Chorus
God of many names, glory of the Cadmeian bride and offspring of loud-thundering Zeus, you who watch over far-famed Italy and reign in the valleys of Eleusinian Deo where all find welcome! O Bacchus, denizen of Thebes, the mother-city of your Bacchants, dweller by the wet stream of Ismenus on the soil of the sowing of the savage dragon’s teeth!
Chorus
The smoky glare of torches sees you above the cliffs of the twin peaks, where the Corycian nymphs move inspired by your godhead, and Castalia’s stream sees you, too. The ivy-mantled slopes of Nysa’s hills and the shore green with many-clustered vines send you, when accompanied by the cries of your divine words, you visit the avenues of Thebes.
Chorus
Thebes of all cities you hold foremost in honor, together with your lightning-struck mother. And now when the whole city is held subject to a violent plague, come, we ask, with purifying feet over steep Parnassus, or over the groaning straits!
Chorus
O Leader of the chorus of the stars whose breath is fire, overseer of the chants in the night, son begotten of Zeus, appear, my king, with your attendant Thyiads, who in night-long frenzy dance and sing you as Iacchus the Giver!
Messenger Neighbors of the house of Cadmus and of Amphion, there is no station of human life that I would ever praise or blame as being settled. Fortune sets upright and Fortune sinks the lucky and unlucky from day to day, and no one can prophesy to men concerning the order that has just been established. For Creon, as I saw it, was once blest: he had saved this land of Cadmus from its enemies; and having won sole and total dominion in the land, he guided it on a straight course and flourished in his noble crop of children. And now all this has been lost. When a man has forfeited his pleasures, I do not reckon his existence as life, but consider him just a breathing corpse. Heap up riches in your house, if you wish! Live with a tyrant’s pomp! But if there is no joy along with all of that, I would not pay even the shadow of smoke for all the rest, compared with joy.
Chorus What is this new grief for our princes that you have come to report?
Messenger They are dead, and the living are guilty of the deaths.
Chorus Who is the murderer? Who the murdered? Tell us.
Messenger Haemon is dead—his blood was shed by no strange hand.
Chorus Was it his father’s, or his own?
Messenger He did it by his own, enraged with his father for the murder.
Chorus Ah, prophet, how true, then, you have proved your word!
Messenger Knowing that these things are so, you must consider the rest.
Chorus Wait, I see the unhappy Eurydice, Creon’s wife, nearby. She comes from the house either knowing of her son, or merely by chance.
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