So now I tremble in fear that the swift-running Erinys will bring this to fulfillment.
 Enter Messenger. Messenger Take heart, you daughters who were nurtured by your mother. Our city has escaped the yoke of slavery; the boasts of the powerful men have fallen to the ground. The city enjoys fair weather and has taken on no water even though it has been buffeted by many waves. The walls hold, and we have fortified the gates with champions fully capable in single-handed combat. For the most part all is well, at six of the gates. But lord Apollo, the reverend leader of the seventh, An obscure designation of Apollo, often referred to the tradition that he was born on the seventh day. The adjective looks like a military title, but divisions of seven were unknown. took for himself the seventh gate, accomplishing upon the children of Oedipus the ancient follies of Laius.
 Chorus What novel happening will further affect the city?
 Messenger The city is saved, but the kings born of the same seed—
 Chorus Who? What did you say? I am out of my mind with fear of your report.
 Messenger Control yourself now and listen. The sons of Oedipus—
 Chorus Ah, miserable me, I am prophet of these evils.
 Messenger In truth, beyond all question, struck down in the dust—
 Chorus Are they lying out there? This is hard to bear, but say it just the same.
 Messenger The men are dead, murdered by their very own hands.
 Chorus Then with hands so fraternal did they each kill the other together?
 Messenger Yes, so all too equal was their destiny to them both. All alone, in truth, it consumes the ill-fated family. We have cause in this for joy and tears— the one because the city fares well, the other because the leaders, the two generals, have divided the whole of their property with hammered Scythian steel. They will possess only that land they take in burial, swept away as they were in accordance with their father’s curses. The city is saved, but through their mutual murder the earth has drunk the blood of the two kings born of the same seed. Exit. Chorus O great Zeus and the divine powers that guard our city, you who indeed protect these walls of Cadmus, should I rejoice and shout in triumph for the unharmed safety of the city, or should I lament our leaders in war, now wretched, ill-fated and childless? Indeed, in exact accordance with their name and as men of much strife, they have perished through their impious intent.
 Chorus O black curse on the family, Oedipus’ curse, now brought to fulfillment! A chill of horror falls about my heart. In frenzy like a maenad I make my song for the grave as I hear of their corpses dripping with blood, how they died through the workings of cruel fate. This song of the spear, sung to the flute, is indeed born of an ill omen. This passage has also been taken to deprecate as inauspicious the previous ode (720 ff.) because it was sung during the combat of the brothers: It was for a tomb I framed my song when, inspired by frenzy, I heard (prophetically) . . . Ill-omened, indeed, the contest of the spear to such an accompaniment. 
 
 Chorus The curseful utterance of their father has done its work and not fallen short. Laius’ plans, made in disobedience, have kept their force. I am anxious for our city; divine decrees do not lose their edge. The funeral procession with the bodies of the brothers comes into view. 
 
 Chorus O bringers of immense grief, you have done in this a deed beyond belief, yet lamentable troubles have indeed come.
 The events are self-evident; the messenger’s report is plain to see. Twofold is our distress—double disaster of kindred murder, this double suffering has come to fulfillment. What shall I say? What else indeed than that sorrow born of sorrows surround this house’s hearth?
 But sail upon the wind of lamentation, my friends, and about your head row with your hands’ rapid stroke in conveyance of the dead, As the souls of the brothers are now being conveyed across Acheron in Charon’s boat, the Chorus in imagination aid their passage by the ritual of mourning. Their song of lamentation stands for the wind, the beating of their heads by their hands are the strokes of the oars. Contrasted with the grim vessel that transports all spirits to the sunless land of Hades, is the ship that goes to the festival at Delos , the clearly-seen island, the land of Apollo, god of light and health. that stroke which always causes the sacred slack-sailed, black-clothed ship to pass over Acheron to the unseen land where Apollo does not walk, the sunless land that receives all men.
 But here come Antigone and Ismene to do their bitter duty, the dirge over their brothers both. With all sincerity, I think, will they pour forth their fitting grief from their lovely, deep-bosomed breasts. But it is right for us, before their singing, to cry out the awful hymn of the Erinys and thereafter sing the hated victory song of Hades.
 Ah, sisters most unfortunate in your kin of all women who clasp their girdle about their robes, I weep, I groan, and there is no feigning in the shrill cries that come straight from my heart.

 Chorus Ah, pity you senseless men, whom friends could not persuade and evils could not wear down! To your misery you have captured your father’s house with the spear.