Statius, Thebaid Book 12
Translated by J. H. Mozley
Formatted by C. Chinn

	Not yet had the wakeful dawn put all the stars to flight from 
	heaven, and the moon was beholding the approach of day 
	with facing horn, what time Tithonia1 scatters the clouds 
	in hurrying rout, and prepares the wide firmament for the return of Phoebus: 
5	already Dircean bands stray forth from their scanty dwellings, 
	complaining of the tardy night; although not till then had they rested, 
	or gained their first sleep after battle, yet a troubled peace forbids 
	repose, and victory still remembers the horrors of war. 
	Scarce at first dare they to step forth and destroy 
10	the rampart works, scarce wholly to unbar the gates; 
	the old fears rise before them, and the dread of the deserted 
	plain: just as to men long tossed on ocean earth heaves 
	at first, so are they spellbound and amazed that nought 
	assails them, and fancy that the slain hosts rise up again. 
15	So when Idalian birds2 have seen a tawny snake climbing 
	the threshold of a conspicuous tower, they drive their little ones 
	within and wall the nestling brood behind their talons, 
	and stir their unwarlike wings to battle; 
	and though he soon retreat, yet the white flock fears 
20	the empty air, and when at last they venture flight they thrill 
	with terror and still look back from the mid-vault of heaven.
	
	Forth they go to the bloodless multitude and the remnants 
	of the fallen host, wherever grief and indignation, blood-stained guides, 
	impel them; some behold the weapons, some the bodies, others 
25	but the faces of the slain, with strangers’ limbs near by; 
	some mourn their chariots, and address – all they can do – 
	the widowed steeds; others imprint kisses on 
	gaping wounds, and bewail the valour of the dead. 
	They sort out the cold heaps of slain: severed hands appear 
30	with lances and sword-hilts in their grip, and arrows 
	fixed in eyes; many find no traces of their dead, and rush 
	about, with grief ever ready and on the verge. 
	But around the unsightly corpses a pitiable strife arises, 
	who shall perform the rites and make their funeral. 
35	Often too were they deceived – Fortune mocking them awhile – 
	and wept for foemen; nor was it easy to tell 
	what carnage to avoid and what to trample. 
	But those whose homes have suffered not, and who are spared 
	all anguish, either stray around the deserted tents of the Danaans 
40	and set them afire, or – so far as they can after battle – 
	search where lies the dust-bespattered Tydeus, whether the chasm 
	of the ravished augur still be gaping, where is the enemy of the gods, 
	and whether the heavenly embers still glow among his limbs. 
	Already the daylight faded upon their tears, nor did late Vesper drive them 
45	away; in their misery they love their lamentation and feast upon their sorrow. 
	Nor return they to their homes, but sit all night about 
	the corpses, and bewailing them by turns ward off the beasts 
	by fires and sounds of woe; nor did their eyes close yielding to 
	the sweet influence of the stars, nor through constant weeping. 
50	For the third time Aurora strove with the Morning Star, and already 
	the mountains are despoiled, and mighty trunks of Teumesus, the glory 
	of the groves, and the timber of Cithaeron, friend of the 
	funeral pyre, is come; on high-wrought piles blaze the bodies 
	of the ruined race: the Ogygian ghosts rejoice at the 
55	last tribute; but the unburied troop of Greeks raise 
	pitiable lament, and moaning flit about the forbidden fires. 
	Nor does the cruel spirit of fierce Eteocles receive 
	the honours of a prince; his brother by command is held 
	an Argive still, and his outlawed shade is driven away.
	
60	But Menoeceus is not suffered by Thebes or the king 
	his father to burn upon a vulgar pyre, no heap of logs forms 
	a common, customary mound, but a warlike pile 
	of chariots and shields and all the weapons of the Greeks 
	is raised; on the massed trophies of the foe he himself like 
65	a conqueror is laid, his locks adorned with peace-bringing laurel 
	and woollen fillets: just as when the Tirynthian, summoned 
	by the stars, laid him down with joy on kindled Oeta. 
	Thereon did his sire sacrifice yet living victims, 
	Pelasgian captives and bridled steeds, a solace to 
70	his warlike valour; upon them the towering flames 
	quiver, and at last his father’s groans burst forth: 
	“Ah! had not overmastering desire of noble praise 
	possessed thee, my son, thou hadst been revered alike 
	with me, ay, even ruled Echion’s city, but now thou embitterest 
75	my coming joys and the ungrateful burden of a realm. 
	Though thy unfailing virtue dwell in heaven amid the companies 
	of the gods – as I verily believe – yet, I shall ever mourn thee, 
	deity as thou art: let Thebes build altars and dedicate 
	lofty fanes; suffer thy sire alone to lament thee. 
80	And now, alas, what worthy rites, what funeral pomp 
	can I lavish on thy tomb? I could not, even had I power to mingle 
	baneful Argos and stricken Mycenae with thy ashes, and fling 
	myself upon them, who have gained life – ah! horror! – and royal state 
	by the blood of my son! Hath one day, one same unhallowed war 
85	sent thee, boy, and those dread brothers to Tartarus together? 
	Are Oedipus now and I in equal plight of sorrow? 
	Like indeed are the shades we mourn O righteous Jove! 
	Receive, my son, new offerings to grace thy triumph, 
	receive this ruling sceptre of my right hand and this haughty crown 
90	that binds my brow, thy gifts unto thy sire – small joy indeed 
	to him! As king, ay, king let the sullen shade of Eteocles 
	behold thee!”
	
			So speaking he strips head and hand, 
	and with wrath inflamed continues in more violent strain: 
	“Come then, let them call me fierce and heartless, if I forbid the Lernaean 
95	dead to burn with thee; would I could put lingering life within their 
	bodies and drive their guilty souls from heaven and Erebus, and myself, 
	ay myself go search for wild beasts and birds with hooked mouths, 
	and show them the accursed limbs of the princes! Woe is me, that the 
	kindly earth and the lapse of time will resolve them where they lie! 
100	Wherefore again and again I repeat my stern decree: let none 
	venture to give the aid of final fire to the Pelasgians, 
	or he will atone his deed by death, and fill up the tale 
	of corpses: by the gods above and by great Menoeceus I swear it!” 
	He spoke, and his companions dragged him away and bore him to the palace.
	
105	Meanwhile a sorrowful band of Inachian women, widowed 
	and bereaved – drawn, hapless ones, by the sad tidings – were 
	hastening, like a captive throng, from desolate Argos; each had 
	her own wounds, all were in similar plight, with hair hanging down 
	upon their bosoms and high-girt raiment; their faces torn by their 
110	cruel nails were streaming, their tender arms were swollen with beating. 
	First of her stricken sisters, helpless Argia, queen of the sable-clad 
	company, seeks her path, sinking upon her sorrowing maidens 
	and anon struggling to her feet; no thought has she of her sire 
	or royal home; one devotion fills her heart, one name, that of her 
115	beloved Polynices, is on her lips; she would fain forget Mycenae 
	and make Dirce and Cadmus’ ill-starred city her abode. 
	Next Deipyle, as eager as her sister, brings Calydonian 
	women mingling with the train of Leran to Tydeus’ obsequies; 
	she had heard, unhappy one! of her husband’s crime 
120	and impious gnawing, but love in affliction forgives 
	the slain one all. After her Nealce, wild of aspect, yet rousing 
	tearful compassion, bewails Hippomedon with the grief 
	that is his due. Then comes the seer’s unrighteous spouse, 
	doomed alas! to build an empty pyre. The bereft comrade 
125	of Maenalian Diana leads the rearmost companies of the mourners, 
	and Evadne, bitter at heart: the one in querulous sorrow for the exploits 
	of her daring boy, the other mindful of her mighty lord 
	goes fiercely weeping and in wrath against high heaven. 
	Hecate beheld them from her Lycean groves and bore them 
130	tearful company, and as they approached the double shore 
	the Theban mother lamented from her Isthmian tomb; 
	the Eleusinian,3 though sorrowing for herself, wept for the night-wandering 
	multitude, and showed her mystic fires to guide their errant course. 
	The Saturnian4 herself leads their going, lest her own folk 
135	should meet them and forbid them passage, 
	and the glory of their great enterprise be lost. 
	Moreover, Iris is bidden cherish the dead bodies 
	of the princes, and laves their decaying limbs with mysterious 
	dews and ambrosial juices, that they may resist the longer 
140	and await the pyre, nor perish before the flames have seized them.
	
	Lo! Ornytus, haggard of face and pale from a gaping 
	wound – he had lost his friends and was hampered by a 
	recent blow – feebly picks his way in timid stealth 
	through pathless deserts, leaning upon a broken spear. 
145	When in amazement he beheld the solitudes stirred by strange 
	tumult and the train of women, all that he sees surviving of the host 
	of Lerna, he inquires not of their journey or its cause – ‘tis clear 
	enough – but in mournful accents thus accosts them: 
	“Whither, hapless ones, whither are ye journeying? Do ye hope 
150	for funeral fires for your dead heroes? A sentinel of the slain 
	stands there unsleeping, and keeps count of the unburied corpses 
	for the king. Tears are there nowhere, all men that venture nigh 
	are driven far away; only beasts and birds are suffered 
	to approach. Will the just Creon pay respect to your 
155	grief? Sooner may one prevail upon the merciless altars 
	of Busiris or the ravening Odrysian stall or the Sicilian 
	deities5; perchance he will carry off the suppliants, 
	if I know his mind, nor will he slay you upon the bodies 
	of your lords, but far from the spirits ye love. 
160	Nay, flee, while your road is safe, return to Lerna 
	and carve – this ye yet can do – the names of your lost ones 
	on empty sepulchres, and call the absent ghosts to untenanted tombs. 
	Or implore Cecropian succour – they say that Theseus 
	draws nigh, returning in triumph from victory on 
165	Thermodon’s banks.6 By force of arms alone 
	will Creon learn humanity.” So he spoke, but they were horrified 
	amid their tears, and their great zest of going was struck 
	with dismay, and all their faces were frozen in one pallor. 
	Even so when the hungry roar of a Hyrcanian tigress comes wafted on 
170	the wind to gentle heifers, at the sound terror seizes the countryside, 
	and all are filled with mighty fear, which shall please her, 
	whose shoulders shall feel the ravening beast7 upon them.
	
	Straightway opinion is divided by many a discordant 
	impulse: some wish to supplicate Thebes and haughty Creon, 
175	others to see if the clemency of the Attic folk will grant them 
	aught; return seems cowardly and is last in their thoughts. 
	Hereupon Argia conceives a sudden passion for more than 
	womanly valour, and neglecting her sex designs a mighty 
	emprise: she purposes – cruel expectation of unequalled peril! – 
180	to come to grips with the law of the impious realm, 
	whither no maid of Rhodope, no child of snowy 
	Phasis ringed round by virgin cohorts would go.8 
	Then she devises a cunning ruse whereby to separate herself 
	from her faithful train, and in contempt of her life and in the rashness 
185	of overpowering grief to challenge the merciless gods 
	and the cruel king; devotion and chaste passion urge her on. 
	He himself too appears before her eyes, manifest in every act, 
	now as her guest, unhappy girl! now pledging his hand at the first holy rites, 
	now her kindly spouse, and now grimly helmed and mournful 
190	in her embrace and oft looking back fro the outer threshold 
	of the gate: but no image more frequently haunts her mind than that 
	which comes, stripped of its armour, from the blood of the Aonian 
	battle-field and cries for burial. Her soul fretted 
	with such frenzy she sickens and with purest passion woos 
195	the grave; then, turning to her Pelasgian comrades, 
	“Do you,” she says, “call forth the Attic hosts and Marathonian9 
	arms, and may Fortune favour your devoted toil: 
	suffer me to penetrate the Ogygian abodes, who was 
	the sole cause of ruin, and endure the first terrors 
200	of the monarch; nor shall I beat at the city’s doors 
	in vain; the parents and the sisters of my lord are 
	there: not as a stranger shall I enter Thebes. 
	Only call me not back: my keen desire urges me thither, 
	and gives me good omen.”
	
				Without more words she selects 
205	Menoetes alone – once the guardian and counsellor of her maiden 
	modesty – and though without experience of knowledge of the country, 
	hurries on with headlong speed by the way that Ornytus had come. 
	And when she seemed to have left afar the comrades of her woes, 
	“Could I wait,” she cried, “for the pleasure of tardy Theseus, 
210	while thou – ah, sorrow! – art mouldering on the enemy’s 
	fields? Would his chieftains, would his cunning soothsayer 
	assent to war? Meanwhile thy body doth decay. Rather than that 
	shall I not give my own limbs for the taloned birds to tear? 
	Even now, if thou hast any feeling in the world of shades, thou art complaining, 
215	faithful spouse, to the deities of Styx that I am hard-hearted, that I am slow 
	in coming. Alas! if thou still art bare, alas! if perchance already buried: 
	mine is the crime in either case; hath sorrow then no power? 
	Is death, or fierce Creon, all a dream? Ornytus, thou dost cheer me 
	on my way!” So speaking, she hastens with rapid pace over 
220	the fields of Megara; folk that she meets point out 
	her path, awe-struck at her miserable plight. 
	With grim countenance she strides onward, terrified by no sound without 
	a panic within, with all the confidence of utter despair, and rather feared 
	than fearing: as when upon a night in Phrygia Dindymus resounds 
225	with wailing, and the crazy leader of the women’s revel speeds to the waters 
	of pine-rearing Simois – she to whom the goddess herself gave the knife, 
	selecting her for bloodshed, and marked her with the wool-bound wreath.10
	
	Already had father Titan hidden his flaming chariot in the 
	Hesperian flood, to emerge again from other waves, 
230	yet she, her weary toil beguiled by grief, knows not 
	that the day is ended; nor does the gathering gloom of the fields 
	affray her, but unchecked she fares o’er pathless rocks, 
	past boughs that threaten to fall, through mysterious forests, pitch-dark 
	even in cloudless day, over plough-lands scarred with hidden 
235	dikes, plunging heedless through rivers, past sleeping 
	beasts and dangerous lairs of fearful monsters. 
	So great is the strength of passion and of grief! Menoetes is ashamed 
	of his slower pace, and marvels at the gait of his frail ward. 
	What abodes of beasts or men echoed not to her 
240	grievous plaint? How often did she lose the track as she 
	went, how often did the solace of the companion flame desert 
	her straying steps, and the cold darkness swallow up the torchlight? 
	And now the slopes of Pentheus’ ridge11 lie beside their weary path, 
	and broaden into plain, when Menoetes nigh failing 
245	and with panting breast thus begins to speak: 
	“Not far away, Argia, if the hope inspired by the toils we have endured 
	deceive not, lie, methinks, the Ogygian dwellings and the bodies 
	that lack sepulture; from close at hand come waves of heavily-tainted 
	air, and mighty birds are returning through the void. 
250	‘Tis indeed that cruel battle-field, nor is the city far distant. 
	Seest thou how the plain outstretches the vast shadow 
	of the walls, and how the dying fires flicker from the watch-towers? 
	The city is hard by; night herself was more silent but a moment past, 
	and only the stars broke through the pitchy gloom.”
	
255	Argia shuddered, and stretched out her right hand toward the walls: 
	“O city of Thebes, once longed-for, but now the dwelling of our foes, 
	yet, if thou givest back my dead spouse uninjured, 
	even so a soil beloved: seest thou in what garb arrayed, 
	by what a train accompanied, I, the daughter-in-law of mighty Oedipus, 
260	for the first time approach thy gates? No unhallowed wish have I; 
	a stranger, I beg but for a pyre, a corpse, and leave to mourn. 
	Him restore to me, I pray, who was exiled from his realm and 
	conquered in the fight, him, whom thou deemedst not worthy of his 
	father’s throne! And come thou too, I beg, if spirits have any 
265	shape, and souls can wander freed from their bodies, 
	show me the way, and lead me thyself to thy own corpse, 
	if I have so deserved!” She spoke, and entering the pastoral shelter 
	of a neighbouring cottage kindles anew the breath of the dying 
	brand, and impetuously rushes forth upon the awful plain. 
270	Even so did the bereaved Ceres light her torch 
	and from Aetna’s rocks cast the shifting glare of the mighty 
	flame here over Sicily, there over Ausonia, as she followed 
	the traces of the dark ravisher and the great wheel-furrows in the dust; 
	Enceladus12 himself re-echoes her wild wailings, 
275	and illumines her path with bursting fire; 
	“Persephone” cry woods and rivers, seas and clouds: 
	only the palace of her Stygian lord calls not “Persephone.”
	
	Her faithful supporter warns the distracted dame to remember 
	Creon and keep low her torch in stealthy hiding. 
280	She who of late was feared as queen throughout Argive cities, 
	the ambitious hope of suitors and sacred promise of her race, 
	through all the terrors of the night, without a guide and in the presence 
	of the foe, goes on alone, o’er obstacles of arms, o’er grass all slippery 
	with gore, trembling not at the gloom nor at troops of spirits 
285	hovering around or ghosts bewailing their own limbs, 
	oft treading blindly but unheeding on swords and weapons; 
	she labours but to avoid the fallen, and thinks every corpse the one 
	she seeks, while with keen glance she searches the slain, 
	and bending down turns bodies on their backs, 
290	and complains to the stars that they give not light enough.
	
	By chance Juno, stealing herself from the bosom of her mighty 
	lord, was faring through the slumberous darkness of the sky 
	to Theseus’ walls, that she might move Pallas to yield and Athens 
	to give gracious welcome to the pious suppliants; 
295	and when from the height of heaven she beheld 
	the innocent Argia exhausted by fruitless wandering o’er the plain, 
	she was grieved at the sight, and encountering the lunar team 
	she faced them and spoke thus with calm accents: “
	Grant me a little boon, O Cynthia, if Juno can command 
300	respect; ‘tis true that Jove’s bidding, thou shameless one, 
	that threefold night when Hercules – but I will let old quarrels be; 
	now canst thou do me a service. Argia, daughter of Inachus, 
	my favourite votary – seest thou in what a night she roams, 
	nor with failing strength can find her spouse in the thick darkness? 
305	Thy beams too are faint with shrouding vapour; show forth thy horns, 
	I pray thee, and let thy orbit approach the earth nearer than is thy wont. 
	This Sleep, too, who leaning forward plies for thee thy humid 
	chariot-reins, send him upon the Aonian watchmen.” 
	Scarce had she spoken, when the goddess cleft the clouds 
310	and displayed her mighty orb; the shadows started in terror, and the stars 
	were shorn of their radiance; scarce did Saturnia herself endure the brightness.
	
	First by the light that floods the plain she recognizes her 
	husband’s cloak, her own handiwork, poor woman! though 
	the texture is hidden and the purple mourns to be suffused 
315	with blood; and while she calls upon the gods, and thinks that this 
	is all that is left of the beloved corpse, she catches sight of himself, 
	nigh trampled into the dust. Her spirit quailed, and vision and speech fled, 
	and grief thrust back her tears; then she falls prostrate about 
	his face, and seeks with kisses for his departed soul, 
320	and pressing the blood from his hair and raiment gathers 
	it up to treasure.13 At last as her voice returns: 
	“My husband, is it he who once marched captain of the war to the 
	realm that was his due, is it the son-in-law of powerful Adrastus whom 
	I now behold? Is this the manner in which I go to meet thy triumph? 
325	Raise hither thy countenance and thy sightless eyes: Argia 
	has come to thy Thebes; lead me then inside thy city, 
	show me thy father’s halls and make me welcome in thy 
	turn. Alas! what am I doing? thou liest on the naked earth, and this 
	is all that thou dost own of thy native land. What were those quarrels? 
330	‘Tis sure thy brother holds not dominion here. Didst thou move none 
	of thine own to tears? Where is thy mother? Where the famed Antigone? 
	Verily ‘tis for me thou liest dead, for me alone thou didst suffer defeat! 
	I asked thee: Whither marchest thou? Why demandest thou the sceptre 
	denied thee? Thou hast Argos and wilt reign in my father’s hall; 
335	long honours await thee here, and undivided power. 
	But why do I complain? Myself I gave thee war, and with my own lips begged it 
	of my sorrowing sire – that now I might hold thee thus in my embrace. 
	But it is well, ye gods; I thank thee, Fortune; the distant hope 
	of my wandering is fulfilled: I have found his body whole. 
340	Ah! what a deep and gaping wound! 
	Was this his brother’s work? Were lies, I pray, that infamous 
	robber? I would outdo the birds, might I but approach him, 
	and keep the beasts away! Hath the fell villain fire as well? 
	But thee thy land shall not behold undowered of flame; 
345	burn thou shalt, and tears that may not weep for kings 
	shall rain on thee, and desolate love shall endure and aye 
	tend thy sepulchre; thy son shall be the witness of my 
	sorrow, a little Polynices shall cherish thy couch for me.”
	
	Lo! with another torch and other sounds of woe hapless 
350	Antigone drew nigh the dead, having scarce won from the town 
	the escape she longed for; for ever do guards 
	attend her, and the king himself bids her be held fast; 
	the times of watching are shortened and more frequent glow the fires.14 
	Therefore she makes excuse for her delaying to the gods and her brother, 
355	and frantically, so soon as the rough sentinels relaxed one whit their vigilance, 
	burst from out the walls: with such a cry does the virgin lioness 
	terrify the countryside, her fury free at last, when for the first time 
	her mother shares not in her rage. Not long did she tarry, 
	for she knew the cruel plain and where her brother lay 
360	in the dust: Menoetes, as he stands unbusied, marks her 
	as she comes, and hushes the groans of his dear ward. 
	But when the latest sob reached the maiden’s15 uplifted 
	ears, and when she saw by the stars’ rays and the light 
	of either torch her mourning raiment and dishevelled hair 
365	and face all foul with congealed gore, she cried: 
	“Whose body seekest thou in this night that is mine? Who art thou, 
	daring woman?” 
	
			Nought answered the other a long while, 
	but cast her raiment about her husband’s face and likewise 
	her own, a prey to sudden fear and awhile forgetful of her sorrow. 
370	Antigone, chiding her suspected silence, persists 
	the more, and urges her comrade and herself; but both 
	are lost in utter silence. At last Argia unveiled 
	her face and spoke, yet still clasped the body: 
	“If thou comest to seek aught with me in this stale blood 
375	of battle, if thou also fearest Creon’s harsh commands, 
	I can with confidence reveal myself to thee. 
	If thou art wretched – and surely I behold tears and signs of grief – 
	come join with me in friendship; Adrastus’ royal seed am I – 
	ah! is any near? – at the pyre of my beloved Polynices, 
380	though kingdoms set their ban –“ the Cadmean maiden started 
	in amazement and trembled, and broke in upon her speech: 
	“Is it I then whom thou dost fear? – how blind is chance! – I, the partner 
	of thy woes? Mine are the limbs thou holdest, mine the corpse thou dost bewail. 
	Take him, he is thine! Ah, shame! Ah, for the cowardly devotion of a sister! 
385	She came before me – !”
	
				Side by side they fall, and together 
	embracing the same body mingle greedily their tears and tresses, 
	and share his limbs between them, and anon return with united lament 
	to his face and glut themselves by turns upon his well-loved breast. 
	And while they recall the one her brother and the other her spouse, 
390	and each tells to each the tale of Argos and of Thebes, 
	Argia in longer strain brings to mind her own sad story: 
	“By the sacred communion of our stolen mourning, 
	by our common dead and the witnessing stars I swear to thee: 
	not his lost crown, nor his native soil, nor his dear mother’s 
395	breast did he desire, wandering exile though he was, 
	but thee alone; of thee, Antigone, he spake by night 
	and day; I was a lesser care and easily relinquished. 
	Yet didst thou perchance before the horrid deed from a lofty turret 
	behold him towering high and giving the Grecian companies 
400	their banners, and he looked back at thee from the very line of battle, 
	and saluted thee with his sword and the nodding summit of his helm: 
	but I was far away. But what god drove them to the extremity of wrath? 
	Did your prayers nought avail? Did the other refuse thy own 
	entreaty?” Antigone had begun to set forth the causes 
405	and the cruelty of fate, but the faithful comrade warned them: 
	“Nay finish rather your task! Already the stars are paling 
	in rout before the approaching day; complete your toil, 
	the time for tears will come; kindle the fire, then weep your fill.”
	
	Nor far away a roar betrayed the channel of Ismenos 
410	where he was flowing still discoloured and befouled by gore. 
	Hither with united effort they feebly bear the mangled limbs, 
	while their companion as weak as they adds his arms to theirs. 
	So did his sisters lave the smoking Phaëthon, Hyperion’s son, 
	in the heated Padus: scarce was he interred, 
415	when a weeping grove rose by the river-side.16 
	When the filth was purged in the stream and the body was 
	once more beautiful in death, the wretched women after 
	the last kisses searched for fire, but dead and cold were 
	the ashes in the mouldering pits, and all the pyres were silent. 
420	Still there remained one funeral pile, whether by chance or 
	heaven’s will, that had been fated to burn the limbs of fierce 
	Eteocles – whether Fortune once more gave opportunity for 
	portents, or the Fury had spared the fires for mutual strife. 
	Here both in their eagerness beheld a feeble glow 
425	still alive among the blackened timbers, and together 
	wept tears of joy; nor yet knew they whose the pyre, 
	but prayed, whosesoe’er it be, that he be favourable and graciously 
	admit a partner to his latest ashes and unite their ghosts.
	
	Once more behold the brothers: as soon as the devouring fire 
430	touched the body, the pile shook, and streams up with 
432	double head, each darting tongues of flashing light. 
	As though pale Orcus had set in conflict the torches 
	of the Eumenides, each ball of fire threatens and strives to outreach 
435	the other; the very timbers, with all their massive weight, were moved 
	and gave way a space. The maiden cries out in terror: 
	“We are undone; ourselves we have stirred his wrath in death. 
	It was his brother; who else would be so cruel as to spurn the approach 
	of a stranger ghost? Lo! I recognize the broken buckler and the 
440	charred sword-belt, ay, it was his brother! Seest thou how the flame shrinks 
	away and yet rushes to the fight? Alive, ay, alive is that impious hatred. 
	The war was in vain: while thus ye strive, unhappy ones, 
	Creon has conquered after all! Gone is your realm, why then such fury? 
	For whom do ye rage? Appease your anger. And thou, everywhere an exile, 
445	ever debarred from justice, yield at last; this is thy wife’s and 
	thy sister’s prayer, else shall we leap into the fierce flame to part you.”
	
	Scarce had she spoken, when a sudden tremor shook the plain 
	and the lofty roofs, and increased the chasm of the discordant pyre, 
	while the watchmen, whose very sleep shaped images of woe, 
450	started from repose: straightway the soldiers rush forth, 
	and with a ring of arms search the whole countryside. 
	As they draw nigh, the old man alone has fear; but the women 
	openly before the pyre confess to have spurned fierce Creon’s 
	command, and with loud cry admit their secret deed, 
455	careless, for they see that already the whole body is consumed. 
	Ambitious are they for cruel destruction, and a spirited hope of death 
	is aflame within them: they contend that they stole, the one her consort’s, 
	the other her kinsman’s limbs, and prove their case by turns: “I brought the body,” 
	“but I the fire,” “I was led by affection,” “I by love.” They delight to ask 
460	for cruel punishment and to thrust their arms into the chains. 
	Gone is the reverence that but now was in the words of each; 
	wrath and hatred one would deem it, so loud on either side rise the cries 
	of discord; they even drag their captors before the king.
	
	But far away Juno leads the distraught Phoronean dames – herself no less 
465	distraught – to the walls of Athens, having gained at last the goodwill 
	of Pallas, and goes before them on the road; she gives the train 
	of mourners favour in the people’s sight and inspires reverence for their tears. 
	With her own hand she gives them boughs of olive and supplicating 
	fillets, and teaches them to hide their faces in their robes 
470	and bear before them urns untenanted by the dead. 
	A multitude of every age streams forth from the Erechthean homes 
	and fills the housetops and the streets; whence comes this swarm? Whence 
	so many mourners together? Not yet do they know the cause of their distress, 
	yet are already weeping. With either concourse the goddess mingles 
475	and tells them of all: of what race they are sprung, what deaths they 
	are bewailing, and what they seek; they themselves too in various 
	converse make everywhere loud outcry against the Ogygian laws and 
	inhuman Creon. No lengthier plaint do the Getic birds17 utter upon the foreign 
	housetops in mutilated speech, when they exclaim against 
480	the treachery of the wedding bower and Tereus’ cruel deed.
	
	There was in the midst of the city an altar belonging to 
	no god of power; gentle Clemency had there her seat, 
	and the wretched made it sacred; never lacked she a new 
	suppliant, none did she condemn or refuse their prayers. 
485	All that ask are heard, night and day may one approach 
	and win the heart of the goddess by complaints alone. 
	No costly rites are hers; she accepts no incense flame, 
	no blood deep-welling; tears flow upon her altar, 
	sad offerings of severed tresses hang above it, 
490	and raiment left when Fortune changed. 
	Around is a grove of gentle trees, marked by the cult 
	of the venerable, wool-entwined laurel and the suppliant olive. 
	No image is there, to no metal is the divine form entrusted, 
	in hearts and minds does the goddess delight to dwell. 
495	The distressed are ever nigh her, her precinct ever swarms 
	with needy folk, only to the prosperous is her shrine unknown. 
	Fame says that the sons of Hercules, saved in battle 
	after the death of their divine sire, set up this altar; 
	but Fame comes short of truth: ‘tis right to believe that the heavenly 
500	ones themselves, to whom Athens was ever a welcoming land, 
	as once they gave laws and a new man and sacred ceremonies 
	and the seeds that here descended upon the empty earth,18 
	so now sanctified in this spot a common refuge for travelling 
	souls, whence the wrath and threatenings of monarchs might be 
505	far removed, and Fortune depart from a shrine of righteousness. 
	Already to countless races were those altars known; 
	hither came flocking those defeated in war and exiled from their country, 
	kings who had lost their realms and those guilty of grievous crime, 
	and sought for peace; and later this abode of kindliness 
510	o’ercame the rage of Oedipus and sheltered the murder of Olynthus 
	and defended hapless Orestes from his mother. Hither guided 
	by the common folk comes the distressful band of Lerna, 
	and the crowd of previous votaries give way before them. Scarce were they 
	arrived, when their troubles were soothed and their hearts had rest: 
515	even as cranes chased o’er the deep by their native North wind, 
	beholding Pharos, spread in denser array over the sky 
	and raise a joyful clamour; they delight beneath a cloudless heaven 
	to thin scorn of snows, and to loose the grip of winter by the banks of Nile.
	
	And now Theseus, drawing nigh his native land in laurelled car 
520	after fierce battling with the Scythian folk, is heralded 
	by glad applause and the heaven-flung shout 
	of the populace and the merry trump of warfare ended. 
	Before the chief are borne his spoils, and virgin chariots19 
	that recall the grim War-God, and wagons heaped with crests 
525	and downcast steeds and broken axes, wherewith 
	the foe were wont to cleave the forests and frozen Maeotis, 
	light quivers too are borne and baldricks fiery with gems 
	and targes stained with the blood of the warrior-maids. 
	They themselves, still unafraid, admit no thought of sex, 
530	and scorn to entreat nor utter mean lament, 
	only they seek the shrine of unwedded Minerva. 
	The first passion of the folk is to behold the conqueror, 
	drawn by his four snow-white steeds; Hippolyte too 
	drew all toward her, friendly now in look and patient 
535	of the marriage-bond. With hushed whispers and sidelong 
	gaze the Attic dames marvel that she has broken her country’s 
	austere laws, that her locks are trim, and all her bosom hidden 
	beneath her robe, that though a barbarian she mingles with mighty 
	Athens, and comes to bear offspring to her foeman-lord.
	
540	The sorrowful daughters of Pelops moved a short space 
	from the altars where they sat, and marvelled at the triumph with its 
	train of spoils, and their vanquished lords came once more to their minds. 
	And when the conqueror halted the chariots and from his proud car 
	inquired the causes that had brought them and with kind attention bade them 
545	make their request, the wife of Capaneus dared speak before the others: 
	“Warlike son of Aegeus, for whom Fortune opens up 
	vast fields of unexpected glory through our ruin, 
	no strangers by race are we, nor guilty of any 
	heinous crime; our home was Argos, and our husband princes, 
550	would they had not been brave also! What need was there 
	to arouse a sevenfold host, and chastise the city of Agenor? 
552	We complain not that they were slain; but they were no monsters risen 
554	from Sicilian dens or twyformed creatures of Ossa20 who fell in the battle. 
555	Of their race and famous sires I speak not; they were men, 
	renowned Theseus, and of the seed of men, born to the selfsame stars 
	to the same human lot, the same food and drink as ye are; 
	yet Creon denies them fire, and like the father of the Furies 
	or the ferryman of Lethe’s stream debars them from the Stygian gate 
560	and keeps them hovering doubtfully between the worlds of heaven 
	and hell. Alas! sovereign Nature! Where are the gods? Where is 
	the hurler of the unrighteous brand? Where art thou, Athens? 
	Already the seventh dawn shrinks with frightened steeds 
	from their corpses; the starry pole shudders in all its splendours 
565	and withdraws its rays; already the very birds 
	and prowling beasts loathe the horrid carrion and the battle-field 
	that reeks of corruption and heavily taints the breezes and the air. 
	How much indeed remains? let him but permit me to sweep up 
	bare bones and putrid gore! Make haste, ye worthy 
570	sons of Cecrops! such a vengeance becomes you, before 
	the Emathians and Thracians suffer, and every race of men 
	that would fain be burnt on pyres and be given the last rites of death. 
	For what limit will be set to his fury? We made war, I grant it; 
	but hatred is assuaged, and death has put an end to sullen wrath. 
575	Thou also, for so Fame hath taught us of thy noble deeds, 
	didst not give Sinis and the unutterable Cercyon to cruel 
	monsters, and wert willing to let fierce Sciron burn. 
	I ween too that Tanais smoked with Amazonian pyres, whence thou 
	hast brought this host: deem then this triumph also worthy of thee. 
580	Devote one exploit to earth and heaven and hell alike, 
	if thou didst save thy native Marathon from fear, and the halls of Crete, 
	and if the aged dame21 that welcomed thee shed not her tears in vain. 
	So may no battles of thine lack Pallas’ aid, 
	nor the divine Tirynthian envy thy equal exploits, 
585	may thy mother ever behold thee triumphant in thy car, 
	and Athens know not defeat nor ever make a prayer like mine!”
	
	She spoke: they all with hands outstretched make clamorous 
	echo to her words; the Neptunian hero22 flushed, deeply stirred 
	by their tears; soon fired by righteous anger he cries: 
590	“What Fury has inspired this strange unkingly 
	conduct? Not so minded were the Greeks at my 
	departure, when I sought Scythia and the Pontic 
	snows; whence this new madness? Thoughtest thou 
	Theseus conquered, fell Creon? I am near at hand, think me not 
595	blood-weary; even yet my spear thirsts for righteous slaughter. 
	I make no delay; turn on the instant thy galloping steed, 
	most trusty Phegeus, speed to the Tyrian towers and 
	proclaim that the Danai must burn of Thebes must fight.” 
	So speaks he, forgetful of the labours of warfare and the march, 
600	and encourages his men and inspires their exhausted strength anew: 
	as when a bull has lately won back his brides and pasture 
	and ceased from battle, if by chance another glade resound 
	with a warrior’s lowing, then, though his neck and breast be dripping 
	with the bloody rain, he prepares afresh for war and pawing the plain 
605	hides his groaning and conceals his wounds in dust. 
	Tritonia herself smote upon her buckler the Libyan 
	terror,23 the Medusa that guards her bosom. 
	Straightway all the serpents rose erect together, and in a mass 
	looked towards Thebes; not yet were the Attic warriors on the 
610	march, and already ill-fated Dirce trembled at the trumpets’ sound.
	
	At once not only are they inflamed to war who 
	were returned from sharing the Caucasian victory: 
	all the countryside stirred up its untrained sons to war. 
	They flock together and of their own accord follow their prince’s standard: 
615	the men who spare not chilly Brauron and the Monychian 
	fields and Piraeus, firm ground for frightened sailors, 
	and Marathon, not yet famous for her Eastern triumph. 
	The homesteads of Icarius and of Celeus that entertained 
	their native gods24 send troops to battle, green Melaenae too, 
620	and Aegaleos, rich in forests, and Parnes, friend 
	of vines, and Lycabessos, richer in the juicy olive. 
	Violent Alaeus came, and the ploughman of fragrant Hymettus, 
	thou, too, Acharnae, who didst clothe the bare wands in ivy.25 
	Sunion, far seen of Eastern prows, is left behind, whence Aegeus 
625	fell,26 deceived by the lying sails of the Cretan bark, 
	and gave a name to the wandering main. 
	These folk from Salamis, those from Eleusis, Ceres’ town, 
	were sent, their ploughs hung up, to the dreadful fray, 
	and they whom Callirhoë enfolds with her nine errant 
630	streams, and Elisos who privy to Orithyia’s rape 
	concealed beneath his banks the Thracian lover.27 
	That hill too is emptied for the fight, where gods 
	strove mightily, until a new tree rose from the doubting 
	rocks and cast its long shadow on the retreating sea.28 
635	Hippolyte too would have led her Northern squadrons 
	to the Cadmean walls, but the already certain hope of her swelling womb 
	restrains her, and her spouse entreats her to dismiss the thoughts of battle 
	and in the marriage-bower to dedicate her war-spent quiver.29
	
	When the chief perceives them in warlike mood and ablaze 
640	with joyous steel, how they give hurried kisses and brief embraces 
	to their loving children, he speaks thus from his lofty chariot: 
	“Soldiers, who will defend with me the laws of nations 
	and the covenants of heaven, take courage worthy of our 
	emprise! For us, ‘tis clear, stands the favour of all gods 
645	and men, Nature our guide and the silent multitudes 
	of Avernus: for them the troops of the Furies, that Thebes has 
	marshalled, and the snake-haired Sisters bring forth their banners. 
	Onward in warlike spirit, and trust, I pray you, in a cause so noble!” 
	He spake, and hurling his spear dashed forth upon the road: 
650	as when Jupiter plants his cloudy footsteps upon the Hyperborean 
	pole and makes the stars tremble at the oncoming of winter, 
	Aeolia30 is riven, and the storm, indignant at its long idleness, 
	takes heart, and the North whistles with the hurricane; 
	then roar the mountains and the waves, clouds battle 
655	in the blind gloom, and thunders and crazed lightnings revel.
	
	The smitten earth groans, the heavy hoof changes the 
	aspect of the verdant plains, and the crushed fields expire 
	beneath countless troops of horse and foot, nor is the gleam 
	of armour lost in the thick dust, but flashes far into 
660	the air, and the spears burn amid the clouds. 
	Night too and the quiet shades they add to their toil, 
	and the warriors mightily strive how they may speed the army’s 
	march, who may proclaim from a hillock the first sight of Thebes, 
	whose lance will first stand fixed in the Ogygian rampart. 
665	But from afar Theseus, son of Neptune, dwarfs the ranks 
	with his huge shield, and bears upon its boss the hundred cities 
	and hundred walls of Crete, the prelude to his own renown,31 
	and himself in the windings of the monstrous cave twisting 
	the shaggy neck of the struggling bull, and binding him fast 
670	with sinewy arms and grip of either hand, 
	and avoiding the horns with head drawn back. 
	Terrified are the folk when he goes to battle ‘neath the shelter 
	of that grim device, to behold Theseus in double shape 
	and his hands twice drenched in gore; he himself recalls his 
675	deeds of old, the band of comrades and the once-dreaded doorway 
	and the pale face of the Gnosian maid as she followed out the clue.
	
	But meanwhile the ruthless Creon leads onward to death 
	Antigone and the widowed daughter of Adrastus, 
	their hands fettered behind them; both cheerful 
680	and proudly eager for death, they hold our their necks to the swords 
	and battle the cruel king, when lo! bearing Theseus’ message Phegeus 
	stood there. All peaceful he with innocent olive-branch, 
	but war is his intent, and war he threatens in loud and angry 
	tones, and well remembering his lord’s commands repeats that he will soon 
685	be nigh at hand in person, soon covering the countryside as he passes 
	with all his cohorts. The Theban stood in doubt amid surging 
	cares, his anger wavers and his first wrath grows cool. 
	Then steeling his heart, and with a feigned and sullen smile he 
	answered: “Too slight assurance then did we give of Mycenae’s 
690	ruin? Lo! here come others to vex our walls! Let them come! 
	We take the challenge! But let them not whine when they are beaten; 
	one law awaits the conquered.” He speaks, but sees the daylight wane 
	in thickening dust, and the sharp outlines fade from the 
	Tyrian hills; yet in pale anxiety he bids his people arm 
695	and go to war, and suddenly beholds in his 
	palace-hall the Furies, and Menoeceus weeping, 
	and the Pelasgians exultant on their pyres. 
	Ah! fatal day! when peace gained for Thebes at such a price 
	of blood is lost again! They tear down the arms lately hung in their 
700	native shrines, and shield their bodies with pierced bucklers, 
	don mutilated helms and take up gore-encrusted spears; 
	none is gay with quiver or sword, none is glorious 
	to behold upon his charger; no trust is there in the palisade, 
	the city walls are all agape, the gates cry for defences; 
705	the former foe hath them in possession; the battlements are gone: 
	Capaneus hath o’erthrown them; strengthless and faint, 
	the warriors no more give the last kisses to wives 
	or children, nor do their dazed parents utter any prayer.
	
	Meanwhile the Attic chief, beholding the rays burst through the clouds 
710	in growing splendour and the sun first glint upon the arms, 
	leaps down into the plain where by the walls the dead still lie 
	unburied, and breathing beneath his dusty helm 
	the dread vapours of the tainted air he groans 
	and is inflamed to righteous rage for war. 
715	His honour at least did the Theban chieftain pay to 
	the hapless Danaans, that he engaged not the warring hosts 
	in a second battle o’er the very bodies of the fallen; 
	or else, that his impious lust might lose naught of mangled 
	carnage,32 does he choose a virgin field to drink up the streams 
720	of gore? Already in far different wise Bellona summons 
	the armies to mutual fight: here only is heard the battle-cry, 
	here only the trumpet-blast; there frail warriors stand, 
	with drooping ineffectual swords and loosened slings; 
	they give way, and drawing back their 
725	armour display old wounds yet bleeding. 
	Already even the Cecropian chiefs have lost their ardour for the fray, 
	their temper wanes and confident valour flames less high; 
	just as the wrath of the winds is weakened, if no forest impede their 
	raging blasts, and the furious billows are silent where there is no shore.
	
730	But when Theseus, born of the main, held aloft his Marathonian 
	oaken shaft, whose cruel shadow as he lifted it fell upon the foe, 
	and the spear-point flashed o’er the battle-field afar – 
	as though father Mavors were driving his Edonian chariot down 
	from Haemus’ summit, with death and Panic riding upon his 
735	hurrying axle, even so does pale fear drive the sons of Agenor 
	in terror-stricken rout; but Theseus disdains to do battle with 
	the fugitives, his right hand thinks scorn of easy victims. 
	The rest of the gallant host sate their rage in common slaughter. 
	Even so dogs and coward wolves delight in prey that lies cowering 
740	at their feet, while anger is the strength of mighty lions. 
	Yet he slays Olenius and Lamyrus, the one as he takes arrows 
	from his quiver, the other as he raises a great stone 
	aloft, and the sons of Alcetus, trusting in their threefold 
	might, whom he pierces at long range with as many spears. 
745	Phyleus received the spear-point in his breast, Helops bit 
	the iron with his teeth, the missile sped through the shoulder of Iapyx. 
	And now he makes for Haemon riding aloft in four-horsed car, 
	and whirls the terrible javelin with his arm; the other swerved 
	his frightened steeds, but the spear, far-flung, struck home, 
750	and piercing two of them thirsted for yet a third wound, 
	but the point was stayed by the intervening pole.
	
	But Creon alone is the object of his hopes and prayers, him alone 
	he summons with terrible challenge amid all the squadrons of the field; 
	he perceives him on a battle-front afar, exhorting 
755	his troops and uttering desperate threats in vain. 
	His comrades flee away, but those of Theseus leave him 
	at his bidding, relying on the gods and the prowess of their chief; 
	Creon restrains his men and calls them back, but seeing that he 
	is hated by either side alike, he nerves himself to a last outburst of rage, 
760	inspired now by the frenzy of doom and emboldened by inevitable death: 
	“Tis with no targe-bearing girls33 thou doest battle here; 
	no maiden’s hands are ours, be sure; here is the stern 
	strife of men who have sent great Tydeus and furious 
	Hippomedon to death, and the vast bulk of Capaneus to 
765	the shades. What headlong madness drove thee to fight, 
	thou reckless fool? Seest thou not their corpses whom thou wouldst 
	avenge?” So he spoke, and lodged his missile fruitlessly in the 
	buckler’s edge.
	
			But the terrible son of Aegeus laughed at 
	his words and deed alike, and poising his iron-clad shaft 
770	for a mighty blow first proudly cries in thunderous accents: 
	“Ye Argive spirits, to whom I offer this victim, 
	open wide the void of Tartarus, bring forth the Avenging 
	Furies, lo! Creon comes!” He spoke, and the quivering 
	spear rends the air; then, where with iron weft the slender 
775	chains combine to form the manifold cuirass, it falls; 
	through a thousand meshes spurts upward the accursed blood; 
	he sinks, his eyes open in the last spasm of death. Theseus stands 
	over him in stern wrath, and spoiling him of his armour speaks: 
	“Now art thou pleased to give dead foes the fire that is their due? 
780	Now wilt thou bury the vanquished? Go to thy dreadful 
	reckoning, yet be assured of thy own burial.”
	
	From either side the banners meet and mingle in friendly tumult; 
	on the very field of war a treaty is made, and Theseus is now 
	a welcome guest; they beg him to approach their walls and to deem 
785	their homes worthy of his presence. The victor disdains not to set foot 
	in the dwellings of his foes; the Ogygian dames and maidens 
	rejoice: even as, o’ercome by the warring thyrsus,34 
	Ganges by now drunken applauded womanly revels. 
	Lo! yonder on the shady heights of Dirce a shout of women 
790	shakes the vault, and the Pelasgian matrons come running 
	down: like raving Thyiads are they, summoned to Bacchus’ 
	wars, demanding, thou mightest deem, or having done some 
	deed of horror; their wailing is of joy, fresh tears 
	gush forth; they dart now here, now there, 
795	doubting whether first to seek great-hearted Theseus, or Creon, 
	or their own kinsmen; their widowed grief leads them to the dead.
	
	I could not, even if some god gave hundredfold utterance 
	to my heart, recount in worthy strains so vast a funeral 
	of chieftains alike and common folk, so many lamentations united: 
800	how fearless Evadne with impetuous bound had her fill 
	of the fires she loved and sought the thunderbolt in that 
	mighty breast, how as she lay and showered kisses on his 
	terrible form his unhappy spouse made excuse for Tydeus; 
	how Argia tells her sister the story of the cruel watchmen, 
805	with what lament the Erymanthian mother bewails 
	the Arcadian, the Arcadian, who keeps his beauty though all his 
	blood is spent, the Arcadian, wept for by either host alike. 
	Scarce would new inspiration or Apollo’s presence sustain the task, 
	and my little bark has voyaged far and deserves her haven.
	
810	Wilt thou endure in the time to come, O my Thebaid, 
	for twelve years object of my wakeful toil, wilt thou survive thy master 
	and be read? Of a truth already present Fame hath paved thee 
	a friendly road, and begun to hold thee up, young as thou art, to future ages. 
	Already great-hearted Caesar deigns to know thee, 
815	and the youth of Italy eagerly learns and recounts thy verse. 
	O live, I pray! nor rival the divine Aeneid, 
	but follow afar and ever venerate its footsteps. 
	Soon, if any envy as yet o’erclouds thee, it shall pass away, 
	and, after I am gone, thy well-won honours shall be duly paid.