Antigone

Sophocles

Sophocles the plays and fragments, Part 3: The Antigone. Jebb, Richard Claverhouse, Sir, translator. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1891.

  1. But victory belongs to radiant Desire swelling from the eyes of the sweet-bedded bride. Desire sits enthroned in power beside the mighty laws.
  2. For in all this divine Aphrodite plays her irresistible game.
Enter Antigone under guard from the palace.
Chorus
  1. But now, witnessing this, I too am carried beyond the bounds of loyalty. The power fails me to keep back my streaming tears any longer, when I see Antigone making her way to the chamber where all are laid to rest,
  2. now her bridal chamber.
Antigone
  1. Citizens of my fatherland, see me setting out on my last journey, looking at my last sunlight,
  2. and never again. No, Hades who lays all to rest leads me living to Acheron’s shore, though I have not had my due portion of the chant that brings the bride, nor has any hymn been mine
  3. for the crowning of marriage. Instead the lord of Acheron will be my groom.
Chorus
  1. Then in glory and with praise you depart to that deep place of the dead, neither struck by wasting sickness,
  2. nor having won the wages of the sword. No, guided by your own laws and still alive, unlike any mortal before, you will descend to Hades.
Antigone
  1. I have heard with my own ears how our Phrygian guest, the daughter of Tantalus, perished
  2. in so much suffering on steep Sipylus—how, like clinging ivy, the sprouting stone subdued her. And the rains, as men tell, do not leave her melting form, nor does the snow,
  3. but beneath her weeping lids she dampens her collar. Most like hers is the god-sent fate that leads me to my rest.
Chorus
  1. Yet she was a goddess, as you know, and the offspring of gods,
  2. while we are mortals and mortal-born. Still it is a great thing for a woman who has died to have it said of her that she shared the lot of the godlike in her life, and afterwards, in death.
Antigone
  1. Ah, you mock me! In the name of our fathers’ gods,
  2. why do you not wait to abuse me until after I have gone, and not to my face, O my city, and you, her wealthy citizens? Ah, spring of Dirce, and you holy ground of Thebes whose chariots are many,
  3. you, at least, will bear me witness how unwept by loved ones, and by what laws I go to the rock-closed prison of my unheard-of tomb! Ah, misery!
  4. I have no home among men or with the shades, no home with the living or with the dead.
Chorus
  1. You have rushed headlong to the far limits of daring, and against the high throne of Justice
  2. you have fallen, my daughter, fallen heavily. But in this ordeal you are paying for some paternal crime.