Nor did I see who did, and it would be
Unfair for harm to come to me for this.
Creon. Your aim is shrewdly good to keep yourself
Out of harm’s reach! You must have startling news.
Watchman. I have indeed—and hesitate to tell.
Creon. Out with it—stop this nonsense—and be off.
Watchman. Well, here it is—the corpse—somebody ’s strewn
Dry dust—just now—upon the flesh, with rites
And offerings to the dead—and gone.
Creon. What ’s that? What man could dare to brave my will?
Watchman. I know not; for there was no dint of pick,
No earth thrown up by mattock, but the ground
Was hard, unbroken, dry, untracked by wheels,—
Whoe’er the doer was, he left no trace.
And when the first day-watchman pointed out
The thing, dismay and wonder fell on all.
The corpse had disappeared from view, not shut
Within a pile of earth, but sprinkled light
With dust, as cast by one who feared a curse.
It had been quickly done, for neither dog
Nor beast of prey had had the time to come
And rend the body, since no track was there.
Recriminations followed thick and fast
And loud among us, guard accusing guard,
And from high words it might have come to blows,
With none to quell the strife,—for every man
Was guilty, though it could be proved on none.
Prepared we were to take up red-hot iron,
To walk through fire, and swear by all the gods
That we had neither done the deed, nor knew
What man had planned, or thus accomplished it,
And finally, when we had searched in vain,
One spake, who moved us all to bend our heads
To earth in fear; since we could not gainsay
His words, nor did we see how, if we failed
