Sow not the seed of children, in despiteOf the gods: for if thou shalt beget a son,Him who begat shall the begotten slay,And all thy house in bloody ruin perish.f3But the divine oracle, as was to have been expected from the character of the questioner, was given in vain. Laius had consulted the oracle not that he might know and obey the divine will, but that he might, if possible, escape from the terrible consequences of the curse of Pelops, and yet gratify his natural desire of having offspring. The result was natural. In a moment of forgetfulness, induced by the free use of that mother of many evils, wine, he neglected the divine warning; and, from his fatal embrace, a child was born, destined in the course of the accomplishment of the ancient curse, both to suffer many monstrous misfortunes in his own person, and to transmit guilt and misery to another generation. This child was Oedipus,f4so named from the piercing of his feet by nails, and subsequent exposure on Mount Cithaeron, a device contrived by his father, in order to escape the fulfilment of the divine oracle. But it is not possible, as Homer frequently inculcates, to deceive the mind of the gods. The helpless infant, the child of destiny, is found (like Romulus), by some shepherds, and by them taken to Polybus king of Corinth. Here the foundling is brought up as the son of that monarch; but, on one occasion, being taunted by some of his youthful comrades with the reproach that he is not really the son of Polybus, but a fatherless foundling, he goes forth to the oracle of Delphi, and to the wide world, to clear up what had been more wisely left in the dark; and here his god-sent misfortunes overtake him, and the evil genius of his father drives the innocent son blindfold into inevitable woe. The Pythoness, according to her wont, returned an answer more doubtful than the question. Oedipus was told not who his father was, but that a dark destiny hung over him, to kill his father, and to commit incest with his mother. Knowing no parents but those whom he had left at Corinth, he proceeded on his wanderings, in a direction the opposite of that by which he had come; and, on the road between Delphi and Daulis,f5met a person of consequence, with a charioteer and an attendant, in a car. The charioteer immediately ordered the foot traveller, somewhat insolently, after the manner of aristocratic satellites, to get out of the way; which rudeness the hot youth resenting, a scuffle ensued, in which the charioteerand his master were slain, while the attendant fled. The murdered prince was Laius; and Oedipus, unwittingly, nay, doing everything he could to elude the fate, had slain his own father. But the ancient Fury, for a season, concealed her vengeance, and allowed a brief glory to be shed round her victim, that he might thereafter be plunged in more terrible darkness. The Sphynx, a monstrous creature, of Egyptian birth, half virgin, half lion, had been sent by wrathful Mars, to desolate the Theban country, devouring, with her bloody jaws, whosoever could not solve her famous riddle. When depopulation proceeded at a fearful rate from this cause, the Thebans promised Iocaste, the widow of Laius, and queen of the country, in marriage, to him who should succeed in explaining the enigma. Oedipus was successful; and, becoming king of Thebes, was married, in ignorance, to his own mother. Thus the net of destiny was drawn closer and closer round its victim; but the hour of doom was not yet come. Joined in this unnatural wedlock, the unfortunate son of Laius became the father of two sons, Eteocles and Polynices, and of two daughters, Antigone and Ismene. Circumstances (which Sophocles narrates in his Oedipus Tyrannus) afterwards bringing the story of Oedipus’ life and the nature of his connection with Iocaste to light, the unfortunate old king looking upon himself as an object of hatred to the gods, and unworthy to look upon the day, tore out his eyes, and was confined by his sons—whether from cruelty or superstition—in a separate house, and treated otherwise in a manner that appeared to him disrespectful and unkind.f6Enraged at this treatment, he pronounced an imprecation against them, that they should one daydivide their inherited land by steel; whereupon they, to render any hostile collision impossible, made an agreement to exercise kingly authority over the whole Theban territory, each for a year at a time, while the other should leave the country. Eteocles, as the elder, reigned first; but when the appointed term came round, like other holders of power, he showed himself loath to quit; and Polynices, fleeing to Argos, sought assistance from Adrastus, king of that country. This prince, along with the Ætolian Tydeus, the father of Diomede, and other chiefs, marched against Thebes with a great armament, in order to force Eteocles to yield the yearly tenure of the throne to his brother, according to agreement. The appearance of this armament before the gates of the Cadmean city, and its sad issue, in the death, by their ownhands, of the two hostile brothers, form the subject of the present play.From this rapid sketch, the reader will see plainly that the dismal story of Laius and Oedipus, and his children, affords materials for a whole series of tragedies; and that, in fact, “The Seven against Thebes” is only one of the last acts of a great consecutive legendary history, of which each part is necessary to explain the other. This close connection of the subjects naturally suggests the question, whether our play, as we now have it, stood alone in dramatic representation, or whether it was not only a subordinate part of a large dramatic whole. We know for certain that Æschylus wrote at least four plays, besides the present, of which the materials were taken from the cycle of this Theban legend—namely,Laius,Oedipus,The Sphynx, and theEleusinians;f7and it has been not unplausibly conjectured that some of his other plays, of which the names are preserved, belong to the same series.f8In what precise connection, however, the existing play stood to any of the rest in actual representation, there were, till very recently, no satisfactory means of judging; and accordingly no scanty wealth of erudite speculation (after the German fashion), made to look like science, was spent upon the subject. Now, at length it has been announced, that the διδασκαλία, containing the actual order of representation of four of these plays, has been discovered;f9and, if the document be genuine, we are enabled to assert that, in the 78th Olympiad, Æschylus gained the tragic prize with the tetralogy, ofLaius,Oedipus,The Seven against Thebes, and theSphynx, a satiric drama.With regard to the merits of the present piece, while its structure exhibits, in the most striking manner, the deficient skill of the early dramatists, its spirit is everywhere manly and noble, and instinct with the soul of the warlike actions which it describes. The best parts are epic, not dramatic—namely, those in which the Messenger describes the different characters and appearance of the seven chiefs posted each at a separate gate of the Cadmean city. The drama concludes with a Theban coronach or wail over the dead bodies of the self-slain brothers; for the proper relishing of which, the imaginative reproduction of some appropriate music is indispensable. The introduction after this of the Herald, announcing the decree of the Theban senate, whereby burial is denied to the body of Polynices,and the heroic display of sisterly affection on the part of Antigone, are—if this really was the last piece of a trilogy—altogether foreign both to the action and to the tone of the tragedy, and must be regarded as a blunder. If Schiller, and even Shakespere, on occasions, could err in such matters, much more Æschylus.THE SEVEN AGAINST THEBESEteocles.Ye citizens of Cadmus! he who sitsHolding the helm in the high poop of state,Watchful, with sleepless eyes, must, when he speaks,Speak words that suit the time. If we succeed,The gods will have the praise; but should we fail(Which may averting Jove from me avert,n1And from this Theban city!), I aloneMust bear the up-heaped murmurings of the whole,A motley-voiced lament. Ye men of Thebes,Not manhood’s vigour only, but ye alsoWho lack ripe years, and ye whose green old ageNurses unwithered strength,f10arm, and redeemYour country’s honor from a cruel blot.Let not the citadel of your ancient sires,The altars of your native gods, your children,Nor the dear mother Earth, that nursed you, blameThe slackness of your love—the nurse who boreYour creeping childhood on her fostering soil,And through your slow growth up to firmer years,Toiled that the strong arms of her faithful sons,Might shield her need. Up to this hour the godInclines to us; though close hedged in by the foe,The vantage hath been ours. But now the seer,The shepherd of prophetic birds’ revolvingIn his ear and inward sense deep-pondered truths,n2By no false art, though without help from fire,Even he soothsaying sings that the Argive campHolds midnight council to attack the city.Therefore be ready; mount the battlements;Top every tower; crown every parapet;Fence every gate with valiant-hearted men,Well harnessed for the fight: and never fearThis trooping alien foe. The gods will giveA happy issue. Myself have sent out scouts,Sure men, not wont to linger. Their adviceShall shield us from surprise.EnterMessenger.Messenger.Eteocles,Most excellent lord of Thebes! what I have seenWith mine own eyes, no idle unvouched tale,I bring thee from the camp. Seven warlike chiefsI saw, in solemn sacrifice assembled:Holding the head of the devoted ox,Over the shield with iron rimmed they dippedTheir hands in the steaming blood, and swore an oath,By Mars, Enýo, and blood-loving Terror,n3Either to raze the walls of Thebes, and plunderThe citadel of Cadmus, or else drenchThis soil with Argive blood. Then, as for deathPrepared, they decked the chariot of Adrastusn4With choice love-tokens to their Argive kin,Dropping a tear, but with their mouths they gaveNo voice. An iron-hearted band are they,Breathing hot war, like lions when their eyeLooks instant battle. Such my news; nor ISlow to report; for in the camp I left themEager to share among their several bandsOur gates by lot. Therefore, bestir thee; fenceEach gate with the choicest men: dash all delay;For now the Argive host, near and more near,All panoplied comes on; the dark-wreathed dustRolls, and the snowy foam of snorting chargersStains the pure Theban soil. Like a wise pilotThat scents the coming gale, hold thou the cityTight, ere the storm of Ares on our headsBurst pitiless. Loud the mainland wave is roaring.This charge be thine: myself, a sleepless spy,Will bring thee sure word from the hostile camp:Safe from without, so ye be strong within. [Exit.Eteocles.O Jove! O Earth! O Gods that keep the city!And thou fell Fury of my father’s curse!f11Destroy not utterly this Cadméan seatRent, razed, deracinated by the foe!Yield not our pious hearths, where the loved speechOf Hellas echoes, to a stranger host!Let not the free-born Theban bend the neck,To slavery thralled, beneath a tyrant’s yoke!Be ye our strength! our common cause we plead;A prosperous state hath cause to bless the gods. [Exit.I.TheChorusn5enter the scene in great hurry and agitation.O wailing and sorrow, O wailing and woe!Their tents they have left, many-banded they ride,And onward they tramp with the prance of pride,The horsemen of the foe.The dark-volumed dust-cloud that rides on the gale,Though voiceless, declares a true messenger’s tale;With clattering hoofs, on and on still they ride;n6It swells on my ear, loud it rusheth and roareth,As a fierce wintry torrent precipitous poureth,Rapidly lashing the mountain side.Hear me ye gods, and ye goddesses hear me!The black harm prevent that swells near and more near me!As a wave on the shore when the blast beats the coast,So breaks o’er the walls, from the white-shielded host,n7The eager war-cry, the sharp cry of fear,As near still it rolls, and more near.II.TheChorusbecome more and more agitated. They speak one to another in short hurried exclamations, and in great confusion.Chorus 1.To which of the gods and the goddesses nowShall I pay my vow?Chorus 2.Shall I cling to the altar, and kneeling embraceThe guardian gods of the Theban race?Tutti.Ye blissful Olympians, throned sublime,In the hour of need, in the urgent time,May the deep drawn sigh,And the heart’s strong cryAscend not in vain to your seats sublime!Chorus 1.Heard ye the shields rattle, heard ye the spear?In this dark day of dole,With chaplet and stolen8Let us march to the temples, and worship in fear!Chorus 2.I heard the shield’s rattle, and spear clashed on spearCame stunning my ear.Tutti.O Ares, that shines in the helmet of gold,n9Thine own chosen city wilt thou beholdTo slavery sold?O Ares, Ares, wilt thou betrayThy Theban home to-day?III.TheChoruscrown the altars of the gods, and then, falling on their knees, sing the following Theban Litany, in one continuous chaunt.Patron gods that keep the city,Look, look down upon our woe,Save this band of suppliant virginsFrom the harsh-enslaving foe!For a rush of high-plumed warriorsRound the city of the free,By the blast of Ares driven,Roars, like billows of the sea.Father Jove the consummator,f12Save us from the Argive spear;For their bristling ranks enclose us,And our hearts do quake with fear,And their steeds with ringing bridlesn10Knell destruction o’er the land;And seven chiefs, with lance in hand,Fixed by lot to share the slaughter,At the seventh gate proudly stand.Save us, Pallas, war-delightingDaughter of immortal Jove!Save us, lord of billowy ocean!God of pawing steeds, Poseidon,n11Join thine aid to his above,And with thy fish-piercing tridentStill our hearts, our fears remove.Save us Ares! father Ares,Father now thy children’s need!Save us Cypris, mother of Thebans,n12For we are thy blood indeed!Save us, save us, Wolf-Apollo,n13Be a wolf against the foe!Whet thine arrows, born of Leto,Leto’s daughter bend thy bow!IV.The Litany is here interrupted by the noise of the besiegers storming the city, and is continued in a hurried irregular manner.Chorus 1.I hear the dread roll of the chariots of war!Tutti.O holy Hera!Chorus 2.And the axles harsh-creaking with dissonant jar!Tutti.O Artemis dear!Chorus 1.And the vext air is madded with quick-brandished spears.Semi-Chorus 1.To Thebes, our loved city, what hope now appears?Semi-Chorus 2.And when shall the gods bring an end of our fears?Chorus 1.Hark! hark! stony hail the near rampart is lashing!Tutti.O blest Apollo!Chorus 2.And iron-bound shield against shield is clashing!Tutti.The issue of war with the gods abideth,The doubtful struggle great Jove decideth.O Onca, blest Onca,n14whose worshippers everInvoke thee, the queen of the Oncan gate,The seven-gated city deliver, deliver,n15Thou guardian queen of the gate.V.TheChorusunite again into a full band, and sing the Finale of the Litany in regular Strophe and Antistrophe.STROPHE.Gods and goddesses almighty!Earthly and celestial powers!Of all good things consummators,Guardians of the Theban towers!Save the spear-encompassed cityFrom a foreign-speaking foe!n16Hear the virgin band, that prays theeWith the out-stretched arms of woe!ANTISTROPHE.Gods and demigods! the cityAid that on your aid depends,Watch around us, and defend us;He is strong whom God defends.Bear the incense in remembranceOf our public sacrifice;From a people rich in offeringsLet no prayer unanswered rise!Re-enterEteocles.Eteocles.Answer me this, insufferable brood!Is this your wisdom, this your safety-noteTo Theban soldiers, this your war-cry, thusIn prostrate woe clasping the guardian gods,To scream and wail the vain lament of fools?I pray the gods, in good or evil days,May never fate be mine to lodge with women.When fortune’s brave, their pride’s unbearable;But, comes a thought of fear, both hall and forumMust ring with their laments. Why run ye thusFrom street to street, into the hearts of menScattering dastardy, and bruiting fear?Nay, but ye chiefly help the enemy’s causeWithout the gate, and we by friends withinAre more besieged; such aid expect from women!Thebans give ear; whoso shall disobeyMy word in Thebes, man, woman, old, or young,Whoe’er he be, against himself he writesBlack sentence to be stoned by the public hand.Without the gates let brave men fight; withinLet women tend their children, and their webs.Hear ye, or hear ye not? or do I speakTo the deaf?STROPHE I.Chorus.Son of Oedipus be witness!Should not terror rob our wits,When we hear the roll of chariots,Whirling wheels, and creaking axles,And the unresting tramp of horsesChamping fierce their fire-forged bits?Eteocles.What then? when with the storm the good ship labours,Shall the wise helmsman leave his proper post,To clasp the painted gods upon the prow?n17ANTISTROPHE I.Chorus.When we heard war’s rattling hail-driftRound our ramparts wildly rave,Trusting to the gods of Cadmus,Spurred by fear, we hither hurried,Here to pray, and clasp the statuesOf the good gods strong to save.Eteocles.Pray that our well-manned walls be strong to save us,Else will the gods help little. Who knows notThat, when a city falls, they pass to the Victor?n18STROPHE II.Chorus.Never, never may the councilOf the assembled gods desert us,While I live, and look on day!Never, never may the strangerRush through the streets, while midnight burningLights the robber to his prey!Eteocles.Weak prayers confound wise counsel. Know ye notObedience is the mother of success,And pledge of victory. So the wise have spoken.ANTISTROPHE II.Chorus.But the gods are strong. When mortalsStretch the arm in vain to save us,Help is waiting from above.When dark night enveils the welkin,And thick-mantled ruin gathers,They enclasp us round with love.Eteocles.Leave sacrifice and oracles to men,And ’gainst the imminent foe pray to the gods.Women should hold their tongues, and keep their homes.STROPHE III.Chorus.By the strength of gods the cityEach rude tide hath learnt to stem;Who shall charge us with offending,When we make our vows to them?Eteocles.Your vows I grudge not, nor would stint your prayers;But this I say, blow not your fears about,Nor taint the general heart with apprehension.ANTISTROPHE III.Chorus.Startled by the blare of battle,Hearing clash of combat fell,With a quaking heart I hied meTo this sacred citadel.Eteocles.And when ye hear that some are dead or wounded,Drag not the news with wailings through the town;For blood of mortals is the common foodn19Of the war god.Chorus.Hark! the angry steeds are snorting.Eteocles.Hear what thou wilt; but do not hear aloud.Chorus.The Earth beneath me groans, the wall is shaking.Eteocles.The walls are mine to uphold. Pray you, be silent.Chorus.Woe’s me, the clash of arms, loud and more loud,Rings at the gate!Eteocles.And thou the loudest!—Peace!Chorus.Great council of the gods, O save us! save us!Eteocles.Perdition seize thee! thy words flow like water.Chorus.O patron gods, save me from captive chains!Eteocles.Thy fear makes captive me, and thee, and all.Chorus.O mighty Jove, fix with thy dart the foe!Eteocles.O Jove, of what strange stuff hast thou made women!Chorus.Men are no better, when their city’s captured.Eteocles.Dost clasp the gods again, and scream and howl?Chorus.Fear hurries on my overmastered tongue.Eteocles.One small request I have; beseech you hear me.Chorus.Speak: I am willing, if I can, to please thee.Eteocles.Please me by silence; do not fright thy friends.Chorus.I speak no more: and wait my doom with them.Eteocles.This word is wiser than a host of wails.And now, instead of running to and fro,Clinging to every image as you pass,Pray to the gods with sober supplication,To aid the Theban cause: and, when ye hearMy vow, lift up a blithe auspicious shout,A sacred hymn, a sacrificial cry,As brave Greek hearts are wont, whose voice shall speakSure confidence to friends, and to the foeDismay. Now, hear my vow. If they who keepThe city, keep it now from the Argive spear,I vow to them, and to the patron godsOf field and forum, and the holy fountOf Dirce and Ismenus’ sacred stream,n20That blood of lambs and bulls shall wash their altars,And spear-pierced trophies, Argive harnesses,Bedeck their holy halls. Such be your prayers;Not sighs and sobs, and frantic screams, that shakeThe hearts of men, but not the will of gods.Meanwhile, with six choice men, myself the seventh,I’ll gallantly oppose these boastful chiefsThat block our outlets. Timely thus I’ll gagThe swift-winged rush of various-bruited news,That in the hour of danger blazes fear. [Exit.CHORAL HYMN.STROPHE I.Well thou speakest; but unsleepingTerrors shake my virgin frame,And the blasts of war around meFan my fears into a flame.As the dove her dovelets nursing,Fears the tree-encircling serpent,Fatal neighbour of her nest;Thus the foe, our walls enclosing,Thrills with ceaseless fears my breast.Hark I in hurrying throngs careeringRude they beat our Theban towers,And a rain of rock-torn fragmentsOn the roofs of Cadmus showers!Save us, gods that keep the city,Save us, Jove-begotten Powers!ANTISTROPHE I.Say what region shall receive ye,When the Theban soil is waste?When pure Dirce’s fount is troubled,From what waters shall ye taste?Theban soil, the deepest, richest,That with fruits of joy is pregnant,Dirce, sweetest fount that runs,From Poseidon earth-embracing,And from Tethys’ winding sons.n21Patron-gods maintain your glory,Sit in might enthroned to-day:Smite the foe with fear; fear strickenLet them fling their arms away:Hear our sharp shrill-piercing wailings,When for Cadmus’ weal we pray!STROPHE II.Sad it were, and food for weeping,To behold these walls Ogygian,By the stranger spearman mounted,Levelled by the Argive foe,And these towers by god-sent vengeanceLaid in crumbling ashes low.Sad it were to see the daughters,And the sonless mothers grey,Of old Thebes, with hair dishevelled,And rent vestments, even as horsesDragged by the mane, a helpless prey;Sad to hear the victors’ clamourMingling with the captive’s moan,And the frequent-clanking fetterStruggling with the dying groan.ANTISTROPHE II.Sad, most sad, should hands unlicensedRudely pluck our opening blossom;Sad—yea better far to die!Changing nuptial torch and chamberFor dark homes of slavery.Ah! my soul within me trembles,When it shapes the sight of shame,Swift the chase of lawless murder,And the swifter chase of flame;Black the surly smoke upwreathing,Cries, confusion, choking heat;Shrine-polluting, man-subduingMars, wild borne from street to street!STROPHE III.Towers and catapults surrounding,And the greedy spear upswallowingMan by man, its gory food:And the sucking infants clingingTo the breasts that cannot bear them,Cries to ears that cannot hear themMingle with their mother’s blood.Plunder, daughter of Confusion,Startles Plenty from his lair,And the robber with the robberBargains for an equal share;Gods! in such a night of terrorsHow shall helpless maidens fare?ANTISTROPHE III.Planless is the strife of Plunder.Fruits of patient years are trampledReckless in the moment’s grave;And the maids that tend the household,With a bitter eye of weeping,See the treasured store of summersHurried by the barren wave.Woe, deep woe, waits captive maidens,To an untried thraldom led,Bound, by chains of forced affection,To some haughty husband’s bed:Sooner, sooner may I wanderSister of the sunless dead!Semi-Chorus 1.Methinks I see the scout sent by the king:Doubtless he brings us news; his tripping feetCome swift as wheels that turn on willing axles.Semi-Chorus 2.The king himself, the son of Oedipus,Comes in the exact nick to hear his tidings:With rapid and unequal steps he tooUrges the way.EnterMessengerandEteoclesfrom opposite sides.Messenger.What I have seen I comeTo tell; the movements of the foe, the stationThat lot hath given each champion at the gates.First at the Prœtian portal Tydeus stands,n22Storming against the seer, who wise forbidsTo pass Ismenus’ wave, before the sacrificeAuspicious smiles. But he, for battle burning,Fumes like a fretful snake in the sultry noon,Lashing with gibes the wise Oiclidan seer,n23Whose prudence he interprets dastardy,Cajoling death away. Thus fierce he raves,And shakes the overshadowing crest sublime,His helmet’s triple mane, while ’neath his shieldThe brazen bells ring fear.n24On his shield’s faceA sign he bears as haughty as himself,The welkin flaming with a thousand lights,And in its centre the full moon shines forth,Eye of the night, and regent of the stars.So speaks his vaunting shield: on the stream’s bankHe stands, loud-roaring, eager for the fight,As some fierce steed that frets against the bit,And waits with ruffling neck, and ears erect,To catch the trumpet’s blare. Who will opposeThis man? what champion, when the bolts are broken,Shall plant his body in the Prœtian gate?Eteocles.No blows I fear from the trim dress of war,No wounds from blazoned terrors. Triple crestsAnd ringing bells bite not without the spear;And for this braggart shield, with starry nightStudded, too soon for the fool’s wit that owns itThe scutcheon may prove seer. When death’s dark nightShall settle on his eyes, and the blithe dayBeams joy on him no more, hath not the shieldSpoken significant, and pictured borneA boast against its bearer? I, to matchThis Tydeus, will set forth the son of Astacus,A noble youth not rich in boasts, who bowsBefore the sacred throne of Modesty,In base things cowardly, in high virtue bold.His race from those whom Ares spared he draws,n25Born from the sown field of the dragon’s teeth,His name Melanippus. Mars shall throw the diceBravely for him, and Justice call him brother,While girt he goes from his loved Theban motherTo ward the Argive spear.STROPHE I.Chorus.May the gods protect our champion!Be the cause of Right his shield!But I fear to see the breathlessBleeding bodies of true warriorsStrewn upon the battle field.Messenger.Speed well your pious prayers! The lot hath placedProud Capaneus before the Electran gate,n26A giant warrior mightier than the first,And boasting more than mortal. His high threatsMay never Chancef13fulfil! for with the aidOf gods, or in the gods’ despite, he vowsTo sack the city, and sets the bolted wrathOf Jove at nought, his lightnings and his thundersRecking no more—so speaks the vauntful tongue—Than vulgar noonday heat. His orbéd shieldThe blazon of a naked man displays,Shaking a flaring torch with lofty threatIn golden letters—i will burn the city.Such is the man: who shall not quail beforeA pride that flings defiance to the gods?Eteocles.Here, too, we meet the strong with something stronger.When men are proud beyond the mark of right,They do proclaim with forward tongue their folly,Themselves their own accuser. This brave CapaneusWith empty threats and wordy exercise,Fights mortal ’gainst immortals, and upcastsLoud billowy boasts in Jove’s high face. But IIn Jove have faith that he will smite this boasterWith flaming bolts, to vulgar heat of noonIn no wise like. The gallant Polyphontus,A man of glowing heart, against this blustererI’ll send, himself a garrison to pledgeOur safety, by the grace of Artemis,And the protecting gods. Name now the others.ANTISTROPHE I.Chorus.Perish, with his boasts, the boaster,By strong thunder prostrate laid!Never, never may I see himInto holy homes of virginsRushing, with his godless blade!Messenger.Hear more. The third lot to EteoclesLeapt from the upturned brazen helm,n27and fixed himAt the Netaean gate.n28His eager steeds,Their frontlets tossed in the breeze, their swelling nostrilsHigh-snorting with the impatient blast of war,Their bridles flapping with barbaric clang,He curbs, and furious ’gainst the city wheels them,Even as a whirling storm. His breadth of shield,Superbly rounded, shows an armed manScaling a city, with this proud device,Not Mars himself shall hurl me from these towers.Choose thou a champion worthy to opposeThis haughty chief, and pledge his country’s weal.Eteocles.Fear not: with happy omen, I will send,Have sent already, one to meet this foe,Whose boasts are deeds, brave Megareus, a sonOf the dragon’s race, a warrior recking nothingThe snortings of impatient steeds. This manWill, with his heart’s blood, pay the nursing feeDue to his Theban mother,f14or come back—Which grant the gods!—bearing on that proud shieldRich spoil to garnish forth his father’s halls,The painted champion, and the painted city,And him that living bore the false-faced sign.Now name the fourth, and spare me not your boasts.STROPHE II.Chorus.May the gods protect my champion!Ruin seize the ruthless foe!As they boast to raze the city,So may Jove with wrathful vengeanceLay their frenzied babblings low!Messenger.The fourth’s Hippomedon. Before the gateHe stands of Onca Pallas, clamouring onWith lordly port. His shield’s huge round he waved,(Fearful to view), a halo not a shield.No vulgar cunning did his hand possessWho carved the dread device upon its face,Typhon, forth-belching, from fire-breathing mouth,Black smoke, the volumed sister of the flame;n29And round its hollow belly was embossedn30A ring of knotted snakes. Himself did rage,Shouting for battle, by the god of warIndwelt,n31and, like a Maenad, his dark eyesLook fear. Against this man be doubly armed,For, where he is, grim Fear is with him.Eteocles.OncaHerself will guard the gate that bears her name,From her own ramparts hurl the proud assailer,And shield her nurslings from this crested snake.Hyperbius, the right valiant son of Oenops,Shall stand against this foe, casting his lifeInto the chance of war; in lordly port,In courage, in all the accoutrements of fightHippomedon’s counterpart—a hostile pairWell matched by Hermes.n32But no equal matchTheir shields display—two hostile gods—the oneFire-breathing Typhon, father Jove the other,Erect, firm-planted, in his flaming handGrasping red thunder, an unvanquished god.Such are the gods beneath whose wing they fight,For us the strong, for them the weaker power.And as the gods are, so the men shall beThat on their aid depend. If Jove hath worstedThis Typhon in the fight, we too shall worstOur adverse. Shall the king of gods not saveThe man whose shield doth bear theSaviour Jove.ANTISTROPHE II.Chorus.Earth-born Typhon, hateful monster,Sight that men and gods appals,Whoso bears in godless blazonGreat Jove’s foe, shall Jove almightyDash his head against the walls.Messenger.So grant the gods! The fifth proud foe is stationedBefore the Borean gate, hard by the tombOf the Jove-born Amphion. By his spearHe swears, his spear more dear to him than gods,Or light of day, that he will sack the cityIn Jove’s despite: thus speaks half-man, half-boy,The fair-faced scion of a mountain mother.The manly down, luxuriant, bushy, sproutsFull from his blooming cheek: no virgin heIn aspect, though most virgin-like his name.f15Keen are his looks, and fierce his soul; he tooComes not without a boast against the gates;For on his shield, stout forgery of brass,A broad circumference of sure defence,He shows, in mockery of Cadméan Thebes,The terrible Sphynx, in gory food delighting,Hugely embossed, with terror brightly studded,And in her mortal paw the monster rendsA Theban man: for which reproachful signThick-showered the bearer bears the keenest darts,—Parthenopæus, bold Arcadian chief.No man seems he to shame the leagues he travelledBy petty war’s detail. Not born an Argive,In Argos nursed, he now her love repays,By fighting ’gainst her foes. His threats—the godGrant they be only threats!Eteocles.Did they receiveWhat punishment their impious vaunts deserve,Ruin with one wide swoop should swamp them all.This braggart stripling, fresh from Arcady,The brother of Hyperbius shall confront,Actor, a man whose hand pursues its deed,Not brandishing vain boasts. No enemy,Whose strength is in his tongue, shall sap these walls,While Actor has a spear: nor shall the manWho bears the hated portent on his shieldEnter our gate, but rather the grim signFrown on its bearer, when thick-rattling hailShowered from our walls shall dint it. If the godsAre just, the words I speak are prophecy.STROPHE III.Chorus.The eager cry doth rend my breast,And on end stands every hair,When I hear the godless vauntingOf unholy men! May AtéFang them in her hopeless snare!Messenger.The sixth a sober man, a seer of might,
Sow not the seed of children, in despiteOf the gods: for if thou shalt beget a son,Him who begat shall the begotten slay,And all thy house in bloody ruin perish.f3
Sow not the seed of children, in despiteOf the gods: for if thou shalt beget a son,Him who begat shall the begotten slay,And all thy house in bloody ruin perish.f3
Sow not the seed of children, in despite
Of the gods: for if thou shalt beget a son,
Him who begat shall the begotten slay,
And all thy house in bloody ruin perish.f3
But the divine oracle, as was to have been expected from the character of the questioner, was given in vain. Laius had consulted the oracle not that he might know and obey the divine will, but that he might, if possible, escape from the terrible consequences of the curse of Pelops, and yet gratify his natural desire of having offspring. The result was natural. In a moment of forgetfulness, induced by the free use of that mother of many evils, wine, he neglected the divine warning; and, from his fatal embrace, a child was born, destined in the course of the accomplishment of the ancient curse, both to suffer many monstrous misfortunes in his own person, and to transmit guilt and misery to another generation. This child was Oedipus,f4so named from the piercing of his feet by nails, and subsequent exposure on Mount Cithaeron, a device contrived by his father, in order to escape the fulfilment of the divine oracle. But it is not possible, as Homer frequently inculcates, to deceive the mind of the gods. The helpless infant, the child of destiny, is found (like Romulus), by some shepherds, and by them taken to Polybus king of Corinth. Here the foundling is brought up as the son of that monarch; but, on one occasion, being taunted by some of his youthful comrades with the reproach that he is not really the son of Polybus, but a fatherless foundling, he goes forth to the oracle of Delphi, and to the wide world, to clear up what had been more wisely left in the dark; and here his god-sent misfortunes overtake him, and the evil genius of his father drives the innocent son blindfold into inevitable woe. The Pythoness, according to her wont, returned an answer more doubtful than the question. Oedipus was told not who his father was, but that a dark destiny hung over him, to kill his father, and to commit incest with his mother. Knowing no parents but those whom he had left at Corinth, he proceeded on his wanderings, in a direction the opposite of that by which he had come; and, on the road between Delphi and Daulis,f5met a person of consequence, with a charioteer and an attendant, in a car. The charioteer immediately ordered the foot traveller, somewhat insolently, after the manner of aristocratic satellites, to get out of the way; which rudeness the hot youth resenting, a scuffle ensued, in which the charioteerand his master were slain, while the attendant fled. The murdered prince was Laius; and Oedipus, unwittingly, nay, doing everything he could to elude the fate, had slain his own father. But the ancient Fury, for a season, concealed her vengeance, and allowed a brief glory to be shed round her victim, that he might thereafter be plunged in more terrible darkness. The Sphynx, a monstrous creature, of Egyptian birth, half virgin, half lion, had been sent by wrathful Mars, to desolate the Theban country, devouring, with her bloody jaws, whosoever could not solve her famous riddle. When depopulation proceeded at a fearful rate from this cause, the Thebans promised Iocaste, the widow of Laius, and queen of the country, in marriage, to him who should succeed in explaining the enigma. Oedipus was successful; and, becoming king of Thebes, was married, in ignorance, to his own mother. Thus the net of destiny was drawn closer and closer round its victim; but the hour of doom was not yet come. Joined in this unnatural wedlock, the unfortunate son of Laius became the father of two sons, Eteocles and Polynices, and of two daughters, Antigone and Ismene. Circumstances (which Sophocles narrates in his Oedipus Tyrannus) afterwards bringing the story of Oedipus’ life and the nature of his connection with Iocaste to light, the unfortunate old king looking upon himself as an object of hatred to the gods, and unworthy to look upon the day, tore out his eyes, and was confined by his sons—whether from cruelty or superstition—in a separate house, and treated otherwise in a manner that appeared to him disrespectful and unkind.f6Enraged at this treatment, he pronounced an imprecation against them, that they should one daydivide their inherited land by steel; whereupon they, to render any hostile collision impossible, made an agreement to exercise kingly authority over the whole Theban territory, each for a year at a time, while the other should leave the country. Eteocles, as the elder, reigned first; but when the appointed term came round, like other holders of power, he showed himself loath to quit; and Polynices, fleeing to Argos, sought assistance from Adrastus, king of that country. This prince, along with the Ætolian Tydeus, the father of Diomede, and other chiefs, marched against Thebes with a great armament, in order to force Eteocles to yield the yearly tenure of the throne to his brother, according to agreement. The appearance of this armament before the gates of the Cadmean city, and its sad issue, in the death, by their ownhands, of the two hostile brothers, form the subject of the present play.
From this rapid sketch, the reader will see plainly that the dismal story of Laius and Oedipus, and his children, affords materials for a whole series of tragedies; and that, in fact, “The Seven against Thebes” is only one of the last acts of a great consecutive legendary history, of which each part is necessary to explain the other. This close connection of the subjects naturally suggests the question, whether our play, as we now have it, stood alone in dramatic representation, or whether it was not only a subordinate part of a large dramatic whole. We know for certain that Æschylus wrote at least four plays, besides the present, of which the materials were taken from the cycle of this Theban legend—namely,Laius,Oedipus,The Sphynx, and theEleusinians;f7and it has been not unplausibly conjectured that some of his other plays, of which the names are preserved, belong to the same series.f8In what precise connection, however, the existing play stood to any of the rest in actual representation, there were, till very recently, no satisfactory means of judging; and accordingly no scanty wealth of erudite speculation (after the German fashion), made to look like science, was spent upon the subject. Now, at length it has been announced, that the διδασκαλία, containing the actual order of representation of four of these plays, has been discovered;f9and, if the document be genuine, we are enabled to assert that, in the 78th Olympiad, Æschylus gained the tragic prize with the tetralogy, ofLaius,Oedipus,The Seven against Thebes, and theSphynx, a satiric drama.
With regard to the merits of the present piece, while its structure exhibits, in the most striking manner, the deficient skill of the early dramatists, its spirit is everywhere manly and noble, and instinct with the soul of the warlike actions which it describes. The best parts are epic, not dramatic—namely, those in which the Messenger describes the different characters and appearance of the seven chiefs posted each at a separate gate of the Cadmean city. The drama concludes with a Theban coronach or wail over the dead bodies of the self-slain brothers; for the proper relishing of which, the imaginative reproduction of some appropriate music is indispensable. The introduction after this of the Herald, announcing the decree of the Theban senate, whereby burial is denied to the body of Polynices,and the heroic display of sisterly affection on the part of Antigone, are—if this really was the last piece of a trilogy—altogether foreign both to the action and to the tone of the tragedy, and must be regarded as a blunder. If Schiller, and even Shakespere, on occasions, could err in such matters, much more Æschylus.
Eteocles.
Ye citizens of Cadmus! he who sits
Holding the helm in the high poop of state,
Watchful, with sleepless eyes, must, when he speaks,
Speak words that suit the time. If we succeed,
The gods will have the praise; but should we fail
(Which may averting Jove from me avert,n1
And from this Theban city!), I alone
Must bear the up-heaped murmurings of the whole,
A motley-voiced lament. Ye men of Thebes,
Not manhood’s vigour only, but ye also
Who lack ripe years, and ye whose green old age
Nurses unwithered strength,f10arm, and redeem
Your country’s honor from a cruel blot.
Let not the citadel of your ancient sires,
The altars of your native gods, your children,
Nor the dear mother Earth, that nursed you, blame
The slackness of your love—the nurse who bore
Your creeping childhood on her fostering soil,
And through your slow growth up to firmer years,
Toiled that the strong arms of her faithful sons,
Might shield her need. Up to this hour the god
Inclines to us; though close hedged in by the foe,
The vantage hath been ours. But now the seer,
The shepherd of prophetic birds’ revolving
In his ear and inward sense deep-pondered truths,n2
By no false art, though without help from fire,
Even he soothsaying sings that the Argive camp
Holds midnight council to attack the city.
Therefore be ready; mount the battlements;
Top every tower; crown every parapet;
Fence every gate with valiant-hearted men,
Well harnessed for the fight: and never fear
This trooping alien foe. The gods will give
A happy issue. Myself have sent out scouts,
Sure men, not wont to linger. Their advice
Shall shield us from surprise.
EnterMessenger.
Messenger.
Eteocles,
Most excellent lord of Thebes! what I have seen
With mine own eyes, no idle unvouched tale,
I bring thee from the camp. Seven warlike chiefs
I saw, in solemn sacrifice assembled:
Holding the head of the devoted ox,
Over the shield with iron rimmed they dipped
Their hands in the steaming blood, and swore an oath,
By Mars, Enýo, and blood-loving Terror,n3
Either to raze the walls of Thebes, and plunder
The citadel of Cadmus, or else drench
This soil with Argive blood. Then, as for death
Prepared, they decked the chariot of Adrastusn4
With choice love-tokens to their Argive kin,
Dropping a tear, but with their mouths they gave
No voice. An iron-hearted band are they,
Breathing hot war, like lions when their eye
Looks instant battle. Such my news; nor I
Slow to report; for in the camp I left them
Eager to share among their several bands
Our gates by lot. Therefore, bestir thee; fence
Each gate with the choicest men: dash all delay;
For now the Argive host, near and more near,
All panoplied comes on; the dark-wreathed dust
Rolls, and the snowy foam of snorting chargers
Stains the pure Theban soil. Like a wise pilot
That scents the coming gale, hold thou the city
Tight, ere the storm of Ares on our heads
Burst pitiless. Loud the mainland wave is roaring.
This charge be thine: myself, a sleepless spy,
Will bring thee sure word from the hostile camp:
Safe from without, so ye be strong within. [Exit.
Eteocles.
O Jove! O Earth! O Gods that keep the city!
And thou fell Fury of my father’s curse!f11
Destroy not utterly this Cadméan seat
Rent, razed, deracinated by the foe!
Yield not our pious hearths, where the loved speech
Of Hellas echoes, to a stranger host!
Let not the free-born Theban bend the neck,
To slavery thralled, beneath a tyrant’s yoke!
Be ye our strength! our common cause we plead;
A prosperous state hath cause to bless the gods. [Exit.
I.TheChorusn5enter the scene in great hurry and agitation.
O wailing and sorrow, O wailing and woe!
Their tents they have left, many-banded they ride,
And onward they tramp with the prance of pride,
The horsemen of the foe.
The dark-volumed dust-cloud that rides on the gale,
Though voiceless, declares a true messenger’s tale;
With clattering hoofs, on and on still they ride;n6
It swells on my ear, loud it rusheth and roareth,
As a fierce wintry torrent precipitous poureth,
Rapidly lashing the mountain side.
Hear me ye gods, and ye goddesses hear me!
The black harm prevent that swells near and more near me!
As a wave on the shore when the blast beats the coast,
So breaks o’er the walls, from the white-shielded host,n7
The eager war-cry, the sharp cry of fear,
As near still it rolls, and more near.
II.TheChorusbecome more and more agitated. They speak one to another in short hurried exclamations, and in great confusion.
Chorus 1.
To which of the gods and the goddesses now
Shall I pay my vow?
Chorus 2.
Shall I cling to the altar, and kneeling embrace
The guardian gods of the Theban race?
Tutti.
Ye blissful Olympians, throned sublime,
In the hour of need, in the urgent time,
May the deep drawn sigh,
And the heart’s strong cry
Ascend not in vain to your seats sublime!
Chorus 1.
Heard ye the shields rattle, heard ye the spear?
In this dark day of dole,
With chaplet and stolen8
Let us march to the temples, and worship in fear!
Chorus 2.
I heard the shield’s rattle, and spear clashed on spear
Came stunning my ear.
Tutti.
O Ares, that shines in the helmet of gold,n9
Thine own chosen city wilt thou behold
To slavery sold?
O Ares, Ares, wilt thou betray
Thy Theban home to-day?
III.TheChoruscrown the altars of the gods, and then, falling on their knees, sing the following Theban Litany, in one continuous chaunt.
Patron gods that keep the city,
Look, look down upon our woe,
Save this band of suppliant virgins
From the harsh-enslaving foe!
For a rush of high-plumed warriors
Round the city of the free,
By the blast of Ares driven,
Roars, like billows of the sea.
Father Jove the consummator,f12
Save us from the Argive spear;
For their bristling ranks enclose us,
And our hearts do quake with fear,
And their steeds with ringing bridlesn10
Knell destruction o’er the land;
And seven chiefs, with lance in hand,
Fixed by lot to share the slaughter,
At the seventh gate proudly stand.
Save us, Pallas, war-delighting
Daughter of immortal Jove!
Save us, lord of billowy ocean!
God of pawing steeds, Poseidon,n11
Join thine aid to his above,
And with thy fish-piercing trident
Still our hearts, our fears remove.
Save us Ares! father Ares,
Father now thy children’s need!
Save us Cypris, mother of Thebans,n12
For we are thy blood indeed!
Save us, save us, Wolf-Apollo,n13
Be a wolf against the foe!
Whet thine arrows, born of Leto,
Leto’s daughter bend thy bow!
IV.The Litany is here interrupted by the noise of the besiegers storming the city, and is continued in a hurried irregular manner.
Chorus 1.
I hear the dread roll of the chariots of war!
Tutti.
O holy Hera!
Chorus 2.
And the axles harsh-creaking with dissonant jar!
Tutti.
O Artemis dear!
Chorus 1.
And the vext air is madded with quick-brandished spears.
Semi-Chorus 1.
To Thebes, our loved city, what hope now appears?
Semi-Chorus 2.
And when shall the gods bring an end of our fears?
Chorus 1.
Hark! hark! stony hail the near rampart is lashing!
Tutti.
O blest Apollo!
Chorus 2.
And iron-bound shield against shield is clashing!
Tutti.
The issue of war with the gods abideth,
The doubtful struggle great Jove decideth.
O Onca, blest Onca,n14whose worshippers ever
Invoke thee, the queen of the Oncan gate,
The seven-gated city deliver, deliver,n15
Thou guardian queen of the gate.
V.TheChorusunite again into a full band, and sing the Finale of the Litany in regular Strophe and Antistrophe.
STROPHE.
Gods and goddesses almighty!
Earthly and celestial powers!
Of all good things consummators,
Guardians of the Theban towers!
Save the spear-encompassed city
From a foreign-speaking foe!n16
Hear the virgin band, that prays thee
With the out-stretched arms of woe!
ANTISTROPHE.
Gods and demigods! the city
Aid that on your aid depends,
Watch around us, and defend us;
He is strong whom God defends.
Bear the incense in remembrance
Of our public sacrifice;
From a people rich in offerings
Let no prayer unanswered rise!
Re-enterEteocles.
Eteocles.
Answer me this, insufferable brood!
Is this your wisdom, this your safety-note
To Theban soldiers, this your war-cry, thus
In prostrate woe clasping the guardian gods,
To scream and wail the vain lament of fools?
I pray the gods, in good or evil days,
May never fate be mine to lodge with women.
When fortune’s brave, their pride’s unbearable;
But, comes a thought of fear, both hall and forum
Must ring with their laments. Why run ye thus
From street to street, into the hearts of men
Scattering dastardy, and bruiting fear?
Nay, but ye chiefly help the enemy’s cause
Without the gate, and we by friends within
Are more besieged; such aid expect from women!
Thebans give ear; whoso shall disobey
My word in Thebes, man, woman, old, or young,
Whoe’er he be, against himself he writes
Black sentence to be stoned by the public hand.
Without the gates let brave men fight; within
Let women tend their children, and their webs.
Hear ye, or hear ye not? or do I speak
To the deaf?
STROPHE I.Chorus.
Son of Oedipus be witness!
Should not terror rob our wits,
When we hear the roll of chariots,
Whirling wheels, and creaking axles,
And the unresting tramp of horses
Champing fierce their fire-forged bits?
Eteocles.
What then? when with the storm the good ship labours,
Shall the wise helmsman leave his proper post,
To clasp the painted gods upon the prow?n17
ANTISTROPHE I.Chorus.
When we heard war’s rattling hail-drift
Round our ramparts wildly rave,
Trusting to the gods of Cadmus,
Spurred by fear, we hither hurried,
Here to pray, and clasp the statues
Of the good gods strong to save.
Eteocles.
Pray that our well-manned walls be strong to save us,
Else will the gods help little. Who knows not
That, when a city falls, they pass to the Victor?n18
STROPHE II.Chorus.
Never, never may the council
Of the assembled gods desert us,
While I live, and look on day!
Never, never may the stranger
Rush through the streets, while midnight burning
Lights the robber to his prey!
Eteocles.
Weak prayers confound wise counsel. Know ye not
Obedience is the mother of success,
And pledge of victory. So the wise have spoken.
ANTISTROPHE II.Chorus.
But the gods are strong. When mortals
Stretch the arm in vain to save us,
Help is waiting from above.
When dark night enveils the welkin,
And thick-mantled ruin gathers,
They enclasp us round with love.
Eteocles.
Leave sacrifice and oracles to men,
And ’gainst the imminent foe pray to the gods.
Women should hold their tongues, and keep their homes.
STROPHE III.Chorus.
By the strength of gods the city
Each rude tide hath learnt to stem;
Who shall charge us with offending,
When we make our vows to them?
Eteocles.
Your vows I grudge not, nor would stint your prayers;
But this I say, blow not your fears about,
Nor taint the general heart with apprehension.
ANTISTROPHE III.Chorus.
Startled by the blare of battle,
Hearing clash of combat fell,
With a quaking heart I hied me
To this sacred citadel.
Eteocles.
And when ye hear that some are dead or wounded,
Drag not the news with wailings through the town;
For blood of mortals is the common foodn19
Of the war god.
Chorus.
Hark! the angry steeds are snorting.
Eteocles.
Hear what thou wilt; but do not hear aloud.
Chorus.
The Earth beneath me groans, the wall is shaking.
Eteocles.
The walls are mine to uphold. Pray you, be silent.
Chorus.
Woe’s me, the clash of arms, loud and more loud,
Rings at the gate!
Eteocles.
And thou the loudest!—Peace!
Chorus.
Great council of the gods, O save us! save us!
Eteocles.
Perdition seize thee! thy words flow like water.
Chorus.
O patron gods, save me from captive chains!
Eteocles.
Thy fear makes captive me, and thee, and all.
Chorus.
O mighty Jove, fix with thy dart the foe!
Eteocles.
O Jove, of what strange stuff hast thou made women!
Chorus.
Men are no better, when their city’s captured.
Eteocles.
Dost clasp the gods again, and scream and howl?
Chorus.
Fear hurries on my overmastered tongue.
Eteocles.
One small request I have; beseech you hear me.
Chorus.
Speak: I am willing, if I can, to please thee.
Eteocles.
Please me by silence; do not fright thy friends.
Chorus.
I speak no more: and wait my doom with them.
Eteocles.
This word is wiser than a host of wails.
And now, instead of running to and fro,
Clinging to every image as you pass,
Pray to the gods with sober supplication,
To aid the Theban cause: and, when ye hear
My vow, lift up a blithe auspicious shout,
A sacred hymn, a sacrificial cry,
As brave Greek hearts are wont, whose voice shall speak
Sure confidence to friends, and to the foe
Dismay. Now, hear my vow. If they who keep
The city, keep it now from the Argive spear,
I vow to them, and to the patron gods
Of field and forum, and the holy fount
Of Dirce and Ismenus’ sacred stream,n20
That blood of lambs and bulls shall wash their altars,
And spear-pierced trophies, Argive harnesses,
Bedeck their holy halls. Such be your prayers;
Not sighs and sobs, and frantic screams, that shake
The hearts of men, but not the will of gods.
Meanwhile, with six choice men, myself the seventh,
I’ll gallantly oppose these boastful chiefs
That block our outlets. Timely thus I’ll gag
The swift-winged rush of various-bruited news,
That in the hour of danger blazes fear. [Exit.
CHORAL HYMN.STROPHE I.
Well thou speakest; but unsleeping
Terrors shake my virgin frame,
And the blasts of war around me
Fan my fears into a flame.
As the dove her dovelets nursing,
Fears the tree-encircling serpent,
Fatal neighbour of her nest;
Thus the foe, our walls enclosing,
Thrills with ceaseless fears my breast.
Hark I in hurrying throngs careering
Rude they beat our Theban towers,
And a rain of rock-torn fragments
On the roofs of Cadmus showers!
Save us, gods that keep the city,
Save us, Jove-begotten Powers!
ANTISTROPHE I.
Say what region shall receive ye,
When the Theban soil is waste?
When pure Dirce’s fount is troubled,
From what waters shall ye taste?
Theban soil, the deepest, richest,
That with fruits of joy is pregnant,
Dirce, sweetest fount that runs,
From Poseidon earth-embracing,
And from Tethys’ winding sons.n21
Patron-gods maintain your glory,
Sit in might enthroned to-day:
Smite the foe with fear; fear stricken
Let them fling their arms away:
Hear our sharp shrill-piercing wailings,
When for Cadmus’ weal we pray!
STROPHE II.
Sad it were, and food for weeping,
To behold these walls Ogygian,
By the stranger spearman mounted,
Levelled by the Argive foe,
And these towers by god-sent vengeance
Laid in crumbling ashes low.
Sad it were to see the daughters,
And the sonless mothers grey,
Of old Thebes, with hair dishevelled,
And rent vestments, even as horses
Dragged by the mane, a helpless prey;
Sad to hear the victors’ clamour
Mingling with the captive’s moan,
And the frequent-clanking fetter
Struggling with the dying groan.
ANTISTROPHE II.
Sad, most sad, should hands unlicensed
Rudely pluck our opening blossom;
Sad—yea better far to die!
Changing nuptial torch and chamber
For dark homes of slavery.
Ah! my soul within me trembles,
When it shapes the sight of shame,
Swift the chase of lawless murder,
And the swifter chase of flame;
Black the surly smoke upwreathing,
Cries, confusion, choking heat;
Shrine-polluting, man-subduing
Mars, wild borne from street to street!
STROPHE III.
Towers and catapults surrounding,
And the greedy spear upswallowing
Man by man, its gory food:
And the sucking infants clinging
To the breasts that cannot bear them,
Cries to ears that cannot hear them
Mingle with their mother’s blood.
Plunder, daughter of Confusion,
Startles Plenty from his lair,
And the robber with the robber
Bargains for an equal share;
Gods! in such a night of terrors
How shall helpless maidens fare?
ANTISTROPHE III.
Planless is the strife of Plunder.
Fruits of patient years are trampled
Reckless in the moment’s grave;
And the maids that tend the household,
With a bitter eye of weeping,
See the treasured store of summers
Hurried by the barren wave.
Woe, deep woe, waits captive maidens,
To an untried thraldom led,
Bound, by chains of forced affection,
To some haughty husband’s bed:
Sooner, sooner may I wander
Sister of the sunless dead!
Semi-Chorus 1.
Methinks I see the scout sent by the king:
Doubtless he brings us news; his tripping feet
Come swift as wheels that turn on willing axles.
Semi-Chorus 2.
The king himself, the son of Oedipus,
Comes in the exact nick to hear his tidings:
With rapid and unequal steps he too
Urges the way.
EnterMessengerandEteoclesfrom opposite sides.
Messenger.
What I have seen I come
To tell; the movements of the foe, the station
That lot hath given each champion at the gates.
First at the Prœtian portal Tydeus stands,n22
Storming against the seer, who wise forbids
To pass Ismenus’ wave, before the sacrifice
Auspicious smiles. But he, for battle burning,
Fumes like a fretful snake in the sultry noon,
Lashing with gibes the wise Oiclidan seer,n23
Whose prudence he interprets dastardy,
Cajoling death away. Thus fierce he raves,
And shakes the overshadowing crest sublime,
His helmet’s triple mane, while ’neath his shield
The brazen bells ring fear.n24On his shield’s face
A sign he bears as haughty as himself,
The welkin flaming with a thousand lights,
And in its centre the full moon shines forth,
Eye of the night, and regent of the stars.
So speaks his vaunting shield: on the stream’s bank
He stands, loud-roaring, eager for the fight,
As some fierce steed that frets against the bit,
And waits with ruffling neck, and ears erect,
To catch the trumpet’s blare. Who will oppose
This man? what champion, when the bolts are broken,
Shall plant his body in the Prœtian gate?
Eteocles.
No blows I fear from the trim dress of war,
No wounds from blazoned terrors. Triple crests
And ringing bells bite not without the spear;
And for this braggart shield, with starry night
Studded, too soon for the fool’s wit that owns it
The scutcheon may prove seer. When death’s dark night
Shall settle on his eyes, and the blithe day
Beams joy on him no more, hath not the shield
Spoken significant, and pictured borne
A boast against its bearer? I, to match
This Tydeus, will set forth the son of Astacus,
A noble youth not rich in boasts, who bows
Before the sacred throne of Modesty,
In base things cowardly, in high virtue bold.
His race from those whom Ares spared he draws,n25
Born from the sown field of the dragon’s teeth,
His name Melanippus. Mars shall throw the dice
Bravely for him, and Justice call him brother,
While girt he goes from his loved Theban mother
To ward the Argive spear.
STROPHE I.Chorus.
May the gods protect our champion!
Be the cause of Right his shield!
But I fear to see the breathless
Bleeding bodies of true warriors
Strewn upon the battle field.
Messenger.
Speed well your pious prayers! The lot hath placed
Proud Capaneus before the Electran gate,n26
A giant warrior mightier than the first,
And boasting more than mortal. His high threats
May never Chancef13fulfil! for with the aid
Of gods, or in the gods’ despite, he vows
To sack the city, and sets the bolted wrath
Of Jove at nought, his lightnings and his thunders
Recking no more—so speaks the vauntful tongue—
Than vulgar noonday heat. His orbéd shield
The blazon of a naked man displays,
Shaking a flaring torch with lofty threat
In golden letters—i will burn the city.
Such is the man: who shall not quail before
A pride that flings defiance to the gods?
Eteocles.
Here, too, we meet the strong with something stronger.
When men are proud beyond the mark of right,
They do proclaim with forward tongue their folly,
Themselves their own accuser. This brave Capaneus
With empty threats and wordy exercise,
Fights mortal ’gainst immortals, and upcasts
Loud billowy boasts in Jove’s high face. But I
In Jove have faith that he will smite this boaster
With flaming bolts, to vulgar heat of noon
In no wise like. The gallant Polyphontus,
A man of glowing heart, against this blusterer
I’ll send, himself a garrison to pledge
Our safety, by the grace of Artemis,
And the protecting gods. Name now the others.
ANTISTROPHE I.Chorus.
Perish, with his boasts, the boaster,
By strong thunder prostrate laid!
Never, never may I see him
Into holy homes of virgins
Rushing, with his godless blade!
Messenger.
Hear more. The third lot to Eteocles
Leapt from the upturned brazen helm,n27and fixed him
At the Netaean gate.n28His eager steeds,
Their frontlets tossed in the breeze, their swelling nostrils
High-snorting with the impatient blast of war,
Their bridles flapping with barbaric clang,
He curbs, and furious ’gainst the city wheels them,
Even as a whirling storm. His breadth of shield,
Superbly rounded, shows an armed man
Scaling a city, with this proud device,
Not Mars himself shall hurl me from these towers.
Choose thou a champion worthy to oppose
This haughty chief, and pledge his country’s weal.
Eteocles.
Fear not: with happy omen, I will send,
Have sent already, one to meet this foe,
Whose boasts are deeds, brave Megareus, a son
Of the dragon’s race, a warrior recking nothing
The snortings of impatient steeds. This man
Will, with his heart’s blood, pay the nursing fee
Due to his Theban mother,f14or come back—
Which grant the gods!—bearing on that proud shield
Rich spoil to garnish forth his father’s halls,
The painted champion, and the painted city,
And him that living bore the false-faced sign.
Now name the fourth, and spare me not your boasts.
STROPHE II.Chorus.
May the gods protect my champion!
Ruin seize the ruthless foe!
As they boast to raze the city,
So may Jove with wrathful vengeance
Lay their frenzied babblings low!
Messenger.
The fourth’s Hippomedon. Before the gate
He stands of Onca Pallas, clamouring on
With lordly port. His shield’s huge round he waved,
(Fearful to view), a halo not a shield.
No vulgar cunning did his hand possess
Who carved the dread device upon its face,
Typhon, forth-belching, from fire-breathing mouth,
Black smoke, the volumed sister of the flame;n29
And round its hollow belly was embossedn30
A ring of knotted snakes. Himself did rage,
Shouting for battle, by the god of war
Indwelt,n31and, like a Maenad, his dark eyes
Look fear. Against this man be doubly armed,
For, where he is, grim Fear is with him.
Eteocles.
Onca
Herself will guard the gate that bears her name,
From her own ramparts hurl the proud assailer,
And shield her nurslings from this crested snake.
Hyperbius, the right valiant son of Oenops,
Shall stand against this foe, casting his life
Into the chance of war; in lordly port,
In courage, in all the accoutrements of fight
Hippomedon’s counterpart—a hostile pair
Well matched by Hermes.n32But no equal match
Their shields display—two hostile gods—the one
Fire-breathing Typhon, father Jove the other,
Erect, firm-planted, in his flaming hand
Grasping red thunder, an unvanquished god.
Such are the gods beneath whose wing they fight,
For us the strong, for them the weaker power.
And as the gods are, so the men shall be
That on their aid depend. If Jove hath worsted
This Typhon in the fight, we too shall worst
Our adverse. Shall the king of gods not save
The man whose shield doth bear theSaviour Jove.
ANTISTROPHE II.Chorus.
Earth-born Typhon, hateful monster,
Sight that men and gods appals,
Whoso bears in godless blazon
Great Jove’s foe, shall Jove almighty
Dash his head against the walls.
Messenger.
So grant the gods! The fifth proud foe is stationed
Before the Borean gate, hard by the tomb
Of the Jove-born Amphion. By his spear
He swears, his spear more dear to him than gods,
Or light of day, that he will sack the city
In Jove’s despite: thus speaks half-man, half-boy,
The fair-faced scion of a mountain mother.
The manly down, luxuriant, bushy, sprouts
Full from his blooming cheek: no virgin he
In aspect, though most virgin-like his name.f15
Keen are his looks, and fierce his soul; he too
Comes not without a boast against the gates;
For on his shield, stout forgery of brass,
A broad circumference of sure defence,
He shows, in mockery of Cadméan Thebes,
The terrible Sphynx, in gory food delighting,
Hugely embossed, with terror brightly studded,
And in her mortal paw the monster rends
A Theban man: for which reproachful sign
Thick-showered the bearer bears the keenest darts,—
Parthenopæus, bold Arcadian chief.
No man seems he to shame the leagues he travelled
By petty war’s detail. Not born an Argive,
In Argos nursed, he now her love repays,
By fighting ’gainst her foes. His threats—the god
Grant they be only threats!
Eteocles.
Did they receive
What punishment their impious vaunts deserve,
Ruin with one wide swoop should swamp them all.
This braggart stripling, fresh from Arcady,
The brother of Hyperbius shall confront,
Actor, a man whose hand pursues its deed,
Not brandishing vain boasts. No enemy,
Whose strength is in his tongue, shall sap these walls,
While Actor has a spear: nor shall the man
Who bears the hated portent on his shield
Enter our gate, but rather the grim sign
Frown on its bearer, when thick-rattling hail
Showered from our walls shall dint it. If the gods
Are just, the words I speak are prophecy.
STROPHE III.Chorus.
The eager cry doth rend my breast,
And on end stands every hair,
When I hear the godless vaunting
Of unholy men! May Até
Fang them in her hopeless snare!
Messenger.
The sixth a sober man, a seer of might,