ETEOCLES. The gods will reck the curse, but not the prayers Of Laius' race. Our doom is their delight. 'Tis now too late to fawn the Fate away.
ANTISTROPHE V. CHORUS. Nay! but yet thou mayst: the god, That long hath raged, and burneth now, With a gentler sway soft-wafted, Soon may fan thy fevered brow.
ETEOCLES. The Curse must sway, my father's burning curse. The visions of the night were true, that showed me His heritage twin-portioned by the sword.
CHORUS. We are but women: yet we pray thee hear us.
ETEOCLES. Speak things that may be, and I'll hear. Be brief.
CHORUS. Fight not before the seventh gate, we pray thee.
ETEOCLES. My whetted will thy words may never blunt.
CHORUS. Why rush on danger? Victory's sure without thee.
ETEOCLES. So speak to slaves; a soldier may not hear thee.
CHORUS. But brother's blood--pluck not the bloody blossom.
ETEOCLES. If gods are just, he shall not 'scape from harm. [_Exit._
CHORAL HYMN. STROPHE I. I fear the house-destroying power; I fear The goddess most ungodlike,[n39] The all-truth-speaking seer Of evil things, whose sleepless wrath doth nurse Fulfilment of the frenzied father's curse. The time doth darkly lower; This strife of brother's blood with brother's blood Spurs the dread hour.
ANTISTROPHE I. O son of Scythia, must we ask thine aid? Chalybian stranger thine,[n40] Here with the keen unsparing blade To part our fair possessions? thou dost deal A bitter lot, O savage-minded steel! Much loss is all the gain, When mighty lords with their stark corpses measure Their whole domain.
STROPHE II. When the slain shall slay the slayer, And kindred blood with blood Shall mingle, when the thirsty Theban soil Drinks eager the black-clotting sanguine flood, { 283} Who then shall purge the murderous stain, Who wash it clean again? When ancient guilt and new shall burst, In one dire flood of woe?
ANTISTROPHE II. With urgent pace the Fury treadeth, To generations three Avenging Laius' sin on Laius' race; What time he sinned against the gods' decree, When Phœbus from Earth's central shrine[f17] Thrice sent the word divine-- LIVE CHILDLESS, LAIUS, FOR THY SEED SHALL WORK THY COUNTRY'S WOE.
STROPHE III. But he to foolish words gave ear, And ruin to himself begot, The parricidal Oedipus, who joined A frenzied bond in most unholy kind, Sowing where he was sown; whence sprung a bud Of bitterness and blood.