Page:The Antigone of Sophocles (1911).djvu/67

SOPHOCLES. Which seemed to come from that unhallowed room,

Where funeral nuptial rites had not been paid.

Returning quick, he told our master, Creon,

Who, coming nearer, low unmeaning cries

Perceived, which soon became distinct and clear,

The bitter wailings of a human voice.

And groaning with a cry of anguish, he

Exclaimed: “O my prophetic heart! Alas!

Is this to prove of all the journeys made

By me the most disastrous? Listen! Still!

My son’s voice greets me. Quick! My servants! On

With speed, pass through the entrance of the tomb—

The stones that blocked the passage up are torn

Away. Peer in and learn if Hæmon’s voice

Is that which greets my ear, or if my ear

Be cheated by the gods.” At the behest

Of our despairing lord we went and peered;

And in the farthest corner of the tomb

We saw her hanging by the neck in noose

Of fine-wrought linen, while. around her waist

In fond embrace had Hæmon thrown his arms,—

Still clinging there, bewailing his lost love,

His father’s deeds, his bride that was to be,

Now numbered with the dead. The father, though,

When he his son descried, rushed in with loud

And bitter cry, and wailing, called to him:

“Unhappy youth! What hast thou done? What prompts

This deed? What stroke deprived thee of thy reason?

Come out, my child! I beg thee—I implore!”

But glaring at his father savagely,

The boy made no reply, spat in his face,

And drawing suddenly his hilted sword,

An effort made to strike, but missed his aim;

His father, rushing forth, escaped. Insane

With anger at himself the wretched boy