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,