Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/380

310 But for a task of bitter pain,

Their brothers' requiem to intone,

Antigone draws with Ismene near;

From lovely, deep-zoned breasts, I deem

Will they, in no ambiguous strain,

With fitting wail their woes deplore,

And ere their utterance reach our ear,

Us, too, it doth beseem

Erinys' harsh-toned hymn to sing,

And hostile pæan chant to Hades' King.

Oh most unhappy in your brothers, ye

Of all who round their garments cast the zone;

I weep, I moan,—

Here is no guile,—these wailings that I pour

Come from my very heart, unfeignedly.

Woe! Woe!

Ye frantic ones, your friends who disobeyed,

By sorrow unsubdued, unhappy twain,

Spear-armed your father's house who captive made.

Wretched in sooth, wretched their doom, both slain,

Their house o'erwhelming in their overthrow.

Woe! Woe!

O ye your household walls in dust who laid,