Part 23 (1/2)

Foremost the peerless warrior, peerless seer, Amphiaraiis with his lightning lance; Next an Aetolian, Tydeus, Oeneus' son; Eteoclus of Argive birth the third; The fourth Hippomedon, sent to the war By his sire Talaos; Capaneus, the fifth, Vaunts he will fire and raze the town; the sixth Parthenopaeus, an Arcadian born Named of that maid, longtime a maid and late Espoused, Atalanta's true-born child; Last I thy son, or thine at least in name, If but the b.a.s.t.a.r.d of an evil fate, Lead against Thebes the fearless Argive host.

Thus by thy children and thy life, my sire, We all adjure thee to remit thy wrath And favor one who seeks a just revenge Against a brother who has banned and robbed him.

For victory, if oracles speak true, Will fall to those who have thee for ally.

So, by our fountains and familiar G.o.ds I pray thee, yield and hear; a beggar I And exile, thou an exile likewise; both Involved in one misfortune find a home As pensioners, while he, the lord of Thebes, O agony! makes a mock of thee and me.

I'll scatter with a breath the upstart's might, And bring thee home again and stablish thee, And stablish, having cast him out, myself.

This will thy goodwill I will undertake, Without it I can scare return alive.

CHORUS For the king's sake who sent him, Oedipus, Dismiss him not without a meet reply.

OEDIPUS Nay, worthy seniors, but for Theseus' sake Who sent him hither to have word of me.

Never again would he have heard my voice; But now he shall obtain this parting grace, An answer that will bring him little joy.

O villain, when thou hadst the sovereignty That now thy brother holdeth in thy stead, Didst thou not drive me, thine own father, out, An exile, cityless, and make we wear This beggar's garb thou weepest to behold, Now thou art come thyself to my sad plight?

Nothing is here for tears; it must be borne By _me_ till death, and I shall think of thee As of my murderer; thou didst thrust me out; 'Tis thou hast made me conversant with woe, Through thee I beg my bread in a strange land; And had not these my daughters tended me I had been dead for aught of aid from thee.

They tend me, they preserve me, they are men Not women in true service to their sire; But ye are b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, and no sons of mine.

Therefore just Heaven hath an eye on thee; Howbeit not yet with aspect so austere As thou shalt soon experience, if indeed These banded hosts are moving against Thebes.

That city thou canst never storm, but first Shall fall, thou and thy brother, blood-imbrued.

Such curse I lately launched against you twain, Such curse I now invoke to fight for me, That ye may learn to honor those who bear thee Nor flout a sightless father who begat Degenerate sons--these maidens did not so.

Therefore my curse is stronger than thy ”throne,”

Thy ”suppliance,” if by right of laws eterne Primeval Justice sits enthroned with Zeus.

Begone, abhorred, disowned, no son of mine, Thou vilest of the vile! and take with thee This curse I leave thee as my last bequest:-- Never to win by arms thy native land, No, nor return to Argos in the Vale, But by a kinsman's hand to die and slay Him who expelled thee. So I pray and call On the ancestral gloom of Tartarus To s.n.a.t.c.h thee hence, on these dread G.o.ddesses I call, and Ares who incensed you both To mortal enmity. Go now proclaim What thou hast heard to the Cadmeians all, Thy staunch confederates--this the heritage that Oedipus divideth to his sons.

CHORUS Thy errand, Polyneices, liked me not From the beginning; now go back with speed.

POLYNEICES Woe worth my journey and my baffled hopes!

Woe worth my comrades! What a desperate end To that glad march from Argos! Woe is me!

I dare not whisper it to my allies Or turn them back, but mute must meet my doom.

My sisters, ye his daughters, ye have heard The prayers of our stern father, if his curse Should come to pa.s.s and ye some day return To Thebes, O then disown me not, I pray, But grant me burial and due funeral rites.

So shall the praise your filial care now wins Be doubled for the service wrought for me.

ANTIGONE One boon, O Polyneices, let me crave.

POLYNEICES What would'st thou, sweet Antigone? Say on.

ANTIGONE Turn back thy host to Argos with all speed, And ruin not thyself and Thebes as well.

POLYNEICES That cannot be. How could I lead again An army that had seen their leader quail?

ANTIGONE But, brother, why shouldst thou be wroth again?

What profit from thy country's ruin comes?

POLYNEICES 'Tis shame to live in exile, and shall I The elder bear a younger brother's flouts?

ANTIGONE Wilt thou then bring to pa.s.s his prophecies Who threatens mutual slaughter to you both?

POLYNEICES Aye, so he wishes:--but I must not yield.

ANTIGONE O woe is me! but say, will any dare, Hearing his prophecy, to follow thee?