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THE PHOENICIAN WOMEN, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: O guide of thy blind father, only cheer
Last Line: Is ever for imperial power paid.
Alternate Author Name(s): Seneca
Subject(s): Mythology - Greek; Oedipus; Tragedy


DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

ŒDIPUS.
ETEOCLES.
POLYNICES.
ANTIGONE.
JOCASTA.
A THEBAN GUARD.

SCENE: Thebes.

ACT I

SCENE I

Œdipus, Antigone.

Œdipus. O guide of thy blind father, only cheer
To one sore wearied, daughter well-beloved
Though got at such a heavy price, forsake
Thy wretched parent, wherefore shouldst thou lead
His wandering steps? O let him stumble on!
'Tis better I should find the way I seek,
Alone—the path that takes me out of life
And frees from sight of this crime-laden head
The earth and sky. How little have I done!
The daylight, conscious of my evil deeds,
I do not see, indeed; but I am seen!
O child, unclasp the hand that clings to mine,
Where'er my blind steps lead me let me roam.
I go, I go, where high Cithæron lifts
Its rugged summit, where Actæron swift,
Roaming among the rocks, was made a prey
By his own dogs; where through the shadowy groves
And dusky woodlands of the bosky vales
The mother, god-inspired, led forth her band,
And on her waving thyrsus lifted up
That head transfixed, rejoicing in ill deeds;
Where Zethus' bullock ran and dragged along
The shattered body—on the bristling thorns
Blood marked the course of the swift bullock's flight;
Or where with lofty summit Ino's cliff
Rises beside the sea, where fleeing crime
But finding crime the mother sought to drown
Herself, her son, and leaped into the waves.
Thrice happy he whose better fortune gave
So good a mother! In these woods of ours
There lies another place that calls to me,
My footstep shall not falter, I will go
Thither without a guide, why hesitate
To take my rightful place? O give me death,
Cithæron, give me back my former lodge,
That where in infancy I should have died,
There in my age I may breathe out my life.
O ever savage, ruthless, cruel, fell,
Whether thou slay or spare, long, long ago
This lifeless trunk was due thee, now at last
Fulfil my father's mandate, mother's will.
My spirit longs to see accomplished now
The deed so long delayed. Why hold me clasped
With fatal love, my child? Why hold me so?
My father calls, I follow! Follow thee!
Yet spare! Behold where angry Laius comes,
Bearing the bloodstained standard of the realm
Snatched from him. With his hands he seeks to tear
My eyeballs' empty sockets. Dost thou see
My father, child? I see him! Now at last
Spew out thy baneful life, O coward soul,
Brave to destroy thy eyesight, not thyself!
Leave off thy long atonements, weak delays!
Why longer drag along thy life's slow length?
Why live? No crime remains for thee to do.
Ah, wretch! I here proclaim I still may sin!—
Go virgin, leave thy father; for her sake—
Thy mother's—fear I all.
Antigone. No power on earth,
O father, can unknit my hand from thine,
And none shall ever snatch me from thy side.
My brothers may with drawn sword seek to gain
The opulent realm and th' illustrious home
Of Labdacus, but mine the better part
Of all my father's realm—my father's self.
That brother who now holds in captured Thebes
The Theban scepter cannot take from me
This share, nor can that other who now leads
Argolic hosts; though Jupiter should speak
With thunderous voice out of the riven sky,
Although his bolt should fall to break our bond,
I will not let thee go. Though thou forbid,
Yet will I guide thee; though thou wish it not,
I will against thy will direct thy steps.
Seekst thou the plain? I go. The rugged heights?
I do not bar the way, but go before.
Whatever path thou treadst, make me thy guide,
We choose the selfsame road. Thou canst not die
Without me, with me thou mayst find thy death.
Here rises with steep sides the lofty cliff,
And views wide reaches of the sea that lies
Below, wilt thou go thither? There o'erhangs
The barren rock, there yawns the gaping jaws
Of the rent earth, shall I direct thee there?
There fall the hungry torrents, rolling down
The sundered rocks from off the broken hills,
Shall we rush headlong in? Lo, I go first,
I go where'er thou wilt, I do not urge,
I would not hinder. Father, wouldst thou cut
Thy thread of life? Is death thy dearest wish?
I go before thee if thou seekest death,
I follow if thou live. Yet change thy mind,
Call to thy aid thy will, so strong of old,
With force heroic master thy distress,
To die is to be conquered by thy woes,
Oh, be courageous still.
Œdipus. From so base home
Whence comes such noble growth? Whence comes this maid
So different from her race? Canst thou believe,
O fate, that this is true? Has any good
Been born of me? It never yet has been
That fortune smiled on me except to harm.
Nature obeys new laws; the streams, reversed,
Bear back swift waters to their fountain-head,
The torch of Phœbus ushers in the night,
And Hesperus brings the day; that I may find
Some increase of my woe, I, even I,
Shall have a loyal child. In death alone
Can Œdipus be safe. I may avenge
My father, unavenged till now; why cease
To mete out punishment, inert right hand?
Whatever hitherto was measured out
Was given for a mother. Dauntless maid,
Let go thy father's hand, thou dost prolong
My death; thy living father's funeral rites,
Already all too long, thou lengthenest,
Cover the hateful body with the earth.
Thou errest, though with nobleness of aim,
And deemst it loyalty to drag about
A father who lacks yet his burial rites.
Who hinders one in haste to find his death
Equals in guilt the one who forces death
On one unwilling. Yet he equals not!
The first I deem, indeed, the greater sin,
I rather would be hurried to my end
Than be from death's jaws snatched away. My child,
No longer strive, in my own hands I hold
The right to live or die: I laid aside
Freely my sovereign power, but still retain
Sovereignty o'er myself. If thou indeed
Art loyal, give again thy father's sword,
The sword with parent's slaughter infamous.
Thou giv'st it? Do my children also hold
This with the realm? Wherever there is need
Of crime, there that should be; I give it up,
My sons shall have it, yea both sons. Prepare
The torches rather and a heap of wood;
On the high funeral pyre I'll cast myself,
Embrace the flames and 'neath the desolate pile
Will hide this too firm heart; set free at last,
Will give to ashes all that lives in me.
Where is the pitiless sea? Where jutting crags
O'erhang, where swift Ismenus' savage shoals
Roll downward, lead me, if thou leader art.
Where on the high cliff sat the Sphinx, half brute,
Proposing riddles, there I'll go to die,
Thither direct my steps, oh, place me there!
Not empty should that baleful seat be left,
Let it be by the greater monster filled.
There sitting on the rocks I will propose
The riddle of our fortune none can solve.
Whoe'er thou art who plow'st th' Assyrian fields,
Whoe'er, a suppliant, offerest up thy prayers
Where dwelt the far-famed dragon, ye who drink
Eurotas or inhabit Sparta, famed
For the twin brothers, husbandmen who reap
Elis, Parnassus, and the fertile fields
Of rich Bœotia, listen; what like this
Could she propose—Thebes' savage curse who wove
Dark, baneful riddles? What so hard to loose?
His father's father's son-in-law, yet found
His father's rival, brother to his sons,
And father of his brothers; at one birth
The father's mother bore the husband sons,
And grandsons to herself. Who can search out
This prodigy? I, even I, who bore
The trophies from the conquered Sphinx, perplexed,
Am slow to read my riddle. Why waste words?
Why strive with prayers to soften my hard heart?
Fixed is my purpose to pour out this life,
Too long with death contending, and to seek
The land of shadows, for the blackest night
Is all too little for this crime of mine.
Hide me in Tartarus, or if beyond
Aught lies, there hide me; what I should have done
Long since, I now will do. It cannot be
Death is forbidden. Wilt thou keep the sword?
Wilt thou close up the way that leads to death,
Nor grant a halter? Wilt thou take away
Poisonous herbs? What profits all thy care?
In every place is death, most graciously
God ordered this; one may destroy man's life,
But none can snatch death from him, countless gates
To this lie open. I have need of nought,
Wont am I to employ my brave right hand.
Come, hand, with all thy force, with all thy guile,
With all thy strength; I purpose not to wound
One place alone, I am all black with sin,
Deal death in whatsoever part thou wilt.
Lay wide the bosom, tear away the heart
So filled with crime, the inmost parts lay bare,
Let my weak throat sound with redoubled blows,
And let my veins, by wounding nails torn through,
Bleed; or where thou art wont direct thy wrath:
Open again these wounds, with putrid gore
Wet them, and drag this unsubdued, hard heart
By this gate forth. O father, wheresoe'er
Thou mayst be found, judge of my penalty,
I have not thought by any punishment
Ever to fully expiate my sin;
I was not satisfied with death alone,
I have not paid my ransom with my eyes,
I wished to perish for thee limb by limb,
At length exact the penalty I owe.
Now I atone, 'twas then but sacrifice
I offered; oh, be present, inward urge
My feeble hand; oh, plunge it deeper still!
A timid, slight libation then I poured,
Hardly drew forth the eyes that eagerly
Followed my hand. My spirit even now
Falters, is loth with trembling hand to tear
These sockets. Œdipus, be brave indeed,
Less bold than thou hast purposed thou hast been,
In plucking out thine eyes; deep in thy brain
Bury thy hand, and perfect thou the death
Where I began to die.
Antigone. I pray thee show
Some pity, great-souled father; calmly hear
Thy daughter's words. I would not lead thee back
To the old home, nor to the kingly throne
With all its splendor, would not have thee bear
With weak, untroubled breast the wrath of God
Which time has not yet softened, but 'tis meet
So strong a man should not be crushed by grief,
Or fly, o'ercome by manifold distress.
It is not, father, as thou deemst it, brave
To be afraid of life; 'tis brave to face
The greatest ills, nor flinch, nor turn the back.
He who has trampled on his destiny,
He who has rent life's good and cast it by,
And made his own life heavier, who has need
No more of God, why should he wish to die?
Why seek his death? Either were cowardly.
No one who longs for death despises it.
The man whose evil fate is at its worst
Is safe. Although he would, what god could make
Thy trouble heavier? Nor canst thou thyself
Unless in deeming thou art worthy death.
Thou art not, for no sin has touched thy heart.
Thou canst more surely call thyself guilt free,
Since thou art innocent although the gods
Willed otherwise. What maddens thee? What adds
New stings to misery? What urges thee
Into the land of death? What drives thee hence?
Wouldst thou shun day? Thou hast. Or wouldst thou flee
Thy lofty palace and thy native land?
For thee, although thou livest, native land
Is dead. Or wouldst thou fly thy mother, sons?
Fate has removed thee from the sight of these.
What death from others takes, life takes from thee.
The tumult of the throne? At thy command
The press of crowding fortune fell away.
What wouldst thou fly, my father?
Œdipus. Ah! My self!
I flee a bosom conscious of all crimes,
I flee this hand, this sky, I flee the gods.
Do I yet touch the earth where Ceres grows
Fruitful and fair? With noxious life still breathe
The vital air? or satisfy my thirst
With water? or enjoy in any way
The gifts of mother Nature? Base, defiled,
Detestable, do I yet feel the touch
Of thy pure hand? or can I yet perceive
Voices which speak the names of father, son?
Oh, could I with destroying hand throw wide
Those paths where enter sound! Might I destroy
These narrow pathways for the human voice!
O child, thy wretched father would have fled
Long, long ago, the knowledge that thou art,
Thou, part of my great sin. My crimes stick fast,
Repeated o'er and o'er. O eyes and ears,
Let all ye gave me pass away from me!
O'erwhelmed with blackest shadows, why not go
Into the everlasting shades of Dis?
Why keep my spirit here? Why weight the world?
Why wander yet among the souls that live?
What crime is left? Realm, parents, children, all,
Valor, the glory of sagacious mind,
Have perished; fate has taken from me all.
Tears still were left, these from myself I snatched.
Go, for my soul will listen to no prayers,
New penalties and equal to my crimes
I seek. Yet what can ever equal those?
I was condemned to death in infancy,
Who ever drew so bad a lot? ere yet
I saw the light, ere from my mother's womb
I was set free, already I was feared!
Night seizes many, just when they are born,
And carries them away from the new day;
Death found me even ere I saw the light.
Some meet an early death within the womb,
But have they also sinned? Still hidden close,
Secreted in the womb, not knowing yet
That I should be the doer of great crimes,
A god impelled; my father at his word
Condemned me, pierced with steel my tender feet,
And left me in the forest, food for beasts
And savage birds (oft wet with blood of kings)
Which dark Cithæron breeds. Yet whom the gods
Sentenced, and whom a father cast away,
Death also fled. I have fulfilled the word
Spoken at Delphos: I attacked and slew
My father. This might be by love made good.
My father I have slain, but I have loved
My mother—of our marriage torch to speak
Is loathsome, yet against my will I'll pay
This penalty, will tell the beastly crime,
Unheard-of, strange, at thought of which men shrink,
The crime which makes ashamed the man who slew
His father. This right hand, with father's blood
Made wet, even to my father's marriage bed
I took, and found sin's wages—greater sin.
My father's murder was a slight offence
Compared with this. Lest all too small should be
My guilt, my mother in my marriage bed
Was made a mother. Nature cannot yield
A greater crime than this, but should there be
A greater, those to whom 'twere possible
Have been by me created. From my hand
I cast aside the patricide's reward,
The scepter, with it armed another hand.
I knew right well my kingdom's destiny,
Without the sacrifice of sacred blood
No man can hold it. Nameless ills to come
My father heart presages. Seeds are sown
Of future slaughter. He who holds the realm
Will not resign it, he who wishes it
Calls upon justice and the gods who see
The violated pact; exiled, he moves
Argos and all the cities of the Greeks
To arms; destruction comes to wretched Thebes;
The flying spear, flames, slaughter 'gainst her rise,
And greater ills, if greater ills there be,
That none may doubt I have begotten sons.
Antigone. If thou no other reason hadst to live,
This were enough: that thou shouldst fatherlike
Control thy maddened sons, thou canst avert,
And thou alone, the threats of impious war,
Thou only canst restrain those youths insane,
Give to the people peace, to Thebes repose,
And, to the broken compact, faith renewed.
If thou thyself shouldst to thyself refuse
The right to live, thou tak'st from many more
The right of life.
Œdipus. For empire and for blood.
For war and treachery athirst, base, vile,
In short my own, can these or can their like
Feel filial love? They joy in doing ill,
And deem nought sacred when rage drives them forth.
Those base born ones consider nothing base,
Their wretched father's shame affects them not,
Nor does their native country, they are mad
For sovereignty; whither they tend I know,
How much they strive to do; therefore I seek
A speedy way of death, make haste to die
While none is guiltier in my house than I.
Why, daughter, dost thou weep and clasp my knees?
Why strive with prayers to guide my untamed heart?
Elsewhere invulnerable, here alone
Can fortune wound me, thou alone canst warm
My frozen love, in all our house but thou
Canst teach me goodness. Nought to me is hard
Or grievous if I know it is thy wish.
If thou shouldst bid him, Œdipus would cross
Th' Ægean straits, would take between his lips
The flame earth belches from Sicilia's mount,
Would cast himself before the fiery snake
That rages for the fruit that Hercules
Stole from the grove, at thy command he'd bare
His bosom to the birds, at thy command
Would live.

ACT II

Œdipus, Antigone, Messenger.

Messenger. O noble scion of a royal stock,
Thebes, trembling at the brothers' hostile arms,
Invokes thee, prays that thou wouldst turn aside
The torch of war that threats thy father's land.
Nor threats alone, the danger nearer comes.
A brother claims the promised interchange
Of royal power, into war would force
The Grecian cities, seven camps invest
The walls of Thebes. Make haste to bring her aid,
Prevent at once impiety and war.
Œdipus. Am I the man should put an end to crime,
Or teach the hand to keep itself unstained
With blood of kindred? Have I learned the laws
Of justice and of duteous love? They seek
To follow the example of my crimes,
Gladly I recognize and praise their deed,
Exhort them do some action worthy me.
Dear offspring, forward! prove your noble birth
By deeds, surpass my glory and my fame,
Do something that shall make thy father glad
That he has lived till now! I know you will,
Your ancestry assures me that you will,
Such greatness cannot with poor, common crimes
Content itself. Bring weapons, cast the torch
Into the sacred temples of the gods,
Mow down with flames thy native country's grain,
Throw all into disorder, ruin all,
Destroy the city walls, and to the dust
Level the city, with their shrines destroy
The great divinities, and bring to nought
The household gods become so infamous,
Burn up the city, lay thy whole house low,
And to my marriage bed put first the torch.
Antigone. Thy passionate, wild sorrow put aside;
The public sorrow urges thee to be
The bringer of sweet peace between thy sons.
Œdipus. Thinkst thou thou seest here a meek old man,
And that thou callest to aid thee one who loves
Sweet peace? This heart of mine with wrath is swelled,
Rage burns within me, greater war I seek
Than aught that destiny or youth desires.
I am not satisfied with cruel war,
Brother with brother wars—'tis not enough.
Crimes that are due, crimes that are like my own,
Crimes that become our bed,—let these be done.
Give weapons to the mother. From the woods
No one shall drag me, in the hollow cliffs
I'll lurk, or in dense thickets hide myself,
There will I wait on wandering Rumor's words,
And hear whate'er I can of brothers' war.

ACT III

SCENE I

Jocasta.

Happy Agave! The wild crime she did,
She herself bore; a blood-stained bacchanal,
She carried forth the dreadful spoil, her son
Dismembered; guilt was hers, yet nought of crime
Beyond her own great sin was brought to pass.
'Tis light to bear the burdens of the crimes
Myself have done. I have made others sin;
This also, even this is light to bear.
I have brought forth the guilty, to my woes
This bitterness still lacked—that I should love
An enemy. Three times the winter snows
Have fallen and three times the summer grain
Before the bending sickle been laid low,
Since, of his land deprived, my son has roamed
An exile, and, a fugitive, has craved
Aid from the Grecian kings. He has become
Adrastes' son-in-law—that king who rules
The waters the Corinthian Isthmus cuts,
Who now to aid his son-in-law leads forth
His hosts, and with him seven other kings.
I know not what I ought to wish or think;
He claims the kingdom, reason good he has
For claiming, yet he seeks it by ill means.
Alas, whose part shall I, the mother, take?
Each is my son, I cannot safely show
My love for either. If I wish one well
I wish the other ill. With equal love
I love them both, and yet my spirit yearns,
Favoring still the weakest, toward the son
Whose lot is heaviest though his cause is just.
His evil fortune binds me to his side.

SCENE II

Antigone, Jocasta, A Theban Guard.

Theban Guard. Queen, while in weeping and in wild lament
Thou wastest time, the battle line is here,
Drawn up in open war, the trumpet calls
To arms, th' advancing eagle calls to war.
Drawn up in serried ranks the kings prepare
Seven battle fields, and Cadmus' sons go forth
With equal courage, swiftly here and there
The soldiers rush; see how black clouds of dust
Obscure the day, there rises from the field
Clouds dark as smoke, raised by the hurrying feet
Of horsemen and, if those who fear see true,
The hostile standards shine, the foe's first ranks
Are present, and the golden banners bear
Illustrious names of well-known generals.
Go, to the brothers bring fraternal love,
Give peace to all and with a mother's voice
Forbid the war.
Antigone. Haste, mother, haste, fly fast,
Hold back the weapons, from the brothers' hands
Strike down the sword, between the hostile spears
Set thy brave breast, O mother, stop the war,
Or perish first.
Jocasta. I go, I go, my head
I'll offer to their swords, between the swords
I'll stand, and he who would his brother slay
Must slay his mother first. At my request
The duteous son will lay his weapon down,
The son who is not duteous shall begin
His war with me; though old, I may restrain
The fiery youths, no impious crime shall be
While I am witness, or if impious crime
Can be committed and I witness it,
One crime were not enough.
Antigone. The fight is on,
The neighboring banners gleam, the noise of war
Resounds, O mother, now employ thy prayers.
But see, as though prevailed on by thy tears,
Slowly, with spears at rest, the line draws near.
Theban Guard. The line moves slowly, but the leaders haste.
Jocasta. What winged wind will sweep me through the air,
With the mad rushing of the tempest driven?
Would that the Sphinx or the Stymphalian birds
That darken like a heavy cloud the day
Would bear me swiftly on their eager wings!
Or that the harpies, seeing the fierce rage
Of the two cruel kings, would snatch me hence
And cast me down between the battle lines.
Theban Guard. Like one insane she moves, she's mad, indeed!
As the swift Parthian arrow from the bow
Is driven, as the raft is swept along
By the wild winds, or as a falling star
Drops from the skies, when with swift fires it breaks
A path unswerving, so her maddened flight
She takes, and stands between the hostile lines.
The fight a moment fails, compelled to yield
Before a mother's prayers, on either side
The warriors, eager to begin the work
Of mutual slaughter, in their right hands hold
The weapons poised, but motionless as yet
Both armies stand, at peace. The swords of all
Are sunk to earth, or hidden in the sheath,
Only the brothers' hands still brandish them.
The mother shows her loose hair, white and torn;
She supplicates, but they deny; she wets
Their knees with tears—who hesitates so long
Can in the end deny a mother's prayers.

ACT IV

SCENE I

Polynices, Eteocles, Jocasta, The Two Armies.

Jocasta. Against me turn your weapons and your fires,
Attack me only, valorous youths who come
From Argive cities; and ye warriors fierce,
Who from the Theban citadel descend,
Fall upon me alone. Let friend and foe
Alike attack this womb, which bore these sons—
My husband's brothers. Tear these limbs apart,
Scatter them far and wide. I bore you both.
Do you more quickly lay aside the sword?
And shall I say who fathered you, my sons?
Give me your hands, give them while yet unstained;
Till now ye have unwittingly done wrong,
Each crime was fortune's that against us sinned,
This is the first base act brought forth between
Those conscious of their guilt. In my hand lies
Whate'er you will: if holy piety
Be pleasing to you, give your mother peace;
If crime be pleasing, greater is prepared,
A mother stands between you, make an end
Of war or of the hinderer of war.
Whom with alternate prayers and anxious words
Shall I first strive to touch, whom first embrace?
With equal love am I to each one drawn.
One was far off—but if the brother's pact
Should hold, the other soon would be far off.
Shall I then never see the two at once
Except as now? Embrace me first, my son,
Who hast endured misfortunes manifold
And labors manifold, and now, foredone
By a long exile, dost at last behold
Thy mother. Nearer draw, within its sheath
Put up thy impious sword, and in the earth
Bury thy spear that trembles, poised to slay.
Thy shield prevents thy breast from meeting mine,
Lay it aside; loose from thy brow the bands
And from its warlike covering free thy head,
That I may see thy face. Where dost thou look?
Dost thou observe thy brother's battle line
With timid glance? I'll hide thee in my arms,
Through me must be the pathway to thy blood.
Why hesitate? Art thou afraid to trust
Thy mother?
Polynices. Yea, I am afraid. No more
Do nature's laws avail. Since I have known
A mother's precedent, I cannot trust
Even a mother's promise.
Jocasta. Put again
Thy hand upon thy sword, bind on once more
Thy helmet, take thy shield, retain thy arms
Until thy brother shall have been disarmed.
Thou who first used the sword, put by the sword.
If peace is odious, if thou seekest war
Thy mother asks thee for a short delay
That she may kiss the son from flight returned,
Whether it be the first kiss or the last.
Listen unarmed while I entreat for peace.
Thou fearest him, he thee? I fear thee both,
But for the sake of each. Why willst thou not
Lay by the sword? Be glad at these delays:
You seek to wage a war in which 'twere best
To be o'ercome. Thy hostile brother's guile
Fearst thou? 'tis often needful to deceive
Or be oneself deceived, yet is it best
To suffer rather than commit a crime.
Fear not, a treacherous thrust from either side
Thy mother will receive. Do I prevail?
Shall I be envious of thy father's fate?
Have I come hither to prevent a crime,
Or see it nearer? See, he sheathes his sword,
He drops his spear, he lays aside his arms;
And now to thee thy mother turns with prayers
And tears, I see again thy face, long sought.
Thee, from thy native land a fugitive,
A foreign king's penates long kept safe.
By divers seas and by a changeful fate
Thou hast been driven. Followed by her train,
Thy mother did not to thy marriage bed
Conduct thee, nor adorn the festal halls
Herself, nor with the sacred fillets bind
The happy torches, thy bride's father gave
No gift of gold, a treasure for a king,
Nor fields, nor towns; thy bridal gift is war.
Thou of a foe art made the son-in-law,
Far from thy land, the guest of alien laws,
Sought by a stranger, driven from thine own,
An exile through no crime that thou hast done.
Lest thou shouldst taste not all thy parents' fate,
This too thou hadst from them: to wed amiss.
O son, sent back to me from many lands;
O son, thy anxious mother's hope and fear;
For whose return I often prayed the gods,
Though thy return would snatch away as much
As it would give; how long, I asked, how long,
Before I cease to fear on his account?
The mocking god replied, till thou shalt fear
Himself. Thou hadst been far, but for this war;
Hadst thou been far I should have known no war.
The sight of thee is given at a price
Heavy to pay, but to thy mother's eyes
The sight is welcome. Now, ere cruel Mars
Dares some dread crime, let the two hosts withdraw;
Great sin it is that they have come so near.
I am amazed, I shudder, when I see
Two brothers stand so near the edge of crime.
My limbs are weak, how nearly had I seen
A crime of greater infamy than aught
Thy wretched father ever looked upon.
I am set free from fear of such a crime,
Such now I shall not see; and yet I feel
Unhappy that so nearly I have seen.
Oh! by the ten months' labor of my womb,
And by thy noble sister's piety,
And by thy father's eyes which he dragged forth,
Enraged against himself and from himself
Exacting the hard penalty of crime,
Though innocent of any guilt; I pray:
Save from the cursed torch thy country's walls,
Turn back the standards of the hostile lines;
Though thou turnst back, great portion of thy crime
Already is complete—thy land has seen
Its open plains o'errun by hordes of foes,
Has seen afar the shining troops, has seen
The Cadmean meadows trampled by the horse,
And princes in their chariots of war
Advancing, and the blaze of lighted beams
Prepared to burn our homes, and—even for Thebes
An unaccustomed crime—two brothers roused
To war against each other. All the host
Saw, the whole people saw, thy sister saw,
And I, thy mother. That he saw it not,
Thy father to his mangled eyeballs owes.
Ah, what if Œdipus should see thee now,
That judge who even for error would exact
The penalty? O waste not with the sword
Thy country and thy home, nor overthrow
The Thebes thou so desirest to rule.
What madness has possession of thy mind?
Wilt thou by wild assault destroy the land?
That it may be thine own wouldst make it nought?
Thou dost but to thine own cause injury,
When thou inflam'st thy land with hostile arms,
Layest the ripe grain low, and far and wide
Spreadst terror. None thus devastate their own.
Thou must believe it but an alien land,
Which thou commandest to be seized by fire
And taken by the sword. Decide which one
Shall be the king, but let the kingdom stand.
Wilt thou with fire and spear destroy these roofs?
Or canst thou shake Amphion's mighty work?
Wouldst shake these walls, not builded by man's hand
That lifts with noisy crane the slow moved weight,
But called together by the cither's sound
And singing—of themselves the stones moved up
Into the highest turrets—wouldst thou break
These walls in pieces? Wouldst thou bear away
A victor's spoil, thy father's vanquished peers
Lead hence, and shall the cruel soldiers drag
Mothers in chains, snatched from their husband's arms?
Shall Theban maidens, mingled with the herd
Of captives, go as gifts to Argive maids?
Shall I myself, with hands behind me bound,
The plunder of fraternal triumph be?
Canst thou behold thy fellow citizens
On all sides given o'er to death and flight?
Canst thou against these dear walls lead the foe?
Hast thou a heart so savage and so wild,
So cruel in its wrath? Thou art not yet
A king, what will thy sceptered hand perform?
I do beseech thee, put aside thy rage
And swelling anger, give to duteous love
Again thy heart.
Polynices. That I a fugitive
May wander? That I may afar from Thebes
Be kept? May ever as a guest desire
The aid of strangers? Had I broken faith,
Had I foresworn myself, what had I borne?
Shall I to aliens pay the penalty
Of treachery, and he alone enjoy
The profit of the crime? Thou bidst me go,
I would indeed obey a mother's word;
Where shall I go? My royal halls would be
My haughty brother's dwelling, a poor hut
Would cover me: give to the exiled that,
Let me exchange a realm for that poor home.
But shall I, given to my wife, a slave,
Bear the harsh judgments of a wealthy bride
And as a mean and humble follower
Obey the royal parents of my wife?
'Tis hard to fall from power to servitude.
Jocasta. If thou desirest to be a king
Nor canst from the harsh scepter free thy hand,
Many there are in the world's circle wide
That thou canst seize. Where Tmolus lifts its heights
Sacred to Bacchus, where wide stretches lie
Of fruitful soil, where rich Pactolus flows
And inundates the country with its gold.
Nor does Mæander with its wandering stream
Through meadowlands less happy wind its way;
Swift Hermus rolls through fertile fields; there lies
Gargara, loved by Ceres, and the land
Which Zanthus, swoll'n with Ida's snows, makes wet;
There lies the shore where the Ionian sea
Changes its name, across the narrow strait,
Opposite to Abydos, Sestos stands;
Or, farther east, with safe and frequent ports,
Lies Lycia: seek these kingdoms with the sword,
Let thy bride's father bear his hostile arms
Against these peoples, and betray these lands,
And give them to thee to be ruled by thee.
Think that thy father hitherto has held
This kingdom. Better far for thee would be
Exile than this return. Exiled thou art
Through guilt not thine; through crime thyself must do
Thou wilt return. 'Twere better thou shouldst seek
With these thy warriors a new realm, unstained
By any crime. The sharer of thy war,
Thy brother, will himself then fight for thee
Go wage a war where we may wish thee well.
A kingdom won by crime is heavier far
Than any exile. Weigh the ills of war,
Think on uncertain Mars' vicissitudes.
Though thou shouldst lead with thee the flower of Greece,
Though far and wide thy countless hosts should spread,
Yet doubtful were the fortune of the war—
'Tis as Mars wills, he makes of equal strength
Two swords, although they were before ill matched,
Blind chance brings hope or fear. Though all the gods
Favored thy vows, they have withdrawn from thee
And, put to flight, have sought the Theban side,
The soldiery, in awful overthrow
Lying, are scattered over all the field.
Say thou wage war, from thy slain brother bear
A victor's spoils, thy palms would soon be crushed;
Thinkst thou such war can bring the conqueror joy
When he commits in it accursed crime?
Him whom thou seekest now to overthrow,
Him, conquered, wretched one, thou wilt bewail.
Go, put an end to this disastrous war,
From terror free thy native land, from grief
Set free thy parents.
Polynices. Shall no punishment
For all his crime and treachery be borne
By my base brother?
Jocasta. Fear not. He shall pay
Hard penalty indeed, for he shall reign,
This is his penalty. And shouldst thou doubt,
Look on his father's, his grandfather's fate;
Cadmus and Cadmus' offspring tell thee this:
Never unpunished did a Theban hold
The scepter, none shall hold it who break faith,
And even now among such sinful ones
Thou numberest a brother.
Eteocles. Be it so!
'Tis worth so much to be among Thebes' kings.
Thee, place I mid the throng of exiled ones.
Jocasta. Reign hated by the people.
Eteocles. He who fears
Hatred can never wish to be a king.
God, the creator of the universe,
Has bound together hate and kingly power.
A great king, I believe, will overcome
Hatred itself. Their peoples' love prevents
Many from ruling; most is possible
Where hate abides. Who wishes to be loved
Rules with a languid hand.
Jocasta. Not long maintained
Will be unwelcome empire.
Eteocles. Kings may give
The laws of empire with a better grace,
Speak thou of exiles. For my realm I wish—
Jocasta. To give thy native land, thy household gods,
Thy wife, to the destroying flames?
Eteocles. Hard price
Is ever for imperial power paid.






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