THE SEVEN AGAINST THEBES
155
Chorus.
O Fate! How heavy is thy hand!
How grievous are the gifts that thou dost bring!
Great shade of Œdipus who banned
His own offspring,—
Offended ghost—Erinys black as hell,
Surely thou art of might unconquerable!
Antigone and Ismene.
Misery! ah, misery!
Antigone.
Sorrow's gifts are ill to see!
Ismene.
These back from exile thou didst bring to me!
Antigone.
He fought and slew; yet home is far away!
Ismene.
He won the cause, but perished in the fray!
Antigone.
Ill he sped—for he is fled!
Ismene.
And this poor soul is numbered with the dead!
Antigone.
Bad brotherhood was this!
Ismene.
Yea, and they had but little bliss!
Antigone.
One sorrow! One death-song!
Ismene.
Bewept with tears that weep a threefold wrong!
