O thou true heart, O child of Oedipus, Be not, in wrath, too like the man whose name Murmurs an evil omen! 'Tis enough That Cadmus' clan should strive with Arges' host, For blood there is that can atone that stain!
But-brother upon brother dealing death-
Not time itself can expiate the sin!
ETEOCLES
If man find hurt, yet clasp his honour still, 'Tis well; the dead have honour, nought beside.
Hurt, with dishonour, wins no word of praise!
CHORUS (chanting)
Ah, what is thy desire?
Let not the lust and ravin of the sword Bear thee adown the tide accursed, abhorred!
Fling off thy passion's rage, thy spirit's prompting dire!
ETEOCLES
Nay-since the god is urgent for our doom, Let Laius' house, by Phoebus loathed and scorned, Follow the gale of destiny, and win Its great inheritance, the gulf of hell!
CHORUS (chanting)
Ruthless thy craving is-
Craving for kindred and forbidden blood To be outpoured-a sacrifice imbrued With sin, a bitter fruit of murderous enmities!
ETEOCLES
Yea, my own father's fateful Curse proclaims-A ghastly presence, and her eyes are dry-Strike! honour is the prize, not life prolonged!
CHORUS (chanting)
Ah, be not urged of her! for none shall dare To call thee coward, in thy throned estate!
Will not the Fury in her sable pal Pass outward from these halls, what time the gods Welcome a votive offering from our hands?
ETEOCLES
The gods! long since they hold us in contempt, Scornful of gifts thus offered by the lost!
Why should we fawn and flinch away from doom?
CHORUS (chanting)
Now, when it stands beside thee! for its power May, with a changing gust of milder mood, Temper the blast that bloweth wild and rude And frenzied, in this hour!
ETEOCLES
Ay, kindled by the curse of Oedipus-
All too prophetic, out of dreamland came The vision, meting out our sire's estate!
LEADER OF THE CHORUS
Heed women's voices, though thou love them not!
ETEOCLES
Say aught that may avail, but stint thy words.
LEADER
Go not thou forth to guard the seventh gate!
ETEOCLES
Words shall not blunt the edge of my resolve.
LEADER
Yet the god loves to let the weak prevail.
ETEOCLES
That to a swordsman, is no welcome word!
LEADER
Shall thine own brother's blood be victory's palm?
ETEOCLES
Ill which the gods have sent thou canst no-shun!
(ETEOCLES goes out.)
