Then they sing of the fall of Capaneus, that impious blasphemer of the gods, who had been dashed from the scaling-ladder, torch in hand, by a thunderbolt from heaven. The gods had fought for the city they loved so well, and the seven chieftains had left their panoplies as trophies for the Theban temples. And now that victory has come with the bright daylight (conclude the Chorus)—
"Forget the wars that now no longer rage,
And seek we all the temples of the gods
With choirs that last the livelong night."
Creon now sweeps upon the stage with a long retinue of attendants, splendid in royal apparel, and carrying the sceptre which is the symbol of his dignity. He delivers a "speech from the throne," in which he vindicates his past and present policy, and explains the reasons for his different treatment of the bodies of the two brothers in the decree which had roused the indignation of Antigone. But in this elaborate address we are at once reminded of the proverb, "Qui s'excuse s'accuse." There is a ring of insincerity in his studious defence of the prerogative which has put in force the late decree. There is a covert dread of opposition in the tone in which he deprecates the forbearance of his "good friends" and "trusty citizens"—the Chorus. There is ostentation in his assertion of the great principle of patriotism, which he assumes to be the mainspring of his conduct, and which he is resolved to carry out, whatever may be the sacrifice of private affections involved:—
