Thrice blest are they who never tasted pain! If once the curse of Heaven attaint a race, The infection lingers on and speeds apace, Age after age, and each the cup must drain. So when Etesian blasts from Thrace downpour Sweep o’er the blackening main and whirl to land From Ocean’s cavernous depths his ooze and sand, Billow on billow thunders on the shore. On the Labdacidae I see descending Woe upon woe; from days of old some god Laid on the race a malison, and his rod Scourges each age with sorrows never ending. The light that dawned upon its last born son Is vanished, and the bloody axe of Fate Has felled the goodly tree that blossomed late. O Oedipus, by reckless pride undone! Thy might, O Zeus, what mortal power can quell? Not sleep that lays all else beneath its spell, Nor moons that never tire: untouched by Time, Throned in the dazzling light That crowns Olympus’ height, Thou reignest King, omnipotent, sublime. Past, present, and to be, All bow to thy decree, All that exceeds the mean by Fate Is punished, Love or Hate. Hope flits about never-wearying wings; Profit to some, to some light loves she brings, But no man knoweth how her gifts may turn, Till ’neath his feet the treacherous ashes burn. Sure ’twas a sage inspired that spake this word; _If evil good appear_ _To any, Fate is near_; And brief the respite from her flaming sword. Hither comes in angry mood Haemon, latest of thy brood; Is it for his bride he’s grieved, Or her marriage-bed deceived, Doth he make his mourn for thee, Maid forlorn, Antigone?

Chorus Monologue from Antigone

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