fall; and then comes the warning, like Wolsey's to Cromwell, to "guard against ambition"—
"By that sin fell the angels,—how can man, then,
The image of his Maker, hope to profit by it?"
Suddenly the Chorus break off in wonder and dismay. They can scarcely believe their eyes; for, bound between two of the watch, Antigone walks in with a stately and defiant bearing. At the same moment Creon comes from the palace-gates, and meets the prisoner. The same watchman who had enraged Creon by his vulgar insolence before, becomes the spokesman now; and this time his tale is to the point. The guard had returned to their post, and, after clearing the corpse from the dust which had been sprinkled on it by the unknown visitor on the previous night, they had sat down on the hillside, at a little distance from the body, to watch for what might happen. The morning had passed without a sign, and the sun had reached mid-heavens, and still they waited, "scorched by the sultry heat." Then came a whirlwind, "raising the dust in clouds, stripping the foliage off the trees, and choking the atmosphere;" and still they watched, with closed eyes and mouths. Then at last the maiden was seen, and she uttered a bitter cry to see her work undone, and the corpse again exposed. And as she was in the act of again sprinkling the dust and pouring a libation, the guards had rushed in and seized her.
Creon, who has listened intently to the watchman's story, now turns to Antigone, and asks whether she
