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Ye men of Thebes, the tidings met mine ear
As I was coming forth to visit Pallas
With prayerful salutation. I was loosening
1185
The bar of the closed gate, when the sharp sound
Of mine own sorrow smote against my heart,
And I fell back astonied on my maids
And fainted. But the tale? tell me once more;
I am no novice in adversity.
Ye men of Thebes, the tidings met mine ear
As I was coming forth to visit Pallas
With prayerful salutation. I was loosening
1185
The bar of the closed gate, when the sharp sound
Of mine own sorrow smote against my heart,
And I fell back astonied on my maids
And fainted. But the tale? tell me once more;
I am no novice in adversity.
MESS
Dear lady, I will tell thee what I saw,
And hide no grain of truth: why should I soothe
Thy spirit with soft tales, when the harsh fact
Must prove me a liar? Truth is always best.
I duly led the footsteps of thy lord
1195
To the highest point of the plain, where still was lying,
Forlorn and mangled by the dogs, the corse
Of Polynices. We besought Persephonè
And Pluto gently to restrain their wrath,
And wash’d him pure and clean, and then we burned
1200
The poor remains with brushwood freshly pulled,
And heaped a lofty mound of his own earth
Above him. Then we turned us to the vault,
The maiden’s stony bride-chamber of death.
And from afar, round the unhallowed cell,
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One heard a voice of wailing loud and long,
And went and told his lord: who coming near
Was haunted by the dim and bitter cry,
And suddenly exclaiming on his fate
Said lamentably, ‘My prophetic heart
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Divined aright. I am going, of all ways
That e’er I went, the unhappiest to-day.
My son’s voice smites me. Go, my men, approach
With speed, and, where the stones are torn away,
Press through the passage to that door of death,
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Look hard, and tell me, if I hear aright
The voice of Haemon, or the gods deceive me.’
Thus urged by our despairing lord, we made
Th’ espial. And in the farthest nook of the vault
Dear lady, I will tell thee what I saw,
And hide no grain of truth: why should I soothe
Thy spirit with soft tales, when the harsh fact
Must prove me a liar? Truth is always best.
I duly led the footsteps of thy lord
1195
To the highest point of the plain, where still was lying,
Forlorn and mangled by the dogs, the corse
Of Polynices. We besought Persephonè
And Pluto gently to restrain their wrath,
And wash’d him pure and clean, and then we burned
1200
The poor remains with brushwood freshly pulled,
And heaped a lofty mound of his own earth
Above him. Then we turned us to the vault,
The maiden’s stony bride-chamber of death.
And from afar, round the unhallowed cell,
1205
One heard a voice of wailing loud and long,
And went and told his lord: who coming near
Was haunted by the dim and bitter cry,
And suddenly exclaiming on his fate
Said lamentably, ‘My prophetic heart
1210
Divined aright. I am going, of all ways
That e’er I went, the unhappiest to-day.
My son’s voice smites me. Go, my men, approach
With speed, and, where the stones are torn away,
Press through the passage to that door of death,
1215
Look hard, and tell me, if I hear aright
The voice of Haemon, or the gods deceive me.’
Thus urged by our despairing lord, we made
Th’ espial. And in the farthest nook of the vault
Antigone. Sophocles. Lewis Campbell (Translator). London, New York and Toronto. 1906.