To the rout,—but the twain, who were born
Of one sire, of one mother,
Drave their spears in each other,
At one stroke of the sovereignty shorn.
SECOND ANTISTROPHE.
Since Victory hath come, the glorious,
With joy responsive, O Thebes victorious,
Now all the toil
And all the moil
Of the recent wars forget;
Now visit all the sacred shrines with song
And dance, and Bacchus leading, all night long
The measures in motion set.
Chorus Leader.
But look where cometh the king of the land,
The son of Menœcus, Creon, whose hand
Holds the sceptre of empire but recently given
To him by the changes and fortunes of heaven.
What counsel in mind is he now revolving?
What problem for us to help him in solving,
That to this convocation
He by a proclamation
Hath summoned this council of elders?
Creon enters through the central door of the palace, with two attendants.
Sirs, safely have the gods our ship of state,
That labored hard in troubled seas, again
Made steady: and by special summons you
Of all the people chosen I have called
Apart; for, first, I knew how you revered
With constant loyalty the royal power
Of Laius; and then, when Œdipus
Our vessel steered, and after his downfall
Still faithful to the children, staunch in heart.
Since now yon sons of his are slain, struck down
In mutual slaughter by a double doom,
