FullReads

OED.
Well, may he come to bless his city and me!
When hath not goodness blessed the giver of good?

ANT.
O Heavens! What shall I say, what think, my father?

OED.
Daughter Antigone, what is it?

ANT.
I see
A woman coming toward us, mounted well
On a fair Sicilian palfrey, and her face
With brow-defending hood of Thessaly
Is shadowed from the sun. What must I think?
Is it she or no? Can the eye so far deceive?
It is. ‘Tis not. Unhappy that I am,
I know not.–Yes, ’tis she. For drawing near
She greets me with bright glances, and declares
Beyond a doubt, Ismene’s self is here.

OED.
What say’st thou, daughter?

ANT.
That I see thy child,
My sister. Soon her voice will make thee sure.

[Enter ISMENE.]

ISMENE.
Father and sister!–names for ever dear!
Hard hath it been to find you, yea, and hard
I feel it now to look on you for grief.

OED.
Child, art thou here?

ISM.
Father! O sight of pain!

OED.
Offspring and sister!

ISM.
Woe for thy dark fate!

OED.
Hast thou come, daughter?

ISM.
On a troublous way.

OED.
Touch me, my child!

ISM.
I give a hand to both.

OED.
To her and me?

ISM.
Three linked in one sad knot.

OED.
Child, wherefore art thou come?

ISM.
In care for thee.

OED.
Because you missed me?

ISM.
Ay, and to bring thee tidings,
With the only slave whom I could trust.

OED.
And they,
Thy brethren, what of them? Were they not there
To take this journey for their father’s good?

ISM.
Ask not of them. Dire deeds are theirs to day.

OED.
How in all points their life obeys the law
Of Egypt, where the men keep house and weave
Sitting within doors, while the wives abroad
Provide with ceaseless toil the means of life.
So in your case, my daughters, they who should
Have ta’en this burden on them, bide at home
Like maidens, while ye take their place, and lighten
My miseries by your toil. Antigone,
E’er since her childhood ended, and her frame
Was firmly knit, with ceaseless ministry
Still tends upon the old man’s wandering,
Oft in the forest ranging up and down
Fasting and barefoot through the burning heat
Or pelting rain, nor thinks, unhappy maid,
Of home or comfort, so her father’s need
Be satisfied. And thou, that camest before,
Eluding the Cadmeans, and didst tell me
What words Apollo had pronounced on me.
And when they banished me, stood’st firm to shield me,
What news, Ismene, bring’st thou to thy sire
To day? What mission sped thee forth? I know
Thou com’st not idly, but with fears for me.

ISM.
Father, I will not say what I endured
In searching out the place that sheltered thee.
To tell it o’er would but renew the pain.
But of the danger now encompassing
Thine ill starred sons,–of that I came to speak.
At first they strove with Creon and declared
The throne should be left vacant and the town
Freed from pollution,–paying deep regard
In their debate to the dark heritage
Of ruin that o’ershadowed all thy race.
Far different is the strife which holds them now,
Since some great Power, joined to their sinful mind,
Incites them both to seize on sovereign sway.
Eteocles, in pride of younger years,
Robbed elder Polynices of his right,
Dethroned and banished him. To Argos then
Goes exiled Polynices, and obtains
Through intermarriage a strong favouring league,
Whose word is, ‘Either Argos vanquishes
The seed of Cadmus or exalts their fame’
This, father, is no tissue of empty talk,
But dreadful truth, nor can I tell where Heaven
Is to reveal his mercy to thy woe.