Page:The Antigone of Sophocles (1911).djvu/71

SOPHOCLES.

Woe! Woe!

I am thrilled with fright,

O, the horrible sight!

Is there none

To lay me low—

Alas! Undone!

To give a blow

Full in the breast

With a two-edged glaive?

Ill-starred, no rest,

None, but the grave

For the miserable wretch to share,

Now plunged in the depths of despair!

Ay, at thy door the death of both was laid

By her thou seest here in death arrayed.

And what the manner of her violent taking off?

Her own hand struck the blow, full in the heart,

When for her son she felt of grief the smart.

Woe is me!

Oh! the fault is mine!

No other of mortal kind

Can bear the guilt

For the cruel blow!

Thy blood I spilt,

Laid thee low!

I own it again!

Now, servants, convey—

O the pain!—

The miserable wretch away!

Take me away with all speed,

I am nothing, nothing indeed!