the obstinate soul that fights with Fate, is smitten grievously.
CHORUS On younger shoulders lay this grievous charge.
To me, Antigone, no word of friends Has come, or glad or grievous, since we twain Were reft of our two brethren in one day By double fratricide; and since i’ the night Our Argive leaguers fled, no later news Has reached me, to inspirit or deject.
I was glad—and grieved; For ’tis most sweet to ’scape oneself scot-free, And yet to bring disaster to a friend Is grievous.
To yield is grievous, but the obstinate soul That fights with Fate, is smitten grievously.
Sorrows are thine, my lord, and more to come, One lying at thy feet, another yet More grievous waits thee, when thou comest home.