Parodos
[Episode]
He is standing by Adrastus,
Old servant
near the tomb of Niobe’s seven unwed daughters. Do you see him?
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Antigone
I see him, yes! but not clearly; I see the outline of his form, the likeness of his breast. Would I could speed through the sky, swift as a cloud before the wind,
towards my own dear brother, and throw my arms about my darling’s neck, so long, poor boy! an exile. How distinguished he is with his golden weapons, old man, flashing like the morning rays!
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Old servant
He will come to this house, under truce, to fill your heart with joy.
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Antigone
Who is that, old man, on his chariot, driving white horses?
Old servant
That, lady, is the prophet Amphiaraus; with him are the victims, earth’s bloodthirsty streams.
Antigone
Daughter of the sun with dazzling zone, O moon, you circle of golden light, how quietly, with what restraint he drives, goading first one horse, then the other! But where is the one who utters those dreadful insults against this city?
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Old servant
Capaneus? There he is, calculating how he may scale the towers, taking the measure of our walls up and down.
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Antigone
O Nemesis, and roaring thunder-peals of Zeus and blazing lightning-bolts, oh! put to sleep his presumptuous boasting!
This is the man who says he will give the Theban girls as captives of his spear to the women of Mycenae, to Lerna’s trident, and the waters of Amymone, dear to Poseidon, when he has them enslaved.
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Never, never, Lady Artemis, golden-haired child of Zeus, may I endure that slavery.
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Old servant
My child, go inside, and stay beneath the shelter of your maiden chamber, now that you have had
your wish and seen all that you wanted; for a crowd of women is coming toward the royal palace, as confusion enters the city. Now women by nature love scandal; and if they get some slight handle for their gossip
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they exaggerate it, for women seem to have pleasure in saying nothing wholesome about each other.
Exeunt Antigone and the old servant.
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[Choral 1]
From the Tyrian swell of the sea I came, a choice offering for Loxias from the island of Phoenicia,
Chorus
to be a slave to Phoebus in his halls, where he dwells under the snow-swept peaks of Parnassus; through the Ionian sea I sailed in the waves,
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over the unharvested plains, in the gusts of Zephyrus that ride from Sicily, sweetest music in the sky.
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as beauty’s gift for Loxias, to the land of Cadmus I came, sent here to the towers of Laius, the home of my kin, the famous sons of Agenor.
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And I became the handmaid of Phoebus, dedicated like his statues of wrought gold. But the water of Castalia is still waiting for me to drench the maiden glory of my hair
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for the service of Phoebus.
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[Choral]
Hail, rock that lights up a double-crested flash of fire above the frenzied heights of Dionysus; and the vine, that every day
Chorus
lets fall the lush cluster of grapes; and the holy cavern of the serpent and the gods’ watchtower on the hills, and the sacred snow-swept mountain!
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Would I were free of fear and circling in the dance of the deathless god, having left Dirce for the valleys of Phoebus at the center of the world.
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[Choral 2]
But now I find
Chorus
the impetuous god of war has come to battle before the walls, and is kindling a murderous blaze—may he not succeed!—for this city. For a friend’s pain is shared, and if this land with its seven towers
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suffers any mischance, Phoenicia’s realm will share it. Ah me! our blood is one; we are all children of Io, the horned maid; these sorrows I claim as mine.
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Around the city a thick cloud of shields is kindling a shape of bloody battle, which Ares will soon learn, if he brings upon the sons of Oedipus
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the curse of the Furies. O Argos, city of Pelasgia! I dread your might, and also what comes from the gods; for the one who approaches his home in armor is setting out to a contest
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