Who from one sire, one mother, drawing breath,
Each with conquering lance in rest
Against a true born brother's breast,
Found equal lots in death.

But with blithe greeting to glad Thebe came II 2
She of the glorious name,
Victory,--smiling on our chariot throng
With eyes that waken song
Then let those battle memories cease,
Silenced by thoughts of peace.
With holy dances of delight
Lasting through the livelong night
Visit we every shrine, in solemn round,
Led by him who shakes the ground,
Our Bacchus, Thebe's child of light.

LEADER OF CHORUS.
But look! where Creon in his new-made power,
Moved by the fortune of the recent hour,
Comes with fresh counsel. What intelligence
Intends he for our private conference,
That he hath sent his herald to us all,
Gathering the elders with a general call?

_Enter_ CREON.

CREON. My friends, the noble vessel of our State,
After sore shaking her, the Gods have sped
On a smooth course once more. I have called you hither,