Will not the Fury in her sable pall
Pass outward from these halls, what time the gods
Welcome a votive offering from our hands?
Pass outward from these halls, what time the gods
Welcome a votive offering from our hands?
Aeschylus
To the wall!
CHORUS
O thou true heart, O child of Oedipus,
Be not, in wrath, too like the man whose name
Murmurs an evil omen! 'Tis enough
That Cadmus' clan should strive with Argos' host,
For blood there is that can atone that stain!
But--brother upon brother dealing death--
Not time itself can expiate the sin!
ETEOCLES
If man find hurt, yet clasp his honour still,
'Tis well; the dead have honour, nought beside.
Hurt, with dishonour, wins no word of praise!
CHORUS
Ah, what is thy desire?
Let not the lust and ravin of the sword
Bear thee adown the tide accursed, abhorred!
Fling off thy passion's rage, thy spirit's prompting dire!
ETEOCLES
Nay--since the god is urgent for our doom,
Let Laius' house, by Phoebus loathed and scorned,
Follow the gale of destiny, and win
Its great inheritance, the gulf of hell!
CHORUS
Ruthless thy craving is--
Craving for kindred and forbidden blood
To be outpoured--a sacrifice imbrued
With sin, a bitter fruit of murderous enmities!
ETEOCLES
Yea, my own father's fateful Curse proclaims--
A ghastly presence, and her eyes are dry--
_Strike! honour is the prize, not life prolonged_!
CHORUS
Ah, be not urged of her! for none shall dare
To call thee _coward_, in thy throned estate!
Will not the Fury in her sable pall
Pass outward from these halls, what time the gods
Welcome a votive offering from our hands?
ETEOCLES
The gods! long since they hold us in contempt,
Scornful of gifts thus offered by the lost!
Why should we fawn and flinch away from doom?
CHORUS
Now, when it stands beside thee! for its power
May, with a changing gust of milder mood,
Temper the blast that bloweth wild and rude
And frenzied, in this hour!
ETEOCLES
Ay, kindled by the curse of Oedipus--
All too prophetic, out of dreamland came
The vision, meting out our sire's estate!
CHORUS
Heed women's voices, though thou love them not!
ETEOCLES
Say aught that may avail, but stint thy words.
CHORUS
Go not thou forth to guard the seventh gate!
ETEOCLES
Words shall not blunt the edge of my resolve.
CHORUS
Yet the god loves to let the weak prevail.
ETEOCLES
That to a swordsman, is no welcome word!
CHORUS
Shall thine own brother's blood be victory's palm?
ETEOCLES
Ill which the gods have sent thou canst not shun!
[_Exit_ ETEOCLES.
CHORUS
O thou true heart, O child of Oedipus,
Be not, in wrath, too like the man whose name
Murmurs an evil omen! 'Tis enough
That Cadmus' clan should strive with Argos' host,
For blood there is that can atone that stain!
But--brother upon brother dealing death--
Not time itself can expiate the sin!
ETEOCLES
If man find hurt, yet clasp his honour still,
'Tis well; the dead have honour, nought beside.
Hurt, with dishonour, wins no word of praise!
CHORUS
Ah, what is thy desire?
Let not the lust and ravin of the sword
Bear thee adown the tide accursed, abhorred!
Fling off thy passion's rage, thy spirit's prompting dire!
ETEOCLES
Nay--since the god is urgent for our doom,
Let Laius' house, by Phoebus loathed and scorned,
Follow the gale of destiny, and win
Its great inheritance, the gulf of hell!
CHORUS
Ruthless thy craving is--
Craving for kindred and forbidden blood
To be outpoured--a sacrifice imbrued
With sin, a bitter fruit of murderous enmities!
ETEOCLES
Yea, my own father's fateful Curse proclaims--
A ghastly presence, and her eyes are dry--
_Strike! honour is the prize, not life prolonged_!
CHORUS
Ah, be not urged of her! for none shall dare
To call thee _coward_, in thy throned estate!
Will not the Fury in her sable pall
Pass outward from these halls, what time the gods
Welcome a votive offering from our hands?
ETEOCLES
The gods! long since they hold us in contempt,
Scornful of gifts thus offered by the lost!
Why should we fawn and flinch away from doom?
CHORUS
Now, when it stands beside thee! for its power
May, with a changing gust of milder mood,
Temper the blast that bloweth wild and rude
And frenzied, in this hour!
ETEOCLES
Ay, kindled by the curse of Oedipus--
All too prophetic, out of dreamland came
The vision, meting out our sire's estate!
CHORUS
Heed women's voices, though thou love them not!
ETEOCLES
Say aught that may avail, but stint thy words.
CHORUS
Go not thou forth to guard the seventh gate!
ETEOCLES
Words shall not blunt the edge of my resolve.
CHORUS
Yet the god loves to let the weak prevail.
ETEOCLES
That to a swordsman, is no welcome word!
CHORUS
Shall thine own brother's blood be victory's palm?
ETEOCLES
Ill which the gods have sent thou canst not shun!
[_Exit_ ETEOCLES.
