Where Creon bids me.

I am blind, and thou

Hast mocked my blindness. Yea, I will speak now.

Eyes hast thou, but thy deeds thou canst not see

Nor where thou art, nor what things dwell with thee.

Whence art thou born? Thou know'st not; and unknown,

On quick and dead, on all that were thine own,

Thou hast wrought hate. For that across thy path

Rising, a mother's and a father's wrath,

Two-handed, shod with fire, from the haunts of men

Shall scourge thee, in thine eyes now light, but then

Darkness. Aye, shriek! What harbour of the sea,

What wild Kithairon shall not cry to thee

In answer, when thou hear'st what bridal song,

What wind among the torches, bore thy strong

Sail to its haven, not of peace but blood.

Yea, ill things multitude on multitude

vv. 425-438  [Pg 25]

Thou seest not, which so soon shall lay thee low,

Low as thyself, low as thy children.—Go,

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