Alas! alas! shuddering with horror, shuddering is my breast; and through my
flesh came pity, pity for the unhappy mother, on account of her two
children, whether of them then will distain with blood the other (alas me
for my sufferings, O Jove, O earth), the own brother's neck, the own
brother's life, in arms, in slaughter? Wretched, wretched I, over which
corse then shall I raise the lamentation for the dead? O earth, earth, the
two beasts of prey, blood-thirsty souls, brandishing the spear, will
quickly distain with blood the fallen, fallen enemy. Wretches, that they
ever came to the thought of a single combat! In a foreign strain will I
mourn with tears my elegy of groans due to the dead. Destiny is at
hand--death is near; this day will decide the event. Ill-fated, ill-fated
murder because of the Furies! But I see Creon here with clouded brow
advancing toward the house, I will cease therefore from the groans I am
uttering.