A noble gest, which they who come hereafter
Will much delight to tell or harken to:—
To wreck thy father's kingdom and thy Gods,
Hurling upon them an invading host!
Is it in Justice' name thou would'st drain dry
The fount that flowed for thee with mother's milk?
And if thou master with thy jealous sword
Thy fatherland, how will it profit thee?
I shall make fat this earth! Yea, prophesy
Here in my grave, in hostile ground interred.
On then to battle! And for me—to death
Not all unhonoured'! So the prophet spake.
His shield of bronze at rest. It bore no blazon:
For his affections hang not on the show
Of seeming to be best, but being so!
And he reaps only where the soil hath depth
The golden wisdom of well-pondered thought!
My counsel is that thou despatch against him
Antagonists: as wise as they are brave;
He's to be feared who reverences the Gods!
Eteocles.
This moves me much! 'Tis the unhappy chance
That couples oft the just with many wicked!
In the affairs of men no ill compares
With bad associates! There springeth thence
A crop no man would harvest. The field of Sin
Brings forth the fruits of Death. For, peradventure,
One righteous man who reverences the Gods
Shall shipmate be with a ruffianly crew,
And, furthering some scheme of villainy,
Perish with the whole tribe by God accursed!
