed.
ANTISTROPHE I.
Semi-Chorus 1.
Alas! alas! the old thrones reel,
The lofty palace topples down;
And Death hath won a bloody crown,
And thou sure end of strife hast made,
O keen cold steel!
Semi-Chorus 2.
And, with fulfilment on her wing,
Curse-laden from the blind old king
The Fury rushed.
STROPHE II.
Semi-Chorus 1.
Pierced through the left, with gaping gashes
Gory they lie.
Semi-Chorus 2.
All gashed and gored, by fratricidal
Wounds they die.
Semi-Chorus 1.
* * * *
* * * *
Semi-Chorus 2.
A god, a god doth rule the hour,
Slaughter meets slaughter, and the curse
Doth reign with power.
Semi-Chorus 1.
See where the steel clean through hath cut
Their bleeding life,
Even to the marrow deep hath pierced
The ruthless knife.
Semi-Chorus 2.
Deep in their silent hearts they cherished
The fateful curse,
And, with fell purpose sternly hating,
Defied remorse.
ANTISTROPHE II.
Semi-Chorus 1.
From street to street shrill speeds the cry
Of wail and woe.
Semi-Chorus 2.
And towers and peopled plains reply
With wail and woe.
Semi-Chorus 1.
And all their wealth a stranger heir
Shall rightly share.
Semi-Chorus 2.
The wealth that waked the deadly strife,
The strife that raged till rage and strife
Ceased with their life.
Semi-Chorus 1.
With whetted heart, and whetted glaive,
They shared the lot;
Victor and vanquished each in the grave
Six feet hath got.
Semi-Chorus 2.
A harsh allotment! who shall praise it,
Friend or foe?
Harsh strife in pride begun, and ending
In wail and woe.
STROPHE III.
Semi-Chorus 1.
Sword-stricken here they lie, they lie
A breathless pair.
Semi-Chorus 2.
Sword-stricken here they find, they find
What home, and where?
Semi-Chorus 1.
A lonely home, a home of gloom
In their fathers’ tomb.
Semi-Chorus 2.
And wailing follows from the halls
The dismal bier;
Wailing and woe the heart-strings breaking,
And sorrow from its own self taking
The food it feeds on, moody sadness,
Shunning all sights and sounds of gladness,
And from the eye spontaneous bringing
No practised tear;
My heart within me wastes, beholding
This dismal bier.
ANTISTROPHE III.
Semi-Chorus 1.
And on the bier we drop the tear
And justly say,
Semi-Chorus 2.
To friend and foe, they purchased woe
And wail to-day.
Semi-Chorus 1.
And to Hades showed full many the road
In the deadly fray.
Semi-Chorus 2.
O ill-starred she!—there hath not been
Nor will be more,
Of sore-tried women children-bearing,
One like her, like sorrow sharing.
With her own body’s fruit she joined
Wedlock in most unholy kind,
And to her son, twin sons the mother,
O monstrous! bore:
And here they lie, by brother brother
Now drenched in gore.
STROPHE IV.
Semi-Chorus 1.
Ay, drenched in gore, in brothered gore,[n44]
Weltering they lie;
Mad was the strife, and sharp the knife
That bade them die.
Semi-Chorus 2.
The strife hath ceased: life’s purple flood
The dry Earth drinks;
And kinsman’s now to kinsman’s blood
Keen slaughter links.
The far sea stranger forged i’ the fire
The pointed iron soothed their ire.
A bitter soother! Mars hath made
A keen division
Of all their lands, and lent swift wing
To the curse that came from the blind old king
With harsh completion.
ANTISTROPHE IV.
Semi-Chorus 1.
They strove for land, and did demand
An equal share;
In the ground deep, deep, where now they sleep,
There’s land to spare.
Semi-Chorus 2.
A goodly crop to you hath grown
Of woe and wailing;
Ye reaped the seed by Laius sown,
The god prevailing.
Shrill yelled the curse, a deathful shout,
And scattered sheer in hopeless rout
The kingly race did fall; and lo!
Fell Até planteth
Her trophy at the gate; and there
Triumphant o’er the princely pair
Her banner flaunteth.
[Antigone and Ismene now come forward, and standing beside the dead bodies, pointing now to the one, and now to the other, finish the Wail as chief mourners.
PRELUDE.
Antigone.
Wounded, thou didst wound again.
Ismene.
Thou didst slay, and yet wert slain.
Antigone.
Thou didst pierce him with the spear.
Ismene.
Deadly-pierced thou liest here.
Antigone.
Sons of sorrow!
Ismene.
Sons of pain!
Antigone.
Break out grief!
Ismene.
Flow tears amain!
Antigone.
Weep the slayer.
Ismene.
And the slain.
STROPHE.
Antigone.
Ah! my soul is mad with moaning.
Ismene.
And my heart within is groaning.
Antigone.
O thrice-wretched, wretched brother!
Ismene.
Thou more wretched than the other!
Antigone.
Thine own kindred pierced thee thorough.
Ismene.
And thy kin was pierced by thee.
Antigone.
Sight of sadness!
Ismene.
Tale of sorrow!
Antigone.
Deadly to say!
Ismene.
Deadly to see!
Antigone.
We with you the sorrow bear.
Ismene.
And twin woes twin sisters share.
Chorus.
Alas! alas!
Moera, baneful gifts dispensing[n45]
To the toilsome race of mortals,
Now prevails thy murky hour:
Shade of Oedipus thrice sacred,
Night-clad Fury, dread Erinnys,
Mighty, mighty is thy power!
ANTISTROPHE.
Antigone.
Food to feed the eyes with mourning,
Ismene.
Exile sad, more sad returning!
Antigone.
Slain wert thou, when thou hadst slain.
Ismene.
Found wert thou and lost again.
Antigone.
Lost, in sooth, beyond reprieving.
Ismene.
Life-bereft and life-bereaving.
Antigone.
Race of Laius, woe is thee!
Ismene.
Woe, and wail, and misery!
Antigone.
Woe, woe, thy fatal name!
Ismene.
Prophet of our triple shame.
Antigone.
Deadly to say!
Ismene.
Deadly to see!
Chorus.
Alas! alas!
Moera, baneful gifts dispensing
To the toilsome race of mortals,
Now prevails thy murky hour;
Shade of Oedipus thrice sacred,
Night-clad Fury, dread Erinnys,
Mighty, mighty is thy power.
EPODE.
Antigone.
Thou hast marched a distant road.
Ismene.
Thou hast gone to the dark abode.
Antigone.
Cruel welcome met thee here.
Ismene.
Falling by thy brother’s spear.
Antigone.
Deadly to say!
Ismene.
Deadly to see!
Antigone.
Woe and wailing.
Ismene.
Wail and woe!
Antigone.
To my home and to my country.
Ismene.
And to me much wail and woe.
Antigone.
Chief woe to me!
Ismene.
Weeping and woe!
Antigone.
Alas! Eteocles, laid thus low!
Ismene.
O thrice woe-worthy pair!
Antigone.
A god, a god, hath dealt the blow!
Ismene.
Where shall they find their clay-cold lair?
Antigone.
An honoured place their bones shall keep.
Ismene.
With their fathers they shall sleep.
Enter Herald.
Herald.
Hear ye my words—my herald’s voice declaring
What seemed and seems good to the Theban senate.
Eteocles, his country’s friend, shall find
Due burial in its friendly bosom.[n46] He
Is free from sin against the gods of Cadmus,
And died, the champion of his country’s cause,
As generous youths should die. Severer doom
Falls on his brother Polynices. He
Shall lie in the breeze unburied, food for dogs,
Most fit bestowal of a traitor’s corpse;
For, had some god not stept between to save us,
And turned the spear aside, Cadméan Thebes
Had stood no more. His country’s gods demand
Such stern atonement of the impious will
That led a hireling host against their shrines.
On him shall vultures banquet, ravening birds
His flesh shall tear; no pious hand shall pile
The fresh green mound, no wailing notes for him
Be lifted shrill, no tearful friends attend
His funeral march. Thus they who rule in Thebes
Have strictly ordered.
Antigone.
Go thou back, and give
This message to the rulers.—If none other
Will grant the just interment to my brother
Myself will bury him. The risk I reck not,
Nor blush to call rebellion’s self a virtue,
Where I rebel, being kind to my own kin.
Our common source of life, a mother doomed
To matchless woes, nor less the father doomed,
Demand no vulgar reverence. I will share
Reproach with the reproached, and with my kin
Know kindred grief, the living with the dead.
For his dear flesh, no hollow-stomach’d wolves
Shall tear it—no! myself, though I’m but woman,
Will make his tomb, and do the sacred office.
Even in this bosom’s linen folds, I’ll bear
Enough of earth to cover him withal.
This thing I’ll do. I will. For bold resolves
Still find bold hands; the purpose makes the plan.
Herald.
When Thebes commands, ’tis duty to obey.
Antigone.
When ears are deaf, ’tis wisdom to be dumb.
Herald.
Fierce is a people with young victory flushed.
Antigone.
Fierce let them be; he shall not go unburied.
Herald.
What? wilt thou honour whom the city hates?
Antigone.
And did the gods not honour whom I honour?
Herald.
Once: ere he led the spear against his country.
Antigone.
Evil entreatment he repaid with evil.
Herald.
Should thousands suffer for the fault of one?
Antigone.
Strife is the last of gods to end her tale;
My brother I will bury. Make no more talk.
Herald.
Be wilful, if thou wilt. I counsel wisdom.
Chorus.
Mighty Furies that triumphant
Ride on ruin’s baleful wings,[n47]
Crushed ye have and clean uprooted
This great race of Theban kings.
Who shall help me? Who shall give me,
Sure advice, and counsel clear?
Shall mine eyes freeze up their weeping?
Shall my feet refuse to follow
Thy loved remnant? but I fear
Much the rulers, and their mandate
Sternly sanctioned. Shall it be?
Him shall many mourners follow?
Thee, rejected by thy country,
Thee no voice of wailing nears,
All thy funeral march a sister
Weeping solitary tears?
[The Chorus now divides itself into two parts, of which one attaches itself to Antigone and the corpse of Polynices; the other to Ismene and the corpse of Eteocles.
Semi-Chorus.
Let them threaten, or not threaten,
We will drop the friendly tear,
With the pious-minded sister,
We will tend the brother’s bier.
And though public law forbids
These tears, free-shed for public sorrow,
Laws oft will change, and in one state
What’s right to-day is wrong to morrow.
Semi-Chorus.
For us we’ll follow, where the city
And the law of Cadmus leads us,
To the funeral of the brave.
By the aid of Jove Supernal,
And the gods that keep the city,
Mighty hath he been to save;
He hath smote the proud invader,
He hath rolled the ruin backward
Of the whelming Argive wave.
[The End]