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O mighty Zeus, and all ye guardian powers

Who save, in very sooth, these towers

Of Cadmos, whether now

Shall I rejoice, and in triumphant strain,

Our town's unharming saviour, Fortune, hail,

Or those war-chiefs bewail,

Wretched, ill-fated, childless twain,

Who rightly, as their names avow—

Names full of glory and of strife.

Are through intent unhallowed reft of life.

Dark curse, with full completion crowned,

Of Œdipus, inherent in the race!

Hovers an evil chill my heart around.

Like Bacchanal, when on mine ear

The tidings fell that the blood-dripping slain

Through evil Fate had died—their tomb to grace,

A dirge I wove, sad strain.—

Ill-omened is this concert of the spear.

Their father's baleful curse hath wrought,

Untired, its battle to the bitter end;

Now Laios' wilful counsels have their meed.