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Part IV
Part IV
Strophe I
Chor. Blessed are those whose life has known no woe!
For unto those whose house
The Gods have shaken, nothing fails of curse
Or woe, that creepeth on,
To generations, far,
As when a wave, where Thracian blasts blow strong
On that tempestuous shore,
Up surges from the depths beneath the sea,
And from the deep abyss
Rolls the black wind-vexed sand,
And every jutting peak that drives it back
Re-echoes with the roar.
Antistrophe I
I see the ancient doom
That fell upon the seed of Labdacus,
Who perished long ago,
Still falling, woes on woes;
That generation cannot rescue this;
Some God still urges on,
And will not be appeased.
So now there rose a gleam
Over the last weak shoots
That sprang from out the race of Oedipus;
And thus the blood-stained sword
Of those that reign below
Cuts off relentlessly
Madness of speech, and fury of the soul.
Strophe II
Thy power, O Zeus, what haughtiness of man
Could ever hold in check?
Which neither sleep, that maketh all things old,
Nor the long months of Gods that wax not faint,
Can for a moment seize.
But still as Lord supreme,
Through time that grows not old,
Thou dwellest in thy sheen of radiancy
On far Olympus` height.
Through all the future and the coming years,
As through all time that`s past,
One law holds ever good,
That nothing comes to life of man on earth,
Unscathed throughout by woe.
Antistrophe II
To many, hope may come, in wanderings wild,
A solace and a joy;
To many, shows of fickle-hearted love;
But still it creepeth on,
On him who knows it not,
Until he brings his foot
Within the scorching flame.
Wisely from one of old
The far-famed saying came
That evil ever seems to be as good
To those whose thoughts of heart
God leadeth unto woe,
And without woe, but shortest time he spends.
And here comes Haemon, youngest of thy sons.
Comes he bewailing sore
The fate of her who should have been his wife,
His bride Antigone,
Sore grieving at the failure of his joys?
Enter Haemon
Creon. Soon we shall know much more than seers can tell.
Surely thou dost not come, my son, to rage
Against thy father, hearing his decree,
Fixing her doom who should have been thy bride;
Or are we still, whate`er we do, beloved?
Haem. My father, I am thine. Do thou direct
With thy wise counsels, I will follow them.
No marriage weighs one moment in the scales
With me, while thou art prospering in thy reign.
Creon. This thought, my son, should dwell within thy breast,
That all things stand below a father`s will:
For this men pray that they may rear and keep
Obedient offspring by their hearths and homes,
That they may both requite their father`s foes,
And pay with him like honours to his friend.
But he who reareth sons that profit not,
What could one say of him but this, that he
Breeds his own sorrow, laughter to his foes?
Lose not thy reason, then, my son, o`ercome
By pleasure, for a woman`s sake, but know,
A cold embrace is that to have at home
A worthless wife, the partner of thy bed.
What ulcerous sore is worse than one we love
Who proves all worthless? No! with loathing scorn,
As hateful to thee, let her go and wed
A spouse in Hades. Taken in the act
I found her, her alone of all the state,
Rebellious. And I will not make myself
False to the state. She dies. So let her call
On Zeus, the lord of kindred. If I rear
Of mine own stock things foul and orderless,
I shall have work enough with those without.
For he who in the life of home is good
Will still be seen as just in things of state;
While he who breaks or goes beyond the laws,
Or thinks to bid the powers that be obey,
He must not hope to gather praise from me.
No! we must follow whom the state appoints
In things or just and lowly, or, may be,
The opposite of these. Of such a man
I should be sure that he would govern well,
And know well to be governed, and would stand,
In war`s wild storm, on his appointed post,
A just and good defender. Anarchy
Is our worst evil, brings our commonwealth
To utter ruin, lays whole houses low,
In battle strife hurls men in shameful flight;
But they who walk uprightly, these shall find
Obedience saves most men. Sure help should come
To what our rulers order; least of all
Ought we to bow before a woman`s sway.
Far better, if it must be so, to fall
By a man`s hand, than thus to bear reproach,
By woman conquered.
Chor. Unto us, O king,
Unless our years have robbed us of our wit,
Thou seemest to say wisely what thou say`st.
Haem. The Gods, my father, have bestowed on man
His reason, noblest of all earthly gifts;
Nor dare I say nor prove that what thou speak`st
Is aught but right. And yet another`s thoughts
May have some reason. I am wont to watch
What each man says or does, or blames in thee
(For dread thy face to one of low estate),
In words thou wouldst not much rejoice to hear.
But I can hear the things in darkness said,
How the whole city wails this maiden`s fate,
As one "who of all women worthiest praise,
For noblest deed must die the foulest death.
She who, her brother fallen in the fray,
Would neither leave unburied, nor expose
To carrion dogs, or any bird of prey,
May she not claim the meed of golden crown?"
Such is the whisper that in secret runs
All darkling. And for me, my father, naught
Is dearer than thy welfare. What can be
A nobler form of honour for the son
Than a sire`s glory, or for sire than son`s?
I pray thee, then, wear not one mood alone,
That what thou say`st is right, and naught but that;
For he who thinks that he alone is wise,
His mind and speech above what others boast,
Such men when searched are mostly empty found.
But for a man to learn, though he be wise,
Yea, to learn much, and know the time to yield,
Brings no disgrace. When winter floods the streams,
Thou seest the trees that bend before the storm,
Save their last twigs, while those that will not yield
Perish with root and branch. And when one hauls
Too tight the mainsail sheet, and will not slack,
He has to end his voyage with deck o`erturned.
Do thou, then, yield. Permit thyself to change.
Young though I be, if any prudent thought
Be with me, I at least will dare assert
The higher worth of one who, come what will,
Is full of knowledge. If that may not be
(For nature is not wont to take that bent),
`Tis good to learn from those who counsel well.
Chor. My king! `tis fit that thou shouldst learn from him,
If he speaks words in season; and, in turn,
That thou [to Haemon] shouldst learn of him, for both speak well.
Creon. Shall we at our age stoop to learn from him,
Such as he is, our lesson?
Haem. `Twere not wrong.
And if I be but young, not age but deeds
Thou shouldst regard.
Creon. Fine deeds, I trow, to pay
Such honour to the lawless.
Haem. `Tis not I
Would bid you waste your honour on the base.
Creon. And has she not been seized with that disease?
Haem. The men of Thebes with one accord say, No.
Creon. And will my subjects tell me how to rule?
Haem. Dost thou not see that these words fall from thee
As from some beardless boy?
Creon. And who, then, else
But me should rule this land?
Haem. That is no state
Which hangs on one man`s will.
Creon. The state, I pray,
It is not reckoned his who governs it?
Haem. Brave rule! Alone, and o`er an empty land!
Creon. Here, as it seems, is one who still will fight,
A woman`s friend.
Haem. If thou a woman be,
For all my care I lavish upon thee.
Creon. Basest of base, who with thy father still
Wilt hold debate!
Haem. For, lo! I see thee still
Guilty of wrong.
Creon. And am I guilty, then,
Claiming due reverence for my sovereignty?
Haem. Thou show`st no reverence, trampling on the laws
The Gods hold sacred.
Creon. O thou sin-stained soul,
A woman`s victim.
Haem. Yet thou wilt not find
In me the slave of baseness.
Creon. All thy speech
Still hangs on her.
Haem. Yes, and on thee, myself,
And the great Gods below.
Creon. Of this be sure,
Thou shalt not wed her in the land of life.
Haem. She, then, must die, and in her death will slay
Another than herself.
Creon. And dost thou dare
To come thus threatening?
Haem. Is it, then, a threat
To speak to erring judgment?
Creon. To thy cost
Thou shalt learn wisdom, having none thyself.
Haem. If thou wert not my father, I would say
Thou wert not wise.
Creon. Thou woman`s slave, I say,
Prate on no longer.
Haem. Dost thou wish to speak,
And, speaking, wilt not listen? Is it so?
Creon. No, by Olympus! Thou shalt not go free
To flout me with reproaches. Lead her out
Whom my soul hates, that she may die forthwith
Before mine eyes, and near her bridegroom here.
Haem. No! Think it not! Near me she shall not die,
And thou shalt never see my face alive,
So mad art thou with all that would be friends. [Exit.
Chor. The man has gone, O king, in hasty mood.
A mind distressed in youth is hard to bear.
Creon. Let him do what he will, and bear himself
Too high for mortal state, he shall not free
Those maidens from their doom!
Chor. And dost thou mean
To slay them both?
Creon. Not her who touched it not.
Chor. There thou say`st well: and with what kind of death
Mean`st thou to kill her?
Creon. Where the desert path
Is loneliest, there, alive, in rocky cave
Will I immure her, just so much of food
Before her set as may appease the Gods,
And save the city from the guilt of blood;
And there, invoking Hades, whom alone
Of all the Gods she worships, she, perchance,
Shall gain escape from death, or else shall know
That all her worship is but labour lost.
[Exit.
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