172 SOPHOCLES
No more shall it be mine (O misery !)
To look upon yon daylight's holy eye ; 945
And yet, of all my friends,
Not one bewails my fate,
No kindly tear is shed.
Enter Creon.
Creon. And know ye not, if men have leave to speak Their songs and wailings thus to stave off death, 950 That they will never stop ? Lead, lead her on, Without delay, and, as I said, immure In yon cavernous tomb, and then depart. Leave her to choose, or drear and lonely death, Or, living, in the tomb to find her home. 955
Our hands are clean in all that touches her ; But she no more shall dwell on earth with us.
Antigone. _Tu7ming towards the cavern.~ Ο tomb, my bridal chamber, vaulted home, Guarded right well for ever, where I go To join mine own, of whom the greater part 96o
Among the dead doth Persephassa ^ hold ; And I, of all the last and saddest, wend My way below, life's little span unfilled. And yet I go, and feed myself with hopes That I shall meet them, by my father loved, 965
Dear to my mother, well-beloved of thee. Thou darling brother : I, with these my hands. Washed each dear corpse, arrayed you, poured liba- tions. In rites of burial : and in care for thee. Thy body, Polyneices, honoring, 970
I gain this recompense. [And yet in sight
^ Persephone, or Proserpina, queen among the dead.
