Antigone
Friendless, unwept, unwed,
I wend in sorrow my appointed way;
No more may I behold this sacred ray
By yon bright glory shed,
And yet no single friend
Utters a wail for my unwept-for end.
937–987.
Antigone.
City of Thebes, my fathers' ancient home,
Ye Gods of days of old,
I linger not. They drag me to my doom:
Princes of Thebes, behold;
See ye what I, the last of kingly race,
And at whose hands I suffer sore disgrace,
Because all holy ties I still as holy hold.
Chorus.
Stroph. I.
So once of old the form of Danae bore
The loss of heavenly light,
In palace strong with brazen fastenings bright,
And, in her tomb-like chamber evermore,
Did long a prisoner dwell;
Yet she, my child, my child, was high in birth,
And golden shower, that flowed from Zeus to earth,
She cherishèd right well:
Ah, strange and dread the power of Destiny,
Which neither proud and full prosperity,
Nor Ares in his power,
Nor dark, sea-beaten ships, nor tower,
Are able to defy.
