But not to the perfidious lord of the Aonian palace 
	comes the repose of slumber in the twilight hours, 
	although for the dank stars long travail yet remain 
	till dawn; in his mind care holds vigil and wreaks the penalty 
5	for his plotted crime; then fear, gloomiest of augurs in perplexity, 
	broods deeply. “Ah me!” he cries, “why this tarrying?” – 
	for he had deemed the task a light one, and Tydeus an easy prey 
	to so many warriors, nor weighed his valour and spirit against their numbers – 
	“Went they by different roads? Was a company sent from Argos 
10	to his succour? Or has news of the deed spread round 
	the neighbouring cities? Chose we too few, O father Gradivus, 
	or men unrenowned in action? But valiant Chromis and Dorylas 
	and the Thespians, a match for these towers of mine, 
	could at my bidding level all Argos with the ground. 
15	Nor proof, I ween, against my weapons had he come 
	hither, though his frame were wrought of bronze or solid 
	adamant. For shame, ye cowards, whose efforts fail before a single foe, 
	if indeed ye fought at all!” Thus is he tormented 
	by various gusts of passion, and above all his sword 
20	as he spoke in mid assembly, nor openly 
	sated to the full his savage wrath. Now he feels shame 
	of his design, and now repents him of the shame. And like 
	to the appointed helmsman of a Calabrian barque 
	upon Ionian waters (nor does the lack sea-craft, but the Olenian star1 
25	rising clearer than its wont has beguiled him to leave a friendly haven), 
	when a sudden uproar fills the wintry sky, and all heaven’s confines 
	thunder, and Orion in full might brings low the poles – 
	he himself would fain win the land, and struggles to return, 
	but a strong south wind astern bears him on; then, abandoning 
30	his craft, he groans, and heedless now follows the blind waters: 
	even so the Agenorean chieftain upbraids Lucifer, yet lingering 
	in the heavens, and the sun, so slow to rise on the distressed.
	
	Lo! beneath the western rein of Night, her course already turned, 
	and the setting stars, so soon as mighty Tethys 
35	had driven forth tardy Hyperion from the Eastern sea, 
	the earth with swaying masses trembled to her foundations, 
	drear sign of ills to come, and Cithaeron was stirred 
	and made his ancient snows to move; then were the rooftops seen to rise 
	and the sevenfold gates to meet the mountain-ridges. 
40	Nor distant was the cause: wroth with his destiny and sad that death 
	had been denied him, the son of Haemon2 was returning 
	in the cold hour of dawn; not yet is his face plain, but, though indistinct 
	to view, he gave from afar clear signs of dire disaster 
	by wailing and beating his breast; for all his tears had soon 
45	been shed. Not otherwise does a bereaved herdsman 
	leave the glade where savage wolves have wrought nocturnal carnage, 
	what time a sudden squall of rain and the windy horns 
	of the winter moon have driven his master’s cattle to the woods; 
	light makes the slaughter manifest; he fears to take 
50	the new tidings to his lord, and pouring unsightly dust upon his head 
	fills the fields with his lamentations, and hates the vast 
	and silent stalls, while he calls aloud the long roll of his lost bulls.
	
	When the mothers crowding to the threshold of the gates 
	beheld him all alone – ah, horror! – no troop around him 
55	or valiant chieftains, they venture not to question him, 
	but raise a cry like unto that last cry when cities are flung open 
	to the victors, or when a ship sinks at sea. 
	As soon as audience at his desire was granted by the hated king: 
	“This hapless life fierce Tydeus doth present thee 
60	of all that company, whether the gods have willed it so, 
	or fortune, or, as my anger feels shame to confess, 
	that man’s unconquerable might. Scarce to I believe my own report; 
	all have perished, all! Witness night’s wandering fires, 
	my comrades’ ghosts, and thou, evil omen 
65	wherewith I must needs return,3 no tears nor wiles 
	won me this cruel grace and dishonoured gift of light. 
	But the gods’ commands snatched destruction from me, and Atropos, 
	whose pleasure knows no denial, and the fate that long since shut 
	against me this door of death. And now that thou mayst see 
70	that my heart is prodigal of life, nor shrinks from final doom: 
	‘tis an unholy war thou hast begun, thou man of blood, 
	no omens will approve thy arms; and while thou endeavourest 
	to banish law, and reign exultant in thy kinsman’s exile, 
	the unceasing plaint of a long line of ruined 
75	desolate homes, and fifty spirits hovering night and day 
	shall haunt thee with dire terror; for I also 
	delay not.”
	
			Already the fierce king’s anger 
	was stirred, and blood lights up his scowling visage. 
	Then Phlegyas and Labdacus, who never dallied at evil work – 
80	the realm’s armed might was in their keeping – prepare unbidden to go 
	and assault him with violence. But already the great-souled seer 
	had bared his blade, and looking now at the truculent tyrant’s face, 
	now at his sword: “Never shalt thou have power upon this blood 
	of mine nor strike the breast that great Tydeus spared; 
85	I go, yea exultant, and meet the fate whereof he robbed me; 
	I am borne to the shades of my expectant comrades. 
	As for thee, to the gods and thy brother –” Even as he spoke, 
	the sword was in his side to the hilt, cutting short his words; he fights 
	against the agony, and with a strong effort doubling himself over the mighty 
90	blow sinks down, and the blood, sped by the last gaspings of his life, 
	comes forth now from his mouth, now from the wound. 
	The chiefs are stricken with dismay, the councillors mutter 
	in alarm; but he, with visage set and grim in the death 
	his hand accomplished, is borne to his house by his wife 
95	and trusty kinsmen, who have had no long joy of his return. 
	But the mad rage of the impious ruler cannot so long 
	be stayed; he forbids that the corpse be consumed with fire, and in 
	vain defiance bars the peace of the tomb from the unwitting shades.
	
	But thou, so noble in thy death and in thy constancy, thou who wilt never 
100	suffer oblivion – such is thy due reward – thou who daredst scorn 
	a monarch to his face, and thus hallow the path 
	of ample freedom: by what strain of sufficing utterance 
	can I add due renown to thy high prowess, augur beloved 
	by the gods? Not in vain did Apollo teach thee all his 
105	heavenly lore and deem thee worthy of his laurel, 
	and Dodona mother of forests and the Cirrhaean virgin 
	shall rejoice to keep the folk in suspense while Phoebus holds his peace. 
	And now far removed from Tartarean Avernus go thou 
	and roam Elysian regions, where the sky admits not 
110	Ogygian4 souls, nor a guilty despot’s cruel behests 
	have power; thy raiment and thy limbs endure, left inviolate 
	by gory beasts, and the forest and the birds with sorrowing awe 
	watch o’er thee, as thou liest beneath the naked sky.
	
	But fainting wives and children and ailing parents 
115	pour forth from the city walls, and by easy road or trackless region 
	everywhere haste in piteous rivalry, eager to gain the object of 
	their own lament, while in their company go crowded thousands 
	zealous to console; some are burning with desire to see 
	one warrior’s achievement and all the labours of the night. 
120	The road is loud with lamentation, and the fields re-echo the cries of grief. 
	But when they reached the infamous rocks and the 
	accursed wood, as though none had mourned before, nor bitter tears 
	had flowed, once cry of keenest anguish rises, as from 
	one mouth, and the sight of carnage drives the folk 
125	to madness; Grief inconsolable stands there with bloody raiment 
	rent and with pierced breast incites the mothers. 
	They search the helmets of the warriors now cold in death, and display 
	the bodies they have found, stretched prostrate alike on stranger and on kinsman. 
	Some steep their hair in the gore, some close up eyes 
130	and wash the deep wounds with their tears, others draw out 
	the darts with vainly merciful hand, others gently replace 
	the severed limbs and set the heads again to their shoulders.
	
	But Ide5 wanders through the thickets and on the open dusty plain – 
	Ide, mighty mother of twin heroes, twinned now in death – 
135	with dishevelled hair all flowing, and nails piercing deep 
	her livid cheeks; no more unhappy or pitiable is she, 
	but terrible in her grief; and everywhere by weapons and by bodies 
	she strews on the dire ground her white uncombed locks, 
	and in helpless plight seeks her sons and over every corpse makes lamentation. 
140	Not otherwise does the Thessalian witch, whose race’s hideous art 
	it is to charm back men to life by spell of song, rejoice in warfare 
	lately ended, and holding high her faggot-torch of ancient cedar 
	nightly haunt the fields, while she turns the slain folk over in their blood, 
	and tries the dead, to see to which corpse she shall give many a message 
145	for the world above; the gloomy councils of the shades complain,6 
	and black Avernus’ sire waxes indignant.
	
	Together they were lying, apart from the rest beneath a rock, 
	fortunate, that one day, one hand had wrought their doom; 
	their wound-pierced breasts are knit fast by the uniting spear. 
150	She saw them, and her eyes made passage for the streaming tears: 
	“Is it so ye embrace, my sons, is it so ye kiss, before your 
	mother’s eyes? Is it so that Death’s cruel cunning at the final hour 
	hath bound you? Which wounds shall I first touch, 
	which face caress? Are ye those strong defenders of your mother, 
155	that glory of my womb, whereby I thought to touch the gods, 
	and surpass the mothers of Ogygia in renown? 
	How much better far, how happy in their union are they 
	whose chamber is barren, whose house Lucina never visited 
	at the cry of travail! Nay, to me my labour hath brought 
160	but sorrow. Nor in the broad glare of battle met ye 
	a glorious fate, nor daring deeds ever famous among men did ye seek 
	a death whose story might be told to your unhappy mother, 
	but obscure ye fell and counting but in the tale of deaths7; 
	alas! in what streams of blood ye lie, unnoticed and unpraised! 
165	I dare not indeed sunder your poor embracing arms, 
	or break the union of so noble a death; 
	go, then, and long abide true brothers, unparted by the 
	final flames, and mingle your loved ashes in the urn!”
	
	No less in the meantime do the rest make lament, each over 
170	their own slain: here doth his wife mourn Chthonius, there Astyoche 
	his mother grieves over Pentheus, and tender lads, thy offspring, Phaedimus, 
	have learnt their father’s fate; Marpessa laves Phylleus, her betrothed, 
	and his sisters cleanse the blood-stained Acamas. 
	Then with the iron they lay bare the woods, and lop the antique crown 
175	of the neighbouring hill, that knew the secret of the night’s doings 
	and watched the agony; there before the funeral piles, 
	while each clings to the fire he himself has kindled, 
	aged Aletes speaks consoling words to the unhappy company: 
	“Often indeed has our race known sorrow and been racked 
180	by the heartless sport of Fate, ay, ever since the Sidonian wanderer 
	cast the iron seed upon the furrows of Aonia, 
	whence came strange growing and fear to the husbandmen 
	of their own fields. But neither when old Cadmus’ palace 
	sank into fiery ashes at cruel Juno’s bidding,8 nor when 
185	hapless Athamas,9 gaining a deadly fame, came down 
	from the astonished mount, haling, alas! 
	with exultant cries Learchus, nigh a corpse, 
	hath such woe come to Thebes; nor louder then 
	did Phoenician homes re-echo, when weary Agave 
190	overcame her frenzy, and trembled at her comrades’ tears.10 
	One day alone matched this in doom, and brought disaster 
	in like shape, that day when the impious Tantalid11 atoned her presumptuous 
	boasting, when she caught up all those bodies whose countless ruin 
	strewed the earth around her, and sought for each its funeral flames. 
195	As great then was our people’s woe, and even so from forth 
	the city went young and old and mothers flocking, 
	and cried out their hearts’ bitterness against heaven, and in crowding 
	misery thronged the double pyre at each mighty gate. 
	I too, so I remember, though my years were tender, 
200	wept nevertheless, and equalled my parents’ tears. 
	Yet hose ills were heaven-sent; nor would I more lament that 
	the mad Molossian hounds knew not their master, 
	when he crept forth from his unholy hiding-place to profane, 
	O Delia, thy chaste fountains, nor that the queen, her blood transformed, 
205	melted suddenly into a lake.12 Such was the hard assignment 
	of the Sisters, and so Jove willed it. But now by a cruel monarch’s crime 
	have we lost these guiltless citizens, so many chiefs 
	of our land; and not yet hath the fame of the spurned covenant 
	reached Argos, and already we suffer the extremities of war. 
210	Alas! what sweat of toil in the thick dust of battle is in store for men 
	and steeds! alas! how high will ye flow, ye rivers, blushing your cruel red! 
	All this will our youth behold, yet green to war; as for me, may I be granted, 
	while it may be, my own funeral pyre, and be laid in my ancestral earth!” 
	So spoke the aged man, and heaped high the crimes of Eteocles, 
215	calling him cruel and abominable and doomed to punishment. 
	Whence came this freedom of speech? his end was near, and all his life 
	behind him, and he would fain add glory to late-found death.
	
	All this the creator of the stars had long observed from the summit 
	of the world, and seen the peoples stained by the first bloodshed; 
220	then bids he Gradivus straight be called. He having laid waste 
	with slaughter the wild Bistonian folk and Getic towns 
	was driving his chariot in hot haste toward the ethereal heights, 
	flashing the splendour of his lightning-crested helm and angry 
	golden armour, alive with monstrous shapes of terror; 
225	heaven’s vault roars thunderous, his shield glows with 
	blood-red light and its emulous orb strikes on the sun from far. 
	When Jupiter saw that he yet panted with his Sarmatic toils, 
	and that all the tempest of war yet swayed his breast: 
	“Even as thou art, my son, even so hie thee through Argos, 
230	with thy sword thus dripping, in such a cloud of wrath. 
	Let them cast off the sloth that curbs them, let them hate all 
	and desire but thee, let them in frenzy vow to thee their lives 
	and hands; sweep away the doubting, confound all treaties; 
	thou mayst consume in war – to thee have I granted it – even gods themselves, 
235	ay, and the peace of Jove. Already I have sown the seeds 
	of battle: Tydeus, as he returns, brings news of monstrous outrages, 
	the monarch’s crime, the first beginnings of base warfare, 
	the ambush and the treachery, which with his own weapons he avenged. 
	Add thou credence to his tale. And you, ye gods, scions of my blood, 
240	indulge no angry strife, no rivalry to win me by entreaties; 
	thus have the Fates sworn to me, and the dark spindles 
	of the Sisters: this day abides from the beginning of the world 
	ordained for war, these peoples are destined to battle from their birth. 
	But if ye suffer me not to exact solemn vengeance for their 
245	sins of old, and to punish their dreadful progeny – 
	I call to witness these everlasting heights, our race’s holy shrine,13 
	and the Elysian streams that even I hold sacred – 
	with my own arm will I destroy Thebes and shatter her walls 
	to their foundations, and cast out upon the Inachian dwellings 
250	her uprooted towers, or else pour down my rain upon them 
	and sweep them into the blue depths, ay, though Juno’s self 
	should embrace her hills and temple, and toil amid the chaos.”
	
	He spoke, and they were spellbound at this commands. Mortal in mind 
	thou hadst deemed them, so curbed they one and all their voice and spirit. 
255	Even as when a long truce of winds has calmed the sea, 
	and the shores lie wrapt in peaceful slumber, 
	indolent summer sets her spell upon forest leaves 
	and clouds, and drives the breezes far; then on lakes and sounding meres 
	the swelling waters sink to rest, and rivers fall silent ‘neath the sun’s scorching rays.
	
260	Exulting with joy at these commands, and glowing yet 
	with his chariot’s burning heat, Gradivus leftward swung the reins; 
	soon he was gaining his journey’s end and the steeps of heaven, 
	when Venus unafraid stood in his horses’ very path; 
	backward they gave place, and e’en now have drooped their thick manes 
265	in suppliant wise to earth. Then leaning her bosom 
	on the yoke, and with sidelong tearful glance she beings – 
	meanwhile bowed at their mistress’ feet 
	the horses champ the foaming steel: 
	“War even against Thebes, O noble father, war dost thou 
270	thyself prepare, and the sword’s destruction for all thy race? 
	And does not Harmonia’s offspring,14 nor heaven’s festal day of wedlock, 
	nor these tears of mine, thou madman, give thee one moment’s pause? 
	Is this thy reward for my misdoing? Is this the guerdon that the Lemnian chains 
	and scandal’s tongue and loss of honour have won for me at thy hands? 
275	Proceed then as thou wilt; far different service does Vulcan 
	pay me, and even an injured husband’s wrath yet does my bidding. 
	If I were to bid him sweat in endless toil of furnaces 
	and pass unsleeping nights of labour, 
	he would rejoice and work at arms and at new accoutrements, yea, 
280	even for thee! Thou – but I essay to move rocks and a heart 
	of bronze by praying! – yet this sole request, this only do I make 
	in anxious fear: why didst thou have me join our beloved daughter 
	to a Tyrian husband in ill-omened wedlock?15 
	And boast the while that the Tyrians, of dragon stock 
285	and direct lineage of Jove, would win renown in arms 
	and show hearts keen and alive for action? Ah! would rather 
	our maiden had married beneath the Sithonian pole, 
	beyond Boreas and thy Thracians! Have I not suffered 
	wrong enough, that my daughter crawls her length 
290	upon the ground, and spews poison on the Illyrian grass? 
	But now her innocent race – “
	
				No longer could the Lord of war 
	endure her tears, but changed his spear to his left hand, 
	and in a moment leapt from the lofty car, and clasping her to his shield 
	hurt her in his embrace, and with loving words thus soothes her: 
295	“O thou who art my repose from battle, my sacred joy 
	and all the peace my heart doth know: thou who alone 
	of gods and men canst face my arms unpunished, 
	and check even in mid-slaughter my neighing steeds, 
	and tear this sword from my right hand! 
300	neither the marriage-bond of Sidonian Cadmus 
	have I forgotten, nor thy dear loyalty – rejoice not in false accusing! – 
	may I be rather plunged, god though I be, in my uncle’s 
	infernal lakes, and be hunted weaponless to the pale shades! 
	But now ‘tis the Fates’ behests and the high Father’s purpose 
305	I am bid perform – no fit choice were Vulcan’s arm 
	for such an errand! – and how can I dare face Jove 
	or go about to spurn his spoken decree, Jove, 
	at whose word – such power is his! – I saw of late earth and sky 
	and ocean tremble, and mighty gods, one and all, 
310	seek hiding? But, dear one, let not thy heart be sore afraid, 
	I pray thee – these things no Tyrian power can change; 
	and when soon beneath the Tyrian walls both races 
	are making war, I will be present and help our kindred arms. 
	Then with happier mien shalt thou behold me descending in fury 
315	upon the Argive fortunes far and wide over the bloody plain; 
	this is my right, nor do the fates forbid it.” So speaking, 
	he drove on through the open air his flaming steeds. No swifter falls 
	upon the earth the anger of Jove, whene’er he stand on snowy 
	Othrys or the cold peak of northern Ossa, and plucks a weapon 
320	from the cloud; fast flies the fiery bolt, 
	bearing the god’s stern command, and all heaven, affrighted 
	at its threefold trail, soon threatens with ominous signs the fruitful fields 
	or overwhelms unhappy sailors in the deep.16
	
	And now Tydeus on his homeward way passes with weary step 
325	through the Danaan lands and down the slopes of green Prosymna; 
	terrible is he to behold: his hair stands thick with dust, 
	from his shoulders filthy sweat drips into his deep wounds, 
	his sleepless eyes are raw and red, and gasping thirst has made his face 
	drawn and sunken; but his spirit, conscious of his deeds, breathes 
330	lofty pride. So does a warrior bull return to his 
	well-known pastures, with neck and shoulders 
	and torn dewlaps streaming with his foe’s blood and his own; 
	then too doth weary valour swell high, filled with pride, as he looks 
	down upon his breast; his enemy lies on the deserted sand, groaning, 
335	dishonoured, and forbids him to feel his cruel pains. 
	Such was he, nor failed he to inflame with hatred 
	the midway towns, all that lie between Asopos 
	and ancient Argos, renewing everywhere 
	and oft the tale, how he had gone on embassy from a Grecian people 
340	to claim the realm of exiled Polynices, but had endured violence, 
	night crime, arms, treachery, - such was the Echionian monarch’s 
	plighted faith; to his brother he denied his due rights. 
	The folk are swift to believe him; the Lord of Arms inclines them 
	to credit all, and, once welcomed, Rumour redoubles fear.
	
345	When he entered within the gates – and it happened that 
	the revered sire Adrastus was himself summoning his chiefs to council – 
	he appears all unexpectedly, and from the very portals of the palace 
	cries aloud: “To arms, to arms, ye men, and thou, most worthy ruler 
	of Lerna,17 if thou hast the blood of thy brave ancestors, 
350	to arms! Natural ties, justice, and reverence for Jove have perished 
	from the world! Better had I gone an envoy 
	to the wild Sauromatae, or the blood-stained warden 
	of the Bebrycian grove.18 I blame not thy commands, nor regret 
	my errand; glad am I that I went, yea glad, and that my hand has probed 
355	the guilt of Thebes. ‘Twas war, believe me, war! 
	like a strong tower or city stoutly fortified was I beset, 
	all defenceless and ignorant of my path, treacherously at night, 
	by a picked ambuscade armed to the teeth, ay, 
	but in vain! – they lie there in their own blood, 
360	before a city desolated! Now, now is the time to march against the foe, 
	while they are struck by panic and pale with fear, while they are 
	bringing in the corpses, now, sire, while this right arm is not yet forgotten.19 
	I myself even, wearied by the slaughter of those 
	fifty warriors, and bearing the wounds ye see still running with foul gore, 
365	beg to set forth upon the instant!”
	
					In alarm the sons of Inachus 
	start up from their seats, and before them all the Cadmean hero 
	runs forward with downcast countenance: “Ah! hated of the gods 
	and guilty that I am! do I see these wounds, myself unharmed? 
	Is this, then, the return thou hadst in store for me, brother? 
370	Am I the mark, then, of my kinsman’s weapons? Ah! shameful lust of life! 
	Unhappy I, to have spared my brother so great a crime! 
	Let now your walls at least abide in tranquil peace; 
	let met not, who am still your guest, bring on you 
	such tumult. I now – so hardly has fate dealt with me – 
375	how cruel it is, how sad to be torn from children, wife, 
	and country; let no one’s anxious home reproach me, 
	nor mothers fling at me sidelong glances! 
	Gladly will I go, and resolved to die, ay, though my loyal spouse 
	call me back, and her father’s voice20 once more plead with me. This life of mine 
380	I owe to Thebes, to thee, O brother, and to thee, great Tydeus!” 
	Thus with varied speech he tries their hearts and makes 
	dissembling prayer. His complaints stir their wrath, 
	and they wax hot in tearful indignation; spontaneously in every heart, 
	not only of the young, but of those whom age has made 
385	cold and slow to action, one purpose rises, to leave desolate their homes, 
	to bring in neighbouring bands, and then to march. But the 
	deep-counselling sire, well-versed in the government 
	of a mighty realm: “Leave that, I pray you, to the gods 
	and to my wisdom to set aright; thy brother shall not reign 
390	unpunished, nor are we eager to promise war. 
	But for the present receive this noble son of Oeneus, 
	who comes in triumph from such bloodshed, and let long-sought repose 
	calm his warlike spirit. For our part, grief shall not lack its share of reason.”
	
	Straightway his comrades and anxious wife bestir themselves 
395	in haste, all thronging round the way-worn and battle-weary 
	Tydeus. Joyfully in mid-hall he takes his seat, 
	and leans his back against a huge pillar, 
	while Epidaurian Idmon cleanses his wounds with water – 
	Idmon, now swift to ply the knife, now gentler with warm juice 
400	of herbs; - he himself, withdrawn into his mind’s deep brooding, 
	tells over the beginning of the deeds of wrath, the words each spoke in turn, 
	the place of ambush, and the time of secret battle, 
	what chieftains and how great were matched against him, and where most 
	he laboured, and he relates how Maeon was preserved 
405	to take the sad tidings. The faithful company, the princes and his 
	wife’s sire, are spellbound at his words, and wrath inflames the Tyrian exile.21
	
	Far on the sloping margin of the western sea the sinking Sun 
	had unyoked his flaming steeds, and laved their bright manes in the 
	springs of Ocean; to meet him hastens Nereus of the deep 
410	and all his company, and the swift-striding Hours, 
	who strip him of his reins and the woven glory of his 
	golden coronet, and relieve his horses’ dripping breasts 
	of the hot harness; some turn the well-deserving steeds 
	into the soft pasture, and lean the chariot backward, pole in air. 
415	Night then came on, and laid to rest the cares of men and the prowlings 
	of wild beasts, and wrapped the heavens in her dusky shroud, 
	coming to all with kindly influence, but not to thee, Adrastus, 
	nor to the Labdacian prince22; for Tydeus was held 
	by generous slumber, steeped in dreams of valiant prowess. 
420	And now amid the night-wandering shades the god of battle 
	from on high made to resound with the thunder of arms the Nemean fields 
	and Arcady from end to end, and the height of Taenarum 
	and Therapnae favoured of Apollo, and filled excited hearts 
	with passion for himself. Fury and Wrath make trim his crest, 
425	and Panic, his own squire, handles his horses’ reins. But Rumour, 
	awake to every sound and girt with empty tidings of tumult, 
	flies before the chariot, sped onward by the winged steeds’ 
	panting breath, and with loud whirring shakes out her fluttering plumes; 
	for the charioteer23 with blood-stained goad urges her to speak, 
430	be it truth or falsehood, while threatening from the lofty car the sire24 
	with Scythian lance assails the back and tresses of the goddess. 
	Even so their chieftain Neptune drives before him 
	the Winds set free from Aeolus’ cell, and speeds them willing 
	over the wide Aegean; in his train Storms and high-piled Tempests, 
435	a surly company, clamour about his reins, and Clouds 
	and dark Hurricane torn from earth’s rent bowels; wavering and shaken 
	to their foundations the Cyclades stem the blast; even thou, 
	Delos, fearest to be torn away from thy Myconos and Gyaros, 
	and entreatest the protection of thy mighty son.25
	
440	And now the seventh Dawn with shining face was bearing 
	bright day to earth and heaven, when the Persean hero26 first 
	came forth from the private chamber of his palace, 
	distracted by thought of war and the princes’ swelling ambition, 
	and perplexed in mind, whether to give sanction 
445	and stir anew the rival peoples, or to hold tight the reins 
	of anger and fasten in their sheaths the restless swords. 
	On the one side he is moved by the thought of tranquil peace, 
	on the other by the shame of dishonoured quiet and the hard task of turning 
	a people from war’s new glamour; in his doubt this late resolve 
450	at last finds favour, to try the mind of prophets and the true presaging 
	of the sacred rites. To thy wisdom, Amphiaraus, is given the charge 
	to read the future, and with thee Melampus, son of Amythaon – 
	an old man now, but fresh in vigour of mind and Phoebus’ inspiration – 
	bears company; ‘tis doubtful which Apollo more favours, 
455	or whose mouth he has sated with fuller draughts of Cirrha’s waters. 
	At first they try the gods with entrails and blood of cattle: 
	even then the spotted hearts of sheep and the dread veins 
	threatening disaster portend refusal to the timorous seers. 
	Yet they resolve to go and seek omens in the open sky.
	
460	A mount there was, with bold ridge rising far aloft – 
	the dwellers in Lerna call it Aphesas – 
	sacred of yore to Argive folk: for thence they say 
	swift Perseus27 profaned the clouds with hovering flight, 
	when from the cliff his mother terror-stricken beheld 
465	the boy’s high-soaring paces, and well nigh sought to follow. 
	Hither the prophets twain, their sacred locks adorned with leaves 
	of the grey olive and their temples decked with snow-white fillets, 
	side by side ascend, when the sun rising bright has melted 
	the cold hoarfrost on the humid fields. 
470	And first Oeclides28 seeks with prayer the favour of the wonted deity: 
	“Almighty Jupiter, – for thou, as we are taught, impartest counsel 
	to swift wings, and dost fill the birds with futurity, 
	and bring to light the omens and causes that lurk 
	in mid-heaven, – not Cirrha29 can more surely vouchsafe 
475	the inspiration of her grotto, nor those Chaonian leaves that are famed 
	to rustle at thy bidding in Molossian groves: through arid Hammon envy, 
	and the Lycian oracle contend in rivalry, and the beast of Nile, 
	and Branchus, whose honour is equal to his sire’s, 
	and Pan, whom the rustic dweller in wave-beat Pisa hears nightly 
480	beneath the Lycaonian shades, more richly blest in mind is he, 
	for whom thou, O Dictaean,30 dost guide the favouring flights 
	that show thy will.
	
			“Mysterious is the cause, yet of old has this honour 
	been paid to the birds, whether the Founder of the heavenly abode thus ordained, 
	when he wrought the vast expanse of Chaos into fresh seeds of things; 
485	or because the birds went forth upon the breezes with bodies transformed 
	and changed from shapes that once were ours; or because they learn truth 
	from the purer heaven, where error comes not, and alight but rarely 
	on the earth: ‘tis known to thee, great sire of earth and of the gods. 
	Grant that we may have foreknowledge from the sky of the beginnings 
490	of the Argive struggle and the contest that is to come. 
	If it is appointed and the stern Fates are set in this resolve, 
	that the Lernaean spear shall shatter the Echionian gates, 
	show signs thereof and thunder leftward; then let every bird 
	in heaven join in propitious melody of mystic language. 
495	If thou dost forbid, then weave delays, and on the right shroud 
	with winged creatures the abyss of the day.” So he spoke, and settled 
	his limbs upon a high rock; then to his prayer he adds more deities and deities 
	unknown, and holds converse with the dark mysteries of the illimitable heaven.
	
	When they had duly parted out the heavens 
500	and long scanned the air with keen attention 
	and quick-following vision, at last the Amythaonian seer: 
	“Seest thou not, Amphiaraus, how beneath the breathing sky’s 
	exalted bounds no winged creature travels on a course serene, 
	nor hangs aloft, encircling the pole in liquid flight, 
505	nor as it speeds along utters a cry of peaceful import? 
	No dark companion of the tripod,31 nor fiery bearer of the 
	thunderbolt is here, and fair-haired Minerva’s hooting bird 
	with the hooked beak comes not with better augury; but hawks 
	and vultures exult on high over their airy plunder. 
510	Monstrous creatures are flying, and direful birds clamour in the clouds, 
	nocturnal screech-owls cry, and the horned owl with its dismal 
	funeral chant. What celestial portents are we to follow first? 
	must we take these as lords of the sky, O Thymbraean?32 Even now in frenzy 
	do they tear each other’s faces with crooked talons, and lash the breezes 
515	with pinions that seem to smite the bosom, and assail their feathery breasts.” 
	
	The other in reply: “Oft indeed, father, have I read omens of various sort 
	from Phoebus. Yea, when in my vigorous youth the pinewood 
	barque of Thessaly33 bore me in company of princes half-divine, 
	even then did the chieftains listen spellbound to my chant 
520	of what should befall us on land and sea, nor Mopsus’ self was 
	hearkened to more often by Jason in perplexity than my presagings of the future. 
	But never ere this day felt I such terror, or observed prodigies 
	so dire in heaven; yet happenings more awful are in store. 
	Look hither then: in this clear region of profound 
525	aether numberless swans have marshalled their ranks, 
	whether Boreas has driven them from the Strymonian North, 
	or the benignant fostering air of placid Nile recalls them. 
	They have stopped their flight: these deem thou in fancy to be Thebes, 
	for they hold themselves motionless in a circle and are silent and at peace, 
530	as though enclosed by walls and rampart. But lo! a more valiant 
	cohort advances through the empty air; a tawny line of seven birds 
	that bear the weapons of Jupiter supreme34 I see, an exultant band; 
	suppose that in these thou hast the Inachian princes. They have flung 
	themselves on the circle of the snow-white flock, and open wide their hooked 
535	beaks for fresh slaughter, and with talons unsheathed press on to the attack. 
	Seest thou the breezes dripping unwonted blood, 
	and the air raining feathers? What sudden fierce anger 
	of unpropitious Jove is driving the victors to destruction? 
	This one35 soaring to the height is consumed by the sun’s quick fire, 
540	and lays down his proud spirit, that other, bold in pursuit 
	of mightier birds, you let sink, ye still frail pinions.36 
	This one fails grappling with his foe, that one is swept 
	backward by the rout and leaves his company to their fate. 
	This one a rain-cloud overwhelms, another in death devours 
545	his winged foe yet living; blood bespatters the hollow clouds.” 
	“What mean those secret tears37?” “Him yonder falling, reverend Melampus, 
	him I know full well!”
	
			Affrighted thus by the future’s dire import, 
	and having suffered all under a sure image of things to come, the seers 
	are held by terror; it repents them that they have broken in upon 
550	the councils of the flying birds, and forced their will upon a forbidding heaven; 
	though heard, they hate the gods that heard them. Whence first arose 
	among unhappy mortals throughout the world that sickly craving 
	for the future? Sent by heaven, wouldst thou call it? Or is it we ourselves, 
	a race insatiable, never content to abide on knowledge gained, 
555	that search out the day of our birth38 and the scene of our life’s ending, 
	what the kindly Father of the gods is thinking, or iron-hearted Clotho? 
	Hence comes it that entrails occupy us, and the airy speech 
	of birds, and the moon’s numbered seeds,39 and Thessalia’s 
	horrid rites. But that earlier golden age of our forefathers, 
560	and the races born of rock or oak40 were not thus minded; 
	their only passion was to gain the mastery of the woods and the soil 
	by might of hand; it was forbidden to man to know what to-morrow’s day 
	would bring. We, a depraved and pitiable crowd, 
	probe deep the counsels of the gods; hence come wrath and anxious fear, 
565	hence crime and treachery, and importunity in prayer.
	
	Therefore the priest tears from his brow the fillets and wreaths 
	condemned of heaven, and all unhonoured, his chaplet cast away, 
	returns from the hated mount; already war is at hand, and the sound 
	of trumpets, and in his heart he hears the clamour of absent Thebes. 
570	Not sight of populace, nor trusted converse with the monarch, 
	nor council of chieftains can he bear, but hidden in 
	his dark chamber refuses to make known the doings of the gods; 
	thee, Melampus, shame and thy own cares keep in thy country region. 
	For twelve days he speaks not, and holds people and leaders 
575	in long-drawn suspense. And now tumultuous grow the Thunderer’s 
	high behests, and lay waste of men both fields and ancient 
	towns; on every side the war-god sweeps countless troops 
	before him; gladly do they leave their homes and beloved 
	wives and babes that wail upon the threshold; with such power 
580	hath the god assailed their frenzied hearts. Eager are they 
	to tear away the weapons from their fathers’ doorposts and the chariots made fast 
	in the inmost shrines of the gods; then they refashion for cruel wounds 
	the spears that rotting rust has worn, and the swords that stick in their scabbards 
	from neglect, and on the grindstone force them to be young once more. 
585	Some try shapely helms and the brazen mail 
	of mighty corselets, and fit to their breasts tunics that creak 
	with the mouldering iron, others bend Gortynian bows; 
	in greedy furnaces scythes, ploughs and harrows 
	and curved mattocks glow fiercely red. 
590	Nor are they ashamed to cut strong spear-shafts from sacred trees, 
	or to make a covering for their shields from the worn-out ox. 
	They rush to Argos, and at the doors of the despondent king 
	clamour with heart and voice for war, for war! And the shout goes up 
	like the roar of the Tyrrhenian surge, or when Enceladus41 
595	tries to shift his side: above, the fiery mountain thunders 
	from its caves, its peak o’erflows and Pelorus’ flood is narrowed, 
	and the sundered land hopes to return once more.
	
	Then Capaneus, impelled by war’s overmastering passion, 
	with swelling heart that had long thought scorn of lingering 
600	peace, - nobility of ancient blood had he in full measure, 
	but, surpassing the prowess of his sires, 
	he had long despised the gods; impatient too was he 
	of justice, and lavish of his life, did wrath but urge him – 
	even as a dweller in Pholoe’s dark forests, 
605	or one who might stand equal among Aetnaean brethren,42 
	clamours before they portals, Amphiaraus, amid a crowd of chieftains 
	and yelling folk: “What shameful cowardice is this, 
	O sons of Inachus, and ye Achaeans of kindred blood? 
	Before on citizen’s lowly door – for shame! – do we hang irresolute, 
610	so vast a host, iron-girt and of ready valour? 
	Not if beneath Cirrha’s caverned height43 he, whoe’er 
	he is – Apollo cowards and rumour account him – 
	were to bellow from the deep seclusion of his crazy grotto, 
	could I wait for the pale virgin to announce the solemn 
615	riddlings! Valour and the good sword in my hand are the gods 
	I worship! And now let this priest with his timid trickery 
	come out, on this very day I shall make trial, what wondrous power 
	there is in birds.”
	
			The Achaean mob raise joyful outcry, and encourage 
	his madness. At last Oeclides, driven to rush forth among them: 
620	“’Tis not the unrestrained clamour of a blasphemous stripling 
	nor the fear of his taunts that draws me from my darkness, 
	mad though his threatenings be; far different are the tumultuous cares 
	that vex me, far other is the destiny that brings my final doom, 
	nor may mortal arms have power upon me. 
625	But now my love for you and Phoebus’ strong inspiration compel me 
	to speak forth my oracle; sadly to you will I reveal what is to come, 
	yea all that lies beyond, - to you, I say, for to thee, thou madman, 
	nought may be foreshown, concerning thee only is our lord Apollo silent. 
	Whither, unhappy ones, whither are ye rushing to war, though fate and heaven 
630	would bar the way? What Furies’ lash drives you blindly on? 
	Are ye so weary of life? Is Argos grown so hateful? 
	Hath home no sweetness? Heed ye not the omens? 
	Why did ye force me to climb with trembling step to 
	the secret heights of Perseus’ mount, and break into the council 
635	of the heavenly ones? I could have remained in ignorance with you, 
	of what hap awaits our arms, when cometh the black day of doom, what heralds 
	the common fate – and mine! I call to witness the mysteries of the universe I questioned, 
	and the speech of birds, and thee, Thymbraean, never before 
	so pitiless to my supplication, what presagings of the future 
640	I endured: I saw a mighty ruin foreshown, 
	I saw gods and men dismayed and Megaera exultant 
	and Lachesis with crumbling thread laying the ages waste. 
	Cast away your arms! behold! heaven, yea, heaven withstands 
	your frenzy! Miserable men, what glory is there in drenching Aonia 
645	and the fallows of dire Cadmus with the blood of vanquished foes? 
	But why do I warn in vain? why do I repel a fate foredoomed? 
	I go to meet it –” Here ceased the prophet and groaned.
	
	Capaneus yet once more: “To thyself alone utter thy 
	raving auguries, that thou mayst live empty and inglorious years, 
650	nor ever the Tyrrhenian clangour44 resound about thy temples. 
	But why dost thou delay the nobler vows of heroes? 
	Is it forsooth that thou in slothful ease mayst lord it over thy silly birds 
	and thy son and home and women’s chambers, that we are to shroud 
	in silence the striken breast of peerless Tydeus and the armed breach 
655	of covenant? Dost thou forbid the Greeks to make 
	fierce war? then go thyself an envoy to our Sidonian foe: 
	these chaplets will assure thee peace. Can thy words really coax 
	from the void of heaven the causes and hidden names 
	of things? Pitiable in sooth are the gods, if they take heed of enchantments 
660	and prayers of men! Why doest thou affright these sluggish minds? 
	Fear first created gods in the world!45 Rave therefore now 
	thy fill in safety; but when the first trumpets bray, and we are 
	drinking from our helms the hostile waters of Dirce and Ismenos, 
	come not then, I warn thee, in my path, when I am yearning 
665	for the bugle and the fray, nor by veins or view of winged fowl put off 
	the day of battle; far away then will be 
	thy soft fillet and he crazy alarms of Phoebus: 
	then shall I be augur, and with me all who are ready to be 
	mad in fight.”
	
		Again out thunders a vast approving shout, 
670	and rolls uproarious to the stars. 
	Even as a swift torrent, drawing strength from the winds of spring 
	and from the melting of the frozen cold upon the mountains, 
	when o’er vainly hindering obstacles it bursts its way out upon the plain, 
	then homesteads, crops, cattle, and men roar mingled 
675	in the whirling flood, until its fury is checked and baffled by 
	a rising hill, and it finds itself embanked by mighty mounds: 
	even so interposing night set an end to the chieftains’ quarrel.
	
	But Argia, no longer able to bear with calm mind her 
	lord’s distress, and pitying the grief wherein she shared, 
680	even as she was, her face long marred by tearing of her hair 
	and marks of weeping, went to the high palace of 
	her reverend father in the last watch of night ere dawn, 
	when Arctos’ wagon sole-surviving envies the ocean-fleeing 
	stars, and bore in her bosom to his loving grandsire the babe 
685	Thersander. And when she had entered the door 
	and was clasped in her mighty parent’s arms: 
	“Why I seek thy threshold at night, tearful and suppliant, 
	without my sorrowful spouse, thou knowest, father, even were I slow 
	to tell the cause. But I swear by the sacred laws of wedlock 
690	and by thee, O sire, ‘tis not he that bids me, but my wakeful anguish. 
	For ever since Hymen at the first and unpropitious Juno raised 
	the ill-omened torch, my sleep has been disturbed by my consort’s 
	tears and moans. Not if I were a tigress bristling fierce, 
	not if my heart were rougher than rocks on the sea-strand, 
695	could I bear it; thou only canst help me, thou hast the sovereign 
	power to heal. Grant war, O father; look on the low estate 
	of thy fallen son-in-law, look, father, here on the exile’s babe; 
	what shame for his birth will he one day feel! Ah! where is that first bond 
	of friendship, and the hands joined beneath heaven’s blessing? 
700	This surely is he whom the fates assigned, of whom Apollo spake; 
	no hidden fires of Venus have I in secret cherished, 
	no guilty wedlock; thy reverend commands, thy counsel have I 
	ever esteemed. Now with what cruelty should I despise 
	his doleful plaint? Thou knowest not, good father, thou knowest not, 
705	what deep affection a husband’s misery implants in a loyal bride. 
	And now in sadness I crave this hard and joyless privilege 
	of fear and grief; but when the sorrowful day interrupts 
	our kisses, when the clarions blare their hoarse commands 
	to the departing host, and your faces glitter in their stern casques of gold, 
710	ah! then, dear father, mayhap I shall crave a different boon.”
	
	Her sire, with kisses on her tear-bedewed face: 
	“Never, my daughter, could I blame these plaints of thine; 
	have no fears, praiseworthy is thy request, deserving no refusal. 
	But much the gods give me to ponder – nor cease thou to hope 
715	for what thou urgest – much my own fears and this realm’s 
	uncertain governance. In due measure shall thy prayers 
	be answered, and thou shalt not complain thy tears were fruitless. 
	Console thy husband and hold not just tarrying cruel 
	waste of time; ‘tis the greatness of the enterprise that brings delay. 
720	So gain we advantage for the war.” As thus he spoke, the new-born 
	light admonished him, and his grave cares bade him arise.