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Antigone
Who is that youth passing by the tomb of Zethus, with long flowing hair, fierce to see? Is he a captain? For an armed crowd follows at his heels.
145
Who is that youth passing by the tomb of Zethus, with long flowing hair, fierce to see? Is he a captain? For an armed crowd follows at his heels.
145
Old servant
That is Parthenopaeus, Atalanta’s son.
150
That is Parthenopaeus, Atalanta’s son.
150
Antigone
May Artemis, who rushes over the hills with his mother, lay him low with an arrow, for coming against my city to sack it!
May Artemis, who rushes over the hills with his mother, lay him low with an arrow, for coming against my city to sack it!
Old servant
May it be so, my child; but they have come here with justice,
and my fear is that the gods will take the rightful view.
155
May it be so, my child; but they have come here with justice,
and my fear is that the gods will take the rightful view.
155
Antigone
Where is the one who was born of the same mother as I was, by a painful destiny? Oh! tell me, old friend, where Polyneices is.
Where is the one who was born of the same mother as I was, by a painful destiny? Oh! tell me, old friend, where Polyneices is.
Old servant
He is standing by Adrastus,
near the tomb of Niobe’s seven unwed daughters. Do you see him?
160
He is standing by Adrastus,
near the tomb of Niobe’s seven unwed daughters. Do you see him?
160
Antigone
I see him, yes! but not clearly; I see the outline of his form, the likeness of his breast. Would I could speed through the sky, swift as a cloud before the wind,
towards my own dear brother, and throw my arms about my darling’s neck, so long, poor boy! an exile. How distinguished he is with his golden weapons, old man, flashing like the morning rays!
165
I see him, yes! but not clearly; I see the outline of his form, the likeness of his breast. Would I could speed through the sky, swift as a cloud before the wind,
towards my own dear brother, and throw my arms about my darling’s neck, so long, poor boy! an exile. How distinguished he is with his golden weapons, old man, flashing like the morning rays!
165
Old servant
He will come to this house, under truce, to fill your heart with joy.
170
He will come to this house, under truce, to fill your heart with joy.
170
Antigone
Who is that, old man, on his chariot, driving white horses?
Who is that, old man, on his chariot, driving white horses?
Old servant
That, lady, is the prophet Amphiaraus; with him are the victims, earth’s bloodthirsty streams.
That, lady, is the prophet Amphiaraus; with him are the victims, earth’s bloodthirsty streams.
Antigone
Daughter of the sun with dazzling zone, O moon, you circle of golden light, how quietly, with what restraint he drives, goading first one horse, then the other! But where is the one who utters those dreadful insults against this city?
175
Daughter of the sun with dazzling zone, O moon, you circle of golden light, how quietly, with what restraint he drives, goading first one horse, then the other! But where is the one who utters those dreadful insults against this city?
175
Old servant
Capaneus? There he is, calculating how he may scale the towers, taking the measure of our walls up and down.
180
Capaneus? There he is, calculating how he may scale the towers, taking the measure of our walls up and down.
180
Antigone
O Nemesis, and roaring thunder-peals of Zeus and blazing lightning-bolts, oh! put to sleep his presumptuous boasting!
This is the man who says he will give the Theban girls as captives of his spear to the women of
Mycenae
, to
Lerna
’s trident, and the waters of Amymone, dear to Poseidon, when he has them enslaved.
185
Never, never, Lady Artemis, golden-haired child of Zeus, may I endure that slavery.
190
O Nemesis, and roaring thunder-peals of Zeus and blazing lightning-bolts, oh! put to sleep his presumptuous boasting!
This is the man who says he will give the Theban girls as captives of his spear to the women of
Mycenae
, to
Lerna
’s trident, and the waters of Amymone, dear to Poseidon, when he has them enslaved.
185
Never, never, Lady Artemis, golden-haired child of Zeus, may I endure that slavery.
190
The Phoenician Women. Euripides. Edward P. Coleridge (Translator). London. 1891.
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