water. But sorrow is mingled with the general joy, for the royal brothers have fulfilled their father's curse; each has slain his brother, and with them is fallen the whole race of Laius.
This sorrow far outweighs the joy, at least with us, whose interest is mainly in the family of Œdipus. The rest of the play, accordingly, is full of lamentation till close upon the end, when Antigone, the sister of the dead brothers, claims our admiration; but even she, in announcing her heroic resolution, reminds us that there are still more woes in store for this devoted house. The Chorus chant a dirge, and while we listen to its music, a long procession of Theban citizens enters across the whole front of the stage, bearing the bodies of Eteocles and Polynices; after them come Antigone and Ismene her sister, with a long train of women wailing and lamenting. As the first mourners pass, the Chorus beat their breasts and heads with regular stroke in time to the music, which here assumes for a moment, without losing its sadness, the character of those strains by which the time was set for the rowers in an Athenian galley. They are echoing the beat of the oars in that ship of gloomy sanctity,
"Built in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark,"
which is moving now over the waves of Acheron to the unseen land. Then the music changes to a distinct march, as Antigone and Ismene come with their procession of women, and take their places, as the men had done, upon the stage. The corpses of the two brothers are placed in front, and the women are grouped
