These things from others? How wilt thou 'scape grief?"230
Revolving thus, I came in haste, yet slow,
And thus a short way finds itself prolonged;
But, last of all, to come to thee prevailed.
And though I tell of nought, yet I will speak;
For this one hope I cling to, might and main,
That I shall suffer nought but destiny.
Creon. What is it then that causes such dismay?
Guard. First, for mine own share in it, this I say,
The deed I did not, do not know who did,
Νor should I rightly come to ill for it.240
Creon. Thou feel'st thy way and fencest up thy deed
All round and round. 'Twould seem thou hast some news.
Guard. Yea, news of fear engenders long delay.
Creon. Wilt thou not speak, and then depart in peace?
Guard. Well, speak I will. The corpse . . . . Some one has been
But now and buried it, a little dust
O'er the skin scattering, with the wonted rites.
Creon. What say'st thou? What man dared this deed of guilt?
Guard. I know not. Neither was there stroke of axe,
Nor earth cast up by mattock. All the soil250
Was dry and hard, no track of chariot wheel;
But he who did it went and left no sign.
And when the first day-watchman showed it us,
The sight caused wonder and sore grief to all;
For he had disappeared: no tomb indeed
Was over him, but dust all lightly strown,
As by some hand that shunned defiling guilt;
And no sign was there of wild beast or dog
Having come and torn him. Evil words arose
Among us, guard to guard imputing blame,260
Which might have come to blows, and none was there
