ANTIGONE 161
E'en thus a wave, (when spreads,
ΛVith blasts from Thracian coasts, eso
The darkness of the deep,)
Up from the sea's abyss Hither and thither rolls the black sand on.
And every jutting peak.
Swept by the storm-wind's strength, ess
Lashed by the fierce wild waves. Re-echoes with the far-resounding roar.
Antistrophe I.
I see the woes that smote, in ancient days.
The seed of Labdacus, Who perished long ago, with grief on gi'ief 64o
Still falling, nor does this age rescue that ;
Some God still smites it down,
Nor have they any end :
For now there rose a gleam,
Over the last weak shoots, «5
That sprang from out the race of Oedipus ;
Yet this the blood-stained scythe
Of those that reign below
Cuts off relentlessly, $49
And maddened speech, and frenzied rage of heart.
Strophe II.
Thy power, Ο Zeus, what haughtiness of man,
Yea, what can hold in check? Which neither sleep, that maketh all things old. Nor the long months of Gods that never fail,
Can for a moment seize. 655
But still as Lord supreme.
Waxing not old with time. Thou dwellest in Thy sheen of radiancy
On far Olympus' height.
