ANTIGONE 149
Was gained by all oar searching, some one speaks, 295
Who made us bend our gaze upon the ground
In fear and trembling ; for we neither saw
How to oppose it, nor, accepting it.
How we might prosper in it. And his speech
Was this, that all our tale should go to thee, 300
Not hushed up anywise. This gained the day ;
And me, ill-starred, the lot condemns to win
This pi-ecious prize. So here I come to thee
Against my will ; and surely do I trow
Thou dost not wish to see me. Still 'tis true 305
That no man loves the messenger of ill.
Choms. For me, my prince, my mind some time has thought If this perchance has some divine intent.
Creon. Cease then, before thou fillest me with wrath, Lest thou be found, though full of years, a fool. 310 For what thou say'st is most intolerable, That for this corpse the providence of Gods Has any care. What ! have they buried him, As to their patron paying honors high. Who came to waste their columned shrines with fire, 315
To desecrate their ofiferings and their lands, And all their wonted customs ? Dost thou see The Gods approving men of evil deeds ? It is not so ; but men of rebel mood, Lifting their head in secret long ago, 320
Still murmured thus against me. Never yet Had they their neck beneath the yoke, content To bear it with submission. They, I know. Have bribed these men to let the deed be done. No thing in use by man, for power of ill, 325
