Part 27 (1/2)

ANTIGONE I urge no more; nay, wert thou willing still, I would not welcome such a fellows.h.i.+p.

Go thine own way; myself will bury him.

How sweet to die in such employ, to rest,-- Sister and brother linked in love's embrace-- A sinless sinner, banned awhile on earth, But by the dead commended; and with them I shall abide for ever. As for thee, Scorn, if thou wilt, the eternal laws of Heaven.

ISMENE I scorn them not, but to defy the State Or break her ordinance I have no skill.

ANTIGONE A specious pretext. I will go alone To lap my dearest brother in the grave.

ISMENE My poor, fond sister, how I fear for thee!

ANTIGONE O waste no fears on me; look to thyself.

ISMENE At least let no man know of thine intent, But keep it close and secret, as will I.

ANTIGONE O tell it, sister; I shall hate thee more If thou proclaim it not to all the town.

ISMENE Thou hast a fiery soul for numbing work.

ANTIGONE I pleasure those whom I would liefest please.

ISMENE If thou succeed; but thou art doomed to fail.

ANTIGONE When strength shall fail me, yes, but not before.

ISMENE But, if the venture's hopeless, why essay?

ANTIGONE Sister, forbear, or I shall hate thee soon, And the dead man will hate thee too, with cause.

Say I am mad and give my madness rein To wreck itself; the worst that can befall Is but to die an honorable death.

ISMENE Have thine own way then; 'tis a mad endeavor, Yet to thy lovers thou art dear as ever.

[Exeunt]

CHORUS (Str. 1) Sunbeam, of all that ever dawn upon Our seven-gated Thebes the brightest ray, O eye of golden day, How fair thy light o'er Dirce's fountain shone, Speeding upon their headlong homeward course, Far quicker than they came, the Argive force; Putting to flight The argent s.h.i.+elds, the host with scutcheons white.

Against our land the proud invader came To vindicate fell Polyneices' claim.

Like to an eagle swooping low, On pinions white as new fall'n snow.

With clanging scream, a horsetail plume his crest, The aspiring lord of Argos onward pressed.

(Ant. 1) Hovering around our city walls he waits, His spearmen raven at our seven gates.

But ere a torch our crown of towers could burn, Ere they had tasted of our blood, they turn Forced by the Dragon; in their rear The din of Ares panic-struck they hear.

For Zeus who hates the braggart's boast Beheld that gold-bespangled host; As at the goal the paean they upraise, He struck them with his forked lightning blaze.

(Str. 2) To earthy from earth rebounding, down he crashed; The fire-brand from his impious hand was dashed, As like a Bacchic reveler on he came, Outbreathing hate and flame, And tottered. Elsewhere in the field, Here, there, great Area like a war-horse wheeled; Beneath his car down thrust Our foemen bit the dust.

Seven captains at our seven gates Thundered; for each a champion waits, Each left behind his armor bright, Trophy for Zeus who turns the fight; Save two alone, that ill-starred pair One mother to one father bare, Who lance in rest, one 'gainst the other Drave, and both perished, brother slain by brother.

(Ant. 2) Now Victory to Thebes returns again And smiles upon her chariot-circled plain.

Now let feast and festal should Memories of war blot out.

Let us to the temples throng, Dance and sing the live night long.

G.o.d of Thebes, lead thou the round.

Bacchus, shaker of the ground!

Let us end our revels here; Lo! Creon our new lord draws near, Crowned by this strange chance, our king.

What, I marvel, pondering?