Statius, Thebaid Book 11
Translated by J. H. Mozley
Formatted by C. Chinn
	
	When great-souled Capaneus had spent the fury of his 
	unrighteous valour and gasped forth the Levin-fire that lodged 
	within him, and when the long track of avenging flame 
	that marked his fall to earth had left its brand upon the walls: 
5	victorious Jove with his right hand composed the shaken 
	vault, and with his countenance restored the light of heaven. 
	The gods welcomed him, as though he were breathless and weary 
	after Phlegra’s fight, or had piled smoking Aetna upon Enceladus. 
	Grasping the fragment of a shattered tower the hero lies, 
10	with a scowl yet upon his face, and leaving deeds for all 
	the world to tell of, deeds that even the Thunderer might praise. 
	As vast as in Avernus lies outstretched the defiler of Apollo’s 
	mother,1 whom even the birds behold aghast when they emerge 
	from his cavernous breast and view his huge extended limbs, 
15	while the wretched fibres grow again to feed them: 
	so burdens he the earth, flung prostrate, and scars the hostile 
	fields and the plain that gasps with the heavenly sulphur. 
	Thebes draws breath once more, and the bowed suppliants rise 
	in the temples; vows and desperate wailing have an end, 
20	and the mothers dare to put down their little ones.
	
	But the Achaeans are swept over the plain in scattered, aimless rout. 
	No more do they fear the squadrons of the foe or mortal steel: 
	all have the anger of Jove before their eyes, all in their terror see their 
	armour blazing and hear his thunder ringing in their helmets; 
25	Jove himself seemed to pursue and to oppose his fires to their flight. 
	The warriors of Agenor press hard upon them, and use the tumult 
	of the sky: as when upon Massylian meads a lion has crushed 
	within his mighty jaws the untamed monarchs of the herd, 
	and departs, his hunger sated; then growling bears 
30	draw nigh and greedy wolves, and with abated 
	rage cowardly lap the blood of an alien prey. 
	Here Eurymedon pursues, with armour rustic and uncouth 
	and rustic weapons in his hand and native skill to arouse panic terrors – 
	his sire was Pan; there goes Alatreus forth, tender in years 
35	for such emprise, and though a boy, matching his youthful father: 
	fortunate both, but happier he who delights 
	in such progeny; nor is it easy to discern whose weapons 
	ring the louder, from whose arm more mightily flies the spear.
	
	The ramparts are thronged with a dense mass of fugitives. 
40	What changes dost thou bring, Gradivus! But lately the Pelasgians 
	were climbing Cadmus’ walls, now they defend their own! 
	Even so the clouds return, so when the south winds are blowing 
	field after field is swept by the blast, so the surge now 
	uncovers, now clothes with its white foam the thirsty sand. 
45	Far and wide perish the Tirynthian soldiery, that counterfeit 
	the spoils of their native god; the stern son of Amphitryon 
	mourns from the stars above to see the Nemean skins 
	and the clubs and quivers like his own all drenched in blood. 
	Upon the ironclad summit of the Argive tower stood 
50	Enyeus, foremost to cheer to prosperous battle with the 
	trumpet, but then he was giving welcome signal to the distressed, 
	and urging their flight and safe retirement to the camp: 
	when suddenly through the air fell a sidelong blow, 
	and as he sped the sound his hand, just as it was, was fixed 
55	to his left ear; already his spirit flies forth upon the empty breeze, 
	already his frozen lips are silent, the trumpet completed its call alone.
	
	And now Tisiphone, having wrought her crimes and weary of the 
	bloodshed of two peoples, seeks to conclude the fight with the brothers’ 
	conflict; nor trusts she her own strength for so dire a fray, 
60	unless she can rouse from her infernal abode her 
	companion Megaera and her kindred snakes to battle. 
	Therefore she withdrew to an empty vale afar, and dug into 
	the ground her Stygian blade, and muttered into the earth the name 
	of the absent one, and – a sign indubitable to the Elysian realm – 
65	raised aloft a horned serpent from her hair with long-drawn hisses: 
	he was the prince of her caerulean tresses, and straightway 
	hearing him earth shuddered and sea and sky, and 
	the Father glanced again at his Aetnaean fires.2 
	The other heard the sound: by chance she was standing near 
70	her sire, while Capaneus was belauded by the whole train 
	of Dis, and refreshed his glorious shade in the Stygian streams. 
	Forthwith she broke through the massive earth, and stood beneath 
	the stars; the ghosts rejoice, and as the nether darkness 
	grows less thick, so wanes the light above.
	
75	Her fell sister receives her, and clasps her hand and speaks: 
	“Thus far, my sister, have I been able to sustain our Stygian father’s 
	dread commands and the frenzy laid upon me, 
	alone upon the earth and exposed to a hostile world, 
	while ye in Elysium constrain the unresisting ghosts. 
80	No mean reward is mine for my pains, my labours are not vain: 
	this deep-drenched battle-field, these waters that reek with 
	blood, the countless swarms that gladden Lethe’s bank – 
	these are the tokens of my power, my signs of triumph. But what care 
	I for these? Let Mars enjoy them, let Enyo boast and spread the story.3 
85	Thou sawest – manifest surely was he in the Stygian shades – 
	the chief whose jaws were fouled with blood, whose face dripped 
	black corruption; insatiable, he ate the head of his hapless foe, 
	which I did give him. Just now – was it not so? – the sound of a 
	terrible din came down to you from the stars: me did that awful storm 
90	assail, ‘twas I who mingling with the hero’s fury-stricken 
	arms laughed at the warring gods and the levin’s mighty wrath. 
	But now, sister, long toil – I confess it – has wearied out my spirit, 
	and my arm is slow; the infernal yew4 languishes in the air of heaven, 
	and the too strong influence of the stars drowses my unaccustomed snakes. 
95	Thou who still hast all thy rage, whose tresses are still riotous 
	and fresh from Cocytus’ fount, join thou thy strength to mine. 
	‘Tis no common fray or Martian battle that we prepare, 
	but brothers – though kindly Faith and Duty resist, they will be 
	o’ercome – ay, brothers shall draw the sword in combat hand-to-hand. 
100	A noble work! Gird we ourselves with deadly hate, with armed 
	discord. Dost thou hesitate? Nay, choose which banner thou 
	wilt bear. Both are compliant and will do our will; but the mob is 
	double-minded, and I fear his mother’s words and Antigone’s 
	persuasive tongue, lest they somewhat hinder our 
105	design. Ay, even he, who is wont to weary us with his 
	entreaties and call on the Furies to avenge his eyes, 
	already feels his fatherhood; already they say he weeps alone, far 
	from the haunts of men; ay, verily, I like not to invade Thebes and the abode 
	I know so well without thy succour. Command thou the impious exile, 
110	incite the Argive to the crime; see that the mild Adrastus 
	prevail not, nor the Lernaean host delay thee. 
	Go, and return to the mutual fray – my foe!”
	
	Their duties thus assigned, the sisters went their different ways: 
	as from the two poles of the world South wind and North 
115	make war, one nurtured on Rhipaean5 snows, the other in 
	Libyan sands: rivers, seas, clouds and woods resound, 
	and soon is the ruin seen, the husbandmen lament their losses, 
	yet pity the sailors whelmed upon the deep. 
	When from Olympus’ top the exalted Sire beheld them 
120	pollute the air, and saw Hyperion’s frightened orb beflecked 
	and tainted, with stern utterance he thus began: 
	“Ye heavenly ones, we have seen armed fury pushed to the uttermost 
	bound of right, and a war that yet was lawful, though one man 
	engaged in impious conflict and dared to fall by my right hand. 
125	But now a duel unspeakable approaches, a combat yet unknown 
	to miserable earth: look not upon it! Let no gods countenance 
	such a crime, let it be hid from Jove; enough is it to have seen 
	the deadly feast of Tantalus and the guilty altars of Lycaon, 
	and Mycenae bringing the stars in hurried train upon the sky.6 
130	Now once again must day be troubled; accept, O Earth, these 
	baleful clouds, and let the sky be veiled; it is my will to spare heaven 
	and my own deities; let not at least the star of the kindly 
	maid7 behold such deeds, nor the Ledaean brethren.” 
	So spake the omnipotent Sire and turned his gaze away 
135	from the guilty fields, and the earth lacked its joyous light serene.
	
	Meanwhile the daughter of Erebus hastes on the track of 
	Polynices through the Argolic cohorts, and finds him even 
	at the gate, uncertain whether to avoid so many horrors by death 
	or flight. Omens too had troubled his doubting mind: 
140	wandering by the rampart in the hours of darkness, 
	distressed at heart and brooding in deep despair, 
	he had seen the phantom of his wife Argia, with tresses torn 
	and a doleful torch in her hand – a sign from heaven! ay, that was her intent, 
	such were the torches she was to bring her spouse! – so, when he asked 
145	why she was come and what her grief, what meant these emblems 
	of woe, she did but weep and hide the flame in silence. 
	He knows ‘twas but a mental vision of ill, for how could his spouse 
	have come form Mycenae and draw nigh the wall, nor any know? 
	But he is aware of Fate’s admonishing and his approaching doom, 
150	and fears to be aware. But when the Fury of yawning 
	Acheron thrice smote her lash against his corslet, 
	he raged without restraint, and yearned not to be seated 
	on his throne, but for crime and carnage and to expire in his 
	slaughtered kinsman’s blood, and suddenly he accosts Adrastus:
	
155	“Late though it be, O father, and in our extremity, I am at length 
	resolved, who am the last survivor of my comrades and the folk 
	of Argos: then had been the time, when the Achaean blood was 
	yet unshed, to step boldly forth and venture single combat, 
	nor expose the Danaan flower and the sacred lives 
160	of princes, that I might crown me with a glory that was 
	the woe of mighty cities. But now since the stern hour 
	of valour is past, now at least let me be allowed to pay what 
	I deserve. For well thou knowest, father, though deep thou doest hide 
	thy wounds and dost revere thy son-in-law’s misery and shame: 
165	I am he, who, while thou wert ruling in peace and justice – 
	ah! wretch that I am, would some other city had been my host! – 
	exiled from country and throne8 – but exact thy punishment 
	last: I challenge my brother – why dost thou start? 
	I am resolved – to the death! nay, hinder me not, 
170	nor wilt thou be able. Not if my sad mother and unhappy 
	sisters were to fling themselves between our weapons, not even 
	if my sire were to oppose me as I rushed to battle and cast his 
	sightless orbs upon my helm, should I give way. Shall I drink all that 
	remains of Inachian blood, and even yet draw profit from your deaths? 
175	I saw the earth yawn and gape on my account, nor 
	went I to the rescue; I saw Tydeus dead and caused his 
	guilt; defenceless Tegea demands of me her prince, 
	and his bereaved mother cries out against me in Parrhasian caves. 
	I had not the spirit to scale Ismenos’ banks while Hippomedon 
180	stained its streams with gore, nor the Tyrian towers amid 
	the thunder and join my rage to thine, O Capaneus. 
	Why such craven fear for my own life? But I will make due recompense. 
	Let all the Pelasgian brides and mothers and aged 
	sires assemble, all whom I have robbed of so many joys, and whose 
185	homes I have despoiled – I fight my brother! what more remains 
	to do? Let them look on, and pray for Eteocles’ victory. 
	And now farewell, my wife, and farewell, sweet Mycenae! 
	But thou, beloved sire – for mine is not all the blame for 
	these ills, but Fate and the gods share the guilt with me – 
190	be gentle to my ashes, rescue my body after the battle and shield it 
	from birds and from my brother,9 and bring home my urn, 
	‘tis all I ask, and, for thy daughter, unite her in worthier wedlock.”
	
	They fell to weeping, as when with returning spring the 
	Bistonian snows are warmed and mighty Haemus 
195	melts and Rhodope is all dissolved into the straitened rivers. 
	And the aged king had begun to soothe his rage with gentle 
	words: but the cruel Fury broke off his speech with new 
	terrors, and straightway, in the shape of Inachian Phereclus, 
	brought his swift wing-footed steed and fatal arms, 
200	and with his helmet closed his ears to trusty counsels. 
	Then “Haste!” she cried, “delay not! He too, so they say, 
	is marching on the gates!” Thus, all scruples overcome, she seizes 
	him and sets him upon his steed; ashen pale, he scours the open 
	plain, and glances back to descry the looming shadow of the goddess.
	
205	The Tyrian chieftain was offering in vain to Jove the sacrifice 
	that his lightning stroke had won, thinking that the Danaans were disarmed. 
	But neither the celestial sire nor any of the gods were at his altars, 
	but baneful Tisiphone mingling with the affrighted attendants 
	stands near, and to the infernal Thunderer10 turned aside his prayers. 
210	“Supreme of gods, to whom my Thebes owes its origin – 
	though accursed Argos and angry Juno be jealous – 
	since thou as a ravisher didst break up the revels 
	on the Sidonian shore, and deign to bear on thy back a maiden 
	of our race and to utter feigned lowings over the tranquil seas! 
215	Nor vainly do we believe that thou a second time didst enjoy Cadmean 
	wedlock11 and invade the Tyrian dwellings in overpowering might: 
	at length, at length thou dost gratefully regard thy kinsmen and the walls 
	thou lovest, and sendest thy thunder to avenge; as though the heavenly 
	palace had suffered assault, we saw thee rolling cloud on cloud 
220	to succour our lofty towers, and gladly we recognize thy kindly brand, 
	and the lightnings that our sires once heard of old. 
	Receive now our flocks and high-piled incense 
	and our votive bull; worthy recompense is not in 
	mortal power; let our own Bacchus and Alcides strive 
225	to repay thee, for them thou dost preserve these walls.”
	
	He spoke, but he murky flame leapt forth against his face 
	and cheeks, and seized and burnt the diadem on his locks. 
	Then still unsmitten the angry bull beflecked the shrine 
	with bloody foam, and dashed wildly through the opposing 
230	concourse, bearing the altar upon his frenzied horns. 
	The ministers scatter, and the soothsayer strives to console the king. 
	Faint-heartedly he commands the rite to be renewed and carried 
	through, and with feigned countenance screens his anxious fears. 
	As when the Tirynthian felt the fire enwrap his 
235	bones and the Oetaean robe cling to his limbs, 
	he continued the offering he had begun and poured the incense, 
	still resolute and enduring the agony; soon beneath the stress 
	he groaned aloud, while triumphant Nessus12 raged throughout his vitals.
	
	Aepytus, in excited breathless haste, comes running 
240	with news to the king, his post by the gate abandoned, 
	and scarcely understood pants out these words to the anxious prince: 
	“Break off thy pious worship and the untimely sacrifice, 
	O king! Thy brother rides threatening round thy walls, 
	and with spear and bridle assails thy hindering gates, 
245	and flinging many a challenge calls thee, thee alone to battle.” 
	Behind him his sorrowing comrades weep, each echoing the speaker 
	with their groans, while the host clash arms and rage against the foe. 
	The monarch prays: “Now was the time,13 most righteous sire 
	of the gods! What did Capaneus deserve?” A thrill of profound 
250	hatred shook the king, yet he rejoices in mid rage: 
	as when a chieftain-bull after the repose of his rival’s exile 
	hears with ear alert the bellow of his enemy, and knows his 
	challenge, he stands consumed with mighty wrath before 
	the herd, and pants forth his valour in hot foam, 
255	now fiercely tearing the ground with his hoof, now the air with his horns; 
	the meadows quake, and the affrighted vales await the conflict.
	
	Nor are his friends less moved: “Let him batter the walls 
	in vain!” “Can he dare so far with shattered forces?” 
	“’Tis madness prompts the wretches to court danger, 
260	weigh no fears and detest safety.” “Stay thou 
	assured upon thy throne, we will repulse the foe, 
	bid us make war!” So speak those near him, but lo! 
	Creon was at hand, aflame with grief and claiming for his tongue 
	a warrior’s silence; Menoeceus galls his heart to fierceness, 
265	no peace does the father know; him he seeks and clutches, 
	him he beholds panting the bloody stream from 
	his breast, and ever falling from the cruel tower. 
	And when he saw Eteocles in doubt and shrinking from the fight: 
	“Thou shalt go,” he cries, “not, villain, shall we unavenged endure 
270	thee longer, thee the brother and the prince, made powerful by thy 
	country’s tears and sufferings, guilty of Heaven’s Furies and the war. 
	Long enough have we atoned thy perjuries to the angry gods. 
	This city, once full of arms and wealth, and thronged with citizens, 
	hast thou like a heaven-sent pestilence or plague of earth drained 
275	to nothing, yet castest thy tall shadow o’er its emptiness? 
	Folk are lacking to be thy slaves: some lie on earth unburnt, 
	others their native stream has already borne down to the sea; 
	some seek their limbs, others tend anxious wounds. 
	Come, restore to our wretched people their brothers, fathers, sons, 
280	restore husbands to their homes and farmsteads! Where now 
	is mighty Hypseus, where is our neighbour Dryas, where are the arms 
	of echoing Phocis and the Euboean chiefs? Yet them the impartial fate 
	of war hath slain, but thou, my son – O shame! – liest the victim, 
	ay, the victim of the throne, like some mute beast of the herd, 
285	alas! sprinkled with the first-fruits at the altar’s unhallowed 
	rite and bidden die: and doth he still waver, 
	and now at least when summoned refuse the 
	challenge? or does the wicked Tiresias bid another go 
	to battle, and devise a second oracle to bring me woe? 
290	Yes, why is Haemon alone left to his unhappy sire? 
	Command him to go, and sit thou on a lofty tower to watch the 
	spectacle! Why dost thou rage and look round upon thy 
	retinue? These would have thee go, ay, and pay the penalty; 
	even thy mother and thy sisters hate thee. 
295	Thy brother hotly threatens thee with the sword and death, 
	and rends the stern barriers of thy gates – dost thou not hearken?”
	
	Thus spoke the father, gnashing his teeth, in transports of misery and rage. 
	The other in reply: “Thou dost not fool me, nor art thou moved by thy son’s 
	renowned death: that song of woe, those vaunts did but befit a father. 
300	But ambition lurks beneath those tears, ambition and concealed 
	desire: thou art making his death a mask for thy mad hopes, 
	and dost press me hard, as though succeeding to the vacant throne. 
	Nor so utterly has Fortune left the Sidonian city that the sceptre 
	should fall to thee, O most unworthy of so brave a son! 
305	Nor would revenge be difficult even now, but first – arms, 
	arms, my servants! Let the brothers meet in battle. 
	Creon would have some balm for his sorrow: take advantage of my rage; 
	when I am victorious thou shalt pay me all.” Thus for a while 
	he put off the quarrel, and thrust back the sword that wrath put in his hand. 
310	As a serpent, struck at a venture and wounded by a shepherd, 
	lifts up its coils erect, and from all its length of body draws the poison 
	to its mouth: but should the foe bend his course but a little, the threats 
	abate, the vainly swollen neck subsides, 
	and it swallows back the venom of its own anger.
	
315	But when his mother heard the first news of the calamity 
	in appalled dismay – nor was she slow to believe it – she went 
	with face and tresses torn, and naked, blood-stained breast, 
	reckless of sex and dignity: just as the mother 
	of Pentheus14 climbed the heights of the frenzied mount 
320	to bring the promised head to fierce Lyaeus. 
	Neither her maidens nor her devoted daughters can keep 
	pace with her, such strength does despair lend to the unhappy 
	woman, her enfeebled years grow vigorous with grief. 
	And already the chief was fastening on him the glory of his 
325	helm, and taking his sharp javelins, and regarding his steed that rejoiced 
	in the trumpets nor feared the bugle’s blast, when on a sudden his mother 
	appeared, mighty to behold, and he and all his company grew pale 
	with fear, and his squire took back the spear he was proffering.
	
	“What madness is this? Whence hath returned the Evil Spirit 
330	of this realm, restored again to life? Must ye then 
	fight each other at the last? Is it too little to have led rival hosts 
	and given the word for slaughter? And afterwards, what home awaits 
	the victor? these arms of mine? O my dread spouse, 
	blest hereafter in thy blindness! now pay ye the penalty, my guilty eyes! 
335	Must I then see this day? Whither, ruthless one, turnest thou thy threatening 
	gaze? Why do flush and pallor alternate on thy countenance, 
	and thy clenched teeth stifle angry mutterings? 
	Ah, woe is me! thou wilt prevail! Yet first must thou test thy 
	arms at home: I will stand in the threshold of the gate, 
340	a baneful omen and dread image of calamity. 
	These hoary locks, these breasts must needs be trampled by thee, 
	accursed one, and o’er thy mother’s womb this steed be driven. 
	Ah! spare! why dost thou repel me from thy path with shield and sword? 
	No solemn curses have I uttered against thee to the 
345	Stygian gods, nor invoked the Furies with sightless prayer. 
	Hear me in my distress! ‘tis thy mother, not thy sire entreats thee, 
	cruel one! Stay thy guilt, and take the measure of such madness. 
	But thy brother – dost thou say? – beats at the walls, and raises impious war 
	against thee. Ay, for no mother, no sister doth prevent 
350	him; but thee all beseech, here all make lament. 
	Yonder scarce Adrastus alone dissuades from battle, 
	or perchance doth urge it; wilt thou leave thy ancestral gate and the gods, 
	and from my very embrace go forth against thy brother?”
	
	But in another region Antigone glides silently by stealth 
355	through all the tumult – nor does maidenly chastity 
	delay her – and hastes in eagerness to climb to the summit 
	of the Ogygian wall; old Actor follows close behind, 
	though his strength avails not to reach the tower’s height. 
	Awhile she hesitated at the sight of the host afar, 
360	then recognized him, alas! as with proud taunt and javelin 
	he assailed the city; first her wailings fill the air, 
	then, as though about to leap down from he wall, she cries: 
	“Put up thy weapons and look but a moment at this tower, 
	my brother, and turn thy bristling crest to face my eyes! 
365	Is it enemies thou findest? Is it thus we demand good faith 
	and yearly pact? Is this an innocent exile’s just complaint 
	and righteous cause? By thy Argive home, O brother – 
	for thy Tyrian home thou slightest – by any joy thou hast 
	therein, be softened: lo! both the armies, 
370	either folk entreat thee! Antigone, faithful to her 
	kinsmen’s sufferings and suspected by the king, and sister 
	but to thee, hard-hearted one, entreats thee! Remit at least 
	thy frowning looks; let me perchance for the last time 
	behold the face I love, and see whether thou dost weep 
375	at my lament. Him even now doth our mother urge 
	with suppliant tears, and doth put back, they say, his naked blade: 
	art thou still stubborn to me, to me who night and day weep 
	for thy wandering exile, and have oftimes appeased thy father’s wrath 
	even as it rose against thee? Why dost thou free thy brother 
380	of guilt? Verily he broke faith and his sworn word, 
	guilty is he and cruel to his own; yet lo! he comes not 
	to thy challenge.”
	
			At these words his rage began somewhat 
	to grow faint though the Fury upbraided and resisted; 
	already he has relaxed his arm, now he wheels his horse less sharply, 
385	now he falls silent; groans burst from him, his casque confesses 
	tears, his ire is blunted, and he feels shame both to depart 
	and to have come in guilt: when suddenly the Fiend, 
	thrusting his mother aside, shatters the gate and hurls forth Eteocles 
	crying: “I come, and only grudge thee thou wert the first 
390	to challenge; chide not my delay, my mother hung upon my arms 
	and stayed me; what ho! my country, land of thy monarchs most unsure, 
	now assuredly thou shalt be the victor’s!” The other in no milder strain: 
	“At last, ruffian, dost thou keep faith, and come down into fair field? 
	O once again after many a day my brother, 
395	engage! no law, no treaty but this remains.” 
	So spoke he, scowling at his kinsman in hostile mood; for in his heart 
	he chafes at the other’s numerous train, and his royal helm 
	and the purple trappings of his charger, and his buckler’s 
	glancing gold – though he himself was not meanly armed, and his 
400	cloak shone with no common lustre: Argia herself had wrought 
	it in Maeonian fashion, and with skilled finger 
	had woven strands of gold in the purple web.
	
	And now at the Furies’ impulse, they dash forward to the 
	dusty plain, each goaded and inspired by his companion.15 
405	These guide the reins themselves, and arrange the trappings 
	and the shining arms, and entwine their snakes amid the horses’ manes. 
	Set there upon the field is the crime of kindred blood, the dread conflict 
	of one womb, beneath their helms the faces of brothers meet in battle. 
	The banners quake, the trumpets are silent, and the Martian horns 
410	are struck dumb; thrice from the regions of gloom thundered 
	their impatient monarch and shook the depths of earth, and even 
	the deities of battle fled; renowned Virtue was nowhere seen, 
	Bellona put out her torches, Mars drove afar his affrighted 
	chariot, and the Maid16 shrank away with her fierce Gorgon-head, 
415	and into their places came the Stygian sisters. 
	The wretched common folk stand high upon the house-tops, 
	no place but is wet with tears, no tower but sounds with lamentations. 
	Here old men complain that they have lived so long, there mothers stand 
	with bosoms bare, and forbid their little ones to view the fray. 
420	The king of Tartarus himself orders the gates to be set open, 
	and the Ogygian ghosts to attend their kindred’s monstrous deeds. 
	Seated upon their native hills they pollute the day with grisly 
	band, and rejoice that their own crimes should be surpassed.
	
	When Adrastus heard that the princes were rushing to the perilous fight 
425	with open taunts, and that shame could no longer hinder the ghastly 
	deed, he hastens to the spot and himself drove between them, 
	himself full-reverend both in monarchy and years. 
	But what could a stranger’s influence avail with those who recked not even 
	of their loved ones? Yet he entreats: “Shall we then behold this horror, 
430	sons of Inachus and Tyre? In the name of justice and the gods, 
	in the name of war – persist not in your fury! Thee, foeman, I beseech – 
	although, did thy rage suffer thee, thou too art not far from me in blood – 
	thee, son-in-law, I command as well; if thy lust of power is so great, 
	I put off this royal robe, go take Lerna and Argos for thyself 
435	alone!” But his persuasion no more abates their 
	kindled rage, or checks their once-determined purpose, 
	than did the Scythian Pontus ever stay the Cyanean rocks 
	from clashing, though it rose high with arching waves. 
	When he sees his prayers are fruitless, and the teams galloping 
440	in twofold dust to battle, and the frenzied princes feeling their hold 
	on the javelin-strap, he flees away leaving all, 
	camp, army, son-in-law and Thebes, and drives Arion forward, 
	though he turn him in the yoke and give fateful warning: even as 
	the warden of the shades and the third heir of the world, after the lot’s 
445	unkind apportioning, leapt down from his chariot and grew 
	ale, for he was come to Tartarus and heaven was lost for ever.
	
	Yet would not Fortune suffer the fray, but halted 
	at the opening of the crime, and delayed awhile. 
	Twice were their onslaughts wasted, twice did a kindly 
450	mischance divert their charging steeds, and their flung 
	darts fell aside pure of unnatural blood. 
	They strain at the reins,17 with savage goads they incite 
	their innocent teams; then too an awful prodigy of heaven 
	stirs the armies, and from this side and that roll murmurs through 
455	the muttering hosts; often do they burn to renew the fight, 
	to dash forward and to set their whole array in the wretches’ path.
	
	Long time, offended alike by earth and the company of the gods, 
	had Piety18 been sitting in a remote region of the heavens, 
	with unwonted dress and troubled countenance, and fillets 
460	stripped from her hair: she bewailed the 
	fraternal strife, as though a hapless sister or anxious mother 
	of the fighters, and loudly chiding cruel Jove and the guilty 
	Fates protested she would leave heaven and the light of day, 
	and descend to Erebus, for already she preferred the abodes of Styx. 
465	“Why, sovereign Nature, didst thou create me to 
	oppose the passions of living folk and often the gods? 
	Nought am I any more among men, nowhere ma I reverenced. 
	Ah! what fury! alas! mankind, alas! dread Promethean skill! 
	How blessed was the vacancy of earth and sea after Pyrrha’s time! 
470	Behold the race of mortals!” She spoke, and watching an occasion 
	for her aid: “Let me but try,” she cried, “though my attempt be fruitless.” 
	Down from the pole she leapt, and beneath the darkened clouds a snow-white 
	track followed the footsteps of the goddess, sad though she was. 
	Scarce had she set foot upon the plain, when a sudden peace stilled the fury 
475	of the warriors, and they were conscious of their crime; then tears 
	bedewed faces and breasts, and a silent horror stole upon the brethren. 
	Clad in feigned armour also and many dress she cries 
	now to these, now to those: “Forward! be moving! Withstand them! 
	Ye who have sons at home or brothers, or pledges held 
480	so dear. Even here – is it not plain, the gods unasked are pitiful? – 
	weapons are falling, steeds wavering, and Chance herself resists.”
	
	She had somewhat stirred the doubting lines, had not grim Tisiphone 
	marked her deceit, and swifter than the fire from heaven darted 
	to her side, reproaching her: “Why hinderest thou the bold deeds of war, 
485	O sluggard, peace-devoted deity? Hence, shameless one! 
	this battle-field, this day is mine; too late now defendest thou 
	guilty Thebes. Where wert thou then when Bacchus made war 
	and the orgies drove the matrons to arms and madness? 
	Where wert thou idling, while the snake of Mars drank the 
490	unhallowed flood, while Cadmus ploughed, while the Sphinx fell defeated, 
	while Oedipus was questioned by his sire,19 while by my torch’s light 
	Jocasta was entering the marriage-chamber?” So she upbraids, and 
	threatens her with hissing hydras and brandished torch, 
	as she shrinks from her gaze and far withdraws her 
495	shamefast face; down over her eyes the goddess draws 
	her mantle and flees to lay her complaint before the mighty Thunderer.
	
	Then verily are they kindled to yet more fiery wrath; battle 
	pleases, and he armies, changed once more, are willing to look on. 
	They begin anew the savage work: the impious monarch aims 
500	his dart, and first dares the fortune of the deadly spear; 
	but striving to find a way through the middle of the shield 
	it strikes not home, but is fabled by the solid gold. 
	Then the exile advances, and utters loud a deadly prayer: 
	“Ye gods, whom blinded Oedipus besought not vainly 
505	to blow the blaze of crime, I make no wrongful 
	plea; with this same steel will I atone my deed and rend 
	my breast, so that my rival die and leave me with the sceptre in my grasp, 
	and, my vassal in the shades, take that sorrow with him to the tomb.” 
	The swift javelin flies between horseman’s thigh and horse’s 
510	flank, willing death for both, but the blow was foiled by 
	the rider’s bent knee, yet the spear-point baffled of 
	its vow found a wound slantwise in the horse’s ribs. 
	Scorning the tightened rein the steed darts headlong 
	away, and traces a bloody curve along the reddened field. 
515	The other exults, thinking it his brother’s gore, and so 
	thinks he himself in fear; and now the exile shakes free all 
	his rein, and dashes in blind, impetuous onslaught against 
	the wounded charger. Arms, bridles, weapons are all mingled 
	in confusion, both horses lose their footing and are thrown 
520	to earth. Even as at night two ships that the cloudy South wind 
	has locked together break oars, entangle ropes, and, 
	struggling with each other and the storm through the long 
	darkness, sink even as they are together to the depths: 
	such was the appearance of the fight.
	
					Without skill or fashion, only in 
525	wrath and fury they engage, and see through their helms 
	the flames of hate, and search with fiery glance each other’s 
	countenance: no interval of ground divides them, swords 
	are entangled, arms interlocked, and they catch the sound 
	of each other’s cries like bugle or trumpet-call. 
530	As when rage has set lightning-swift boars rushing headlong 
	to the fight, and raised the bristles erect upon their backs, 
	fire quivers in their eyes, and the curved tusks of crescent shape 
	ring loud; from a neighbouring height the anxious hunter 
	watches the fray, and bids his hounds be silent: 
535	so bloodthirstily do they attack, nor yet do they deal 
	mortal wounds, but the blood flows, the crime is accomplished. 
	No more need is there of Furies: they only marvel and praise 
	as they watch, and grieve that human rage exceeds their own. 
	Each in furious lust seeks his brother’s life-blood, 
540	nor knows his own is flowing; at last the exile rushes in, and calling 
	on his right arm, whose ire is more valiant and which has the greater justice 
	in his crime, drove his sword deep into his kinsman’s body, where the corslet’s 
	lowest rim now gives with feathers20 but ill protection to the groin. 
	The other, not yet in pain, but frightened by the first cold 
545	of the steel, withdraws his shaken limbs behind his buckler, 
	but soon more and more conscious of the wound he gasps 
	and labours; nor does his foe spare him as he gives way, but taunts him: 
	“Whither art thou retreating, brother? Behold the somnolent languor, 
	the exhausted sleep of kings! See there long years of sheltered 
550	rule! But here thou seest limbs hardened by want 
	and exile! Learn to be schooled in arms, nor trust to fortune!”
	
	So fight the hapless ones; life yet remained, though feeble, 
	in the wicked king, and his last drops of blood, and awhile he 
	could have stayed upright but purposely he falls, and even in the 
555	moment of death devises his last fraud. Cithaeron is startled by 
	a shout,21 and his brother thinking he has conquered raises 
	his hands to heaven: “’Tis well, my vow is heard; 
	his eyes are heavy, and his face swims in death. 
	Come, somebody, quick, away with the sceptre and the ornament of his locks, 
560	while he yet sees!” So speaking he drew nigh, and would fain also 
	take his arms, as though to bear them to grace the shrines of his 
	victorious land; but the other’s life was not yet spent, 
	and he retained still breath enough to wreak his avenging wrath; 
	and when he knew that he was standing over him and stooping to his body, 
565	he raises his weapon unperceived and calling up 
	his hatred to strengthen the weak remnants of his failing life, 
	now glad to die, he left the sword in his brother’s heart. 
	But he: “Livest thou still, and doth thy malice yet survive, 
	thou treacherous one, who wilt never merit an abode of peace? 
570	This way with me to the shades! There too will I demand my rights, 
	if but the Gnosian urn of the Agenorian judge22 still stands, 
	whereby kings may be punished.” No more he spake, 
	but fell, and crushed his brother beneath all his armed weight.
	
	Go, savage souls, and pollute baleful Tartarus by your death, 
575	and exhaust all the punishments of Erebeus! 
	And O ye Stygian goddesses, spare now the afflictions 
	of mankind; in every land and throughout all ages let one day 
	only have seen so dread a crime; let posterity forget 
	the infamous horror, and kings alone recount that combat.
	
580	But the sire, when he knew the horrid deed was over, 
	burst out from his gloom profound, and in the dread gateway displays 
	his living corpse; his grey hair and beard are filthy and matted 
	with ancient gore, and locks congealed with blood veil 
	his fury-haunted head; deep-sunken are his cheeks and eyes, 
585	and foul the traces of the sight’s uprooting. 
	The maid23 sustains his left arm that leans its weight upon her; 
	his right is supported by a staff. ‘Tis even as though the furrower 
	of sluggish Avernus through loathing of the shades should leave 
	his bark and come up to the world above and affright the sun and 
590	the pale stars, though himself unable long to endure the air 
	of heaven; meanwhile the long tale grows as the ferryman 
	dallies, and all along the banks the ages await him: 
	in such wise does he come forth upon the plain, and to his comrade ‘mid her 
	utter woe: “Lead me,” he cries, “to my sons, I pray, and set their father 
595	on the new-slain corpses.” The maiden hesitates, not knowing 
	what he purposes; arms, men and chariots block their way, 
	and entangle and delay them, and the old man’s steps falter in the 
	high-piled carnage, and his hapless guide hath sore ado. 
	But when the virgin’s shriek betrayed the long-sought 
600	bodies, he flung his full length on the cold limbs. 
	No word the old man spake: he lies and moans upon their 
	bloody wounds, nor do the long-attempted words follow. 
	At length while he gropes and searches for the faces hidden 
	within their helms the father found utterance for his long-silent grief:
	
605	“Late after so long time art thou come, affection, to sway 
	my heart? Doth mercy dwell in this human breast? 
	Ah! thou hast conquered, Nature, conquered this unhappy father! 
	Behold, I weep, and my tears steal over these dry wounds, 
	this sinful hand follows with womanly beating of my breast. 
610	Receive these fitting obsequies of your unhallowed deaths, 
	O cruel ones, too truly mine! I cannot recognize my sons, 
	nor suit my words – tell me, daughter, I beg, which 
	am I holding? With what honours now can one so cruel as I 
	perform your rites? Oh, if my eyes could be restored for me to rend them! 
615	Oh, if I could wreak my rage upon my countenance as once I did! 
	Ah, woe! alas, for a parent’s prayers and curses granted 
	too faithfully! What god was it stood by 
	when I prayed, and caught my words and told them 
	to the Fates? ‘Twas madness caused those ills, and the Fury, 
620	and my father and my mother and my kingdom and my falling eyes – 
	not I! By Dis I swear it, and by the darkness that I loved and this 
	my innocent guide, so may I go to Tartarus by a worthy 
	death, and Laius’ shade not angrily shun my presence! Woe is me, 
	what brotherly embraces are these, what are these wounds I feel? 
625	Loose your hands, I entreat, and relax at last these deadly 
	bonds, now at least let your sire come between you.” 
	Amid such laments he little by little had become in mood 
	for death, and secretly, lest his daughter should prevent him, 
	sought a weapon; but prudent Antigone had withdrawn their swords 
630	from his reach. Then the old man in wrath: “Where are the weapons 
	of death? Alas! ye Furies! has the blade sunk all its length into their bodies?” 
	His feeble comrade lifts him as he speaks, and hides her own 
	mute sorrow, rejoicing that grief has touched her savage sire.
	
	But the queen, terrified by the shout that marked the fight begun, 
635	had then brought forth from her chamber the famous sword, 
	the sword that was the lamentable spoil of sceptred Laius. 
	And with much complaining of the gods above and her dire couch 
	and her son’s madness and the shade of her first lord she strove 
	with her right hand, yet scarce at length as she leaned forward did 
640	the steel make entrance to her breast; the wound rent 
	her aged veins, and the ill-fated couch is purged in blood. 
	As the blade grated upon her skinny bosom 
	Ismene fell upon her and weeping stanched the wound with 
	her hair and tears: as when in the Marathonian glade 
645	sorrowful Erigone wept her fill for her slain sire, 
	and already was untying the fatal girdle, and bent 
	on death was fastening it to the sturdy boughs.
	
	And now, rejoicing to have foiled the hopes of both princes, 
	Fortune with spiteful hand had transferred elsewhere the sceptre 
650	of Amphion’s realm, and Creon held the power 
	of Cadmus. Ah, miserable end of war! for him had the 
	brothers fought. Him does the seed of Mars proclaim, 
	and Menoeceus lately offered to save the state endears him 
	to the people. He climbs the throne of distressful Aonia, 
655	that brings death to tyrants: ah, flattering power! 
	ill-counselling ambition! Will new rulers ne’er take heed 
	by the examples of the old? Lo! he delights to stand 
	in the accursed spot, and exert a bloody sway. 
	What availest thou, kindlier Fortune? Already he begins to blunt the feelings 
660	of a sire, and once upon the throne to wipe Menoeceus from his heart. 
	First, imbued with the savage customs of the palace, 
	as proof and sample of his rule, he bids the Danaans be debarred 
	from funeral fire, and the unhappy host he left under the 
	bare vault, and their sad shades without a resting-place. 
665	Next, meeting the returning Oedipus in the entrance 
	of the Ogygian gate, he quailed for a moment, and owned 
	his lesser rank in silence, and checked his ready ire; 
	but soon he resumes the king, and more boldly chiding 
	his blind foe: “Avaunt,” he cried, “hateful omen to the 
670	conquerors, keep far hence thy Furies, and purify the Theban walls 
	by thy departure! Fulfilled is thy long-endured hope: 
	go, for thy sons lie dead; what wishes has thou left?”
	
	A thrill of frenzy shook him, his squalid cheeks stood 
	quivering as though he saw, and his old age fell from him. 
675	Then thrusting away his daughter and his staff, sustained 
	by wrath alone, he utters a cry in the indignation of his heart: 
	“Hast thou already time to be cruel, Creon? Camest thou but lately 
	by treachery to my throne and place of rank, miserable wretch, 
	and art so soon permitted to trample on the ruin of kings? Already dost 
680	thou debar the conquered from burial, our kinsmen from their city? 
	Well done! thou canst worthily defend the sceptre of Thebes! 
	This is thy first day of power, but why dost thou foolishly restrict thy 
	new authority? Why grudgingly measure out so great an office? 
	Thou threatenest exile: that is but timorous harshness in a 
685	monarch! Why dost thou not forthwith imbue thy greedy blade? 
	Thou hast the power, believe me! some minion would come 
	eager to obey, and fearlessly sever my unresisting neck. 
	Begin then! or dost thou expect me to fall prostrate 
	and with suppliant hand grope for my stern master’s feet? 
690	But did I try, wouldst thou allow me? Canst thou threaten me 
	with any punishments, or think that any terrors yet remain for me? 
	Dost thou bid me leave the palace? Heaven and earth I have left 
	of my own will, and uncompelled turned my fierce avenging 
	hand on my own eyes: what canst thou command to equal that, 
695	malicious monarch? I take my flight, and leave an unhallowed 
	land; what matters it whither I convey my blindness and my 
	lingering death? Do I fear lest any people refuse to grant my 
	prayer for as much of their soil as my miserable corpse will cover? 
	But Thebes is sweet: ay, verily, here my birth is more 
700	renowned, here kindlier stars delight my vision, 
	here are my mother and my sons! Nay, keep thou Thebes 
	and rule it, with Cadmus’ fortune and Laius’ and mine; 
	in such wise marry, and beget loyal sons! and lack the 
	courage to escape by thy own hand the blows of Fortune, but when 
705	thou art in the toils, then hold life dear. There, ‘tis enough of blessings!24 
	come, daughter, lead me far away; yet why do I make thee share my sorrows? 
	Give me a guide, great sovereign!”
	
					Hapless Antigone fears 
	to be left behind, and pleads in different wise: “By thy heaven-blest 
	throne, revered Creon, and Menoeceus’ sacred shade, 
710	pardon him in his affliction, forgive his proud words. 
	Long grievance hath given him this style of speech; 
	nor is he thus harsh to thee alone, even so addresses he 
	the gods and Fate; his distress hath hardened him, even to me he is 
	often discourteous; in his untameable heart there long hath dwelt 
715	a stifled freedom and a savage longing for pitiless death. 
	And now behold in his cunning he rouses up thy anger 
	and desires thee to punish him; but do thou, I pray, enjoy 
	the greater blessings of thy realm, and in thy lofty state o’erlook 
	the fallen, and have reverence for the mighty ruins of former 
720	kings. He too was once lifted high upon a throne and hedged 
	with arms, and, impartial alike to great and humble, gave succour 
	and justice to the wretched – who now has but one companion maid 
	out of all his armies; not yet did he know exile. Can he oppose happiness? 
	Dost thou proceed against him with hated and thy kingdom’s might? 
725	Dost thou drive him from thy house? Is it lest the groan too 
	loudly at thy gate and meet thee with importunate prayers? 
	Fear not that: far removed from thy hall will he lament; 
	I will subdue his proud spirit and teach him submission, I will take him 
	from the gatherings of men and hide him in a place of solitude. 
730	An outlaw will he be; for e’en should he wander, what foreign walls 
	will open to him? Wouldst thou have him go to Argos and crawl a beggar 
	into hostile Mycenae, or tell of the slaughter of the Aonians at the gate 
	of conquered Adrastus, and entreat some scrap of succour 
	for a Theban king? Doth it please thee that he should recount the crimes 
735	of our unhappy race, and show forth all his shameful plight? 
	Conceal us, I pray, whate’er we are – no lengthy boon, 
	O Creon: pity his old age, and grant me here, ay, here, I beg, 
	to lay to rest my sire’s unhappy spirit. Surely Thebans 
	may have burial!”
	
				So prays she, prostrate on the 
740	ground; her father leads her away, with angry words and scorning 
	pardon. Even as a lion, whom once in his youth the woods 
	and mountains trembled at, now lies sluggish beneath 
	a lofty rock and disarmed by length of years: yet even in age 
	is he terrible of aspect and not to be approached, 
745	and should the noise of lowing come to his languid ears, 
	he springs up and remembers himself, and groans that his 
	strength is broken, and that other lions lord it upon the plains.
	
	The monarch is moved by her plea, yet grants not everything 
	to the suppliant’s tears, but cuts short a part of his bounty. 
750	“Thou shalt not,” he cries, “be kept far from the boundaries 
	of thy land, so be it thou defile not with thy presence its sacred shrines 
	and homes. Let the wilds of thy Cithaeron hold thee; 
	and lo! this land is a fit dwelling for thy darkness, 
	where the fight was fought and two races lie in blood.” 
755	So he speaks, and in haughty pride, amid the feigned applauding 
	of his train and the weeping folk, sought the palace gate.
	
	Meanwhile the routed Pelasgians steal away from their 
	fatal camp; none has his own ensigns or chief to 
	follow; silently in scattered rout they go, and instead of a glorious 
760	death they cherish dishonoured life and a shameful home-coming. 
	Night favours the fugitives and shrouds them in welcome gloom.