O curse of Œdipus! O malison
Dark—unrelenting—damning all his line!
Over this heart of mine
Comes creeping on,
Cold Misery, your chilly breath,
Because, when like a Thyiad in her madness
I seemed to hear
The blood that drips
Where men lie slain,
Then with the voice of mourning- and with rueful lips
I sang the song of death!
O ill refrain,
Glee chanted without mirth or gladness,
That keeps a sorry burden to the spear.
Rather the word, the never wearying
Once uttered malediction of their sire,
Wrought to this issue dire.
Nay, Laius King
Hath here his wish; the course he chose
Begun in blindness and in disobeying
Toucheth its bourne.
Ambitions high
And cares of State
Blunt not the edge of heavenly prophecy.
O, wailed for many woes,
Past belief in hate
And past belief in fratricidal slaying,
Is this a tale or is it sooth we mourn?
[The bodies of Eteocles and Polyneices are borne on to the Stage.]
