In a low laughing whisper. This, and sound
Of strongly moving oars; all else was silence.
But in the silence lay a queen and smiled.
She seemed to come more swiftly than the barge,
And there were lights of jewels on her robe,
And sheen of gold along its heavy edge,
And a great ruby burned amidst her hair;
But none of this saw Creon, for he gazed
Until his painful grip upon the bow
Roused his whole nature with a sudden thought.
He felt the bow fit safe against his palm,
And rose—and drew. Loud twanged the angry string,
And the shaft hissed and struck the wood before
Her very feet.
What noise fed echo then
He heeded not, but only saw her shrink
One instant back, then bending draw the shaft.
But when a boat thick filled with shouting men
Moved from the barge and hastened towards the bank,
He tore a great rock from the sand, and poised.
"What errand?" cried he, in a voice that made
A mellow thunder through the evening.
"Death!" they made answer, yet they held aback.
Giant their stature was, and he could see
Their bared swords waver through the dark, but when
Up-looking they beheld how Creon stood,
The great rock straining in his hands, they stayed
Their oars, and even their voices fell low down.
[ 6 ]
