Our king, as victor, winner of the fight,
Casting his sword down, fell to spoiling him,
Heeding but that, nor recking his own risk;
Which thing undid him. Faintly breathing yet,
Still grasping in his grievous fall his sword,1420
First-fallen Polyneikes with hard strain
Plunged into Eteokles' heart the blade.
Gnashing in dust their teeth, there side by side
They lie, those twain, the victory doubtful still.
Chorus.
Alas! I wail thy sore griefs, Oedipus!1425
Thy malisons, I wot, hath God fulfilled.
Messenger.
Ah, but hear now what woes remain to tell.
Even as her fallen sons were leaving life,
Their wretched mother rusheth on the scene,—
She and the maid, with haste of eager feet;1430
And, seeing them stricken with their mortal wounds,
She wailed, "Ah sons, too late for help I come!"
Then, falling on her sons, on each in turn,
She wept, she wailed, her long vain nursing-toil
Bemoaning: and their sister at her side—1435
"Props of your mother's age, dear brethren, who
Leave me a bride unwed!" One dying gasp
Hard-heaving from his breast, King Eteokles
His mother heard, touched her with clammy hand,
Uttered no word, but from his eyes he spake1440
With tears, as giving token of his love.
But Polyneikes breathing yet, and gazing
On sister and on aged mother, spake:
"Mother, our death is this. I pity thee,
