SECOND ANTISTROPHE.
O leader of the heavenly chorus
Of fire-breathing stars high o’er us
Sympathetically moving with thee,
O master of night-revelry
Of song, thou begotten of Zeus,
Come forth with thy votaries now,
The Thyiads that unto thee bow,
Frenzied in dance the livelong night,
O Iacchus, appear to our sight,
Dispenser of fortunes to us.
Messenger enters from R.
Ye neighbors to old Cadmus’ citadel
And Amphion’s, no mortal man’s estate,
As firm and stable could I praise or blame.
For Chance lifts up and Chance casts down to earth
The prosperous man and him who prospers not,
And no man knows how long established things
Will last. For Creon once was blest: he saved
This land of Cadmus from its enemies,
And when supreme dominion in his hands
Was placed, he ruled the country, flourishing
And blest with princely sons,—and now all gone!
For when a man his joys hath forfeited,
I count him not among the living,—nay,
In my esteem he’s but a breathing corpse.
Accumulate great wealth, and, if you will,
Live like a king with pomp and ceremony;
But if with these there be no joy, I would
Not give a vapor’s shadow for the rest.
Ch. Leader. What new affliction ’s come upon our princes?
Messenger. Death! And the living guilty of that death.
Ch. Leader. And who ’s the slayer? Who the fallen? Speak!
Messenger. The prince is is dead, slain by no stranger’s hand.
Ch. Leader. Dead? Hæmon? By his father’s hand destroyed,
Or by his own?
