Page:The Antigone of Sophocles (1911).djvu/67

Which seemed to come from that unhallowed room,
Where funeral nuptial rites had not been paid.
Returning quick, he told our master, Creon,
Who, coming nearer, low unmeaning cries
Perceived, which soon became distinct and clear,
The bitter wailings of a human voice.
And groaning with a cry of anguish, he
Exclaimed: “O my prophetic heart! Alas!
Is this to prove of all the journeys made
By me the most disastrous? Listen! Still!
My son’s voice greets me. Quick! My servants! On
With speed, pass through the entrance of the tomb—
The stones that blocked the passage up are torn
Away. Peer in and learn if Hæmon’s voice
Is that which greets my ear, or if my ear
Be cheated by the gods.” At the behest
Of our despairing lord we went and peered;
And in the farthest corner of the tomb
We saw her hanging by the neck in noose
Of fine-wrought linen, while. around her waist
In fond embrace had Hæmon thrown his arms,—
Still clinging there, bewailing his lost love,
His father’s deeds, his bride that was to be,
Now numbered with the dead. The father, though,
When he his son descried, rushed in with loud
And bitter cry, and wailing, called to him:
“Unhappy youth! What hast thou done? What prompts
This deed? What stroke deprived thee of thy reason?
Come out, my child! I beg thee—I implore!”
But glaring at his father savagely,
The boy made no reply, spat in his face,
And drawing suddenly his hilted sword,
An effort made to strike, but missed his aim;
His father, rushing forth, escaped. Insane

With anger at himself the wretched boy